The green fragment hummed against the warrior clone's palm, a low frequency that resonated directly through the neural link into Lylin’s mind. Across the intangible bridge binding host and creation, a wave of information brushed his consciousness—not words, but raw, archaic impressions of structured arrays, compressed spiritual energy, and forgotten laws.
Above him, the sky darkened to a bruised, unnatural purple. The ambient heat radiating from the warrior clone’s skin began to draw wisps of cold mist from the surrounding rubble, creating a ghostly aura around the imposing figure. Lylin, still pinned to the cruel black rock, gritted his teeth as the sensory feedback from the artifact strained his connection. Every vibration of energy in the clone’s hands felt like a needle tapping directly into Lylin's brain.
SYSTEM NOTICE:
ARTIFACT DETECTED: UNREFINED CULTIVATION MATRIX (FRAGMENTED).
INTEGRATION POSSIBLE VIA CLONE ABSORPTION.
COST: 20 ENERGY.
Lylin’s mental focus hardened into steel. He had fifty units of energy remaining after creating the first clone. To spend twenty now was a gamble, leaving him near depletion in an unknown, hostile landscape. Yet powerlessness was a slower, more absolute death. If he hesitated out of caution, he would remain a dying insect impaled on a stone spike.
"Absorb it," Lylin commanded silently through the link.
The warrior clone’s fingers tightened instantly around the smooth green surface. Orange flickers of the Flame Body talent surged from its palm, creeping like living embers over the ancient stone. The intricate symbols etched into the fragment glowed crimson, resisting the invasion for a fraction of a second before cracking under the heat. The stone fractured into tiny, shimmering particles of light that flowed directly through the skin of the clone’s forearm, disappearing beneath its flesh.
A sharp, violent jolt echoed through the neural link. Lylin gasped, his head snapping back against the rough wall of the ruin. A surge of refined, purified energy flushed through his own battered body, acting like a numbing salve against the excruciating agony in his abdomen.
SYSTEM UPDATE:
CLONE ONE TALENT ENHANCED: FLAME BODY (UNCOMMON) -> INFUSED FLAME BODY (RARE).
PASSIVE EFFECT: SLOW PHYSICAL HEALING TRANSMITTED TO HOST.
HOST CURRENT ENERGY: 30/100.
The continuous stream of dark blood pooling around the black rock slowed, then stopped entirely. Small threads of warm, golden energy began knitting the damaged tissue and torn muscle beneath his skin. It wasn't enough to instantly cure his severe internal trauma or free him from the rock, but it stabilized his erratic heart rate and cleared the suffocating fog from his mind. Lylin let out a shaky, ragged breath, a cold, harsh laugh escaping his cracked lips.
"Step one," he muttered, his vision sharpening with ruthless clarity.
He directed the clone to turn around. The warrior stepped back toward Lylin’s impaled form, its eyes glowing noticeably brighter with the newly absorbed matrix power. The clone’s expression remained blank, a perfect canvas of obedience devoid of fear, hesitation, or self-preservation. It reached down, gripping the base of the black stone spear with both hands. Intense heat erupted from its palms, cauterizing and melting the jagged edges of the rock to prevent further internal tearing as it worked.
"On three," Lylin willed, aligning his consciousness completely with the clone’s physical muscles.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
With a brutal, calculated pull, the warrior shattered the main shaft of the stone spear and hauled Lylin forward. Pain flared white-hot behind Lylin’s eyes, a blinding wave of torture that threatened to drag him into blackness, but he forced his jaws shut, locking his scream behind his teeth. Blood spurted briefly before the clone’s inherent heat cauterized the wound on the spot. The clone caught his limp, broken body before it hit the ash-covered ground, supporting him under the arms with absolute firmness.
Lylin leaned heavily on his creation, staring into his own face resting on the warrior's broad shoulders—unblinking, loyal, and completely vacant of doubt. Looking at this perfect replica, Lylin felt the terrifying weight of the world he had landed in. Somewhere beyond this desolate, grey horizon lay the vast expanse of eleven human worlds and eight Immortal realms, populated by ancient cultivators, tyrannical sects, and monstrous entities that could crush a mortal with a mere thought.
He was currently nothing more than a ghost in a graveyard, bleeding and weak. But as he looked at the clone, a dark, boundless ambition flared in his chest. He was not just surviving; he was building. Today it was one warrior clone. Tomorrow, another. In a month, an army. In a year, an invisible web of shadow operatives, masters of alchemy, grand strategists, and powerhouse cultivators, all tied to his single consciousness.
"We move," Lylin whispered, his voice raspy but steady. "Find shelter. Hide me."
The warrior clone gave a slight nod, easily lifting Lylin onto its back. Its steps were silent, heavy, and purposeful, cutting through the thick layer of ash without making a sound. The warmth radiating from the clone’s body enveloped Lylin, shielding his frail, damaged frame from the freezing, sulfur-laden wind sweeping across the desolate plain.
As the warrior carried him deeper into the dark, labyrinthine shadows of the surrounding ruins, far above the valley, high in the cloud-wrapped peaks of the distant mountains, the colossal three-headed serpent shifted. Scales the color of petrified obsidian scraped against millennia-old stone with a sound like grinding mountains. Its middle head, bearing eyes like pools of liquid gold, lowered slightly. It stared down into the smoke-filled valley, tracking the tiny, glowing spark of flame moving through the ash—a silent, ancient watcher sensing the first ripple of a storm that would eventually shake the heavens.