Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

Lord? Well shit… not only a thief but a traitor as well. I wonder if Father knows. No… hahaha, it's better if he doesn't. Let him suffer in silence, let him choke on his pride while the whore he married kneels to his enemy like the obedient little dog she really is. Sylvaris couldn't help but laugh, the sound low and sharp as it rumbled from his chest—because this twist wasn't just cruel, it was poetic. It was deserved. A fitting gift for the once-proud Elyndors who thought themselves untouchable.

A feminine voice responded, soft and unhurried, like velvet soaked in moonlight, "Took you too long, my poor child… another ten minutes and I'd be found by that old fool Elyndor…" and her words didn't echo like power but instead slid across the air like silk, sultry and enchanting in a way that wasn't forced, but natural, subtle, the kind of voice that wrapped around your mind without needing to raise its tone, and just like that, Sylvaris found his anger cooling—not gone, but distracted—his focus pulled instantly by the sheer elegance in her sound.

She extended her arm, delicate and pale, and his gaze followed the motion slowly, taking in the shape of her fingers, perfectly sculpted, a little cold in tone, skin like porcelain glazed in blood moonlight, and as his eyes trailed further he finally gave the rest of her body a proper look, and what he saw made his lips twitch.

Her curves were smooth and pronounced, easily rivaling Faylira's hips, sharp and lush where it mattered, though when he traced up to her chest, he couldn't help but tilt his head slightly. At most, her breasts were about the size of Lilith's, which, considering the rest of her divine shape, was a bit of a letdown, but Sylvaris was no boy anymore, no virgin prince chasing one ideal shape. He was a man of appetite and experience now, a man of taste, and every form had its place in his collection.

Size doesn't matter when they know how to use it... and I make them all sing anyway, he thought with a smirk, letting his eyes linger a little longer.

He leaned in, not too close, but just enough to peer beneath the shadow of her hood, and what he saw made something cold pass down his spine, not out of fear, but from the weight of recognition. Her lips were soft, her skin smooth, but just below the upper curve of her mouth, two fangs sat—long, sharp, unapologetically real—and in that moment, all doubt shattered. She wasn't just a vampire.

She was the vampire.

It became obvious in an instant, he didn't need more clues, didn't need to be told. He knew. This wasn't just any dark noble or wandering bloodwalker, no... this was the one the world whispered about when moons turned red and soldiers locked their doors. This was the rumored demon lord, the final vampire, the sovereign of the blood moon, whose name had never been confirmed, whose face had never been seen, and yet here she stood, inches away, the air around her colder than shadow and heavier than guilt.

And what made it worse, what made his pulse slow and his expression harden, was that her voice, though dressed in sweetness now, had a note of something he couldn't ignore.

I've heard it before… somewhere… no… don't tell me—

He stared, not blinking, not breathing.

Why the fuck does her voice sound so familiar…?

He leaned in closer, eyes narrowing as he studied her face beneath the hood, and for a heartbeat, something clicked, it looked almost familiar, frustratingly so, like a name on the tip of his tongue or a dream half-remembered, but just as he was about to pull the thread and uncover the truth, just as the identity of the demon lord was about to be revealed to him, that cursed cold water washed over his body again, that same suffocating weight of memory yanked him down, dragging his soul through the depths of illusion once more, and he felt himself sink, deeper and deeper, until the light above vanished entirely.

And then, without warning, he was back—right where it all began.

The air was thick and wet, the world reduced to endless black water, its surface still as death, its depth unknowable, the only sound the echo of his breath and the slow, pulsing heartbeat of something vast and ancient beneath him. This place didn't feel like memory anymore. It felt like the edge of reality. Like the world could end here and no one would ever know. The darkness wrapped around him, not in fear, but in finality.

But before he could comprehend what came next, that old familiar heat—danger—flashed across the back of his neck like a whip, and instinct screamed louder than thought. His body moved on its own, twisting just in time, as a blade made of fire sliced through the space where his throat had been an instant ago. The heat licked his cheek. The light blinded. And when he turned to face his attacker, his eyes widened—not in fear, but in revelation.

Aureve stood before him, her blade crackling in her hand, her stance feral and wild, but it wasn't the Aureve he remembered. Her light brown hair was streaked now with crimson fire, glowing strands woven through her locks like burning veins, and her once soft blue eyes had turned pitch black, gleaming with an ancient hunger. And behind her, spreading like wings torn from flame itself, burned two arcs of searing red fire, alive and pulsing with power that did not belong to humans.

The forgotten ones…

His voice dropped, filled with something bordering awe, and he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"You're one of the ten lost races… the Fireborn."

And suddenly, everything made sense. Her strength. Her instincts. Her betrayal. Why she had embedded herself into Arathor's life, why she had stolen the core with such precision and resolve. She had never been human. Not even close. And now, he was left wondering—was her sadness real? Had she truly fallen in love with him? Was this all a game until something changed? Or was she simply regretting what she had done because her heart got caught somewhere along the way? Maybe that's why the system showed him everything—maybe it wasn't about punishment. Maybe it was a gift. A key. A test.

He smirked.

"Fine. Let me tame this side of you then," he said, stepping forward, golden eyes flashing with amusement and hunger, "and once I do, I'll reward you with some kisses… and my cock inside you. What do you say?"

She didn't answer.

She lunged.

And her body moved like lightning wrapped in flame, too fast for his mind to fully register, too wild for him to react with thought alone, and in that instant Sylvaris realized—this wasn't just about betrayal anymore.

This was going to be an entertaining dance of love and swords.