Chapter 40: Gabriel’s Clones
Meanwhile, Gabriel had arrived at another island.
It was a modest chunk of floating earth—smaller than the one he had just obliterated, but still teeming with life. Through his mana sense, he could feel the familiar presences of mutated cyclopes lurking below: thirty, maybe thirty-five of them, scattered across a rocky plateau dotted with withered trees. His golden wings folded slightly as he descended toward the highest peak, ready to unleash another meteor shower.
Then he stopped.
His hand, already raised toward the sky, lowered slowly. His cross-shaped pupils narrowed.
No.
He reassessed the situation.
Gabriel knew his woman better than anyone alive—He had fought her, experienced many things with her, died beside her. He knew the curve of her smile when she was plotting, the subtle shift in her posture when she was about to do something reckless. And right now, even from across the void, he could feel it.
After his grand display—the five meteors, the shattered island, the seventy-five kills in a single breath—Lilith would undoubtedly change her approach. She was far too competitive to simply follow his lead. She would not try to match him with fire and earth. She would go bigger. She would go darker. She would create something that made his meteors look like firecrackers.
Let’s not forget her special skill, he mused, hovering in the crimson-stained air. The shadow undeads.
That was her true advantage. Every monster she killed became another soldier in her army. And every soldier could kill more monsters, which would become even more soldiers. It was a snowball effect—exponential growth that would soon become unstoppable. The more she killed, the more she could kill. By the time he had cleared three islands, she might have an army of hundreds sweeping across the dungeon like a tide of living darkness.
This won’t do, Gabriel thought, his jaw tightening.
He needed a counter. Not because he feared losing their little competition—the stakes were trivial, a week of servitude to the winner—but because he refused to be outdone. Not by anyone. Not even by the woman he loved. This is a competition after all.
He racked his mind, searching for a solution.
I can’t create an army like you, babe. That’s your domain. But...
His eyes lit up.
...at least I can create one or two clones with decent strength. Enough to wreak havoc on their own.
The idea came naturally to him, born from his boundless imagination—a mind that had devoured countless fantasy novels and animated tales on Earth, where clones and duplicates were common tropes. But this was not fiction. This was real. He had never attempted such a technique before in this new body. He did not even know if it was possible.
Only one way to find out.
Gabriel raised his left hand before his face. His golden mana flickered around his fingers like candle flames in a gentle breeze. He studied his thumb for a moment—the pale skin, the perfect nail, the faint lines of his knuckles.
Then he bit down.
It was a small cut, precise and controlled. His teeth parted the flesh just enough to draw blood. The pain was negligible—a brief sting, no more. But the moment his blood touched the air, everything changed.
Golden blood welled up from the wound, thick and radiant, as if liquid sunlight were pouring from his veins. It did not drip. It flowed, slow and heavy, each drop catching the crimson light of the dungeon and refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows. The blood was not merely red or gold—it was alive, pulsing with a mysterious power that made the air around it hum.
The dungeon trembled.
Not the ground beneath him—the entire dungeon. The floating islands quivered on their invisible anchors. The churning red clouds above rippled outward as if pushed by an unseen wind. Somewhere in the distance, a deep, guttural groan echoed through the void—the sound of the dungeon itself reacting to something it had never encountered before.
What is this power? the dungeon seemed to ask.
Gabriel paid it no attention. His focus was absolute. With his bleeding thumb, he traced a symbol in the air—a complex geometric pattern of intersecting circles and angular lines, each stroke burning with golden light. The symbol hovered before him, spinning slowly, drinking in his blood like a thirsty flower.
"By my will," Gabriel whispered, his voice calm but resonant, "by my blood, by my soul—let there be others. Let there be mirrors. Let there be me."
He poured his will into the symbol.
The response was immediate and overwhelming.
Golden light exploded outward, blinding in its intensity. Gabriel felt a massive drain on his mana—not a trickle, but a torrent. More than half of his vast, almost limitless reservoir was siphoned away in the span of three heartbeats. His wings flickered. His vision dimmed for a moment. His knees buckled slightly.
Half, he thought, steadying himself. Half of my mana for two clones.
It was an enormous cost. Proof that these clones were not mere illusions or fragile copies. They would be powerful. They would be dangerous. They should not be underestimated—not by monsters, not by demons, not by anyone.
The light faded.
And there, floating on either side of him, were two figures.
They were identical to Gabriel in almost every way. Same golden hair, same chiseled jawline, same serene expression that could shift to terrifying in an instant. Same cross-shaped pupils, same faint smile playing at the corners of their lips.
But there were differences.
Unlike the original, who bore six magnificent pairs of wings—twelve wings in total, each covered in golden runes that pulsed with ancient power—the clones each had only three pairs. Six wings apiece. Still beautiful, still radiant, but diminished. Like echoes of a greater song.
Their mana signatures were weaker as well. Gabriel estimated their strength at around Life Rank 12 to 14. For him, that was a fraction of his true power. But for the creatures of this dungeon—these mutated cyclopes who topped out at Rank 10 or 11—it was more than enough. More than enough to wreak havoc.
The clones opened their eyes simultaneously. They turned their heads, first to each other, then to their original. No words were exchanged. None were needed. Through the bond that connected them, they understood everything: their purpose, their limits, their orders. They could act independently, make their own decisions, adapt to changing situations. But they would never betray their creator. They were him, in every way that mattered.
Gabriel smiled.
"You know what to do," he said.
The clones nodded.
Without another word, they shot into the sky—three pairs of golden wings each, beating in perfect synchronization. They flew toward different islands, their forms growing smaller against the bruised horizon until they vanished into the crimson haze.
Gabriel watched them go, his smile widening.
Each clone was capable of unleashing powerful techniques—perhaps not the full meteor swarm, but close. Fire rains. Lightning storms. Light lances that could pierce through mountains. And if their mana reserves ran low, they could simply reach through the bond and borrow more from the original. The connection between them was seamless, instantaneous, unbreakable.
And through that same bond, they shared senses. Whatever a clone saw, Gabriel would see. Whatever a clone heard, Gabriel would hear. He would witness every kill, every explosion, every moment of carnage as if he were there himself..
