Ten Lucky Draws: I Became OP - Chapter 364: Saving Morgana (2)- Existential Crisis
Chapter 364: Saving Morgana (2)- Existential Crisis
While the two men were recovering from the sudden assaults that Ash had unleashed with all 300 Layers at his disposal, he swiftly redirected his focus toward Morgana’s clone.
Throughout the entire conflict, she had merely observed the others, indulging in the spectacle as though it were a television program.
Once again, she saw no reason to intervene, particularly when her abilities were vastly inferior to those of the others.
With one sight still active, the entirety of the Second Inversion lay before him like an open book. With a single thought, anything within his vision would conform to his will.
In an instant, he transported Morgana’s clone from her vantage point several miles away—where she had been watching the chaos unfold like premium entertainment—and drew her directly into his arms.
HUUUU—
She yelped, an uncharacteristically undignified sound of surprise escaping her as power flared briefly before she realized whose chest she was pressed against.
Heat rushed over her bronze skin, and the midnight silk scarf draped over her shoulders fluttered softly against his torso.
Tilting her head back, dark crimson eyes gleamed with that familiar, ancient mischief.
“Oh? Finally willing to hold this mere clone, are we?” she teased, finger tracing lazy circles over his collarbone.
“Took you long enoug—”
Ash cut her off with a gentle tilt of his chin, his eyes flicking downward.
Much as he adored her antics, now wasn’t the time—those two Horrors were already closing in.
They stood atop the massive blue-and-black hourglass, her true self slowly melting away, the faint silhouette of her head still visible above the creeping tide of liquid nothingness.
He smiled, his voice steady.
“So, are you the kind of clone who wants her own life, or not?” He held her gaze without flinching. “Either way, I’ll make it happen. Your call.”
Morgana scoffed—sharp, immediate, the sound of someone who had already lived too many cycles to entertain nonsense.
“Hell no,” she said, rolling her eyes with theatrical disdain. “I’m not interested in playing house as some shadow. Merge me, now please… I’ve been waiting far too long to be whole again.”
Ash chuckled hearing her and with a thought and the use of One sight.
CRACKKKKKK!!!!!
The hourglass shattered.
The glass dissolved into harmless blue mist. The liquefied essence surged upward like a reversed waterfall, slamming into the clone’s body in a single, perfect instant.
“AH!”
Morgana gasped once as every fragment of her true self slammed into place.
The merger was swift, over before the pain could linger.
And Ash—he never did anything the simple way. Instead of just reuniting her pieces, he bonded with her, transforming her into both an Unus and a Goddess.
Her form didn’t change much.
She still had the same bronze skin, the same flowing midnight hair, the same deep crimson eyes.
But everything about her sharpened, magnified beyond before.
Her curves grew more refined, her presence heavier, deeper—like a living monster cloaked in flesh.
In that instant, she became whole.
Before she had a physique, one already altered to store essence drawn from nonexistence, now fully embraced that mutation.
She became the Unus of Null and the Goddess of Nothingness.
Her power settled over her as if it had always been hers—absolute command over absence, erasure, and the silent spaces between all things.
The same bronze beauty, only now infinitely more radiant, more dangerous, and more her own.
By the time the last shard of hourglass mist faded into nothing, the two Existential Horrors had already closed the distance.
They lingered just yards away, tattoos burning with mismatched scripts of True Reality.
The black-haired one—number 200—flashed a sneer, while the white-haired one—number 199—tilted his head until his neck popped like shattering stars.
“You, insignificant little ant,” the black-haired Horror snarled, his voice thick with disdain.
“I can’t believe someone had the nerve to ruin our contract…” The white-haired Horror’s gaze hardened.
“Do you not realize we are Horrors?” he said, lifting his hand as the tattoos along it flared an eerie blue.
HUMMMM!!!!!!
“Motion Cease.”
The command burst outward—an unyielding decree of stillness meant to freeze every atom in place.
At that exact instant, the black-haired Horror attacked.
“Power Disconnect.”
A second command tore through reality, intent on cutting Ash’s connection to the power system.
Yet Ash paid it no mind, turning his head to gently cup Morgana’s jaw before pressing his lips to hers.
She responded instantly, capturing his kiss without hesitation.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as the kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, with no regard for the two furious mercenaries only a few miles away.
When they finally pulled apart—just barely—her dark crimson eyes gleamed with mischievous delight.
“Fufufu~ Need a hand?” she purred, her voice still husky from the kiss. “I could probably erase them from existence right now… and it would be my absolute pleasure.”
Ash let out a low chuckle against her lips, his thumb gently brushing her cheek.
“No,” he said plainly. “These two are still too much for you right now. Go help your new sisters instead.”
