Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

The moment I step into the common area, I'm greeted by a sight that makes me burst out into a mocking laughter. My so-called subordinates are sprawled out on the floor, retching, groaning, and barely functioning. It's perhaps the most pathetic scene I've seen in my life. They're clutching their stomachs, some of them puking into buckets, others just lying there, moaning in pain.

Their faces are pale, slick with sweat, and they look like they've been through hell. A few are on their knees, clutching their heads as if they're trying to keep their skulls from splitting open.

"What in the Goddess's name are you ten degenerates doing?" I snarl, my voice laced with disdain as I take in the pitiful scene unfolding before my eyes. The stench of bile and sickness hangs heavy in the air, and the sight of these fools groveling on the ground only deepens my disgust.

One of the idiots manages to look up at me, his bloodshot eyes filled with misery. "La-Lady Iris… I don't know how…" he chokes out before doubling over, clutching his stomach.

I glare down at him with a hard, disgusted expression. These men- they're not just incompetent; they're criminals, every single one of them. I feel nothing for them, no pity, no concern- only the satisfaction that they're getting what they deserve.

With a sneer, I drive my boot into the man's gut, helping his stomach empty itself onto the floor. He retches violently, a disgusting mix of bile and groans spilling from his mouth.

"Th-thank you, Lady Iris," he gasps out between heaves.

His words of gratitude don't surprise me in the least. I'm used to these hopeless fools simping for me to the point that if a priest were to observe them they would likely be titled as heretics, for I suspect they hold me in higher regard than they do the Goddess herself.

I don't know how or why my team of degenerates got to this point. I'm the strongest among us so I've just been acting as I please- which is the natural order of things in this cruel land- and for some reason they love every second of it when they should instead despise me from the bottom of their hearts.

"Argh! Thomas, you lucky fuck! Lady Iris, please do me too…!"

"No, me first!"

"I deserve priority, she hasn't beaten me in days!" This guy whose name I completely forgot shouts his nonsense and then begins kissing my boots like there's no tomorrow.

Why are you like this…? I can't help but wonder with utter disappointment.

They are all absolutely disgusting.

I hate all ten of them more than I do my late father, and that's saying something. It was me who choked him to death in his sleep, after all.

I don't even know how to discipline them anymore. Should I try to treat them nicely as punishment?

The thought crosses my mind for a moment before I shrug my shoulders. That's just boring and so not my style.

With a cold smirk, I lift my boot and drive it hard into the face of the fool worshiping my feet. There's a sickening crunch as my heel connects with his teeth, blood spurting as he lets out a wail of pain, now sprawled on the ground.

"Lady Iris…!" he groans, his voice a twisted mixture of agony and adoration as he clutches his mouth.

"Shut up," I spit at him, literally, letting a glob of saliva hit his cheek. He winces, but even in his pain, there's a sick, twisted reverence in his eyes. I glance at the others, and for the first time, they aren't so eager to get their turn at my attention.

The sight of their comrade writhing on the ground, blood spilling from his broken teeth, seems to have sobered these hopeless perverts up- at least a little.

"Getting spat on would be an amazing reward for you lot I imagine…" I mutter with satisfaction, my eyes narrowing as I take in their sudden silence. "But losing your teeth and the function of your jaws? Seems to be a bit too much, huh?"

They all avoid my gaze, the earlier desperate pleas for my 'discipline' now replaced with uneasy shuffling. Good. I like them better this way. At least they're not completely brainless.

read-first-on-MVLeMpYr

Act nicely? I can't believe that for a moment I considered treating them as human beings in order to get them to behave.

If they refuse to obey, I will just have to kill them.

No one will mourn their demise, maybe I will even be thanked by their victims.

"Pathetic." I declare with a final glare at each member of my team, then I turn on my heel to head for the kitchen. Their physical condition reeks of food poisoning, and I need to figure out what's going on.

I'm a horrible morning person, and I can't force my stomach to accept any form of sustenance early in the day for the life of me, so I always skip breakfast and settle for half an hour extra sleep. I can only do so as it's one of the perks of being a squad captain.

Such a strange trait of my body had probably inadvertently saved me from becoming poisoned, though I wouldn't have gotten to the pitiful state my men are in.

As I approach the kitchen, the sounds of muffled screams reach my ears and I realize I'm not the only one who's come to the same conclusion.

Pushing the door open, I'm greeted by the sight of the Aegis Vanguard already on the case.

All five of their members present at the outpost are here, standing like a line of armored titans amidst the chaos. Their armor gleams, a polished silver that reflects the dim torchlight like mirrors, with intricate gold and bronze accents that mark their rank and status.

Their helms are sealed tight, hiding their faces, leaving only the faintest glow of their eyes visible through the narrow slits- cold, red, and entirely devoid of emotion. The helmets themselves are masterpieces of craftsmanship, with sharp, angular designs that make them look more like statues or ancient war deities than men.

(Picture)