Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 610 610: MYSTIC BATTLE II

"Finally, my time to shine!" Scott roared, a manic excitement lighting up his eyes.

He activated his unique ability, increasing his bone density to an absurd, planetary level, which sent him plummeting toward Aegon like a falling moon.

Aegon reacted with cold intellect, preparing to shift his weight and unleash a counter-strike that would shatter Scott's reinforced frame.

But just as he moved to strike, a booming voice echoed through the void.

"Don't move!" Zaigoth commanded, his voice vibrating with the ancient power of the Dragon's Tongue, amplified by his own Mystic Tongue.

The command was absolute.

A conceptual weight slammed into Aegon, locking his muscles and freezing his blood in his veins.

For a fraction of a second, Aegon was paralyzed.

That was the only opening Scott needed.

He descended with the weight of a mountain, swiping his razor-sharp claws across Aegon's chest.

The strike carved a massive, bloody gash through Aegon's defenses, forcing the King to grit his teeth against a flare of genuine pain.

For the first time in the tournament, the untouchable Aegon had bled.

Aegon clutched his side, his breath coming in ragged hitches as he retreated.

The void seemed to pulse with the collective killing intent of his peers.

He was at a clear disadvantage; the sheer coordination of the ganging up was taking a heavy toll on his stamina.

Staring down at the deep, jagged gash in his chest, he realized with grim clarity that he would not last another hour if he continued this battle of attrition.

"You all got me good," Aegon gasped, trying to keep his voice steady.

"But won't you all get tired of this cycle?

Think.

You take me down now, and the man who lands the killing blow inherits every one of my mystic organs.

Then, you'll just turn on him.

The slaughter continues until one of you is too powerful to be stopped.

Why die for someone else's ascension?"

He waited for the seed of discord to sprout, but the mystic wielders were seasoned predators, far too cynical to fall for such transparent manipulation.

"Why don't you shut up and just try to survive?" Zel mocked, his legs tensed like coiled springs, already preparing for another high-speed strafing run.

Aegon sighed, a brief flash of genuine disappointment crossing his face.

"Fine.

Let's resume then."

The air ignited instantly.

Seth unleashed a rapid-fire barrage of crystallized blood needles, while Scott and Davon surged forward behind the crimson hail like twin battering rams.

Aegon stretched out his hand, but instead of a defensive shield, he funneled his energy into a concentrated beam of antimatter.

Davon took the lead, sliding in front of Scott.

"I've got this!" he roared, relying on his Ultimate Skin to tank the blast.

To their absolute horror, the beam didn't collide with Davon.

It shimmered and passed through him as if he were a ghost—he was never the target.

The beam was locked onto Zel, who was darting through the background.

"Fool.

You don't learn, do you?" Zel jeered, already shifting his weight to dodge the predictable line of fire.

"Zel, stand still."

"What?" Zel blurted, his body suddenly locking up mid-stride.

His eyes widened in sheer, paralyzing shock as he glanced toward Zaigoth.

Zaigoth had used his Mystic Tongue on his own ally.

The look of utter bewilderment on Zaigoth's face told the story, he hadn't consciously willed the command.

It was a slip of causality, a forced error.

Zel was a sitting duck.

With the Mystic Arms ensuring the antimatter tracked its mark, there was no escape.

The beam struck Zel center-mass, silent and absolute, consuming his existence before he could even scream.

Zel was the first to fall.

As his essence dissipated, dark, pulsing runes began to crawl up Aegon's legs, glowing with a faint, predatory light.

He had acquired his sixth organ: the Mystic Legs.

"Zaigoth, you fucking bastard! What have you done?" Seth screamed, his composure breaking as he redirected a torrent of blood toward the dragon-kin.

"Shield!" Zaigoth barked, a shimmering barrier snapping into place.

"It wasn't my intention!

I didn't mean to say it!"

"True," a cold whisper drifted from right behind his ear.

"It was me."

Zaigoth spun around, but it was too late.

With his newly acquired speed, Aegon had blitzed through the shield's blind spot before it could even register his presence.

"You—"

Aegon didn't give him the breath for a final word.

He drove a hand coated in shimmering antimatter straight through Zaigoth's reverse scale.

The dragon-kin vanished into the void, and Aegon felt his power swell as the seventh organ integrated into his being.

"Damn.

This battle was doomed from the start," Scott muttered, his heart sinking as he watched the tide turn into a tsunami.

"This is no time to hold back!" Seth yelled, his voice desperate.

He slit both his wrists, allowing his blood to pour out in an endless, magical flood, forming a colossal, snarling blood golem.

But instead of charging Aegon, the golem turned and lunged at Scott.

"What do you think you're doing, you maniac?" Scott snarled, smashing the golem's head into a red spray.

"Increasing my chances of survival," Seth replied with haunting honesty.

If he couldn't beat Aegon, he would harvest the others to grow strong enough to endure.

The shattered golem began to stitch itself back together, relentlessly hounding Scott.

"Now, now.

I don't like it when my food fights with itself," Aegon mused.

He appeared behind the distracted Scott, his hand passing through the brawler's spine like it was water.

Before Scott's body could even hit the floor, Aegon swiveled, sending a wave of antimatter toward Seth.

Seth managed a frantic dodge, but Aegon was already there, his movements a blur of god-like speed.

Normally, killing a Nameless being was a chore of decades, but antimatter bypassed the concept of durability.

A single stab through the heart was all it took.

In the end, only Davon remained.

He didn't need to be a seer to know his fate.

He stood his ground, letting out a final, defiant war cry.

He put up a magnificent fight, his skin weathering blows that would have long destroyed anyone, but against the combined might of seven mystic organs and the touch of annihilation, his end was like the others: swift, brutal, and utterly final.