Chapter 551: Clones
Strax felt something strange inside him, an instinct that screamed to kill and completely destroy his enemy.
The ground beneath his feet burned, cracking with every step, as if the world rejected his presence in that state.
Zani roared in his hands, hungry at the sight of a powerful dragon. It wasn’t just for the blood she would spill, she wanted to tear apart, destroy, extinguish that dragon in front of her. For the raw essence of a Dragon Slayer sword. The sword was no longer a weapon. It was an extension of her rage, shaped by hatred and the promise of annihilation.
Scarlet held Ouroboros and Tiamat by her side, trying to help them recover after the impact Scathach had caused on their bodies, but the eyes of both women no longer reflected only pain... all three of them wanted to nurture the same kind of fury as Strax.
An anger that burned hotter than any flame. They were wounded, but not defeated. And, above all, they were not willing to leave.
The man in the dark cloak floated above, smiling, arms open as if he were the conductor of an apocalyptic concert. "I must admit that I found it strange that two dragons with divine auras appeared, but I didn’t imagine they were so weak," he said, looking at Ouroboros and Tiamat.
The same ones who, ages ago, were the pinnacle of the world’s forces, were now just two revived women. Much of their powers were gone when they were brought back to life by the homunculi that Strax created...
Strax raised his head slowly, as if recharging his energy to continue what he came to do.
"I must admit, I’m getting more and more nervous," he muttered, his voice low and deep, like thunder echoing in the throat of a monster. "I just need to destroy you and get my mother back... Right?"
Without warning, he moved.
The ground exploded. Reality bent around his body as if it couldn’t bear to contain his presence. Strax appeared before the man—too fast to follow, too intense to contain. Zani descended in a vertical slash, a blow that split mountains in half.
The man blocked with a shadow shield, which cracked on impact and exploded into ethereal shards. But the smile didn’t fade.
With a snap of his fingers, seven shadowy copies appeared around Strax, each wielding a different weapon—black blades, energy spears, twisted scythes. They all attacked at once.
But Strax did not dodge.
"COWARD!" he shouted.
And with that shout, his aura exploded into a storm of pure murderous intent. The air around him vaporized. The shadows were disintegrated before they even touched him. His body spun, and Zani swept through the space around him, cutting the copies into clean lines that dissolved into the air like smoke before the sun.
The man frowned. "So that’s it. You’re really going to fight like a beast."
"You think so?" said Strax, walking toward him, Zani in one hand, the other clenched like a divine hammer. "Let’s see how long you can keep up these games."
Meanwhile, behind them, Scathach roared again—her body, a living mass of draconic madness, lunging toward Tiamat and Ouroboros, now standing.
Tiamat flew upward with explosive speed, dodging the creature’s claws, while firing dozens of beams of sunlight directly into Scathach’s eyes. Each ray pierced scales like plasma needles. The beast roared, blinded for an instant.
Ouroboros summoned her black chains from the void, wrapping them around Scathach’s legs and pulling her to the ground with supernatural strength.
"COME TO YOUR SENSES!!" she screamed, her voice distorted with rage.
Scathach flapped her wings, generating a hurricane of destruction that threw the two women into the air—but only for a second. They came back.
With more anger. With a thirst for revenge. They were feeling everything Strax felt, thanks to the contract they had made when they were still spirits, and there was only anger. Pure, absolute anger.
Meanwhile, Strax fought the real villain — the man who called himself "the original." They exchanged blows so fast that they only existed for milliseconds before disintegrating. Each of Strax’s punches was an earthquake. Each cut, annihilation.
"Why are you doing this?" Strax shouted from afar, trying to distract him.
The man turned for a second. "Demonic vermin must be exterminated. True Dragons are not disgusting like that," he said of Scathach. "But she is still strong. So I will make good use of her body."
Strax took advantage of his carelessness and appeared behind him.
One kick.
A deep, hollow sound. Like the breaking of a continent.
The man was thrown against a floating mountain that simply ceased to exist upon impact.
Strax appeared above him in free fall. Zani spun around. Three blades again.
They descended.
A cut tore through the sky of the underground city. A tear in the fabric of the world. Magic drained from the place as if a black hole had been summoned. Everything that existed near that blow... was erased.
The man fell to the ground. Black blood dripped from his eyes, nose, and mouth.
"You..." he whispered. "Are very weak."
