My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 314: The Crimson Maid: Illusion of Breath
It started as a faint tingle—like static electricity crawling over every inch of his skin, raising goosebumps in violent waves. The fine hairs at the nape of Phei’s neck snapped upright, rigid as needles. His muscles locked next; shoulders, spine, thighs—all of him tensing into one rigid, trembling wire.
Then an aura hit.
Something thicker, heavier, alive. It wrapped around him like molten silk poured from above, cocooning his body in invisible layers that grew denser with every heartbeat.
The air thickened until breathing felt like sucking syrup through a straw. Colors at the edges of his vision bled, the garden’s lush greens and golds smearing into feverish watercolor.
His ears popped with a soft, wet sound, as if the world itself had just sealed shut around him.
Before he could even scream what the fuck—, she was there.
Behind him.
Short—barely five-two—dressed in the crisp black-and-white maid uniform of the estate, frilled apron immaculate, skirt swaying just above the knee. Japanese features, bubblegum-pink hair tied in twin tails with black ribbons despite already being short, porcelain skin glowing under the late-afternoon sun.
And eyes—crimson, slit-pupiled like fresh blood caught in moonlight.
Phei’s entire nervous system detonated into sirens. Every instinct, every animal part of his brain, roared one unified command:
RUN. FUCKING RUN.
His legs refused to obey.
She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t even blinked.
Yet the invisible hand was already there—phantom digits forged from pure abyssal cold, colder than the void between stars, wrapping around Phei’s throat with surgical, unhurried malice. They weren’t fingers of flesh; they pulsed with violet-black ether, threads of corrupted energy that sank through skin like frostbite roots seeking bone.
He clawed at his neck in blind panic—nails raking deep, bloody furrows that wept crimson beads—but there was nothing to grip, nothing to tear away.
Only pressure.
Crushing. Relentless. His windpipe folded inward with a sickening wet crunch; cartilage splintered like dry twigs under a boot.
Air ceased to exist.
Each attempted inhale was a razor dragged across raw lung tissue.
His purple eyes bulged grotesquely—pupils exploding into black voids rimmed by scarlet spiderwebs, whites flooding with burst capillaries until they looked painted in fresh blood. Veins across his temples and forehead throbbed grotesquely, thick purple-black cords pulsing in frantic rhythm with his dying heart.
His mouth stretched into a rictus gape, lips peeled back from teeth, tongue swelling purple and obscene behind them. A low, wet gargle bubbled up from his ruined throat—the sound of a man drowning in his own blood on dry land.
Then the levitation began.
Not gentle. Not dramatic. Slow. Deliberate. His heels peeled off the grass first, toes scraping desperately at blades that offered no purchase. His body rose in stuttering jerks—like a corpse being winched up by invisible chains forged from nightmare.
Legs kicked in useless, spasming arcs; heels drummed empty air.
Arms flailed wildly, hands still locked around his own neck in futile defense, fingers slick with his own blood. The grip tightened further—now it wasn’t merely choking; it was pulverizing. Vertebrae ground together with audible pops.
Cervical cartilage ruptured in wet snaps.
Black spots erupted across his vision like ink bombs detonating in water, swallowing the edges of the garden until only maid with crimson eyes remained sharp and cruel in the shrinking tunnel.
His head—puppeteered by the same merciless force—craned sideways toward Elena.
She stood just inches away. Smiling. Soft. Utterly adoring. The same dreamy, lovesick gaze she always wore when they walked these gardens hand-in-hand.
To her, Phei was simply standing there—tall, handsome, breathing normally—while the pink-haired maid approached with a perfect, deferential curtsy, frilled skirt swaying innocently.
Elena’s voice drifted through the suffocating bubble like warm honey.
"Oh, Phei—this is Sakura. The head maid of the house."
Sakura paused three feet away. Bowed with porcelain grace. Rose. Smiled—small, polite, utterly harmless.
The ethereal noose loosened—just a fraction. A single, burning thread of air slithered past the crushed airway.
Enough to speak. Enough to scream.
Phei screamed. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦
Raw. Animal. Desperate. Throat tearing itself apart on the effort.
"HELP—SHE’S —FOR FUCK’S SAKE RUN—PLEASE—"
But what emerged from his lips was velvet-smooth perfection:
"Nice to meet you, Miss Sakura..."
Sweet. Polite. Warm. The flawless guest introduction.
Elena beamed brighter, cheeks flushing with delight.
Phei’s soul shrieked inside the prison of his ribs, clawing at the walls of his own skull. The loose release around his neck was to mock him.
Sakura tilted her head, crimson eyes glittering with private, sadistic amusement only he could witness.
"Young Miss," she said to Elena in a voice like silver bells laced with venom, "the Master has returned. He’s waiting in the east wing and has asked for you specifically. May I have the honor of escorting your guest back to the house while you attend to him?"
Elena pouted—adorable, playful, heartbreakingly innocent.
"Awww... already?" She turned to the illusion-Phei—the perfect, calm doppelgänger standing beside her—and rose on tiptoes to press a soft kiss to its cheek. The real Phei felt only the iron vise around his windpipe squeezing tighter in mocking rhythm with her lips.
"You better not flirt with Sakura while I’m gone, Phei," she teased, poking the phantom chest with one finger. "Or I’ll get super jealous and make you pay for that."
The stolen voice answered—syrup-sweet, loving, laced with just the right amount of playful warmth:
"Of course not, baby. In his house... you know you’re the only one I see. Go see your dad—I’ll be fine. Promise."
Elena giggled, spun on her heel, and skipped away down the garden path—blissfully blind, humming a soft tune, ponytail bouncing like nothing in the world was wrong.
The instant her silhouette vanished behind the rose trellis, Sakura’s smile transmuted into something feral and gleaming.
The invisible hand slammed shut.
Phei’s feet shot upward another eight inches. His body twisted violently sideways in mid-air, spine arching into an impossible bow as ribs cracked audibly. Crimson eyes drank every micro-expression of agony: the tears streaming from bloodshot sockets, the veins bursting across his forehead like lightning, the purple tongue protruding between blue lips.
Sakura stepped forward until the cherry-blossom perfume filled his collapsing lungs.
She reached up.
Laid one delicate, gloved finger against his cheek—soft as a lover’s caress.
And whispered:
"Shhh... shhh... almost there, little dragon."
Phei’s vision tunneled to pinpricks. The garden spun in drunken circles. His heart stuttered—once, twice—then hammered in frantic, dying bursts, trying to ram blood past the obliterated airway.
Sakura the maid leaned in until her lips brushed the shell of his ear.
In the softest, sweetest voice imaginable—cooing like a mother to a frightened child—she murmured:
"Master’s waiting... but first... let’s see how many more heartbeats you can steal before the light leaves those pretty eyes."
His body convulsed one final, catastrophic time—legs bicycling uselessly, fingers clawing at nothing, a thin trickle of blood leaking from one nostril.
Everything went black.
