Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 474: SOVEREIGNS’ BATTLE XVII

Michael soared through the chaotic battlefield towards Dracula, his mighty sword radiating a blinding, ethereal light that pierced the surrounding shadows like a beacon of divine fury.

He swung his sword with unyielding force at Dracula, but the lord of the eternal night dodged the strike effortlessly, his form a blur of dark elegance amid the swirling mists of combat.

Yet Michael, the archangel forged in the fires of war and battle, refused to yield so easily.

His eyes burned with celestial determination, his wings beating powerfully against the heavy air thick with the scent of blood and brimstone.

He launched another attack, his movements fluid and precise, thrusting forward with a deadly stab aimed straight at Dracula’s heart.

But the assault was halted abruptly by a towering wall of solid flames that erupted from the ground, crackling with intense heat and casting flickering orange glows across the fighters’ faces.

"Tch," Michael groaned in frustration, yanking his sword free from the fiery barrier while retreating backward through the smoke-filled air, his feathers singed slightly by the residual embers.

The instant Michael pulled back, Uriel surged into the fray to take his place, unleashing a brilliant ray of enlightenment that streaked downward like a bolt from the heavens, illuminating the darkness with purifying radiance.

The ray struck Dracula squarely, its luminous energy threatening to engulf him entirely, searing his skin and filling the air with the acrid smell of burning shadows.

But the devouring light was swiftly consumed by a veil of darkness element conjured by Dracula, who used it to mitigate the attack, the opposing forces clashing in a spectacular display of sparks and void-like tendrils.

Dracula, seizing the moment, manipulated his sinister blood thread and swung it viciously towards Uriel and Michael, the crimson strand whipping through the air with a menacing whistle.

But the timely intervention of Gabriel spared their lives, his presence a sudden whirlwind of salvation amid the peril.

Gabriel harnessed his path of light ability, which allowed him to move at the speed of light itself, his body becoming a streak of shimmering brilliance that outpaced even the swiftest shadows.

With that incredible velocity, he grabbed his comrades and yanked them away from the lethal path of the thread, the air humming with the rush of his motion.

But Gabriel himself wasn’t so fortunate; the relentless thread sliced through his legs instead, severing them cleanly and sending a spray of golden ichor into the turbulent winds.

"Gabriel!" Michael yelled in horror, his voice echoing across the battlefield as he stretched out his hand desperately to aid his fallen friend, his face twisted in anguish and rage.

But alas, Dracula was not one to release his prey once ensnared, his eyes gleaming with cold, predatory satisfaction.

As ruthless as ever, he commanded the blood thread with precise malice, guiding it to wrap around Gabriel’s neck and claim it in a gruesome snap that reverberated through the chaos.

"You bastard!!!" Raphael bellowed, his voice raw with fury as he flew towards Dracula, his eyes wild with crazed anger and glistening with tears born from the fresh agony of Gabriel’s death.

He swung his fists with reckless abandon, his light gauntlets glowing intensely as they hurtled directly towards Dracula’s impassive face, the air crackling with holy energy.

Dracula reacted with eerie calmness, sidestepping the blow effortlessly, his cloak billowing like a shroud in the wind.

And with deliberate, chilling composure, he plunged his hand through Raphael’s chest, ripping out the archangel’s still-beating heart as he withdrew, blood dripping from his fingers in thick, viscous streams.

Belphegor, the formidable devil lord, advanced to lend his dark support, his hulking form casting long shadows over the ground scarred by endless clashes.

Astaroth, Azazel, and Samuel followed suit, their presences adding to the growing storm of opposition.

Every demon lord, archangel, arch fallen angel, and devil lord converged upon Dracula in a overwhelming swarm, their combined might pressuring him towards inevitable defeat, the air thick with the clamor of wings, roars, and clashing powers.

Dracula claimed the lives of many in his defense, his cruelty reaching its zenith as he dispatched foes with merciless efficiency, bodies falling around him like discarded puppets in the dim, blood-soaked arena.

But even he couldn’t vanquish them all simultaneously, his movements growing ever so slightly labored under the relentless assault.

Especially when every sovereign entered the fray, their auras amplifying the intensity, turning the battle into a cataclysmic symphony of destruction.

Baal unleashed blasts of demonic energy from his piercing eyes while soaring towards Dracula, the beams leaving trails of infernal smoke in their wake.

He traded fierce blows with Dracula, striking upward with brutal force, their impacts sending shockwaves that rattled the very foundations of the realm.

And when Dracula countered with a savage riposte, Lucifer seamlessly alternated with Baal, lunging in for a precise stab that aimed to pierce through defenses weakened by the prior exchange.

Dracula blocked the thrust using an element of light he twisted to his will, the barrier shimmering like corrupted stars, only to sense Seraphim materializing behind him, firing a devastating blast of starlight that exploded with cosmic brilliance.

Dracula reinforced the armored suit protecting his back, the material hardening with dark enchantments, only to discover Zeus appearing at his side, delivering a thunderous kick square on his chin that propelled him through the air with bone-jarring impact.

Dracula hurtled sideways uncontrollably, his body crashing into the razor-sharp trident of Poseidon and the forked bident of Hades, the weapons embedding into his form with a sickening thud, drawing forth rivulets of ancient blood.

Dracula began to exhibit clear signs of weakness, his once-boundless mana reserves draining away to mere flickers, his breaths coming in ragged gasps amid the haze of exhaustion.

"Let’s keep pressing! He’s certainly going to slip up!" Baal shouted to the group, his voice commanding and urgent as they intensified their assault on the visibly tiring Dracula, coordinating their strikes with newfound synergy.

The battle from its explosive beginning to this grueling point had unfolded like a sinusoidal wave, fluctuating wildly between moments of dominance and desperation, the ebb and flow mirrored in the shifting tides of power.