The man’s body was driven into the earth like an unholy anchor. The ground around him shook, reverberating with the force of the fall. Strax landed, breathing heavily, his eyes unblinking. He held Zani with the blade pointing down, the tip already melting the stone with the heat of concentrated fury.
The silence lasted less than a second.
A laugh echoed, loud and dissonant, coming from the depths of the crater.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
Strax frowned, taking a step back. The energy around him began to change. This was no ordinary magic. It was something ancient... and alive.
From the hole, the man rose slowly. Not with difficulty—but as if savoring the moment. His eyes burned with black flames, his skin rebuilt itself as if made of solid smoke, and a red and purple aura swirled around him like a reverse eclipse.
"You really are entertaining, Strax," he said. "Most beg to live at this point. You just moan like a wounded animal."
"Shut up," Strax replied, squeezing Zani’s handle until bones cracked. "I’ll cut you again. This time into pieces so small that even hell won’t accept you."
But before he could move, he felt it.
A pulse.
Then two.
Then dozens.
The ground shook again, this time coming from all directions.
Strax turned with his instincts on high alert, and his gaze swept across the underground horizon of the black city. Gothic towers, colossal structures carved from the very bone and stone of the world. And then he saw it. One by one, black dragons began to take flight from buildings, caves, hidden platforms. Wings tearing through the dark sky, eyes illuminating the darkness with crimson glow.
Fifty. A hundred. Hundreds. All coming toward him.
And that’s when he understood.
"...Clones," he muttered.
His blood ran cold. But not out of fear. Out of pure hatred.
"This whole thing... is a laboratory. A damn nursery of freaks."
Ignisar laughed above him. "Did you really think it was a city? No, no... This is just the beginning, boy. This is my factory. Of a new world. Of a new army. All loyal to me. All programmed to kill."
Strax turned to him. "Then I’ll destroy every one of them."
But something caught his attention—the sound of an ancient roar.
He looked over his shoulder. And he saw it.
Scathach.
The creature that had once been his mother now exploded with power. Her eyes were no longer beastly. They were conscious. It was her. And it wasn’t her.
Her wings had completely regenerated. The blood in her body evaporated and reappeared as black flames. A purple aura circled her body like thorns of agony. Each blow from Tiamat and Ouroboros made her grow, as if the pain fed her strength. As if suffering were the fuel for her metamorphosis.
Scarlet was thrown against a tower and fell motionless. Tiamat flew in front to protect her, but Scathach grabbed her by the wing and threw her to the ground with such force that the impact broke the stone crust. Ouroboros used the chains again—they attached themselves to the creature’s neck, but were pulled hard and broke into pieces. A scream of agony and madness tore through the air.
"STRAX!!" Tiamat shouted, coughing up blood. "SHE’S... CHANGING! SOMETHING’S HAPPENING!"
Strax watched, his jaw clenched, his fist shaking. Ignisar’s words echoed like blades.
"She is just matter. A vessel. A container for what I need. And look... it’s already overflowing. You’re too late."
Strax looked up at the skies. Hundreds of dragons were coming his way. The air burned. The world was collapsing. And his mother... was dying. Or worse: being destroyed from within.
But instead of collapsing, he took a deep breath.
And smiled.
The shadow of a monster rose within him, but he did not fear it. He accepted it. It was his. His fury, his curse, his strength.
"Zani," he whispered, and the blade responded with a roar.
His eyes flashed. The aura expanded, taking on catastrophic proportions. The air distorted. Gravity itself began to bend around Strax.
He raised his sword.
And pointed it at the sky.
"COME!" he roared. "ALL OF YOU!"
And they came.
The first dragon dove from the sky. But before it could open its mouth, Strax leaped. His body disappeared. And then reappeared above the creature—with one slash, Zani split the dragon in half. Not a line. A crack of energy that traveled hundreds of meters and struck three others. Explosions filled the sky.
The bodies fell like meteors.
The second group advanced in formation. But Strax tore through them like a missile. Each punch left craters in their chests. Each kick blew off wings. A whirlwind of flesh and bone spread throughout the city.
Ignisar retreated, surprised. "What...?"
"DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT WOULD STOP ME?!" Strax yelled, diving like a divine spear, cutting down a dozen dragons in a single spin.
Zani screamed with him, a melody of destruction. The sword drank the blood and energy of each creature. It grew. It increased. It pulsed.
And with each enemy killed, Strax became faster. Stronger. Wilder.