Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

The news of the Kragmir Clan's crushing defeat at the hands of the Malachor Clan spread like wildfire through the surrounding territories. The shock rippled through every corner, shaking the nearby clans that had long considered Kragmir the dominant force.

Whispers of disbelief and concern filled the air, as Kragmir, once viewed as the stronger of the two, had been brought to its knees.

In every clan meeting hall, the conversation was the same—"How did Malachor suddenly overpower Kragmir?"

"We heard Kragmir was taken down in just one night," one clan leader said to his advisors, his voice trembling with fear.

"Impossible!" another elder exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table. "Kragmir's golems are the strongest in the region! The Malachor Clan could never rival them!"

But the facts could not be ignored. Word spread quickly that Malachor had employed a new weapon—"a new type of corpse puppet, stronger and faster than anything ever seen before."

"What could it be?" murmured one leader in a secluded meeting. "They call it the Nether Puppet, and it's said to be invincible."

Another leader, pacing back and forth in his chambers, couldn't hide his anxiety. "If Malachor has such power, it's only a matter of time before they come for us next. We need to act before we're crushed."

Panic set in as the realization dawned: Malachor, a clan that had once struggled in Kragmir's shadow, had somehow surged ahead. Their sudden rise left many clans scrambling for answers—and more importantly, for alliances.

Within days, envoys from nearby clans began arriving at the gates of the Malachor stronghold, their carriages weighed down with extravagant gifts—precious stones, rare elixirs, enchanted weapons, anything that might appease the now-dominant Malachor Clan.

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The leaders of these clans hoped that these offerings would serve as a sign of goodwill, and perhaps secure an alliance—or at least avoid becoming the next target in Malachor's path of destruction.

One envoy, representing the Elderhorn Clan, was ushered into the Malachor throne room. Bowing low, the diplomat, a wiry man with a nervous smile, presented his clan's tribute: three chests of mana-rich gems and ancient scrolls.

"For your esteemed leader," the envoy said, his voice shaky, "a humble gift from the Elderhorn Clan, in recognition of the Malachor Clan's newfound... strength."

The leader of the Malachor Clan, seated upon his throne, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

He waved for one of his attendants to inspect the chests before offering a slow, deliberate smile. "Your gifts are appreciated. It seems the Elderhorn Clan knows how to show proper respect."

The envoy's smile grew strained. "Yes, of course, my lord. We only wish to foster continued peace between our clans."

The Malachor leader chuckled softly, a sound that made the envoy flinch. "Peace... yes. It's a wise choice to be on the right side of this conflict," the leader said, his tone laced with a subtle threat. "I will remember the Elderhorn Clan's loyalty."

As the envoy bowed again and hurried out, beads of sweat glistening on his brow, the Malachor leader turned to his advisors, his face breaking into a wide grin. "They're afraid. It won't be long before the rest follow suit. Look how they flock to us, begging for our favor."

One of his closest advisors, an elder with a knowing smile, nodded. "The balance of power has shifted. Everyone knows it. And those who don't yet, soon will."

Over the next few days, more envoys arrived, all bearing similar tributes, each leader desperate to curry favor and avoid Malachor's wrath. The Silverscale Clan sent a priceless collection of weapons enchanted with rare elemental magic.

The Ironclaw Clan, known for its fortifications, offered blueprints to their latest defensive structures in a bid to align themselves with Malachor's newfound strength.

As the Malachor leader received each gift, his confidence swelled. He reveled in the attention, knowing full well that he had cemented his clan's dominance in the region. With every chest of treasure and every word of flattery, he felt the weight of power tipping further in his favor.

During a private feast held to celebrate their victory over the Kragmir, the leader turned to one of his guards, his voice brimming with satisfaction. "Where is Elder Thalnor? I want him to see how his creation has transformed our clan."

The guard, standing at attention by the door, bowed respectfully before responding. "My lord, Elder Thalnor has returned to the Necrovauld Academy. He mentioned that the end-of-the-year event is about to begin, and his presence is required."

The leader frowned slightly, tapping a finger against his goblet. "Ah, I see. Duty calls, I suppose." He paused for a moment, then his tone shifted to something more business-like, his smile returning. "And what of the Nether Puppets? Has everything been prepared for the next phase?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, my lord. Elder Thalnor has made all the necessary preparations. The Nether Puppets are complete and awaiting your orders. They are safely stored in his lab, ready for deployment."

The leader's smile widened, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "Excellent. Everything is proceeding exactly as planned. Thalnor has outdone himself."

He raised his goblet, swirling the wine inside before taking a deliberate sip. His voice lowered to a near-whisper, though the intensity of his words carried across the table to his most trusted advisors. "With these puppets, no one in the region will dare to challenge us."

One of the elders seated nearby, an older man with sharp eyes and a grizzled beard, leaned forward, his voice filled with admiration.

"This is only the beginning, my lord. The surrounding clans are already bending over backward to stay in your good graces. With the Kragmir Clan gone, we stand unrivaled. Soon, others will beg for alliances—or mercy."

The leader chuckled darkly, his eyes flashing with ambition. "Let them come. They will bring their gifts and their praises, but they know the truth—they fear us. And they should. The Malachor Clan is no longer in anyone's shadow."

He raised his goblet high, his voice booming across the hall. "To our strength! To the future of the Malachor Clan!"

The hall erupted in cheers, the sound of clinking cups echoing through the grand space. Laughter and conversations filled the air as the clan members, emboldened by their newfound power, celebrated long into the night.