Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

Thalnor returned to the lab, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. His heart raced with a mixture of excitement and anticipation, each step taking him closer to the culmination of his dark plan. As the heavy door creaked open, he entered the dimly lit chamber, his eyes scanning the room.

Suddenly, he froze.

There, lying motionless in the center of the now-inactive formation, was Hades. His body appeared lifeless, completely still, as if all vitality had drained away. Thalnor's eyes widened, and for a brief moment, he felt a pang of disbelief.

"Is he... already dead?" the thought crossed his mind as he cautiously approached the body.

Thalnor's breath quickened, but he quickly calmed himself. He had done this countless times before—there was no reason to doubt his abilities.

Yet, something about this particular situation made him pause. His gaze flickered over Hades, and he leaned in, narrowing his eyes, studying the corpse-like stillness of his form.

His lips curved into a smirk. "There's only one way to know for sure," he thought, and with a calculated motion, he crouched down beside Hades. Thalnor's face, shadowed by the dim light, took on an expression of twisted satisfaction.

Leaning in, he took a long, deliberate breath, the faint but unmistakable scent of death creeping into his nostrils. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the confirmation. He straightened, his smirk widening into a grin that bordered on maniacal.

"Corpse smell," Thalnor muttered, his voice low and filled with twisted reverence. His words dripped with satisfaction, each syllable a quiet celebration of his perceived victory. A dark delight danced in his eyes as he savored the scent, like a predator savoring the taste of its prey. "Just as expected."

With a flick of his staff, the blood formation around Hades' body deactivated, the ominous glow fading as the oppressive energy dissipated.

Thalnor's movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, as he approached the seemingly lifeless form of Hades. He knelt down beside him, a cruel smile curving his lips as his fingers hovered over Hades' cold flesh.

As he finally made contact, his fingertips tracing along Hades' arm, Thalnor's expression shifted to one of approval. He nodded to himself, admiration gleaming in his eyes.

"The body is of excellent quality," he whispered, his voice soft but laced with dark intent. His fingers roamed along Hades' limbs, assessing the strength of the muscles beneath the skin, noting the durability and potential. "Yes... this will do nicely."

He paused, his mind racing with possibilities, already imagining how he could mold and shape this body into a puppet of unparalleled strength. But then, his expression faltered, and a sigh escaped his lips—a sigh of disappointment and resignation.

"Such a pity..." he murmured, shaking his head slowly. The excitement in his voice dimmed, replaced by frustration. "If only I could use this body as another puppet."

His thoughts drifted back to the limitations of the Nether Puppet Cultivation Manual, a technique that had both granted him power and shackled him with its restrictions.

"In my cultivation manual, only the body of the soul I've absorbed can be used for my own power," he muttered, frustration seeping into his tone. "Any other corpse... is worthless."

Thalnor stood up slowly, looking down at Hades with a mix of regret and hunger in his eyes. His lips curled into a faint sneer. "This one... this body, with all its potential, can only serve as my dinner."

He let out a resigned sigh, his eyes never leaving Hades' still form. The disappointment in his voice was palpable, but underneath it, there was a sense of grim acceptance.

Thalnor took a step back, tilting his head slightly as his cold eyes swept over Hades' motionless form. His lips curled into a faint sneer of disappointment. "What a waste," he muttered under his breath, his tone bitter yet resigned, as if lamenting a lost opportunity that could never be reclaimed.

But there was no time for regret. His focus quickly shifted to the next step of his plan. "Well, time to extract your soul," he said, almost casually, though a dark excitement flickered in his voice.

He raised his hand, his fingers crackling with malevolent energy as tendrils of dark mana began to swirl around them. The air in the chamber thickened, heavy with the weight of his magic.

As the dark energy snaked toward Hades, ready to rip the soul from his body, Thalnor's face twisted into one of concentration. But the moment his magic made contact, he froze.

Nothing happened.

Thalnor blinked, confused. "What?!" His heart skipped a beat as panic surged through him. He furrowed his brow, his hand hovering over Hades' chest as the dark energy fizzled out.

A moment of silence passed, and then, with mounting anxiety, he tried again. This time, he channeled more power, his fingers trembling as he forced the magic to take hold.

But again—nothing.

Thalnor's face paled, his breath catching in his throat. "Why... why can't I absorb the soul?" His thoughts spiraled as the panic in his chest began to bloom, spreading like wildfire.

Sweat trickled down his temples as he poured even more power into the spell, his hand shaking with effort. The dark energy around his fingers thickened, swirling violently now, but the result remained the same.

Nothing.

Thalnor's eyes darted toward Hades' lifeless face, and for the first time, fear crept into his expression. "This doesn't make any sense!" he thought, desperation flashing across his features. His mind raced for answers, but there were none. He, the master of corpse puppetry, was powerless.

Suddenly, a soft sound reached his ears—barely a whisper at first, but unmistakable.

A slow, deliberate exhale.

Thalnor's eyes shot wide open as Hades' eyelids lifted, revealing cold, gleaming eyes filled with amusement. The corpse-like stillness was gone, replaced by an unsettling calm. Hades sat up slowly, each movement smooth and controlled, as if the pain and agony from before had never existed.

Thalnor stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat, eyes wide with disbelief. "Y-You..." he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hades looked at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, dripping with mockery. His eyes never left Thalnor's, watching the elder's growing terror with a sense of satisfaction.

"Surprise," Hades said, his voice calm and cutting through the tension like a knife. There was no need to shout—his tone alone carried the weight of control and power, the tables now fully turned.

Thalnor's hand trembled at his side, his dark magic forgotten as fear gripped him. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He had no plan for this.