Demonic Dragon: Harem System

"Is this okay?" Samira asked, frowning as she watched Strax and Lithara standing in the center of the makeshift arena—a space sealed with runes and raw energy markings, designed to withstand combat between entities that bordered on cataclysm.

The two figures stood still, like predators about to spring. The tension between them was palpable, the air charged with pure electricity.

"Don't even tell me about it..." Tiamat muttered, her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the pair in the middle of the arena. "That one... Lithara. She's always been a problem. I don't understand why Strax wanted to bring her back. So much wasted energy. It would have been more sensible to have absorbed her soul and ended the cycle."

"I completely agree," muttered Ouroboros, who was sitting on one of the raised bleachers, her legs crossed like a snake coiled in on itself. Her golden eyes shifted to the side, settling on a figure at the edge of the arena. "But what really catches my attention is this one..."

She raised her voice, a call full of challenge: "Hey, Kallamus!"

The woman in question turned slowly. Her golden eyes—feline, lethal—met Ouroboros's with the calmness of someone who has already decided they have nothing left to prove.

"It's Kali, now," she replied firmly. Her voice was silky and cutting, like silk soaked in poison. "And if you have something useful to say, say it. If not, shut your damn mouth and just watch."

Ouroboros arched an eyebrow in surprise. That boldness...didn't suit the old Kallamus. When they were both still just spiritual fragments fused with Strax's essence, Kali was...submissive. Silent. Passive.

But now...

"You're wanting something, aren't you?" Ouroboros growled, leaning forward, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "That provocative body, that attitude… is it challenging my position?"

Kali laughed. A short, despicable laugh. Then she leaned forward slightly, just enough for her draconic presence to manifest itself as a warm, oppressive shadow.

"You still don't get it, do you?" she said, her eyes glowing purple. "There is no hierarchy here anymore. I am what I have always been. Only now, free. And if you try to measure me by appearances or by your ancient serpent ego… you will end up buried under your own arrogance."

The atmosphere grew dense. The draconic auras collided like invisible tectonic plates. The gravity of the arena seemed to double.

Ouroboros stood up with a crack. Energy crackled around him.

But before anything else could happen, Tiamat moved silently and placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

"You've already lost," Tiamat said, with ancient calm, her voice like contained thunder. "She's right. There are no thrones here. No queens. We are equal. Put your ego down before it swallows you."

Ouroboros gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing.

"...Tsk. Shut up."

She turned away, her face tense, her fists clenched—but she said nothing more. The message had been clear.

Kali just watched, a half-smile on her lips. A smile that said: I've risen again. And you still don't understand how much that changes everything.

And down below, in the center of the arena, Lithara took the first step.

Strax responded with another.

The fight was about to begin.

The arena floor reverberated with Lithara's first step. Her bare feet left incandescent marks on the containment runes, which trembled under the weight of the energy she carried. Her eyes burned purple, pulsing with hatred and desire.

Strax remained motionless. His arms hanging loosely at his sides. His face serene. Cold.

She advanced.

The first strike was like a lightning bolt. A straight punch, charged with compressed magic, straight at his head. An attack to shatter skulls and shake hills.

Strax twisted his neck. That was it. The blow missed him by millimeters, displacing the air with a dull boom.

Without pausing, Lithara twisted her body and unleashed a brutal sequence of kicks and punches—fast, precise, lethal.

Strax retreated. A step to the side. A shoulder shift. An almost lazy flick of the wrist. No magic. No visible effort. He looked... bored.

"Are you avoiding me?" she roared, spreading her wings and flying in a furious charge, aiming for his chest with an explosive blast of black flame.

Strax raised a hand.

The blast crashed into an invisible barrier and died before it even touched his skin. The ground around him cracked, but he stood there, untouched.

"It's not personal," he said, his voice calm as the sea before a storm. "Just... unnecessary."

Lithara burst into flames, her eyes wide with pure hatred. "FIGHT, DAMN YOU!"

She came down like a comet. She landed with a punch to the ground, trying to open a crater beneath Strax's feet. The arena shook, sparks flew, rocks rose. But he was no longer there.

Behind her, the voice.

"You've trained my subconscious a lot. I've noticed. But… you still don't understand."

She turned around, gasping.

Strax stood with his hands behind his back, like a disappointed master facing a stubborn apprentice. His eyes were cold and slightly weary, studying her.

"You want to prove something to me. But you're only proving to yourself that you're still weak."

"SHUT UP!" she screamed, and her entire form exploded into chaotic energy, fragmenting into multiple illusions that attacked from all directions.

Strax closed her eyes.

A wave of subtle energy—colorless, formless—blasted from her body like a divine breath.

The illusions disintegrated into thin air. Lithara was thrown backward, as if an invisible titan had pushed her with a finger. She rolled on the ground, her body wounded, her breathing shaky.

Silence.

He approached.

He didn't run. He just walked.

She tried to stand, blood dripping from her mouth, but her legs gave out.

"You are a force of nature, Lithara. Violent, wild. But you still don't know how to control your own center."

He stood before her, looking down. Strax's aura wasn't oppressive. It was inevitable. Like the tide. Like death.

"Do you want to fight again?"

Lithara spat on the ground, her eyes shaking—not with anger now, but with frustration. And… fear.

"I hate you," she whispered.

Strax just nodded.

"I know." Strax smiled—not arrogantly, but with surprising patience. "Now… why don't you let your guard down and we can talk like civilized people?"

He held out his hand.

The gesture was simple, but it carried something older than pride or anger. An invitation. An acknowledgment.

"You just wanted to show that you're still strong. I understand," he continued, his voice low, firm, almost gentle. "But you don't have to prove anything here. Not anymore."

Lithara, still kneeling, felt her chest tighten.

The heat that rose to her face wasn't just from the exhaustion of the fight, nor from the remnants of magic… It was something else. Something more human. More intimate.

She looked at his hand, reluctantly, as if accepting this gesture were harder than any fight. But her fingers trembled… and she reached out.

Strax held it firmly, but carefully—like someone holding something precious, still in the process of healing.

"Let's go," he said with a calm smile, gently pulling her to her feet.

For a moment, Lithara looked away, her cheeks slightly flushed. Still panting, still with her pride wounded—but something inside her was beginning to give way.