Demonic Dragon: Harem System

The forest surrounding Eldoria appeared as a dark, silent carpet beneath Strax's wings. In his true form—a huge dragon with red scales and golden eyes—he cut through the night skies like a living shadow. Yennifer and Cristine were firmly braced against his back, the wind whipping their faces as the treetops blurred beneath them.

Yennifer kept her eyes half-closed, not because of the wind, but because of the unease growing in her chest. The city that had seen her die—or at least disappear in agony—was just ahead. And everything indicated that she would be reborn to find it in ruins.

When Strax began his descent, the view of Eldoria opened up like a nightmare painted in fire and smoke. He landed with surprising softness at the edge of the forest, a few hundred yards from the city gates. The sisters leaped from his back, and Strax shrank into his human form in a spiral of greenish light. His clothes automatically adjusted to his body with the same spell that disguised his changes.

Cristine looked at the city ahead and held her breath. Yennifer didn't need to ask what she saw — she could smell it herself.

Ashes. Blood. Burnt magic.

They walked along the overgrown trail, protected by magical cloaks of disguise. No one could recognize who they were—at least, that was the hope. Eldoria, once vibrant and golden, was unrecognizable.

The gates had been replaced by reinforced barricades made of black wood and twisted metal. Guards from different fiefdoms and banners—some clearly from independent guilds—controlled the entrance with suspicious glances. There was an air of suffocating tension, as if the city itself were under siege.

No one stopped them as they passed through the gates, thanks to the spell of anonymity conjured by Strax. But even in disguise, Yennifer felt the stares. As if the shadows remembered.

Inside, the scene was worse.

The western half of the city—where the commercial heart of Eldoria lay—was a charred graveyard. Rows of burned-out shops, destroyed stalls, statues broken in half. The central market, where dozens of voices once overlapped in a chorus of negotiations, was completely silent. Corpses had been removed, but the marks were still there: dark blood on the stones, charred walls, the lingering smell of suffering.

In the eastern half, there was movement. But not from free citizens—rather, from armed patrols. The population was restrained, watched. Merchants spoke in whispers. Children played under the watchful eyes of armed mothers. The taverns were locked, and there were no musicians in the streets. It was as if the city had been folded in half, one part dead, the other... paralyzed by fear.

Yennifer felt her stomach churn. It wasn't just destruction. It was control. Institutionalized fear. Something deeper than an attack — it was a takeover.

"It looks like someone took advantage of the attack to establish themselves here," Cristine murmured.

"Or to prevent the city from rebuilding," Strax replied, his eyes narrowed. "Look at the uniforms. Those aren't regular soldiers. Many of them are mercenaries."

Yennifer watched each face closely. Each flag flying. There was something wrong in the air. Not just the recent terror—but a continuous, subtle presence, as if something invisible still haunted the ruins. Her eyes fell on a broken tower in the distance, and she felt a twinge in her chest.

"There," she said, pointing. "The old tower of the Archmages. It's fallen."

Strax followed her gaze. "The mages were probably one of the first targets. Without them, the city was left without magical defenses. That's when the demons came in."

"But why?" whispered Cristine. "Why destroy the mages? They were neutral..."

Yennifer didn't answer. Because she was beginning to understand. The demons weren't after power or territory. They were clearing the board.

They walked deeper into the city, avoiding prying eyes and following the less guarded streets. At every corner, a memory. The spice shop where Cristine had stolen pepper as a child. The marble staircase where Yennifer used to train. Now, everything was covered in soot and dust.

They passed a makeshift mural where the names of the dead and missing were pinned with pieces of parchment. A woman cried silently in front of one of them. Strax stopped for a moment. He read some names. His jaw tightened.

"They managed to decimate half the city and still control the other half. That requires more than force. It requires a mind behind it."

Yennifer turned to him, the tattoos under the magical illusion vibrating in dark red. "Someone is orchestrating this."

