My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 403: Face… Dick… Or One Hand?

Phei pressed the tip of the Void dagger into Anderson’s sternum — just deep enough to part the skin and let a single bead of blood well up, black and steaming in the arctic air.

He left it there for a long, deliberate heartbeat… then another… then a third, watching the bead freeze solid mid-fall before it could drip.

The absence-cold radiated inward like liquid night, numbing nerves only to reignite them in white-hot frostbite agony seconds later. Anderson’s chest heaved in shallow, panicked bursts, each breath dragging razor shards of ice through his lungs.

Only then did Phei withdraw the blade with a slow, wet, sucking sound — prolonging the pull so the frozen flesh clung and tore in thin, crystalline threads.

Anderson’s body convulsed like a dying fish on a hook, spine arching so violently the few intact vertebrae ground audibly.

A high, gurgling wail tore from his ruined throat — “GHHHAAAAAHHH!” — raw and endless, rising into a keening that cracked the frost on the nearest wall.

He tried to crawl away, dragging his shattered, dislocated limbs across the marble like a broken insect.

His crushed fingers scrabbled uselessly, nails torn off, leaving long, bloody smears that froze almost instantly into crimson ice; his dislocated hips ground bone against bone with every pathetic inch he gained, the jagged ends of his femurs scraping and tearing through muscle in wet, grinding screeches.

Fresh skin split wider with each convulsion, exposing raw pink beneath blackened frostbite.

Zack and Aiden joined the frenzy — three mangled, half-naked legacies desperately trying to flee on bodies that no longer obeyed them.

Joints popped and reset only to dislocate again; bones scraped and splintered further with every thrash; piss and blood streaked behind them in long, glistening, steaming trails that froze into grotesque red-black sculptures on the marble.

Their broken limbs flopped and dragged, skin splitting wider with every convulsion, yet they kept trying — sobbing, keening, minds shattered by the knowledge that they were prey to something far beyond human.

Zack’s crushed hands slapped uselessly at the floor, each impact sending jolts of fresh agony up nerves that should have been dead. Aiden’s pulped mouth worked in silent prayers, tears freezing on his cheeks into tiny glassy beads before they shattered with the next sob.

Phei’s laugh rolled out again — that low, void chuckle, ancient and empty, the sound of deep space finding something amusing.

Eira hovered behind him, wings perfectly still. She watched her Master’s serene, almost gentle

expression and felt the shift.

They had dared to touch what was his.

Phei stepped forward, still humming, and grabbed Anderson by the hair. He yanked the boy’s head up sharply, forcing the ruined face toward the ceiling. Anderson’s eye rolled in terror, mouth working soundlessly around shattered teeth, tongue lolling black from frostbite.

Phei released his hair. Anderson’s head dropped and bounced hard off the marble with a wet crack, fresh blood spraying from his nose and split lips, freezing into red icicles mid-air.

Before the boy could even whimper, Phei seized the hair again, wrenching the head higher — slower this time, savoring the stretch of scalp, the pop of neck vertebrae straining.

His voice was soft, almost tender, perfectly in time with the icy melody in his ears.

“Choose, Anderson.Face… dick… or one hand?”

Anderson’s eye bulged until the veins burst in a spray of red. He understood. He screamed — a wet, gurgling, animal sound that rose into a high, broken wail — “NOOOO—PLEASE—ANYTHING—!”

He begged, pleaded, promised anything and everything: his father’s money, his mother’s influence, his own soul, eternal loyalty, names of people who would pay, who would kill Phei, who would make him suffer for centuries.

His mangled mouth flapped uselessly, blood and spit flying, head thrashing as much as the ruined neck would allow, ruined limbs flopping and scraping against the floor in helpless spasms, each movement tearing new muscle and grinding bone dust into open wounds.

Phei didn’t hear a single syllable.

He only saw the terror — and drank it in.

Didn’t feel good when you’re the one helpless, did it?

He pointed the black blade at Anderson’s forehead first, letting the glacial edge hover so close the skin blistered, peeled, and turned black in seconds — then held it there longer, watching the necrosis creep outward in slow, creeping rings while Anderson’s remaining eye tracked the spreading death in helpless fascination.

Then he lowered it to the boy’s exposed, shrivelled cock — now twitching in pure fear.

The cold radiating from the tip made the skin blacken instantly, the flesh shrinking and dying before the blade even touched; tiny frost crystals bloomed along the shaft like obscene flowers.

Phei tilted the dagger, letting the flat of the blade brush the underside — just enough to send a jolt of arctic agony racing up nerves, making Anderson’s hips buck involuntarily despite the shattered pelvis.

Finally, he moved the dagger to Anderson’s left hand, pressing the tip against the already-crushed fingers until they smoked and the bones beneath began to freeze solid, cracking like glass under pressure.

He twisted the blade minutely — not cutting, just grinding cold deeper — forcing the boy to feel every phalanx crystallize and splinter from within.

Anderson thrashed harder, sobbing, begging, promising, screaming names, threats, prayers — all of it lost in the cold melody playing in Phei’s ears.

Phei smiled, still humming — the smile of someone who had already decided long before the first scream.

“Since you and Brett like eating each other’s asses so much,” he said softly, almost conversationally, “your dick won’t be much of a loss anyway.”

He grabbed Anderson’s hair with his free hand, yanking the head back and aligning the face perfectly upward, tilting it so the forehead faced the ceiling like a sacrificial offering.

He held it there, letting the strain build in the ruined neck until fresh pops echoed from vertebrae.

Anderson realized what was coming. His eye went wide with soul-deep, animal horror.

A fresh, high-pitched keening tore from his throat — raw, guttural, the sound of a man watching his own face being erased with surgical calm — “NO—GOD NO—NOT MY FACE—PLEASE—!”

“What? You want me to cut your dick, instead? It’s useless since you swing the other way now. I want something that is still useful to you.” Phei pressed the Void dagger to the exact centre of Anderson’s forehead.

The blade bit in — slowly, deliberately, not plunging but easing forward millimeter by millimeter, savoring the way skin parted without resistance, the way bone resisted for one exquisite heartbeat before yielding with a faint, crystalline crack.

Frost raced outward from the entry point in fractal veins, blackening flesh, freezing blood mid-flow, turning muscle to brittle glass. Anderson’s scream rose into something inhuman — a continuous, throat-shredding “AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEE—!” that vibrated through the room, echoing off ice-covered walls.

Phei paused halfway through the first inch, blade embedded but motionless, letting the Void do its patient work: numbing, then burning, then unmaking layer by layer while Anderson remained horribly conscious, feeling every cell die in slow motion.

He tilted his head, humming softer, intimate, as if sharing the agony like a secret.

The others watched — frozen in their own broken bodies — knowing their turn would be slower still.