["Interesting."]
["Very interesting!"]
Raziel ignored the system's chatter, dismissing it as meaningless noise.
He turned his gaze toward Michael, whose draconic aura was still faintly simmering from the battle.
"What do you think of your new Authority, Michael?" Raziel asked calmly, his voice carrying an effortless confidence. "If you think you need more, don't hesitate to ask. I'll give it to you."
Michael stiffened.
"Oh—almost forgot," Raziel added casually, as if remembering something trivial. "I have a gift for you."
Michael's brows furrowed.
What gift could this guy possibly mean? he thought. He already gave me an Imperial Authority… and now another gift? Is he insane?
"Great System," Raziel called internally.
"Open the inventory."
[As you wish, Great One.]
[You possess: 5 Weapons | 3 Equipment]
[Weapons:]
[Armaments of the Outer End][Eidolon Severance][Dracoryx Ignis Rex][Chronicle of the End][Null Meridian]
[Armor:]
[Axiom Null Mantle][Mantle of Infinite Reversal][Eclipse Sovereign Carapace]
Raziel's eyes flickered briefly as he scanned the list.
"Alright then," he said lightly. "I choose Armaments of the Outer End and the Axiom Null Mantle."
[As you wish, Great One.]
In an instant, two translucent cubes materialized before Michael, suspended in midair. They shimmered with a black–purple void-light, their surfaces inscribed with shifting sigils that hurt to look at directly. The surrounding space bent subtly, as if reality itself was hesitant to acknowledge what was emerging.
The cubes cracked open soundlessly.
From within them descended the items—not falling, but presenting themselves, awaiting a worthy hand.
Raziel gestured forward, a faint smile on his face.
"Take it," he said simply. "It's yours."
Michael froze.
"What—!?" he blurted out, eyes widening, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "You already gave me an Imperial Authority!"
He stared at the armaments before him, feeling an overwhelming pressure radiating from them—power so immense that even his True Dragon instincts screamed in reverence.
"These…" Michael swallowed hard. "These are artifacts that gods would wage wars over."
Raziel shrugged lightly.
"And?" he replied. "You're not just anyone anymore."
Michael looked up at him, shaken—not by fear, but by the sheer absurdity of standing before someone who treated divine treasures like casual gifts.
For the first time since awakening his draconic lineage, Michael Draven felt something unfamiliar tighten in his chest.
A monster… no, he corrected himself.
The unknown
'I must be in the Presence of GOD' he thought.
Michael feeling reassured rom raziels words, took the items that appeared from the void-light cubes
the second Michael took hold of the armamanet of the Outer EndsIn its unmanifested state, it is a translucent cube of swirling black and dark purple energy. When wielded, it can assume any desired shape (sword, spear, bow, etc.), always maintaining a core aesthetic of obsidian-like material laced with nebular purple light.
his system flashed with anticipation.
[ARMAMENT OF THE OUTER END]
[Classification: Weapon Authority Set]
[Quantity: 1 (Unified)]
[Description: A weapon system born from the fused remains of Outer Entity armaments. It does not take a fixed shape—it becomes the perfect weapon for the moment.]
[Blade, spear, bow, cannon, concept, or intent]
[Can harm physical, spiritual, conceptual, and narrative existences]
[Ignores durability tiers, regeneration, immortality, and abstraction]
[Passive Effect]:[The weapon always knows how to kill the target.]
"What in the Dragon World is this sword…?" Michael muttered, his voice trembling between awe and disbelief.
His grip tightened around the hilt as a chill ran through his spine.
"It can harm narrative existences," he continued, staring at the blade as though it might answer him back. "It always knows how to kill its target… no hesitation, no trial and error."
Slowly, Michael lifted his gaze toward Raziel, his eyes blazing with both excitement and suspicion.
"Who the hell made this weapon?"
For a moment, the battlefield was silent.
"I did."
Raziel's reply was soft—almost casual—but when Michael met his eyes, there was no room for doubt. Only certainty.
"And before you start thinking I have some hidden blacksmith class," Raziel continued calmly, "or that I pulled it from some unknown source… check the Akashic Records."
"It was made by me."
Michael didn't waste a second.
He summoned his system.
Every being's system—no matter the race—was ultimately governed by the Akashic Records, the absolute archive of existence. It recorded truths, origins, and authorship without bias or deception.
The interface flickered.
Then one line appeared.
[Maker: Raziel ÆLNOÛS]
Michael froze.
That was all the proof he needed.
He let out a slow breath, half-laughing under his breath. "You're insane…" he muttered. "Absolutely insane."
