Reborn as a Devouring Dragon with a System
Chapter 153: The Battle (4)

Chapter 153: The Battle (4)

"It seems one can’t underestimate you," he said with a faint smile.

He casually reached for his robe, adjusting it.

But then...

A massive aura erupted from him—

Violent. Deep. Unyielding.

The aura was domineering, yet paradoxical—it carried both the power to create and to destroy, spreading far and wide as it clashed against Drakion’s own.

His eyes radiated that same aura—flames seemed to burn within them, matching the hues of his gaze.

Anyone attuned to power could feel it—an inferno hidden behind calm eyes.

Drakion stood his ground, his own aura swelling like a rising tide—

It surged, devouring the sky as it met the young man’s force in a collision of unseen power.

The very ground beneath them began to crack and splinter, overwhelmed by their mere presence.

Far away, deep within the core region of the Bestial Forest, the mighty beasts shivered in their dens.

They couldn’t resist the fear—they couldn’t resist the call.

It wasn’t just the terror from above... it was something deeper, buried in their bloodline—ancestral submission.

If before, they roared like wild, unshackled tigers—

Now they were docile cats, meekly crawling toward the presence of their forgotten masters.

In Bestial Town, the people heard it—

The roar of dragons.

They felt the shift in the atmosphere, in the very fabric of the world, and began to whisper what they dared not believe.

"Dragons..." they murmured. "It must be dragons."

Only those cultivators of considerable strength could feel the true terror bleeding from the heart of the forest.

None of them dared approach—

Even the aura alone was enough to crush them.

Meanwhile, the Five Element Dragon—a remnant soul of the old era—

Felt the aura of the young man and froze.

Recognition flashed through him—

As if a long-lost puzzle piece had clicked into place.

Then it happened.

Drakion and the young man clashed—

Not with weapons, but with aura.

In the next breath, they vanished—

Reappearing only in violent flashes as they exchanged blows in the sky.

Every punch, every strike—

A sonic boom followed.

Kaidros, Ski, and Mia tracked the battle only through those thunderous sounds, watching as Drakion and the young man danced through the heavens like gods at war.

Their fists met again and again—

Each impact sent tremors rippling through the land.

They dodged each other’s strikes with fluid grace—

Countering, vanishing, reappearing, clashing.

Still, neither could gain the upper hand.

Then the young man broke the cycle—

He separated from Drakion, drawing in Originat with such intensity that space itself quivered.

Originat gathered to his right fist, forming a dark sheath—but this was no ordinary Originat.

It didn’t resemble Drakion’s or Noctheria’s.

It spoke of destruction, of annihilation, of erasure.

Drakion’s right fist also ignited—

Devouring Originat wrapped around it like a predator unsheathing its fangs.

He readied his Devourer Strike.

Then they moved.

Fist met fist.

Originat clashed with Originat.

Aura roared against aura.

The trees were leveled.

The earth cracked, groaned, split apart—then began to heal—

But not fast enough to match the devastation unraveling across its surface.

And in the heart of that collision, something stirred—

A spark between their Originats.

Drakion’s strike attempted to devour the young man’s Originat and power—

But the young man’s own Originat responded, trying to destroy Drakion’s Originat and everything it touched.

Two forces—eternal opposites—

Devouring and Destruction.

Consuming and Erasing.

And neither would yield.

But the balance shattered as the young man’s power surged, slowly pushing Drakion back.

Yet it was at that moment he witnessed the horror of the Abyssal Devouring Eye.

The two golden fangs within the black eyeball’s golden ring began to spin—slow at first, then faster, like a divine vortex spiraling into chaos.

The young man’s gaze locked onto those spinning fangs... and his eyes widened.

The Originat coating his fist was being pulled—no, devoured—by an invisible vortex that spun from within the eye itself.

He instinctively leapt back, his expression darkening in confusion.

An unknown, primal aura erupted from Drakion—one that shook his core, forcing his instincts to scream.

Still, he refused to relent.

He launched countless attacks, each coated in destructive Originat—

But no matter how violently they struck, they were all absorbed into those eyes.

He could see it, the terrifying truth—

His Originat, his power—consumed, rendered meaningless in the face of that abyss.

"If Originat attacks won’t work..." he muttered darkly, "...then physical force will."

He snorted coldly and stretched his left hand to the side.

Golden Originat surged from his palm, wrapping around him with a radiant, peaceful glow—one that exuded an aura of pure creation.

From this divine light, a golden sword took shape.

It wasn’t just a weapon of Originat... it was real—

A weapon forged from existence itself.

With a blur, he charged.

Sword in hand, he struck at Drakion with brutal force—

But Drakion... didn’t move.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t even blink.

The young man felt it—a chill, a wrongness.

A bad feeling gripped his spine like a claw of fate.

Then, it happened.

The two fangs reverted—

Becoming a single golden fang once again.

It began to spin.

Before he could react—before he could even comprehend—

The golden sword vanished, sucked into the spiraling fang, devoured without resistance.

This was the Fang of Matterbane.

But Drakion was far from done.

He raised his fist—no, a scythe shaped from wrath itself—and slashed it forward.

The young man tried to dodge, but something shifted.

For the first time, Drakion’s other eye moved.

The golden eyeball with its two black fangs began to spin.

And then... the young man felt it.

A pressure fell—not upon his body, but his soul.

Heavy. Eternal. Suffocating.

His movements slowed.

Drakion’s fist smashed into his face, carving a bloody wound across it and sending him hurtling backward through the sky.

This was the Fang of Soul.

The left black eyeball with golden fangs targeted the material.

The right golden eyeball with black fangs devoured the immaterial.

Meanwhile—

Ding!

[Scanning for viable restoration methods... none applicable.]

Ding!

[No... an alternative path has been located.]

Ding!

[Alternative solution accepted—preparing for the solution.]

Ding!

[Commencing Partial Summoning of the Dragon Progenitors... from the Ancient Past.]