Reincarnated with a lucky draw system - Chapter 214

Chapter 214: RESURRECTION OF THE LORD OF ETERNAL NIGHT I
“Revenant, huh,” Aaron muttered, a faint smile playing on his lips as he surrendered to the impulse, granting her the Umbral Revenant bloodline. As the transformation began, Dream’s haggard, frail form dissolved, her aged visage giving way to vibrant, fair skin, her body de-aging to the prime of a woman in her thirties. The hidden beauty long buried by time and torment resurfaced, her presence radiant yet haunting, a testament to her rebirth as something beyond mortal constraints.

—

**[ABIGAIL]**

Race: Undead

Rank: God (★★★★)

Strength: ★★★

Agility: ★★★

Vitality: ★★

Stamina: ★★

Mana: ★★★★

Luck: ★★

Charm: ★★★★

Soul Strength: ★★★★

Talent: False Reality

Bloodline: Umbral Revenant

When a mortal dies consumed by purpose, their soul clings to the mortal realm—this is the essence of a revenant. But when that purpose fades, when vengeance dissolves into the void of forgotten memory, what remains? From that desolate will, where despair festers and recollection decays, an Umbral Revenant is born.

These beings are death’s echoes, straddling the liminal boundary between soul and shadow. Their consciousness is fractured—one half burns with a dying will, the other melts into illusion and dream. Unbound by time or reality, they exist as paradoxes, rejected by both. Legends whisper that Umbral Revenants do not walk—they unfold, emerging from the shadows of fear, the reflections of guilt, or memories that refuse to die. They feed on perception, growing stronger with every gaze or thought directed at them. Yet, unlike phantasms, their core is not mere illusion but truth cloaked in deception, a dying flame sheltered beneath an eternal night.

To behold an Umbral Revenant is to confront a being neither alive, nor undead, nor imagined, but something far more terrifying—a will too potent to vanish, too broken to live. They are death’s artists, weaving nightmares that mirror the truths their victims seek to deny. When an Umbral Revenant appears, reality itself quakes, uncertain of its own existence.

Abilities:

– Will of the Veiled Flame: The Revenant’s soul burns across both material and umbral planes, allowing it to shift between shadow and substance at will, a spectral dance that defies physical constraints.

– Twilight Manifestation: Blurs its form into half-reality, untouchable by physical attacks yet capable of interacting with shadows and souls, a ghostly presence that haunts the edges of perception.

– Echo Mirage: Projects illusions drawn from the memories of those nearby, each feeling real, feeding on belief, and fracturing enemy focus with disorienting clarity.

– Abyssal Reflection: Forces a target to face a shadow clone born of their fears and regrets, mimicking their abilities imperfectly but growing stronger as denial persists.

– Soulstep: Umbral Drift: Teleports through overlapping shadows or memories, emerging anywhere darkness touches, even within the fabric of illusions.

– Veil of the Forgotten: Erases all traces of presence—sound, scent, mana, even divine detection—rendering the Revenant invisible to the cosmos itself.

– Grave’s Illusion: Creates a spectral battlefield, bending the environment into a mirage of the Revenant’s death, where victims lose their sense of time and self in a haunting loop.

– Midnight Resurgence: Upon being slain, the Revenant dissolves into its shadow, reforming at nightfall, restored by the memory of its final purpose.

– Umbral Dominion: Within a radius of darkness, all illusions become semi-real, inflicting both mental and spiritual wounds that linger like curses.

– Eclipsed Will: Converts damage into illusionary duplicates, forcing enemies to strike mirages while the Revenant regathers its essence.

– Spectral Deception: Splits consciousness into multiple autonomous illusions, each acting independently for brief periods, sowing chaos among foes.

– Black Reminiscence: Traps victims in a looping memory, feeding on the emotions it evokes, draining their will as the Revenant grows stronger.

– Spectral Marionette: Animates corpses or illusions with a fragment of its will, creating puppets that appear alive and sentient, obeying the Revenant’s command.

—

Minutes passed, the air thick with anticipation, until Dream’s eyes fluttered open, their green glow softened but no less piercing. She found the Highborn family staring at her, their expressions a mix of awe and relief, the room bathed in the quiet hum of their shared hope. Her new form radiated an ethereal beauty, her presence a haunting blend of vitality and otherworldly menace.

“She’s awake,” Aaron said calmly, his voice a steady anchor in the charged atmosphere. “My work here is done.” He turned to leave, his task complete, his mind already shifting to the next challenge in his cosmic agenda.

“Thank you,” Dream said, bowing her head with quiet gratitude, her voice steady yet tinged with reverence for the one who had pulled her from death’s grasp. Her eyes, now shimmering with the umbral light of her new bloodline, met Aaron’s, acknowledging the gift of her rebirth.

“It was more you than me,” Aaron replied, pausing mid-step, his curiosity piqued. “You refused to die, no matter the odds. So tell me, what drives you to cling to life so fiercely?” His question was direct, his gaze piercing, as if peering into the depths of her soul.

“To protect this family until they cease to exist,” Dream confessed, her voice unwavering, a vow etched into her very being, resonating with the purpose that had defined her existence.

“Hmm,” Aaron mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Guess you won’t be dying anytime soon, then, because that desire will never fade.” His words were a promise, laced with the certainty of one who shaped destinies. “Those mana cores in you—they turned out to be more useful than I expected.” His tone carried a note of admiration, impressed by the latent potential still hidden within her transformed essence.

“Well, I’m off,” Aaron said, waving a hand with casual finality, his silhouette already shimmering as he prepared to bend space to his will.

“Where to, brother?” Isobel interjected, her tone sharp with irritation. “And take me back to where I was before your rude interruption.” Her arms crossed, her eyes glinting with defiance, though a hint of curiosity lingered beneath her frustration.

“There’s someone who’s been sleeping too long and needs resurrecting,” Aaron replied, his smile enigmatic, a spark of anticipation lighting his features. With a flick of his will, he warped space, sending Isobel back to her battlefield in a ripple of reality, her form vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared.

Returning to his throne room—a vast chamber of obsidian and starlight, its walls pulsing with runes that whispered of ancient power—Aaron prepared for his next task. “Time to bring them back, better and stronger,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble of intent as he summoned his doppelgängers, each a fragment of his boundless will given form.

He created Retribution, granting it absolute authority over the sanctuary’s governance, a surrogate emperor to bear the burden of administrative duties Aaron loathed. Ego emerged next, imbued with the predominant abilities of all werewolves and the void powers of vampires, a hybrid of ferocity and darkness. Weaver was forged with the talent of Space Manipulation, a mirror to Aaron’s own mastery. Finally, Night was born, cloaked in the power of shadows, its essence a living extension of the umbral void.

“That should suffice for now,” Aaron said, a satisfied smile spreading across his face, impatience simmering beneath his calm exterior. “Aside from Retribution, your purpose is conquest. Execute it on my behalf.” His command was absolute, his doppelgängers nodding in unison, their forms radiating purpose as they dispersed to fulfill his will.

Warping space once more, Aaron arrived in the heart of the void, a realm of infinite darkness where light drowned and time unraveled. The void’s menacing energy, a maelstrom of chaos and lethality, swirled around him, yet it parted like mist before his presence, impotent against the Night Father’s dominion. Deep within, where storms of primal chaos raged, a ravaged body floated, suspended in the tempest’s core.

“Dracula,” Aaron intoned, his voice a clarion call that pierced the void’s cacophony, “it’s time to be resurrected.”