The room smelled of disinfectant and regret.
Monitors hummed with tired beeps, counting down the rhythm of a fading life.
Wang Xao lay on a cold hospital bed, a ghost still wearing flesh. Tubes crawled from his arms like serpents, the IV drip rhythmically feeding him borrowed time. His body was a cage of pain — every heartbeat felt like glass shattering in his chest.
He turned his head weakly toward the window.
Outside, the world continued, indifferent. Students rushed home, lovers laughed in the park, and the sun — the same sun that rose every day of his cursed existence — poured light on everyone but him.
"Why?" he whispered, voice rasped like broken stone.
"Why did I have to be born to die like this?"
No one answered. No gods, no miracles — just the shrill pulse of machines pretending he was still alive.
Wang Xao had read hundreds of novels — isekai, fantasy, cultivation, apocalypse. He had seen heroes slay gods, kings build empires, and fools fall in love. Yet, he himself had done nothing.
No victories. No lovers. No purpose.
Only pain.
"If there's another life," he murmured, his lips curling into a bitter smile,
"I'll live like those bastards in novels. I'll make my own harem… I'll never suffer again."
The machines shrieked.
The world dimmed.
Pain dissolved into nothingness.
And then — silence.
When Wang Xao opened his eyes again, he wasn't breathing.
He wasn't even sure if he had lungs.
The world around him was darkness — endless, fluid, alive. It rippled like the inside of a womb made of shadows. Floating symbols shimmered in front of him — ancient letters that seemed older than time, written in blood and light.
A voice echoed.
Neither male nor female. Both divine and monstrous.
"A mortal who cursed the heavens… now devoured by it."
The voice slithered through his skull.
"You wished to be reborn? Then accept our blessing… or our curse."
Pain erupted. His bones twisted. His skin burned as his flesh turned gray and cold. Something ancient crawled beneath his ribs — whispering, laughing, breathing life into the dead.
[You have been chosen by the Divine Harem System — the curse of the Seven Forgotten Gods.]
[You are now Lucien de Fauvoir, Heir of Rot and Desire.]
[Half-Undead. Half-Human. Fully Cursed.]
Light exploded.
And suddenly — he was no longer in darkness.
Lucien gasped.
He sat up in a grand four-poster bed, surrounded by red velvet curtains. The room was vast, filled with gold ornaments and heavy bookshelves. A chandelier dripped with crystals that reflected firelight from the hearth.
In the mirror across the room, a stranger looked back at him — tall, silver-haired, eyes crimson like molten ruby. His body was sculpted and strong, but his veins pulsed black. He touched his cheek. Cold.
Dead flesh that pretended to be alive.
"So this… is me?" he whispered.
"Lucien de Fauvoir…"
The name felt ancient, like it carried centuries of sins.
Suddenly, memories crashed into his mind — a noble family, a bloodline cursed for defying gods, a body that had been left to rot after betrayal. His soul had merged with this corpse. He was both Wang Xao and Lucien.
And something else.
Something divine.
Then came the whisper again — soft, intimate, hungry.
[Your curse is your blessing. To grow stronger, you must conquer hearts, not lands.]
[For every soul that falls to your charm, a fragment of divine power awakens.]
[But beware… each conquest draws the gaze of the gods who damned you.]
Lucien clenched his fist. His nails cut into his skin — black blood dripped, steaming on the floor.
"Conquer hearts… gain power…"
"And be hunted by gods."
He smiled — the kind of smile that belonged to someone who had nothing left to lose.
"Fine. If the gods want to play, I'll make them kneel."
The door burst open.
A young woman stumbled inside — blonde hair in disarray, eyes wide with tears. She wore a maid's uniform, but her beauty could have belonged to a princess.
"M–Master Lucien! You're awake! The doctors said you were dead—"
Lucien raised a hand, and she froze mid-sentence. Something in his gaze — that unnatural crimson fire — held her still.
"Who are you?" he asked quietly.
"A–Ariel, Master. Your personal attendant since childhood."
He rose slowly from the bed. His movements were unnatural — graceful yet heavy, as though the air itself resisted him.
Ariel trembled, watching him with a mix of fear and awe.
Lucien stepped closer, his aura shifting. For a moment, her pupils dilated — her breathing faltered. His presence was suffocating yet magnetic, pulling her into the orbit of something she couldn't understand.
[System Notification: "You have activated Aura of Temptation (Passive)."]
[Effect: Nearby targets of the opposite sex experience desire, fear, or devotion based on affinity.]
Lucien exhaled slowly.
He could feel it — a thread connecting their souls. A dangerous thread.
"So this is the curse," he murmured.
"To charm and destroy."
Outside, thunder cracked. The sky turned crimson as lightning danced across the empire's capital. From afar, cloaked figures watched the Fauvoir manor.
"The heir lives," one whispered.
"Then the curse has awakened."
Above the clouds, unseen by mortal eyes, six ancient thrones trembled — each holding a god who had once ruled creation.
El, the Supreme Creator, stirred from divine slumber.
Ba'al, the Lord of Storms, growled in his temple.
Astarte, the Mother of Desire, smiled knowingly.
Anat, the Goddess of War, sharpened her blade.
Asherah, the Queen of Creation, wept molten tears.
Dagon, the Lord of grain and fertility, rose from the abyss.
Yam, the Lord of depth ruler of hell
Their voices merged into one storm of prophecy:
"The Cursed Child walks again. The Harem of Souls shall open the Gate of Devouring. The world shall burn or be reborn."
And far below, Lucien de Fauvoir — once Wang Xao, now the hybrid of heaven's curse and hell's hunger — looked at the world with new eyes.
"Then let it begin," he whispered.
"I'll claim everything — power, beauty, divinity… even the gods themselves."
The crimson lightning struck again.
The sky split open like a wound.
And the Overlord's Era began.