Demonic Dragon: Harem System

Strax stopped, staring at the three women who now looked at him as if he had adopted a radioactive basilisk cub. The tension hung thick, like smoke about to ignite. He took a deep breath, ignoring the mental buzz of the blade at his waist.

"Okay. One thing at a time." He exhaled. 'Before anyone else accuses me of adultery, I want a clear answer.'

He placed his hand on the hilt of the sword, which still vibrated with a pulsing energy, almost... restless.

"You. Sword. What is your name?"

The silence that followed lasted just long enough to seem ceremonial.

Then her voice came—softer, deeper, as if gathering all her multiple facets and finally assuming an identity.

"Zanith." The syllables floated in the air like an ancient spell, laden with weight and promise. She paused, then added with a playful whisper, "But you can call me Zani, if you like. Only those close to me."

Beatrice frowned, as if the name tasted like vinegar. "Zani. Sure. Because killer swords now come with cute nicknames."

Zani ignored the sarcasm.

"Zanith of the Cracked Skies. Last living forge of the Solar Order. Singer of the Last Battle of Hadran. Reaper of Kings. The immortal mistake—as that whiny cleric called me before losing his head... and... Dragon Slayer."

"Modesty doesn't seem to be part of the package," Samira commented, brushing crumbs from her lap.

"I'm not part of any package, dear," Zani replied with feline elegance. "I am the package. Sword, soul, and entertainment, all in one."

Strax ran his hand over his face once more. He could already feel the headache coming on between his eyes. "Zanith, then."

"Zani. It sounds better when you say it," she purred inside his mind, and Strax almost let go of her again.

Beatrice crossed her arms with menacing slowness.

"Strax, love of my life, artificial sun of my patience... are you now mentally linked to a talking, autoerotic, historically homicidal sword?"

"Accurate summary," said Frieren, consulting an invisible tome in her memory. Zanith is listed in the Archives of Fallen Relics. Threat level: Superior Apocalypse. Status: Missing. Last recorded sighting: unknown."

Zani sounded almost offended.

"Unknown? I've killed several dragons!" she said nervously. 'What do you mean, unknown?!'

Samira raised an eyebrow.

"Has anyone else noticed that the sword thinks a little too highly of itself?"

"Would you try to appear humble after killing several dragons with one vertical slash?" Zani retorted, feigning innocence. 'I have a track record, sweetie.'

Strax closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried to organize the chaos inside him.

"Okay. Here's the thing: the sword, now called Zanith—Zani—is connected to me. It wasn't on purpose. But there's no way to undo it either. And since it's here, alive, talking, and clearly convinced that it's the warlike reincarnation of seduction... we're going to have to deal with it."

Beatrice, Samira, and Frieren exchanged glances. Each recognized the tone in his voice—the one that said I'll try to fix this before it becomes a national calamity.

Zani, for her part, sounded satisfied.

"Well, now that we understand each other, how about we test my blade on something more challenging than your jealous wives? Or do you only shine in domestic drama?"

Strax stared at her, then looked at the women he loved, and finally at the room around him. The air felt heavy, saturated with tension, and something invisible was scratching at the edges of reality.

"What a pain," he muttered irritably, already sensing that something was terribly wrong.

Then it happened.

A crash tore through the air with the force of ancient thunder. The ceiling of the room exploded into a thousand pieces, ancient stones falling like rain of war. A blinding flash illuminated the corridors for an instant before two colossal presences plummeted from the sky and landed with enough impact to make the ground shake.

Ouroboros and Tiamat.

Their forms were beautiful and terrifying, imposing as goddesses amid the chaos. The aura of both cut through the air like ethereal spears — familiar, yes, but now imbued with something darker: fury and fear.

Ouroboros was the first to speak. Or rather, to roar.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT BITCH IN YOUR HANDS?!"

Her eyes burned like embers, her skin sparkling with runes that pulsed like hearts about to explode. She pointed directly at Zanith, her fingers claw-like and magic trembling around her body like a hurricane about to erupt.

"LET GO OF THAT FUCKING SWORD, STRAX! I'LL BREAK IT, I SWEAR!"

Tiamat descended a little calmer, but her presence was as overwhelming as her companion's. She placed a delicate but firm hand on Ouroboros' shoulder, trying to restrain her.

"Breathe. He doesn't know what he's doing."

Then she turned to Strax with controlled calm, the kind of calm that precedes a death sentence.

"Strax... love... let go of that thing. Now. Or we're going to have problems. Serious problems."

Strax, stunned, did not react immediately. The floor still vibrated beneath his feet, and dust from the ceiling fell like cursed snow around him. He looked from the sword to the two colossal entities in front of him, confused.

"Wait... what's going on?"

Ouroboros took a step forward, the floor cracking beneath his bare feet. His gaze was that of an immortal creature on the verge of carnage.

"She killed us, Strax. Are you listening? That steel bitch destroyed us. She sealed us away, humiliated us, threw us into the far reaches of time and space as if we were broken toys."

Tiamat shook her head, sadness and anger mixed in her voice.

"Zanith is not a sword. She is a death sentence disguised as desire. And you are wielding her as if she were just another magical artifact. That... that is dangerous."

The sword vibrated slightly in Strax's hand, and her voice snaked into his mind like sweet poison.

"Lies. Envy. Fear. They fear what they cannot control, dear. And it's not me they fear... it's you, with me."

"She's talking to you, isn't she?" whispered Ouroboros, trembling with rage. "That damn gossip..."

Strax sighed, feeling so tired...

"Okay, wait. Yes, she talked to me. But so far she's only made jokes and... well... strange propositions. And I thought she was exaggerating... saying she killed you guys."

Zanith laughed inside his mind. A dangerous sound, full of memories that did not belong to him.

"You loved it, admit it. All men like to know that their weapon has defeated legends. And I won. With style."

Tiamat closed her eyes for a moment, controlling the aura that threatened to devour the ceiling — what was left of it. "Strax, we love you. But either let go of that thing now, or we'll have to fight."