Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

Ayame charged.

A flicker of movement registered in her brain, but it was simply too fast to follow.

Her blade cut through empty air.

Pain.

An impact slammed into her side as lightning coursed through her ribs, charring her muscles.

The ground rose to meet her.

Darkness.

—

She gasped awake.

*Click. Click. Click.*

The woman approached once more.

Ayame's fingers trembled around her sword's hilt.

Again.

She wouldn't lose again.

She refused.

Ayame charged.

She died again.

A burst of electrified speed, a single strike, and her chest split open, her heart carved apart before she even realized she had been cut.

She awoke.

—

She died again.

Her enemy vanished, reappearing behind her with a sound like crackling thunder.

Ayame's world blurred.

Her limbs moved too slow.

Her spine snapped in two.

Darkness.

—

She awoke.

Again.

Over and over.

Each attempt ended the same.

Ayame couldn't even touch her.

Her blade never met flesh.

Her body never lasted more than a few seconds.

She was nothing.

The realization clawed at her very soul. She was no match at all.

The woman—no, this warrior—was simply on a different level.

No.

Not just that.

This wasn't just a warrior.

This was something else.

Something greater.

Something legendary.

A memory flickered.

Her father's voice echoed in her mind.

"Let me tell you a tale, Ayame. A tale of our great ancestor. A warrior unlike any other. A woman whose blade cut through the heavens themselves."

She had been a child then, sitting beside her father under the cherry blossoms, her tiny hands curled around a wooden training sword.

She had listened, wide-eyed.

This woman, whose name has been shamefully lost to time over the many generations that have passed since her death, was a warrior of unparalleled elegance and might.

A legend who wielded lightning as an extension of her very soul.

"She moved like the storm, struck like divine judgment."

"Where others wielded swords, she wielded thunder itself."

The weight of the realization crashed into her.

Hanae.

The name Quinlan had mentioned.

A Primordial.

The supposed progenitor of the eastern side of humanity.

The progenitor of the Fujimori bloodline.

Ayame's breath came ragged, eyes wide with new understanding.

She looked at the woman before her.

The flowing yukata. The unreadable grace. The effortless, divine speed.

This wasn't just a warrior.

This was Hanae.

Her ancestor.

The origin of her clan's strength.

Her father's voice whispered once more.

"And… I dream that one day… one day, there will be another who wields lightning as she did."

"Not as a crude, destructive force…"

"But as a part of their very existence."

Ayame exhaled.

She knew what that meant.

The Fujimori had always struggled to control lightning.

Even the most prodigious among them could only call upon it once a battle.

Her own spell, [Raijin's Fury], was a testament to that very same failure.

It was a spell of raw destruction.

One that wrecked her body.

One that drained her stamina completely.

It wasn't true mastery.

It was borrowed power.

A desperate, clumsy imitation of what true lightning wielders could do. Worst of all was that despite the horrible drawbacks, it wasn't even significantly stronger than her normal Samurai-class spells.

But now…

Ayame tightened her grip on her sword.

Her breathing slowed.

Her heartbeat steadied.

This was a test.

Her test.

To face her progenitor.

To do more than just wield lightning once.

To become lightning… but not how Quinlan mastered the elements. No. Her path was a different one.

She had to become someone who could not only move with the speed of lightning but also cut lightning itself. That was what mastery meant to a true wielder of the blade.

Ayame exhaled.

"Watch over me, Father."

She moved.

…

Iris fought.

She fought harder than she ever had in her entire life.

Her blade tore into flesh, her spells raged with raw, unfiltered agony, but it was never enough.

Every time she sacrificed her body, carving into her own flesh for power, the monster did the same. Its mutilated body reshaped, growing ever more monstrous. New limbs sprouted, muscles thickened, and each fresh wound she inflicted only served to birth something worse.

Iris fell.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, she pushed herself beyond her limit. Each time, she invoked greater pain, deeper wounds, more brutal spells. Her body screamed. Her soul burned. And each time…

The monster grew with her.

Mocking her.

It was impossible to ignore now.

The similarities.

It was grotesque, a shambling horror of self-inflicted agony, feeding off its own destruction to grow stronger.

Just like her.

Her breath hitched as she parried another strike. 'Is that monster… me?'

The thought rattled in her skull like a cruel, unshakable truth. Her sword clashed against an extending claw, her feet sliding backward across the broken ground. It didn't matter.

Nothing she did mattered.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard it bled.

'What am I supposed to do?'

No answer came.

Only the dull echo of her own ragged breath, the searing burn of exhaustion, and the unrelenting weight of futility pressing against her shoulders.

Then…

A new sound.

*Ding!*

Her vision flickered, and suddenly, a button materialized in front of her.

Above it, glowing in bold, mocking letters, were the words:

SUMMON THE ASCENDANTS.

Iris stiffened.

Her stomach twisted.

One face immediately manifested in her mind.

That man.

That cocky bastard.

Quinlan Elysiar.

The golden child.

The one who has it all.

Incredible luck, loving parents, adoring lovers, loyal subordinates, potential greater than she could even comprehend…

Her fingers curled into fists, trembling with frustration.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" she cursed, her voice hoarse from pure irritation.

A bitter laugh bubbled in her throat.

'Am I nothing without him?'

Her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.

'Why? Why do I have to keep relying on him?!'

She had trained.

She had bled.

She had endured so damn much.

And yet…

Even now, the world was telling her she couldn't do it alone.

Her vision blurred. Her breathing grew ragged. Her knuckles turned white against her blade's hilt.

The monster loomed ahead, watching.

Waiting.

Evolving.

Mocking.

Her gaze snapped to the button.

Seconds passed.

Slowly, she exhaled.

She lifted her hand and formed it into a fist.

And, with all the fury she had left in her soul…

She destroyed it.

…