Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 457: SOVEREIGNS’ BATTLE II

"Crazy," Aaron blurted out uncontrollably, the word escaping before he could catch it.

The slap from Dracula had been deafening, far beyond sound, more like a physical force that hammered the eardrums and rattled every bone in the body.

The shockwave it generated dwarfed the previous one: a visible, expanding sphere of compressed air that tore through the sky like a newborn supernova, shredding what little remained of the battlefield’s terrain into fine dust and molten slag.

Trees that had somehow survived earlier cataclysms were uprooted and flung skyward like confetti; stone vaporized mid-flight; the very atmosphere screamed in protest.

The pressure wave rolled outward for miles, flattening hills into smooth plains and leaving behind a perfect circle of scorched, glassed earth.

"Dracula!!" Seraphim roared, voice ringing with righteous fury.

Wings of blinding white light snapped open behind him as he launched himself forward at maximum speed. Purity, his divine weapon, a longsword whose blade seemed forged from captured starlight, glowed in his hands with an intensity that hurt to look at directly.

The air around the blade warped and cracked; space itself groaned under the weight of concentrated holiness.

"Light order, one fold!" Seraphim bellowed, thrusting the sword in a perfect, lethal stab aimed straight for Dracula’s heart.

The light around Purity intensified to an almost liquid brilliance, pure divine might given form.

The thrust moved faster than any non-Sovereign eye could track; reality itself seemed to fold around the blade’s path, threatening to tear open permanent rifts in the fabric of existence.

Heatless radiance poured from the weapon in blinding waves, promising absolute purification and annihilation in equal measure.

Dracula, the target of that apocalyptic strike, remained utterly unfazed.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

With casual grace, he raised one hand.

Crimson liquid welled from his palm, his own blood coalescing instantly into a slender rapier of deep scarlet.

The blade gleamed wetly, edges so sharp they seemed to cut light itself.

He brought the rapier up in a single, perfectly timed upward swing.

Metal met divine steel at the ideal angle.

A perfect parry, clean, economical, effortless.

The staggering power behind Seraphim’s thrust was diffused in an instant; holy light scattered outward in harmless, shimmering motes like dying fireflies.

The rapier didn’t even tremble.

Before Seraphim could recover, Dracula raised one leg in a fluid motion and drove a kick into the angel’s midsection.

The impact was thunderous.

Seraphim’s body folded around the blow; his wings flared uselessly as he was hurled backward in the exact same parabolic arc Zeus had traced moments earlier, hurtling through the sky like a discarded spear, trailing sparks of fading divinity.

"Dracula," the Primordial Dragon called, voice low and resonant.

He stood in humanoid form, tall, broad-shouldered, obsidian scales glinting like polished volcanic glass under the fractured sky.

Red-slit eyes focused on the vampire lord with ancient, calculating intensity.

Unlike Seraphim and Zeus, he did not rush forward.

He simply watched.

Measured.

Sized up the opponent who had once matched them all.

"Is it just me," Lucifer murmured, faint smile curling his lips, "or did he grow stronger and deadlier as well?"

The words carried quiet amusement, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

"We need to work together," Odin stated firmly, stepping up beside the Primordial Dragon.

His single eye gleamed beneath the brim of his wide hat.

"Now’s not the time to let arrogance cloud our judgments."

More Sovereigns materialized in rapid succession.

Baal appeared with arms folded, expression one of deep annoyance tinged with reluctant respect.

Behind him stood Asmodeus, the demon lord of pride, wearing a rare, genuine smile that showed too many teeth.

Hades materialized in silence, pitch-dark eyes absorbing light like twin voids.

Poseidon arrived with the faint scent of brine and storm, trident already in hand.

Tyr and Freya of the Norse pantheon stepped forward side by side, war-god and goddess of love and war united in purpose.

The ancient fire dragon and ancient water dragon manifested in their humanoid shapes, scales still steaming and dripping respectively.

Thor arrived with Mjölnir crackling; Loki slithered into view with a sly grin; Ares and Athena appeared armored and ready; Ignis flared into existence wreathed in living flame.

Every capable, powerful being in the universe seemed to converge at once,.battle-ready, weapons drawn, auras clashing in a symphony of barely-restrained destruction.

"Today," the Primordial Dragon declared, voice shaking space itself like a tectonic shift, "we can finally bring an end to Dracula completely."

"You couldn’t kill me then," Dracula replied, tone dripping with outright arrogance and effortless authority.

"What makes you think you can succeed now?"

"Cause we’re a lot stronger now than we were then!" the Primordial Dragon roared.

His humanoid form exploded outward in a surge of dark power.

Obsidian-black scales erupted across skin; limbs lengthened and thickened; wings the size of continents unfurled.

In seconds he towered as a colossal dragon whose very presence warped gravity.

Red-slit eyes burned like twin furnaces as he opened his maw wide.

He released dragon breath.

Not ordinary red flames. Not blue plasma.

Not even the usual dark, corrosive fire of elder dragons.

White-hot annihilation.

The flames were purer than star-core plasma, absolute white, so bright they burned afterimages into retinas even through closed eyelids.

The heat was conceptual rather than physical; it threatened not mere burning, but total erasure from existence.

The torrent emerged compressed within folded space, yet even restrained, it dwarfed solar systems in scale.

The beam of white death roared forward, swallowing light, bending reality, promising nothing but oblivion.

Every spectator privileged enough to witness it, even Aaron, safely isolated miles away, stood frozen in awe-struck silence.

The sheer scale defied comprehension; the raw power made gods feel small.

"Hmm," Dracula murmured, tilting his head slightly.

"It seems you are finally deciding to take this seriously."

He didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even shift his stance.

As casual as if he were commenting on the weather, he turned his face toward Aaron’s distant, isolated position.

"Are you going to help as agreed?" Dracula called, voice carrying effortlessly across the impossible distance. "Or do you want me to deal with them all by myself?"

"And what is that weakling supposed to do?" Zeus sneered, lightning still crackling furiously around him as he rose back into the fray.

"Tch. Aren’t you tired of eating your own words?" Aaron asked.

He appeared in front of Dracula in an instant, void-step seamless, confident smirk already in place.