I Received System to Become Dragonborn-Chapter 1243: Light And Dark

Zerathul's eyes widened. For several seconds, he could only stare at the man clad in yellowish cloth, his massive body frozen in the air as fear crawled into him for the first time since the battle began.

This was not a caution or a calculation. This was fear, raw and undeniable fear.

The Gravebringer had felt dominance since the first time the battle here began. Absolute certainty, the control over death, time, over the battlefield itself.

That certainty cracked now.

The man's presence did not roar or crush. It did not bend nature violently the way the Dragon power did, nor did it twist time like Zerathul's own power. It simply existed, calm and final.

Zerathul's heart pounded hard against his ribs.

"This…" his mind raced, piecing fragments together. "This Dragon did not summon randomly. This is not an ally he summons from desperation. This is something chosen. This being is capable and strong."

The man's gaze settled on Zerathul, unreadable and steady.

Khepra-Ankh had arrived.

Erend hovered nearby, his massive Dragon body trembling now that the pressure briefly eased. Pain surged back in full force, crashing over him.

His wings sagged. His breath came shallow and uneven as blood continued to drip from torn scales.

"Can I still fight?" he wondered, forcing himself upright despite the agony. "Can I even move like this?"

Khepra-Ankh did not look at him, but his voice echoed clearly in Erend's mind.

"You must recover first," the Psychopomp Dragon said calmly. "I cannot remain here for long. I will weaken him, disrupt his dominion. But I will not finish him."

Erend clenched his jaws. His vision blurred again as exhaustion pulled at him.

"After I depart, you must be the one to end this being. This battle is yours," Khepra-Ankh continued.

Erend exhaled slowly, fire flickering weakly from his nostrils.

"I understand," he answered, his voice was tired but steady.

With effort, he turned away from the sky-shattering confrontation and angled downward, wings beating unevenly as he descended. His movements sent pain screaming through his body, but his mind was clear now.

"I need to heal, recover. Then finish it," he told himself.

Above him, the calm presence of Khepra-Ankh faced the Gravebringer alone.

Zerathul moved first. With a snarl, he lunged forward and seized Khepra-Ankh in his massive grasp, black tentacles and necrotic force closing around the smaller figure.

Compared to Zerathul's colossal body, Khepra-Ankh looked fragile, almost insignificant, a lone human shape suspended before a god of death and time.

Yet the moment Zerathul tightened his hold, he got resistance answered him. Not physical strength alone, but an unyielding presence that refused to bend and be crushed by him.

Khepra-Ankh did not struggle.

Then Khepra-Ankh did not waste a single moment.

He had little time left in this world, and he knew it.

So he seized the chance before him and used it to its fullest.

The air around him softened, then brightened, as a calm white light bloomed from his body.

It did not explode outward but expanded steadily and gently, like dawn pushing back a long night.

The light carried no aggression or fury. It carried release and severance, like a feeling of final rest.

It washed over Zerathul's grasp, cutting through necrotic bindings and unraveling the chains of death Magic that fed his power. Souls bound within the Gravebringer's necromancy trembled as the Psychopomp's authority reached for them, calling them free.

Zerathul felt it instantly.

This power threatened the core of what he was.

"No…" he growled, forcing more strength into his hold. Fear twisted into rage as black necrotic energy surged from his body, flooding outward to meet the advancing white light.

Death Magic slammed against the Psychopomp's radiance, corruption clawing desperately to bind what sought release.

The two forces collided. And the sky screamed even more.

Darkness and white brilliance flashed in violent succession, blinking rapidly as if reality itself could not decide which authority would rule.

Nature stuttered and the space warped. Each pulse sent shockwaves across the skies as necromancy and the power of release clashed.

—

Erend finally flew back down through the shattered sky, his wings unsteady as pain dragged at his movement.

The moment Thar'Zul-Vekar sensed him descending, they react. Roots of pale green and golden light burst upward from the earth, weaving together in midair to form broad, living platforms beneath his path.

From below, Arty saw him first.

Her heart jumped violently as his massive shape dropped through the smoke and falling debris. For a split second, fear seized her chest, thinking he was falling. Then she saw his wings still beating, weak but controlled.

Relief flooded her so hard it almost made her dizzy.

"At least… he's not falling," she thought, forcing herself to breathe.

She wanted to rush to him. Every instinct screamed at her to abandon everything and reach her brother's side. But debris continued to rain endlessly from above, chunks of warped flesh and corrupted Magic plunging toward the ground.

"I can't," she clenched her teeth. "Not now. This won't stop. If I leave, people down below will die."

She slammed into another fragment with renewed force, shattering it before it could descend.

King Gulben saw Erend as well, relief tightening his grip on his weapon.

Adrien and Billy felt it too, their attention snapping toward him. Both of them wanted to fly to him immediately and check his wounds and make sure he was fine.

But they held their positions.

They all thought the same thing as Arty.

There were others down there who could help him. And this task could not be abandoned.

Erend struck the waiting roots hard, the impact sending tremors through the glowing structure.

The light held, cradling his weight as his Dragon body shuddered violently.

Then his body changed.

Scales withdrew. Wings dissolved into light. Massive bulk collapsed inward as Erend returned to his human body, landing heavily on one knee.

The damage became horrifyingly clear.

Blackened wounds scored his torso and arms, veins darkened by lingering necrotic corruption.

Burn marks and cracked skin traced where Magic had torn through him. Blood spilled freely, staining the glowing roots beneath him.

Eccar and Aesa were already there and mostly recovered, both in their human bodies and rushed toward him the instant he appeared.

Erend tried to straighten, failed, and dropped fully to his knees with a sharp gasp.

"Heal me!" he shouted hoarsely. "Quick!"

His hands shook as he braced himself against the roots. His breath was ragged and uneven.

Pain crashed over him in relentless waves now that the battle above no longer drowned it out.

"I'm still needed…" he thought desperately. "I can't pass out now. Not yet."

Above them, the sky continued to flicker between blinding white and devouring black.

—