My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 402: Void Dagger

The blade was of an absolute nothing given lethal form —black as the deepest abyss, so dark it seemed to swallow the violet light around it. Along both edges ran a razor-thin line of glacial white-blue ice, sharper than any scalpel, sharper than any surgeon’s tool ever forged.

The cutting edge looked almost translucent, like frozen starlight, so keen that it split the very air molecules as it formed; faint violet sparks danced along the edge where reality itself was being shaved away.

The cold that bled from it was worse than pain —it was absence. Wherever the tip hovered, skin promised to blister and freeze black in seconds, the flesh dying before the blade even touches.

The hilt was elegant and cruel: twisted black frost shaped perfectly to Phei’s grip, veined with faint glacial blue, cold enough to burn bare skin on contact. Tiny black-ice barbs jutted from the pommel, ready to hook and tear if he ever chose to pull it free — or if he chose to twist them deeper.

Phei turned the dagger slowly in his fingers, admiring it, still humming —the melody now drawn out, savoring each note like the anticipation of a kill.

Anderson saw it first.

His eye bulged until the veins burst. A high, wet, gurgling sound tore from his ruined throat —not words, just pure, mindless horror.

Because he understood.

This wasn’t a trick. This wasn’t strength or money or family power.

This was supernatural.

The legacies had always been told they were the chosen ones —that one day their blood would awaken, that they would become something greater than human. They had waited for it, bragged about it, tortured others in anticipation of the day they would finally ascend.

But they were still only human.

And Phei… Phei was already something else.

Zack’s head lolled sideways. When he saw the dagger hovering inches above Anderson’s chest, his entire broken body began to convulse in silent, piss-soaked panic. He tried to crawl— dragging his shattered, dislocated limbs across the marble in pathetic, jerking spasms.

The broken ends of his femurs scraped against bone, grinding with wet, sickening crunches every time he tried to push forward. His fingers —crushed to paste —scrabbled uselessly, nails torn off, leaving bloody streaks.

He made it perhaps six inches before collapsing again, face-down in his own filth, sobbing through the ruin of his mouth.

Aiden — the last to see — let out a single, choked sob that turned into a high-pitched keening wail. His eyes rolled back, then snapped forward again, locked on the impossible black blade. Tears mixed with blood on his pulped cheeks as the final, crushing realization sank in:

They had tortured, drugged, and tried to rape the girl belonging to a dragon.

And that dragon was kneeling between them with a smile on his lips and a dagger made of pure Void-Ice in his hand.

Then Phei laughed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t cruel in the human way.

It was a Void’s chuckle — low, rolling, ancient, the sound of empty space laughing at the fragility of flesh. It vibrated through the frozen air like the death-rattle of a dying star, making the black frost on the walls thicken and crackle.

The laugh slid into their ears and straight into their souls, colder than the dagger, deeper than any pain they had already endured.

He let it linger, drawing it out until the echoes themselves seemed to mock their broken forms.

Eira hovered a few feet behind him, wings frozen mid-flutter.

She watched her Master’s face — the faint, serene smile, the glacial white ringing his amethyst eyes, the way the black frost now clung to him like living armour — and felt something ancient inside her tighten.

This was the dangerous mode.

The one she had sensed coming for ten long past years she’d watched after she awakened.

Ten years of suppression. Ten years of restraint.

Then it watching him build a new life, piece by careful piece, while the old rage simmered beneath the ice.

This wasn’t about revenge for the last ten years… that would come when it was due.

For today… this was ownership.

They had dared to touch what was his.

Everything else — the betrayals, the isolation, the slow erosion of everything he once was — it only fueled this. The audacity of laying hands on Emily, on David, on the fragile new world he had begun to carve for himself… that was the spark.

The rest was fuel.

Eira’s crystalline body shimmered once. She made no move to intervene. No chirp of warning. No flutter of wings to distract him.

She simply watched.

She had no intention of stopping him now.

Phei’s amethyst eyes — now ringed completely in glacial white — flicked from one broken face to the next. He could see the exact moment the truth hit them: the dawning, soul-crushing terror that they had never been the apex predators.

They had only been prey waiting for the real monster to notice them.

He lowered the dagger until the tip hovered a fraction of an inch above between Anderson’s chest, his sternum.

The cold radiating from the blade made the skin there blacken and blister instantly, a perfect circle of frostbite blooming outward — slow, creeping, like ink spreading through paper. Phei held it there, unmoving, letting the necrosis deepen, watching the black spread millimeter by millimeter while Anderson’s chest heaved in shallow, panicked bursts.

Phei’s voice was soft, almost loving, perfectly in rhythm with the cold melody in his ears.

“Now… let’s make sure you never forget who I am.”

He pressed the tip down — not plunging, but easing it in with exquisite slowness, fraction by fraction, savoring the way flesh parted without resistance, the way the black ice kissed nerve endings before freezing them solid.

The dagger sank into flesh like cutting through warm butter — but Phei made it last, twisting ever so slightly at each inch, forcing the blade to grind against ribs that cracked audibly under the supernatural chill.

Frost spiderwebbed outward from the wound, veins blackening as the cold raced through blood, turning it to slush inside living tissue.

“HHHAAAAAHHH!” The scream that tore from Anderson’s throat was the sound of a soul being unmade — raw, endless, rising in pitch until it cracked into something inhuman, a keening that vibrated through the frozen room.

Phei paused halfway in, blade buried to the hilt’s midpoint, and simply held it there — letting the Void do its slow work: freezing lungs from the inside, crystallizing heart muscle beat by agonizing beat, forcing Anderson to feel every cell die while still conscious.

Phei tilted his head again, humming softer now, intimate, as if sharing a secret with the dying boy.

The dagger was only beginning its work.