Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

Thalnor's lips curled into a sinister smirk, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he watched Hades writhe in torment. He took a step forward, his tone chillingly calm, as if discussing a trivial matter.

"It's quite simple, really," he said, pausing for effect. "As you're aware, the Malachor Clan excels in the art of corpse puppetry."

Hades, his body trembling from the overwhelming pain, barely managed to keep his attention on Thalnor's words.

The fear was gnawing at him, but he forced himself to listen, knowing that his life now hung by a thread. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat loud in his ears, matching the rhythm of the dark energy surrounding him.

Thalnor's grin widened, pleased with the visible terror in Hades' eyes. He continued, his tone almost too casual for the horrors he was describing.

"I've cultivated a very special clan manual. It's called the Graven Puppet technique. Unlike the usual corpse puppets, this technique allows the creation of only one puppet, but..."—he paused, his eyes narrowing with cruel excitement—"this puppet will be far stronger than anything you've ever seen."

Hades blinked through the haze of pain, his mind struggling to keep up with Thalnor's words. Suddenly, a realization struck him, cutting through the fog of agony.

"That's why when I met Vesperin... he only used one puppet..." The pieces clicked together in his mind. The fear gnawing at his core sharpened into clarity, though his body continued to scream in protest.

Elder Thalnor's eyes glinted with malevolent delight as he caught the flicker of realization crossing Hades' face. He let out a dark, mocking chuckle, his voice lowering to a sinister whisper, dripping with amusement. "Ah... there it is. You're finally beginning to understand, aren't you?"

He leaned in slightly, as if savoring Hades' fear. "But you see, I haven't just stuck to the old ways. No, no, no… I've improved upon the Graven Puppet technique. My own creation... I call it the Nether Puppet Cultivation Manual."

His voice dripped with pride, as though he were unveiling a masterpiece. "It's more advanced... far more exquisite. A much more... delicious version of the original."

Hades, his body trembling under the oppressive weight of the blood formation, felt an icy wave of dread roll over him.

The name—Nether Puppet—alone was enough to send shivers down his spine, but Thalnor's tone made it clear that this was no ordinary technique. It was something far more insidious.

Thalnor's eyes flickered with sadistic glee as he read the fear etched across Hades' face. He sneered, his voice now a low growl, full of dark satisfaction.

"Yes... you should be afraid," he hissed. "The Nether Puppet manual follows a similar principle to the Graven Puppet—one puppet, but oh, the process... is much darker."

Hades' chest tightened with every word, the growing terror mixing with the searing pain coursing through his body. He wanted to move, to escape, but the formation held him fast, and Thalnor's voice continued to slither through his mind like poison.

Thalnor took a step closer, watching with a twisted grin as Hades squirmed in agony, unable to resist the dark energy binding him.

"First," he said softly, his voice almost soothing in its malice, "I fill my chosen target with Abyssal Mana—a more advanced and far more dangerous version of Death Mana."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, before continuing with a gleeful whisper, "Once your body is filled to the brim with Abyssal Mana, I rip out your soul. Then, I fuse that soul with a powerful corpse to create the strongest puppet imaginable."

Hades' breathing became ragged, the fear tightening its grip on him as he tried to process the horror being described to him. His mind raced, but he was trapped—both physically and mentally.

Thalnor's grin widened as he savored Hades' terror, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "And your body..." He licked his lips. "I absorb it. Consume it. Your flesh, your very essence—it becomes mine. Making me stronger, younger, more powerful than you could ever imagine."

Hades' mind spun in a chaotic storm of pain and fear. His vision blurred, and his thoughts were clouded by the unrelenting agony coursing through his body.

He struggled to focus, but the horror of Thalnor's words pierced through the haze. "You... you plan to turn me into your puppet... and devour my body..." he rasped, his voice barely audible, trembling with genuine terror.

The reality of it sank in, chilling him to the core. The terror he once pushed away was now clawing its way through him, his heart pounding in sync with the oppressive force surrounding him.

Thalnor's wicked smile deepened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned in closer, his face inches from Hades'. "Do you know why I'm telling you all of this?" he asked softly, his tone calm, yet dripping with sinister intent.

Hades' breath hitched, but he couldn't respond. The fear choking him made it impossible.

Thalnor's smile twisted into something darker, almost gleeful. "It's because the more terrified you are when you die, the stronger the effect of the Abyssal Mana." His voice lowered to a near-whisper, sending a shiver through Hades. "Your fear will make the transformation... perfect."

Hades' eyes widened in pure horror. Every word struck him like a blow, the dread gripping him tighter as the weight of his fate closed in around him. He could barely breathe, each shallow inhale laced with panic.

Thalnor straightened, his cruel laughter filling the chamber—a hollow, chilling sound that reverberated off the walls. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon," he said with a mocking tone. "I just have some... business to attend to in the village."

Hades watched as the elder turned away, his form fading into the shadows of the dimly lit room. His footsteps echoed briefly before being swallowed by silence, leaving Hades trapped—alone with his thoughts, his fear, and the dark power of the blood formation tightening its grip on him.