Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

Claude's eyes cracked open, only to immediately squint as the piercing light stung his vision.

Blinking several times, he forced himself to adjust before slowly rising to his feet.

A vast expanse of white stretched endlessly around him.

No sky. No ground. Just an empty void, like an isolation room in a mental hospital—cold, sterile, and suffocating.

"Oh… right. I'm dead," he muttered, the memory surfacing with a dull ache.

His gaze swept the void, lips curling into a wry smirk. "What is this place? A waiting room before judgment? Am I finally about to meet that so-called Goddess of the bastard church and be condemned for my sins?"

He rubbed his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. "I did kill plenty of Her people."

Despite his sarcastic tone, a heavy sigh escaped him. Strangely, he felt calm. Yet beneath that thin veil of indifference, something twisted inside him—a bitter, unspoken regret.

His mind wandered back to the only warmth he'd ever known.

Dalia.

His mother's tear-streaked face flashed in his mind, the way her arms had cradled his broken body, how her voice had trembled with sorrow.

'I swore I wouldn't hurt her… and yet, in the end, I became her greatest heartbreak.'

His jaw clenched. The guilt gnawed at him, festering like an old wound.

But then rage followed—rage at himself.

How could he have lost?

He had spent years honing his craft, pouring over Theo's grimoires, slaying cacodemon, daimon, beasts, and even so-called holy warriors.

His power had eclipsed many. And yet, he had fallen to a weakened Saint?

Pathetic.

Claude squatted down, gripping his head. It was laughable. Even with his talent, his mana, and his damned good looks, he had still lost.

"Was it because I kept suppressing it with that cursed blood?" His fingers dug into his scalp.

"That must be it. That's why I was so weak…"

Frustration boiled inside him.

However, a sudden voice echoed in his head.

[Ding!]

A glowing screen materialized before him, the text burning into existence.

[The requirement has been fulfilled.]

[Awaken: The Lord of Calamity.]

Claude stiffened, eyes widening.

"This… isn't this that legendary system?"

Excitement surged through him, pushing aside the despair.

"But why the hell are you showing up now when I'm already dead?!" Claude raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

[Ding!]

[Starting the awakening of the shattered soul of the Lord of Cataclysm.]

"Huh? What the hell does that mean?"

[Process complete! The shattered soul of the Lord of Cataclysm has fully integrated into the host—Claude.]

Claude froze. "Wait, what? My body?! What do you mean my body? What the hell are you doing with my body?!" His voice rose in panic, but there was no response.

Instead, another notification flashed before him.

[Time until soul dispersal: 5 minutes 59 seconds.]

"Oi! Answer me! Hello?!"

Claude groaned, pressing his fingers against his temples in frustration.

But before he could process anything, a large screen materialized in front of him, displaying a chilling scene.

His body—his own body—had woken up. His eyes, now crimson like freshly spilled blood, gleamed with an eerie intensity.

He reached out, gripping the Saint's neck with inhuman strength—before obliterating him into nothingness.

Claude's breath hitched. "Holy shit…"

The display continued. His body soared into the air, and with a single spell, turned the entire snow-covered land into a sea of fire.

Holy knights melted into screaming embers, their armor disintegrating like paper. Even the cleric girl—her arms were torn apart before the screen abruptly cut to black.

Claude swallowed hard.

"That… that kind of power…" He could barely believe what he had just witnessed.

Then, a thought struck him like lightning. 'The shattered soul of the Lord of Calamity… inside my body?'

His mind raced back to something Claris had once told him—a prophecy whispered through the ages.

'The descendant of Calamity will be born from the witch.'

A cold shiver ran down his spine. "So… I'm the descendant of that lord?" He murmured, hesitant.

A deep chuckle echoed through the void.

"You're slow to realize that."

Claude jolted. His head snapped toward the voice, and his eyes widened at the sight before him.

A man stood there—his exact reflection, yet vastly different. Taller. More rugged. His build exuded raw power, and his blood-red eyes gleamed with a knowing amusement.

Claude tensed. "You… you're the one inside my body."

"I am," the man said casually. "I am the world's greatest fear, their greatest nightmare."

His voice carried an unsettling weight—one that made Claude's breath hitch in his throat.

"I am the last shard of the Lord of Calamity's soul, implanted into your body as a defense mechanism."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Because you were too weak."

Claude narrowed his eyes. "Well, I am only seventeen."

The man scoffed. "I don't have time to entertain your excuses. I'll be gone soon, slipping back into slumber until you need me."

He stepped forward, his presence suffocating. "But before that… allow me to introduce myself."

The air around them crackled as he spoke his name.

"I am Donovan Vlad Calego. And now, I will grant you my legacy."

Claude stiffened, taking in every word. But his thoughts spun wildly. "I thought you'd be cruel. Arrogant. Rude."

Donovan chuckled. "Oh, I am. But I am also the softest fragment of his soul—the remnants of his kindness and power."

Claude's lips pressed into a thin line. "I see…" But questions still lingered. "But, why did you choose me? I am just a normal human being on earth. I am not handsome, smart, or special."

"Ah… that." Donovan tilted his head. "You are impressive, after all." his smirk widened.

"Pushing your friend down the stairs just to steal his role in a play. Hurting and eliminate all of your enemies in your first life."

He paused.

"You also committed the most unforgivable sin a human can."

Claude stilled. His expression unreadable.

"But the most interesting part?" Donovan's voice dropped to a near whisper. "You don't even remember most of it because you never thought what you've done was something wrong."

Silence stretched between them.

Claude exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is… awkward. But I guess I'll take it as a compliment."

It was the first time someone had praised him for his wickedness.

Donovan stepped closer, his crimson gaze boring into him. "Claude, you will be a lord—a ruler of a kingdom. As its leader, you must choose."

"Power, wisdom, and kindness."

"Which will you claim?"

Claude fell silent, his mind reeling. He had seen it with his own eyes—Donovan's overwhelming power.

How the church now knew of his identity. That the Lord of Calamity had returned.

There was only one answer. His hands curled into fists.

"I need power." His voice held no hesitation. "I need the strength to destroy the church."

Donovan grinned. "I knew you'd say that."

He extended his hand.

Claude hesitated—then grasped it.

"I will grant you knowledge of power. Now, go."

"Write your bloody history with your own hands. Slaughter your enemies. Erase those who stand against you."

"But above all, protect those you love the most." his voice softened, "I entrust my kingdom to you. Nurture and cherish it, as I once did."

"And when we meet again… I expect you to have conquered the world."

Before Claude could respond, a jolt surged through him. His vision twisted, the white void collapsing around him.

Then, darkness.

***

Claude's eyes shot open. His body felt… real again, he was still alive!

But something was off. A weight pressed against his chest. Frowning, he pushed aside the blanket and froze.

A girl lay sprawled on top of him, sound asleep.

Claude stiffened. "What the hell?!"