Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

"You all took your sweet time, didn't you?" Geralt said, a frown etching deep lines on his weathered face. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing from the flickering demonic runes on the walls, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and tension.

"Don't blame it on me, Dad. Blame it on Draken," Nathan said, pointing at Draken innocently. His tone was light, almost teasing, but his eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint, the kind that hid darker intentions in this twisted alliance.

"This is not the time to be playful," Draken instructed, his voice a low growl that echoed like distant thunder. He collapsed onto the free sofa, the leather creaking under his massive frame, his demonic aura filling the room with an oppressive weight. "We need to speed things up. Aaron has awakened his bloodline and is slowly amassing an army. We need to link this world to my realm as soon as possible." The words carried a sense of urgency, his mind already racing through the cosmic implications of failure in this conquest.

"Or we can lure Aaron out and let you kill him," Nathan pressed further, leaning forward with a sly smile. "I strongly doubt he is strong enough to contend with a god like you." His suggestion hung in the air, laced with confidence in Draken's power, the kind of arrogance born from years of scheming in the shadows.

"Hold up. You found Aaron? Why isn't he dead yet then?" Geralt asked, his frown deepening, eyes narrowing in suspicion. The revelation stirred a mix of frustration and eagerness in him, the hunt for Dracula's descendants a personal vendetta that burned like an unquenchable fire.

"Same question I asked," Nathan said, shrugging casually, his innocent act cracking slightly under the weight of the conversation.

"Now is not the time for your antics," Draken said, standing from the cushion with a fluid, predatory motion. He walked toward a spot in the house where a hidden basement could be found, his footsteps heavy on the creaking wooden floor, the air growing colder as he approached the concealed door.

Within the basement, the figures of Dream and Lyrith could be seen bound and trapped. Tubes were connected to them, acting as conduits to draw energy from their bodies, the machinery humming with a sinister rhythm, draining their essence drop by drop in this underground lair of horrors.

The energy was connected to a device which in turn connected to Blue Star. The contraption glowed with unholy light, converting the stolen power into something darker, a tool for cosmic domination.

The device converted the energy from Lyrith and Dream to demon energy which corrupted Blue Star's core. The core, suspended in a crystal chamber, pulsed with a sickly red hue, cracks of corruption spreading like veins through its once-pure surface, the process a slow poison to the planet's heart.

"How many percent corruption percentage?" Draken asked Geralt, his voice cold and demanding, eyes fixed on the device's readings.

"40%. It's slowing down. It seems Lyrith and Dream are reaching their limit as well," Geralt explained, his tone clinical, glancing at the drained forms of the captives with indifference.

"Worthless. Can't even provide enough energy to corrupt the Blue Star core. In the end, a vampire remains the best," Draken said coldly, staring at a corpse connected by a tube. The corpse was drained completely of every ounce of energy and fluid, looking no different from a mummified corpse, its skin shriveled and brittle, a testament to the device's ruthless efficiency.

Beside the corpse was another corpse, dried as well, its empty eyes staring into nothingness, a silent witness to the horrors unfolding in this hidden chamber.

"How will Aaron feel if he knows the fate of his parents?" Nathan asked, a smile creeping on his face, his words dripping with malicious glee, imagining the despair it would bring to their enemy.

"Their pain. Cause he will suffer the same fate as them too," Draken said, a disdainful look on his face, his lips curling in contempt, the thought fueling his demonic resolve.

"Speed up the process. Connect the others," Draken instructed, his command sharp as a blade, turning away from the corpses with no remorse.

"Are you sure? That's less efficient," Geralt questioned, hesitation flickering in his eyes, knowing the risks of overextending their resources.

"Do as I say," Draken said coldly, leaving the area as he went deeper into the basement, his presence lingering like a dark cloud.

Obeying the orders, Geralt opened the special prison, where the powerhouses of Blue Star left were confined. Liam, Joseph, Vine Master, King from Ren continent, Abyss from Den continent, Siren from Arik continent, and so many powerhouses in their tens, all weakened and chained, their once-mighty auras dimmed by suppression seals.

Fulfilling the task given to him, Geralt took the powerhouses that had already been weakened, with their strength suppressed, and connected them one by one to the tubes available, making them all energy sources to be drained. The process was methodical, the tubes piercing their skin with a hiss, their groans filling the basement as the machine began siphoning their life force, accelerating the corruption in a desperate bid for victory.

---

Draken arrived at the inner section. Within the inner section was a large box heavily fortified and completely sealed, its surface etched with ancient demonic runes that pulsed with restrained power, the air around it thick with the stench of confinement and despair.

"It's been a while since I let you loose," Draken said calmly, moving closer toward the large container, his footsteps echoing in the dim, oppressive space.

"What do you say about hunting more vampires, Rex?" Draken muttered, opening the container to reveal a man with hollow and unfocused eyes. His hair was unkempt with an offensive odor coming from him. His appearance told a story of how long he had been trapped for a long time, his body emaciated, clothes ragged, a broken shell of the werewolf he once was.

The man slowly focused on Draken with listless eyes, his gaze empty at first, then sharpening with a flicker of buried rage.