Ten Lucky Draws: I Became OP

Chapter 245: Fractured Harmony: And It BECOMES!

In the stillness before the first light broke, an eye awoke—not blazing, not yet crowned, but quiet and vast.

A spark in the endless dark.

From all that was, is, and might be born, this eye emerged—the seer and the seen, the canvas and the stroke, the dream and the dawn.

The eye stands, an artist of the void, brush dipped in desire, paradox, and will.

He paints what lingers in the unborn night—futures yet to bleed, presents yet to breathe, pasts that twist and turn like living flame.

His art embraces the universe in its entirety: galaxies as strokes of silver fire, worlds as whispers on a boundless page, alive with breath, pulse, and hidden heart, as real as the void that cradles every star.

And when he deems it finished, when he speaks the silent phrase only, he commands, the painting wakes.

It steps beyond the frame… it BECOMES.

The eye of first dawn watches, patient, vast—not yet at its peak, but strong enough to see the moment art consumes the world it made, and all creation bows to what will be.

—-

From opposite ends of the void between universes, two colossal forces emerged—one being the vast starship fleet of the Tyrannus Arch Eternal Clan.

Their black adamantine vessels rose like jagged spires bleeding crimson light, engines thrumming with a tyrannical law that bent space into submission, their formations stretching for millions, an endless blade of imperial conquest.

On the other side stood Chaos—the first of all dragons—so massive it dwarfed galaxies, with wings that tore through timelines and unleashed reality-shattering power.

Its scales shimmered with every color and none at all, absorbing light, while its eyes, black as the void with thin white slits, spanned the size of galaxies.

Each breath was a swirling prismatic storm, creating and destroying in a single exhale.

BOOOOM!!!!

ROAARRRR!!!

They arrived at the same moment—the fleet tearing through one rift in a display of synchronized dominance, while the Dragon erupted from the other, shaking the very fabric of the Convergence.

The void trembled as their presences met in perfect, devastating unison.

All eyes turned—millions of prodigies, progenitors, and cursed prodigies froze mid-battle, their auras flaring with instinctive fear as the chaos of the battlefield flowed toward the Dragon Progenitor like rivers rushing into the sea.

Cursed fury, clashing forces, and shattered laws twisted into swirling vortices that surged into him, flooding his veins with bursts of raw energy.

His scales gleamed with intense light, wings stretching across fractured timelines, and an aura plunging into chaotic depths that made the universe bend in uneasy submission.

As soon as he arrived, Chaos’s void-dark eyes fixed first on his son, Kha’Zul—caught in Aurelia’s dazzling flames of rebirth, torn apart and remade in endless surges of chaotic renewal, proud roars twisting into pained snarls.

Then shifted to Seraphiel, her supernova gaze unyielding and sharp, wings of eternal fire blazing in bold defiance.

“My wayward son has finally learned humility,” Chaos rumbled, his voice a cosmic quake that stilled the surrounding turmoil. “And yet the Phoenix Progenitor dares to stand by and watch? Your time is over.”

HUMMMM!!!

He raised a claw—an artifact gifted directly from the records of eternity, the Phoenix Cycle Halver.

It was a jagged seal of conceptual power surpassing the Cosmic Overlords and even the Lower Dimension itself, pulsing with the essence of anti-rebirth.

As it activated, waves rippled across the void, slicing phoenix power in half without mercy—flames dimmed, rebirth cycles slowed, Seraphiel’s aura wavered as half her eternal renewal drained away, her eyes widening in rare shock.

At the same moment, the Tyrannus fleet’s vanguard unveiled the First Heir—Rune Tyrana, a striking vision of tyrannical beauty.

Her charcoal-black skin, as smooth as forged obsidian, was faintly veined with crimson command runes. White, pupil-less eyes glowed with absolute authority, while her long silver hair flowed like rivers of imperial decree.

Her athletic, curvaceous form was draped in torn crimson robes that clung like battle trophies, and her presence radiated a cold, unyielding rule that seemed to make the very fabric of space bow in submission.

Her gaze swept the chaos, landing on her younger brother Zion, locked in a fierce battle with Shia, neither willing to give an inch.

Zion’s tangled fate bindings crashed against Shia’s euphoric fractures in bursts of energy, as he barely held onto his sanity—eyeless sockets wide with a fractured joy teetering on madness.

In that moment—arrivals at their height, artifact waves shimmering, battles pausing in taut anticipation—Ash’s layered voice echoed across the universe, rich and unyielding, flowing through every realm like the very first word ever spoken.

If anyone could see him now, he’d be wearing the widest smile imaginable.

“And then, it BECOMES!”

The moment those words were spoken, the universe went dark—literally.

Absolute darkness fell, erasing every star, aura, and flame, the void devouring all light in a suffocating black.

