Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

A figure stepped through the shattered doors.

He was tower‑tall, his frame hidden beneath tattered, coal‑black robes where tongues of molten light flickered through the seams like fire trying to escape a prison. Half‑erased constellations of some long‑forgotten language crawled across the fabric, pulsing in time with a heartbeat that did not belong to any mortal man.

Where a man should have had two arms, he possessed four. Each arm was sheathed in skin the color of tarnished gold, etched with deep crimson cracks that glowed from within.

When he stepped, he left no footprint—only molten glyphs that sizzled for an instant before vanishing. His hood was nothing but shadow, yet within it burned coal‑red eyes, akin to the last embers of a dying star, smoldering with ancient malice.

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A thin, cruel smile bent his lips.

“The remaining Sovereigns… and the Avatar,” he said, voice as silken as it was poisonous, each word vibrating in the bones of those who heard it. “All gathered together so neatly for me.”

His head tilted, and the halo above his head flared brighter, casting silhouettes of his four arms.

“Or is it truly luck?”

He laughed.

The laugh cracked stone, rattled qi formations, and drove a shiver through every heart present. Sovereigns leapt from the terrace, stances set, while dark elemental mist bled from the newcomer’s robe like smoke escaping a furnace long sealed.

God Venthros had arrived, and the arena itself seemed suddenly far too small to contain him.

Then came his shadows.

From behind the Invader, four figures stepped forth, each one exuding an aura of deep corruption, twisted elemental power, and utter devotion.

The first strode forward, barefoot, fire simmering across his skin. His arms were charred black and cracked like overburnt coal, leaking embers with every flex of his muscles. His eyes glowed red beneath a soot-streaked hood, and in his hand, he carried a blackened chain that smoked where it touched the air.

The second slithered beside him, her robes soaked and trailing wet footprints that hissed on contact with the ground. Her face was half-covered by a mask shaped like a weeping maiden. What showed beneath it was pale, waterlogged flesh, looking more like a drowned corpse than a living human woman. The smell of rot wafted around her as her watery qi pulsed like a stagnant swamp. A curved blade rested on her hip, dripping with dark sludge.

The third figure stomped forward slowly, each step shaking the earth. He was massive, like a walking mountain. His flesh resembled stone, grey and vein-ridden with pulsing black lines. A pair of stone gauntlets covered his fists, and behind him, a crude stone pillar rested across his back like a coffin. His eyes were not malicious but empty, hollow like a soul ground down to dust.

And the fourth floated in on a breeze that wasn’t there. Lean and shirtless, his skin was pale with a green tinge, and his limbs twitched erratically, like a marionette dangling from severed strings. His hair whipped about, driven by a wind only he could feel, and his voice was a broken giggle. Every movement sent slashes of wind qi lancing outward in erratic arcs. His eyes rolled once, then locked onto Quinlan.

Feng inhaled sharply. These weren’t mere cultivators. These were monsters.

The Invader extended a hand lazily.

“Meet my disciples. I took the liberty of… streamlining their path to greatness using my dominion over the Concept of Corruption. After all, the world always favors those who are willing to pay in blood.”

Each one of them bore the marks of accelerated cultivation, forced enlightenment, and the dark price paid in return. Their lives were shortened, their minds frayed. But their power was undeniable.

The Invader stepped forward once more.

“Now… Shall we begin?”

Rongtai grunted, making a thunderous sound that rippled through the air. Blood trickled from a crack along his temple, and his normally steady breath trembled. Yet, despite the pain that etched itself into every line of his ancient face, the Earth Sovereign planted his foot firmly and met the Invader’s gaze.

“So… this is the location where the world’s face shall be decided,” he muttered with a voice that was grave and rumbling.

He inhaled deeply, straightened, and gave a sharp, rising whistle.

A moment of silence passed.

Then…

*Boom!*

The arena exploded outward in a cloud of dust. Through it surged dozens of battle-scarred monks, robed in earthen hues, their faces calm, their qi harmonized like a single living organism. They poured in behind the Invader and his corrupted disciples, ready for battle.

“You’ll not stand alone, my lord!” one of them cried.

Then, with a gust of flame and wind, Serika appeared beside Quinlan, landing in a crouch.

She gripped his shoulder and pulled him up. “Are you alright?”

He barely heard her.

His mind wasn’t on the blood or the broken floor. It was locked on a single phrase that echoed in his skull, louder than the battle cries and war chants rising around him.

“Dominion over the Concept of Corruption.”

Quinlan’s gaze shifted to the towering figure at the center of it all, cloaked in flame and ruin, with that terrible, luminous halo behind his head.

He muttered aloud, disbelieving:

“Is this a god…?”

The words reached Venthros’ ears like honeyed praise.

The god tilted his head. “How curious… A mortal from this backwater world, speaking of gods and laws?”

The heat of this four-armed creature’s body curled the very air, showing his heightened interest. “Tell me. Who taught you such words?”

“I don’t owe answers to you,” he replied coldly. Then, a beat later, his eyes narrowed. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the soul raiders, the divine leeches who cross realms just to drain another world dry.”

That made Venthros laugh. Not a cruel laugh this time, but something delighted.

“Soul raiders… divine leeches… What a quaint vocabulary you possess. You speak like someone who’s seen beyond the veil.”

The god spread his arms wide, letting his corrupted disciples fan out around him.

“Very well. As a reward for amusing me, I’ll grace you with my name. I am God Venthros—once a Lesser God, steward of the Elemental Concept. But through the blessing of His Majesty, I have ascended. Now, I wield not just the elements, but the sacred Concept of Corruption… and stand as an Exalted God. And yes… I have come to claim this realm for myself, and for the glorious dominion of our faction.”

His voice turned cold.

“The Avatar, the Prophecy… none of it matters to me. I have no need for pawns or stories. Only surrender. You bow, you live. You resist, you die. You, little one… might be smart enough to choose survival.”

The arena held its breath.

Then Quinlan took a step forward.

His eyes were no longer confused. They were resolute.

“Then hear my reply, God Venthros.”

He raised one hand, with the elemental qi swirling in his open palm—fire, water, wind, earth—raw and untamed, coalescing around him like a rising storm.

“I, Quinlan Elysiar, the Primordial Villain, proclaim that the world of Zhenwu is under my protection from this moment on.”