Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1594 Primordial Fury

Chapter 1594  Primordial Fury

The warmth left him.

It happened between one heartbeat and the next. The fingers in Rosie’s hair went still. The arm around Vex stopped moving. The body that had been settling into Ayame’s lap turned rigid, every muscle locking at once, and the air in the room changed.

Seraphiel’s healing magic stuttered. The golden warmth that had been tracing his ribs met something underneath that pushed back, cold and dense, older than anything in her class repertoire.

Quinlan sat up.

“Tell me about Black Fang.”

Vex recovered first. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and the crying stopped like a door closing.

“I wanted to believe she’d managed to escape, but… Orianna explained that with the final spell she cast, that’s unlikely. [Ouroboros: Endless Hunger] is a self-taunt. Once it’s active, it demands blood. She would’ve fought to the very end.”

She swallowed.

“But Orianna believes she’s alive. With the slave collars the dwarves had on hand, Black Fang is worth far more breathing than dead. She’s one of the strongest fighters on the continent, and she knows intimate details about us. Our locations, our abilities, our numbers.” Vex’s red gaze was flat now. “They’d collar her.”

Beside him, Ayame flinched.

It was small. A tightening across her shoulders, her fingers pressing into the fabric of her pants. A year in a slave house basement, chained and collared. The memory lived in her body in places she couldn’t reach, and the word “collar” dragged it to the surface every single time.

She’d made the call to leave Black Fang behind. Her elder sister. And now that sister might be in similar chains to what Ayame had worn, and even worse, forced to sell out the people she cared about.

“We’ve already been preparing countermeasures.” Her voice was level. Second-in-command mode, burying it all underneath. “If they try to use what she knows to come here, we have layers of defenses. On top of that, Yoruha’s illusions are still in place over the territory. Even if Black Fang is aware of them, she can’t guide the enemy past an age old Nine-Tailed Sorceress’s work.”

“Father…” Rosie’s small voice came from beside him. Her amber gaze was wet, worried, and bracing for disappointment. “When we departed from the battlefield, I spent everything I had. I couldn’t track what happened to Miss Black Fang. I don’t know what happened to her, or where she is…”

Quinlan listened. To Vex laying out the tactical reality of a woman he cared about being either dead or chained and used. To Ayame discussing her own sister’s capture and its repercussions through gritted teeth. To Rosie apologizing for losing the trail, bracing for blame that would never come.

And with every word, the thing inside him grew.

Quinlan’s fists closed. The reconstructed fingers obeyed, grinding together, the tendons Seraphiel had spent four hours reattaching pulling taut against joints that hadn’t finished healing. Blood welled between his knuckles where the fragile tissue split. He didn’t feel it. The fury had swallowed everything smaller than itself, and pain was very, very small right now.

It pressed outward from his chest in waves that came from a place deeper than mana. The air in the room thickened. The temperature dropped, degree by degree, until Rosie’s breath came out in faint wisps and the moisture on Vex’s cheeks went cold. The shadows in the corners deepened.

Primordial fury. Older than mortals, older than even the oldest undead.

Despite her instincts telling her to, Seraphiel didn’t step back. Her hands moved to his, golden light pushing into his bleeding knuckles, trying to hold the man together who seemed so intent on ripping himself apart.

She’d healed him hundreds of times. She knew his body better than her own.

But something was different.

Wrong.

Beneath the damaged tissue and the mana, something was awake that hadn’t been there before. It moved through him like a second pulse, hot and ugly, older than anything her class had ever touched.

Every cell in his body was humming with it. This was not rage… Rage was an emotion, and emotions lived in the mind. This lived in his blood, his bones, his marrow. It was woven into the architecture of what he was, and it was screaming.

The three women said nothing.

Quinlan’s gaze swept the room once, then stilled. He was looking at them and past them at the same time, his eyes fixed on something none of them could see.

His lips parted.

The voice that left him was deep and monstrous, stripped of every trace of the man these women knew within the warmth of their home.

“They will burn.”

Ayame’s hand found his chest.

Her palm was cool against the heat pouring off his skin. She pressed gently, the way she’d done before when the raging bull in him needed reining in.

“Quin.” Her voice was careful. “We can’t rush this. We need to be smart about what comes next.” Her crystal blue gaze searched his. “My sister is the most badass woman alive. She’s not the kind to keel over and give up.”

A pause. “That’s why we can’t waste the chance she gave us. If we rush back in now, tired and injured, we’ll only find ourselves surrounded by overwhelming odds once again. All of it will be for nothing. Her sacrifice, wasted.”

Ayame was bracing for heat. For the fury to snap at her, wild and thrashing and too big for the body containing it.

What she found instead made her skin prickle.

Quinlan’s eyes were clear. Steady. The monstrous pressure hadn’t faded, the shadows still pooled in the corners and Rosie’s breath still came out in wisps, but the man at the center of it was calm.

Utterly, terrifyingly calm.

Ayame had seen Quinlan furious before. She’d seen him reckless, bloodthirsty, pushed to the edge and past it. She’d seen every shade of violence the Primordial Villain was capable of.

She had never seen this.

“Everyone rests until morning.” His gaze found Seraphiel. “That includes you. You and Liora are to stop treatment immediately.”

“Quin, there are still girls who need-”

“Anyone who needs healing gets portaled to Velara. The Arch Priestess will take care of the injured.” His voice left no room for arguments. “You need to focus on mana recovery and letting your exhausted minds rest.”

Seraphiel’s mouth opened. Then closed. The protest died behind her teeth because the man looking at her wasn’t asking.

“I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Good. We begin at dawn.”