Ten Lucky Draws: I Became OP-Chapter 368: The Unus Becomes Complete

Exiting the Sacred Dimension, Ash appeared back in the Second Inversion, and this time he was alone.

Well, not completely while he was busy about an hour went by and during this time the Unus from the first inversion began to move upward.

Seraphiel and Aeloris both chose to stay in the first inversion, as they wouldn’t be doing much regardless.

The others had already ventured all the way to the 6th inversion, the on that caused Ash so many problems before hand, in his previous simulations.

Since he had already read the sequence of events within this place, he had no worries of something out of expectations happening.

So, in the meantime,

"I guess, I will head directly to the tenth inversion." He said speaking to the Spirits, Elysia and Creara both occupied each shoulder, while Unara occupied his head.

"They should be preparing already, no?" Elysia said as she recounted what he previously read.

It went without saying, the beings in the Null Firmament... the sentient Curators and Reapers in specific, they could feel when they were losing ground.

And, on the Tenth Inversion they were all but losing their minds.

"So, what?" Unara chimed in as she couldn’t understand the fuss, even though she knew the same thing they all did.

She knew they were not match at this point.

"Right, let them prepare all they want, nothing can save them at this point." Creara added, as Ash simply disappeared.

----

On the tenth layer, no mindless hordes wandered the black-grass plains.

Instead, sprawling cities of folded parchment and obsidian rose across the land—towering spires that shifted and refolded in graceful patterns, linked by bridges of solidified silence.

Black mountains had been carved into massive citadels, their jagged peaks crowned with rune-lit observatories.

Dark oceans washed against shores lined with skeletal harbors where Reapers moved in perfect, unsettling harmony.

Just as Ash had read, the entire civilization of Curators and Reapers was gathered here.

In the capital’s vast central amphitheater—a colossal chamber carved from a single black mountain, big enough to hold hundreds of millions—their leaders assembled.

The Curator Ancestors, folded into their most intricate and ancient origami shapes, filled the front rows.

Reaper Ancestors loomed along the walls like massive obelisks, cone-shaped skulls tilted, their vertical slits blinking uneasily.

Beyond them, their ranks stretched endlessly—millions upon millions packed tight together.

And the atmosphere was beyond tense... for great reason of course.

The Curator Ancestor lifted a trembling limb. "We cannot read them," it rasped, its voice like the whisper of rustling paper.

"We attempted to erase their history, their names, their very emergence into the Firmament... yet there is nothing. It is as though they do not exist..."

BANG!

The Reaper Ancestor slammed its skeletal fist into the obsidian floor, the force splintering the stone.

"We enforced absolute stillness across the entire Sixth Inversion border!" it snarled, the narrow slit of its gaze widening in wrath.

"Motion, change, progression—everything should have been halted. Yet they treat our power with utter disregard. And... how are they generating existence points immeasurably purer than those of the Devas?"

Murmurs rippled through the millions.

A wave of... fear had settled around the chamber. And how could it not?

The biggest insurance one had in the verse of cultivation whether it be existence or not, was Power. And when the power one had depended on for countless years, was currently failing...

Then fear was only normal.

Each and every eldritch in this chamber had tried numerous times to slow down the wives of Ash, yet no matter what they did, it simply didn’t work.

The High Curator Ancestor rose with deliberate slowness, the sound of parchment whispering with each movement.

"We have no choice. We must contact the Eleventh Inversion. Should the tenth fall, the consequences will escalate far beyond what we can—"

The sentence faltered, cut short.

For in the center of the amphitheater, the air itself... split.

There was no portal, no flash, no warning.

The space before them simply parted like a curtain, and Ash stepped through.

He now stood forty feet tall, hands in his pockets, golden eyes half lidded.

The three spirits seated on him, gazed at the sea of hundreds of millions with quiet amusement.

The moment he appeared, the Eldritch felt no presence, much less power.

But even with that being the case, the entire chamber fell into absolute, suffocating silence.

Ash yawned, not intending to waste much time here.

The plan was simple, and now that he had the power to blink these guys out of existence... why wouldn’t he?

As always, if there wasn’t someone at least equal in existence or capable of giving him a good fight, he wouldn’t bother himself with fighting.

With just a glance, he copied the Curators’ and the Reapers’ races.

Once finished, he smiled and said, "Well, nice doing business with you all. May a new race be born from your wonderful donation."

He bowed once—genuine, theatrical, almost grateful.

As he straightened, he simply activated two powers.

|Non-Existent Blink (Above Origin)|

|One Sight (Above Origin)|

Without a word, Ash turned and strolled toward the grand obsidian archway leading out of the amphitheater.

His hands stayed tucked in his pockets, his pace steady, his demeanor calm.

But behind him.... the dying began.

At first, there was nothing at all.

Then, out of nowhere, every Eldritch in the chamber—hundreds of millions—felt wounds they’d never sustained.

Slashes that had never been swung. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Piercings that had never been struck.

Bones that had never been broken.

And the concepts they had relied on for as long as they could remember... disappeared just the same.

The Reaper Ancestors fell, their skeletal frames coming apart from blows that had never landed.

The Curator Ancestors folded in on themselves, parchment bodies tearing along creases that had never been cut.

Countless millions collapsed where they stood—unraveling into blank dust, their remains scattering into piles of obsidian shards and unmarked parchment.

Those in the rear rows could only watch in frozen horror as the wave surged closer.

Some ran, some issued one last stillness talent, some even tried to erase Ash’s memory from existence.

But none of it mattered.

By the time Ash stepped through the archway, the chamber had become a silent graveyard of twitching, dissolving forms.

Only the faint rustle of parchment turning to ash and the soft clink of obsidian settling on black stone broke the silence.

-----

He stepped into the open air of the Tenth Inversion, where black-grass plains stretched endlessly under the upside-down sky. The three spirits were still in their places enjoying every moment.

He decided this was where he would wait for his wives.

With One Sight still active, he blinked once.

And then, the tenth inversion glitched right before new Inversion tore into existence perfect, pristine, a fresh layer of reality blooming outward like a newborn cosmos.

Just like every other inversion, it had shifted and become uninhabitable for life.

High above its center, Ash conjured a simple throne—black marble streaked with veins of living gold, broad enough for a god and comfortable enough for a king.

He drifted upward and settled into it, legs crossed, one arm draped lazily over the side.

Elysia and Creara hopped down to rest on the armrests, while Unara remained perched atop his head.

A golden bowl of perfectly ripe grapes appeared in his hand.

Ash plucked one, popped it into his mouth, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

"Much better," he murmured, chewing slowly. "Now we wait."