Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1792: An Ominous Existence

His breathing went shallow and fast, the old warrior’s lungs seizing against a pressure his body read as being crushed alive, and his sword cleared its scabbard in one smooth motion.

"Father, I’ll take its attention, you attack from a blind spot!" Elisabeth shouted, going from the pissy woman to the famed Dawn Breaker in a single breath.

Behind the two humans, Myrasyn was forming a spell circle. "She barely wears any armor, aim for her vitals! We have to kill her quickly!"

Isveth meanwhile began prowling to the right, looking to get around the terrible creature and attack from behind.

Nyxara took another step.

Alexios staggered.

His front knee nearly gave, and the grunt that left him was involuntary and furious, the thousand-year-old king who refused to kneel, though his body had stopped asking for his opinion.

Nyxara took a third step, and the stars above them went dark.

For one suffocating moment the realm held nothing but the sound of breathing and the demon descending, her expression idle and untroubled while four of the continent’s strongest fell apart around her.

Then she stopped before Quinlan. The stars returned, the pressure halved, and the four newcomers sucked air like drowning swimmers breaking surface.

The most overwhelming presence any of them had ever felt sank to both knees, pressed a palm to her chest, and bowed her head to the Primordial Villain in a gesture so old that no culture in the realm could claim its origin.

"My Ruin." The warmth of embers in an ancient hearth. "Welcome back."

"..."

The silence that followed lived in the kind of space reserved for temples.

Alexios’s grip on his sword had gone white.

Elisabeth tried to speak. Nothing came out.

"W-what?" Myrasyn breathed out carefully, composure holding her level by force, and managed, "What’s going on? What exactly is she?"

"Thalorind’s biggest slut," Vex answered before anyone else could.

Nyxara turned to the white-haired Hexwitch, and the giggle that left her was warm and dark and full of unfinished history.

"My little leech has quite the big mouth." No anger in it. Only promise. "We’ll talk."

Kitsara was next.

"You too, foxy."

Every one of Kitsara’s tails went rigid, and panic won the war against bravado before the tremor reached her ears. "W-what about the elf?! She also-"

"I have a name," Seraphiel murmured.

"Kukuku..." The sound came from low in Nyxara’s chest, rich and patient. Her gaze passed over all three of them. "I shared my power with the sinfully curvy elf willingly..."

The smile widened. "But you two... Kukuku..."

Then the succubus straightened to full height, and her posture shifted, ceremonial. "But that’s for later. My name is Nyxara, they call me the Primordial Demon of Lust. I’m the most dedicated lover of Quinlan Elysiar."

"Hah?" Vex’s red stare went dead still, and the smirk vanished.

What replaced it was the territorial calm that preceded very bad decisions. "What did you just say?"

That was her throne this demon bitch was claiming.

Alexios’s chest seized. For a dangerous second the strongest human alive felt he might truly suffer a heart attack. ’This is what the bastard was warning me about. Thought he said it because of the environment...’

Then his expression turned as sour as ever. ’His lover. This monster?’

"A Primordial? Does that mean...?!"

Nyxara vanished.

One moment she was in front of Quinlan, and the next the space was empty, and the pressure rematerialized directly behind Myrasyn.

Every muscle in the elven queen’s body locked, every survival instinct screaming that the thing behind her could end her existence between one heartbeat and the next.

But instead, two arms slid around her from behind, slow and deliberate, settling low on her belly and drawing inward with an intimacy that made several women present shift where they stood.

"Yes, a primordial. I am a being like the woman you worship, Luminara," Nyxara whispered against the elf’s ear, and the warmth of it made Myrasyn’s skin prickle from her neck to her wrists. "I am the progenitor of demons."

"Like Luminara?!" Elisabeth’s shout cracked through the air.

It took everything Alexios had not to break out into a cursing spree. ’A lover on this level...?! What does he not have?!’

Nyxara’s lips shifted closer to Myrasyn’s ear, and the whisper dropped into a register that made the queen squirm where she stood like never before.

"Yes... like Luminara. Just a lot sexier and much more fun." A pause came, intimate, dripping with amusement. "By the way... I saw what happened in the cell."

"You wretched demon, stop badmouthing the First Elf!" Myrasyn shouted, defiant.

But at the same time, she went scarlet from the roots of her hair to the tips of her long ears, and every shred of regal bearing evaporated in a single heartbeat. "And nothing happened in that cell!"

