Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

The final clash between Thorne, Sylra, and Kaelor shook the entire battlefield. The sheer force of their attacks tore through the land, cracking the ground and reducing the surrounding area to ruins.

Flames and debris scattered in every direction as shockwaves of power rippled outward, tearing apart anything caught in the radius. Many unfortunate souls were obliterated, their bodies disintegrated by the devastation.

As the dust began to settle, Thorne Arcturus stood tall, though his body was ravaged by the battle. His once-glorious armor was torn and blood-soaked, and his frame trembled with every breath he took.

Blood dripped from numerous wounds, staining the ground beneath him, but his grip on the Stormbreaker Spear remained unyielding. His eyes blazed with determination.

Across from him, Sylra and Kaelor lay in far worse condition. Their limbs were twisted and broken from the impact of the clash, their bodies barely holding together. Their faces were contorted in pain, but even in their near-defeated state, mocking smirks twisted their lips.

Thorne's chest heaved, his breathing labored. He looked down at his enemies, the exhaustion in his body clashing with the cold satisfaction of victory. "You were strong," he muttered, his voice raspy and filled with disdain, "but not strong enough to defeat me."

He tightened his grip on the Stormbreaker Spear, the weapon still crackling with residual energy from the storm. His eyes narrowed as he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze fixed on Kaelor's crumpled form. "I'll end this now," he said coldly, his voice carrying the weight of finality.

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He raised the spear, preparing to drive it through Kaelor's chest.

But before he could strike, a low, eerie laughter filled the air. It started softly, but soon grew louder, echoing through the devastated battlefield. Both Sylra and Kaelor, despite their broken bodies, were laughing—harsh, mocking laughter that sent a chill through the air.

"What's so funny?" Thorne growled, his voice sharp with irritation as his eyes narrowed dangerously. He tightened his grip on the Stormbreaker Spear, the storm around him crackling with barely contained fury.

Sylra let out a low, mocking chuckle, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "You think this is over?" she rasped, her voice dripping with malice. Her eyes gleamed with dark amusement, as if she was savoring some hidden victory.

Thorne scoffed, stepping closer to Kaelor, his patience wearing thin. "Pathetic," he muttered, raising his spear. With a swift motion, he drove the Stormbreaker Spear toward Kaelor's chest, fully intending to end him with this final blow.

But just as the spear neared its target, a sickening crack echoed through the battlefield. Kaelor's right hand, previously mangled and broken, suddenly regenerated with unnatural speed. His fingers closed around the spear mid-thrust, stopping the attack cold.

"What?" Thorne gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief. He struggled against Kaelor's grip, but the elder's strength held firm. "How... how can this be?"

Kaelor's lips twisted into a vicious grin, his eyes burning with malevolent triumph. "You didn't really think we were that easy to kill, did you?" he sneered, his voice low and taunting.

Sylra's smirk deepened as she leaned back, her broken body beginning to mend itself. "Fool," she spat, her voice thick with venom. "You never stood a chance. We're not bound by the limits of the living."

Thorne's gaze darted around the battlefield, and it hit him—the horrifying truth. The corpses of those who had fallen during their battle, the very bodies littering the ground, were being drained of their life force.

Their energy, their mana, was flowing directly into Sylra and Kaelor. He could see their wounds closing, their strength returning with every passing second.

"No... this... this isn't possible," Thorne whispered, his voice barely audible as the realization sank in.

Kaelor chuckled darkly, tightening his grip on Thorne's spear. "Possible? It's already happening, Storm King. We've been feeding on your dead since the moment they fell." His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, enjoying Thorne's helplessness.

Before Thorne could react, a sharp, searing pain shot through his back. He gasped, his body stiffening as the pain intensified, and his vision blurred.

He looked down, his breath catching in his throat. Twin blades had pierced through his torso from behind, their cold steel glistening with his blood.

Staggering, Thorne twisted his body, turning just enough to see what had happened. Two red corpse puppets stood behind him, their hollow eyes lifeless, their movements mechanical. The blades lodged deep in his back were theirs—puppets under Sylra and Kaelor's control.

"You... how..." Thorne gasped, his voice trembling as blood poured from his mouth. His strength was fading rapidly, and the searing pain radiating from his wounds left him barely able to stand.

Sylra's cold laughter echoed through the battlefield, her voice filled with triumphant malice. "Our new cultivation manual," she said with a chilling smile, "gives us more than just strength. It allows us to cultivate both our bodies and control corpse puppets." Her eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction, relishing in Thorne's shock and disbelief.

Kaelor's grin widened into a vicious sneer, his voice dripping with mockery. "It may not be as strong as your precious Storm King Dominion Manual, but..." he gestured to the battlefield littered with corpses, "we have the power to control the dead.

And with all these bodies around..." He glanced at the fallen soldiers, their lifeless forms scattered like broken dolls, "we've got plenty to work with."

Thorne's breath hitched as the realization hit him. His mind raced, the overwhelming pain making it hard to think clearly. "I... I should never have come here," he thought, his heart sinking with regret. "I couldn't avenge my grandson... and now, I can't even warn the other elders..."

Blood continued to drip from his lips as his vision blurred. The edges of his sight darkened, the world around him fading into nothingness. With one last gasp, his body crumbled to the ground, limp and lifeless.

Sylra and Kaelor stood over Thorne's fallen form, their dark smiles never faltering, their victory complete. Sylra's eyes glittered with cruel delight as she leaned down, inspecting his body.

"A strong body like this," she murmured, her voice almost reverent, "will make an excellent new corpse puppet." Her fingers twitched with anticipation, already imagining the power she could extract from him.

Kaelor nodded in agreement, his tone smug and dripping with satisfaction. "Indeed..." he said softly, kneeling beside Thorne's corpse. "Thorne Arcturus will serve us well... even in death."

The two elders exchanged a final glance, their eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure. In life, Thorne had been a formidable opponent. In death, he would be their most valuable tool.