Demonic Dragon: Harem System

Strax felt every inch of the world vibrate beneath his tense muscles.

The fight had begun brutally—but now it was escalating to the absolute.

In an instant, the Primordial tried to grab his throat with jaws wide enough to devour mountains, but Strax spun in the air, digging his front claws into the monster's jaws and forcing them open with sheer brute force. The creature's bones cracked, and a jet of dark energy escaped from its throat like cosmic blood.

"You've got to be kidding me..." Strax muttered, spitting a burst of supercompressed flames directly into the enemy's open mouth.

The entire sky glowed white.

The explosion that followed was so intense that it created a flash visible for miles—the clouds disintegrated, and even Tiamat's magical containment fields shook. The Primordial was thrown backward, sliding for dozens of meters, cutting through the earth like an inverted hurricane. Everything in its path was obliterated.

But Strax gave his enemy no time to recover.

With a violent flap of his wings, he rose—and the world shook with his ascent. High layers of wind opened like torn veils. In seconds, he passed Vorah's zenith. An incandescent point among the stars.

And then he dove again.

Faster. Hotter. More cruel.

The sky split with his return. A sonic boom tore through the air. Gravity cried around his body. He was concentrating not only his physical power, but also his flaming core—the Heart of the Volcano, a forbidden technique, for it could consume him from within.

His skin cracked. His scales crumbled like molten rock. His body became energy in the form of fury.

Strax was becoming a stellar fall.

The Primordial Dragon raised its head—too late.

The impact was apocalyptic.

Tiamat instinctively backed away. Kali raised a wall of shadows to protect Ouroboros.

Even his allies feared for a second what Strax had done.

And in the center of the crater — there he was.

Breathing heavily. His body charred in places. His wings partially destroyed. But his eyes... still burning white.

The Primordial Dragon lay motionless, half his body disintegrated. But something in him still pulsed—the ancient runes glowed, and the ground shook, as if he were to be reborn from his own ashes.

Strax spat blood.

He looked up at the skies, then at the devastated field.

And then he growled, "I'm not done."

A dry roar came from his throat, and the ground around him reignited. The flames that had died returned. The earth itself seemed to want to fight for him.

And so, with his eyes bleeding light and his body broken, Strax advanced again.

Like a force of nature.

Like the final sentence of a collapsing world.

Like the final wrath of the living upon forgotten horrors.

The world was no longer the same around Strax.

The air, thin and vibrant, was saturated with ancient magic and intense heat. The particles around him behaved like dust in a solar storm—attracted and repelled by his mere presence. Every step he took left footprints of magma. Every exhalation ignited the oxygen.

But there was no time for pain. Nor for hesitation.

The Primordial was beginning to move.

The runes on his burned body pulsed with an energy that was not of this plane. His bones rebuilt themselves with sounds that resembled prayers spoken backwards. Each destroyed part reconstituted itself into new forms — denser, more twisted. As if the destruction had only been a mold for something worse.

Strax did not retreat.

He raised his arms, and from the center of his chest a light burst forth—the Heart of the Volcano, now open. It was an orb of pure fiery energy, incandescent like an inner sun, containing ages of fury, unfulfilled promises, and losses he had never verbalized.

"You should not exist," he said, his voice broken but carrying the strength of a thousand battles won. "But if the universe has failed to erase you, then I will finish the job."

He exploded into motion.

Faster than before. More destructive.

Each beat of his wings now tore up plates of ground.

He collided with the monster before it could fully rise—and the earth wept under the weight of this reunion.

Claws encased in lava pierced the Primordial's chest, tearing out ancient symbols that reacted with bursts of gravitational energy. The space around them collapsed into microfissures. Reality was shattering into splinters where they fought.

The Primordial Dragon roared, but not in pain. In ecstasy.

He enjoyed combat. He was made for it.

And so they fought.

Claws against fangs.

Forgotten spells against the pure brutality of will.

Skies darkening under cosmic conjurations.

Storms of white flames engulfing everything to the east.

Tiamat, from above, watched with her multiple eyes.

"The field is collapsing," she whispered.

"If Strax crosses the line... he will take all of Vorah with him."

Kali was already descending again, bloodied, her silhouette unfolding into multiple images. Ouroboros spun in the air above, absorbing the excess of corrupted time and space.

But no one approached the center.

Because at the center, Strax was defying the very logic of existence.

He roared one last time, and the sound turned into an ancient word—a forbidden word, learned in the halls of time.

"Nahar'Zul."

The ground opened up.

A column of celestial fire shot from the heavens, connecting his body with the firmament.

He was channeling the Heart of the Volcano beyond its limits.

Transforming his soul into a final weapon.

"Goodbye," he murmured, looking at the Primordial, his eyes completely consumed by light.

And then he exploded.

Not with destruction.

But with purification.

The light engulfed everything, and for a moment—just one—the entire battlefield fell silent. The creature screamed, not in pain, but in terror.

Because it was being erased.

Not killed.

Not defeated.

But undone, on every plane, in every echo, in every memory.

When the light dissipated...

There was only a crater.

The sky was clear.

The air was still.

And in the center, Strax was on his knees, his form almost without a body, a silhouette of burnt scales and burning bones.

But alive.

And in the void before him...

Nothing remained of the Primordial.