Deep beneath the Himalayan fortress, where no light had ever been permitted to exist naturally, Zhao Xun finished his nightly "cultivation."
The chamber was a perfect circle of black marble veined with crimson. In the center: a ritual altar of fused bone and ether-crystal. Fifty-one girls—ages fourteen to nineteen, all carefully selected from fringe-zone orphanages and black-market slave caravans—lay chained in concentric rings around it. Their academy uniforms or ragged civilian clothes were torn to ribbons. Blood pooled between their thighs, mixed with thick white rivulets that still dripped from swollen, ruined entrances.
The air reeked of sex, terror, and the copper-sweet scent of stolen virginity.
At the very center, the fifty-first girl—barely fifteen, small for her age, doe-eyed and trembling—sobbed uncontrollably. Her wrists were raw from the manacles. Her legs had been forced so wide for so long that the joints had dislocated hours ago.
Zhao Xun stood over her, naked, skin glowing faintly with absorbed life-essence.
He was twenty-two, beautiful in the way only pure evil can be: porcelain skin, long silver hair cascading like moonlight, eyes the color of fresh blood. His body was sculpted perfection—every muscle carved by the screams of the girls who had fed him.
His SSS-rank talent, unique even among the ancient Zhao bloodline, had a simple, profane name:
[Twin Harvester of Purity and Despair]
- Passive: Every virgin's first penetration grants permanent stat growth proportional to her suffering.
- Active: "Reap Essence" – forcibly extract life force, talent fragments, and future potential through climax.
- Hidden: The more she begs, the sweeter the harvest.
He had just finished with number fifty-one.
She had begged beautifully.
"Please… I'm only fifteen… I've never… don't—don't put it in—!"
He had smiled, parted her untouched folds with cruel fingers, and driven in to the hilt in one savage thrust.
Her hymen tore like wet paper. Her scream was high and animal. Blood sprayed across his abdomen as he pinned her hips and rutted like a beast in heat—deep, punishing strokes that slammed against her cervix until she blacked out, woke up again, and blacked out a second time.
When he came, he didn't pull out.
He triggered Reap Essence at the exact moment of climax.
Her body arched, eyes rolling white. A visible river of golden-pink light—her purity, her potential, her very future—poured from her womb into his cock, up his spine, and exploded behind his eyes like liquid ecstasy.
[+47 Strength | +52 Agility | +39 Vitality | +1 Hidden Stat: Cruelty]
[Level +11 → Level 147]
[Talent Fragment absorbed: C-rank Healing Affinity (degraded to slave-brand)]
He withdrew with a wet pop. A torrent of blood and semen gushed from her gaping, ruined entrance.
She collapsed beside the other fifty—some unconscious, some catatonic, some still twitching and sobbing in broken little whimpers.
Zhao Xun wiped himself on her torn skirt, already bored.
A soft chime.
His personal communicator—encrypted, blood-bound, unreachable by anyone outside the clan's inner circle.
The maid's voice, trembling with awe and fear:
"Young Master Xun… the Elders have summoned you. Emergency conclave. The devil-contract girl—she… she destroyed Sublevel 4. She named us next."
The holo-message projected above his wrist: grainy footage of Xia Rou emerging from the burning detention tomb, faces of the damned writhing on her armor, her voice cold and clear:
"Next—the fucking Zhao family. Root and branch."
Zhao Xun watched it once.
Then again.
Then a third time, zooming in on her eyes—those inverted burning crosses.
And he laughed.
Not a sane laugh.
A sound like glass dragged across graves, like children screaming in wells, like the wet tear of flesh giving way.
He threw his head back and howled with laughter until the chamber shook, until the chained girls flinched and pissed themselves in fresh terror.
"She thinks… she thinks she can touch us?"
His voice dropped to a lover's whisper, tender and obscene. "Some filthy, raped little cunt who sold her soul to that dead devil whore Ling… wants to play exterminator with the Zhao?"
Killing intent poured out of him—literal, visible, solid.
The air turned to black ice.
The temperature plummeted fifty degrees in a heartbeat.
The blood on the floor froze mid-drip.
The sobbing girls' breath crystallized in their lungs; several choked and died on the spot, frost blooming across their naked skin like obscene flowers.
Zhao Xun's shadow swelled, splitting into hundreds of clawed tendrils that lashed the walls, carving the Zhao crest deeper into the stone with every strike.
His eyes bled pure crimson.
"Let her come," he purred, licking a drop of frozen virgin blood from his thumb. "I'll chain her next to these used-up toys. I'll keep her alive for years. Every day I'll take her virginity again—rip it out of her soul and grow it back with devil magic, just so I can steal it anew."
He stepped over the corpses and the dying, cock already hardening again at the thought.
"Tell the Elders I'm on my way."
As he walked naked through the corridors, maids and guards dropped to their knees, heads pressed to the floor, not daring to look up as the temperature death-field followed him like a cloak.
Behind him, the chamber's automatic disposal system activated—furnaces opening beneath the altar, dragging the fifty-one broken bodies into cleansing fire.
Zhao Xun never looked back.
In his mind, only one image now:
Xia Rou on her knees, begging the way girl number fifty-one had begged, while he harvested her essence one screaming orgasm at a time.
The Zhao Clan had found their new blade.
And the blade was hungry.