Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 553

Chapter 553: Mother in Fury

The silence that followed Strax’s blast of magma was not peaceful. It was the silence of something broken. As if the world itself had been wounded.

The ground still smoldered, spewing toxic fumes as molten rock bubbled and splattered around what remained of the underground city. In the center of that sea of destruction, Strax gasped for breath. His body was colossal, monstrous, covered in red and black scales that pulsed like living flesh. Veins of magma ran beneath his skin, his eyes were golden slits glowing with pure hatred. His wings, still ablaze, fluttered slowly, sending sparks flying in all directions. He was an apocalyptic sight—half dragon, half demon, and completely beyond the bounds of sanity.

Then a laugh cut through the air like a dagger of ice.

Ignisar, still floating above, unharmed, burst into loud, mocking laughter, as if he were not surrounded by death, as if the destruction around him were just a joke that had gone on too long.

“Look at you…” he said, laughing. “Look at this… unstable trash. This grotesque abortion of two cursed bloodlines. A Demonic Dragon? Pathetic. You don’t even know what you are. A disgusting existence. Useless. A walking mistake, spat out by two worlds that should never have touched.”

Strax raised his head, his jaw still burning from the remnants of the beam that had devastated everything. His gaze fixed on Ignisar like an abyss that wanted to swallow everything.

“You dare…?” His voice was distorted, as if two creatures were speaking at the same time, one too deep to be human, the other hoarse and full of rage. “You dare call me a mistake?”

Ignisar descended a few meters, his hands behind his back like a teacher facing a rebellious student. The smile still hanging on his lips. “You are the desperate cry of two failed species. An unbalanced hybrid. Not even hell wants you, Strax. And the heavens? They have already forgotten you.”

Strax trembled. His wings spread with a crack, and the ground beneath his feet broke, sinking the field of destruction even further. He roared—a sound that made the earth’s crust vibrate, cracked the cave ceiling, and allowed light from the surface to peek through the cracks.

And then he advanced.

An explosion of energy propelled him upward like a comet of fury, his eyes blazing, his claws ready to reduce Ignisar to dust.

But something happened.

Time… slowed down.

Not figuratively.

Literally.

The world moved in slow motion.

Strax felt it. Each beat of his heart echoed like rolling thunder, each wingbeat like a heavy tide. And in that instant—an instant where everything seemed eternal—he saw a shadow emerge from below. Enormous. Fast. Devastating.

And then the pain.

Immense.

Absolute.

The lower half of his body disappeared.

Swallowed.

In the mouth of a beast.

Scathach.

She appeared like black lightning, her body still deformed by corruption, but her eyes… her eyes had returned. For a moment, just a moment, they were hers. The real Scathach’s.

But her mind… was not whole.

The beast acted before thought.

And bit.

The jaw closed with titanic force, crushing demonic flesh and draconic scales like wet paper. A gush of blood and magma exploded from the wound, spreading in all directions.

Time moved slowly.

Strax, even with half his body destroyed, looked down—eyes wide, not with fear, but with surprise. His face contorted. The pain did not come only from the wound. It came from the heart. From disappointment. From involuntary betrayal. From grotesque irony.

“…Sca…thach?”

His body began to fall, but Scathach caught him with her jaws. She roared—not like a beast, not like a monster, but like someone at war with herself. Her eyes trembled, as if struggling to remain fixed on reality. Her body pulsed with unstable energy. The memories still echoed within her, but the corruption was too strong.

Strax’s blood dripped between the creature’s teeth, dripping onto the boiling ground.

Tiamat screamed from afar.

“SCATHACH! NO!”

Scarlet fell to her knees, helpless. The memory spell had broken. She could no longer reach her.

Ignisar just watched, his smile growing wider.

“Ah… what is more beautiful than destruction between mother and child?” he said. “She never came back, you know? She just pretended… enough for her instinct to do the work for me. A broken mind is easier to mold than a whole soul.”

Strax coughed up blood and magma, his mouth half open trying to form words that would never come out. His upper body was still conscious, still clinging to life, even with his insides burning.

Scathach, her eyes vibrating with conflict, still held his body tightly. Her instinct screamed to crush him. Her heart cried to stop. The war inside her was like a collision of planets.

And in the midst of it…

Strax reached out his hand.

With his bloody claw, he touched her muzzle.

His voice came out weak… but clear.

“…you… promised… to protect…”

The world seemed to hold its breath.

The bite loosened.

Scathach’s eyes widened. A sparkle appeared—the same sparkle as before, from Scarlet’s memories. Strax’s name passed like a whisper through her mind. When he was born… A baby’s smile. The taste of wine. The pain of guilt for being sick…

And she backed away.

She let go of Strax.

But it was too late.

His body fell—heavy, mutilated, smoking.