Yet there was no fear in his voice—only admiration.
Still holding the sword, he turned his attention to the second gift.
The mantle.
A deep, velvety black cloak hovered slightly before him, seeming to drink in both light and shadow alike. It had no visible seams, no clasps, no stitching—nothing that suggested it was made at all.
[Axiom Null Mantle]
[Type:Full-body armor][Element: Law]
[Description: Armor woven from broken universal laws. It exists beyond rules, logic, and consistency.]
[Abilities:]
[Rule Immunity: Cannot be affected by laws, physics, magic, fate, or systems.]
[Contradiction State: Allows the wearer to exist in mutually impossible conditions.]
[Damage Denial:Harm is rejected before it occurs.]
[Reality Unbind: Freely ignores dimensional, narrative, and conceptual limits.]
When Michael reached out and donned it, the mantle merged seamlessly with his body, dissolving into his form as though it had always belonged there. Rather than weighing him down, it felt weightless—natural.
To an outside observer, it appeared as though Michael himself was now wreathed in profound darkness, the shadows bending subtly around his presence.
Only upon closer inspection could one see them—
Barely perceptible silver-gold threads, woven into the darkness like hidden constellations. They traced intricate, impossible patterns across the mantle's surface, each line representing an Axiom rendered null, a law denied its authority.
Michael flexed his hand.
The air around him shifted.
"…This thing," he said quietly, awe creeping into his voice, "doesn't just protect."
"It denies."
Raziel smiled faintly.
"Good," he replied. "That means you're already understanding it."
Michael looked back at him, expression conflicted—gratitude, disbelief, and a trace of something deeper.
"Raziel," he said slowly, "do you even realize what you're giving away?"
Raziel's answer came without hesitation.
"I do."
And that, more than anything else, settled Michael.
"This… this is so OP," Michael muttered, awe and disbelief still lacing his voice. By now, his injuries had completely healed, every shred of fatigue or pain erased as if he had never been struck at all.
He took a deliberate step toward Raziel, the air around him resonating with his draconic aura. Then, with a gesture as solemn as it was reverent, he knelt before him.
"I—True Dragon, Michael Draven, Descendant of the Origins—pledge to fight by your side as your servant," he declared, his voice ringing across the void. "Will you accept me, my Lord?"
[INTERESTING!]
Raziel chuckled, a low, deep sound that seemed to ripple through the Matters of Transcendence themselves. "Hahaha… truly amusing," he laughed aloud, the vibration of his voice shaking the very foundation of the reality around them.
Michael's eyes widened slightly, his posture unwavering. Even the raw authority of his new gifts could not mask the sincerity behind his words.
Raziel extended a hand. "Yes," he said simply. "I accept. His arua letting out a subtle hum."
Michael took the hand, and Raziel helped him to his feet. The movement was calm, almost casual, yet carried the weight of absolute dominion his gtreat emobodiment [GREAT NATURE OF THE UNKNOWN]
For a brief moment, the battlefield was silent. The air itself seemed to recognize the new bond—the pairing of True Dragon and Great One. A subtle current of power hummed between them, vibrating through the void like the heartbeat of worlds.
Raziel's expression softened slightly, though his eyes retained their piercing sharpness. "Now that this is settled," he said, voice steady, "let's return to the Arena. I'm sure they're waiting for us."
Michael rose, his wings folding neatly behind him. "Yes, Lord," he replied, his tone both eager and resolute.
Together, the two of them moved, their presence radiating overwhelming authority. Each step seemed to ripple across the remnants and cracks of reality in the Second Floor of the Outer Gate, leaving faint distortions in space and time, subtle reminders that the world had just witnessed something extraordinary.
And as they advanced toward the Arena, the faint echoes of their laughter and power lingered, carrying a warning to anyone who dared challenge them: the stage had been set, and the players had just become untouchable.
Headmaster Sariel Von Valereith, one of the administrators of the tower. the figure figure Known for her absolute control over time and Absolute power, stood upon the towering rampart overlooking the remnants of the academy's outer gate. The scene was one of contained chaos. The recent Drawing of the Transcenders ritual—an event meant to test and empower the students—had concluded too early because the Breaking of the Outer Gate had left an indelible mark of destruction and anxiety.
She wore a simple, yet intensely embroidered, black silk robe that belied her true rank, and hugged her body . Her eyes, the colour of ancient jade, possessed an impossible acuity. They moved with dizzying speed, performing a complex, near-light speed scan of the returning students.
