Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 557

Chapter 557: Olympus.

Scathach emerged from the portal as if breaking through the very membrane of time and space, sensing the cold, subtly metallic scent of the divine air that permeated that place. She stepped firmly on the ground that seemed not to be ground, but an extension of solid, immaterial light—a terrain forged by forces that transcended mortal understanding. Mount Olympus unfolded before her in all its glory and decay, a dimension separate from the mortal world, reserved only for beings who held the absolute power to shape destinies and sculpt reality.

The sky there was neither blue nor black, but a vast sea of pulsating colors, as if the northern lights danced tirelessly, filtering and reflecting every emotion that crossed the divine realm. On the horizon, white marble palaces shone with the intensity of stars, their gigantic columns covered with golden arabesques that glistened like veins of pure gold. The air carried an invisible weight and electricity, the distant murmur of ancient voices and whispers that spoke in languages forgotten since the creation of the cosmos.

Around Scathach, hanging gardens stretched beyond the eye, where immense trees—their leaves made of crystals and liquid light—swayed slowly, even without a breeze. Fountains gushed water as clear as the purest diamond, but sang a melancholy melody, echoing the eternity and loneliness of the gods. The architecture defied mortal logic, with staircases curving toward the sky and walls that seemed to move and breathe, as if Olympus itself were a living organism, aware of every presence there.

Even in that imposing and almost divine setting, Scathach felt the open wound in her heart, the anger and betrayal pulsing as strongly as the runes that still glowed on her skin. Her eyes searched without hesitation, tracing a straight line through that panorama of power and eternity, guided by an inner flame that burned stronger than any other feeling.

Then, finally, she saw it.

A golden light, repulsive in its perfection, ran frantically back and forth between the corridors of one of the larger palaces, a monumental space that seemed to be the nerve center of that kingdom. The light was neither warm nor welcoming—it was disgusting, a voracious and unstable energy that seemed to pulsate with animalistic anxiety, as if trying to escape but trapped in an invisible cage.

Scathach narrowed her eyes, and every movement of that light seemed charged with a dark and cruel meaning. That golden glow was the essence of Hermes, the messenger of the gods, the traitor who had dared to use her as a pawn in his dirty game. The light writhed, sometimes expanding, sometimes contracting, as if it carried within itself the very will and cowardice of the god.

She felt the weight of that vision in her stomach. All the hatred, all the pain that Ignisar had given voice to, now pulsed there, before her, in almost tangible form.

With silent steps, Scathach advanced toward the light. Each step seemed to cause waves of silence in Olympus, and the very space around her seemed to bow to make way for that relentless warrior. She was no longer a mere intruder—she was a force that defied even the power of the gods, an ancient shadow that dared to cross the sacred.

The golden light paused when it sensed her, trembling like a cornered animal, but it did not flee. On the contrary, it seemed to grow, trying to protect itself, but at the same time betraying its fragility. Scathach’s presence was overwhelming, a weight that made the light shine more intensely, in a desperate frenzy to stay alive.

She knew she was facing the heart of the problem—the reason she had been brought back, manipulated, and used as a weapon against her own blood. It was there that Hermes hid his intentions, his betrayals. That glow was the key to dismantling that web of lies and controlling the game that unfolded far beyond the comprehension of mortals.

Mount Olympus around her seemed attentive, silent, as if eternity itself were holding its breath in the face of the impending storm. The air carried a palpable tension, and Scathach felt the ancient power pulsing through her veins—a force that could destroy or recreate worlds.

But she would not hesitate.

With a slow, almost ritualistic movement, she raised the spear once more, her eyes fixed on that golden light that pulsed like a poisoned heart.

“I’m just going to get my revenge.”

With a fluid, almost hypnotic movement, Scathach spun the spear in her hand with the precision of a contained storm. Her muscles were tense, her breathing steady—there was no hesitation, only the certainty of someone who carries centuries of pain and vengeance at the tip of sharp points.

In a powerful, calculated sideways strike, she hurled the spear into the air, and the blade cut a luminous slit that tore through the absolute silence of Olympus. The energy of the spear, charged with ancient runes, exploded in a piercing arc of light, like divine lightning struck with deadly fury.

The blow cut through the white marble corridors, destroying columns, walls, and sculptures representing gods and heroes in a chaos of fragments that fell to the ground with a thunderous crash. The ground shook beneath Scathach’s feet, and the air filled with golden dust and sparks of scattered power. The ruins began to spread, while the immaculate structure of Mount Olympus seemed to crumble in a whisper that quickly turned into a clamor.

The sound of destruction echoed throughout the divine realm, a fierce voice of defiance that tore through eternity. The ground beneath the pulsating golden light shook, as if Olympus itself felt the violence of that act.

The golden light, which until then had been restless, shook violently, vibrating with fury and fear. The echo of that blow reverberated to the farthest corners of the dimension, awakening presences that had been dormant or indifferent.

And then, a figure appeared in the center of the chaos.

Hermes emerged from a cloud of gold and heavenly smoke, his eyes shining with the cunning and arrogance that made him the messenger and manipulator of the gods. His countenance was a mixture of surprise, irritation, and a twinge of respect for the force that dared to challenge Olympus.

“Impressive,” said Hermes, his voice sharp as a silver blade, “A mortal has invaded Mount Olympus?”

Scathach kept her eyes fixed on Hermes, her spear still raised, radiating a cold and relentless aura. Her voice came out low, firm, laden with a silent threat that seemed to cut through the air around them.

“Didn’t you want a demon dragon?” she said, almost like a whisper echoing in the vastness of Olympus. “She came here to kill you.”

Hermes raised an eyebrow, the ironic smile on his lips becoming a grimace of amusement and defiance.

“A demon dragon, huh?” he repeated, his eyes flashing with a mischievous gleam. “Oh, now I remember… I think I sent a message from Zeus to that dragon… Igni something?”

Before Hermes could finish his sentence, a swift and relentless shadow enveloped him. Scathach’s hand emerged like thunder, grabbing the god’s neck with a force that seemed capable of crushing even his divine essence. Hermes’ eyes widened in surprise, trying to pull back, but the warrior’s grip did not yield—she held him tight, controlling his every movement.

“Enough talk,” Scathach murmured, her voice low and laden with an authority that brooked no argument. “It is time to exterminate.”

Hermes struggled to break free, his golden light flickering, but Scathach’s overwhelming presence, fueled by centuries of anger and ancestral power, tightened its grip. The entire Olympus seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the outcome of that tension that threatened to shatter the very foundations of the divine realm.

The spear still glowed in her hand, ready to deliver the final blow, while Scathach’s eyes fixed on the traitorous messenger with relentless determination.