Demonic Dragon: Harem System - Chapter 558

Chapter 558: Hermes, without legs.

Hermes gasped, his golden eyes flashing with a fear that no god should feel. He tried to pull the warrior’s arm from his neck, but Scathach’s strength was like a relentless prison, an ancient shackle that crushed his divine arrogance. The golden light emanating from him writhed in desperate waves, as if trying to escape, but it was chained by the cruel grip of the ancient assassin.

“Let me go!” Hermes roared, his voice becoming higher pitched, almost a scream. “You don’t understand who you’re dealing with!”

But Scathach only tightened her grip, her eyes shining with a silent madness—one that only those who carry centuries of blood and betrayal can recognize. “Enough words,” she whispered, her voice like the cold cut of a blade. “It is time to exterminate.”

However, before she could deliver the final blow, a thunderous roar echoed through Olympus, a colossal presence making itself felt even before it was seen. The air shook, the golden light around Hermes flickered, and he seized the moment, breaking free from her grip with a leap backward, moving away quickly, his eyes still burning with terror and rage.

“You two… stop!” The thunderous voice cut through the silence with a restrained and savage fury, reverberating off the broken columns and hanging gardens.

From the horizon, a colossal figure emerged, advancing like a storm. It was Ares, the God of War, enveloped in an aura of contained chaos and savage madness. His eyes were incandescent embers, his smile a cruel and crazed sneer that promised storms and blood. Ares walked with heavy steps, each movement echoing like a hammer blow in the forges of destiny.

Scathach fixed her gaze on that imposing figure, a wild spark of recognition igniting in her chest. “It’s been years… Ares,” her voice sounded like a whisper and a scream at the same time, the weight of centuries and unspoken battles hanging in the air.

“Ah, my old friend,” replied Ares, with a crooked smile and eyes shining as if seeking a spark of war within her. “It is always a pleasure to meet a strong woman… But this is no place for battles, nor a stage for our madness.”

Scathach took a step forward, her body vibrating with an almost insane fury, a mixture of pain, revenge, and ancient hatred. “You dared to desecrate my body, we have no half battles here,” her voice trembled, as if carrying a restrained thunder. “I will kill Hermes… and his body will be taken from here. So I can tear him apart a million times.”

Ares tilted his head, looking at Hermes, who now cowered on the ground, his golden light dimming, faltering before the titanic presence of the God of War.

“I… was ordered by Zeus,” Hermes said with his hands raised, his gaze a mixture of fear and defiance. “He wanted me to send a message… a request to that dragon. I had no choice.”

Ares snorted, the laugh that escaped him hoarse, wild, filled with a madness that seemed to rumble in his chest. “Orders from Zeus…” he muttered, as if digesting a bitter irony. “That old tyrant still plays with his pawns as if they were breakable toys.”

Scathach watched Ares closely, feeling the tension growing like a predator. There was madness in the god, yes, but also a brutal power, an indomitable fire that could consume worlds or forge empires. And in that moment, that fire turned on her, measuring, testing.

“Go away, Scathach,” Ares said, his voice becoming firm and sharp as a blade. “It is not yet time for us to fight. Olympus is a minefield—and today will not be the day of our bloodshed.”

The madness in his voice was unmistakable: the tension of a warrior eager for battle, trapped in a moment where fate demanded restraint, not chaos.

Scathach raised her spear slowly, her eyes flashing with a fury that seemed capable of setting the sky ablaze. “His body goes with me, Ares. I will not allow this affront to go unpunished.”

The God of War advanced, a heavy step that made the ground shake, the aura around him pulsing with a restrained, almost savage frenzy. “And you, Scathach, carry as much madness as I—more than many gods combined. But know this: this is not the battlefield you should choose. Not today.”

Silence fell between them like a heavy cloak. Olympus seemed to hold its breath, the ruins still trembling from the force of Scathach’s charge, and even Hermes, forgotten and cornered, watched apprehensively.

“Not for now,” Ares continued, his mad smile fading to a grim, almost resigned expression. “But one day, inevitably, the war between us will be the storm that tears the sky apart. Until then, save your fury… and your blood.”

Scathach hesitated, the weight of Ares’ words sinking into her feverish mind. It was a veiled invitation—a strategic pause, a truce between hungry monsters. The spear descended slowly, but her eyes never left Hermes.

“Fuck it,” Scathach thought before disappearing and reappearing behind Hermes.

Hermes barely had time to react when Scathach’s uncontrollable fury exploded into primitive violence. With a swift, savage, and cruel movement, she grabbed the feet of the messenger of the gods — those feet that had run through all the kingdoms, touched the sky and the earth, shod with his divine boots, sacred treasure and symbol of his incalculable power.

With a horrible crack, Scathach tore off Hermes’ feet, ripping off the boots that seemed fused to his skin like a second flesh. The sound was a scream of broken bone and torn flesh. Hermes howled, a high-pitched, desperate, almost animalistic sound that reverberated through the halls of Olympus and made the crystal trees tremble. His fingers writhed in the void, blood and golden light cascading to the floor like rivers of liquid fire.

“NO!” Hermes screamed, his golden eyes wild, pleading, his voice a desperate cry. “PLEASE! STOP! I AM A GOD! I AM THE MESSENGER! I HAVE POWER! NO, NO, NO!”

But Scathach’s fury knew no mercy. Without hesitation, she climbed up his arm, her fierce hands grabbing and twisting, tearing off the first arm with brutal force, followed by the second with a horrendous sound of tendons snapping and bones breaking. Divine blood spurted in fiery blobs, staining the marble with a shadow that seemed to burn the walls themselves.

Hermes staggered, a mutilated figure, half his torso already cut away by Scathach’s sharp blade, exposed like raw flesh and shattered light. His screams echoed—a desperate mix of agony, madness, and supplication:

“NO! PLEASE! I DON’T DO ANYTHING ON MY OWN! LET ME LIVE! I DO WHAT Z… ZEUS COMMANDED! DON’T KILL ME! I BEG YOU! I IMPLORE YOU!”

But not even the colossal presence of Ares, the God of War, could contain the storm of brutality consuming Scathach. He tried to advance, his thunderous voice begging for mercy, but she was overcome by an insane frenzy, a savage hatred that could not be stopped.

With hands that trembled but were filled with power and fury, Scathach traced a series of ancient runes on Hermes’ mutilated body—symbols of imprisonment, curse, and pain, engraved with the precision of a sorceress who sculpts destinies. Each line pulsed with a dark glow, burning and sealing the divine essence of the traitor.

She stepped back, staring at the defeated god, her voice a whisper laden with a deadly warning:

“I warned you. Tell Zeus that he will be next.”

Before anyone could react, Scathach swung her spear in a fluid motion and cut through the space in front of her. An invisible tear, a cut in reality itself that swallowed her, causing her body to disappear in an instant.

In the empty corridor, only Hermes remained—mutilated, alive, agonizing, his desperate cries piercing the silence of Olympus.

“Ares!” Hermes begged with a trembling voice, each word a thread of despair. “Help me! Please… don’t let her kill me! I am not your enemy! I was only following orders!”

But the God of War just watched, his glowing eyes filled with restrained madness, knowing that this brutal truce had sealed a much darker fate that was yet to come…

Then footsteps came running to see what was happening, and Athena appeared.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, seeing Ares speechless…

“She… got stronger?” Ares asked himself aloud.

“She? Who is she?” Athena asked.

“That idiot provoked a Real Dragon,” Ares said and turned nervously and began to march. “I’m going to talk to that old fool. He condemned us.”

Athena was left wondering what had happened, just looking at Hermes, who had fainted after so much pain and so much blood spilled…