Demonic Dragon: Harem System-Chapter 431: True Dragon

The scene was… repulsive. A grotesque painting of pain and despair.

Beatrice lay on the cold floor, her eyes wide open, her face frozen in an expression of pure terror. Her body was still shaking in the final throes of death, while blood bubbled in her ruptured throat. She tried to breathe but only a wet, choking sound came out, like an animal drowning in its own flesh.

She choked until the end. She coughed up blood so thick that the dark red dyed her light purple hair, staining it with the color of agony. Life slowly dripped from her parted lips.

Beside her, Monica had no time to struggle. Her eyes, now glassy, ​​were fixed on her daughter. She fell silent, as if her very soul refused to scream. One of her arms, severed and brutally torn off, still touched Beatrice's face in a desperate gesture of comfort. A caress frozen in time… stained with blood.

But there was much more.

The floor was soaked. The Spiritual King, with his bloody hands and expressionless eyes, had torn apart veins, arteries, muscles and bones as if he were pulling flowers from a rotten garden. The open arteries sprayed blood in jets that splashed the walls of the temple, transforming everything into a profane altar of death.

They died together… but conscious. Feeling everything. Seeing everything. Monica watched her daughter suffocate, unable to save her. And Beatrice died looking at her mother, her eyes filled with a cry for help that never came.

There was no mercy. No silence. Only the sound of blood dripping slowly from the altar.

With Samira… it was no different. But somehow, it was even worse.

The punch pierced her abdomen like a bolt of pure destruction. A dry crack—like wood splitting—echoed in the air before the sound of flesh being torn took its place. The inside of her body exploded in a hot wave of blood and viscera, the shock so brutal that the air around her seemed to shudder.

The Spirit King didn't stop there. With the coolness of a bored butcher, he reached into the open wound and ripped out part of Samira's still-pulsing stomach—a twisted mass of red and yellow, wreathed in faint flames that flickered like the last embers of a dying fire.

The organ fell to the floor with a wet, viscous sound, a muffled plop that seemed to echo through the silent hall like an insult to life. It oozed slowly, leaving a crimson trail across the broken floor, like a piece of shattered hope thrown against hot rock.

Samira fell to her knees.

Her wide eyes were no longer those of a warrior—but those of a woman who understood, in those final seconds, that there would be no turning back. Blood poured from her belly in waves, staining her suit, her hair, her hands. She pressed them against the gaping hole as if she could hold back her very soul from running. But it was useless.

She fell to her side. Her body writhed, shaking. Her fingers clenched in the void as if searching for someone… maybe Strax. Maybe her sisters.

But no one came.

She bled to the end, in silence. The flames in her body—the ones that had always defined her, that burned with pride—extinguished, one by one, until there was nothing left but smoke and pain.

Bellatrix, Daniela, and Cassandra…they hadn't died immediately.

But perhaps it would have been better if they had.

Unlike the other three, who were merely human—too fragile to withstand the collapse of their own bodies—the three vampires were cursed with a resilience that bordered on cruelty. It didn't matter if their organs had been crushed, if their bones were broken in dozens of places, or if their hearts had been ripped out… they would continue to live.

Alive… but broken.

They crawled through pools of their own blood, their eyes clouded with pain and horror. The blood regenerated the flesh, but it did not mend the despair. Their bodies were pieced together in a slow, unstable, agonizing process—as if their own immortality mocked them.

But the real blow was not physical.

That's what happened to their mother.

She… lost her mind.

Literally.

The Spiritual King decapitated her in front of them—without haste, without hesitation, like someone breaking a glass of wine after a toast. The sound of the neck being snapped echoed like drowned thunder, followed by the dull thud of the head rolling across the ground.

The matriarch's eyes were still open, staring into space. A trickle of blood ran down her parted lips—as if she still wanted to say something… but never did.

The connection between them, an ancient blood tie, was ripped away in the blink of an eye. The psychic collapse was immediate. Bellatrix let out a piercing scream that made the air tremble. Daniela bit her own arm to the bone, trying to contain the mental collapse. Cassandra just fell to her knees, laughing… and crying at the same time.

Because now, there was no more home.

There was no more order.

There was only emptiness—and the curse of continuing to live.

Strax was standing—or rather, held—on the edge between pain and collapse. But his eyes… did not cry.

They burned.

Not with sadness.

With light.

An ancient light, drowned in ages of restraint, now finally freed. Golden like the dawn of a war. Crimson as the blood of those he had sworn to protect.

And then... he broke.

His skin began to crack, first in tiny fissures, then like plates of earth splitting before an earthquake.

Light seeped through each crack, like holy lava seeping from a human shell about to crumble.

His muscles tensed until they snapped.

Veins stood out like pulsing serpents.

Strax arched his back—the scream that tore from his throat was not human.

It was a primal, ancient roar, a sound filled with forgotten ages and accumulated suffering.

