I Can Create Clones

Dawn was breaking over the Starfall estate as Marcus Drake hung in his ethereal prison, every secret extracted, every conspiracy laid bare. The Celestial Binding Chains pulsed with steady rhythm, their divine authority having proven unbreakable despite hours of desperate struggle. His Middle Supreme cultivation, once a source of unshakeable confidence, had been rendered meaningless against artifacts that operated by rules beyond his understanding.

Lysander stood before his captive uncle, no longer the broken exile Marcus remembered, but something forged in the fires of betrayal and tempered by years of careful planning. The intelligence extraction had been thorough—every detail of the corruption network, every participant in Aurelius's shadow faction, every weakness in the Drake family's political structure now belonged to his enemies.

"It's finished," the mysterious figure announced, their young voice carrying authority that made the morning air itself seem to listen. "We have everything we need to dismantle the entire conspiracy."

Marcus looked up with eyes that held the hollow desperation of someone who understood their situation completely. "What happens now? Public exposure? Family council proceedings?"

"Uncle," Lysander said softly, his altered features showing something that might have been pity, "you still don't understand what you're facing."

The realization hit Marcus like a physical blow. There would be no trials, no public revelations, no political maneuvering. This had never been about justice in any conventional sense—it was about permanent elimination of threats to people these mysterious forces chose to protect.

"The Starfall family," he whispered, pieces finally clicking into place. "All of this is about protecting Anthony's branch."

"Among other things," the figure confirmed. "Your corruption network threatened people under our protection. The consequences were always going to be terminal."

Lysander stepped closer, his restored Low Supreme cultivation blazing to full intensity for the first time since the interrogation began. The power was magnificent and terrible—not just healed, but evolved beyond what his original potential had ever suggested possible.

"Do you remember what you told me the night you destroyed my core?" Lysander asked, his voice carrying the weight of five years of accumulated hatred. "You said that power was everything, that family bonds meant nothing when they conflicted with political necessity."

Marcus's mouth went dry as he recognized his own words being turned against him.

"You said that weakness deserved elimination, that the strong had every right to destroy those who couldn't protect themselves." Lysander's spiritual pressure intensified until the very air around them shimmered with heat. "Tonight, Uncle, you get to experience what it feels like to be the weak one."

The attack that followed was not the wild fury of personal revenge, but the calculated precision of someone who had planned this moment down to the smallest detail. Dragon's Wrath techniques flowed in perfect sequence—elemental fire and lightning that carved through Marcus's spiritual defenses with surgical accuracy.

But it wasn't just Lysander's assault that made resistance impossible. The mysterious figure's Peak Guardianship clone moved with tactical perfection, every strike coordinated through some form of spiritual communication that allowed flawless cooperation between the two attackers.

Marcus fought with the desperation of someone who understood that survival was impossible but couldn't accept the reality of his situation. His Middle Supreme techniques clashed against his nephew's restored power in exchanges that sent shockwaves through the estate's reinforced barriers.

"Crimson Lightning Surge!" Lysander's voice rang out as devastating elemental energies tore through Marcus's weakening defenses.

"Void Step Coordination!" the clone's attack followed instantaneously, appearing behind Marcus's position with teleportation that bypassed his spiritual senses entirely.

The combination was overwhelming. Marcus's cultivation, formidable though it was, couldn't defend against perfectly coordinated attacks from multiple Supreme-level opponents. Worse, the Celestial Binding Chains continued to restrict his movement, turning what might have been a challenging fight into a systematic execution.

As his spiritual barriers finally collapsed, Marcus found himself face-to-face with his nephew's transformed features one final time. The amber eyes that had replaced Lysander's original brown held depths of cold satisfaction that spoke of justice finally achieved.

"Any last words, Uncle?" Lysander asked, elemental fire dancing around his fingers as he prepared the finishing technique.

Marcus looked up at the nephew he'd tried to destroy, at the mysterious ally who commanded power beyond his understanding, at the perfect trap they'd constructed around his life's work. In his final moments, he finally grasped the scope of what he'd been facing.

"Who... are you really?" he gasped, his question directed at the figure whose capabilities had made this entire operation possible.

The answer came not in words, but in the casual display of power that followed. The mysterious figure raised one hand, and Marcus felt his spiritual core beginning to resonate with harmonics that should have been impossible for anyone below Celestial rank to generate.

Core destabilization—not the crude destruction he'd inflicted on Lysander years ago, but surgical dissolution that would leave no trace of artificial interference. To any investigator, his death would appear as if his cultivation had simply collapsed under the strain of advancing age and accumulated spiritual damage.

"Someone who believes in permanent solutions to persistent problems," came the quiet reply.

The technique activated with gentle inexorability. Marcus felt his Middle Supreme cultivation beginning to unravel from within, decades of accumulated power dissolving as his spiritual foundation was systematically dismantled. But unlike the violent destruction he'd inflicted on others, this process was almost peaceful—a return to the mortal state he'd transcended centuries ago.

As consciousness faded, Marcus Drake—Middle Supreme Elder, architect of corruption, destroyer of family bonds—finally understood the truth that had eluded him throughout his scheming political career.

There were always bigger predators in the cultivation world. Always forces that operated by rules beyond conventional understanding. Always someone watching and planning while lesser powers congratulated themselves on their cleverness.

His final thought, as spiritual dissolution claimed him completely, was recognition of the perfect justice in his fate. He who had destroyed family bonds in pursuit of power was eliminated by the very nephew he'd tried to murder, acting under the protection of forces that valued loyalty above political convenience.

Marcus Drake died as he had lived—surrounded by powers he'd never learned to understand, destroyed by consequences he'd never learned to anticipate.

As the first Elder's life ended, Lysander felt a satisfaction that went beyond simple revenge. Five years of exile, suffering, and careful planning had culminated in this moment of perfect justice. But more than personal closure, this elimination represented proof that the mysterious organization protecting the Starfall family possessed capabilities that could reshape the cultivation world's power structures.

The mysterious figure observed Marcus's dissolution with clinical detachment, already planning how the intelligence they'd extracted would be used to dismantle the remaining corruption network. Elder Chen, Elder Cassius, the various branch family conspirators—all of them would face similar fates once the proper preparations were complete.

"Phase one complete," they announced quietly. "The primary threat to the Starfall family has been eliminated. Phase two will begin once we've processed the intelligence and identified secondary targets."

As Marcus's body settled into what would appear to be natural cultivation failure, both killers began the careful process of removing all evidence of their involvement. The garden's spiritual energy would return to normal within hours, the battle's traces would be attributed to natural phenomena, and the estate's barriers would show no signs of the systematic execution that had just taken place.

By the time the main family discovered Elder Marcus's disappearance, he would be found in a remote location where spiritual monsters were known to hunt. His death would appear to be the result of dangerous cultivation experiments or unfortunate encounters with territorial beasts.

Another mystery in a world where powerful cultivators sometimes vanished without explanation.

As they prepared to depart, Lysander took one final look at his uncle's remains. The man who had destroyed his original life was gone forever, eliminated with the same casual efficiency he had once applied to removing inconvenient obstacles.

But this wasn't just revenge—it was the first demonstration of what the mysterious organization built around protecting the Starfall family could accomplish when their interests were threatened.

The Drake family's political landscape was about to change in ways that none of its legitimate leaders could anticipate. And somewhere in his modest bedroom, supposedly sleeping after his twelfth birthday celebration, Ethan Drake smiled in quiet satisfaction.

Justice had been served, his family was protected, and his secret organization had proven its capabilities against Supreme Elder-level threats.

Phase one of his grand strategy was complete.

Now the real work could begin.