Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

Enzo's body was covered in scars, some old and faded, others still raw and weeping. Dried blood from countless whip wounds streaked across his thin frame.

His wrists remained bound by cold iron chains, cutting into skin that had long since lost its strength. The torture had stopped—but he didn't know why.

And somehow, the silence terrified him more than the pain ever did.

Being forgotten was worse than being beaten.

Food was rare—maybe once every three days, if he was lucky. Water came from the ceiling: drops that trickled down the stone, pooling on the floor.

He didn't know where it came from. He didn't care. Survival was all that mattered now.

Survival, and the distant hope of seeing his daughter and wife again.

He understood why his wife had left him. Why she had chosen to go with that bastard, Claude. He was certain it was to protect their daughter. That child wouldn't last a day in this place.

"Iris…" he rasped, his voice cracking from disuse. "I wonder how big you are now."

Time was meaningless here. The days and nights blurred together. The walls never changed, the dark never lifted.

He didn't know how long he'd been imprisoned. Weeks? Months? Years? Maybe forever.

Then, the cell door creaked open.

His breath caught. Muscles stiffened with instinctive terror. He didn't dare raise his head. Looking directly at the one who tortured him only earned more pain.

But this time, the voice was different. Cold, commanding.

"Lift your head. Look at this."

Enzo flinched. Trembling, he slowly raised his face, expecting a blow, expecting agony.

But instead, he saw a screen.

And what it showed made his eyes widen in disbelief.

It was Reene.

She was straddling the man Enzo knew better than anyone—the one he hated most, Claude. Her cries echoed off the damp stone walls like cruel mockery.

"Yesshh! Your cock is better than his!" she moaned, her voice shrill, wild, and utterly unrecognizable.

The sound carved itself into his soul. The image burned into his eyes like a curse he could never unsee.

He didn't even notice the tears running down his face. His mind refused to comprehend it—but his heart broke all the same.

Everything he had endured—the hunger, the chains, the torment—was for them.

For Reene and Iris

He had clung to the fantasy of escape, of saving them both, of running far away to start anew.

But now, that hope crumbled.

His wife was no longer his. She had become something else—someone else. A stranger, a bitch even.

And the man beneath her—Claude—laughed. Laughed while desecrating everything Enzo had fought to survive for.

Enzo couldn't look away. He couldn't even cry out. The part of him that could feel anything had withered.

He died inside.

And Claude kept laughing.

Then something snapped in Enzo's hollow eyes—realization, cold and final. He would never escape. He would never hold his daughter again. He would never feel the warmth of sunlight or freedom. This prison was his grave.

Unable to bear it, he bit down hard on his tongue. Blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic. But even that pain was nothing compared to the agony of what he'd just witnessed.

The man who brought the screen—Sun—rushed forward, eyes widening. "No—wait!"

But it was too late.

Sun couldn't heal him, but Enzo was already gone—his body limp, his soul extinguished. Blood pooled beneath him, a quiet end to a storm of suffering.

Enzo was dead. Inside and out.

And Claude… Claude didn't like that.

"He died just like that?" Claude muttered, a sigh of disappointment escaping his lips as he stared at Enzo's cold, lifeless body sprawled across the stone floor.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty! It's my fault—I should've done better!" Sun dropped to one knee, bowing deeply, guilt etched all over his face.

Claude sighed again, brushing a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's fine... I only wanted to see his reaction one last time. But he chose to end it himself. I suppose… he had at least that much dignity left."

He stepped closer, gazing down at the man who once stood above him, the man who now lay broken and bloodied, reduced to nothing.

Claude crouched for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I thought about turning you into an undead... but it's a shame. It has to be my kill to make that happen."

He paused, his eyes cold but not without the echo of old pain.

"At least now you've felt what I once did—no, even worse."

Without another word, Claude stood and turned his back to the corpse. No farewell. No ceremony.

Just a quiet exit as he walked away—leaving not just the cell, but a piece of his past buried with the man who helped ruin it.

***

Today was the day Claude returned to Cortinvar—though only for a short while. Naturally, his concubines had been annoyed, some even protesting outright, but political duties couldn't be avoided.

He needed to formalize a marriage alliance with Cortinvar to strengthen his power and influence.

With the Church's influence waning, Claude no longer needed to take extra precautions. He could teleport straight into the Queen's office without fear of ambush or spies.

As he arrived, he found Emmalise already waiting for him. She sat elegantly on the plush sofa, surrounded by an assortment of desserts, delicate pastries, and a steaming pot of tea.

It was an unusual sight—she typically preferred wine and salty snacks. But she'd remembered something simple about him: Claude had a sweet tooth, and he favored tea and desserts over anything else.

The gesture pulled a small, genuine smirk from his lips as he strolled toward her.

"You miss me?" he teased, his voice low and amused.

A faint blush colored Emmalise's cheeks before she quickly masked it. "Hahh, you really are narcissistic, aren't you?"

"Always," Claude said, taking a seat across from her.

"Anyway," she cleared her throat and straightened up, "let's talk about the agreement. This marriage... won't be easy. You know what I mean."

"No foreplay, huh?" he quipped, lounging as a maid poured his tea.

He lifted the cup, the aroma of jasmine wafting gently into the room—calming, fragrant, familiar.

Emmalise rolled her eyes. "Since you'll officially be the prince consort, you'll need to spend more time here. Consistently. You'll be expected to attend court, represent the royal house, and... well, act like you care."

Claude raised a brow, then smirked again. "Oh? So you will miss me when I'm gone too long."

"No!" she snapped, but the flush returned, betraying her.

"Ugh. I mean—if you're gone too often, you'll arouse suspicion. Even if most noble houses support me, there are still plenty who question your intentions... your loyalties."

Her expression grew serious now. This wasn't just about appearances. Emmalise was putting her crown and her pride on the line by marrying him.

After all, he had already claimed her—body and heart. According to Cortinvar's tradition, her virginity belonged only to the man she would wed.

There was no turning back now.

Claude's eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back. "I can use my clone. That should satisfy appearances."

Emmalise felt a rush of relief… but it was quickly followed by a dull ache of disappointment.

"So... you won't be coming here often," she murmured, her gaze lowering to the reflection rippling in her teacup.

It was embarrassing to admit, but the truth weighed on her more than she liked to admit—she felt lonely.

If she were just another concubine in his palace, even if she had to share his time and affection, at least she could see him.

Claude blinked at her quiet tone. Then, without a word, he stood and moved to her side, giving the maid a silent gesture to leave them alone. Once the room quieted, he looked down at her with a wry smile.

"So you really love me, huh?" he teased, though his voice held a note of seriousness beneath the grin.

Emmalise frowned, her lips pressing into a tight line. "I do," she admitted, "but I'm also worried. What if this all falls apart in the end?"

She turned to him, her amber eyes burning with sincerity. "What if the people find out what you are? That you're a daemon? What if they see me as a traitor, standing beside the evil the world feared for generations?"

She massaged her temples, trying to soothe the weight pressing down on her. "I didn't even believe in your kind until the day you appeared here. You shattered everything I thought I knew."

Claude nodded, not dismissing her fears. He understood. Her world was built on politics, legacy, loyalty—and all of that was being upended by their alliance.

"It's fine," he said softly. "Everything will be fine... because I'm going to conquer this world, Emmalise."

He cupped her cheek gently, making her meet his eyes.

"And when I do, you won't be standing on the wrong side. You'll be standing with me."