Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

"So, this is the might of the Saint in this era?" the man murmured, his voice deep and unimpressed.

"You're a disgrace compared to your predecessor."

Aether's breath hitched. His nails clawed at the iron grip around his throat as his body dangled in the air, feet barely brushing the snow-covered ground.

"Y-You! How are you still alive?! You were supposed to be dead!" he rasped, his wide eyes locked onto the man who held him effortlessly.

The red-eyed man tilted his head slightly, his smirk unwavering.

"Aren't you the one who chased me for two years?"

Aether's face turned deathly pale. His entire body stiffened in raw horror as realization sank in.

Dalia gasped.

"Claude!"

Her voice trembled as she looked upon the figure before her—her son, alive and standing.

Hope surged through her as she stepped forward, but the closer she got, the more that hope shattered.

She stopped abruptly. This… this wasn't Claude.

Her hands shot up to cover her mouth, her whole body shaking. The man before her wore Claude's face, had his body… yet the presence he exuded was utterly foreign.

This wasn't her son.

Meanwhile, Aether struggled for breath, his gaze locked onto those crimson eyes—deep, merciless, and filled with a power beyond comprehension.

They were the color of blood spilled in war, gleaming with a regality that made even kings seem insignificant.

They were devouring him.

"You… You are…" Aether stammered, his throat constricting with dread.

The man chuckled, his smirk widening as shadows curled from his body like living tendrils.

The cold in the air deepened, sharp as blades, biting into exposed skin.

The world reacted to him.

Monsters lurking in the distance howled in eerie unison. Birds let out desperate cries as they fled into the sky.

Then, silence.

The Holy Army of Everbright froze in place, their weapons shaking in their hands.

It wasn't fear of the man himself—it was something more primal, something ingrained in their very souls.

The man's aura stretched beyond the realm of mortals. His presence wasn't just seen—it was felt.

Like the weight of the heavens pressing down.

Like a nightmare creeping into reality.

Aether's lips quivered as the name clawed its way from his throat.

"The Lord of Calamity…"

The man grinned.

"Correct."

A suffocating darkness unfurled across the battlefield like ink spilled over the world. It slithered into every crevice, coiling around the minds of those who dared to stand against him.

One by one, soldiers collapsed, their bodies trembling as whispers of madness clawed at their sanity. Some saw visions of death—their deaths, over and over again.

Even Dalia crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, her body unable to withstand the sheer force of his presence.

Beside her, Shawn and Sun dropped to one knee—not in fear, but in silent reverence.

Because this was no mere man.

This was a being who stood above all.

And darkness had returned to claim its throne.

Aether writhed, his body convulsing as Claude's fingers plunged into his chest.

Black tendrils of dark magic slithered through the Saint's flesh, invading every nerve, every vein, every fiber of his being.

"AHHHHH!!! STOOP!!!! HURRTSS!!"

His scream tore through the frozen battlefield—a raw, guttural sound of agony that sent shivers down even the most hardened warriors' spines.

"What's wrong, Saint?" he mused, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You claimed to be a beacon of divinity, yet here you are, squirming like a worm beneath my heel."

Aether's body arched violently as inky black veins burst across his skin. His own golden light mana flared desperately, fighting back the corruption invading his core.

But it was useless. The darkness devoured him from the inside out, warping his very essence.

He let out a choked gasp as black blood spewed from his mouth, dripping from his eyes and ears.

His limbs twitch uncontrollably, his holy aura flickering like a dying flame.

The Lord Of Calamity leaned in, his smirk widening.

"Your light is pathetic," he whispered. "Your god is deaf and blind, she can't help you, she can't help no one that are in my graps. And your faith—meaningless."

Aether let out one final, soul-wrenching scream before his body crumbled into dust, the last remnants of his divine power shattering like fragile glass.

Silence fell.

The man let the ashes slip through his fingers, watching them scatter in the wind with cold indifference.

Then, without sparing the remains another glance, he turned his gaze toward the Holy Army.

His lips curled into a slow, predatory smile.

"Now then…"

With effortless grace, he lifted himself into the air, floating high above the trembling soldiers.

His long coat billowed as dark energy coiled around him, his very presence suffocating.

"Hear me, insects!" his voice rang out, laced with cruel amusement.

"You stand before the Lord of Calamity!"

The army flinched. Some gripped their weapons tighter, others whispered prayers under their breath—futile, desperate things.

"I have returned to claim what is mine. This world has long forgotten its true master, but I am generous." His red eyes gleamed. "So allow me to remind you."

With a single flick of his wrist, the world burned.

A wave of black fire erupted from his palm, vast and relentless, crashing down like an unholy tide.

It consumed everything in its path—armor melted like wax, flesh shriveled and blackened in an instant.

The air filled with screams that were swallowed just as quickly by the roaring inferno.

The Holy Army vanished in mere moments. Not even bones remained.

Only one figure stood amidst the smoldering ruin.

Nadia.

Her breath hitched, her entire body trembling as she knelt amid the sea of charred corpses. Smoke curled in the frozen air, carrying the scent of death.

Her wide, tear-filled eyes refused to look up, but she could feel him—his overwhelming presence pressing down on her like the weight of the abyss itself.

The Lord Of Calamity descended, his landing eerily silent. He approached with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze cold, his smirk unwavering.

Then, without hesitation, he seized a fistful of her hair, yanking her head up with force.

"Do you know why my name is whispered in fear? Why my legend never fade?" His voice was almost amused, yet laced with cruelty.

Nadia's breath shuddered. She knew. Everyone knew.

The Lord of Calamity always left one survivor. One shattered, broken soul to spread his legend—to remind the world that nightmares are real.

Her body convulsed with terror, her mind spiraling into panic. "No—no! Just kill me!" she sobbed, her voice raw with despair.

He chuckled, the sound dark and hollow. "Death?"

His grip tightened, his crimson eyes gleaming with something far more sinister. "Death is mercy, little lamb."

He leaned in, his voice a whisper of venom. "And mercy is something you don't deserve as because of you my best friend is dead."

Without warning, he ripped her arm from its socket.

A shriek tore from her throat, raw and piercing as her blood splattered onto the snow—staining it a crimson far deeper than any flower.

He watched, unbothered, as she writhed in agony. Then, with cruelty, he grasped her other arm and tore again.

Nadia's screams grew weaker. Her vision blurred, her world shrinking into a haze of torment.

Her body twitched, spasming uncontrollably as she teetered on the edge of death.

He tilted his head, observing her like a broken doll. Lifeless. Soulless. Good.

With a flick of his fingers, he released what remained of her, her dismembered form collapsing onto the blood-soaked ground.

Then, his voice rang out, deep and commanding. "Tell those wretched fools basking in their false light… I am coming."

Dark magic surged from his fingertips, wrapping around Nadia's broken body, teleporting her far from this battlefield, where her suffering would be witnessed by all.

Let them see. Let them remember.

The Lord of Calamity had returned.