Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 404: DECIDE WHO LIVES OR DIES

The sword did not reach the soldier’s neck.

Instead, it clanged sharply against a thin, razor-edged thread of shadow that materialized in an instant, halting the blade mid-swing with unyielding force.

The shadow writhed faintly, like a living tendon, vibrating from the impact and sending a low hum through the air.

"You are not the one deciding who lives and who dies around here," Aaron said coldly, his voice a deep, resonant echo that cut through the chaos like a knife through silk. "I am."

He stood between the soldier and the general, an imposing figure shrouded in layers of twisting shadows that amplified his already formidable presence.

The darkness clung to him, pulsating with an otherworldly life, swelling his form to humongous proportions, towering over the men like a storm cloud given shape.

The air around him grew thick and oppressive, heavy with the scent of ozone and impending doom, creating a terrifying atmosphere that made hearts race and breaths catch in throats.

Aaron extended a finger toward the trembling soldier, who still clutched the coin like a lifeline.

A patch of inky shadow bloomed beneath the man’s feet, swirling upward like rising smoke.

In a blink, it swallowed him whole, whisking him away from the battlefield to some distant, safe void.

The soldier vanished without a trace, leaving only a faint ripple in the air.

The general stared at Aaron with a grave expression, his face paling under the helmet’s visor.

He knew now that he had lost any upper hand in dealing with those who chose to pick a coin, their fates were no longer his to control.

Sweat trickled down his spine, the weight of defeat settling heavy in his chest like lead.

"You bastard," the general cursed, his voice laced with bitter frustration as he retrieved his sword with a sharp yank.

The blade scraped against the shadow thread before retracting, leaving faint sparks in its wake. "You’re getting in the way of my justice."

Aaron’s shadowed form shifted slightly, the darkness coiling tighter around him.

"I would love to kill you right now, like the bug you are," he replied, his tone dripping with icy disdain.

"But I want you to have a front-row seat to watch your soldiers being sane enough to save their lives."

The general’s fists clenched, knuckles whitening, but Aaron paid him no mind.

The thrill of dominance coursed through Aaron’s veins, a dark satisfaction blooming in his core.

"Now," Aaron muttered under his breath, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the shadows, "let’s increase the slaughter a notch higher."

Two daggers materialized in his hands, forged from the very essence of the shadows, obsidian-black and pitch-dark like the heart of an abyss.

They pulsed faintly, as if alive, tendrils of darkness snaking along their edges, eager for blood.

The blades felt weightless in his grip, extensions of his will, humming with latent hunger.

"Let’s have some fun," Aaron said, a hidden smile curving beneath the veil of shadow. He dove into the fray, moving with predatory grace into the heart of the army.

His eyes were completely obscured by the enveloping darkness, which would normally suggest blindness, a vulnerability ripe for exploitation.

But Aaron relied on something far beyond ordinary sight.

His mystic eyes pierced through every obstruction, granting him vision unhindered by light or barrier.

Colors sharpened, movements slowed in his perception, every twitch of muscle and glint of weapon laid bare.

This was what he banked on to conceal his true identity, no one would see the man beneath the monster.

The shadows not only cloaked him but amplified his size, distorting his silhouette into something unrecognizable.

If any survivor lived to tell the tale, they would describe a colossal nightmare, not the precise fighter known as Jordan.

To further mask himself, Aaron adopted an entirely different fighting style.

Where Jordan’s movements were fluid, graceful, and almost beautiful, like a dancer weaving through foes this persona as the Celestial Devourer was dominant, strong, and utterly ruthless.

Each strike carried the force of a hammer, crushing rather than slicing, overwhelming rather than evading.

Aaron blurred forward like the fleeting shadow of a high-speed train racing through the night, his form a streak of darkness amid the stars.

He dissected the soldiers with cruel efficiency, daggers flashing in arcs that left trails of void in their wake.

Heads tumbled from shoulders left and right, rolling across asteroid surfaces or drifting weightlessly into space.

Blood sprayed in frozen droplets, glittering like macabre jewels under distant starlight.

Screams echoed silently in the vacuum, faces contorted in final agony.

One bold soldier, spotting what he assumed was Aaron’s blind spot while he attacked from the front, attempted a sneak attack from behind.

The man lunged with a vibro-knife raised high, eyes wild with desperate hope.

But Aaron had no blind spots.

His mystic eyes caught the movement instantly, every detail crystal clear, the soldier’s labored breath fogging his visor, the subtle shift in his stance.

Without turning, Aaron willed spikes to erupt from his back, jagged shadows thrusting outward like spears from a porcupine’s hide.

They impaled the attacker’s throat in a wet crunch, blood bubbling forth as the man gurgled and went limp.

With the dagger in his right hand, Aaron drove the blade into the temple of another soldier charging from the side, the point sinking deep with a sickening thud.

Simultaneously, his left hand swung in a brutal arc, cleaving clean through a third foe’s neck, the head spinning away in a spray of crimson.

Leaping upward with explosive power, Aaron latched onto the hull of a nearby spaceship, his shadowed fingers digging into the metal like claws into flesh.

The ship groaned under his weight, alarms blaring faintly through its structure.

From thin air, or rather, from the depths of his shadows he conjured a gigantic sword, far larger than any mortal could wield.

Its blade stretched long and broad, forged of the same abyssal darkness, edges rippling as if breathing.

Normally impossible to swing, it felt natural to Aaron, an extension of his very being, light as a feather yet heavy with destructive potential.

He swung it with ferocious might, the motion a wide, sweeping arc that cleaved the warship in two.

Metal screamed as it parted, sparks flying in brilliant cascades, internal systems rupturing in bursts of flame and debris.

Using a severed metal sheet from the bisected hull as a makeshift springboard, Aaron pushed off with tremendous force.

He dashed away toward the nearest cluster of enemies, the momentum propelling him like a comet through the void.

His daggers reformed in his hands mid-flight, ready to resume the slaughter.

Behind him, the cleaved warship shuddered violently.

Internal reactors overloaded, and it exploded in a spectacular fireball, silent in space but blindingly bright.

The blast wave rippled outward, claiming even more lives as shrapnel tore through nearby soldiers and smaller vessels.

Bodies fragmented, ships crumpled, the void filling with twisted wreckage that drifted aimlessly, a testament to the growing devastation.

Aaron pressed on, his shadowed form a whirlwind of death, the air around him thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid burn of scorched armor.

The general watched from afar, helpless rage boiling in his gut, as his army crumbled piece by piece under the unrelenting assault.