Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 975: Primordial Desesecration

Sareth’s halberd came down on Quinlan like a guillotine.

“No!” Kitsara’s voice cracked with terror as she lunged forward.

“I won’t let you!” Vex roared, sprinting despite the blood gushing from her ruined eye and myriad other wounds.

“Master!!!” Blossom cried as she did her best to collect herself after the strike to her stomach by this level 68 monstrosity.

Even Feng, the girl in the low level 20s, who was barely conscious thanks to the sheer pressure emitted by their enemy, crawled toward Quinlan to shield him. “Don’t you dare touch him…”

But they were too late.

The halberd descended without awaiting their permission.

But suddenly, everything stopped. To Quinlan, time itself seemed to have slowed.

The hiss of steel pushing through air at breakneck speed dulled. The flash of emerald armor faded into a smear. The light itself seemed to hesitate.

It was not the world that froze.

It was him.

His perception widened, deepened, and sharpened. The war drum in his chest didn’t just echo anymore; it dictated the tempo of his very reality. His heart thundered again.

*BOOM!*

And with that sound came a change.

Inside his body, something ancient stirred. Not divine. Not elemental. Not even human.

Primordial.

His closed eyes did not see, but he felt.

He felt the fire that had obeyed him since his trial on Drakwyn, the scorched, dying world where he first learned to wield flame not as a tool but as a language.

He felt the water, gathered and shaped in defiance of a sealed core, forced into harmony by sheer will.

He felt the earth, sturdy and unmoving, earned through sweat and pain.

He felt the wind, elusive and wild, whose secrets he had chased through storms.

He had fought for every drop of elemental control he wielded.

Not in one realm.

But two.

Drakwyn.

Zhenwu.

And through two separate Primordial Trials at that.

Now, all of it responded.

Not as four elements.

But as one.

A deep, reverberating resonance bloomed inside him, like strings plucked from a grand cosmic instrument. Flame, Tide, Stone, and Gale curled together, threads in a greater design.

Not for destruction.

Not for expression.

Not for balance.

But for a breakthrough.

Quinlan’s breath slowed. His heart pounded.

The next beat would not be normal.

The next beat would be revolt.

*BOOM!*

The sound wasn’t just heard; it was felt by every single person present. It reverberated through their flesh and bones.

A ripple of force exploded out from Quinlan’s heart. The air within the 25-meter suppression field twisted, convulsed, and then…

Shattered.

A ring of prismatic shockwave exploded outward, invisible to most, yet undeniable in presence. Sareth’s eyes widened for the first time, a flicker of human alarm breaking her perfect mask of control.

“This is… impossible,” she muttered.

She felt it.

Her command over the battlefield, her [Absolute Prohibition], the prison of reality she had forged to deny all spellcasting, flight, phasing, and hope was cracking right before her very eyes.

Because something ancient and beyond her comprehension had decided it would.

Quinlan’s heart beat once more.

And revolt was made manifest.

His breath exhaled slowly as four auras ignited around him. There was no spell circle, no chant, not even a gesture.

Fire surged up his back like wings of fiery gold.

Water rippled through his blood, every cell becoming an arcane river.

Stone clenched beneath his feet, the very ground bowing to his form.

Wind spiraled at his sides, drawing in, sharpening, humming with hunger.

He didn’t need to cast a spell because as the Harbinger of Aeons…

He was the spell.

The elements no longer obeyed him. Instead, they followed him, as limbs follow the body.

This was not casting.

This was being.

Sareth’s halberd had almost reached his neck.

Almost.

*FWOOOOOOOM!*

From point-blank range, an elemental detonation erupted around Quinlan.

Not fire, not water, not earth, not wind.

But a force that was the combination of all of them.

Merged. Twisted. Transcendent.

A singularity of primal chaos, molded by pure will and a singular command:

Break. Her. Domain.

The impact was cataclysmic.

The [Absolute Prohibition] field fractured like glass under an earthquake. Glyphs burned out of existence. The chains on the walls snapped and retracted. Magic, long-suffocated, roared back to life in the lungs of every ally.

And Sareth,

The Monster of Verdant Ash,

Was blown backward as if a meteor struck her chest.

She slammed through a support pillar, tore a crater across the stone floor, and tumbled end-over-end until she slammed into the wall, half-buried in rubble.

Smoke hissed from her armor. Blood ran down one side of her face. Her halberd had skittered across the ground, several meters out of reach.

And at the center of the destroyed domain…

Quinlan stood.

One arm missing.

Covered in blood.

A goddamn tempest in human form.

His eyes opened at last.

He turned to regard the saber that lay discarded on the ground next to his chopped-off arm.

With a thought, he called it.

The blade jerked once, then lifted, no longer bound by distance, obeying not gravity but him. It hovered through the air, then settled neatly into his off-hand. He twirled it once, twice, testing its new weight. Naturally, with a strict and thorough sword teacher like Ayame, he’d been training swordsmanship with his off hand as well for these exact scenarios.

A big grin slowly emerged on his lips as he observed Sareth’s form.

“Permission this, permission that… I hate being told what I can and can’t do.”

With no more words, no more delay, he moved.

The floor cracked under the launch of his step as [Elemental Stance: Gale] surged to life again, wind folding around his legs and vaulting him forward like a bullet.

Fire flared along his saber. Water spiraled in a tightening coil around the blade’s edge. Earth braced his steps. He wasn’t an elemental martial artist now. He wasn’t an elemental mage.

He was a storm in pursuit of an execution.

But Sareth Greenvale was no stepping stone.

Half-buried in stone, armor dented, face streaked with blood… None of that mattered to a monster of her caliber.

She moved, exploding out of the rubble with brutal spin, reclaiming her halberd in a single seamless motion as she deflected Quinlan’s opening barrage of spells.

A flaming spear of compressed fire: parried.

A blade of condensed wind pressure: redirected with a punch of her gauntlet.

A strike of water-infused saber: blocked with the haft of her weapon, showering the air in sparks.

*CLANG! CLANG! SHK-KRAAAANG!*

Sparks flew. Rubble lifted. Magic became wild again. But even with her domain broken, Sareth was still an opponent who was more than worthy of Quinlan’s absolute respect. Her strength hadn’t vanished. It had just been unchained from her suppression tactics.

And now, she fought at full power as a direct combatant, not a crowd-control type of fighter.

A twirl of her body resulted in a mighty spinning kick that sent Quinlan sliding back, though he materialized a whole mountain of rock so that he wouldn’t be kicked all the way to the opposite wall.

Even when she landed a strike on Quinlan that required him to collect himself for a few moments, she didn’t get to breathe or press the advantage.