Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

The moment she lunged, the air shattered around her, fire curling off her skin like living wings, each step leaving ripples in the black water below, and Sylvaris had no time to think, he barely had time to react. His sword was already drawn, white and gleaming, the blade humming with an ancient light as it met her descending strike with a flash of heat and steel, sparks exploding between them as flame and holiness clashed for the first time.

Her blade danced, not like a soldier's, but like something born in fire and instinct, her attacks fluid and brutal, a blur of spinning slashes and sudden feints that forced him to step back again and again. He jabbed toward her stomach, quick and direct, but she twisted her body mid-air, letting the blade pass through flame that didn't seem to burn her, and countered with a downward arc that nearly split his shoulder had he not parried in time.

She's good… he thought, dodging another flaming arc that whistled past his ear and scorched the air behind him, the heat trailing like a whisper of death. It seems Aureve has so much more to offer than I expected. No wonder I gained agility when she joined my harem—she moves like a cat, smooth, fast, dangerous. Every step is precise, every attack woven with grace that doesn't come from training alone—it's instinct, it's blood, it's bred into her bones.

He parried low, her blade skipping off his guard like sparks off steel, and used the moment to leap back and gain a breath of distance.

If the goal of this challenge is to defeat her outright, then I'll have to find another way… simple jabs, clean slashes—they won't be enough. He shifted his grip on the white blade, watching her movements closely as she prowled through the black water like a predator sizing him up again. But it's not just her. It's this place… something about it is suppressing me. I can't feel the full pull of my power here. It's like the walls are draining me, keeping me at a fraction of myself.

Then it clicked.

Which means this isn't a battle of strength, it's something else. A test… a reflection, maybe. Something buried inside this memory or illusion. Whatever it is…

He exhaled sharply, turning his body as she rushed him again, fire swirling around her arms, her hair glowing with threads of red light like a crown of flame.

Whatever. If she wants to dance, then I'll give her a dance, and while I do, I'll watch her carefully. I'll study every step, every twitch, every flick of her wrist. If I can't overpower her yet… I'll outlearn her. I'll find the crack. And when I do… she'll know exactly who she challenged.

"You were holding back before…" he muttered, his voice strained, breath heavier now, sweat beading along his brow as he readjusted his footing in the knee-deep black water. Or maybe I was just too blind to see what you really were... he thought.

She didn't answer. Instead, she raised her blade and spun, a ring of fire bursting out around her like a storm unleashed, and he brought his white sword up just in time, channeling holy magic into the metal, its light burst outward, pushing against the fire with a radiant force that hissed against the heat. The clash of elements lit the chamber like a dying star, gold and red pulsing in a storm of light, and then she was in front of him again.

Her foot slammed into his gut.

The force knocked him back, breath torn from his lungs as he crashed into the water, sending black ripples racing in all directions. His back scraped stone. His vision flickered. And before he could stand, her sword was already descending.

He rolled left, then slashed upward, his blade catching her side, not deep, but enough to hiss against her skin with searing holy light. She snarled, her voice distorted by rage, and retaliated with a horizontal sweep that nearly took his head off. He ducked low, jabbed into her thigh, but again her body moved like smoke and fire, too fluid, too damn fast.

"Try harder, Sylvaris," she growled, and her next swing was wreathed in fire so thick it lit up the water beneath them in molten red.

"Gladly," he spat, his voice low and laced with challenge, and without hesitation he raised his off-hand, the fingers darkening as magic surged through them, a ripple of shadow crawling up his arm like spilled ink, coating his skin in a slick, cold shimmer of power that made the air around him crackle.

The darkness built rapidly, pulsing with force, and in the next heartbeat he hurled it toward her feet, a jagged spear of void that twisted the space around it as it flew—when it struck, it detonated with a deep, guttural crack, and a spray of raw darkness burst upward, obscuring her vision, cloaking his intent.

--[Shadow Blast]-- That was the name that flashed in his mind the moment it released, the system's whisper etched in instinct, and though it was his first time using the skill, he already loved it—the weight, the power, the effect. It was exactly the kind of tool he needed, and it had given him the perfect opening.

He shot forward, breaking through the veil of shadow like a blade drawn from night itself, and slashed cleanly across her midsection, his white blade now burning with holy light that cut through the lingering blackness like a divine fang.

But before he could press deeper, her wings unfurled wide, two arcs of crimson flame exploding outward with a violent whoosh, forcing him to backstep as the temperature surged. She flew backward in a blaze of heat, retreating across the battlefield with such effortless grace that he found himself cursing under his breath—not from pain, but from how goddamn beautiful her movements looked, even in retreat.

She's better than I expected… no, she's something else now. This isn't just about skill—it's about blood.

They circled, eyes locked, and his shoulder throbbed from the earlier parry. She was pushing him, not to kill, but to see how far he could go, and he felt it now—the heat of her challenge, the unspoken hunger in her flame.

And Sylvaris… smiled.

Because something about dancing with fire made him feel alive again.