Demonic Dragon: Harem System

The evening light filtered through the dense clouds covering Eldoria, bathing the city in a somber, almost cruel golden hue.

The trio moved slowly through the narrow streets, dodging debris, avoiding guards, and diving deeper and deeper into the living—and sick—part of the city. The disguise spell still protected them from their identities, but nothing shielded them from the weight of what they saw.

Strax walked ahead now, his eyes fixed, but his jaw clenched. He wasn't always the calmest person, but the scene ahead was really making him nervous. Something in his posture had changed. His shoulders were more tense. His hands were clenched in the pockets of his cloak. Yennifer noticed it before Cristine did.

"Even though he seems strong... even he feels empathy," thought Yennifer, without taking her eyes off a wall marked with symbols of resistance.

At every corner, decay showed a new face.

A tavern turned into a makeshift shelter. A temple that now served as an infirmary. A ruined school where children played silently among burnt books, under the supervision of a deep-eyed cleric.

And then they saw it.

A narrow, stuffy alleyway, filled with bodies—living bodies—covered in torn cloaks and dirty bandages. Wounded. Burned. Broken. Children. There were at least twenty of them, huddled together against a wall graffitied with faded magic paint.

Some tried to play with broken branches, others just stared into space with the dull eyes of those who have seen death up close. One girl had her leg bandaged up to her thigh, fresh blood still seeping through the edges. A boy—perhaps seven years old—held a broken sword as if it were the only thing left of his family.

Strax stopped.

Completely.

His entire body seemed to freeze for a moment. His hands trembled slightly, even though they were clenched. Yennifer noticed. She came closer, but said nothing. She didn't need to.

"They were here," he said at last. His voice was low, but laden with restrained venom. "Demons with claws sharp enough to tear down walls... and yet they took the trouble to hunt down civilians. Children."

Cristine looked around, feeling the same knot form in her stomach. "This wasn't just any attack... It was... a cleansing. A warning? Of what?"

"It was terror," Yennifer corrected. "They wanted Eldoria to bleed so deeply that there would be no way to rise again."

Strax knelt beside a fallen woman—probably a healer—who was trying to share a flask of water with four children. He took a gold coin from his sleeve and, with a discreet gesture, transformed it into a small enchanted amulet. He held it out without saying a word.

The woman looked at him, confused, but accepted it.

"This will purify water for seven days," he murmured. "Drink slowly."

She nodded gratefully, but her eyes had the same expression as everyone else there: exhausted.

When he stood up, Strax's eyes were darker. Older.

"They weren't just testing Eldoria," he said. "They were testing how much the world can tolerate without reacting."

Cristine bit her lip. "Do you think it has anything to do with what happened to Yen?"

Yennifer looked away, uncertain. "Maybe. But this... is bigger. They did this to send a message. But to whom?"

Strax began walking again, his stride firmer.

"I'm looking for patterns," he said. "Marks. Signs. Even a demon leaves traces when it operates outside its plane." He looked at the buildings, at the remnants of magic in the destroyed carvings, and frowned at every strange detail. "And someone... was directing this from within the city."

They passed a partially destroyed square where statues had been decapitated. Paintings of blood and magic were on the walls—runes that Yennifer recognized but did not fully understand.

"They're symbols of invocation," she murmured, approaching the marks. "But they're incomplete. As if someone had cut them before the spell was finished."

"Or as if they had been deliberately sabotaged," said Strax. "Perhaps someone tried to prevent the city from falling... but failed."

A sharp sound cut through the air—a muffled cry.

Further ahead, a woman was trying to calm a little boy covered in ash. The child was screaming for his mother, his eyes wild with panic. Strax stopped again. He took a deep breath, his eyes closing.

Yennifer placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't take the blame for this incident. You can be upset and sad, but don't blame yourself for something you didn't cause."

He looked at her—and for a second, Strax didn't seem like the controlled warrior he usually was. He seemed like someone deeply human, about to break in half.

"I'll take care of this quickly," Strax said in a firm, almost cold voice. "Someone needs to clean up this mess."

Cristine knelt before the panicked boy, gently taking his small hand. She murmured soft words, wrapped in comforting magic. A bluish glow escaped her lips like mist, and the boy stopped crying. His eyes slowly closed, and he fell asleep in his mother's arms, his breathing finally calm.

"He'll sleep for a long time," Cristine said with a small smile, trying to soften the pain etched on the woman's face.

Strax approached, his eyes fixed on the two. He raised his hand with his fingers half-open, and when he spoke, his voice reverberated in a strange, ancient way:

"Heal."

The word was not just a sound—it was a command, an order woven directly into reality.

An emerald rune formed in midair, coming out of his mouth in flaming spirals. The magic pulsed with a raw, living energy unlike any human spell. When the rune touched the bodies of the woman and child, the pain disappeared. Wounds healed before their eyes, fatigue was eased, and even the dust that covered them was dispelled as if time had turned back a few moments.

Strax took a deep breath but remained serious. His golden eyes flashed briefly.

"I see... my words have already begun to transform completely into the language of dragons," he thought. "This is not a good sign."

The Ancient Language of Dragons was not a common form of magic. Every word spoken in this ancient language shaped the essence of the world around them. Strax avoided using it. Because every time he spoke like a dragon, a part of him moved away from humanity... and closer to something primordial. Something dangerous.

But at that moment, he did not hesitate.

"Th-thank you!" the woman said, her eyes brimming with tears, bowing in an almost instinctive reverence. She pulled her son close, hugging him as if afraid of losing him again. "Thank you so much..."

Strax nodded, but did not reply.

He looked up—at the sky of Eldoria, once so clear and full of life. Now it was covered by thick, heavy clouds, tinged with red and gray, like smoke mixed with shadow.

It was not just the remnants of fire or destruction.

It was the mark left by demonic energy. The very magical currents of the region were disturbed, as if the fabric of the world had been wounded. The sky seemed to bleed.

"Better to resolve this..."