Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

"[Eternal Damnation]!"

The world froze.

From Scar's severed head… something tore free.

A pale-blue silhouette, thin and thrashing, clawed at the air with spectral hands. It screamed noiselessly as it was dragged upward, ripped from the husk of flesh it once called home.

"NO!" Lilith's roar split the skies as her hand shot out, straining, trembling, desperate to snatch it before it was too late.

But she failed.

The soul's cry cut off in an instant as it was sucked cleanly into Quinlan's black saber. The blade pulsed with ghostly fire, its hungry edge glowing brighter as if savoring the feast.

[Ding!]

[You've harvested the Elite Soul: Scar.]

Lilith's eyes widened at the mere sight as her heart began hammering in disbelief.

She had seen friends die before. She had seen them slain, crushed, even obliterated by magic. But never - never - had she seen this.

"What did you do?!" she screamed with a voice that was filled with both fury and anguish. The raw emotions were tearing her throat apart.

"I capitalized on your hubris, Adventurer Lilith."

A new gale erupted. His wind slammed into her, stronger than ever. It was driving her back despite the best efforts of the exhausted Void.

Lilith knew what was going on. Tears welled in her eyes. "You dare… You dare level up using my partner?!"

The man before her stared deep into her eyes for a single moment, and seeing the emotions swirling behind his gaze, Lilith instantly knew his answer.

His lips parted. There was not a single sign of regret or reservation as he declared, "Yes, I dare. I dare kill those who are trying to kill me or my allies."

His tone had a distaste to it, as if he thought he was speaking to a hypocrite. What kind of question was that? He had never done anything to her or her teammates, yet they were doing their utmost to ruin all that he held dear. Why would he be expected to show mercy?

How dare she expect him to show mercy?

"Gh!" Lilith grunted as she opposed the wind with which he was shoving her away.

At the same time, he raised a single hand, and with it materialized a tome of chains and bone. Pages fluttered open as if on command of his mere will, inscribed with sigils that could be read by none but the one true necromancer.

"[Necromantic Codex]."

It hovered before him. His eyes shone with focus as his will moved through it in ways Lilith couldn't begin to understand.

"[Soul Fusion]…" he whispered, and…

[Ding!]

[Elite Soul Scar reached rank 3!]

[Ding!]

Necromantic Tier Ascension

To ascend to Tier II:

Possess 10 Elite Souls of Rank 3 or higher.

9/10 → 10/10

[Ding!]

[Requirement has been reached!]

[Ascending to Tier II!]

Quinlan didn't have the time to read over all the new stuff hitting his mind's eyes, but he already knew what he had to do. He used Soul Fusion again, targeting Scar once again.

[Elite Soul Scar has reached rank 4!]

[To upgrade further, level 50 or above Lesser Souls are needed!]

While this was going on, Lilith couldn't see what he was doing, but she didn't need to have the ability to read the weird script in his tome to understand that it was some weird magic and that her lifelong friend was at stake here.

"Give her back!" Lilith shrieked now from the bottom of her throat, refusing to back down.

She pushed. Through Void's tether that held her. Through Quinlan's hurricane winds that sought to fling her away. Through the crushing pressure that made her bones creak. But she didn't stop.

Her sword blazed as she forced herself forward, her body screaming with every step, until at last her blade carved the air toward him.

Or it should have.

But before steel could reach flesh…

"[Awaken]."

The word resounded like a death knell. A master of death calling upon the slain. Lilith hated the mere sound of the words, the way he said it…

And then, *clang!*

Lilith's blade froze in place.

The strike she had poured her strength into, the one meant to carve through Quinlan, had been stopped. It was not a clean stop, however. Lilith could instinctively tell that she was stronger than whatever this one was, even before her brain caught up with the new development.

But when it did catch up… When she realized what she was looking at…

A dagger, chipped yet resolute, pressed firmly against her sword, struggling to hold her at bay.

Lilith's eyes widened in horror.

"... Scar?"

Her comrade stood before her again.

The mouth mask still covered her carved-up face. But her skin glowed with an eerie pale-blue shimmer with ghostly veins pulsing beneath the surface of said skin.

It was her. She could easily tell that it was her cherished comrade, Scar.

But at the same time, it wasn't.

Lilith's chest clenched as her gaze met Scar's eyes. They weren't hollow, not in the way a mindless undead would be. They were sharp, steady, and aware. Yet the light in them… it wasn't Scar's. Not the comrade who laughed beside her, drank with her, bled with her.

No. This was a different woman. One who didn't recognize Lilith. Or perhaps… simply didn't care.

Lilith's teeth ground as hot tears blurred her vision.

"Stop this! Please, Scar! It's me, Lilith! The annoying boss who keeps giving you hard tasks!The woman you like to grumble about when you get drunk in taverns! It's me…! Don't let him take you like this! Fight it, damn it!"

The storm howled around them, but for a heartbeat, the battlefield seemed to be still. A pause came, heavy with unbearable weight.

And then Scar spoke. Her voice was steady, cold.

A soldier's voice.

"I am fully awake, Adventurer Lilith. My duty is to protect my master, not to 'fight it.'"

The words cleaved through Lilith's heart like a blade drenched in the strongest of poisons. She trembled while shaking her head violently.

"No… no, that's not you! That's him twisting you into his loyal soldier!"

She whipped her gaze toward Quinlan, ready to do whatever it took to kill the monster who dared to do this to her friend…

But he was no longer there.

Her stomach dropped. She spun her head in panic until she saw him.

Quinlan was in freefall, descending calmly through the storm-wracked skies with his back toward the ground. But his wind magic was still there, used to prop Scar upward like a puppet on invisible strings, though nothing about her movements suggested frailty nor rigidity.

His eyes, though - those cold, calculating eyes - never once left the clash between Scar and Lilith. He observed, dissected, and measured, as if testing the limits of the woman he had slain and remade.

The storm screamed. Blood stained the air. And in the midst of it all, Quinlan Elysiar looked every inch the murderer he was; an unflinching man cloaked in calm, who shied away from nothing to protect those he cared about.

A man who killed without hesitation.

And brought back what he killed, only to make it his.

"Are you going to leave me here?"