Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

Claude's eyes widened as he forced himself to straighten his posture, trying to appear composed in front of his mother—even as his body burned with pain.

He clenched his jaw and took a slow breath before offering her a strained smile.

"I'm alright, Mother… How about you?" His voice was gentle, yet laced with the remnants of pain.

Dalia's lips curled into a soft smile. "Are we finally in Elysium? Has our journey come to an end?"

Claude tightened his grip around her frail hand, feeling how cold it had become. He nodded, his voice tender.

"Yes, we've arrived. It's a beautiful place, Mother. Once you're better, we'll walk together and find the flowers you love the most."

Her face lit up, a hint of color returning to her pallid cheeks. "Of course. Let's do that."

She squeezed his hand weakly before her gaze softened. "And… happy eighteenth birthday, Claude. I know it's already passed since you fainted yesterday…"

Her voice was gentle, filled with warmth. "I hope this year, next year, and every year after, you'll find happiness."

Claude's breath hitched as he felt her grip loosen. Her fingers, once warm, were growing colder by the second. His chest tightened. Time was running out.

'I need to tell her now… But how?' His thoughts tangled in panic.

How could he tell her that she was about to become something else? That she would no longer be human? That she would be like him?

His throat tightened, but he forced the words out.

"Mother… Thank you," he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

"You know I love you, right? And you love me, too… That's why… I want you to stay with me—for a long, long time. Will you?"

Dalia frowned slightly, concern flickering in her tired eyes. "Of course, Claude. Why would you ask something so obvious? Did something happen?"

Claude swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "You… You have a serious illness. And the only way I can save you is by changing you—by making you like me. A daemon."

A heavy silence filled the room. His heart pounded against his ribs, dread settling like a stone in his gut.

What if she rejected him? What if she looked at him the way the world did—as a monster?

Dalia blinked, then let out a small chuckle. "Oh, Claude… Why would you ask me something like that?"

His breath caught.

"You don't need to ask," she said softly. "Of course, I'll do it. I want to live a long, happy life with you."

Her smile was weak, but her eyes held nothing but warmth and certainty.

Claude's chest tightened. "You… You don't mind being a monster?" His voice wavered, barely above a whisper.

"Claude." Dalia slowly sat up.

He instinctively reached out to stop her, but she insisted, shifting until she was face-to-face with him. Then, with a tenderness that nearly undid him, she cupped his face in her cold hands.

"You are not a monster," she said firmly. "You are my son."

Her words struck something deep inside him. His breath grew unsteady, his vision blurring.

"And even if the world sees you as one, what does that matter? If you are a monster, then I am the mother who gave birth to one—something far worse."

Her voice remained steady, unwavering. "Changing me into a daemon won't change anything. I will still be an existence damned by the world."

Claude's lips parted, but no words came out. His mother's unique blue eyes, flecked with golden rings, seemed to pull him in, grounding him.

It was as if it held all the truths of the world in her gaze, and he would believe anything she said, no matter how impossible it seemed.

His throat tightened as an unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest, wrapping around him like a gentle embrace.

Acceptance.

The world may see him as a monster, but here, in his mother's arms, he was just Claude. And she… she loved him unconditionally.

He felt like a five year old again, in their modest but comfortable house, in the soft basking light of a beautiful spring with flowers all around.

And in that time it was only him reading a book and her mother tending the garden flowers.

All good, all well.

A shaky breath escaped him before he finally broke, wrapping his arms around her in a desperate hug.

'Oh… so this is what it feels like to be loved unconditionally?'

It was unfamiliar. Foreign. But it was warm. It was comforting.

"Thank you, Mother." His voice trembled as he held onto her, unwilling to let go.

But time was slipping away. He knew that.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking into her eyes once more.

'Now… I need to tell her how to complete the transformation. But how?'

Claude's mind was a tangled mess, like an unraveled thread slipping through his fingers.

The system had told him that his sperm would help transform Dalia, but how was he supposed to tell her that?

"Hey Mom, can you drink my sperm?"

Just thinking about it made his skin crawl. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

[Drink? It's better if you do it through intercourse.]

Claude's breath hitched, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "WHAT?! ARE YOU INSANE?!" His voice exploded in the quiet room before he could stop himself.

Dalia flinched at his sudden outburst, her weary gaze turning toward him in confusion. "Claude? What's wrong?"

His pulse pounded in his ears. "N-Nothing, Mother. I just—"

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, searching for words that wouldn't make him sound deranged.

"Forget it."

[Intercourse would be the most effective method. The sperm will enter her system faster, accelerating the transformation as it spreads through her womb.]

Claude buried his face in his hands, his frustration mounting. This was insane.

And yet…

Dalia was everything he admired in a woman. Her unwavering strength, her gentleness, her beauty—she was perfection.

But none of that mattered right now. What mattered was how he was supposed to tell her.

He lifted his head, only to find Dalia's eyes slowly closing as she back lying on the bed. His chest tightened in panic.

"Mother?" He gently shook her, his voice urgent. "Are you okay?"

Dalia's lips parted slightly, her breath faint. "I'm just… sleepy…"

Claude's stomach dropped. He could feel it—her life slipping away. The pain that had transferred to him gnawed at his body, his limbs trembling under the weight of it.

There was no time left.

His fingers quivered as he reached for Dalia's face. His mind screamed at him, but his heart whispered that this was the only way.

Slowly, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a hesitant, reverent kiss—his heart caught between overwhelming happiness and sheer terror.