Cristine nodded, her hands clenched into fists. "And if that person is connected to what happened to you, Yen, then we're dealing with something bigger than Eldoria."

"Something that began before me. Before all of us."

The sky was beginning to darken. The magical lights in the streets flickered unsteadily, as if even the city's energy itself was hesitant. In the distance, a bell tolled—but not in celebration. It was a funeral bell.

Yennifer stopped in front of the old hall of the Mana Weavers' Guild. Or what was left of it. Only one of the towers remained standing. The shattered windows revealed a void that had once been pure knowledge.

She closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep breath. When she opened them again, there was something sharper in her gaze.

"We won't find answers walking among the rubble. We need someone who knows what happened in the shadows. Someone who survived the attack... and remained behind the scenes."

Strax seemed to consider. "I know a name. An old informant who works for the Rat Guild. He lives in the tunnels of the lower city. If anyone knows what's really going on here... it's him."

Yennifer nodded.

"Then let's find him. But with caution. Eldoria may be standing... but it's rotten inside."

And without another word, they moved through the shadows of the city, between the ruins and the watchful eyes of an enemy that still had no face—but was certainly watching them....

...

The dark hall seemed to pulsate with a life of its own. The walls, black as molten onyx, vibrated slightly with each step Lilith took, echoing the muffled drums of an ancient heart. Demonic crests were carved into the columns, and blue-flamed candles cast unreal shadows on the polished obsidian floor. The throne, at the top of a short staircase, was made of bones fused with black metal and covered with veils of living energy that snaked like enchanted serpents.

Lilith stood before it, dressed in a scarlet silk robe that blended with her skin in certain places, as if the fabric breathed with her. Her eyes, two red blades, cut through the air with the weight of her contained fury.

Before her, kneeling—but not humbly—were three demons. Tall, imposing, each with a distinct mark of corruption on their scales or skin. One had double spiral horns and claws so long they touched the ground. The second was hooded, with eyes that shone like black stars. The third, silent, seemed to be made of solid smoke.

Lilith did not need to raise her voice. When she spoke, the air crackled as if it had been struck by a whip.

"Who allowed you to attack a human city?"

Silence.

The first demon, Khal'Zir, the one with the spiral horns, raised his eyes slightly, with the expression of one who fears not even oblivion. "It was not an attack, Your Majesty. It was a test. A calculated provocation."

Lilith descended one step. Her feet did not touch the ground—she floated, and every inch she approached seemed to cause the temperature to drop, even though black flames flickered behind her.

"You killed hundreds." Her voice was sharp, controlled. "You destroyed millennia-old agreements. Eldoria lies in ruins. You call that calculated?"

The hooded demon, Vorin, spoke this time. His voice was hissing, almost liquid. "With all due respect, Queen... something stirred on the surface. The spark awakened. The city was already marked since the pact of exile. We just... accelerated the inevitable."

"The spark..." Lilith frowned, more with interest than surprise. "So that's what this is about? Are you kidding me?"

None of them answered.

The third demon, Setharos, who until then had been motionless, moved for the first time—the sound was like wood breaking in half.

"Your Majesty, we only did as the ancestors ordered..." His voice sounded but... his head exploded and fell to the floor.

The two beside him were startled...

"Agares." She spoke, and a man dressed as a butler appeared behind the remaining two. "Go directly to Albert Vorah and ask for forgiveness. Offer labor to rebuild what these worms have destroyed. And take gold."

"Yes, Your Majesty." He bowed and disappeared.

"But-" Vorin tried to say something, but he lost his jaw with a wave of Lilith's hands.

"You fucking sickos, we have a non-aggression pact with all nations for a reason. Albert Vorah is not someone to be provoked. And you lesser vermin went and attacked one of the cities near his home. What are the chances he'll come here personally to settle things and decimate our kingdom?" She spoke very nervously...

"Baal." She called, and a maid appeared, bowing. "Take them to prison, put them in the eternal torture wing," Lilith said.