Ten Lucky Draws: I Became OP

Chapter 232: Eternal ?

It had been over a year since the conquest of the Originat began across five galaxies, and the Primavus wouldn’t be who they are if they hadn’t finished the job by now.

For them, failure was unthinkable, and as expected, each galaxy fell one after another.

The Erebus Galaxy had become home to the Valkyries, alongside Kagami and the Mirror Foxes.

They didn’t bother with a flashy name for their branch; they were simply known as Ash’s elite. His troops and his alone, they wouldn’t take orders from anyone else—no matter what you called them.

In the Venia Galaxy, the great empires had faded, and the chaos of war was long gone. The void was filled with nothing but an eerie, unbroken stillness. Yet, in this frozen quiet, one Branch Clan stood supreme—the Duality Storm Legion.

The twins grew in such a unique way that they were nearly indistinguishable, except for the differences in their hair and wing colors.

Ash noticed their paths had become more intertwined than he preferred, but if they were content facing every high and low together, he wasn’t going to change their minds.

They’d just have to reach the pinnacle of their journey.

Kael and Caelan were the conceptual existence known as Polar Duality, much like Nia and the others—a name Ash devised along with the existence itself.

Kael embodied the concepts of Lightning, Storm, Polar Change, and Duality, making him the perfect counterpart to his twin.

Caelan, on the other hand, carried the concepts of Gravity, Void Collapse, Polar Weight, and Duality.

Together, they shared a synergy that was more than powerful—it was an endless, paradoxical loop, making them walking disasters.

Side by side, back-to-back, they ruled Venia, finding every possible way to maximize their powers.

Their bond was simple yet profound, like the positive and negative sides of a force.

When Kael unleashed lightning, Caelan’s gravity moved in perfect harmony—positively charged bolts struck from afar, piercing and repelling foes, while gravity’s pull charged them negatively, dragging them helplessly toward a single point.

The central point where Kael’s lightning struck was the deadliest. And that was just the tip of the iceberg—the two remained untouchable as the Primavus of Polar Duality.

—-

In the Harmony Blade Galaxy—a sprawling expanse split by an endless cosmic rift—one side is a realm of resonant sound, where worlds hum with living symphonies, oceans roll in harmonic waves that break in perfect chords, and skies shimmer with auroral notes that spark melodic storms.

The other half was a harsh realm of endless sword fights, planets etched with blade marks that still thrummed with lingering will, and skies heavy with the metallic scent of clashing steel—the distinct conquests of the sisters Sonna and Yonna stood in sharp contrast.

Sonna took over the harmonic eastern half—a peaceful land where sound lords reigned with orchestras of law and pure ideas, waging battles through symphonic waves that broke minds in flawless rhythm.

She arrived at their greatest citadel—a floating amphitheater of shimmering crystal where choral legions sang principles into existence—her presence a soft contrast to their booming harmonies.

No aggression, no raised voice.

Sonna just hummed—a soft, airy note spilling from her lips like liquid calm, drifting through the air in glistening strands of charm and peace.

The furious choral lords stumbled mid-crescendo, their weapons of sound lowering as fierce harmonies melted away, eyes clouding with a haze of stillness.

Hummmm…

Her voice flowed like a gentle wave, calming symphonic storms into soft lullabies, transforming battle songs into peaceful sighs.

World by world, she won over legions—not with force, but with an effortless calm.

Rebellious leaders knelt of their own accord, their minds eased into loyal harmony, their spirits falling in sync under her influence. Within months, the eastern half followed her in peaceful devotion, old conflicts fading into united songs of progress.

At the center of her conquered realm, Sonna created the Originat Lullaby—a massive, floating fortress of shimmering crystal spires where endless melodies drifted in gentle loops, giving life to Primavus from drops of her blood fused with harmonic essence.

The new Primavus appeared with voices that could calm entire galaxies or sway realities into yielding—gentle enchanters with wings shaped from soft musical notes, eyes holding endless serenity, forming a faction devoted to conquering through unshakable peace.

—–

On the galaxy’s western blade half—a rugged frontier of shattered worlds locked in endless sword wars, where rival blade sects clashed in storms of steel and will, planets etched with the wounds of countless ancient duels—Yonna carved her path forward in tempests of burning passion.

