Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

"It seems all Abyssal creatures talk more than they can prove," Aaron muttered, his tone cold, almost bored.

He reached down and tapped the head of Flameborn, the little dragon's scales glowing faintly with molten heat. "Buddy, they are still yours."

"Yes, papa!" Flameborn replied with childlike excitement. Its eyes glowed crimson, slit pupils narrowing like a predator that had finally found prey.

"First, I'll deal with this trash!" Harkos snarled. His body blurred, moving faster than sound. In an instant he materialized before Flameborn, fist cocked back and driving toward the dragonling's abdomen with enough force to shatter stone.

Boom!

The impact never landed as Harkos imagined. Flameborn raised his left arm casually, absorbing and diffusing the monstrous punch as though it were no more than a breeze. With his right hand, Flameborn countered, his tiny fist glowing with violent heat before smashing forward. The blow struck Harkos square in the chest, sending him skidding backward across the Abyssal ground, carving trenches with his heels.

"Take care of the two of them," Aaron instructed calmly, eyes never leaving the battlefield. "Three might be overkill for you right now."

He stretched out his hand, crimson energy swirling at his fingertips. A sharp crack echoed as a blood bullet fired forth, piercing Jhais cleanly through the forehead. A hole burned through the demigod's skull, and his body collapsed lifelessly before it even struck the ground.

Markos and Delish froze. Their pupils shrank. Neither had even been able to react—Aaron's strike had been casual, swift, and merciless.

We have to run! The thought slammed into both their minds like a survival instinct.

But before their bodies could move, Aaron's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"If either of you run, your death will be certain." He lifted two fingers lazily, his aura pressing down on them.

The warning froze them in place. Aaron had no intention of ending their lives—not yet. He wanted them to be training dummies for Flameborn. The little dragon's potential was limitless, but potential meant nothing without battle experience. This was the perfect opportunity to sharpen his claws.

"Return to the sanctuary when you defeat them," Aaron said, patting Flameborn's head one more time. Then, without sparing the trembling demigods another glance, he turned and walked deeper into the abyss.

Markos and Delish could feel their hearts hammering painfully against their ribs.

"He's gone," Markos whispered shakily, as if speaking louder might summon Aaron back.

"Then let's kill the dragon before he returns!" Markos hissed, regaining a sliver of courage. His eyes narrowed at Flameborn, trying to convince himself the little creature was killable.

Delish nodded, drawing Abyssal energy into his hand until it coiled into a whip of writhing shadows. "He might already be dead soon enough. His destination is likely to kill him. I don't see him surviving the power of a god."

"Fools."

The childish yet mocking voice froze them. Flameborn's crimson form blurred, and in a flash he stood before Markos, faster than the blink of an eye.

"My father cannot be killed. And neither can I!"

Before Markos could even react, a flaming fist slammed into his gut, launching him high into the air. The demigod screamed, blood spraying from his lips as his body tore through the air like a broken doll.

"Markos!" Delish roared, his whip lashing down like a serpent. The black tendril cracked against the ground with enough force to split stone—but Flameborn was already gone.

The dragonling materialized behind him, hand morphing into a sharpened blade of fire and blood. With a vicious thrust, he pierced Delish's chest and ripped free the demigod's heart in one brutal motion.

Delish's eyes widened in disbelief before his body crumpled, lifeless.

Markos fell from the sky, crashing into the ground in a heap. His body trembled as fear devoured him once more. He staggered to his feet and bolted, gut wound forgotten, his only thought survival.

"Coward," Flameborn muttered, crimson eyes narrowing with disappointment.

Markos ran as though chased by death itself, every step widening the gap between him and the dragonling. Yet his instincts screamed louder than his relief. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Flameborn chasing him?

Something is wrong! his mind shrieked.

"You can't escape me," Flameborn's voice rang out from behind, calm and almost amused. "Just like your god cannot escape my father."

Markos's horror peaked as his body suddenly swelled, then exploded into a rain of blood and flesh.

The technique was Flameborn's own creation. When he had punched Markos earlier, he had injected a trace of his blood into the demigod's body. Mixed with his flame essence, that blood became a volatile core, detonatable at Flameborn's will.

Through secret practice and experimentation, he had perfected this ability: Exploding Blood.

The battlefield fell silent. The two demigods who had stood arrogantly before him were now nothing but corpses. Flameborn stood proudly, small chest heaving with satisfaction. His crimson eyes shimmered with confidence.

"I'll grow even stronger, father," he whispered. "And one day, you'll see how useful I can be."

---

Meanwhile, Aaron continued deeper into the abyss. His pace was unhurried, his presence suffocating. The kin of the abyss—creatures that thrived on fear and bloodshed—hid in the shadows, trembling. None dared to approach. They had all felt the sudden end of the three demigods sent to stop him. The truth was obvious: they were dead.

Eventually, Aaron reached a massive fortress. It loomed in the abyss like a black scar, its oppressive aura darker than the void around it. Abyssal kin stood guard in dense formations, every corner bristling with power and vigilance.

Aaron expected resistance, expected to carve his way through. Yet, as he approached the massive gate, the guardians silently stepped aside. The doors creaked open on their own.

"Finally, a good reception," Aaron muttered dryly, stepping into the castle.

Inside, the hall was shrouded in absolute darkness. Upon a throne of shadows sat a being radiating oppressive arrogance—the Abyss God.

"You have been acting as you see fit within my realm, haven't you?" the god asked coldly, his gaze like that of a monarch staring down at a mere insect.

"Urgh!"

One of the abyss kin collapsed suddenly, a hole blown clean through its chest. A blood bullet had pierced its heart before it even realized.

Aaron lowered his hand, expression flat. "I'll kill another one if you dare look at me like that again." His voice dripped with annoyance—he would not tolerate being looked down on.

"Hahaha… hahahaha!" The Abyss God threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing through the throne room. "Arrogant! Truly arrogant. Even I must admit, you impress me."

His laughter died, replaced by a cold edge. "But tell me… who gave you the right to kill my kin in front of me?"

The god's aura swelled like an ocean. Divine pressure cascaded down, crushing the air itself, seeking to break Aaron's spirit.

Aaron did not flinch. His eyes narrowed slightly as he muttered, "You'll have to do better than that if you want to impress me."

The truth was simple: the Shadow Guardian had already manifested, its immense will shielding Aaron from the divine pressure. Not a single wisp of the Abyss God's might touched him.