Tiamat flew to him in a desperate impulse. Scarlet ran, slipping on the cooled magma. Ouroboros cast a protective barrier to try to contain the damage.

Ignisar laughed again.

“And so heroes are undone. Not with glory. But with the teeth of those they love.”

Ignisar descended slowly, hovering over the sea of destruction and blood with the gaze of a god contemplating his work. The flames burning around him reflected off the black scales of his living armor, creating a wicked halo around him.

“Enough playing,” he said, his voice laden with disdain. “It is time to give new purpose to the useless flesh that remains.” He reached out his hand, and from it emerged an ancient circle of command—black inscriptions spinning in opposite directions, each representing a forgotten line of Absolute Domination. “Another Demon Dragon under my control… and three sentimental dragonesses to serve as food or entertainment. Fools. Feelings are the only true weakness.”

But then…

The air changed.

Not just the weather, or the temperature — but the very weight of existence.

Ignisar frowned.

An invisible, immense, silent force… began to grow around him. He turned his gaze in all directions, and for an instant, just an instant, he felt himself being watched.

As if the universe itself had opened an eye. And he… was at the center of judgment.

That’s when the lights appeared.

First as embers suspended in the air.

Then like thousands.

Tens of thousands.

Hundreds of thousands.

Runes.

Runes floating in impossible patterns, covering every wall, every fragment of rock, every piece of sky visible through the crack in the city’s ceiling. Spinning, whispering, flaming in lost tongues. And all—all—pointing to a single point.

To him.

Ignisar felt something he hadn’t felt in eons: fear. But not fear of dying—it was fear of being wrong. That something beyond his comprehension was moving on the board, and he, with all his intellect, with all his power, had forgotten to consider that piece.

An intense light flashed behind him.

And then he saw.

Scathach… was no longer the beast.

Her body shrank, her bones adjusting, her muscles retreating with supernatural smoothness. The black scales burned to ashes and evaporated, revealing pale, firm skin, made of the stuff of gods. She knelt. She took a deep breath.

And then she stood up.

A woman two meters tall, completely naked, her scarlet hair flowing like living magma, touching her ankles like serpents of fire. Her eyes, which had once been lost between insanity and corruption, now burned with a clarity that broke time.

Scathach walked.

Her bare feet touched the cooled magma floor as if floating above it. Each step she took made the runes around her pulse stronger, as if singing—not with sound, but with intention. It was as if the whole world recognized that presence.

Scarlet burst into tears. Tiamat gasped. Ouroboros, even with broken ribs, tried to kneel.

Ignisar recoiled in the air.

“Impossible…” he whispered.

Scathach reached Strax.

Her son.

His body was still mutilated, his chest pierced, his entrails exposed, his eyes half-closed in pain and agony.

She knelt down.

She touched his forehead gently.

Then she placed her hand on his chest.

A rune flared between her fingers.

Then another. And another.

Millions of micro-symbols flowed from her fingertips into Strax’s body, diving into his veins, his scales, his bones. It was a language that no living being would recognize, but that all things understood. It was the first language. The language of the creators.

Strax’s body began to regenerate.

His skin remade itself. His muscles stitched themselves together with light. His bones grew back, denser, stronger. His scales shone like stars dying and being reborn. His wings opened, whole, immaculate. His eyes opened… and he breathed.

Deeply.

Like someone coming back to life after millennia of darkness.

Strax looked at her.

And for a moment, everything stopped.

“…mother?” he whispered.

She did not answer with words. She just leaned her forehead against his, her eyes closed, as a single tear—red as molten ruby—ran down her face and touched her son’s skin.

And then she rose.

Ignisar took a step back in the air.

“That… isn’t possible,” he said. “You were broken. I saw it. I did it! Your soul was trapped. The corruption… it—”

“Silence,” said Scathach, turning her gaze to him for the first time. Her voice was not human. The runes suddenly began to close his mouth as the woman’s anger began to spill out of her body.

Every pore of her body began to ooze murderous intent.

“It wasn’t you who revived me. But it’s good to know that killing you will only be the beginning,” Scathach said as clothing began to form from runes.

The garment is predominantly black, with deep red and silver details that accentuate its grandeur. The bodice is tight-fitting, with delicate cutouts and subtle transparencies in the bust area, highlighting dark lace in the shape of arabesques that adds a sensual and mysterious touch to the look.

The sleeves are long and tight, as is the high lace collar. The short, voluminous skirt is adorned with layers of black fabric with visible red lining, creating a dramatic contrast when moving. Metallic details in the shape of stars or blades adorn the sides of the hips, giving it a dark warrior look.

“I will kill you. Then I will hunt down every one of the Dragons who dared to desecrate my body,” she said as a giant black spear shot out of her hand. “Now, I don’t have to worry about anything but my son. So plunging this world into war makes no difference.”