Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 999: Brothers Reunited

A flash of spatial magic twisted the air, and moments later, Quinlan and Kaelira appeared just outside the edge of the Dogkin royal palace.

Kitsara stood waiting for them, having already been notified of their decision to come visit. Her foxkin ears twitched in confusion when she saw them.. "Quinlan? I didn’t think you’d come visit. Aren’t you busy in the forge with your new teacher?"

"I came to see how you’re doing," he said simply.

"I’m... okay," she said after a pause, though her soft voice betrayed it. Her tail barely moved. Her smile, once natural around him, felt forced now.

It wasn’t hard to guess why. She’d been warmer, lighter, and more mischievous in their home. But here, in her childhood den... she looked smaller. Not physically, but emotionally. And he could tell what cast the long shadow.

"Take me to Darius."

Kitsara seemed even more surprised by this than his unexpected decision to come visit. "You want to see him?"

"Yes."

Kitsara accepted his words without bringing up any objections and led them in. "He’ll be happy to see you.

Inside, the air was thick with sorrow and lingering magic.

At the center of the room, a familiar, wool-haired woman knelt beside a bed. The Sheep Queen’s gentle form trembled as tears ran silently down her cheeks. She pressed glowing hands to her beloved’s chest, whispering desperate healing spells again and again... but the energy recoiled every time. Black magic sparked and spat from the wound sites due to being probed.

"It’s no use," she sobbed. "Even after all these months... the curse refuses to lift. The healing won’t take. It forbids healing..."

"Stop blaming yourself," came a low, gruff voice from the bed. "You did everything you could. This is just what happens when you fight dark mages. You bring some of it home."

On the opposite side, three more women—Darius’ dogkin wives—stood silently, their expressions a mix of worry and helplessness. Their eyes lit up ever so slightly when they saw Kitsara enter, but dimmed again when they followed her gaze toward the ruined limbs of their loving husband.

Darius was still himself, even in this state. One arm gone past the elbow. One leg gone at the knee. Burned, blackened stumps remained, barely held together by old stabilizing wards. A rotting trace of corrupted magic lingered around the wounds.

As soon as Darius saw Quinlan, he perked up with a grin.

"Well, look who crawled back from his vacation," he rasped, sitting up straighter despite the pain. "I thought maybe you finally ran off from my sister. Can’t say I’d blame you, Kitsara is certainly a handful! Bahaha!"

Kitsara promptly stepped forward and smacked him on the forehead. "Shut it, you rude fucker."

"See? Proof!" Darius laughed again, though the sound was raspier this time. "You handle her with gloves. I get violence."

Quinlan let out a small chuckle. Even with all his injuries, Darius was still Darius. Too proud to let misery take the spotlight.

"You’re not here to return her, are you?" Darius asked, raising a brow. "Because I swear if this is some kind of apology tour, I’ll shove a fork into my one working knee." ℞𝐀Ｎ𝙤ＢÈ𝘚

"Don’t even joke about something like that. Kitsara is mine. She’ll stay mine until the end of time."

Darius let out a booming laugh. "That’s correct because we offer no refunds!"

Soon, Quinlan’s smile faded as he glanced at the missing limbs.

"Dark magic’s still in there, huh?" he said, voice lowering. "What about prosthetics? Even if healing’s off the table?"

"Tried," Darius sighed, face darkening. "They fall off. Rejected like bad meat. Some sort of curse is lingering in the stumps. Nothing attaches for long."

Quinlan didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his pocket ring and pulled out two gleaming prosthetics.

Gasps filled the room.

The arm was forged from deep azure steel etched with crimson veins—Water and Fire magic hummed within it, pulsing with lifelike rhythm. Elegant, yet dangerous.

The leg was a blend of greenstone alloy and polished grey steel, the Wind and Earth magic braided perfectly within its structure. When he moved it, a subtle breeze stirred the floor.

Both were Epic-tier constructs.

