Demonic Dragon: Harem System

Tiamat closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. The aura around her boiled, oscillating like the tides of a sea about to swallow the land. The runes on her skin began to glow in cold, menacing tones.

"Strax," her voice came out calm, but there was a sharp edge to it, 'we love you. But either let go of that thing now... or we'll fight.'

Beside her, Ouroboros was about to explode. His fists were clenched so tightly that the sound of grinding bones echoed through the hall. Magic leaked from his eyes, his mouth, his veins.

"I'd rather see you bleeding than with that parasite attached to your wrist. It will try to corrupt you, swallow your soul, dominate your will. And you know it."

The sword let out a theatrical laugh, sharp and provocative, ringing like war bells. "What a lovely scene. Jealousy between wives always amuses me. But let's face it, it's not my fault he chose me."

Beatrice, Samira, and Frieren remained motionless, in shock. Samira opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Frieren, on the other hand, tilted her head slightly, like a scholar observing a controlled explosion.

"Hm. So it was true after all..." murmured the elf, almost with admiration. 'The sword killed Tiamat and Ouroboros. That explains the murderous sarcasm.'

Strax looked at them all in silence. And then at the sword. His eyes hardened like tempered steel. The heat in his body ceased, and the emptiness that remained was pure focus...

"So that's it," he murmured.

The sword in his hand trembled slightly, as if sensing the turning tide.

Strax raised his face. His expression had changed. Now there was something almost demonic in his countenance... a dark, icy gleam in his eyes, as if he had accepted something ancient and lethal within himself.

"So she really killed you, then?" he asked, his voice low and steady. 'That explains the sarcasm. And the fear.'

He took a deep breath. And smiled, but it was not a kind smile. 'Survive them.'

And with a steady motion, Strax threw the sword.

The sound of metal cutting through the air echoed like thunder split in two.

"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."

The sword trembled in his hand, the golden eye spinning frantically on the hilt, as if trying to decipher that unexpected betrayal.

"No... Wait! Strax! I was joking, you know! I'm useful! I'M COOL!"

In a blinding flash, she transformed back into a woman—curvy, hot, the embodiment of temptation. With a mischievous smile, she slid her hands to her breasts, squeezing them slowly, displaying her golden skin under the flickering light of the hall.

"Look at these breasts," she murmured, her tone laden with silent invitation, as her fingers caressed the perfect curves.

She turned slowly, arching her lower back with a feline movement, displaying her round, firm buttocks, which swayed subtly, demanding attention.

"And that little ass," he said, pointing to the delicate heart shape, the black outline contrasting with her soft skin. With provocative charm, she swayed her hips from side to side, like a hypnotic dance.

Strax looked away to Beatrice and Samira, who watched with a mixture of amazement and alertness, their own expressions laden with possessiveness. Then he returned to the reincarnated sword, his smile crooked, half exasperated, half admiring.

"I have all this... and much more," he said, his grave tone laden with a veiled warning—to the new presence, to the wives, to everyone.

Ouroboros wasted no time. In a movement so fast it seemed to distort the air, he lunged at Zanith, still in human form. His eyes blazed with primitive fury, pulsing with energy that seemed capable of setting everything around him ablaze.

With a powerful punch, he struck Zanith squarely in the face. The impact reverberated like thunder through the room, a brutal crack that sent the blade sword reeling. Her body flew backward, uncontrolled, and her figure crashed into the thick stone wall that stood before the stairs leading to the library.

The crash of the impact caused fragments of stone to break off, cracks to spread, and the entire surface to give way, causing Zanith to sink into the wall as if it were made of mud. She was stuck, half her body still outside, her golden gaze spinning frantically, now filled with pain and surprise.

"This is how we treat parasites," Ouroboros growled, his muscles still tense, his voice laden with menace.

Tiamat watched silently, the serpentine scepter clenched in her hand, ready to act if necessary, while Strax kept his gaze fixed on the scene, his countenance hardened, a mixture of anger and determination.

Zanith, even crushed, could still whisper, her voice a hoarse thread: "You... will regret this..."

Strax let out a long sigh, the weight of the situation pressing on his chest like armor too heavy to bear. He watched as Ouroboros and Tiamat clenched their fists, advancing together against Zanith, who was still trapped and disoriented in the destroyed wall. The sound of blows echoed loudly, each impact causing the sword to emit small cracks of resistance, but it was no match for the combined fury of the two goddesses.

Samira approached slowly, crossing her arms as she watched the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. In an almost provocative tone, she asked:

"Are you sure you don't want that sword?"

Strax did not take his eyes off the handcuffs, his gaze fixed on the controlled chaos in front of him. Finally, he replied with a slight smile, laden with resignation and a touch of dark humor.

"They'll bring the sword back, for sure. But at least now it won't be talking dirty in my ear all the time."

Samira let out a low laugh, and for a moment the tense atmosphere seemed to ease, even if only slightly.