The Disposable Battery and the Essence of the Creator

A single ray of salvation does not descend from the most radiant heavens above. It flows upward from the lowest, most wretched depths of the mud.

This novel is a dark fantasy harem story.

Before we officially raise the curtain on Chapter 1, we have prepared a light **[World Setting Guide and Story Manual]** so that readers may more deeply understand and enjoy the horrific yet seductive laws that govern this world.

The world was utterly fucked.

This was not a literary or cynical metaphor.

From a biological, physical, and astronomical perspective, the planet was perfectly counting down to its own destruction.

The cause was both extremely simple and absolute.

The fundamental source of all things and the very life force that sustained this world—Mana—was slowly but surely drying up within the planet’s veins.

The earth had lost all moisture, cracking apart and spitting out only pale salt. Once-mighty rivers that had been called the planet’s arteries had rotted into foul, dark swamps of poison. The air was thick with dry, toxic yellow dust that felt like razor blades scraping the lungs with every breath.

Yet the true hell that had befallen humanity was not this natural collapse.

Within this grotesque ecosystem of female supremacy and male subjugation, the physiological catastrophe that struck the women who stood at the apex of the food chain was the real maw of hell.

The power structure of this world was decided with merciless clarity by raw strength.

Women were born with enormous, intricate mana cores and circuits. They ruled territories, emitted auras, and wielded divine power as absolute predators. Men, on the other hand, lacked even the circuits to manipulate mana. They were nothing more than inferior livestock capable only of producing a tiny amount of mana each day and storing it within their semen.

But when the world’s mana began to dry up, the paradox emerged: the mightiest women, those with the largest mana vessels, were the first to collapse under the horrific deprivation.

Full-body phantom pain as if molten lava had been poured into their veins.

A nightmarish itch that began in the womb and lower abdomen before spreading across the entire body, as though tens of thousands of parasites were gnawing through flesh and scraping at mucous membranes.

In the end, their once-noble reason would plummet to the level of beasts. Brain cells would burn black, they would vomit blood, and die raving mad—an absolute curse of despair.

People called it Mana Depletion Syndrome.

And so these arrogant predator women began the most brutal and primal predator hunt in human history, all to extend their own noble lives by even a few more days—or merely a few more hours.

“Next. Breeding Hound Number 144. Step forward.”

Northern Grand Duchy’s Lowest-Grade Magic Stone Mine, Sector 4.

Inside a merciless cold that plunged below minus thirty degrees Celsius, a voice as cold and hard as iron rang through the tunnel.

“Hiiik… hiiiik…! P-please! Spare me! I was milked yesterday and the day before that too! If I’m squeezed one more time, my body… my balls will completely dry up…!”

A man reduced to nothing but skin and bones, his ribs jutting out sharply, slammed his forehead against the frozen dirt floor and wept bloody tears.

His sunken eyes had already lost the will to live, clouded and vacant. His forcibly exposed lower half revealed a shriveled, blackened, grotesque organ that held not a single drop of vitality left.

In this world, the value of a man’s existence was singular.

He was a disposable biological battery meant to temporarily soothe the women’s Mana Depletion Syndrome.

More crudely put, he was nothing more nor less than a living semen-producing machine for women who had lost their reason to the syndrome’s seizures—women who would open their mouths, suck, and swallow him deep into their scorching wombs.

A man’s bodily fluids, especially his semen, contained a small amount of refined mana produced within his body.

Whenever a seizure struck, the women would pant like bitches in heat, violate the men’s cocks, and desperately squeeze out every last drop of semen to swallow it.

Only the vulgar thrill of orgasm and the trace mana mixed in the semen could briefly postpone the hellish phantom pain that burned their entire bodies. It was their sole painkiller.

“Spare you? Know your place, you male mutt.”

Crack—!

A merciless crack split the air as a thick, hard leather whip lashed out.

