Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 548

Chapter 548: Just killing them all will do.

The tunnel was immense—as vast as the throat of a sleeping titan. The darkness was broken only by the faint light of ancient crystals embedded in the walls, pulsing with an energy that seemed alive, as if the world itself breathed there. The three dragons flew side by side — Strax in front, his eyes fixed ahead, his obsidian-black wings cutting through the dense air; Ouroboros on the left, silent but alert, and Tiamat on the right, her golden eyes attentive to every vibration in the rock walls.

The air there was not just hot — it was heavy. As if something awaited at the end of that colossal corridor. The space was so wide that even an army of dragons could fly through it in formation. Ancient structures carved directly into the rock jutted out from the walls like forgotten columns, as if the tunnel had been created by the hands of a long-extinct people — or by dragons from forgotten ages.

The silence was broken by Ouroboros.

“There’s something coming from ahead,” his voice was deep, vibrating in the tunnel like restrained thunder. “I sense… movement. Many presences. Connected minds.”

Tiamat closed her eyes for a brief moment, her wings moving lightly as she felt the flow of air.

“It’s an army,” she replied. “Several… hundreds, maybe thousands. But there is no smell of fear… They are waiting.”

Strax frowned, but did not slow down. On the contrary, his wings beat harder.

“Continue,” he ordered. “If they are waiting, it is because they know we are coming. Let’s see who dares to steal my mother’s body and control her.”

The light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter. Unlike the glow of crystals, this light was natural, alive, like the light of a hidden sun. And then, after a few more moments of flight, they crossed the threshold…

And what they saw on the other side made even the oldest among them hold their breath.

A vast underground world was revealed, buried beneath the crust of the world like a secret jewel. The vault above them stretched as high as the sky, studded with stalactites that glowed with a soft bioluminescence. The cave ceiling emitted a false aurora, an underground sky painted in golden, blue, and emerald colors.

Before them, like a revelation from the ancient gods, stood a monumental city. Black towers, so tall they touched the top of the cave. Floating stone structures supported by currents of magic. Suspension bridges, platforms levitating in the air, rivers of lava flowing through artificial channels like incandescent veins feeding the living metropolis.

It was a city… of dragons.

Or something that belonged to them. The structures resembled draconic forms: skull-shaped domes, columns carved with scales, claw-shaped protrusions. A world built by beings who understood the raw power of the earth and the mystical gift of magic. It was at once ancient and advanced, archaic and eternal.

“Holy shit,” Tiamat muttered, her golden eyes reflecting the towers before them.

Ouroboros gritted his teeth but said nothing.

Strax simply descended, reducing altitude and hovering over the city. He still felt… something. A pressure. An energy that vibrated in his bones. It wasn’t hostility—it was expectation. The city was alive. Watching. Feeling their presence.

The air trembled with a sharp hiss—Strax felt the sudden shift of energy and spun in the air instinctively. A beam of black magic passed inches from his flank, colliding with one of the tunnel walls and exploding into purple sparks. The rock shook with the impact. He backed away in flight, his eyes flashing alertly as he turned his face toward where the attack had come from.

And then he saw them.

An entire squadron of black dragons emerged from the shadows of the underground city’s ceiling, like a living storm. Their scales were opaque, like hardened coal, their eyes glowing with an ominous light. Each one was colossal, with wings as wide as walls, gleaming claws, and snouts spewing smoke and raw energy.

Strax sighed.

Tiamat was already growling low, and Ouroboros spread its wings, making the air vibrate around it.

In a few seconds, the three were completely surrounded. Dragons circled them in concentric circles, flying over towers and platforms. They formed a living wall, blocking any escape route. The air grew heavy, saturated with magic and tension. The entire city seemed to hold its breath.

One of the dragons—larger than the others, with scars crisscrossing his face and horns decorated with black gold—stepped forward. His voice was like an avalanche in slow motion:

“You have crossed sacred territory without permission. State your origin and intentions. Now.”

Strax stared at him, his expression pure contained fury. The shadow of his wing fell over the buildings below, black as the night itself.

“Bring the fucking Ignisar,” he growled, his voice cold and steady as steel being forged, “before I exterminate your entire race.”

A murmur ran through the surrounding dragons, a mixture of shock and indignation. The dragon who had spoken spread his wings in defiance.

“You dare threaten the clan of Drak-Zhorr? No one demands anything here. Either you surrender, or you will be—”

CRACK!

In the blink of an eye, Strax moved. A sharp, horrendous sound filled the air. He lunged forward like lightning, too fast for the eye to follow. Strax’s claw pierced the leader dragon’s skull before he could finish his sentence. Black blood spurted into the air like diluted ink.

The creature’s body fell like a meteor, crashing through two platforms and crushing a smaller tower as it collided with the city floor.

A deathly silence followed. Tiamat didn’t even blink. Ouroboros merely crossed his arms over his chest, watching.

Strax slowly turned his face to the dragon beside the one he had just killed. His eyes were burning with embers—a primitive, unstoppable force building up in them.

“Where’s Ignisar?” he repeated, each syllable weighing like a death sentence.

