Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

Claude's head snapped toward the voice. A man stood before him, his dark purple ponytail swaying slightly, red eyes glowing in the dim light.

There was something eerily familiar about him, but now wasn't the time to dwell on it—his mother's condition was his priority.

"What do you mean?! What happened to my mother?"

Claude shot to his feet, his voice sharp with urgency as he stepped closer, now face-to-face with the man.

The man bowed his head slightly. "My Lord, it's me—Sun," he introduced himself.

Claude didn't react, even when Sun finally able to transform into humanoid form, his mother was the priority.

Sun hesitated, his ears drooping slightly. "That's… actually…" He exhaled, voice heavy with reluctance. "Your mother has Drunen Sickness."

Claude's breath hitched. "What? How?" His brows knitted as dread settled in his chest.

He knew about Drunen Sickness—he had studied the history of this world. It was a disease that afflicted those with weak constitutions, their bodies slowly consumed by darkness.

Prolonged exposure to strong dark energy or poison could trigger it. But it was rare, mostly affecting children or humans particularly sensitive to darkness.

"That doesn't make sense," Claude murmured, shaking his head.

"My mother is a witch. She should be—" His words faltered, his eyes widening in realization.

Donovan. His overwhelming darkness… it had to be the cause.

His pulse pounded as he grabbed Sun by the shoulders. "Where is she? I need to see her now!" His voice cracked with panic.

Drunen Sickness was lethal. Ninety-eight percent of children who contracted it without treatment didn't survive.

Even with treatment, the survival rate was barely thirty-five percent. The darkness corroded the organs from within, making it a slow and agonizing death.

Claude clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He couldn't waste another second.

As the three of them stepped out of Claude's room, the cold air of the dimly lit corridor sent a shiver down his spine.

The castle stretched before him, its long, dark halls illuminated only by flickering magic torches.

The silence felt suffocating, pressing against his chest like an invisible weight.

His thoughts were consumed by worry for his mother, but as he glanced at a nearby window, his breath hitched.

The moon was different—it wasn't its usual pale glow but a deep, unsettling crimson. A blood moon.

Questions flooded his mind. 'Where exactly am I? Why is the moon red?' But he had no time to dwell on them.

Sun came to a stop in front of a door, placing his hand on the handle. Claude didn't wait for an invitation.

He shoved the door open and strode inside, his eyes immediately landing on a man in a black robe, speaking with Shawn.

Without hesitation, he closed the distance between them.

"What's going on? Where's my mother?" His voice was sharp, demanding answers.

The robed man turned and bowed slightly. "Ah, My Lord."

Beside him, Shawn also inclined their heads in respect, but Claude had no patience for formalities.

"Explain it simply and quickly." His tone left no room for argument.

The man straightened, his expression uneasy. "Yes, My Lord. I am Lark, one of the imperial doctors."

He hesitated before continuing, "Your mother has Drunen Sickness. Normally, I could treat it with a simple spell, but… her condition is already too advanced."

"Even if we remove the darkness, it has already ravaged her organs beyond repair. I apologize for my incompetence, My Lord."

Claude's stomach twisted. "So you're saying you can't do anything?" His fists clenched.

Lark swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly. "Not as she is now… I cannot heal someone who isn't of the Daemon race." His voice was barely above a whisper, as if fearing Claude's wrath.

Claude wanted to lash out, to curse the man for his uselessness, but deep down, he knew Lark was right.

There was no miracle spell that could restore someone who had already been consumed from the inside out.

Except for the holy people, the Priest of Everbright Chruch. But they were enemy and he rather die than asking for their help.

'Should I kidnap one of them? But if I am in Elysium, they are too far away for my teleportation magic to reach.'

His legs suddenly felt weak. 'I brought her to Elysium hoping for a better life, but if she dies here… can I go on living like this?'

The thought was unbearable, like a dagger twisting in his chest.

His gaze drifted toward the bed surrounded in a white canopy. He took a shaky step forward, his breath unsteady as he pulled it aside.

There she was—his mother, lying pale and motionless, her face twisted in pain even in unconsciousness.

His hands trembled as he reached for her cheek, brushing away the cold sweat that clung to her skin.

"Mother…" His voice barely came out.

Shawn and the rest lowered their head and decide to left Claude alone with her mother.

Then, a hand suddenly grasped his wrist.

"You can turn her into a Daemon."

Claude's head snapped toward the voice. It was Morion, her crimson eyes serious as she stared at him.

His brows furrowed. "Is that even possible?"

[It is possible!]

Keira's voice echoed in his mind.

[One of the Bloodline Skills of the Lord of Calamity allows you to turn any race into a Daemon. You've already done it with that man—Sun.]

Claude's eyes widened. "Sun is a Daemon now?"

His gaze flickered toward the man before returning to Morion. "So I just need to give my mother my blood?"

[Normally, yes. But your blood is too strong for her current condition. She's far too weak—it would only make her suffer and likely kill her.]

"Tch…" Claude clicked his tongue, his frustration boiling over.

"Then what the hell should I do? Stop wasting time! Don't you see she's dying?!"

His voice came out as a sharp yell, making Morion flinch. But instead of stepping back, she suddenly threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Father, don't be mad!" she pleaded, pressing her forehead against his chest before muttering, "Ugh… use your sperm!"

"...What?"

Claude froze, too stunned to react. He stared at Morion, completely dumbfounded.

"I'm not lying! My mother told me!" She puffed out her cheeks defensively.

The system confirmed it.

[It is true, though it is still a gamble.]

[Anything containing your DNA—blood, hair, even sperm—can turn another race into a Daemon. However, the potency varies.]

[Blood is the strongest, capable of transformation within days or even instantly. Hair and other substances are much weaker and have high probability of failure.]

[But given your mother's fragile state and the darkness already within her, her mana won't resist the change as violently. It may work.]

Claude took a deep breath. "So, it's only possible because she's weak… But won't she suffer?"

[Yes. The pain will be extreme. Any race without darkness affinity naturally resists the transformation.]

Silence settled over him. He didn't know what to do. But he did know one thing—if he did nothing, his mother would die.

His mind drifted to the knowledge Donovan had granted him. Martial arts, magic, countless skills… and among them, a spell caught his attention.

"That will do."

Claude placed his hand over her chest and began chanting. "Transference of Pain."

A crushing wave of agony surged through him as his mother's suffering shifted into his own body. His knees buckled, his vision blurring as fire tore through his veins.

"Fuck—" His breath came out ragged as he clutched his chest. "This… is more painful than I thought…"

"Father, no!" Morion grabbed his arm, tears welling in her eyes. "Just transfer it to me instead!"

Claude gritted his teeth. "Morion… you need to leave the room." His voice was strained, barely above a whisper.

"No! I don't want to leave you!" She clung to him, sobbing as if she could feel his pain herself.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stand, his muscles screaming in protest. He placed a shaking hand on her head, gently stroking her hair.

"I'm fine now," he lied, his voice softer. "You should go, alright? I need to help my mother first."

Morion bit her lip, torn between staying and obeying. But as she looked into his eyes, the warmth in his gaze eased her resistance.

With great reluctance, she gave a small nod and stepped away, leaving the room with heavy steps.

Claude exhaled, his body trembling from the pain. But he had no time to rest. The darkness in her body would help accelerate the transformation—he just had to endure.

As he steadied himself, a weak voice broke through the silence.

"Claude? Are you alright?"