She burst into the fray like a living tempest—sword flashing in a blaze of untamed lightning, her movements a whirlwind of ferocity and loyalty, hair streaming like banners in a storm.

Steel rang in explosive clashes, her strikes unwavering, each swing carrying the weight of unbreakable resolve as she cut down sect masters who prided themselves on their iron spirits.

No mercy, no hesitation—only a relentless advance, her wild blade storm sweeping across battlefields, loyalty to Ash driving every blow that shattered not just flesh but doubt.

Enemies fell in waves, their unyielding wills crumbling against hers, worlds yielding before the storm no wall could withstand.

Two days after Sonna, the western lands bowed in awe, warriors swearing lifelong loyalty to her unshakable spirit.

At the heart of her victory, Yonna created the Originat Storm Blade—a massive fortress of storm-forged steel drifting in endless blade hurricanes, where Primavus were born from her blood, hardened in wild tempests.

They came forth as fearsome sword tempests—bodies lined with unyielding steel, eyes blazing with loyal fire, and wings of razor-sharp wind—becoming an unstoppable force of conquerors who shattered worlds with sheer, indomitable will.

From opposite ends of the divided galaxy, the sisters’ conquests stood distinct.

The eastern realms stand as timeless havens of enchanted peace, while the western frontiers rise as steadfast citadels of fierce loyalty—two branches flourishing in their own strength, their Primavus legions poised for greater battles, the quiet rift between them a lasting reminder of their distinct yet unstoppable journeys.

—

In the sprawling, maze-like reaches of the Nexus Cog Galaxy—a place where worlds were immense gears of pure law spinning in flawless, endless cycles, while stars traced perfect algorithmic patterns foretelling cosmic events millennia ahead—Thalion came not as an invader, but as a subtle thread woven into the fabric of destiny.

The Nexuses had put him here on purpose—a galaxy run by secretive thinker-races: crystal archivists storing endless knowledge in vast matrices, strategic overlords fighting wars of pure foresight in simulated worlds, and computational beings that lived as equations, their bodies shifting into fractal streams of data.

Thalion appeared on the central cog-world—a colossal planetary gear of adamantine law metal turning lazily in the void, its surface carved with glowing runes calculating probabilities for the whole Galaxy.

The air thrummed with the soft murmur of endless computations, carrying the mingled scents of ozone and ancient parchment through the sterile expanse.

He stood tall and unassuming— silver hair flowing like processed data.

As the Primavus of Infinite Calculation, the embodiment of Mind, Insight, Strategy, and Computation, he had no need for flashy displays; true power was in the unseen—the flawless plan set in motion before chaos even began.

Rather than unleash conquest, Thalion observed.

For months, he wandered through archive spires and simulation arenas, his presence barely noticeable—slipping in subtle queries to computational networks, predicting moves three cycles in advance, and offering “suggestions” that archivists embraced as their own discoveries.

In the end he formed no vast legions.

Instead, from drops of his blood mingled with computational essence in hidden forge-chambers—vast halls of glowing matrices where equations birthed form—he created a small, elite force: the Originat Mindforge.

For now, there were only a dozen—Primavus born of his own lineage, sleek and otherworldly, their eyes flowing with shifting streams of data.

Neural circuits of pure insight ran through them, their forms slipping between solid and holographic as they processed endless variables.

They weren’t fighters of raw strength, but masters of strategy—each like a living supercomputer able to simulate galaxies in moments, anticipate enemy thoughts before they surfaced, and craft plans that turned foes into unsuspecting allies.

Thalion led them from a humble citadel to a floating nexus of crystalline servers orbiting the central cog-world, vast halls alive with holographic battlefields where simulations flared in silent flashes, the air cool and carrying the faint hum of endless computation.

Here, the Mindforge ruled with subtle brilliance….

Infiltrating rival archives with ideas so persuasive they coaxed guardians into surrendering their secrets, outmaneuvering strategic overlords in prediction duels where Thalion’s team foresaw every move, turning impending wars into seamless, peaceful shifts of influence.

The galaxy shifted quietly under their sway—no epic battles, no blazing worlds—just a steady, unstoppable dominance as knowledge streamed to the Mindforge, plans fell in line with Originat aims, and rivals unwittingly worked for causes they could never fully pinpoint.

And with five Galaxies falling under the ruling of the Originat their nexuses all spoke to them at once.

[It’s time for you guys to reunite with Master.]