Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

"Whoah… easy now… I've only come here to kill you, not to eat you. No hard feelings, alright?" Sylvaris said, voice dripping with that signature filth-laced sarcasm, a smirk playing on his lips like death itself was just a mild inconvenience. His tongue was sharp enough to gut humans, but it seemed even monsters weren't immune to his venom.

The beast continued to reveal itself, peeling layer by layer out of the void like something that had never quite fit into this world. Its body was pitch black, slick and wet like living oil, yet beneath the sheen was muscle: thick, rippling, brutal, a structure built for destruction. It moved on all fours, each step soundless but full of weight, a predator that didn't need to stalk because it knew nothing could escape it.

Its head... wasn't right. Not remotely. Vaguely equine in shape, like some twisted parody of a horse skull, but its maw was lined with serrated fangs, rows upon rows, and its eyes were stretched long along the sides of its face, gleaming with intellect and hunger. Several pupils floated inside those eye-sockets, shifting independently, scanning the battlefield with impossible precision, as if no movement, no breath, no stray thought could hide from its gaze.

A monster like this shouldn't exist at this level. It wasn't just unfair. It was obscene. But Sylvaris stood there anyway—bloodied, half-broken, grinning like a lunatic. Life and death no longer mattered. The fight was all that remained.

And high above, in her divine throne forged from light and pride, the goddess of heroes could only stare. Shock widened her eyes, a rare crack in her perfect poise, as the monstrous presence fully stepped into her domain, her realm, her trial. She was the one who ruled here. She was the one who set the challenges, balanced the scales, and dictated the stories.

But this?

This was something she hadn't summoned. This thing did not obey her. And even if she tried now, she knew she was powerless; it was too late...

She could not remove the monster. She could not pull Sylvaris out. The system didn't respond. The rules weren't hers anymore. Something, or someone, had hijacked the trial and sabotaged it.

But why? Why go so far just to kill a single mortal? Unless... Unless that mortal held something inside him. Something older than gods. Something worth risking divine wrath over.

Those questions would be left unanswered for ages to come, buried in silence until the day Sylvaris would uncover them on his own, but that day wasn't today—because today, he had to survive, and with a monster standing before him that was at least five times stronger, faster, and crueler, there was barely a sliver of hope left, no path that ended with him walking away with his limbs still attached, hell... it would be a miracle if he even walked away with his life, and deep down, he knew that, he felt it, in the pit of his stomach, in the trembling of the ground, in the cold edge of the monster's stare.

But even so, he wasn't the kind of man to give up, not when his blood was still warm, not when he still had a sword in his hand and fire in his veins, there was only one way to survive this, only one, and that was either to unleash his real powers, the kind he hadn't dared to show even to the gods, or to outsmart the monster and somehow land a fatal blow before it tore him apart, but even that was stretching hope to its limits, because as a great sage of this world had once said, 'mind is powerful, but when the power difference is too high, no matter how hard one will struggle, the only outcome for them is death by those who hold the power—because even a fool can win against a genius with a high enough difference.'

It was a person who lived several thousands of years ago, a man whose legacy still echoed in the scriptures of this world, remembered not for his rise, but for the bitter truth he left behind—his name was Ras, a genius of his generation, someone who had once believed that intellect alone could overcome all odds, until the day he met a fool of a young master, a simpleton who couldn't even wipe his own snot properly, and yet held enough raw power to slaughter Ras's entire family in a single breath.

Ras fought, struggled, tried to use his mind to outplay the monster in human skin, but no matter how many traps he laid or strategies he devised, the difference in power was too vast, too crushing, and in the end, the genius could only kneel before the fool who didn't even understand what he had done.

It was then that Ras cursed the heavens, turned his back on everything he once loved, and chose the path of solitude, dedicating his life to the study of existence itself, to understand why this world favored strength over wisdom—and even now, centuries later, his teachings remained, found in books across empires, quoted in trials and whispered by those who had once felt weak before something stronger.

And Sylvaris, in his youth, had read every one of Ras's works, devoured them with a hunger that still lived somewhere deep in his bones, and yet here he stood now, facing the same cruel truth Ras once did—a foe too powerful, a wall too high, a trial that was never meant to be survived. But unlike Ras, Sylvaris wasn't bound by the same chains. He wasn't born of this world. He wasn't limited to the rules written by gods who thought they were untouchable. He had blessings, divine and blasphemous.

He had power running through his veins that others would weep to possess. He had a system forged in lust, war, and domination. And he had something far darker—something born from another place, another law, another hell. All he had to do was show the world what he really was. Let them see the shadow he kept hidden beneath the light. Reveal the truth that he was half a darkness user, a vessel of something that should not be. And then, after that... he'd run. Not because he feared death, but because if he lived, the capital would burn for him, and if he died here, at least it would be by his own terms.

And behind all of this tension... Somewhere deep in his core, the shadow stirred—not like a whisper, but like a growl that hadn't been heard in years. It didn't speak in words. It spoke in hunger.