Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

They went for the legs.

Where real victory could be born.

The youth reached for the stars, aiming to grasp the greatest potential benefit while accepting high risks.

The wise aimed for a critical location where they could still wreak havoc and have much greater chances of success.

…

Above the battlefield, drenched in fire and madness, the corrupted god turned his gaze toward the two streaks of rebellion racing toward him. One of them was cloaked in blazing elemental harmony while the other trailed a flaming cloak like the comet-tail of a sun.

Quinlan and Serika.

Two mortals who dared to defy him.

His cracked skull twisted into a grin.

“Burning ants.”

The words didn’t echo aloud, but rather etched themselves into the very marrow of the living, scraping the bones of all nearby like a branding iron pressed against their souls.

And then, he raised his arms.

Waves of black fire erupted from his body, not as attacks, but as a defensive shroud. A furnace of godly wrath cloaked every inch of his titanic form. The already unbearable heat tripled in intensity. The sky shimmered. The clouds twisted.

Quinlan felt the fire instantly lash at his skin, his saber protesting the sheer pressure with a high-pitched hiss. In response, he coated it with spiraling streams of water qi, forming a volatile spiral of boiling mist around the blade. Steam screamed around him as he pushed forward.

Serika growled, but the flames from her cloak and fists dimmed, suppressed by the overwhelming presence of the enemy’s fire. It felt like trying to breathe with lungs full of smoke.

Still, they advanced.

Quinlan slashed down at the god’s chest, but the infernal shield thickened in response. The impact fizzled inches before contact. Heat displaced space.

Serika twirled mid-air, changing her form right before smashing her leg forward in a spinning kick aimed at the god’s head, but her heel struck nothing, melting against an invisible curtain of flame.

The god didn’t even move.

He simply stared, gloating.

“You sure shine brightly… little flames. But the strength beneath your glow is weak. Your rebellion, hollow.”

Quinlan gritted his teeth. His saber shook in his grip.

Serika’s eyes narrowed with sweat streaking down her neck from the oppressive aura.

Just as the god prepared to swat them aside like insects…

*Boom!*

A shockwave of force erupted near his left ankle.

Then a second one, perfectly timed on his right knee joint.

Two blurs danced in tandem.

Rykar had launched Rongtai forward like a spear propelled by explosions. The old monk’s limbs glowed with earthy qi as he rotated his body, with his palm forming the shape of an open lotus.

Rongtai slammed his strike directly into a joint veiled beneath the lava-like skin.

The effects were immediate.

The god’s massive frame shuddered, his balance tipping.

His smug gaze faltered. Just slightly.

“Hmph.”

But that was enough.

Just as he was ready to regain balance, Quinlan burst forward through the weakened flame barrier, his water-wrapped saber slashing horizontally at the god’s throat.

A bright arc of water and soul energy carved through the flames, singing as it struck flesh.

There was a hiss.

A streak of dark red ichor burst into the air as the corrupted god reeled with a line scorched and carved across his throat. The wound was not overly deep, but he definitely felt it.

At the same moment, Serika found herself directly in front of the god’s chest. Her flames reignited, focused into a narrow point. She slammed her foot forward, heel-first, into the region where his heart she be—if he had one in the first place.

The blow connected.

A dull boom echoed outward as his ribs cracked minutely.

The god’s upper body jolted back, and a low, irritated grunt escaped him.

He touched his throat, looking at the black ichor on his fingers.

“…So, you insects can bite.”

But that smug grin never left his warped features.

If anything, it only grew sharper.

“Very well…”

The corrupted god’s lips peeled back into a grimace that barely resembled a smile, and then, he rose.

With a thunderous beat, his wings of fire unfurled to their full, impossible span. Each flap generated shockwaves that rattled buildings below and stirred volcanic winds into cyclones. Lava-colored feathers crackled with infernal energy as the god lifted himself high into the sky.

Rongtai, still recovering from his midair strike, grimaced. There was no footing in the clouds. No solid ground for his earth qi to grip, no leverage for his ancient techniques to fully blossom. He began falling back toward the ground, muttering a prayer of frustration. Rykar, too, found his combustion-enhanced leaps waning. While he could soar in bursts, maintaining it was a different topic, especially with his crippled and exhausted body.

Serika and Quinlan, however, ascended after the god with burning eyes.

Serika propelled herself with massive gouts of fire, her cloak trailing in a twin-tailed blaze. But the heat from the god’s own aura twisted her flames, contorting their direction and power, causing minor turbulence in her flight. She had to force every motion, like swimming against the current of a blazing sea.

Quinlan, on the other hand, he cut through the sky like it belonged to him.

A spiral of elements churned all over his body. Wind guided his direction, earth steadied his balance, water cooled the turbulence, and fire gave him bursts of force. He moved with harmony, with purpose, with a power not yet perfected, but already sublime. He flew not as a flame, not as a gust, but as a storm that had found a soul.

Seeing the struggles Serika faced, he grabbed the woman out of the air and held her in his arms, knowing they would be much better off if she weren’t wasting her limited amounts of qi in a needless struggle.

Just as God Venthros reached the height he thought perfect, he began changing.

There was a sound, not like thunder or howling or fire. It was a wet crack, as though reality itself were being torn open by an organic force.

His skin split.

A second pair of arms erupted from his torso, grotesquely formed. They were dripping molten ichor and twitching with raw, adaptive hunger. Along his ribs, along his back, even down his legs, eyes began to open—one by one—hundreds of them, some narrow and feline, others wide and humanlike, and some completely alien, blinking in unison and out of rhythm.

Then came the final eye.

Massive. Vertical. Buried in the middle of his chest, sealed behind layers of pulsating flame-flesh.

When it opened…

Madness itself looked back at them.

And then he screamed.

No. It wasn’t a scream.

It was a roar, a declaration, a chorus of every corrupted thing that had ever clawed its way toward divinity and succeeded by forsaking everything sane.

That single roar shattered clouds. Broke windows. Buckled knees in the capital. It echoed far beyond the city walls, heard in the Water Nation’s marshes, felt in the Wind Nation’s high peaks, and even made the Earth Nation’s monks glance toward the sky in solemn concern.

And the world changed.

The environment became twisted not by his will, but by his mere presence.

Fire warped first. The city’s lanterns and forges erupted into wild, black-and-purple flame, burning without fuel, without logic, consuming even stone and qi itself. Rivers of cursed fire flowed through the streets.

Water became slick and putrid, writhing like snakes across tiles and walls. Fountains rose up, freezing in unnatural shapes, becoming weapons of razor-edged corruption.

Earth cracked open with glowing red seams, pulsating with dark energy. Buildings split and twisted into monstrous, half-living forms. Stone statues began moving, their mouths open in eternal screams.

Wind ceased to obey nature. It howled in inverted spirals, forming tornadoes that carried whispers—screams of the slain, now reborn as fuel for this god’s chaotic dominion.

Below, the capital city became a living nightmare, a stage for the final descent.

He spread all of his arms wide, letting the elemental chaos swirl around him.

“Behold, mortals.” His voice rumbled like collapsing heavens. “Your world ends not with mercy… but with rebirth through flame and corruption.”

He stared down at Quinlan, at Serika, at the Sovereigns far below.

And he grinned wider, his already monstrous expression shifting to nightmare incarnate.

“Come, you foolish children. Impress me before I erase your names from existence itself.”

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