Ten Lucky Draws: I Became OP

The moment Shia’s power surged through Sylas; the vision completely consumed him.

One moment he was on the battlefield, and the next he found himself in a realm so vast and ancient that the battlefield seemed trivial by comparison.

This was Floor 999 of an Endless Reality within Pantheos — a place hidden inside the Tower of Endless. But unlike Dream’s endless reality, this one had its own unique presence.

It was a mythical space reality; an infinite stretch of deep cosmic black laced with shimmering rivers of silver and gold starlight.

There were massive, floating celestial structures drifted slowly in the distance like the bones of dead gods, while constellations moved and rearranged themselves in patterns too complex for mortal minds to comprehend.

Here, the air was cold, thin, and carried the weight of countless erased realities.

And in the center of it all, he was dying.

At this moment, Sylas was nothing more than a ghost to his own demise. And as he watched... the same voices... same whispers from before filled his mind like a thousand overlapping voices.

’1,800 Eras from now... we die.’

’The Balance... broken...’

’You failed...’

And still... He watched as millions of shadowy figures swarmed him from every direction — faceless, shifting silhouettes that moved like living concepts of death and erasure.

They clawed, tore, and devoured at his form without mercy.

Sylas, known in these times as the Endless Hegemon of the Last Equilibrium, fought with relentless determination, his double-edged sword glinting with flashes of silver as he struggled to keep the balance from tipping.

But the onslaught was relentless; for every shadow he felled, three more surged forward to take its place.

The tide seemed endless, a suffocating wave of darkness pressing in from all sides.

And then, without warning, the mass of writhing figures split apart, creating a narrow path.

Through the chaos and swirling gloom, a lone man emerged, stepping forward with measured, deliberate strides.

He possessed two sharp, reddish-black horns curving back from his head, short black-and-white hair that shifted like living ink and snow, and an unnatural, almost painful beauty that made reality itself seem slightly distorted around him.

His presence was suffocating.

And behind him stood seven breathtaking women, their forms radiating different conceptual authorities.

Further back was two more — one with skin like polished charcoal and glowing red eyes, and another with pale skin and majestic blackish-white wings.

Sylas glanced up at the horned man, blood streaking his face, and let out a dry, broken laugh.

"...The Ultimate... Darkness." He shook his head with a faint sm. "Guess you’ve finally caught me, huh?"

The charcoal-skinned woman stepped forward, her voice calm and almost kind, yet heavy with undeniable finality.

"Sylas Vaelor," she said, using his full name and title, "Endless Hegemon of the Last Equilibrium."

She looked down at him with quiet pity.

"By the decree of the Hegemon of Darkness... your time has come."

Sylas watched it all from within his own fading consciousness. The vision was pulling him apart piece by piece. The more it continued, the more he felt himself dissolving — his body growing lighter, his thoughts fracturing like glass under pressure. Yet he fought desperately to hold on, clinging to every detail like a drowning man grasping at driftwood.

’1,800 Eras from now...’ he thought, forcing the number to burn into his mind.

’The horned man... reddish-black horns... black-and-white hair... Lord Blank... the charcoal-skinned woman... the one with blackish-white wings... seven others behind him...’

He tried to memorize their faces, their auras, the way the light bent around the horned man.

Yet... every second he held on, another fragment of his existence slipped away.

His mind screamed in protest, the madness from Shia’s attack mixing with the terror of his own future death.

Before Sylas had a chance to react in the vision, the charcoal-skinned woman slipped seamlessly into the shadows at her feet, vanishing from sight.

In the blink of an eye, she was behind him, her movement so swift and precise it seemed almost unreal.

There was no grand gesture, no wasted motion — only one smooth, deliberate action.

SHKKKK!!!!!

His head was severed from his body.

The woman caught it mid-fall with one hand. She walked forward calmly, her bare feet leaving no sound on the cosmic floor and knelt before the horned man.

She held Sylas’s head up with both hands like an offering, her voice soft and reverent.

"Lord Blank."

The vision fractured.

Back in the present, Sylas gasped as reality violently snapped back into place.

However.... Shia’s thin katana was already buried deep in his chest; the blade having pierced straight through his heart.

Golden blood streamed heavily from the wound, his eyes widening in shock and pain as their light quickly dimmed.

Shia leaned closer, her black eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and something nearly resembling respect.

Her voice was soft yet carried clearly through the emptiness.

"Prepare well..." she whispered, twisting the blade slightly, "...Hegemon of the Last Equilibrium."

Sylas’s body went slack, the last glimmer in his eyes snuffed out as his form unraveled into drifting motes of silver and gold, scattering like dust into the endless void.

Shia drew her katana free in an unhurried motion, giving the blade a sharp flick to shed the blood clinging to it.

Her gaze lifted toward the far-off thrones still suspended high above, her face still alight with the fierce thrill of battle, now edged with a sharper, more calculating intent.

----

"So, which of you three are planning to fight him?" Summer asked as she looked at her triplets with smiles.

Summer, Morphea (Dream), and Katherine stood together with Riyan, Rye, and Rita, floating casually above the battlefield.

The air around them was thick with the scent of... well, death.

All while distant explosions bloomed in the darkness below.

The void far beneath them was a shattered wasteland of whatever could explain the remains of the Prime Expanse, yet the group remained completely at ease, as if the war was little more than background noise to their conversation.