Ten Lucky Draws: I Became OP

Chapter 265: Kaelthyr vs The Vampire Progenitor

Kaelthyr quickly left the Abyss with a simple thought, and as he appeared in the void between Universes he simply moved.

He didn’t need to search for his target, no, his system had already given him a task for this, and it also pinpointed the guy’s location.

Honestly, Kaelthyr’s system truly worried him a bit.

One, Ash had already been a bit shady when talking about the system only telling him to wait awhile. Two, the things it gave were just too game breaking. He couldn’t understand, even with being a transmigrator just what was empowering the system.

He wanted to know—just where had it come from? He knew it was the records, but what exactly were they?

If he could figure that out, maybe he’d stumble upon a power like no other.

“Then again, I’m sure that brat’s already on it,” he muttered, not caring if the system or anyone else heard his thoughts.

It didn’t matter; he’d been mulling it over for some time, and nothing had changed.

After a month of wandering, he stumbled upon a crimson door etched with black runes, suspended in the void.

Kaelthyr stepped through without hesitation.

—-

The moment he crossed the threshold, the void behind him vanished—replaced by a realm that looked like a nightmare made real.

It was an endless expanse of blood-red skies that churned like living oceans, rivers of crimson plasma cascading upward in slow, gravity-defying spirals before raining back down in sheets of warm, metallic rain.

The ground—if it could even be called that—was a sprawling lake of thick, congealed blood, its surface shivering with the muffled cries of ancient souls, bubbles popping to release faint, tortured murmurs.

Jagged spires of crystallized hemoglobin loomed like twisted cathedrals, their surfaces threaded with slow, rhythmic veins that pulsed in unison.

Drifting lazily were floating masses of clotted gore, each crowned by bone-trees whose flayed-skin leaves rustled in a breeze laced with the scent of iron and forever.

In the far distance, massive hearts the size of moons hung suspended, beating only once every few minutes, each thud sending rolling waves of blood-mist across the land.

At the center, standing upright in the bloody skies as though asleep on invisible strings, was the Vampire Progenitor.

He was ancient beyond comprehension—tall and regal, skin pale as bleached marble veined with black, long silver hair flowing like liquid moonlight, robes of deepest crimson that seemed woven from the blood of stars themselves.

His eyes were shut, his face peaceful in sleep, arms folded across a chest where a faint crimson glow radiated from the orb floating in front of his chest, pulsing with complete command over blood.

[A/N: The Orb is his Progenitor’s Artifact, Kaelthyr can’t see it. He only sees a faint light]

The calm broke the moment Kaelthyr arrived.

The Progenitor’s eyes snapped open—twin voids of pure crimson, ancient and furious.

“Hm?” his voice rolled like thunder through blood-rain.

“A visitor after all these Cycles… interesting” He spoke as he began to look at Kaelthyr, however upon further looking he could see his bloodline…

He extended his hand forward and brought it towards himself as if he was trying to pull Kaelthyr, but the man didn’t budge. He just looked on with a blood thirsty grin.

“The bloodline of my son—the Sanguine Monarch.” The Progenitor said with a frown.

“It should’ve returned to reality after his death… but it runs through your veins… much stronger.”

“Oh? So, this bloodline is from your dearest?” Kaelthyr said as he stretched a bit before he began walking on the air towards the progenitor.

The Progenitor’s crimson eyes narrowed, the faint glow from the orb in at his chest pulsing once as he studied Kaelthyr’s casualness.

The blood-rain around them thickened, droplets hanging suspended in the air like frozen rubies, the realm itself responding to its master’s rising ire.

“Tch, enough of this nonsense. You, a lesser vampire,” he said finally, his deep, resonant voice bearing the weight of countless cycles.

“Bold enough to step into my domain uninvited. What reason could a mongrel like you have for disturbing my slumber?”

Kaelthyr’s grin stretched wider, slow and deliberate, carrying the promise of ruin.

He continued to step forward as if walking on air, each stride sending ripples of shadow beneath his boots, closing the gap with unhurried confidence.

“I’m not here to bother you,” he said, his voice low and tinged with dark amusement. “I’m here to take your place—to become the Vampire.”

The words hung in the blood-thick air—simple, absolute, a declaration that shattered the realm’s stillness.

The Progenitor threw back his head and laughed.

HUMMMMM!!!!

RUMBLEEEEE!!!!!

It was not mockery, not quite.

It was the sound of something ancient and amused at the audacity of a spark daring to call itself a sun. The laugh rolled outward—deep, resonant, shaking the blood-rain into violent sprays, making the coagulated lake beneath them ripple like a struck drum.

The realm itself answered the blasphemy.

Crimson spires jerked upright like startled beasts, their veins splitting to unleash jets of boiling plasma.

The floating gore-islands trembled, vomiting forth bone-trees that tore free from the ground, roots lashing through the air like skinned serpents.

Massive hearts hung suspended, pounding harder with each beat, sending out shockwaves of blood-mist that scoured the void and sought to drown Kaelthyr in molten iron.

The Progenitor tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes alight with a chilling satisfaction.

“A mongrel dares to challenge my throne,” he growled, his voice resonating from all around.

“Funny. Let me show you what blood really means.”

Kaelthyr stopped walking…. but

His grin never wavered.

|Sword Aura – Abyssal Severance (Max)|

The blade in his grasp was no longer merely a divine ranked blade—it had become a rift in reality, pure abyssal darkness shaped into a razor edge, thrumming with the merged essence of Sword and Abyss.

Space bent around him as the Concept of Space awakened, sending quiet ripples that warped distance, so each step launched him instantly across the void.

In a flash, he moved.

One heartbeat he stood motionless; the next, he was behind the Progenitor, sword sweeping in a sharp diagonal arc meant to cleave spine from skull.

