Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 403: PICK THE COIN II

The void around him seemed to bend to his will, stars flickering uneasily in the distance as if sensing the impending doom.

With a mere thought, he extended his control over the shadows, shaping them like extensions of his own limbs.

Sharp spikes erupted from the darkness, jagged and merciless, impaling thousands of soldiers in a single, brutal wave.

Screams pierced the vacuum, high-pitched wails of agony that echoed silently through space, blood freezing into crimson crystals as it sprayed into the cold expanse.

Then, with fluid grace, Aaron conjured a patch of inky blackness beneath his feet, sinking into it effortlessly.

He retreated in an instant, vanishing like smoke on the wind, leaving only the echoes of carnage behind.

Flameborn took over seamlessly, his massive form looming like a harbinger of apocalypse.

He opened his maw wide, jaws unhinging with a resonant crack, and unleashed a scorching breath of dark flames.

The inferno roared outward, not with the bright fury of normal dragonfire, but a devouring void that consumed light itself.

It washed over the remaining soldiers, reducing armor to slag and flesh to ash, claiming even more lives in its relentless hunger.

The general stood frozen, his eyes wide with flabbergasted horror.

The acrid scent of charred metal and ozone filled his nostrils through his helmet’s filters.

Losing so many of his troops, elite warriors, volunteers, entire battalions in just two devastating attacks was far beyond anything he had anticipated.

His hands trembled on the hilt of his sword, the weight of command suddenly crushing.

But Aaron was far from finished with his ruthless onslaught.

The shadows whispered promises of more destruction, urging him onward.

Emerging silently from the elongated shadow cast by a terrified soldier right in the heart of the enemy formation, Aaron materialized amid their ranks.

The air grew heavier, colder, as if the void itself had taken form.

"Devour," he muttered softly, the word a command laced with dark intent.

At the very center of the chaos, a black hole tore open, a swirling vortex of absolute nothingness, its edges crackling with gravitational fury.

It pulled inexorably, swallowing soldiers whole like a ravenous abyss.

Armor crumpled, screams warped into distorted echoes, and entire squads vanished into the maw, their final moments filled with the terror of inevitable erasure.

The general’s composure shattered completely. "Attack! Don’t just let them take the initiative!" he screamed, his voice cracking under the strain, slowly losing the iron grip on his sanity.

He didn’t even consider ordering a regroup.

There was no point, the Celestial Devourer would simply exploit the delay, striking again with that unpredictable, shadow-wreathed precision.

Time was a luxury they no longer had.

The soldiers, hearts pounding with fear for their own survival, obeyed without hesitation.

They surged forward, a desperate tide of defiance against the dragon.

The long-rangers unleashed their fury first.

Warships hummed with charged energy, cannons thundering as they fired salvos of plasma bolts and missiles that streaked through space like vengeful comets.

Foot soldiers followed suit, releasing beams of laser fire and arcane projectiles, the air shimmering with heat and distortion.

The entire barrage hurtled toward Flameborn with deadly purpose, a storm of light and destruction threatening to engulf him completely.

But Flameborn remained utterly unperturbed, his golden eyes gleaming with draconic amusement.

The attacks washed toward him like a tidal wave, yet he stood firm.

With a powerful flap of his humongous wings, each one spanning wider than a cruiser, membranes taut and veined with shadow, he generated massive drafts of turbulent force.

The gusts whipped through the vacuum, defying the void’s silence, and hurled the incoming assaults right back at their senders.

Projectiles reversed course, lasers bent unnaturally, explosions blooming prematurely among the attackers’ own lines.

"Retreat!!! Retreat!!!" the general yelled, his command laced with shocked desperation as the counterattack caught him off guard.

His mind reeled, strategies crumbling like dust.

"Retreating is too late," Aaron whispered, his voice a chilling echo that slithered into every ear.

With a casual gesture, he summoned a ring of shadow spikes around the entire group, towering, razor-edged barriers that encircled them like a deadly crown.

Any attempt to flee would mean impaling themselves on the thorns, turning escape into certain suicide.

The general’s eyes reddened with fury and helplessness, caught between the rock of advancing doom and the hard place of his own reflected attacks.

He braced himself, muscles tensing under his armor, as the inevitable struck.

The returning barrage hit home with merciless precision, claiming even more lives in explosive bursts of fire and shrapnel.

Ships buckled and detonated, soldiers vaporized in flashes of light, the void filling with debris and silent screams.

The general looked around speechlessly, his breath ragged inside his helmet.

The once-mighty army diminished exponentially before his eyes, corpses floating in zero gravity, wreckage drifting like ghosts.

The metallic tang of blood and scorched circuits overwhelmed his senses.

He wracked his brain desperately, synapses firing in a frantic search for any way to turn the tables, any overlooked vulnerability.

But then, the most bizarre and infuriating thing happened, shattering what remained of his resolve.

"I surrender!!!" a sharp voice rang out, cutting through the din.

The general’s head snapped toward the sound. "Who the hell dares—"

His words lodged in his throat like a jagged stone.

He couldn’t speak anymore, rage choking him silent.

One of his own had betrayed them.

A soldier, young, face pale with terror, had picked up one of the shadowed coins, clutching it tightly.

He raised it high into the air, the etched faces of the Celestial Devourer and his dragon glinting mockingly under the distant starlight.

One of his own had accepted defeat, bending the knee to the enemy in a moment of cowardice.

"You bastard!" the general roared, frustration and anger boiling over like an erupting volcano.

He charged toward the soldier, boots pounding against the asteroid’s surface, intent on ending the traitor’s life with his own hands.

He needed to send a clear, brutal message: defection would not be tolerated.

It would invite a fate worse than death, a stain on their honor that demanded immediate erasure.

"How dare you betray the Sovereigns, the administrator, me, and your family?" the general snarled, his voice cold as the void itself.

He raised his sword high, the blade humming with embedded energy, poised to cleave the soldier’s neck clean from his shoulders in one swift arc.

The soldier trembled, guilt etching deep lines on his face, but his grip on the coin didn’t waver.

"I’m... I’m sorry, general... I just don’t want to die...," he stammered, voice breaking with raw desperation.

"And you will still die in the very end," the general replied icily, his eyes devoid of mercy as he swung the sword downward with lethal force.

Clang.