The Omnipotent System

Chapter 94  Fight Of The Divine Plane 3: Anderson Goes To The Beast Continent

Beast Continent

The air between them crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on. **The burly lionkin beastman, his mane wild and untamed**, stood tall, every muscle in his body flexed as if ready to pounce. His massive paws gripped the handle of a colossal axe, the blade gleaming menacingly in the light. He bared his fangs, sharp and yellowed, as his deep, growling voice reverberated through the clearing. "Get out of the way, boy," he snarled, his amber eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. "Don't make me say it again."

The lionkin's breath was heavy, his chest heaving beneath the bulk of his furred armor. His tail lashed impatiently behind him, betraying his barely contained aggression. His gaze never left **the man standing before him**, a towering figure with fiery red hair that fell loosely down his back, contrasting against his broad, muscular frame. The lionkin's knuckles whitened as his grip on the axe tightened, the weight of the weapon seeming lighter in his hands from sheer rage.

**Anderson stood his ground, unyielding, towering over the lionkin by at least a head.** His fiery red hair flickered in the wind, almost like flames threatening to ignite. His body was a mountain of muscle, every inch of him radiating strength and power. Yet, unlike the beastman, his stance was calm, collected, as though he held the upper hand without needing to say it.

He narrowed his eyes, a frown creasing his otherwise stoic face as the axe was pointed directly at his chest. **Anderson's gaze was cold, unblinking**, his intense green eyes piercing into the lionkin like daggers. His voice, low and steady, carried a deadly weight, a warning not to be taken lightly.

"You will do well to put that axe down," he said, his tone deliberate, each word measured. There was no need for shouting. Anderson's presence alone demanded attention. His eyes flickered to the weapon for a brief second before locking onto the lionkin again. "Or you run the risk of losing an arm."

**The lionkin's ears twitched, a flicker of doubt passing through his fierce gaze,** but his pride wouldn't let him back down. He shifted his weight slightly, his muscles tensing as if ready to swing the axe at any moment. A growl rumbled deep in his throat, but he didn't move. The battle of wills continued.

**Anderson didn't flinch, didn't even blink.** His posture was relaxed, but there was an undeniable tension coiled beneath the surface, ready to strike like a viper. His fingers twitched subtly at his side, as though preparing to act if necessary, but his calm demeanor never wavered. The lionkin, in all his rage and fury, couldn't shake the sense that he was standing on the edge of something far more dangerous than himself.

For a long, agonizing moment, the world seemed to stand still. The only sound was the distant rustle of leaves and the lionkin's heavy breathing. **Anderson's expression remained impassive**, his eyes never breaking away from the lionkin's.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, **the lionkin shifted his gaze to the ground**, his grip loosening ever so slightly on the axe. His pride was wounded, but he knew the truth—this was not a man he could overpower by sheer force alone. He hesitated for a moment longer before taking a step back, the tip of the axe lowering, though his eyes still burned with resentment.

**Anderson didn't glance back, his long strides carrying him confidently toward the Dragon Palace.** His broad shoulders moved with purpose, the wind catching the edges of his cloak as if nature itself acknowledged his authority. His focus remained ahead, knowing the confrontation was not yet over, though the lionkin remained behind him.

**The lionkin's chest still heaved with residual frustration,** his grip tightening on the handle of his axe once more. The sight of Anderson walking away without so much as acknowledging him stung his pride. His lips curled back, baring his sharp fangs. "Who does he think he is?" he growled, the words rumbling from his throat like distant thunder. His amber eyes narrowed with barely concealed rage, and he spat to the ground in contempt. "Just because he's taller doesn't mean—"

Before he could finish, **one of his lower-ranked subordinates, a sleek, fox-like beastman**, skittered up to him, his voice low and panicked. He leaned in close, eyes darting nervously as if the very air around them had ears. "Captain, that's Anderson... the son of the Dragon King."

