Evil MC's NTR Harem Chapter 1171 Farmer

Cyrus Thorn opened his eyes, slow and deliberate.

They glead with a sharp intelligence, cold and calculating, reflecting a mind that had never stopped planning.

"So... it begins," he muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The world was going to change again—but not for the better.

The fragile balance that had barely ford over the past year was already beginning to crack.

More bloodshed awaited.

More pain, more suffering, more screams swallowed by ruined streets and empty skies.

Entire settlents would rise only to fall, and countless lives would be extinguished before they ever understood why.

Cyrus Thorn felt nothing.

The fate of the world did not concern him.

The living, the dead, the desperate struggles of survivors—none of it mattered.

Compared to the chain wrapped around his very existence, the apocalypse itself was little more than background noise.

A full year had passed.

Three hundred and sixty-five days of confinent, humiliation, and relentless frustration—and yet he still had no solution.

No thod. No path forward.

The enslavent Ross had imposed upon him remained flawless, absolute, and infuriatingly elegant.

It was not rely control over his body, but over his will, his instincts, and even the direction of his thoughts.

Every attempt to resist was anticipated.

Every loophole was sealed.

Every act of defiance was rendered aningless.

He had tried everything.

He had pushed his powers to their limits, only to feel the invisible restraint tighten further.

He had experinted with self-inflicted damage, hoping pain might disrupt the control.

He had invoked forbidden techniques, twisted laws, and shattered his own mind again and again—only for it to reassemble under Ross’s authority, unchanged and unbroken.

Failure followed failure.

Yet surrender never crossed his mind.

Cyrus’s hatred was cold, patient, and enduring. It did not burn wildly—it waited.

As long as he still breathed, there remained a possibility, no matter how distant, of escape. He believed this with absolute certainty.

Slowly, he closed his eyes once more.

In the darkness of his mind, countless theories unfolded.

Hypotheses were tested, discarded, refined, and tested again.

He dissected his own bondage layer by layer, probing for flaws too subtle for even Ross to notice.

If the chains were perfect, then Cyrus would simply have to beco sothing that perfection could not account for.

He would adapt.

He would endure.

He would experint without end.

Whether it took years, decades, or the rest of eternity did not matter.

Cyrus Thorn would find a way out of this dire predicant—

or he would turn his very existence into a weapon sharp enough to wound even the one who enslaved him.

***

"Alright. Rember what I told you," the man whispered, his voice barely more than a breath carried through the stale air.

"Absolute silence. Absolute stealth. No sudden movents. No mistakes."

He raised two fingers in a practiced signal.

The small group of survivors nodded, each one tense but composed.

They had done this many tis before.

Over the past year, scavenging missions like this had beco routine—dangerous, yes, but familiar.

They had survived through discipline, patience, and abilities perfectly suited for moving unseen.

They trusted the thod.

They trusted each other.

One of them quietly activated an invisibility spell.

A subtle distortion rippled outward, and the group vanished from sight, their figures dissolving into the surrounding environnt.

Even their heat signatures and faint spiritual fluctuations were suppressed, allowing them to blend seamlessly into the ruined city.

They began to move.

Every step was deliberate. Every breath carefully controlled.

The streets were littered with abandoned vehicles and broken concrete, but none of them made a sound.

Zombies wandered nearby—groaning, dragging their feet—but never once turned their heads.

The group slipped past them like ghosts.

Their target soon ca into view: a massive warehouse squatting at the edge of the district, its tal walls corroded and its loading bay doors half-crushed by ti.

From the outside, it looked forgotten. From their earlier scouting, they knew it was anything but empty.

Inside were supplies.

Food. dicine. Tools.

Enough to keep their people alive for weeks.

They circled the structure, scanning carefully. No unusual movent.

No concentrated undead presence. Everything appeared exactly as it should.

Too perfect.

They approached the entrance, preparing to slip inside and seal the door behind them—

When every single one of them froze.

A wave of dread washed over the group simultaneously. Skin prickled. Hair stood on end.

Their instincts scread danger, loud and overwhelming.

Then a voice cut through the air.

"So this is where you’re hiding."

It was thin and emotionless, spoken with casual certainty—as if the speaker had been watching them the entire ti.

The invisibility spell shattered like fragile glass.

Before anyone could react, sothing moved.

The leader barely had ti to turn before he was struck.

His body lifted off the ground, slamd violently into the warehouse wall, and crumpled with a sickening crack.

Blood sprayed across rusted tal.

Screams erupted.

"AHHHHH—!"

"No—! NOOOO—!"

"RUN! RUN—!"

Panic obliterated their discipline.

The carefully maintained formation collapsed instantly as shadows lunged from impossible angles.

One survivor was dragged screaming into the darkness, his cries cut short by tearing flesh.

Another tried to activate an escape ability, only to be ripped in half mid-cast.

There was no enemy they could clearly see.

Only movent.

Only death.

They ran blindly, crashing into shelves and crates, slipping on blood-slick floors. Teeth sank into necks.

Bones shattered beneath crushing force. One by one, they were pulled down, devoured, and silenced.

Within minutes, it was over.

The warehouse returned to stillness.

Blood pooled across the concrete floor. Supplies lay scattered, untouched.

Not a single survivor remained—only gnawed bones and fading echoes of terror.

And sowhere in the shadows, sothing unseen lingered...

patiently waiting for the next ones who thought they were safe.

All around the world, the sa nightmare was unfolding.

In shattered cities, hidden bunkers, underground shelters, and fortified settlents, chaos erupted almost simultaneously—as if so unseen signal had been given.