Demonic Dragon: Harem System

The road ahead was long and dusty, a trail stretching into the unknown, towards the distant Vampire Kingdom. Well, that sounds pretty poetic despite... well... let's continue.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky orange and red, but the heat of the day still lingered in the air, heavy and filled with mutual curses. The group of women marched on, firm in their steps, but there was something... unique, to say the least. A shared feeling between the four ladies... the pure and primordial RAGE.

They weren't going on a mission, to meet someone, or to buy something... No, they were heading to recover their damn husband, who had simply been kidnapped! The absence of this man had started to take its toll so quickly, it was almost unbearable now!

Samira, Mônica, Beatrice, and Cristine were almost unrecognizable.

What was once a sisterly bond now felt like some kind of internal battle, unfolding in the form of total war. They tried to walk in silence, but with every passing second, it seemed like they were on the verge of exploding at each other.

"That damn son of a bitch was kidnapped," Samira muttered to herself, breaking the silence after so many fights they had. Her fiery orange hair was completely loose, blowing in the wind as she walked. "He should at least be strong, be here with us, keeping us together. Only he knows how to do that, but now, look at us. We're a bunch of maniacs thirsting for our man."

"Say something less obvious, do you think we don't know that?" Beatrice questioned, her voice cold and cutting. She stopped for a moment, her eyes gleaming with anger. "But it's not all his fault. The blame is on us too. We've always been too dependent on him."

Mônica glanced at them, her expression one of someone who could no longer bear the tension. Her usually gentle eyes were now filled with frustration. "Let's not start with that again, alright? He was kidnapped, the blame is on whoever took him. He always does what needs to be done, he wouldn't leave us willingly. And we, here, are capable of doing what we need to as well. We can't forget that."

"Of course, we can do what we need to," Cristine said, her voice deep and bitter. "But without him, everything feels... unstable. He was the pillar. He kept the peace among us. Now, we're all adrift, fighting and consuming each other from the inside."

The conversation was already turning into an open argument when, suddenly, a notification appeared in the air, floating in front of Samira, who was the first to see it. The glow was unmistakable: a message from the System, something they rarely saw in such moments. It was a call to action.

Stay connected via мѵʟ

[Kill all the Thieves]

"Huh? This crap now with missions for us too?" Samira questioned. What did this mean? None of them knew exactly. The System rarely communicated with messages specifically for them, and the fact that the objective was clearly pointing to "thieves" left them puzzled.

"This... doesn't make sense," Mônica said, staring at the message, her anger replaced by confusion. "Why is the System sending us to do this now?"

"It doesn't matter," Samira replied, her voice low and determined. "If the System is warning us, we have to take it seriously. Now's not the time to question."

It was then that the sound of horse hooves began to echo from up the road. The women, with their sharp senses, quickly realized they were surrounded. They couldn't clearly see who they were, but the sound was enough to know that something was about to happen. Something big.

Suddenly, the road ahead was blocked by a troupe of 20 men. They were dressed simply, but with cold, threatening expressions. The atmosphere immediately became heavier. Samira, Mônica, Beatrice, and Cristine exchanged glances, their expressions shifting into something more primal, more wild. They knew they couldn't let this pass.

"Thieves," Beatrice hissed, already understanding what was going on. "These are the thieves the System referred to. And... they've chosen the wrong time to cross our path."

"Let's finish this quickly, we need to get to our husband," Mônica said, her eyes narrowing as she prepared for the confrontation. She wielded her sword with the confidence only someone used to battle could have. The steel of her blade reflected the light of the setting sun, cutting the air with a threatening gleam.

Samira, beside her, stared fixedly at the men ahead. She knew what she needed to do. Her large sword was in her hands, the long, sharp blade radiating increasing heat. Though she was the only one among them who used magic, her sword skills were unbeatable. She didn't need magical tricks to win; her brute strength and skill with the blade were more than enough to face anyone who stood in her way.

"They chose the wrong time to confront us," Samira murmured, the blade of her greatsword now covered in a thin layer of black flames, ready to consume anything they touched. The sword seemed alive in her hands, as though it was eager for the battle.

