Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 430: BLACK SPHERE -TIER TWO

The hammer streaked past where he had been, smashing into the far wall with a deafening boom.

Stone shattered, dust exploded outward, and the entire building trembled as if struck by actual thunder.

Still relying on infernal step, the Ifrit closed the distance again, bolts of lightning coiling around his clenched fist like living serpents.

He lunged, hand stretched forward, prepared to release a devastating strike straight to Aaron’s chest.

Aaron remained perfectly still, a small, knowing smile on his face, making no move to dodge or defend.

The Ifrit, seeing the apparently defenseless target, reared his arm back further, lightning surging brighter, ready to obliterate.

Boom!!!

The unsuspecting Ifrit was smashed heavily by the returning Mjölnir.

The VIPs watched Aaron’s battle quietly.

Ignis, silent for most of the event, finally spoke.

His voice was low, almost reverent.

"Just what sort of divine weapon does he have? To transform into Mjölnir and make Mjölnir look like the replica itself is insane."

The words landed like stones in still water. Heads turned. Murmurs rose.

Greed, thinly veiled as professional interest, spread like wildfire among the dignitaries.

Divine weapons were rare, coveted, symbols of ultimate power, and here was one that could copy and arguably surpass the thunder god’s own.

The hammer had curved mid-flight, impossible for any normal weapon, but perfectly natural for one with true sentience.

It struck the creature from behind with devastating force, the impact sounding like a thunderclap contained in a single blow.

The Ifrit’s body folded around the strike, armor crumpling, flames guttering wildly as he was hurled forward, passing directly in front of Aaron’s face close enough that the rush of displaced air ruffled his hair.

The creature crashed into one of the building’s massive pillars with bone-shattering force.

Stone exploded outward in a cloud of dust and debris, cracks spiderwebbing up the column as the Ifrit slid down it, leaving a scorched trail of molten rock in his wake.

Aaron remained smiling, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he stretched his hand outward.

The hammer flew back to him instantly, slapping into his palm with a satisfying thud.

Lightning danced along its surface before settling, the weapon humming contentedly as if pleased with its performance.

Black Sphere, now in the perfect form of Mjölnir had outclassed the original in decision-making alone.

It had anticipated, curved, and struck without Aaron needing to guide it.

Most of the powerful beings present, watching through the holographic feeds had easily spotted the difference.

The hammer hadn’t just copied Mjölnir; it had improved upon it.

The Ifrit rose to its feet, head lolling slightly from the blow that had nearly caved in its skull.

Embers dripped from cracked horns like molten tears, sizzling as they hit the scorched marble.

Its chest heaved with ragged, furnace-like breaths, each exhale sending curls of black smoke spiraling upward to join the haze clinging to the vaulted ceiling.

The creature’s eyes, two pits of white-hot rage locked onto Aaron with murderous clarity.

Aaron stood motionless at the center of the ruined hall, Black Sphere still gripped in his right hand, transformed and humming with stolen thunder.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised the hammer skyward.

A single, blinding bolt of lightning answered the call.

It struck Mjölnir’s head with the force of a collapsing star, forking and writhing along the weapon’s surface like chained serpents of pure electricity.

The hammer drank the energy greedily, metal glowing from deep indigo to blinding white, runes flaring in sequence as the storm power coiled tighter and tighter.

The air around Aaron crackled, hair lifting from static, ozone so thick it stung the back of his throat.

The entire chamber dimmed for a heartbeat as the lightning drew every stray spark of light into itself.

The Ifrit’s expression hardened into something almost reverent, fear warring with fury.

It knew.

One direct hit from that concentrated storm would end it.

Knowing its life was on the line, the Ifrit decided to give everything.

Flames and lightning exploded outward from its body in a violent corona, consuming a five-meter radius in a roaring sphere of white fire and chained thunder.

Pillars cracked from thermal shock; illusory tapestries ignited and burned away to ash in seconds.

The creature raised both arms, palms facing each other, and began the deliberate, agonizing process of compression.

Every scrap of flame, every arc of lightning, every ember and spark within that sphere collapsed inward, funneling toward the Ifrit’s right hand.

The light grew unbearable.

The temperature spiked so violently that the marble beneath its feet began to glow cherry-red and soften like wax.

The concentrated energy formed a roiling sphere the size of a grapefruit above its palm: white-hot plasma threaded with blue-white lightning, so dense it warped light around itself like a miniature black hole.

"Oh?" Aaron said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Getting serious, are we?"

[Congratulations! The tier of your ego weapon, Black Sphere, has increased to Tier 2]

[Tier I – Dormant Core: Enabled basic transformations up to sovereign-rank replicas, a foundation for conquest.]

[Tier II – Resonant Ego: Gained a voice and adaptive intelligence, whispering strategies in battle’s heat.]

Aaron’s eyes flicked downward for half a second.

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

"Will you look at that," he murmured, intrigued by the system information

"Hmph. Father, concentrate a bit more so I can increase our lightning output even further!"

The voice came directly from the hammer, high, childlike, brimming with competitive fire.

It sounded like a boy no older than ten who had just been handed the keys to a war engine and was already demanding to go faster.

Aaron blinked. "...Father?"

But he didn’t dwell on it.

The surprise lasted less than a heartbeat before he refocused, pouring more will into the hammer.

Crackle—!

The lightning around Mjölnir surged exponentially.

The blue deepened to an almost violent indigo, then to a core of pure violet-white so bright it hurt to look at directly.

Bolts no longer arced outward; they spiraled inward, compressing into a single, blinding spear of plasma that hovered just above the hammerhead, rotating slowly like a contained tornado of stormlight.