Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 469: SOVEREIGNS’ BATTLE XIV

The Goddess of the Moonlight evaded the corrosive blood gracefully, her movements light and fluid like a dancer weaving through shadows.

She appeared directly before Isobel in a blink.

Using her bow as an improvised weapon, she swung it upward in a powerful arc aimed at Isobel’s chin.

The wood hummed with latent energy.

Isobel dodged the strike calmly, her body shifting just enough to avoid contact.

She countered immediately with an attack of her own.

Blood coalesced thickly on her palm, forming a viscous, dripping mass.

She thrust forward in a palm strike targeted at Artemis’s chest, the corrosive essence ready to burn on impact.

"Moonlight," Artemis muttered softly, her voice steady.

Behind her, a white miniature moon materialized out of thin air, hovering with a gentle, radiant glow. It pulsed once.

The moon released a devastating ray of pure moonlight toward the unsuspecting Isobel, the beam cutting through the void like a silver lance.

"Tch," Isobel muttered in annoyance, forced to take a quick step backward.

The ray scorched the ground where she had stood.

Wings erupted from her back with a sharp snap, dark, veined membranes stretching wide.

With their aid, her evasion became even easier, allowing her to glide away from the lingering energy.

"Sister! You can do better than that!" Apollo yelled words of encouragement from across the battlefield, his voice carrying over the din.

As he spoke, he fired an arrow from his own bow.

The projectile blazed like a fragment of the sun itself, trailing intense heat and light.

The arrow, focused and unyielding, hurtled toward Leo at incredible speed.

It was too fast and strong, pushing through the gale winds Leo summoned in an attempt to knock it off course.

The flames resisted every buffet.

Realizing he couldn’t deflect the attack, Leo opted for the next best option.

Dodge.

But if anyone close to Apollo were to advise Leo, their warning would be simple and absolute.

"Apollo never misses."

That was the legendary title bestowed upon the God of the Sun, unfailing accuracy in every shot.

Leo summoned a powerful gale around himself, using it to propel his body out of the arrow’s path with perfect timing.

But the arrow, as if alive and sentient, altered its direction mid-flight. It curved smoothly, homing in relentlessly.

It followed Leo to his evasion point so quickly that he was unable to react in time.

The arrow’s path curved with an unnatural, almost sentient precision, adjusting mid-flight as if guided by an invisible hand.

It homed in relentlessly, defying the gusts of wind Leo desperately summoned, closing the distance before he could even process the shift.

The sharp projectile struck Leo’s arm with a devastating, bone-shattering impact that sent shockwaves through his body.

In a loud detonation that reverberated across the battlefield like a thunderclap rolling through storm clouds, it blew off his right arm completely.

Flesh tore apart in a gruesome explosion, bone fragments scattering like shrapnel while charred tissue and blood sprayed outward in a wide, misty arc.

The acrid scent of burned meat and singed hair hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of fresh blood.

Leo groaned deeply from the depths of his chest, the sound raw and guttural as he stiffened against the overwhelming, searing pain the best way he could.

Agony radiated outward from the ragged, cauterized stump in white-hot waves, nerves firing uncontrollably and making his vision blur at the edges.

He forced his body to remain upright through sheer, unyielding willpower, sweat beading on his forehead as he bit down hard to suppress further cries.

His arm was completely blown off, leaving him with just his left arm.

The sudden loss threw off his balance slightly, his stance wobbling as blood poured from the wound in thick, unrelenting streams that soaked through his clothing and pooled on the ground below in dark, spreading puddles.

Apollo wore a wide, triumphant grin on his face, satisfaction gleaming brightly in his golden eyes as he savored the hit.

He strung his bow once more for another shot, the string pulling taut under his skilled fingers with a soft, resonant twang, ready to unleash the next wave of fiery destruction.

"That’s enough, don’t you think?" King called out coldly, his voice slicing through the chaos like a razor edge, devoid of any warmth or hesitation.

He had closed the distance to Apollo in a silent, predatory blur, now standing at point-blank range where every breath could be felt.

King, wielding his twin chains with masterful, fluid control honed from countless battles, swung both toward Apollo in perfectly synchronized arcs.

The tips of the chains, adorned with those hungry-looking twin blades that gleamed menacingly under the flickering, erratic lights of the battlefield, hurtled forward at blinding, whistle-sharp speed.

They approached from opposite directions, crossing paths like the closing jaws of a steel trap, leaving no viable gap for escape.

Apollo found himself trapped in the converging assault, the chains converging with inescapable momentum.

He couldn’t defend himself effectively in such suffocatingly close quarters, where any movement risked tangling him further.

And he couldn’t use his arrow efficiently either, as King’s immediate proximity made proper aiming impossible without the risk of self-inflicted harm or wasted shots.

But Apollo nocked his bow either way and fired regardless, his actions driven by pure instinct and disregard for his own endangered life.

The arrow loosed with a sharp, vibrating twang that cut through the noise, streaking outward into the fray.

King stared at Apollo like he was a complete madman, his eyes narrowing in utter confusion as he watched the arrow veer off to a completely different direction, one he couldn’t comprehend or anticipate, defying all logical trajectories.

King’s chains wrapped tightly around Apollo with serpentine precision, coiling like living vines that squeezed and constricted.

They tightened their hold gradually, crushing inward with bone-creaking force that made Apollo’s armor groan in protest and his breath come in short, labored gasps.

As deliberate as possible, King mentally commanded his twin blades to tear Apollo apart.

The edges quivered with eager anticipation, inching closer as they vibrated faintly, ready to rend flesh and bone.