My Taboo Harem!

Elliot remained still, though the embroidery upon his robes dimmed. The Lord’s avatar endured, yet even his white-gold radiance became distant, reduced to a faint outline behind an ocean of absent darkness.

Only the Hollow Woman appeared unchanged; perhaps there had never been enough inside her for the void to take.

For one breathless moment, the entire hall belonged to absence.

Then Danton snapped his fingers.

A blaze ring of fire erupted around him, gold, white and deeper than both, carrying a strange first-born quality that made even the void recoil.

The Flames of Beginning burst outward in a clean, sovereign shockwave, returning light to the chamber not gently, but as though it were conquest and darkness and void retreated from the flames in writhing folds, dragging themselves backward across the altar as though ancient night had remembered the first sunrise and hated it.

The Eternal Prison Gates slammed shut, and the chamber reappeared.

Eight void-like beings now stood upon the altar, one within each throne-point.

The sight of them turned the air wrong.

They did not stand so much as displace standing their phantom-like bodies hovered within writhing masses of darkness and void, their outlines flickering as though reality could not fully decide how to contain them... some were tall and thin as funeral spires, while others bent at impossible angles before straightening without any movement in between.

Their forms resembled noble shadowy dead ghost figures wrapped in shredded black silk, but the silk was living void that crawled across them like smoke taught malice, rising from their shoulders, passing through their torsos and sinking into the stone without resistance.

No face remained stable for more than a second; their features emerged and collapsed, revealing too many eyes and then none, mouths shaped like splits in space, fingers long enough to insult anatomy and crowns woven from hollow geometry that hurt the mind whenever anyone attempted to count their angles.

One Void-Djinn possessed a torso filled with distant stars, each one going dark whenever it breathed while another wore the outline of chains that were not truly there, yet every person looking upon it felt immediate pressure tightening around their throat.

A third appeared to have no body beneath its robes at all:

Only a vertical absence moved beneath the black folds, a piece of missing reality pretending to be a person.

The space around them shuddered continuously as it was warping inward and outward as the altar struggled to remember where it ended and they began. Light bent away from them, while distance became unreliable near their hands.

One appeared to stand only a few meters away, yet looking directly at it produced the nauseating certainty that it was watching from the other side of several dead worlds.

They were not monstrous in the crude manner of claws and blood. They were worse, wrong and their presence gave the soul the instinctive certainty that if one reached toward them, the hand would not return with the same number of truths attached to it.

Elliot’s gaze sharpened while Harold’s expression tightened, even the Lord’s six magnificent wings became still.

The Hollow Woman’s dead eyes seemed, for the briefest instant, to find a deeper emptiness to admire.

Danton smiled and turned first toward Harold, then upward toward the Lord’s blazing avatar.

"These will be enough," he said, spreading one hand toward the altar. "More than enough. They’ll steal what we need from the Legacy Families, and once that is done, we will move and not only move but open the Coffer too."

A soft, holy chuckle rolled down from the Lord, somehow sounding worse than laughter.

"Stealing," the divine projection said, his voice rich with light and old arrogance, "is such a rotten word, Danton."

His six wings shifted, casting burning halos across the chamber.

"We are merely borrowing."

Danton laughed and inclined his head. "Of course. Borrowing."

"Without permission," Marcus said dryly.

The Lord’s radiant face turned toward him, and divine light settled over Marcus. It should have resembled a blessing. Instead, it felt like inspection.

"Permission," the Lord said, "is a comfort invented by those too weak to keep what they own."

Marcus’s jaw tightened but the Lord spared him no time; the Lord returned his attention to Danton, amusement returning to his luminous features.

"You, Danton, on the other hand understand that instinct rather well."

"I had excellent teachers."

"A pity blood does not always choose according to merit."

Marcus’s eyes narrowed but the Lord’s radiance merely shifted again, falling fully upon him now.

"If it had," the Lord said, his contempt for Marcus hidden beneath immaculate divinity, "I might have preferred Danton as my grandson."

Silence settled over the chamber but it was not even a joke so to say.

The Lord had publicly measured Marcus Heavenchild and their reincarnated progenitor against a Maxton and found his own descendant, or rather his own first ancestor wanting and a faint seraphic outline flared behind Marcus. Two wings of condensed white-gold light began forming at his back, sharp and furious, while sacred pressure gathered beneath his feet.

Several Maxtons stiffened, while Danton looked delighted.

Elliot turned his head only slightly.

"Lord!" Danton said stiffly at the Lord in Mracus’s defense.

One word and there was no raised voice and no visible technique, yet the wings behind Marcus shattered into motes of gold as the pressure around him collapsed.

Marcus calmed down as Danton’s said in his defense while the gathered Maxtons watched him swallow the humiliation.

The Hollow Woman did not look at him.

Danton barked a short laugh. "Easy. That is your Progenitor, your very first ancestor you are speaking ill of."

Marcus’s eyes cut toward Danton and to the Lord.

Danton raised both hands innocently. "Although, considering you just tried to adopt me in front of both families, I understand the confusion."

A few Maxtons failed to hide the faintest movement at the corners of their mouths and to Marcus’s more humiliation, the Lord only chuckled although he couldn’t deny his own mistake.

Danton glanced upward again at the Lord, his warning vanishing; "Careful, old man. Continue praising me and your grandson may begin thinking Heaven has favourites."

"Heaven has always had favourites."

Marcus’s face hardened further.

Danton laughed again. "And people wonder why angels develop family problems."

Then he turned back toward the altar, the humour leaving him so completely that even the Void-Djinn seemed to notice.

He looked first at the eight phantom beings and then at the five chained elves:

"Begin the extractions."

The elves stiffened.

Danton’s voice sharpened. "Start with the Parks."

At that, several Maxtons exchanged glances.

"Their ancestral home sits in the nastiest old and dangerous corner of Korea, and their old fogies are not weak," Danton continued, his tone now all business. "Not enough to kill the Djinns, no, but enough to notice if something is taken clumsily. We do not want that, do we?"

Danton snapped his fingers and a lick of golden flame ran over one chained elf’s shoulder and vanished into the flesh beneath with a hiss. The male elf gasped and nearly collapsed, while the broken crown upon his head shed its final blackened leaf.

The four other elves shook their heads at once, saving their own from the unnecessary pain Danton was inflicting.

"Good," Danton said softly. "Because my flames won’t merely burn your bodies. They will annihilate your souls and there wont be even a sliver of your souls remaining to enter reincarnation cycle. No return. I do so admire clarity."

All five bowed their heads lower.

Danton pointed toward the eight Void-Djinns.

"Three for the Parks. They have the deepest ancestral locks, the oldest wards and the highest chance of early detection."

With a second gesture, he indicated the remaining five.

"The rest will be enough for the other fifteen families. All of them are not even home in Paradise. Strip their treasuries and take everything worth taking. Do it quietly and cleanly. Leave no trace, leave them ignorant and leave them thanking their ancestors for protections that are no longer protecting anything."

The Void-Djinns quivered.

No, they did not quiver.

The space around them smiled without joy.

Danton’s eyes gleamed.

"Move."

At his command, the chained elves opened their mouths once more. The pure language of their race rose through a hall full of thieves, angels, liars, old monsters and living emptiness, while the first three Void-Djinns turned their faceless crowns toward the east, toward Korea, toward the Parks and toward the beginning of a theft vast enough to make history itself feel robbed.

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