Ascension of the Harem King : From Fugitive to Lord

Zedd sat at the edge of his bed, staring down at the tools laid out before him. A scalpel, tweezers, needles, thread—each instrument gleamed coldly under the flickering light of the candles. His hands hovered over the table as he exhaled slowly, steadying himself. This was it. There was no turning back now. He was both surgeon and patient, and what he was about to do bordered on insanity.

He glanced at the pale synthetic tissue, perfectly prepared, lying neatly on a clean cloth. It looked unnatural—smooth and lifeless. Soon, it would be a part of him, forever grafted onto his body. Zedd's heart hammered in his chest. Fear and anticipation churned in his gut, but he forced it down. There was no room for hesitation.

He crushed the anesthesia herbs and painkillers he had prepared earlier into a fine powder. The bitter scent wafted up as he mixed the crushed herbs into water. It was a dark, murky liquid—vile to look at, worse to drink. Zedd grimaced as he brought the first glass to his lips and swallowed. The taste was atrocious, like licking dirt mixed with bitter roots. His throat burned as he forced it down.

"One glass down," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

But one glass wouldn't be enough. Zedd knew what he was about to do would cause pain beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Cutting through flesh and nerves, grafting foreign tissue to his body—no ordinary painkillers would suffice. He drank glass after glass, the bitterness growing unbearable, but he didn't stop. Ten glasses in total. His stomach churned, and nausea crept in, but the numbness was already starting to settle in his limbs.

Zedd stripped off his clothes, throwing them to the side. He stood naked in the dim candlelight, his body lean and scarred from years of training and violence. He glanced at the mirror hanging crookedly on the wall, examining himself one last time. His pale skin seemed ghostly under the candle glow. The left side of his torso—his shoulder, chest, and down to his hip—would soon be gone, replaced with the synthetic tissue he had spent years perfecting.

"Time to get this over with," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Zedd eased himself onto the bed, propping his back against the wall for support. The room was quiet, save for the faint crackling of candle flames and the sound of his own breathing. He set the scalpel in his right hand, steadying his trembling fingers. His left hand rested on his thigh, lifeless for now. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

He took a deep breath and muttered to himself, "Don't fuck this up."

The first incision came with a jolt of fiery pain. Zedd clenched his jaw, refusing to scream. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn't stop. The scalpel sliced through his skin, red blood welling up instantly and trailing down his side. The anesthetics dulled some of the agony, but it still seared through his body like molten metal.

Zedd worked with terrifying precision. He had mapped out the cuts exactly—every muscle, every nerve, every layer of flesh that needed to go. He moved methodically, carving away the flesh from his left shoulder down to his hip. Each slice felt like a dagger dragging across his nerves, a sharp burn that pulsed with every beat of his heart. Blood pooled on the bed, staining the sheets crimson. The smell of iron filled the room.

He had prepared towels earlier, and he quickly pressed one against his side to stem the bleeding. His vision swam, but he forced himself to focus. He couldn't stop now—not halfway. Piece by piece, he removed the flesh, severing it carefully. His breathing was ragged, his face pale as he worked.

"Keep going," Zedd whispered to himself, his voice hoarse. "Don't fucking stop now."

Hours passed, though Zedd lost track of time. Blood caked his hands, and his body trembled from exhaustion, but finally, the last piece of his flesh was removed. His left side was exposed—raw muscle and bone visible in places where the tissue had been carved away. He didn't dare look too long. The sight alone might have made him faint.

Zedd grabbed the synthetic tissue with bloodied fingers, his chest heaving. The white, pale material seemed foreign and alien, yet this was what he had worked for. This was what he had risked everything for. He pressed the synthetic tissue against the exposed area, aligning it with careful precision. It adhered almost immediately, bonding to his body with the help of the special chemical compound he had developed.

The grafting process was brutal. As the tissue bonded with his muscle and nerves, a burning sensation shot through him, so intense it felt like his entire left side was on fire. Zedd let out a strangled groan, his head falling back against the wall. The pain was unbearable, and for a moment, he thought he might lose consciousness.

"Fuck… fuck…" he muttered through gritted teeth, his body convulsing slightly as he rode out the waves of agony.

He forced himself to keep going. Using the needle and thread, he stitched the edges of the synthetic tissue to his remaining skin. Each stitch was another dagger of pain, but Zedd's hands moved with the precision of a machine. Blood mixed with sweat as it dripped from his chin, but he didn't stop.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the grafting was done. Zedd grabbed the bandages and began wrapping them tightly around his torso. Starting from his left shoulder, he wound the bandages down to his waist, pulling them snug to ensure the tissue stayed in place. Each movement sent jolts of pain through his body, but he forced himself to finish. The bandages turned red quickly, but he didn't care.

When the final bandage was secured, Zedd slumped back onto the bed, his body trembling violently from exhaustion. He couldn't move. Every muscle ached, and his left side felt like a foreign object attached to him. It wasn't flesh anymore—it was something else, something stronger, but his body had yet to accept it.

He tilted his head slightly and stared at the ceiling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "First part… done," he whispered weakly.

Pain shot through him if he even dared to shift slightly. The anesthetics and painkillers had dulled the worst of it, but it still throbbed beneath his skin like a thousand needles stabbing him from the inside. Zedd grabbed the glass of water laced with sleeping herbs that he had prepared earlier, his fingers trembling as he brought it to his lips.

The water was cool and bitter, but Zedd drank it down in a few gulps, letting the drug work its way into his system. The pain didn't go away entirely, but it softened, like a distant hum instead of a roar. He felt his body start to relax, his eyelids growing heavy.

Zedd fell back onto the bed, his body sprawled out. He was drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. His bandaged left side burned with every beat of his heart, but it didn't matter. The hardest part was over.

"Rehabilitation… tomorrow…" Zedd muttered weakly, his voice barely a whisper. His head rolled to the side as sleep began to claim him.

The room was silent again, save for the soft crackle of the candles and the faint sound of Zedd's breathing. He had done it. His left side, from shoulder to hip, was no longer human. The synthetic tissue had been grafted perfectly, but the journey wasn't over yet. His body had to accept it, adapt to it, and grow stronger from it.

Zedd's thoughts faded as the sleeping herbs took effect, dragging him into the depths of unconsciousness. His body ached, his mind heavy with exhaustion, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. He had survived. He had pushed through the impossible and won.

Tomorrow, the real test would begin.