Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!-Chapter 108: Unexpected Payback

The village had fallen silent. Only the crackle of burning wood and the soft moans of the dying remained.

Rhys lay still in the dirt, unmoving—his blood soaked into the earth as if even the ground mourned.

Hans and Richard stood over him, their chests heaving, the adrenaline still pumping… but there was nothing left to fight.

Nothing but the horror of what they'd done.

And witch they failed to hunt.

Richard looked around to see the bodies of villagers littered the streets—men, women, even the elderly—slain by his blade.

Blood clung to his armor like a second skin. His golden sword, once a symbol of purity, now dulled and stained, slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.

He fell to his knees, trembling.

Tears welled up in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, streaking the soot on his face.

"What have I done…?" he whispered, voice cracking, almost childlike in its despair.

From behind, Anne finally stepped forward, her hands stained with healing magic that had come too late.

She'd managed to save only a few, and the villagers left were just women clutching sobbing children, elders hiding behind broken walls, afraid to breathe.

Her voice broke through the heavy silence.

"You shouldn't have done this, Richard!" she screamed, her eyes red and glistening.

"We could've waited! We could've searched for her later!"

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Her chest heaved. "Even if we didn't… so what?! Is catching one witch worth slaughtering our own people?! Killing our ally?!"

Richard shook, hands gripping his hair as if trying to rip out the guilt itself. His fingers tangled in the blood-matted strands, tugging violently.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" he shouted, his voice cracking into madness. "THIS ISN'T MY FAULT!"

"IT'S BECAUSE OF RHYS! HE ATTACKED US! THE VILLAGERS ATTACKED ME! IT WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED IF THEY JUST—IF THEY JUST LISTENED!"

He struck the ground, again and again, knuckles splitting open. "IT'S NOT MY FAULT!"

"You… You killed them!" Anne shouted back, her voice rising in anguish.

"Don't you see the blood on you?! Look at your hands! Your sword—your holy sword—it's not even glowing anymore!"

She pointed to it, the once-shimmering blade now dull and lifeless on the ground.

"That means the Goddess has abandoned you."

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!" Richard howled, slamming his forehead into the dirt.

"Why won't She answer?! I did everything! I prayed—I did what I was told! I DID WHAT I WAS TOLD!"

He collapsed, clutching his head, mumbling half-prayers, half-curses. His voice trembled with every breath. "Please… please… please…"

But no answer came and only silence.

"Stop fighting!" Hans's voice rang out, firm and loud.

"Don't blame each other! What's done is done! We killed a sinner. He was bewitched. This was righ—"

Schlick.

Hans's words ended in a wet, sickening sound. His body froze.

Then slowly, his head slid from his shoulders and hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling toward Richard.

Richard's bloodshot eyes widened in horror as the severed head stopped inches from him, lifeless eyes staring into his soul.

Anne clapped her hands to her mouth, stifling a scream.

A cold voice followed. "Oops," he said casually. "Guess I overdid it."

From the shadows, a man stepped forward.

The sky above rumbled, clouds thick and black, as if the heavens themselves recoiled from his presence.

His crimson eyes gleamed beneath the stormlight, and the sword in his hand burned with a dark flame that danced like it had a will of its own.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair, the smirk on his face was casual. "Well, at least the party isn't over yet."

He tilted his head, the blood on his blade dripping onto the ground. "So. Who's next?"

He pointed his sword lazily between Anne and Richard.

"Wh-who are you?"

Anne asked, her voice weak, trembling under the pressure that crushed the air around them.

He raised a brow. "Me? You're from Everbright Church, aren't you? You should know me."

He stepped closer, each footstep making the ground shudder slightly.

"My name is Claude."

His grin stretched wider, darker. "Now… guess who I am."

Richard's mind, fraying at the seams, could barely process it. He stood shakily, grabbing his sword with bloodied hands.

"I don't care who you are," he snarled, voice hollow.

"How dare you… kill my friend!"

He raised his blade to strike, but instead his arm was the one that fell to the ground.

A geyser of blood sprayed into the air as Richard screamed.

"AHHHHH! AHHHHHH!!"

He stumbled back, clutching the stump where his arm used to be. Holy light flared in his palm, but it flickered and died instantly—his healing failed.

Claude shook his head. "Tch. Your Goddess won't help you anymore."

He stepped forward, crouched, and gently grabbed Richard's head.

"I was going to kill you," he whispered, "but I have a better idea."

Claude's voice darkened."Somnium Torment."

A rune glowed beneath Richard, dark and twisted. His eyes rolled back, pupils vanishing into white. His body convulsed violently before he collapsed.

But when he opened his eyes, he stood in the village again.

Except now, the villagers surrounded him. Dozens even hundreds. Men, women, children—screaming, bloodied, furious.

"W-what… what's happening?" he asked, trembling, sword in hand.

But they didn't answer but attacked instead with stones, hoes, even knives. Their screams drowned his thoughts as pain lanced through him.

He screamed and lashed out, cutting them down. Over and over again. But they didn't stop.

Every time he killed them, they returned.

Again.

And again.

If he stopped fighting, they tore him apart—flesh, bone, soul—but he never died.

He healed only to suffer again.

A nightmare with no escape. A torment tailored by hate. A hell for a murderer.

On the outside, Richard's body twitched, foamed, and bled from his nose and ears—his mind shattered.

And Claude just stood there. Watching and smile with satisfaction.

Then he turned to Anne. "Well," he said, twirling his sword. "Guess that just leaves you."