SHK!

The Progenitor shifted—its form melting into a rushing tide of blood that split around the blade like a stream around stone. In an instant, the crimson flood knit itself together before Kaelthyr, shaping into a clawed hand of thickened blood that swung with star-shattering force.

Kaelthyr twisted—space warping as his body flickered out of reach. He appeared to the left, driving his sword in a sharp, precise strike toward the glowing orb at the Progenitor’s core.

The Progenitor’s other hand intercepted—palm steady, blood flowing into a flawless shield of unshakable dominion.

CLANG!

The impact unleashed a shockwave that ripped open rifts in the blood-red sky, sending crimson rain swirling into tiny hurricanes.

And so began the clash between the one who dared to claim the crown and the one who guarded it… For four hours they battled—almost evenly matched.

Kaelthyr moved effortlessly through folding space, his sword carving arcs of abyssal darkness that swallowed both light and blood.

Each strike struck true—light at first, then heavier—until black ichor spilled from wounds that stubbornly refused to heal under the crushing presence of Darkness and Abyss.

The Progenitor answered with overwhelming presence.

The Authority of Blood roared to life, every drop in the realm bending to his command.

The lake below exploded upward, sending columns of blood surging like living spears that stabbed, lashed, and smashed.

The Progenitor shattered into crimson bursts, reforming in an instant, each return quicker, each blow heavier, blades of solidified plasma streaming from his arms as if they were part of him.

Kaelthyr slipped aside, space warping as his body phased through blows that could have crushed galaxies.

He struck back, his sword arcing upward to carve a line from hip to shoulder.

The Progenitor snarled, blood pouring from a deep gash.

Blow after blow was exchanged, neither willing to yield, for a clash between two beings of nearly equal power was never settled in haste. And Kaelthyr was, after all, standing in the very heart of the Domain of the Vampire of all Vampires.

He wasn’t just battling the progenitor but the realm itself and his own bloodline.

Though he held a bloodline equal to the Progenitor, he didn’t have the authority of blood. Something that made the Progenitor near invincible within this domain.

A full week had gone by before they noticed their mana pools drop even a quarter. Yet, as Kaelthyr clashed with the progenitor, he smiled, both of them bearing wounds that healed rapidly.

Throughout this time, they had cycled through countless skills and talents, but Kaelthyr had a few tricks saved that could very well tip the battle in his favor.

BOOOOM!

The clash of claw and sword echoed through the realm, shattering space like glass before it instantly reformed.

Kaelthyr closed the distance once more, speaking not in mere words, but in the eerie cadence of the Void-Touched Tongue.

“No blood.”

Simple words echoed from everywhere and nowhere, layered, endless, and certain.

The Progenitor’s blood ran cold. The freshly formed whip of pure blood froze mid-swing, crimson drops growing dull and heavy, falling like lifeless weight.

The Progenitor stumbled—truly, for the first time.

Kaelthyr pressed forward, his sword flashing in a whirlwind of cuts—left flank, right shoulder, across the chest—each strike landing with precision, spilling darkness instead of blood.

The Progenitor roared, the artifact in his chest blazing with desperate light.

He then spoke his precept.

|Absolute Precept – Sanguine God|

“All blood bows to me—eternal, I am blood!”

In that moment, reality bent as blood surged—seeking to reclaim dominion, to make Kaelthyr’s blood submit.

His second item, the Whim of Absolute Chance, had been quietly influencing the battle all along. A passive aura triggered by his subconscious, or so he thought.

Kaelthyr realized it wasn’t as random, nor as passive, as it seemed.

He just had to will it into being, repeating the thought over and over… Surely the 25% would hold—and it had, through the whole fight.

A random thought crossed his mind as he parried another desperate blow.

’It’d be great if that damn light in his chest would just quit…’

Kaelthyr had no idea what the light was, nor did he realize that all true progenitors possessed something tied to their race’s very nature.

Still, it was something that had been tormenting him.

He noticed that whenever the Progenitor used blood, became blood, or did anything similar, a light would appear in his chest.

So, why not just remove it?

And when that thought echoed a few hundred times in mere seconds…

Reality obliged.

The crimson orb hovering before the Progenitor—his artifact of ultimate blood dominion—suddenly cracked.

A single sharp fracture raced across its surface like a bolt of lightning.

The Progenitor went still, eyes widening in shock.

“No—”

Kaelthyr moved with an icy gaze. The Sword of Abyss and Soul thrust forward—Authority of the Soul blazing as the blade drove into the fractured artifact.

SHK!

The Progenitor let out a scream of pure agony as his soul was hooked, dragged, and claimed. Kaelthyr gave a firm pull.

The Progenitor’s body came apart, dissolving into ribbons of crimson essence that poured into Kaelthyr’s blade and then into himself.

Precepts, bloodline, existence—everything taken in.

The realm shook as blood-rain turned to ash, bone-spires collapsed, and the once-mythic crimson expanse faded into a silent void.

Kaelthyr stood alone, sword lowered, eyes shut, power coursing through him.

The Vampire Progenitor was no more—consumed.

Yet, he wasn’t truly gone, not at all. As Kaelthyr sat in the crumbling realm, an overwhelming sensation gripped him.

He couldn’t quite place it, but voices began to fill his mind—not the cold, mechanical tone of the Records, but something far more ancient, as if reality itself were speaking.

Define it… what will you all stand for?

He didn’t understand it one bit, but as he clutched his head in pain, it was as if his very blood was responding.

There was no need for words—only the thought itself. Kaelthyr wasn’t just a vampire; he was also the Lord of the Abyss.

So, if he was the Vampire Progenitor, why should they remain mere creatures of blood and night?

They could be beings of true darkness, true night.

BOOOOM!!!!!!