Darius stared with his brows raised. "What are these?"

"They’re for you."

"You heard us say prosthetics don’t work, right? These look pretty, but they’ll fall off just like the rest."

Quinlan didn’t reply. He simply stepped forward, took the prosthetic arm, and pressed it to Darius’ cursed stump.

The necrotic magic recoiled violently.

Everyone tensed.

But Quinlan didn’t flinch. His energy surged.

The fire and water in the prosthetic burned and cleansed simultaneously. Black sparks sputtered out as the curse tried to reject it.

And then... it clicked.

The arm attached.

Locked into place like it had always belonged. No surgery was required

Darius looked down at it, stunned. "You’ve got to be kidding me..."

Quinlan then pressed the prosthetic leg to the matching stump.

Again, the corruption flared.

But the leg’s built-in earth anchored it while wind softened the backlash.

And then... snap.

It attached.

Perfectly.

The prince of the Dogkin stared down at himself, his mouth half-open.

"... Bro. Bro, bro, bro?!"

Quinlan just smirked as Darius stared at the prosthetics as if they were dreams forged into metal and magic. Then the shock shattered into exhilaration. Pure, unfiltered joy exploded across his face as he flexed his fingers, then curled them into a fist. The fingers responded immediately. The leg shifted next, rising. He put it down. Then lifted it again.

A laugh burst out of him.

A booming, belly-deep laugh.

"HAHAHA! Look at this! Look at this!"

The Dogkin prince began moving, wobbling at first before adapting quickly. He paced in circles, laughing louder with every step, then raised both arms like a victorious warrior. "I’m BACK BABY!"

His wives, who had been silently watching the miracle taking place before their very eyes, gasped, then clapped, and finally cried out in joy.

They rushed to him, hugging his sides, touching the arm, the leg, as if it might vanish if they didn’t hold it in place. But it didn’t. It was real. Their strong, prideful husband, who had pretended to be okay for their sake, was truly happy for the first time since the battle.

"How?" one of them asked breathlessly.

"Is it really safe now?"

"How?!" another repeated in utter disbelief.

Quinlan didn’t answer directly. Instead, he reached behind him and grabbed Kaelira by the wrist, gently pulling her to his side.

"This brilliant elf right here... we made it happen together. At the risk of sounding way too cheesy, I guess the two of us are something like miracle workers now."

Kaelira blinked in surprise, then beamed from ear to ear.

In truth, it had been days’ worth of trial and error. Sleepless nights, extreme chiding by Rykar, near fainting from exhaustion multiple times.

In reality, their first creation, the gauntlet, was a pure stroke of luck. Many of the following creations failed, or even those that hadn’t been outright destroyed in the crafting process (mostly due to Quinlan striking the items Kaelira produced with so much strength one might think they were filthy thieves trying to steal his precious gold) came out only as rare rarity, or worse.

All that is to say, they produced countless failed prototypes and enchantments that melted, cracked, or simply dissolved upon contact with necrotic magic.

Where did they get such a thing from? Sugar Momm- Lady Black Fang, of course. Vex asked her to give Quinlan one of the imprisoned Covenant of Eternity mages the Consortium had on hand.

In the end, Quinlan found the answer: his own mana, and just the right amount of it. As the only rightful Necromancer in the universe and the current Primordial Villain, they came to the realization that his magical essence resonated with the dark energies in a unique way.

When applied just the right amount, his mana overpowered the necrotic energies of the Corpse Animator-classed ex-necromancer. This wasn’t something that could be used in combat, however, as it needed true clinical precision as well as a great deal of trial and error. Furthermore, the mage had to be willing to play along as in not move or cast new spells, or do anything to counter Quinlan’s probing.

But in the end, what mattered was that they succeeded. The prosthetics weren’t just artifacts; they were partially attuned to him. That imprint gave them the resistance needed to fight back the cursed residue.

Not enough to resist true dark spells. But enough to overwhelm the lingering taint.