Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 463: SOVEREIGNS BATTLE VIII

Few months after Dracula’s original demise, Baal had carefully engineered a plan to implant the weapon into the races and ensure its effective, inescapable spread.

It was easy. Direct. Ruthless in its simplicity.

A cruel, ironic fate reserved specifically for the universe’s guardians, the very beings who had sworn to protect the cosmos at any cost.

Baal had called out to the universe’s will itself.

Under the false pretense of submission, of humility, of finally bending the knee to the greater order he had always pretended to serve, he resonated with it.

The connection was deep, intimate, absolute.

In that moment of feigned surrender, Baal planted the biological weapon directly into the core of the universe, slipping the microscopic horror past every safeguard, every watchful eye.

Odin had not sensed it.

Vorth had not sensed it.

Even the universe will itself, vast, ancient, all-encompassing, remained blissfully ignorant of the parasite now embedded in its very heart.

From that single act of treachery, the transmission began.

The constant, eternal resonance between the universe’s will and the races that shared the strongest affinity with it, dragons and elves became the perfect vector.

Every pulse of cosmic energy, every breath the universe took, carried the weapon outward like a silent plague.

No distance could protect them. No ward could shield them.

No divine power could detect it until it was already too late.

The result?

A complete, devastating success.

Every being affected groaned in unison across the cosmos.

Their auras, once radiant, unassailable, began to weaken, flickering like candles in a storm.

The stronger the being, the more severe the pain they faced.

The weapon did not merely attack flesh; it attacked the very foundation of their existence, the thread that tied their power to the universe itself.

It targeted their soul.

It unraveled them from the inside, cell by cell, scale by scale, vein by vein.

Vorth threw up a mouthful of black, corrupted blood, thick, and tar-like

His massive frame shuddered violently. Strength poured out of him in visible waves, his obsidian scales cracking and flaking away like brittle ash.

The white flames that had once defined his presence guttered and died, leaving only faint, acrid smoke.

His wings sagged, membranes tearing with wet, ripping sounds. Each breath became a labored, choking rasp; each heartbeat a thunderclap of agony that echoed through his ancient bones.

"What did you all do?!!" Vorth yelled, staring at the group with raw, burning anger and hatred.

His voice cracked, no longer the booming thunder of a guardian but the ragged roar of a dying beast.

"Nothing much," Baal informed him, moving forward with slow, deliberate steps. "Just ensuring all loose ends are taken care of."

Every dragon, every elf, none was spared from the cruel actions of the remaining Sovereigns.

Across countless realms, the plague continued its silent work.

Ancient dragon lords collapsed in their mountain lairs, scales sloughing off in sheets, blood blackening as their organs liquefied.

Elven queens fell in their crystal halls, golden blood bubbling from lips that had once sung the songs of creation.

Entire flights of dragons plummeted from the skies, wings failing mid-flight, bodies convulsing as the cosmic connection that sustained them was systematically severed.

The universe itself seemed to shudder, stars dimming momentarily, cosmic currents stuttering, as the races that had always protected it were unmade from within.

All but Rhaigon and Ignis.

The two were the only dragons not affected by the biological weapon.

The reason was brutally simple: they had died.

When they perished, the biological weapon, tied so intimately to their living essence, lost its functionality, its anchor severed.

And then from the transition process, the dragon brothers resurrected.

Free of the plague.

"You all still haven’t changed your disgusting nature of betraying your own," Dracula said, shaking his head in quiet disappointment.

His voice carried no heat, only the weary resignation of someone who had seen this pattern repeat across millennia.

"There’s no need to change a winning formula," Baal replied calmly. "Don’t fix what’s not broken."

He drove his hand through Vorth’s reversed scale, the single vulnerable point on any dragon’s body, with surgical precision.

Fingers punched through armored hide and muscle, closing around the still-beating heart.

"Father!!!" Ignis and Rhaigon yelled in unison, reflexively surging forward to rescue their dying parent.

But Loki and Thor were faster.

They seized the two young dragons, holding them back with iron grips.

Both gods knew the truth: any attempt to intervene now was no different from suicide.

"What?" Baal asked, turning his gaze to Aaron, who remained perfectly still while he plucked Vorth’s heart free with a wet, ripping sound. "You didn’t try to save him? I almost thought you would."

Aaron didn’t respond. He remained motionless, face utterly neutral, expression unreadable.

"What’s wrong?" Dracula transmitted directly into Aaron’s mind, voice calm but laced with concern.

From his observations, he had already noticed the subtle signs: the faint tremor in Aaron’s stance, the slight tightening around the eyes, the way his breathing had become just a fraction shallower.

Aaron was in pain, deep, gnawing pain and was simply hiding it with iron control.

"I don’t know," Aaron replied mentally, before turning inward to demand answers from his system.

"What the hell is going on? I’m in so much pain."

[The same thing affecting Vorth is killing you right now.]

The System’s response was immediate, clinical, and merciless.

It explained the biological weapon in precise detail: its origin, its transmission through the universe’s will, its perfect targeting of dragons and elves, and how Aaron, through his constant devouring of universal fragments, had become infected.

Every piece of cosmos he had consumed had carried the dormant plague straight into his core. The moment the weapon was activated, it woke.

"Not now," Aaron muttered under his breath, fighting desperately to keep any sign of weakness from showing. "Not now. I can’t be weak now."

"Hmm?" Baal murmured, prudent and observant as ever.

He quickly noticed the faintest change in Aaron’s attitude, the subtle stiffening of posture, the slight hitch in breathing, the way his eyes flickered for just a fraction of a second. "You were also affected by the biological weapon. How convenient for me."

The battlefield seemed to hold its breath.

The Sovereigns’ plan had just claimed its most unexpected victim.