Morgana’s smile spread, slow and dangerous, as she pressed one last lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“As you wish, husband.”
Then she was gone—vanishing in a swirl of midnight silk and void, already descending toward the battlefield where Sylvie, Madison, and the others fought.
Ash finally turned to face the two existential horrors, his golden eyes calm, nine black rings within them spinning lazily.
He then began to simply walk towards the Horrors.
The black-haired one snarled. “How are yo—”
With his hands back in his pockets, he cut him off. The tattoos along his arms, torso, and face began to glow red, white, and black.
In that very instant he activated Combat Commands, True Sentences, and Visual Commands.
“Shutup.” He said simply, as he continued to speak as he walked.
The command wasn’t loud.
It didn’t have to be.
The two Horrors froze mid-word as his battle command kicked in, completely stripping away their ability to speak in any form.
As mentioned before, these Commands could only be countered by another Command with the power to do so.
In Ash’s case, he had indeed been cut off from the power system—but that didn’t really matter, since he didn’t rely solely on it anyway.
With his eyes fixed on his Visual Commands and One Sight active, how could his movements possibly stop if he could still see himself in motion?
“Now, even though you horrors are here… you’re only the weakest of the lot,” he said, each word now a true sentence, capable of creating or erasing things from existence entirely.
“Two hundred and one ninety-nine… I see no reason for a fair fight, but since my wife was one of your targets, consider yourselves thoroughly and painfully tortured.”
HUMMMMM!!!!
In that moment for a light year in each direction, they second inversion shifted and the two horrors found themselves in quite the situation….
What replaced it was something far more absurd.
—–
In place of everything else now stood a game-show stage, golden spotlights gliding over a glossy black floor.
Towering neon signs flashed in gold and crimson, boldly declaring,
“LIVE FROM PANTHUN!” and “FIRST EPISODE EVER!”
(Panthun will be explained soon—it’s not just a random name).
Behind the main platform, nine massive mystery boxes floated in a flawless semicircle, each one a towering obsidian cube.
The boxes were labeled only with glowing question marks that slowly morphed into mocking emojis: skulls, crying faces, exploding stars.
Ash lounged front and center in a lavish high-backed throne of black leather and gold, a massive bucket of popcorn resting in his lap.
Shirtless and dressed only in sweatpants, one leg casually crossed over the other, his golden eyes glimmered with pure mischief.
Behind him, a wall of vintage television cameras floated—big, boxy, their red “ON AIR” lights blazing—as if the whole scene were being broadcast to some unseen cosmic audience.
Right in front of him, on the raised stage, stood the two Existential Horrors.
Number 200 and Number 199 were completely bound in thick, glowing chains of True Reality script, coiled around them from neck to ankles, glowing in the same red, white, and black as Ash’s tattoos.
These chains didn’t just hold them still—they stripped away every bit of power they had.
Their tattoos flickered without effect, and they could only glare—furious and powerless—like two apex predators suddenly crammed into hamster cages.
Ash popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth, crunching noisily, and with a lazy flick of his free hand, conjured the final piece of the scene.
Beside him appeared an utterly ordinary mortal man—mid-thirties, slightly balding, dressed in a cheap but loud game-show host suit of garish gold and purple, complete with a microphone and an exaggeratedly cheerful grin.
The man blinked once, glanced around, then broke into a grin like he’d just hit the jackpot.
He strode forward, microphone in hand, his voice bursting with the flair of a seasoned showman as the cameras closed in.
“Ladies, gentlemen, gods, constellations, and all tuning in from the comfort of your own realms—welcome to the very first episode of…”
He flung both arms wide.
“EXISTENTIAL CRISIS!”
Neon signs burst into golden confetti and glittering lights, while a theme song—somewhere between sweeping orchestra and cheesy early 2000s sitcom—blared from nowhere.
The host spun toward the chained Horrors, grinning from ear to ear.
“Tonight’s special guests—fresh off the spectacular failure of their high-priced mercenary gig—are none other than the Existential Horrors! Number 200 and Number 199! Let’s hear it for them, folks!”
He turned to the cameras, his tone oozing mock sympathy.
“These two thought they could take on *****. Big mistake…”
“Now they’re here to play our brand-new game… Nine Boxes of Doom! Each box hides a unique existential punishment crafted just for them. Will it be ’Eternal Silence’? ’Total Erasure’? Or maybe ’Transformed into an Adorable Bunny for 10,000 Cycles’?”
He winked at an audience that wasn’t there.
“Stay tuned, because tonight… their very existence is on the line!”
Ash lounged back in his throne, popcorn in hand, flashing the two chained Horrors a lazy, menacing grin.
“Pick a box, boys.”
The cameras rolled.
And The show had only just begun.