Sariel wasn't just counting bodies; she was assessing the residual energy signatures, checking for injuries both visible and hidden, and cross-referencing their presence against a mental manifest. Every student was a vital investment, but the thought of a catastrophe befalling the Prodigies and the Children of the Supreme Great Families sent a cold spike of dread through her.
"If something happened to them," she muttered, the wind carrying her whisper past cracked stone, "what would become of this academy? Nothing. A collapse of reputation, a cascade of political fury..."
Her count stabilized, and her face, usually a mask of stoic command, momentarily fractured.
Two signatures were absent. Two distinct, high-value energies were not accounted for in the returning throng.
Her jade gaze snapped instantly toward the pavilion reserved for the most senior and influential families—specifically, the section occupied by one of the Seven Primordial Families. The air around her grew heavy, pressurizing the very stone beneath her feet.
A single, whispered word, pregnant with terror and frustration, escaped Elara's lips:
"Shit."
The sound of that word was instantaneously and violently eclipsed.
From the section Elara had focused on, a figure rose. It was Elder Lyra Draven, the Mother of Michael Draven—one of the two missing students and a scion of the Primordial House of Draven. Her features, usually composed in a look of aloof elegance, were now contorted into a terrifying mask of maternal fury and raw power.
Lyra Draven did not simply release an aura; she unleashed a primordial, epoch-shattering force. A brilliant, sapphire blue energy pulsed from her, not merely as power, but as a pure rejection of universal limits.
This terrifying aura was so absolute in its focus and intensity that it physically manifested, not just breaking the chains of the academy's restrictive energy wards, but seemingly shattering the conceptual Chains of Fate and Law that governed the will of this world itself. It was the absolute statement that for the life of her child, nothing was immutable.
The students recoiled, shielded by the Headmaster and the Professors. The Head Master herself took a sharp step back, knowing this was no longer an administrative crisis, but an unstoppable force of familial devotion and power unbound.
Just then, Raziel and Michael appeared in the Arena—not through light, nor teleportation circles, but as if they had always been there.
The moment their presence manifested, the entire space collapsed into silence.
An overwhelming pressure flooded the Arena, crushing doubt, pride, and resistance alike. Students froze mid-breath. Knees struck the ground in unison as if compelled by an unseen decree. The shields on them were cracking violently as though the earth were shaking in fear.
"—Kugh!""H-his presence… it's too over—whelming…"
Voices broke. Bodies trembled.
Only the professors remained standing, faces strained, mana flaring instinctively to resist. And among the students, only the prodigies—those who had tasted power beyond limits—were desperately trying to remain upright, releasing their own auras in defiance, desperately trying to adapt to the impossible force radiating from Raziel.
Lyra felt it too.
Her breath caught—not in fear, but in certainty.
He's alive.
The crushing weight vanished.
Without lifting a hand, Raziel withdrew his presence, the pressure receding instantly. Gasps echoed across the Arena as students collapsed backward or fell to their hands, relief washing over their faces.
Yet the silence did not return to normal.
Instead, [The Great Nature of the Unknown] settled in—an intangible, unfathomable pressure and singularity that didn't crush, didn't threaten, but observed.
Something far worse
Before anyone could speak, Michael vanished.
He reappeared instantly at Lyra's feet.
The proud True Dragon—moments ago a calamity incarnate—knelt.
"Please withdraw your aura, Mother," he whispered, his voice low and sincere."I'm here now."
Lyra's eyes widened.
In a heartbeat, her aura vanished completely.
"What happened?" she asked, stepping forward before she could stop herself. "Are you hurt? Are you—"
She stopped.
Her arms twitched, the instinct to pull him into an embrace burning fiercely—but she restrained herself. Her expression became unreadable once more, save for the faintest trace of worry she allowed to surface.
Michael rose smoothly."I'm fine, Mother."
She studied him closely—his stance, his breathing, the unnatural calm in his eyes.
Then her gaze shifted.
"All right," Lyra said coolly, turning her attention to the figure standing still standing amongst the crowd."And who is the one you came back with?"
Michael followed her gaze.
He straightened slightly, pride and respect clear in his posture.
"His name is Raziel," he answered."The one who placed first on the rankings."
Lyra's eyes narrowed just a fraction as they finally settled fully on Raziel—
And for the first time since the Arena had been built, the Headmaster felt something she hadn't felt in a very long time.
Interest.
AN-(sorry i could not show the battles and duel of Kami and the other students.)
(im still a noob, but i promise my story will get better.)
(Presence is different from aura)