Reborn as a Devouring Dragon with a System-Chapter 62: The Battle With Young Master Leo (4)

At the edge of the Bestial, a battleground stretched out—trees reduced to splinters, the ground carved into deep craters, scorched and tainted with unknown energies.

A human clad in Mecha armor, parts of his body still ablaze, stood opposite a black-masked figure draped in golden hues. Their eyes locked—cold, unblinking.

SCREECH!

The sound of grinding machinery echoed as the remaining parts of the Mecha appeared in the sky, hovering ominously above Leo. Without warning, they began to disassemble—shifting, folding, and converging—until they reformed into a gigantic cannon artillery. The cannon pulsed with a deadly light, radiating energy so intense it made the air itself tremble.

When Drake’s eyes fell on the weapon, a chill ran through him. The cannon’s aura screamed danger. If he wasn’t careful—if he hesitated—he knew he’d lose.

He began cycling through possible skills in his mind, seeking one that could counter it. But the deeper he analyzed, the clearer it became—nothing he currently wielded could overcome that cannon. Not unless he unleashed his Draconic bloodline. The Mecha had elevated Leo’s strength beyond human limits; brute force alone would not be enough.

As his thoughts deepened, his hand subconsciously gripped the Death Reaper, remembering what Drax had told him: the weapon held no true form. It was death itself.

Just then, everything changed.

Drake found himself drawn into a familiar place—a void of silence.

A lonely, abandoned, eerie darkness surrounded him. Yet somehow, despite the pitch-black space, he could see. This was the very same place where he first encountered the Death Spirit—where he had forged their unholy contract.

And then he saw him.

The same small boy—but this time, he wore a faint smile, a trace of cheerfulness that hadn’t been there before. Before Drake could speak, the boy raised a hand.

A small orb of energy pulsed into Drake’s chest.

"This is part of my power. Your body can’t withstand it for too long. You have to release it quickly."

That was all he heard before the void collapsed—and Drake returned to the battlefield.

He felt it—the spiritual orb pulsing within his Core Nexus, nestled deep inside. The Origin Nexus—equivalent to the Dantian of cultivators—began to ripple with unnatural energy.

Drake gripped the Death Reaper, letting its form melt and twist beneath his will. It shifted—reshaped into something he remembered from Earth.

A bazooka.

Across the field, the dual cannons locked onto Leo’s shoulders. His voice boomed:

"Lion Cannon: Unleash the Pride!"

The moment the words left his lips, a massive influx of Originat surged into both cannons. They glowed with golden flame, their radiance so fierce it seemed to burn the very air around them.

Drake saw this and hoisted the bazooka onto his shoulder.

"Devouring Art: Devourer Strike."

He channeled the Death Energy into the Death Reaper Bazooka, layering it with the Devourer Strike to amplify its potency. Within moments, the surrounding Originat was completely devoured—sucked greedily into the weapon, its core now pulsing with malevolent energy.

As the Lion Cannon charged, a blazing image manifested behind Leo—a flaming, colossal Sun Lion, its eyes burning with elemental fury. Flames spiraled around Leo, searing the air, as the gigantic lion merged into the twin cannons.

The engines ignited.

The cannons began to roar with mad, uncontrollable power. A beam of light slowly gathered at their core—an inferno waiting to be unleashed.

Meanwhile, on Drake’s side, as he activated his skill, his blood stirred—restless and violent—as though yearning for release. Suddenly, the world dimmed.

A massive surge of Devouring and Death Energy erupted from him. The onlookers trembled, their bodies wracked with fear—as if an unknowable, defiling creature had descended upon the battlefield.

In an instant, Drake’s black mask and robes took on an eerie aura. In the eyes of the crowd, he was no longer a man—he was a force that devoured existence itself.

Then it appeared.

From the storm of Devouring and Death Energy behind him, a pair of gigantic golden eyes blinked open—ancient, alien, unknowable.

They were not human.

No one could tell what creature they belonged to, only that it was something that should never be named. As their gazes met those golden eyes, many collapsed to their knees under the oppressive weight of its presence.

The weaker ones crumpled instantly, prostrating themselves to the ground. Even those who resisted had to wrench their gaze away, their bodies drenched in cold sweat.

Leo saw them too—and if he hadn’t averted his eyes in time, the pressure alone might have crushed him. The golden eyes were focused on him.

Suddenly, the eyes—and all the gathered Devouring and Death Energies—were pulled into the Death Reaper Bazooka, which flared with overwhelming, soul-trembling power.

But if one looked closely at Drake’s eyes now, they would see—they matched the golden eyes. His gaze had turned Draconic.

And then—neither opponent hesitated.

They fired.

Blinding beams of light tore through the battlefield—Leo’s golden beam, radiant and violent; Drake’s pitch-black beam, heavy with death and annihilation.

Mountains and hills shattered under the sheer pressure. Forests, creatures, and the earth itself were vaporized, erased from existence. A deep, endless pit carved itself across the land, straight and merciless.

As the two beams collided, the world exploded.

The clash obliterated hundreds of miles in every direction, the cataclysm veiling both warriors in an expanding shockwave of destruction.

The onlookers, who had long since retreated to distant safety, could only stare in terror. As the dust and chaos consumed the horizon, a crushing pressure descended upon them.

Their limbs trembled.

Their spirits quaked.

And deep within, they knew—this was no ordinary battle.

The onlookers couldn’t tell how many minutes had passed before the catastrophic Annihilation Explosion finally began to subside, its monstrous fury gradually calming into silence. Only then could they begin to perceive what remained.

The once-great forest surrounding them had been utterly transformed into a lifeless wasteland—a scorched expanse of devastation, still radiating with the residual heat of the battle. Craters marred the land, ash floated in the air, and silence loomed like a funeral shroud.

As the stunned onlookers scanned the ravaged terrain, their eyes locked onto a lone figure.

Drake.

He stood tall amidst the ruin, Death Reaper in hand, its blade drawn as though severing fate itself. With a slow, deliberate slash through the air, he cleaved the silence.

And then—they felt it.

A crushing, suffocating pressure descended upon them, heavy and absolute.

As if an Emperor had arrived.