The dry back of the man groveling on the floor split open horizontally. Dark red blood splattered violently onto the frozen mine floor.

“Gaaaaaah—!”

“If it weren’t for the pathetic dribble of semen your worthless male balls produce, you worms would have been thrown into a pit and become maggot food long ago. You’re nothing but disposable medicine bottles meant to preserve the noble bodies of the North’s esteemed knights. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠How dare you flap that filthy mouth?”

The one wielding the whip was a low-ranking female guard belonging to the northern territory.

She wore thick leather cold-weather gear, but the ferocious muscles visible beneath and her ragged breathing proved she too was suffering from the early symptoms of severe Mana Depletion Syndrome. She scratched viciously at her throbbing nape as she screamed.

“Drag him away immediately! The ‘squeezing quota’ assigned to the Third Knight Order’s quarters tonight is still short. Wring him dry without leaving a single drop and extract the mana! If semen won’t come out, crush his prostate and squeeze out bloody juice if you have to!”

“Aaaaagh! No! Please! I don’t want my dick to burst…!”

The man screamed like a beast as two massive female mercenaries seized his limbs and dragged him away.

On the tunnel floor where he had been pulled, a filthy stain remained—yellow urine from terror mixed with the blood that had flowed from his back. That man, raised like livestock and wrung dry of every fluid and every drop of mana, would become a mummy with not a single drop of moisture left by tomorrow morning and be tossed onto the trash heap.

That was the natural and tragic fate of males born as prey in this cruel ecosystem.

“Next. Number 145. Han Siwoo.”

His original name, spoken in the language of this other world.

No—now he was simply called Kyle, the number 145 branded like a slave mark upon his left chest.

Kyle silently straightened his bent knees.

As he set down the frozen, heavy pickaxe, thick veins writhed across the back of his hand.

His upper body, revealed between the threadbare rags that could hardly be called clothing, was packed with dense, savage muscle that made it impossible to believe he was a starving mine slave.

“Number 145, Kyle. Your quota is short.”

The female guard dragged her leather whip across the floor and blocked his path.

At the tip of her whip, the blood of the man who had just been dragged away still dripped, drip, drip, staining the dazzling white ice.

“The magic stones you submitted today amount to only two chunks. Not even enough to qualify as a northern cockroach. Are you openly slacking off now?”

Kyle did not answer.

He simply stared with icy black eyes at the guard’s distorted face as she panted, steam billowing from her nostrils.

“How dare a mere livestock raise its head and look me in the eye?!”

Her shallow pride wounded, the guard’s face flushed crimson then purple in an instant.

A male was supposed to tremble before an absolute female ruler, avert his gaze, piss himself, and beg for mercy. Yet this slave exuded a strangely noble aura, possessed a handsome and powerfully built frame, and stared down at her with arrogant eyes that seemed to look perfectly down upon her. It violently stimulated the sadistic urges and inexplicable excitement hidden within her.

Shiiik—!

Crack—!

Without the slightest warning, the leather whip mercilessly lashed Kyle’s left shoulder.

His ragged slave clothing tore away like dead leaves. A vivid red line of blood welled up across his firm, bronze skin.

“Kh.”

A short, composed groan slipped from between Kyle’s lips.

It was pain that would have made an ordinary man scream and roll across the floor, yet Kyle planted both feet firmly on the ground and did not retreat a single step.

It hurts.

Kyle thought coldly to himself.

But he did not grovel on the ground begging for his life, nor did he lick the guard’s filthy leather boots.

Instead, with bloodshot cold eyes, he began to analyze every single physical movement of the guard who had struck him with terrifying precision, as if dissecting her.

Shiiik—! Crack!

The second whip tore diagonally across Kyle’s solid chest.

Right shoulder drops fifteen degrees the instant it’s struck. Center of gravity completely shifted to the left hip. Lower body support is pathetic.

Craaaack—!

The third whip wrapped around his thigh and tore away flesh.

