Evil MC's NTR Harem

Chapter 1007: Chapter 1007 Social

Cyrus Thorn’s laughter erupted suddenly, loud and harsh, echoing across the mountains like thunder rolling over jagged cliffs.

”Hahaha! All my life, I have been free! I have done as I pleased! I bow to no man, no sect, no heaven — not even death itself could ever subdue me!”

Ross’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile.

”I expected nothing less,” he said quietly.

”But freedom... freedom is a fragile thing. There are many ways to enslave a being, Cyrus Thorn. Some far subtler, far more permanent, than mere death.”

Cyrus Thorn’s laughter faltered slightly, a flicker of unease passing through his expression.

Ross’s calm confidence, the quiet power radiating from him, was unsettling in a way that Cyrus had never encountered before.

This was not a mortal man, nor even a cultivator of ordinary legend — this was something far beyond, a force that could bend the very rules of life and death without breaking a sweat.

Before Cyrus could react, the world around him seemed to twist.

Energy surged and coiled like a living thing, and suddenly, the tables turned.

The torturer — the man who had brought fear and death to countless souls — became the tortured.

Cyrus Thorn screamed, a sound that shredded the air and reverberated through the mountains, echoing like a chorus of agony.

”Ahhhhhhhhhh!” His voice carried centuries of pride, cruelty, and rage, now laid bare in pure, unfiltered pain.

The chains that had once obeyed him without question trembled, snapped, and twisted back upon him as if recognizing a far superior force.

The centuries of invincibility he had relied upon, the countless victories, the destruction he had wrought, all seemed to vanish in an instant.

Every memory of domination, every life he had crushed beneath his feet, returned to haunt him as his body and soul were subjected to powers beyond comprehension.

Ross stood silently, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

He watched as Cyrus Thorn writhed, his roars filling the mountains, his aura bending under the invisible chains of Ross’s will.

The world itself seemed to hold its breath, sensing the shift in the balance of power.

A being who had considered himself untouchable, an emperor even, was now kneeling before another — the hunter humbled, the tyrant undone.

Time seemed to stretch, the screams echoing endlessly, until every fiber of Cyrus Thorn’s being trembled with the realization that he was no longer in control.

Ross had demonstrated that power was not just strength or immortality — it was mastery over will, over fate, over the essence of life itself.

The mountains around them quaked under the shockwaves of energy, and even the wind seemed to carry the whispers of the fallen tyrant’s legacy.

Cyrus Thorn, the feared Bone Emperor of the Ghostwood Forest, was learning for the first time what it meant to be truly powerless — and in that moment, Ross’s dominance was absolute.

As the echoes of Cyrus’s agony faded into the night, Ross’s smile widened ever so slightly.

An hour passed, though to Cyrus Thorn it felt like a trillion years at least.

Time had no meaning for him now, only the relentless, suffocating weight of control pressing down upon his body and spirit.

Every bone in his body had been stripped from him, taken and replaced with something alien, something that belonged to another order of power entirely.

He could not move of his own volition; instead, some force beyond his comprehension guided him.

At first, every movement was awkward, clumsy — the elegant grace he had relied upon for millennia absent from his limbs.

Each gesture felt alien, like a puppet being manipulated by invisible strings.

Yet, as seconds stretched into minutes, his motions gradually recovered their natural rhythm.

He moved again with the deadly precision and elegance that had once made him feared across continents.

Ross’s voice broke the silence, calm, chilling, and absolute.

”The art of weaving the bones of your enemies and allies alike, of both humans and monsters, to create an absolute killing treasure... Your Fate-Severing Chains truly live up to their name. But now that its owner’s bones have become part of its links, I wonder... how strong can it really be? Perhaps only you can tell me, slave.”

Cyrus Thorn’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Ross tossed the artifact toward him.

It was a black sphere, roughly the size of a human fist yet impossibly dense, bristling with millions of chains that seemed to writhe as if alive.

When it struck him, the sphere did not merely hit — it fused with his chest, sinking into his flesh and anchoring itself deep inside.

The chains seemed to coil into his body, burrowing into bone, sinew, and spirit until they became inseparable from him.

Thud.

The impact forced Cyrus to his knees.

He struggled to rise, to reclaim the freedom he had always known, but his body would not obey.

Every muscle, every joint, even his will seemed enslaved by a force far greater than his own.

He could feel the chains moving within him, slithering like serpents of pure power, binding him to a will that was not his own.

”Why... why are you doing this to me?!” he roared, his voice a mixture of anger, disbelief, and humiliation.

For countless centuries, he had bowed to no man, no ruler, no god — and now here he was, forced to kneel.

Rage and shame twisted through every fiber of his being, but the more he struggled, the tighter the invisible grip of Ross’s control seemed to become.

Ross stepped closer, his presence calm, yet oppressive.

Every step he took seemed to push down upon the world itself.

”As I told you, Cyrus,” he said softly, almost conversationally, ”there are many ways to achieve what we desire. Since you are stubborn by nature, I see no reason to wait for your consent. Your body will obey, even if your mind and mouth resist.”

Cyrus’s chest heaved, every breath a battle between the fire of his rage and the unyielding chains controlling him.

Ross’s gaze softened slightly, a faint, almost predatory smile forming.

”Now,” he continued, ”proceed with the plans you had before I arrived. Every ritual, every technique, every step you had prepared in order to capture this world’s heart... perform them exactly as you intended.”