Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger - Chapter 336

Chapter 336: EX 336. True Prophecy
“My… blood?” he muttered, voice breaking.

He looked at his trembling palm again, disbelief twisting into horror.

“It’s my blood.”

Then, louder, his voice turning wild, cracking with fury and humiliation—

“It’s my blood! MY BLOOD!!”

His roar echoed through the valley, shaking the clouds themselves.

In Leon’s mind, Originus spoke, his tone almost wary.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Leon didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed instead, calm and cutting.

He understood perfectly.

Eragon wasn’t just enraged, he was broken.

This was the first time in his long, exalted life that his scales had been pierced… by a human non the less.

The reason he still lived was obvious to Leon.

It was because of the core, the very one Eragon had taken from Elizabeth.

Unlike beast cores that persisted after death, a professional’s core would dissolve, and this one had anchored him to life.

Eragon’s screams grew deeper and more guttural, his voice slipping into a bestial snarl.

His aura began to spike wildly, blood vaporizing around him.

“You dare make me bleed…!”

Bones cracked. Flesh twisted.

The ground itself quaked as his form expanded—scales bursting forth like molten armor, wings tearing into the air.

The Tyrant lord rose, fury incarnate, its eyes burning with primal madness.

Leon floated before him, silent, divine light radiating like dawn breaking through the storm.

The true battle between God and Dragon was about to begin.

****

Eragon’s transformation shook the heavens.

His body surged, swelling to a scale that blotted out the sun itself.

The sky dimmed beneath his shadow.

Wings like stretched mountain ranges unfurled from his back, every beat rippling with pressure that tore through the clouds.

Jagged horns, thick as trees, jutted from his skull and curled upward like the branches of an ancient, cursed oak.

His scales no longer gleamed crimson, they shimmered black, polished like obsidian and veined with threads of molten red light that pulsed in rhythm with his rage.

Leon floated before the colossus, eyes narrowing.

“He’s gotten bigger,” he muttered.

The last time Leon had seen Eragon’s true form, it was awe-inspiring but not this.

Not so monstrous. Not so wrong.

A wave of heat rippled from the dragon’s body—tainted and chaotic.

Leon felt it instantly.

The corruption wasn’t faint this time. It was heavy and oppressive, spreading like rot in the dragon’s energy.

Rage flickered in Leon’s chest.

Originus’s voice echoed within his mind, low and grim.

“It’s the girl’s core.”

Leon’s jaw tightened.

“And I can sense corruption as well.”

There was a brief pause from the dragon spirit.

“…What?”

“It seems,” Leon said through gritted teeth, “the Dragon Lord has been hiding a lot.”

Before Originus could respond, Eragon’s voice thundered across the range, deep and resonant—each word vibrating through stone and soul alike. It wasn’t speech. It was dragon tongue—a language of power that bent reality itself.

“BURN.”

No essence gathering. No magic circle.

A black flame erupted out of nothing, roaring into existence with a sound like tearing metal. It swallowed the air, devouring light as it surged toward Leon, it was pure, primal destruction.

The heat was unbearable; the mountains below began to melt.

Leon didn’t flinch.

He stood, arms loose at his sides, his white hair whipping in the rising inferno.

And then, quietly—his lips parted.

“Primordial Dragon Art.”

The air trembled.

Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

Leon’s pupils narrowed to slits as divine essence surged within him.

“Dragon Tongue—”

Eragon’s enormous eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpricks.

“Impossible…”

Leon’s voice rose, layered with something ancient—an echo of the same power that birthed dragons.

“BURN.”

A second flame ignited before him—vaster, darker, and infinitely hotter.

The two infernos collided.

For a heartbeat, the world went silent.

Then—

BOOOOOM.

A detonation ripped through Dragon Mountain. The shockwave flattened entire ridges, sending molten rock raining across the horizon.

Eragon’s own black flame was devoured, swallowed by Leon’s dragonfire before the surge struck him full-on.

The explosion hurled the gargantuan dragon backward, his scales cracking, his roar tearing through the skies.

And amidst the chaos, Leon hovered in the air, haloed by dark-gold fire.

****

The whole of Pandora trembled.

From the highest floating citadels to the deepest ruins beneath the earth, everything shook from that single collision of flames.

Mountains cracked, oceans roared, and the air itself quivered with power beyond mortal reckoning.

In the Arman Empire, Emperor Alexander stood at the highest balcony of the imperial palace, his eyes locked toward the direction of Dragon Mountain.

His divine senses pierced through clouds and distance, reaching the far-off horizon where two beings clashed like gods.

The imperial barrier, shimmered around the human domain, holding firm against the quakes.

Even so, Alexander’s face was tight with unease.

“This… might not be enough,” he muttered.

Across the seas, on the Beast Islands, and deep within the Great Forest, the other barriers blazed to life.

Massive runic circles glowed across the skies as the great domains fortified themselves.

But despite their strength, they shook violently, like glass on the edge of shattering.

In the great tree, Queen Elaine stood motionless on a marble terrace, her blindfold fluttering in the storm’s wind as she faced the direction of the clash.

Rachel stood beside her, she could not see as far as her master, yet her Saint Rank Talent—Clairvoyance showed her something far beyond sight.

Her lips parted softly.

“Leon…”

Her heart clenched.

She could feel him in that direction. She couldn’t understand what was happening, but she whispered all the same:

“Please, Leon. Be safe.”

If her master, the Elf Queen, or any of the other rulers had heard that prayer, they would have told her she was praying for the wrong person.

Because at that moment, on Dragon Mountain, it was Eragon, the Dragon Lord himself—who needed saving.

The once-proud dragon’s enormous body was half-charred, black smoke hissing from his scales.

Rivers of blood—his own—spilled down his ruined form. His breathing was ragged, yet his crimson eyes remained locked on Leon, filled not with fury this time, but with disbelief.

He stared at the young man floating before him, white hair drifting, divine aura burning softly like a star.

“How…” Eragon rasped, his voice shaking the air. “How do you have… dragon tongue?”

Leon didn’t answer. He only hovered there, silent and calm, the storm of his divinity swirling gently around him.

The dragon’s mind raced, fragments of ancient scripture surfacing—texts older than his bloodline, verses once dismissed as myth.

His pupils quivered.

The union of man and dragon shall shake the heavens… and mark the dawn of the end.

For the first time in millennia, fear seeped into Eragon’s heart.

His voice broke as he whispered,

“The prophecy… The union of man and dragon… It wasn’t the Draconian…”

He stared at Leon, his gaze wide, trembling.

“It was referring to you”