Breathing is extremely irregular. Cold sweat beading on her forehead, pupils trembling slightly out of focus, and above all… that obscene habit of twisting her thighs and rubbing her lower abdomen every time she swings the whip. Classic early-stage estrus caused by Mana Depletion Syndrome.

Indeed. Instead of screaming, Kyle was calculating.

Even in the extreme despair of being beaten like a beast, his brain operated with the cold precision of a supercomputer submerged in ice water.

The trajectory of the guard’s whip, the frequency at which her muscles relaxed and contracted, even the blind spots of her vision.

If he had to snap her neck right now, how should he move?

Kick the inside of her left ankle to completely destroy her balance, drive a hard elbow into her jaw, then draw the dagger at her chest and precisely slice her carotid artery. Total time required: exactly 1.4 seconds.

But Kyle endured in silence.

Not simply because he feared the countless knights of the Northern Grand Duchy.

It was because the ‘most perfect stage’ on which to fully reveal his existence to this world had not yet been completed.

“You stubborn bastard…! Not even a single groan? Fine. Let’s see just how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tough your hide really is!”

Spurred on by her own obstinacy, the guard gripped the leather whip with both hands and began to wildly shred Kyle’s entire body.

Sharp cracks echoed through the closed tunnel. Kyle’s body became covered in red blood. Hot, thick blood flowed down his cheek and gathered at the sharp line of his jaw.

Yet in the midst of the blood-soaked violence, a faint but unmistakable sneer curled at the corner of Kyle’s mouth.

Hit me. Tear me apart as much as you like, you pitiful, horny bitches.

The real reason he could willingly endure this horrific flogging was simple.

Unlike the other miserable males, deep within Kyle’s body lurked a single error that even the gods of heaven had not calculated—an error cast into this pit of wretched ruin.

Though flesh was torn from his back and chest with every strike of the whip, in the deepest part of his lower abdomen—the place known as the dantian—an absolute power that no superhuman woman in this world would dare touch was surging.

If the other males were nothing more than disposable painkillers whose lifespans were devoured the more they were squeezed,

then Kyle, who had transmigrated from Earth into this apocalyptic world, was an eternal, never-drying infinite engine whose mana overflowed past its limit every single day.

And it was not the turbid, faint mana dregs of ordinary males.

The dense semen that surged within his hot blood vessels and within the two heavy balls between his powerful thighs was none other than the Essence of the Creator—one hundred percent pure primordial energy that no elixir or panacea in the world could replace.

Just one drop.

Kyle swallowed the hot blood pooled in his mouth and murmured inwardly.

With just one drop of my cum, even a dying archmage, even the Demon King who sought to destroy the world, even the Empire’s First Princess who pretends at nobility and hypocrisy will throw her pride into the mud and spread her legs.

He already instinctively understood what kind of absolute salvation and weapon his bodily fluids represented in this insane world.

He was not livestock.

He was the sole remaining hope on this dying planet, the one and only Holy Grail that stored the living breath of primordial life force.

Moreover, he possessed one more perfect card that allowed him to endure this beating and wait for the right moment.

The absolute law of the world deeply engraved in his mind.

The Essence of the Creator that Kyle possessed could never be taken through physical torture, dissection, castration, or any form of violent coercion.

Only when Kyle himself felt genuine mental and physical pleasure (permission) would that power be released as the highest-purity holy water. If the rulers tried to suppress him by force and mechanically wring out his semen, the energy would instantly transform into the world’s most lethal deadly poison, rotting the recipient’s entire body from the inside out.

Therefore, even the supreme powerhouses who ruled the continent might be able to capture and imprison Kyle by force, but in order to take his mana and extend their lives, they would ultimately have no choice but to strip off their own uniforms, prostrate themselves at his feet, wag their tails, and beg like vulgar animals.

