Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 606 606: CREATION AND DESTRUCTION

Aaron opened his mouth, the desperate words of his survival forming on his tongue, but she cut him off with a sharp, dismissive wave.

"Better still," she informed him, her eyes boring into his very essence, "I will find out for myself."

Before Aaron could even draw a breath to protest, she pressed her cool, slender fingers against his temples.

The sensation was like a tidal wave of ice crashing through his mind, and suddenly, the white void dissolved.

Their shared consciousness began to drift, spiraling backward through the currents of time until they reached a memory buried in the foundations of existence itself.

They stood in the presence of a man who radiated absolute authority.

He possessed a perfect, powerful build and dark hair that framed a face of regal intensity.

His eyes were not merely eyes; they reflected the swirling, purple and iridescent hues of a nascent universe.

Most striking were the markings: intricate engravings of unknown text formed perfect circular inscriptions on the backs of his palms.

These runes crawled up his arms toward his shoulders, snaked down his spine, and crisscrossed his chest.

Over his heart, a final, glowing circle pulse with the rhythm of creation.

"So?

What do you see, Diviner?" the man asked.

This was the King of Legends, the sovereign of all entities: Zereph.

Standing before him was his Special Adviser, the Diviner.

He was an anomaly among, a legend who had awakened only a single Mystic Organ: the Mystic Eyes.

While many saw this as a limitation, it was a curse turned into a transcendent blessing; it granted him a perception of causality that surpassed every other being in the cosmos.

"Your wife carries two sons in her womb," the Diviner stated, his voice heavy with the weight of the future.

"And what is wrong with having two children?" Zereph asked, his tone curious yet wary.

"They are both unnaturally powerful," the Diviner explained, his gaze fixed on the threads of fate.

"Her body, as divine as it is, will not survive the strain of carrying both to term.

You must take one out."

Zereph's expression shifted to one of immediate concern.

"You mean... I must kill one of my sons?"

"No," the Diviner countered.

"You must remove the child secretly and nurse him with your own life essence.

It is a form of artificial incubation, but one fueled by your direct strength.

You must become his womb."

"I see," Zereph said, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

"If it saves them and her, I accept."

However, the King noticed the Diviner's lingering silence, a shadow that refused to lift from the seer's face.

Zereph's brow furrowed.

"What is it you are not telling me?"

"A choice lies before you, King," the Diviner whispered.

"One that causality demands be paid in blood.

Either your children live and you die; your children die and you live; or they both survive, but your wife perishes."

Zereph's frown deepened into a mask of iron.

"Speak plainly."

"The other legends are plotting against you," the Diviner revealed.

"Under normal circumstances, you could crush their rebellion with a thought.

But incubating your son will sap the vast majority of your power.

You will be left vulnerable, weakened, and drained.

You will surely fall if you go ahead with this."

Zereph fell into a profound, heavy silence.

The choice was agonizing: his own life, his reign, and his future, weighed against the heartbeat of an unborn child.

"I chose to have them," Zereph finally replied, a soft, heartbreakingly loving smile breaking through his serious facade.

"I brought them into this world without asking if they wanted to exist.

The least I can do is give them the chance to decide for themselves when they wish to leave it."

His face hardened once more, the King returning to his duty.

He looked the Diviner in the eye, his resolve unshakable.

"Tell me what I must do."

"Some time from now, your wife will lose consciousness as the children's hunger peaks.

She will experience a moment of temporary death," the Diviner explained, his voice clinical despite the gravity of his words.

"In that fleeting moment, you must reach in and take one of the children from her womb.

For a King of your stature, that should be a simple task.

Once he is out, you must seal his bloodline completely and place him within one of your entities—one devoid of supernatural essence or abilities.

He must live as a mundane."

"And then?

What follows?" Zereph pressed, his eyes searching the Diviner's unreadable face.

"That is all," the Diviner replied softly.

"Causality is set.

Fate will take over in due course."

Zereph gave a single, decisive nod.

He followed the instructions with the cold precision of a man cutting out his own heart to save his body.

When his fiancée collapsed in an episode of sudden, terrifying stillness, exactly as predicted, Zereph acted.

He reached out his hand, warping the fabric of space itself to bypass flesh and bone, gently extracting one of his sons from the womb.

He worked quickly, weaving a series of complex, unbreakable seals that dampened the child's burgeoning bloodline into a dormant flicker.

He then descended to the most ordinary of his realms, a place where magic was a myth, and left the infant with an unsuspecting, random family.

To ensure the boy survived the transition, Zereph poured a staggering amount of his own life force into the child, artificially incubating him within the mundane mother's womb.

The cost was astronomical.

The ritual sapped 80% of Zereph's total strength just to stabilize the child's volatile status.

By the time he was finished, the King of Legends was a shadow of his former self, his aura dimmed and his legendary vitality permanently depleted.

Before his fiancée could regain consciousness, Zereph returned to her side to examine the child remaining in her womb.

After checking the infant's constitution, he let out a heavy, ragged breath.

"Hah.

I was right," he muttered.

Both children had been born with gifts forbidden by all higher lifeforms—powers that should never exist in the same generation, let alone the same bloodline.

One possessed the Creation Gift, the power to manifest anything the mind could imagine.

The other held the Destruction Gift, the terrifying authority to bring a definitive end to all things.

Zereph sank into his throne, feeling the crushing weight of defeat.

His children were the literal personification of the Beginning and the End.

He felt a profound sadness, realizing that their futures would be forged in blood and chaos, and he would likely not be there to shield either of them.

"It seems the task is complete," the Diviner praised, appearing silently at the foot of the throne.

"Yes," Zereph whispered.

"But they aren't normal, are they?

I saw their potential... I saw what they are."