The second dragon hesitated for a second, too proud to back down, but smart enough to recognize the danger. Still, he didn’t answer.

SHNK!

A spear of magic pierced its chest, exiting through its back. Strax hadn’t even moved from where he stood — the blast had come from his tail like a whip of pure condensed energy. The second body fell, dragging with it a shower of blood and scales.

Strax looked around.

The city, that ancient and living marvel, seemed to have stopped in time. No dragon moved. No one dared to breathe loudly. The stone sky above their heads, the obsidian towers, the rivers of lava running like arteries across the ground… everything now seemed fragile in the face of the pure terror that this being represented.

He inhaled slowly, spreading his wings fully.

His eyes scanned the petrified faces of the others.

“I’ll ask one more time.”

His voice was not loud. But it echoed throughout the underground valley like a divine decree.

“Where is Ignisar?”

A distant roar answered, coming from the depths of the city.

Tiamat looked down, his eyes widening for a moment. “By the abyss…”

The ground of one of the central platforms began to break apart. Cracks of red energy opened like wounds, and an entire dome of black stone began to rise, propelled by columns of magic. The sound of ritual drums and draconic chants echoed from the bowels of the earth. An entire structure emerged—an altar or circular arena, enveloped in magical flames and arcane symbols swirling in the air.

And from the center of that formation, a presence emerged.

Slowly, as if each step carried the weight of an era.

A colossal dragon — larger than any other present. Golden scales stained with veins of pulsating magma. Double eyes, one pair horizontal and the other vertical, like a being that saw beyond time and space. Around it, reality itself seemed to ripple.

“The chances of it being him are high, right?” Strax asked.

Tiamat looked and sighed, “Well, it looks strong.”

Ouroboros returned to her humanoid female form and looked at him, “Fire manipulation, Darkness… Strong.” Ouroboros said.

The silence that followed the golden dragon’s rise was suffocating. The towers that had once echoed with whispers and songs fell silent, and all eyes turned to the one who walked slowly to the center of the incandescent arena, as if the underworld itself awaited his word.

Ignisar stopped on a ring of black flames. His eyes—two pairs, one above the other—moved, scanning Strax, then Tiamat, then Ouroboros. His presence seemed to double the gravity around him.

And then he spoke.

His voice was ancient, so ancient that it seemed to have been heard in dreams before the birth of stars. It echoed through the stones, through the blood of those present. Each word was like magma pouring from a dormant mountain.

“Who are you… insolent creature, who dares to kill the children of the Drak-Zhorr clan and invade this sanctuary?”

Strax, still in the air, hovering like the blade of an axe before it falls, let a slight crooked smile appear on his face.

The energy around him rippled like a contained storm. Tiamat watched in silence. Ouroboros wiped a bloodstain from his arm with disdain.

Strax gripped the hilt of his sword, Zani, and took a slight step in the air—the blade, which seemed to be made of lunar metal and living runes, floated beside him, spinning slowly, ready to dance.

“I am Strax.” His voice was low, but it reverberated like restrained thunder. “Son of Scathach Antares.”

Ignisar stood still for a moment… then his eyes flashed with scorn.

“Scathach died ages ago. Her lineage is lost. You lie.”

Strax tilted his head slightly, as if amused.

“Lie? No. But I am tired of repeating myself.”

In a sudden movement, the energy around Strax exploded.

Zani spun in his hand—and in a single circular motion, a vortex of pure destruction cut through the air around him.

A wave of silver magic, wrapped in black fire and pure gravity, exploded in all directions.

CRASH! SHHHHK! BOOM!

A whirlwind of light and death formed.

All the nearby dragons—those in the circle, those still floating on the platforms, those who had hesitated to attack—were cut in half, incinerated, torn apart.

Wings fell like charred leaves. Claws, scales, screams, and dust—all mixed together in a whirlwind of blood and ancient energy.

In less than a second, all the dragons surrounding the trio were annihilated. Blood fell like black rain on the towers and stone streets. The once-vibrant underground city now lay silent in petrified horror.

And in the center of it all… only two still stood.

Strax and Ignisar.

Strax landed on the black stone floor, the Zani sword still vibrating at his side as if it wanted more blood. He walked slowly toward the golden dragon, each step echoing with the sound of a sealed fate.

His eyes were lit with pure, almost divine fury.

“Now there’s only you left,” he said, his voice low as the whisper of a grave. “And I’m going to kill you.”

Ignisar did not retreat—but his eyes no longer held the contempt of before. Now there was something else there… recognition. Or perhaps… fear.

And then…

ROOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!

A roar erupted from Strax’s chest, so powerful that the cave itself shook. The ground shook, pillars broke, lava gushed through the cracks, and the towers swayed like leaves in a storm. The roar was ancestral—the cry of an unholy heir, the call of a dragon that carries within itself the fragments of forgotten ages, the fury of a son whose mother was forcibly taken away.

It was the war cry of the Antares.

And at that moment, even the mighty Ignisar, golden and monumental, understood:

Death was coming.

And it had a name.

Strax.