"I’ve been meaning to ask. What happened in that cell, exactly?" Lucille purred, curious and not even trying to hide how much she was enjoying this.

"I said, nothing!" Myrasyn stomped and squealed at once.

"’Stop badmouthing the First Elf, hmm...?’" Nyxara’s smile sharpened.

"Have you ever wondered," she murmured against Myrasyn’s twitching ear, "why you call her the ’First Elf’ and not the ’First Female Elf?’"

Myrasyn and Isveth froze at the exact same instant, and the silence that followed was the loudest thing in the realm.

"Kukuku... How adorable..." Nyxara’s tongue slid out, long and unmistakably inhuman, and Myrasyn’s wide stare followed it despite every fiber of her dignity telling her not to. "By the way, if you ever need someone to coach your technique," the arms tightened a fraction on her belly, "just let me know." She leaned closer. "Lady Nyxara will show you the ropes of womanhood..."

Myrasyn achieved a shade of red that elven biology was never designed to produce.

"Stop molesting my elven ally, you damned demon."

Quinlan’s tone landed cold and level, and Nyxara’s composure broke in a full-body shudder.

"Yes, my love!"

The arms released Myrasyn instantly, and the Primordial Demon of Lust crossed the grass in a blur of pure devotion, arriving at the throne she was sitting in and pivoting to present it with both palms and a lowered stare.

"Please take your rightful seat."

Alexios watched the most powerful entity he had ever encountered rush to obey a man much, much weaker than her. She’d chosen her place long ago, and she’d never looked back.

He turned to Quinlan, and his voice came out hoarse. "You could have said a bit more than ’take a deep breath.’"

"Where’s the fun in that? I was curious if your body still had full control at your ancient age," Quinlan replied nonchalantly as he walked to the throne and sat down.

He settled into the braided vine and dark bark, one arm on the armrest, his posture easy, and the realm responded.

The pink light in the vines pulsed brighter. The stars, still recovering from their earlier blackout, burned a fraction brighter. The grass beneath his feet deepened in color, as if the soil itself exhaled.

Nyxara watched him take the seat, and the ancient regal composure she’d been wearing dissolved like frost on warm glass.

"...Can I?"

She blinked at him, slow and devastating, fingers laced behind her back, weight shifting from one foot to the other, pleading.

Quinlan sighed.

"Come."

Nyxara landed in his lap before the word finished leaving his mouth, curling against his chest with a purr that vibrated through the throne and into the roots beneath it.

She nestled close, tucking her head under his chin, pressing herself into him with shameless heat, and her body offered every invitation a succubus could offer a man without saying a single word.

But Quinlan merely rested one hand on her thigh and the other on the armrest, and did nothing else.

The progenitor of the lust demons hummed louder.

"...You know why I’m here," he said.

The sound stopped.

"You always do this!" Nyxara pulled back just enough to look up at him, and the devastation on her face could have ended wars.

"You only come to see me when you need something! Do you know how lonely it is in here?! I decorated! I made the sky pretty! I painted Mimi’s nails! And you show up and the first thing out of your mouth is ’Woman! Know your place! Do what I want, when I want, then shut it!’"

"I never said that."

"You basically did!" She buried her face back into his chest, squirming against him with a petulant fury that accomplished the exact opposite of protest, and the masochist in her was clearly, visibly, unmistakably savoring every second of being ignored in favor of business.

The assembled group watched the Primordial Demon of Lust throw a tantrum in the lap of her conqueror, and the looks on their faces ranged from wry familiarity to complete psychological collapse.

"Stop whining."

"But..." Nyxara kept on whimpering, looking greatly wronged.

Quinlan sighed, reached into his pocket ring, and drew the obsidian blade.

He held it up between them as he said, "I need your help getting the thing inside this to talk."

Her fingers reached for the blade, and the moment they made contact, the bubbly girlfriend and the whiny lover were gone.

Her touch traced the obsidian edge from hilt to tip, slow and clinical, and her eyes changed.

The playfulness bled out of them, replaced by a look that was unfathomably vast and old.

"I was careful back then," she murmured, turning the blade in her fingers with deliberate precision, examining a wound she’d inflicted. "I broke its will, but I left the pieces where they fell." Her lips curved, and the smile held nothing warm. "We just need to drag it back out."

She reached up toward Quinlan, gave his cheek a long, loud, and wet smooch, then the eyes of the Primordial Demon of Lust met the Primordial Villain’s.

The look they exchanged was one of two apex predators getting ready to finish what they started.

"Let us begin."