Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

Time began to move again, slowly, like grains of sand slipping through the neck of an ancient hourglass, each second stretched thin across an endless void. For Sylvaris, the world no longer existed. There was no sky. No sound. No pain. Only the stillness of pure white stretching infinitely in all directions, a space stripped of meaning, where even light seemed to forget what it was meant to reveal.

His body floated in that emptiness—broken beyond recognition, as if it had been torn apart and discarded for a thousand years. Bones shattered, skin burned, soul frayed—but somehow, he remained alive. Not through will. Not through strength. But as if some forgotten power refused to let him go.

His form had returned to its human shape: no wings, no horns, no monstrous blood surging beneath his skin. Just a man. Small, fragile, quiet. His eyes stared ahead, blank and colorless, like he had been here forever, and had long since stopped counting the days. And yet... deep within those hollow pupils, there was a flame. Small. Gentle. Almost invisible. But it was burning. Refusing to die. Refusing to be silenced. Refusing to let him become nothing.

Ripple...

Something shifted in the void. A gentle tremor across the whiteness, like a single drop of water falling into a still lake. Sylvaris didn't react. His head didn't turn. His body didn't move. He didn't care.

Ripple...

Again, the same movement—so delicate, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at, like light trying to remember color. But Sylvaris remained unchanged. Or so it seemed. Because in the depth of his eyes, that flame was growing. Not wildly. Not urgently. But steadily. As if it was waking up. As if it was remembering what it meant to burn. It flickered once, twice, and then pulsed with something sharper—something angry, something alive. His mind remained silent, frozen in the ice of oblivion, but the fire within screamed louder with every ripple that echoed through the void.

Look... Move... Escape...

Those thoughts ran through his hollow mind, faint and voiceless, like whispers caught in the wind, yet still they carried meaning. But nothing happened...

His body didn't stir. His gaze remained empty. Because something was holding him here—something deeper than pain or exhaustion, something rooted in the very core of his being. It wasn't chains. It wasn't fear. It was his own heart. Broken, splintered, and yet still trying to repair itself, as if holding him here was the only way it knew how to survive.

Some might say it was the system, still working in silence to reforge him from the inside out. Others might call it the echo of a past life—Ryan, the name buried beneath blood and memory, clawing its way to the surface. But no one could say for certain. Not even Sylvaris.

Only fate knew the truth behind the weight pressing him down. Only fate understood what it meant for someone this shattered to still be breathing. And for now, all he could do was float in that limbo, unmoving, while something unseen tried to piece together a soul that had been broken too many times to count.

Awaken, you piece of fucking idiot!

The words did not come from outside; they didn't echo like the ripples that had tried to stir him. They came from within—sharp, cutting, unmistakably feminine—and they crashed into his mind like thunder, ripping straight from his heart to his skull. It was violent, jarring, the complete opposite of the calm nothingness that had held him before.

"Nyxaria...?" The word slipped from his lips like a dying breath, weak and uncertain, barely more than a whisper spoken to a void that gave no answers. A question. A hope. A plea. But no reply came. Only silence. Yet the fire in his eyes—the one that had burned so quietly—suddenly surged. It flared, pulsing with something stronger than pain or rage, so bright it began to eat away at the endless white around him, challenging the very light that had imprisoned him.

RIPPLE...

A new shockwave slammed through the realm—not a soft ripple now, not a gentle tremor—but a force like a waterfall crashing through a dam. The air itself shivered. The void cracked. Something wasn't just knocking anymore; it was forcing its way in. The silence shattered as the space began to twist, pulled in every direction by a power that refused to wait any longer.

Someone—or something—was coming for him. And this time, it wasn't asking for permission.

Remember who you are... come back to the realm of the living and conquer everything you once wished. Show the world your might, and become the Harem God you were destined to be, Sylvaris...

The voice came again, flooding into his heart like a divine whisper wrapped in flame. It was no longer distant, no longer uncertain. It was clear, commanding, undeniable. And this time, it ignited the fire within him for real.

His eyes widened—slowly at first—then narrowed as light returned to them, that once dim flicker now roaring to life like a star waking in his soul. His expression, once cold and lifeless, twisted into something fierce; the first trace of will reemerged, sharp and feral.

A new ripple blasted through the walls of this empty white realm, and it wasn't just a tremor—it was destruction. The white light shattered, splintering like glass, and from the cracks burst a vibrant green, glowing with life and power.

Sylvaris turned his head instinctively, and his gaze locked onto it. His hand moved before his thoughts could catch up, lifting slowly, reaching into that light—and then, something answered. A force, strong and unseen, rushed in like a storm, wrapped around his wrist, and pulled.

It dragged him from the emptiness, through a spiral of black and green, color twisting and folding like a storm of chaos and rebirth. The pressure crushed his senses. His body felt like it was tearing in every direction, and the sheer velocity of the pull made his stomach churn, nausea twisting up through his throat, threatening to spill—but he held on. He gritted his teeth. He endured.

And then, suddenly—it stopped.

He felt the impact before he understood what happened; his body slammed into something solid, and breath tore into his lungs. He gasped, eyes flying open—

And above him stretched a brilliant blue sky.

Clouds rolled gently overhead. The air smelled of grass and life. The wind whispered softly against his skin. He blinked, stunned, and looked down at his hands—clean, whole, unmarred. His body was no longer broken. His wounds had vanished. His limbs responded with strength. Somehow, impossibly, he had returned.

He was back in the realm of the living. And the world would never be ready for what walked out of that realm.