Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

Quinlan didn't need the stars to shine that night.

Because all of his light stood right in front of him.

He slowly turned his head, taking in the breathtaking sight of his women. His lovers, his strength, his heart.

On the far left stood Aurora.

She looked… different. Stunning, as always, but there was something more now. A regal air, subtle but undeniable. She wore a gorgeous evening gown of deep violet and silver. It hugged her feminine curves in a way that was elegant rather than provocative, sophisticated rather than coy.

Quinlan tilted his head, confused a bit. "Since when did my soft little plump princess start dressing like a mature lady?"

Aurora's cheeks reddened just a bit as she registered his words and glanced down at herself. But then she composed herself. "I gave it a lot of thought while you were away. And… I've decided to stop playing the 'daddy's girl.'"

That made him blink.

She continued, her voice steadier, more mature than what he was used to hearing from her, especially outside the battlefield. "I want to be your wife, your alchemist, your enchanter, and that's it. I want to stand next to you as a woman, not hide beneath childish affection. I'm done playing games."

Then, softer—a bit shyly—she added, "I'll talk to Rosie too. I'll ask her to accept me as her mother, instead of her sister. It's time."

Quinlan stared at her for a moment, taken aback. So much of Aurora's identity had once been wrapped up in her neediness, her hunger for protection. But now…

Now her eyes burned with something else entirely: mature, confident desire. A longing not to be kept safe, but to be seen, and taken seriously.

He stepped forward, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. "You look absolutely stunning, but it is your confident voice that is honestly making me fall for you all over again… I'm happy to support your decision, Aurora."

Aurora only beamed in response.

Before he could say more, something shifted in the air.

A ripple of dark romance, twisted and beautiful.

His eyes were pulled away.

To her.

Vex.

Standing barefoot amidst softly glowing petals, she seemed less like a woman and more like an omen.

Her dress was a gothic bridal gown, stitched in deep black and crimson velvet. The corseted bodice hugged her otherworldly body firmly. A black lace veil covered her eyes in a storm of obsession.

Around her neck was a thorned choker, the syllable etched into its center pulsed with crimson light. It had only one meaning:

Devotion.

Vex's lips curved into a soft, manic smile as she stepped toward him, veil fluttering behind her. "Do you like it, hubby? Why are you only staring?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm… not sure I can even breathe…" Quinlan muttered with goosebumps crawling up and down his arms.

Vex's voice turned darker, velvet-smooth. "I call this the 'Blood-Stained Bride' dress… Because while our union might not be legally recognized… I've already married you, Quinlan. Not through ceremony or vow… but through death and obsession."

"This dress isn't pure white, because my devotion isn't innocent or untouched. It's stained with the absolute, uncompromising will to be yours, and yours alone. It means I would bleed for you, not just metaphorically, but literally, until my last breath."

Her eyes, pools of glowing ruby in the dim light, swirled with an intensity that bordered on madness, yet within that vortex was a tender, unwavering devotion that reached into the very depths of his soul. They fixated on him, a silent, burning promise of absolute claim. It wasn't just desire; it was a sweet, all-consuming possessiveness that said, you are mine, utterly, completely, and nothing will ever change that. Every flicker of crimson light in her gaze seemed to whisper of forever, a soft, loving threat.

She continued, not done just yet. "And if that final drop of blood were to fall upon this very fabric, it would only serve as the deepest, most sacred seal of our bond. I would welcome the crimson bloom, for it would mark me as irrevocably yours: a bride consecrated not by a priest, but by my own spilled blood, dedicated to your every whim, your every need. There is no line I wouldn't cross, no price I wouldn't pay, to remain forever bound to you."

Quinlan only stared without so much as a blink.

"Hehe!" Vex giggled happily at his stunned silence and rubbed her arm sheepishly, her tone turning just a hair nervous. "Too much?"

He exhaled a slow breath. "I've just finished fighting a god, faced death numerous times, and survived ancient trials. But you, Vex… you're the one who actually terrifies me. But not. There's no such thing as 'too much' when it comes to the women I love."

She grinned wider. "Good."

Then her voice dipped low, sultry again. "Because after tonight, you'll be mine in more ways than one."

Quinlan swallowed. Hard.

He was in danger.

Beautiful, yandere danger.

Just as Quinlan began to recover from the blood-soaked wedding vow that had left his soul tingling, his sight was stolen again.

"Don't select me!"

The voice was sharp. Panicked.

Quinlan raised an amused brow as the voice continued, "No, seriously! Pick anyone else!"

Too late.

His gaze naturally, unerringly drifted to her.

Lucille.

The caramel-haired warrior-mom let out a long, theatrical sigh the moment she saw his elemental eyes lock onto her.

"I knew it…" she muttered, as if the divine themselves had personally plotted against her. "I just knew I was going to be next."

Quinlan tilted his head. "What's the issue, exactly?"

Lucille pointed a dramatic finger at Vex, who was still quietly glowing in her gothic bridal madness.

"You just had to pick me after 'that,' didn't you?" she huffed. "After Miss Turbo-Obsessed Blood Bride delivered a performance worthy of a haunted opera stage, now I get dragged in next? She had glowy eyes, death vows, and an outfit stitched by the devil's personal tailor! How the hell am I supposed to follow that?"

Quinlan blinked. Then burst into laughter, sharp and delighted.

"Oh, come on," he managed to get out between chuckles. "you're Lucille. You could show up in a bedsheet and still leave me speechless."

"Is that so…" Lucille muttered under her breath before another long sigh left her lips. Then, her expression shifted. "Since you very evidently love calling me your 'Throat GOAT,' I decided to just embrace it, take it seriously. You like that term so much? Fine, then I'll own it with a proud smile for my beloved husband."

She stepped forward at last.

And what a step it was.

Lucille's outfit was… shameless. Absolutely shameless.

She wore a custom-tailored goat-themed lingerie costume, designed to make sinful priests cry. Curled ram horns crowned her head and a tight choker hugged her throat, its little golden bell jingling with each step she took, though the real kicker was the inscription on the band, printed in delicate cursive:

Professional Seed Extractor

Matching thigh-high leather boots emphasized her long, beautiful legs, while a cute, fuzzy tail bobbed behind her butt. A small silk ribbon was tied around one inner thigh. On it, with delicate and bold letters:

For my Devil.