Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 426: DIVINE WEAPON

Aaron reacted instantly, almost as if out of boredom.

The man’s downward strike, fast, powerful, fueled by the raw fury of a galactic-ranked warrior came hurtling toward him like a guillotine blade forged from starlight and rage.

The air around the sword shimmered with compressed force, a faint whistle cutting through the grand building’s echoing halls.

Aaron didn’t flinch.

He raised one hand in a lazy, almost casual motion, palm open, fingers splayed.

The descending blade met an invisible wall of resistance, his bare skin against enchanted steel and stopped dead.

Metal screeched against an unseen barrier; the impact sent a low, resonant thrum vibrating through the corridor, rattling loose dust from the ornate ceiling.

He closed his fingers around the man’s wrist in a vise-like grip, the bones creaking audibly under the pressure.

The warrior’s eyes widened in shock, veins bulging along his forearm as he tried, and failed to wrench free.

With his other hand, still holding the desert eagle, Aaron tilted the barrel upward in one smooth, unhurried motion.

"Headshot," he muttered, voice flat and bored.

The trigger squeezed.

A single, thunderous crack echoed through the hall, muzzle flash bright enough to paint the walls white for a split second.

The mana-charged round punched clean through the man’s forehead, exiting in a spray of crimson mist and pulverized bone.

The body went rigid, then slack, knees buckling as Aaron released the wrist.

It crumpled to the polished floor with a dull, wet thud, blood pooling beneath the ruined face in a dark, spreading halo.

Aaron exhaled through his nose, already turning away before the corpse finished settling.

"Alright, buddy. Let’s spice things up," he muttered under his breath, stretching his free hand outward.

The desert eagle in his right palm shimmered, darkness swirling around it like ink in water.

A second weapon coalesced from the same shadows, identical in every detail, twin matte-black hand cannons now resting comfortably in both hands.

The grips felt cool and familiar against his palms, the weight perfectly balanced, as though they had always belonged there.

With two desert eagles, Aaron went on a hunting spree.

He moved through the grand building like a phantom reaper, boots silent on marble floors veined with gold and obsidian.

The corridors twisted and branched like the arteries of some ancient beast, lined with towering statues of long-dead conquerors and banners that fluttered without wind.

Every shadow seemed to lean toward him, eager accomplices.

Not a single enemy could sneak up on him, or hide from his offense.

They came in waves, black-clad assassins melting from alcoves, elite guards in rune-etched plate, arcane sentinels whose eyes glowed with programmed malice.

Blades flashed, spells crackled, mana rounds screamed through the air.

Aaron answered with calm, methodical precision.

A figure lunged from a side passage, dagger aimed at his kidney.

Aaron didn’t even turn. His left arm snapped up; the desert eagle barked once.

The attacker’s head snapped backward mid-leap, body cartwheeling into the wall with a wet crunch before sliding down in a smear of red.

Another pair charged from the front, swords raised in perfect tandem.

Twin muzzle flashes, two holes appeared simultaneously in their foreheads.

They dropped together, swords clattering uselessly to the floor.

A cloaked mage tried to weave a binding ward from the rafters above.

Aaron’s right-hand pistol angled upward without looking.

One shot.

The mage’s concentration shattered along with his skull; he plummeted, robes fluttering like broken wings.

They all received a shot on their forehead, losing their life under the cruel, unhurried hand of Aaron.

The corridor grew quiet except for the soft drip of blood and the occasional groan of settling architecture.

Bodies littered the once-pristine hallway, some still twitching, others already cooling.

The metallic scent of blood mixed with the faint ozone tang of spent mana, thick enough to taste.

"This is as far as you go," a young man declared, stepping into the open archway at the end of the hall.

Unlike the previous enemies Aaron had met, this one didn’t cover his face.

Strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, eyes burning with disciplined fury, features that carried an uncanny echo of someone Aaron once knew.

The resemblance tugged at a buried memory, faint but irritating, like an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

"Oh?" Aaron muttered, a spark of genuine interest flickering in his otherwise bored expression. "This is getting even more exciting."

The young man, Oni, the simulation named him stood clad in layered black-and-crimson armor, a curved nodachi resting casually across his shoulders.

Wind stirred around him without cause, tugging at banners and rustling unseen currents.

"Alright," Aaron said, holstering both desert eagles in fluid motions. "I will entertain you for a while."

He stretched his hands outward. Darkness poured from his palms, swirling and hardening.

The twin pistols melted away, reforming into a matched pair of sleek, obsidian-black katanas, one edge straight and merciless, the other subtly curved with a faint crimson vein running along the fuller.

The blades drank the light, edges so sharp they seemed to slice the air itself.

Back in the VIP viewing platform, several administrators leaned closer to the floating screens.

"Hmm. That weapon of his," one murmured, eyes narrowing with poorly concealed greed. "It feels like a divine weapon."

The others shifted, subtle glances exchanged, fingers tightening on armrests.

The hunger in the room was palpable, less for blood, more for ownership.

"I suppose so," Loki replied lightly, his smile pleasant and utterly insincere.

"Between your divine weapon and his, which do you think is better?" he asked Thor, voice dripping with feigned innocence, the god of mischief gleefully tossing kindling onto dry grass.

Thor rumbled thoughtfully, arms crossed over his broad chest. "A weapon that can change its shape and characteristics at will... I don’t know the extent of its ability. But it has what it takes to compete with Mjölnir."

The truthful reply landed like a pebble in still water.

Ripples of greed spread instantly, eyes sparking, postures shifting, quiet calculations taking place behind polite masks.

Loki’s wry smile deepened. He had just lit the fuse.