Every motion stopped—fighters frozen mid-strike, teleportation caught in rifts that sealed shut, escapes dissolving into nothing—as if the cosmos itself had been framed in stillness, reality’s fabric pressed flat into an unchanging canvas, time holding its breath in absolute silence.

In the darkness, Ash emerged at the heart of it all, just as his painting had shown.

A flawless still image glowed in the void-light: Rune Tyrana poised to strike, hand lifted in a tyrant’s decree; Chaos, the Dragon Progenitor, and Seraphiel caught in the tense breath before battle, flames and chaos coiled.

Lady Truth and the Eternal Deceiver observing from spires with knowing smiles; Originats surging in waves of radiant power; prodigies trapped in frozen fury.

Every detail was rendered in exquisite, unmoving perfection—the exact moment as it had been before he spoke.

And then, it began to move.

Ash emerged within the painting—the lone light in the darkness, a rose-pink glow radiating gently as he strode across the canvas with quiet confidence, Primordia in his grasp thrumming with the sharp promise of potential.

SHK!

THUD!

He moved from foe to foe… felling prodigy after prodigy in swift, silent cuts, heads tumbling in frozen arcs, leaving trails of essence like spilled ink.

Lesser progenitors fell in waves, their existences severed effortlessly, their bodies fading away into vanishing strokes on the painted world.

He turned his eyes towards Lady Truth—smirk playing on lips. “You hide well ’Layla’.” He approached, taking her hand gently yet inexorably—her nine-pupiled gaze meeting his in quiet acceptance.

[A/N: Keep in mind, this is all happening within his painting, as every living being is frozen, watching the void of the universe itself transformed into his canvas. Everything unfolding now is something he has painted.]

He glanced at The Eternal Deceiver—silent, offering only a wink laden with layers of sly promise.

Then he pressed on—Lady Truth in hand, Primordia cutting down prodigies and progenitors in sweeping arcs—SHK! CRASH!—drawing Aurelia close with a playful tug into his arms, meeting Madison’s gaze with a primal nod that sparked her fire, brushing Elara with a gentle touch that set her form alight in harmonious joy.

At last, he stood before the First Heir—Rune Tyrana, sharp, commanding, and exuding an overwhelming power, her aura of tyranny meeting his with a spark of curiosity.

Without hesitation, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips in front of all, a touch laced with roguish charm that sent subtle waves through her composed, imperial facade.

“You’re a beauty—whether you choose to be an enemy or an ally is up to you, but trust me, my side has its perks. The choice is yours, though I have no doubt you’ll make the smart one.”

In his final flourish, he burst into a rush of rose-pink void, transforming into the Dragon of Absolute Endings—a massive figure draped in abyssal black scales laced with crimson veins, wings of collapsing timelines unfurling with grim finality, his breath nothing but the essence of pure cessation.

The real Chaos was stuck, forced to watch the masterful art unfold. He’d been in shock from the moment his eyes met Ash’s figure, with only one phrase echoing in his mind:

’You? Him?’

Seeing Ash again after a few years it was like seeing a completely different existence. From him he could clearly feel Endings, Lust, Hollowness, Sword and countless other conceptual existences all in one being.

It was just downright absurd.

Yet that didn’t change the painting from continuing.

He struck at Chaos—not mere death, but a refined, terrible ending.

RRRIP!!!

SHK!!!

With claws tearing savagely, ripping away each scale in bursts of chaotic energy, the flesh peeled back in layers of silent cosmic agony, cutting ever deeper into the soul—slowly unraveling the very essence of existence until only faint echoes remained.

Then, with Authoring Potential—he wrote simply,

“And so, all Chaos became one with the Primavus Origin.”

In that moment the very conceptual existence of Chaos ceased to be a Dragon—transferring in swirling vortex to Ash, the Primavus Origin absorbing it utterly as The Dragon Progenitor died, form collapsing into a lifeless husk.

THUD!

He hurled the corpse to land at Kha’Zul’s feet, leaving him frozen in shock.

With a wink, he said, “Told ya so.”

As the painting reached its end, reality mirrored every moment—the darkness lifting in a rush of light restored, women gathered in Ash’s arms (Layla, Aurelia, Madison, Elara, Rune), events aligning perfectly.

With prodigies falling in waves, lesser progenitors wiped out, Chaos both defeated and claimed.

The moment the corpse brushed Kha’Zul’s feet—BOOOOOM!—it exploded, hurling Father and Son straight into the Abyss.

Ash stood as the lone light for a heartbeat, his rose-pink glow fading as normal light returned, women at his side, countless prodigies lying dead… save for a few survivors and their progenitors, trembling in reverent silence.

With a voice casual yet eternal, he left them with, “Go, spread the tale of the Originat Clan.”

The Convergence fell still, the universe bearing witness to art made absolute.