The air around him imploded, sucked inward like the final breath of a god.

His arms lengthened—bones stretching like molten steel, fingers shattering and reforming into claws, black and curved like scythes made to reap worlds.

His legs snapped and realigned, growing, changing, until there was no trace of mortal flesh left. The armor cracked with a dull metallic sound, unable to contain what was emerging there.

Scales appeared—first on his chest, in bands as bright as living obsidian, then on his neck, moving up his back and spreading like fire on dry paper. Each scale seemed to breathe, throb, as if it had a consciousness of its own.

And then… the wings.

They erupted from his back with violence, tearing through flesh and bone and the air around them. Two titanic structures rose, black at the ends but with joints that gleamed like liquid metal. The wind that exploded into the hall was not just air—it was fury, it was time, it was doom.

Strax's face began to change—his jaw distended with grotesque snaps, his teeth lengthened into fangs. His skull jutted forward. His neck thickened.

The chest cracked open, as if the heart itself needed more space to hold the pain and power.

And the heart...

It beat like a war drum in a field of dead gods.

THUMM. THUMM. THUMM.

Each beat reverberated across the ground like a promise of destruction.

There was no man there anymore.

There was no Strax anymore.

There was only a Dragon. A God of Ruin.

His eyes were not eyes now—they were two suns collapsing in on themselves, endless holes filled with raw energy.

No pupils.

No visible soul.

Just power.

Ancient. Untainted. Irascible.

The kind of power that doesn't ask why...

It simply is.

And when it awakens, the entire world must tremble.

For a moment, it seemed as if the world had gone back in time.

The sound distorted, the colors inverted, and the moment rewrote itself with brutal clarity.

Strax grabbed the Spirit King by the neck. His hand wrapped around his throat like a titanium chain, and the air around him crackled with electricity and pent-up fury.

"You made a mistake... a mistake you can never undo." His voice was low, drawn-out, echoing as if a thousand versions of him were speaking at once.

Without effort, he threw him against the wall of the world. The impact was so brutal that the ground shook, mountains shattered in the distance, and space itself screamed like a torn fabric.

Strax then turned... Before him, the bodies of his companions. Still motionless. Still tinged with death.

But he would not accept that. Never would.

He held out his hand, palm open.

"Rise... my Dragons."

It was a command. Not a request. Not a plea. An absolute order.

The ground beneath each of them exploded into pillars of crimson and gold light, like spears of energy piercing the heavens. The air shook, the clouds were pulverized, and for an instant, the entire world stopped to watch.

"I will not let any of you die… so rise up." His voice carried the tone of a king speaking to his armies, but also of a lover who refuses to lose.

Bellatrix, Cassandra, Daniela were the first. Their wounds closed in an instant, their eyes rekindled with a red glow. Horns erupted from their foreheads with the sounds of flesh tearing and bones strengthening.

Their bodies shuddered, transforming with cruel elegance—half woman, half celestial creature.

And then... Scarlet.

The inert body writhed.

The blood rushed back inside.

The missing head simply regenerated, spinning in the air before joining perfectly with the neck.

A new roar echoed as red flames exploded around her, forming a column of living energy.

She emerged from the fire like a goddess of war.

Hair ablaze, tied in a wild bun that she herself shaped with a gesture. Body sculpted by battle, every muscle a masterpiece of strength.

Dragon wings, red and pulsating, spread open with a roar.

Her eyes… were no longer human.

They were dragon eyes, deep, ancient, eternal.

"Ah... I've broken through to the Emperor Stage," she laughed ecstatically, power radiating from her like a blazing sun. "HAHAHAHA I'VE FINALLY REACHED IT!"

And she was not alone.

Samira, Beatrice, Monica rose as well.

The flames covered them, enveloping their bodies with living energy.

Their flesh healed, their spirits rebuilt.

Dragonoids. All of them.

Hair floating as if the air itself curved around them.

Horns, wings, claws… but still the same.

Their souls intact. Preserved by the strength of those who refused to lose them.

The entire sky turned red.

And for the first time in ages…

The world saw the birth of a new empire of dragons.

Guided not only by power—

But by love, pain, and redemption.

Strax turned to the spot where the King had fallen, the small sway of his body breaking almost all of his bones. He ignored the women for now… What had happened?… So many things that explaining would be a waste of time now.

Strax raised his hand in the distance, and that beam of white light that cut through the sky, where Tiamat, Ouroboros, Rogue and Cristine were with Artemis, disappeared completely with just the wave of his hands.

"Come here." He ordered and the King's body came flying towards him. Dragon's words.

"I will kill you thousands of times until I destroy your connection with the Spiritual Realm, I will banish you from your own existence and use you as an eternal slave. So, kneel. Worm." Strax ordered and a frightening pressure fell on the Spiritual King's body sinking him to the ground.