Evil MC's NTR Harem

"…" But Maya didn't respond. She remained silent, her head buried in her legs, unable to face the carnage. Her lack of response was answer enough.

"Silence means no, then." Ross chuckled, and with a twisted grin, he turned back to the men before him.

He raised the hammer high, his grip firm, and brought it down with brutal precision.

The first blow sent a shudder through the room, a sickening crack as bone splintered beneath the force.

The man screamed over his mouth covering, his voice muffled and ragged, a desperate plea for mercy that fell on deaf ears.

But Ross didn't stop. The hammer rose and fell, again and again, each swing deliberate, each strike meant to prolong the agony.

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"Bang!"

"Bang!"

The hammer crashed down with unrelenting force, pulverizing flesh, breaking bones, and reducing the men to quivering, barely breathing shells of what they once were.

The sickening sound of shattering bones filled the air, mingling with cries of pain and horror. Ross moved from one man to the next, ensuring that each suffered as much as the last.

Each scream seemed to fuel him, driving him to work with even more precision.

One of the men, his face twisted in agony, managed a faint, broken plea, "Please… just… kill me… end this." The man, driven by the searing pain coursing through his body, managed to work the gag loose from his mouth.

But Ross only smiled, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. He had no intention of granting mercy.

Instead, he tapped into his powers, manipulating their bodies just enough to keep them clinging to life, preventing them from succumbing to their injuries.

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It was a delicate, horrific balancing act, keeping them alive in a state of perpetual agony.

As he worked, Ross glanced back at Maya. She remained frozen, her face buried in her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably.

The smell of blood hung thick in the air, and every time she dared to raise her head, nausea churned in her stomach, threatening to overpower her.

Her earlier bravado had evaporated completely, leaving only a shell of fear and disgust.

She had never imagined this level of brutality, this dark, unhinged side of Ross that seemed to revel in suffering.

The minutes dragged into an hour then to hours and Ross showed no sign of fatigue, no hint of restraint.

By the time he finished, the men were unrecognizable, their bodies a grotesque landscape of shattered limbs and mangled flesh, held together only by the twisted mercy of Ross's powers.

They were alive, but barely, forced to endure the pain in a state of living death.

Ross stepped back, surveying his "masterpiece" with a satisfied gleam in his eye.

Blood splattered his clothes, his face, his hands, and yet he looked serene, almost peaceful, as if he had created something beautiful.

"A work of art," he murmured, admiring the destruction before him, his voice soft with satisfaction.

He turned to Maya, expecting some reaction, some acknowledgment of his twisted craft. But when she lifted her face, he saw only horror in her wide eyes.

She had retreated as far as she could, her back pressed against the wall, as if even the distance between them wasn't enough.

Her gaze was filled with terror, her earlier fascination with him shattered, replaced by something far darker—a fear that ran so deep it seemed to turn her blood cold.

Ross raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "What's the matter, Maya? You looked so bold before. Surely this isn't too much for you?" His tone was mocking, as if her fear amused him, as if her horror was part of the thrill.

Maya couldn't answer. Her throat felt tight, her mouth dry. All she could do was stare, numb with shock, struggling to comprehend the depth of his cruelty.

The man before her was a stranger, a monster wearing Ross's face, a creature who took pleasure in suffering, whose twisted sense of artistry lay in destruction and agony.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she realized with chilling clarity that she wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible.

But Ross seemed unfazed by her reaction. In fact, her fear only seemed to deepen the satisfaction in his eyes.

As he stood amid the blood and ruin, he looked every inch the dark figure he had become, a man who reveled in his own brutality, indifferent to the horror he inspired.

"Figures." Ross laughed, the sound low and chilling as it echoed through the room. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was already midnight.

Hours had slipped by while he played his cruel game, drawing out every moment of agony he could wring from his victims.

But now the thrill had faded, replaced by a cold resolve. The time for suffering was over; it was time to end it all.

He approached each man, taking a long, deliberate look at their broken forms.

Their eyes, swollen and filled with terror, tracked his every movement, though they no longer had the strength to scream or plead.

Some barely clung to consciousness, their breath rattling in their chests, while others met his gaze with vacant stares, too far gone to comprehend what was about to happen.

"Puchi!" Ross's hammer fell with merciless precision, each blow striking down on their heads in swift succession.

The sound of bone cracking was final, brutal. Each life was snuffed out in an instant, the men's bodies collapsing into a still silence.

One by one, he moved through the room, delivering the fatal strikes with clinical efficiency, his expression unchanging.

He took his time with each, ensuring there was no mistake, that each one of them felt the cold release of death.

Blood pooled beneath them, darkening the floor as the gruesome scene reached its inevitable conclusion.

When he finished, Ross straightened, taking in the room around him. The silence was deafening, an oppressive contrast to the chaos and agony that had filled it only moments before.

The bloodied bodies lay scattered, twisted and broken, their suffering finally over.

But Ross felt no remorse, no guilt—only a sense of satisfaction at a task completed.

He turned his gaze to Maya, who sat frozen, her eyes wide, her face pale. She hadn't moved, hadn't spoken.

The horror in her expression was unmistakable as she took in the finality of what had happened.

Ross met her stare, a twisted smile playing on his lips, as though daring her to say something.

"All done," he said casually, as if he'd simply finished a day's work. The blood on his hands, the carnage around him—none of it seemed to touch him.

He stood there, the embodiment of cold, unyielding cruelty, his gaze steady, his satisfaction complete.

Maya's breath came in shallow gasps, her mind struggling to process the scene before her.

She realized, with a chill settling deep in her bones, that the man before her was capable of anything—and that she, too, was trapped in his merciless grip.

"Get up, Maya. I've done all the work for you. Justice has been delivered for your brother," Ross said softly, his tone unsettlingly gentle.

He knelt beside her trembling form and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Maya tried to resist, but her body betrayed her—weak and numb from the trauma she had witnessed tonight.

Her mind screamed for her to pull away, but her limbs refused to obey.

A little while later, Ross lifted her into his arms, cradling her as if she were something precious, and carried her like a princess out of the blood-stained room and into the dark, silent night.

The gruesome scene faded behind them, but the horrors of it lingered heavily in the air.

Things were never going to be the same for Maya from that night onward.

***

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