“Haa… haa…”

The guard, exhausted from whipping him, heaved her shoulders with ragged breaths.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her strangely flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes were not caused by simple physical fatigue. The act of sadistically violating a helpless male and watching his blood flow had grotesquely inflamed the sexual thirst twisted by her Mana Depletion Syndrome.

The guard swallowed dryly and stared obsessively at the enormous, ferocious bulge threatening to burst through the torn rags of Kyle’s pants.

Even after enduring the worst slave labor and sub-zero cold, far from suffering malnutrition, his lower body had been honed by harsh labor into something beastly and vigorous. That terrifying pillar strained the fabric as if it would rip it apart at any moment, proudly displaying its presence.

Gurgle. Squish.

Between the guard’s legs, inside her thick fur pants, her own love juices suddenly gushed out and soaked her completely.

She wanted to suck every last drop of hot male fluid from those bursting balls. She wanted to shove that hideous symbol deep into her own vaginal walls and squeeze out mana until her womb shattered. The insane impulse completely dominated her mind.

“You stubborn bastard… Tonight I won’t send you to the knight order’s quarters. I’ll drag you straight to my personal chambers. I’ll wring that thick cock of yours bone-dry all night long so you can’t even scream.”

The guard put away her whip and let out a dark, obscene laugh.

She still firmly believed she was the superior predator and Kyle was nothing but a weak prey to be squeezed for juice.

But Kyle’s thoughts were completely different.

In the center of his vision, a transparent, crystalline blue status window interface that no one else in this world could perceive suddenly floated up and began to flicker.

Kyle slowly raised his head, blood dripping from it.

For the first time, he looked the guard—who had treated him like livestock—straight in the eyes and twisted the corner of his mouth into a smirk.

It was not the gaze of a slave bound in chains.

It was the gaze of the highest-tier predator, coldly and overwhelmingly staring at the nape of its prey.

“Go ahead. Try squeezing me.”

“…What? What the hell did you just say?!”

“Not a single drop will come out. Ah, my mistake. My cum is simply too precious to be sucked up by a lowly bitch like you.”

“This crazy livestock bastard has finally lost his mind…!”

The moment the guard, eyes flipped with shame and rage, reached for the sword at her waist—

Rumble—!

The entire mine suddenly began to shake violently as if struck by a massive earthquake.

Huge icicles and sharp magic stone fragments poured down from the ceiling like hail. The mana-stone lamps illuminating the dark tunnel exploded one after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠another. In an instant, everything plunged into complete darkness.

“W-what’s happening?!”

“Evacuate! It’s a cave-in!”

Urgent screams from the female knights and miners waiting outside the tunnel echoed through the darkness.

Kyle also lowered his body, nimbly dodging the flying debris.

This was no ordinary seismic activity. The density of mana in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠air was rapidly expanding and swirling. The wind against his cheek felt like blades slicing his skin. An overwhelming pressure that threatened to tear his lungs apart with every breath crushed the space itself.

This was a catastrophic phenomenon in which someone’s suppressed, colossal mana had completely lost control and gone berserk, collapsing the very laws of causality in the surrounding space.

Ice mana of absolute zero… At least the aura of a powerhouse who holds the entire North in her grasp.

A single name flashed through Kyle’s mind like lightning.

The ruler of the North who owned this hellish mine.

One of the continent’s greatest swordswomen, the iron-blooded duchess who guarded her limits with a blizzard of cold.

A hot drop of blood from Kyle’s forehead fell onto the cold ice floor, staining it red.

The grand opening of the colossal role-reversal drama in which the women who ruled the surface would bend their arrogant necks, crawl beneath his feet, and beg for even a single drop of semen.

The first prey had lost her reason, gone mad, and rolled right up to Kyle’s feet.

“Shall we begin? The task of placing a collar on a noble bitch.”

Within the pitch-black darkness of the tunnel, Kyle’s bloodshot black eyes burned with cruel, beautiful intensity—like those of a predator that had locked onto its prey.

[Part 1, Chapter 1 — End]