Ten Lucky Draws: I Became OP

Chapter 218: Nothing External (3)

Elysia’s evolution had brought about significant changes, but Ash wasn’t exactly focused on the details at the moment.

He was already intent on defining his bloodline, which was part of the reason Elysia wanted her own evolution and process completed first. Beyond simply wanting to go first, she could also make his process far more efficient.

“You don’t have to create a new race or do anything overly special,” Elysia said as she floated in front of him, now wearing a red dress.

Her true form stood an impressive 6 feet 7 inches tall, yet she chose to remain in a miniature form small enough to perch on Ash’s shoulder.

“You make it sound so simple… I am dying, after all.”

He knew exactly what had to be done—perhaps the only thing that could be done.

He had to die, truly die, and be reborn through the very essence of his bloodline. In simple terms, define his race not with words, but through actions.

The challenge was daunting… to create an entirely new defined race, unlike anything that had ever existed before.

Yet he was ready for it.

“Hehe, just get on with it… I’m curious to see how the Primavus will change.”

Without hesitation, Ash began ending his own life. One might wonder—how would he achieve true death?

First came the simplest step—ending his own life. With the Blade of Primordia, he beheaded himself, wielding concepts and more. Reaching true death wasn’t easy; he had to first exhaust his remaining Nirvana chances.

Then it happened—seven deaths followed by seven rebirths in the flames of the Phoenix Progenitor herself. The process took far longer than he expected, each death bringing a slower revival, yet with every return he grew stronger and more imbued with phoenix traits.

By the end of it all, he bore clear Phoenix traits—more so than a Phoenix itself.

If not for the uniqueness of his Primavus race, he could have passed for the son of Seraphiel. Rings of fire burned ever brighter in his eyes, and his wings left trails of multicolored flames in their wake.

Yet, as he stood at the final stage, he didn’t bother to notice the changes or care that he had gained a Phoenix bloodline—one second only to their progenitor.

His focus was solely on how to kill a conceptual existence—himself.

Against any other conceptual being, it would have been far more challenging. To grant such an existence a ’true’ death, one would need to erase the concept entirely from the Lower Dimension.

At the moment, Ash’s power couldn’t reach everything within the Lower Dimension at once—his mana sense only spanned a single galaxy. Now, however, he held a direct link to Desire… to lust… all of it flowing through the Lower Dimension.

With that, he spoke, willing his Verdict into motion.

|Apex Genesis|

“Let the very concept of desire… all notions of lust… vanish entirely. Until I, the Primavus Progenitor, rise again.”

With the power to rewrite the very truths woven into existence, he felt himself slowly fading. His body dissolved like paper catching fire, and he accepted it…

SHK!

With one final slash of Primordia, he embraced true death. For the briefest fraction of a second, the entire Lower Dimension was stripped of desire—no drive, no want, no heat to fuel ambition.

In the depths of the inner cosmos, cracks spread as fissures slithered through reality. The instant Ash truly died, the universe’s functions stopped cold. Time resumed, and every being became aware of its looming destruction.

Elysia watched it all with a smile and boundless curiosity. She wasn’t the least bit worried; both of them understood the lower dimension, and it was fair to say Ash knew exactly what he was doing.

When the final trace of Ash’s essence faded, everything froze once more.

Defining his race wasn’t some endless process.

No—Ash knew precisely what the Primavus would be and exactly what he wanted for them.

He had never viewed his bloodline and race as just that—it was always about power.

Power was the force behind everything.

He strove to create a race, a bloodline, that would stand above all others—something untamable, something never to be seen again.

The Primavus were beings of impossible evolution and boundless potential, yet their origin traced back to Ash himself. He was the spark for this race, the root of their very bloodline. And still, he was someone who defied all definition.

As the concept of the Primavus took shape, his inner cosmos erupted into a burst of light.

From every fissure and crack, light streamed forth until, in a single instant, all went silent and dark.

Then, in the depths of this darkness, a single point emerged.

Not black, not white, not light or dark—it was the absence of absence, a place where ’is’ and ’is not’ canceled each other out yet magnified into infinity.

A singularity without mass yet bending everything around it.

If this wasn’t Ash’s inner cosmos—a place so barren—its birth would have destroyed countless worlds. Stars would falter mid-orbit, nebulae would bloom and fade in the same breath, and entire worlds, galaxies, and universes would flicker in and out of existence.

The point hung above all, unmoving.

It didn’t expand—no, it refused to—and in that refusal, it became everything.

From it came not one shape, but thousands of silhouettes, each a reflection of the races carried in Ash’s blood.

A pure Nosferatu, a Cycle Terminus Dragon, an Abyssal Selene Fox, and countless more took form. They overlapped, contradicted, canceled, and reinforced one another in the same breath.

One Ash stepped forward as another stepped back.

One unfurled wings of starfire while another folded wings of shadow.

One spoke a word to birth galaxies, while another spoke its opposite to erase them—and both happened, yet neither did.

It was a magnificent display of the true birth of the Primavus Progenitor, and once all forms collapsed back into a single point, silence fell as the countless inhabitants of his inner cosmos watched in stunned awe.

Kaelthyr could only shake his head, glancing at Kyron, who slept through it all.

With a small smile, he returned his gaze to the spectacle. “He’s the cheat, huh?”

—

From that single point, Ash began to take shape until he stood in the vast cosmos of his own.

His form was neither new nor old.

It was simply more.

His skin held trapped stars that shift constellations with every heartbeat.

His eyes remained dual fire—rings of white flames around a singular void point and pink flames around an hourglass.

Behind him his twelve wings unfolded… yet they were not of feather or shadow, but of potential—translucent membranes where futures and pasts play out like silent films.

Four horns curve from his brow, each one a different paradox: one of light that casts darkness, one of silence that sings, one of ending that begins, one of definition that undefines.

This was not a mere rebirth, but a process of defining the undefinable.

In the wake of Ash, all desire returned to the lower dimensions. The race of Primavus was defined, not through a mere record, but in the proper way it was meant to be.

The Primavus, ever in the process of becoming, took on flesh.

There was only one way to describe them—they were the ineffable, paradoxical kin.