Demonic Dragon: Harem System

The dying dragon's last cry had barely echoed when Strax consumed it, leaving nothing but dust and a silence so thick it seemed to weigh on the shoulders of the living.

His body pulsed with stolen energy—not just from the dragons, but from the earth itself. The sky was dead. The ground dared not move.

That's when she appeared.

A red beam cut through the air amid the chaos, advancing against the wind, against fear, against the very weight of the world. Scarlet.

Her wings glowed like heavenly embers. The wings, even stained with blood and soot, sparkled with authority and tenderness. Her figure seemed small before Strax's colossal draconic form — but she did not stop.

She flew toward him. Straight. Without hesitation.

"Strax!" she shouted, her voice clear as a blade cutting through the darkness.

The Black Dragon turned his head slowly, his eyes still glowing, still angry—but there was something else there. A glimpse of something forgotten.

Strax's monstrous form loomed like a living mountain, but his gaze froze when he saw her up close.

Scarlet floated before him, a few feet away. The winds around her fought against the pressure, but she resisted — a flame against the hurricane.

"You have punished the guilty," she began. "Now... return to normal."

Strax's gaze wavered. A fury that did not want to leave, that desired more blood. But also... a heart that was leaning toward destroying everything in a single attack. Not even he knew why he was like this... But they attacked his city, where his Xenovia and Kryssia were...

His claws trembled. His wings faltered.

"They..." his voice reverberated like restrained thunder, "...killed."

Scarlet moved closer, slowly, even though the flesh on her left arm was already beginning to crack under the absurd pressure of his presence. But she didn't stop.

"And you avenged them. We... survived, Strax. You are not alone."

She touched his snout with her head.

And the world stopped crumbling.

A crack echoed—not in the heavens, but inside Strax.

As if the wall of pain had given way.

The hellish glow in his eyes faltered.

The roar contained in his throat... disappeared.

The blackness of his scales began to lose its color.

The putrid energy dripping from his mouth ceased.

And then he fell.

He didn't plummet — he descended. Slowly. Gently. As if the very force of destruction had been drained from his body.

When his feet touched the broken ground, the monstrous colossus began to shrink. Bones cracked again, but now they were retracting. Wings folded. Red scales began to emerge from beneath the black carapace.

Scarlet descended with him. And when he finally took on a form closer to what he had been before—still powerful, still menacing, but alive—she became human and embraced him.

Strax was panting. Not from physical exhaustion—but emotional.

"I... almost..." he began, but his voice failed him. He fell to his knees, and the ground shook, but did not break.

She held him. "You're not lost. You're here."

All around, the sky began to clear. The red clouds began to dissipate like veils being pulled back. The deadly heat gave way to a cold, ash-laden breeze.

Cassandra and Tiamat watched from afar. Monica held a child she had rescued from the rubble. Samira wept silently over the body of a fallen old companion. Bellatrix wiped her soot-covered face, her eyes fixed on the couple in the center of the ruined city.

And Rogue, still in her feline form, looked at the scene.

Scarlet still held him, her arms wrapped in the suffocating heat that was beginning to subside. The world around them seemed frozen—as if even the gods themselves dared not breathe.

She felt him tremble.

Not with anger.

But with the end.

She rested her forehead against his, even though he was still in draconic form. His eyes were closed. And then, in a low, steady voice, as if sealing a spell, she whispered:

"It's over."

Those words were not just heard.

They were felt.

Like a thread cutting a hangman's rope. Like a door opening in a dark room. Like a soul that finally... lets go of its burden.

Strax's colossal body began to shrink. The black shadows that enveloped his scales dissipated like smoke in the light. His wings broke into ethereal fragments, disintegrating into the air like sacred ashes.

And he fell to his knees one last time—but not out of weakness. Out of liberation.

When he raised his face, the Black Dragon had disappeared.

In its place was Strax, in his human form.

But he was not the same.

His bare feet touched the cracked ground, and his skin was now paler, marked by dark veins that seemed to run like living tattoos across his chest and arms. His still-muscular body was covered in soot, dried blood, and raw magic.

But the most visible—and the most disturbing—were his eyes.

Completely red. No pupils. No whites. Just two globes of static fire, like living embers trapped in flesh.

And his hair... it had changed.

Once almost white, when he had vampire blood, now it was black as burnt coal—long, unkempt, some strands dancing with the energy that still escaped from his body.

Scarlet took a step back. Not out of fear. But to see him fully.

Strax breathed heavily, as if his very existence was relearning how to live. He looked at his hands. Then at the heavens. And then at her.

"I... changed. Again." Strax whispered, his voice coming out in layers — still his, but wrapped in a deeper, hoarse timbre, as if something ancient and wild had lodged itself in his throat. There was an echo there. A weight. As if another being whispered along with each word, latent beneath his skin.

Scarlet approached, her eyes brimming. Not with fear. Not with sadness.

But with recognition.

She raised her hand and touched his face with the delicacy of someone holding cracked glass. Her fingers slid across his skin, which still pulsed with residual energy.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice soft as the breeze before the storm. 'You're back. And you're still you.'

Strax closed his eyes. A single red tear ran down his cheek, falling and evaporating before it touched the ground.

[You have obtained a lot of Draconic Energy. The body was forced to evolve.]

The message echoed in his mind, sharp as a blade.

"I see..." he thought, staring at his palm, where black and red sparks danced like newly created life.

"Devouring so many dragons... gave me more than power. It transformed me."

But before he could fully process it, a purple electric boom tore through the air behind him—a sudden thunderclap without lightning—and something collided with his body with enough force to knock down a wall.

"IDIOT!!!" shouted a muffled voice, filled with anger, relief, and despair in equal measure.

It was Xenovia.

She hugged him as if she wanted to fuse his bones together, her arms squeezing with a strength that only the desperate possess. Her armor was stained with blood and soot, and her hair—once neatly braided—now fell in tangled strands, vibrating with unstable electricity.

"You were going to die, you stubborn bastard!" she screamed, burying her face in his chest.

Her voice faltered between sobs she tried to stifle.

Strax froze for a moment. Then... he smiled. A small, cracked smile, but real.

"It's okay," he said.