I chose Luck and was given Infinite Luck

The Gambler's Hand

1. The First Bet

The weight of the universe settled in Tom's chest, yet for the first time, it did not crush him. The Roulette Wheel no longer hummed with chaotic chance—it pulsed with intent, his intent. He had spent too long being the pawn of fate, the plaything of probability.

Now, he was the dealer.

Orion crossed his arms, watching the shifting strands of reality settle into their new configuration. "So," he mused, "now that you've rewritten the rules, what's the first move?"

Tom's fingers curled. The Celestial Council had been trying to erase him for long enough. He had let them play their hand, waiting to see the full game before making his own bet.

Now?

Now, it was time to raise the stakes.

"The Council's mistake," he said, "was thinking they could overwrite me like a bad roll of the dice. They failed. Now I make my counteroffer."

Diane narrowed her eyes. "And what's that?"

Tom turned to face her, his mother, the woman who had gambled his existence away and spent every moment since trying to undo her own sins. He didn't trust her, not fully. But he understood her now.

"I'm not just playing defense anymore," he said. "We take the fight to them."

Orion grinned. "I like this new attitude."

Diane, however, was less impressed. "Tom, the Council doesn't play fair. You might have rewritten the Wheel's rules, but they still have forces beyond our comprehension."

"Good," Tom said, the Roulette Wheel pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "Because I don't think they've comprehended me yet."

2. The Buy-In

Imma's voice crackled to life beside him, her holographic form flickering with residual energy from the rewritten Nexus. "Analysis complete. The Council's convergence point is anchored to the Grand Loom of Fate, but there's a problem."

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "Just one?"

"The Loom has a safeguard," Imma continued. "If we attack it directly, the entire weave of reality might collapse. They built it with fail-safes specifically against anomalies like you."

Tom's lips twitched. "You say that like I'm supposed to be scared."

Diane exhaled sharply. "Tom, listen. They've made contingency plans for luck-wielders before. That's why they went after Stacy—she's a wild variable they can't control. If they get to her before we do—"

"They won't," Tom interrupted, voice steel. "But if they want a game, I'll give them one."

He raised his hand. The Roulette Wheel hovered over his palm, golden numbers flickering in response.

"I'm not going to attack the Loom," he said. "I'm going to wager against it."

Imma froze. Orion's smile widened. Diane looked horrified.

"You can't gamble with the Loom of Fate," she hissed. "It's the cosmic threadwork of reality itself."

Tom tilted his head. "And what do you think I just did when I changed the Wheel? I didn't destroy it. I didn't overwrite it. I challenged it. And it folded."

Orion let out a low whistle. "You're betting against the universe itself."

Tom nodded. "And I'm all in."

3. The Call

The Astral Nexus trembled as Tom extended his power outward, threading probability into reality like a master weaver reshuffling the fabric of existence. The Grand Loom had dictated the rules of fate for eons, but Tom had spent his entire new life defying it.

It was time for a direct confrontation.

The world around them split, an aperture of golden thread unraveling in midair. Beyond it, the Celestial Council loomed—an array of spectral entities bound by celestial law, their robes woven from the fabric of destiny itself.

The central figure, the Arbiter, stepped forward. "Tomás Veyra," it intoned, its voice a harmonic blend of infinite voices speaking as one. "You defy the laws of fate. The Loom demands correction."

Tom held up the Wheel. "The Loom doesn't demand anything. It reacts. And I think it's afraid."

The Council murmured among themselves, energy crackling across the expanse of the chamber beyond the rift.

"You cannot rewrite reality without consequence," the Arbiter continued. "The balance must be maintained."

Tom smirked. "Who said I was rewriting anything? I'm just making a bet."

The murmuring stopped.

"You would wager against the Loom?" The Arbiter's voice was unreadable, but something flickered beneath it—curiosity, maybe even doubt.

Tom spun the Wheel idly. "One spin. If I win, you leave Stacy alone. No more assassins. No more 'corrections.' You accept that she—and I—exist."

Silence.

"And if you lose?" the Arbiter asked.

Tom grinned. "Then you get what you want. I let the Loom decide my fate."

Diane grabbed his wrist. "Tom, no—"

He didn't even look at her. His eyes were locked onto the Arbiter's infinite gaze.

The Celestial being considered. Then, for the first time in history, it nodded.

"Agreed."

4. The Last Spin

The Nexus grew silent.

Tom placed his palm flat over the Wheel, the golden numbers shifting beneath his touch. He felt the pull of probability, the endless possibilities stretching before him.

For the first time, he didn't feel powerless.

For the first time, he chose.

The Wheel spun.

Light cascaded across the chamber, each number flashing in rapid succession—futures unfurling, destinies rewriting, timelines flickering between existence and oblivion.

Then—

0.

The void. The impossible result. The reset.

The universe shook.

The Arbiter inhaled sharply. The Council recoiled. Tom stood firm.

The Loom itself flickered, its golden threads unraveling—not breaking, but rewiring. The Wheel had landed on fate's greatest paradox.

A tie.

Not a win. Not a loss.

A draw.

Tom exhaled. "Looks like we're even."

The Arbiter stared at the result for a long moment. Then, without another word, it turned.

The Celestial Council vanished.

The Loom pulsed, stabilizing, reshuffling its pattern to accommodate the new probability.

A world where Tom, Stacy, and their impossible existence remained.

Diane stumbled back, shaking. "You… rigged it."

Tom turned to her, the Roulette Wheel vanishing into his palm. "No, Mom," he said, his voice calm.

"I just played to win."

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