**The lionkin froze.** His body stiffened, and his mind seemed to stop for a heartbeat. His grip on the axe loosened, fingers trembling involuntarily. The axe slipped from his grasp, crashing into the dirt with a dull thud, the weight of it forgotten. He turned slowly to his subordinate, eyes wide with disbelief. "The son of the Dragon King?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, his bravado shattered.

The fox-like beastman nodded quickly, his eyes wide with fear. "Yes… the same one who… who killed the Dragon Queen and the Lust Empress... right in front of the Dragon King without breaking a sweat."

**The lionkin's knees nearly buckled.** A cold sweat broke out on his brow, and his heart raced as if trying to escape his chest. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him like a mountain. "By the gods…" he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. "I could've… I almost…"

He swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears as the enormity of his near-disaster settled in. His throat felt dry as sand, and he could barely form the words. "Thank the heavens… I didn't do something I would've regretted." He clenched his fists, trying to calm his racing heart, and muttered a silent prayer to whatever deities were listening for sparing his life.

--- n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

**Anderson entered the Dragon Palace**, the grand hall sprawling before him like a monument to power and history. The vast space was filled with the presence of **beastmen of all kinds**, their gazes immediately shifting to him as he walked in. The air was thick with a mix of emotions—curiosity, indifference, hatred. The tension was palpable, almost suffocating.

**Some of the beastmen cast curious glances, studying him with open interest**, while others remained stoic, their faces betraying little emotion. But among the crowd, there were also those whose eyes burned with fury and contempt, their expressions twisted with hatred, barely concealed beneath their rigid postures. Anderson could feel their gazes boring into him like daggers, and he knew exactly who they were—the children of the Dragon Queen.

Yet, one pair of eyes stood out to him. **A woman, standing among the dragons, smiled at him—genuine, warm, and almost welcoming.** It was a stark contrast to the venomous glares around her. Her smile was faint, barely perceptible to those who weren't looking closely, but it was there. **Her emerald eyes gleamed with intrigue**, as if she saw something in Anderson that others didn't.

**Anderson's gaze remained neutral,** though inwardly, he noted the disparity. He wasn't here to entertain their hatred or curiosity. His attention soon shifted to **the grand throne at the end of the hall, where the Dragon King sat, his presence dominating the space.**

The Dragon King's broad frame was draped in regal armor, his golden eyes surveying the room with the intensity of a predator. **Two massive horns curved from his head, and his aura radiated authority, a palpable force that made even the strongest beastmen tremble in his presence.**

The murmurs in the room quieted as **an older man seated near the throne leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Anderson with sharp interest.** His features were lined with age, his beard long and silver, but there was a ferocity behind his gaze that time hadn't dulled.

"So," **the old man's voice was rough but commanding**, "this is the boy you've been talking about, Cadmus?"

**The Dragon King turned his head slightly,** his lips curving into a wry smile. His voice was deep and resonant, filled with pride and a touch of amusement. "Yes, father. He is the brat. My son."

**Anderson's eyes shifted** to the old man. His heartbeat remained steady, though his senses were on high alert. **The room was filled with power—ancient, potent power**, likely his ancestors. They were watching him now, scrutinizing his every move, every breath. **Old foggies, their faces lined with age and wisdom, sat like statues**, their eyes glittering with a mixture of curiosity and silent judgment.

Despite their silent scrutiny, **Anderson remained composed, his expression neutral**. He nodded slightly in acknowledgment but did not speak. His eyes flickered toward his father, the Dragon King, but his attention was divided between the dragons near the throne—especially those still glaring at him with hatred in their eyes.

Their disdain didn't bother him, but the woman's smile intrigued him. There was something unsettling about how calm and genuine she appeared in this sea of resentment.

Still, Anderson said nothing. **He was here for a reason, and this gathering of dragons, ancestors, and enemies was just another hurdle.** He remained standing tall, unbothered by the intensity of the gazes fixed on him.