Beatrice, by her side, held her sword with a solid stance, her hands firm around the hilt, her eyes fixed on the enemies. She didn't have the same ferocity as Samira, but her precision was legendary. Every move she made with the sword was calculated, determined, without wasting energy.

Cristine, on the other hand, stood out for her stealth. A natural assassin, her daggers were ready to cut and pierce, and she knew exactly where and how to strike. Her posture was calm, almost disinterested, but her eyes were sharp, studying the men ahead with deadly precision. She knew that if she got the chance, she could take down several of them without making a sound.

The men ahead, seeing the women prepare for combat, began to stir. They weren't used to this kind of opponent. The women were beautiful, but they were also predators, and fear began to spread among the men. Their tactic was simple, but effective: divide and conquer. But they had underestimated how well-coordinated Strax's wives were.

"Charge! Don't let any of them escape!" one of the men shouted, his command echoing down the road.

Samira, without hesitation, was the first to move. With a battle cry, she charged toward the group with impressive speed, the greatsword in her hands glowing with black flames. The blade cut through the air with ease, and the first men who tried to block her path were immediately consumed by the flames. The intensity of the attack made the ground beneath her feet tremble, and one of the men was thrown back, burned to ashes.

Mônica wasted no time. She advanced alongside Samira, her sword spinning with precision. In a single move, she slit the throat of one of the enemies, blood spraying onto the ground in a heavy jet. Her gaze was fierce, and every strike she delivered was imbued with controlled but untamable rage.

Cristine, more in the shadows of the battle, moved silently. Her steps were so light that no one noticed her approach until she was already in the middle of the troupe. With a swift motion, she drove one of her daggers into a man's throat, killing him instantly, before disappearing into the darkness of the trees around them. She knew that her strength wasn't in the number of strikes, but in surprise and precision.

Beatrice was also on the move, her sword cutting from side to side with impressive agility. She disarmed one of the men with a precise strike, then, in a quick motion, pierced another man's chest. The fight seemed to turn into a massacre as the women sliced and stabbed with an almost supernatural efficiency.

The men tried to react, but they were completely disorganized in the face of the women's fury. Mônica sliced the hand off one of the men who tried to grab her, making him scream in pain before being struck down with a precise blow to the head. Samira, meanwhile, faced two of the men at the same time, her flames consuming everything around her as she slashed them with her greatsword. With every strike, she felt freer, more powerful, as if she were avenging something much greater than these mere bandits.

Cristine, observing from afar, made one more lethal move. She ran toward one of the men trying to escape, and with deadly precision, slit his throat with one of her daggers. The man fell without a sound, his life draining away in a simple, quick motion. She knew she didn't need brute strength. Just the lightness and precision of her movements were enough.

Beatrice was beside Samira, covering her back. She knew Samira's strength was in her fury and her skill with the greatsword, but she also knew she needed to keep the enemies at bay so Samira wouldn't be overwhelmed. With each strike of her sword, she took down an enemy, and soon the road was covered with fallen bodies, each one lifeless.

The fight didn't last long. When the last of the bandits were finally defeated, the women stood, panting, but victorious. The sound of their heavy breathing was the only thing heard now. Dust and blood were scattered across the road, and the scene looked more like a battlefield than a simple confrontation.

Samira, her greatsword still alight with flames, looked around, assessing the damage. "This is what happens when someone tries to challenge us," she said in a low voice, but one filled with power. She looked at Mônica, Beatrice, and Cristine, a satisfied smile forming on her lips. "We're ready for whatever comes next."

Mônica wiped her sword with a swift motion, blood dripping onto the ground. "Nothing will stop us now," she said, the gleam of determination in her eyes. "No matter who tries to stand in our way."

Beatrice nodded, her eyes still vigilant. "Yes, but we need to find our husband. The Vampire Kingdom is still waiting for us."

Cristine, who had disappeared for much of the fight, reappeared silently, cleaning her daggers with her usual calm. "And we can't afford to waste any more time."

Samira looked toward the horizon, where the Vampire Kingdom was still distant, but already visible on the skyline. "Let's move forward. What happened here... was just the beginning."