Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

The intruders crept into the house, their footsteps silent as they moved through the dimly lit room. Shadows danced on the walls, but their eyes were locked on the figure slumped over the kitchen table—Lucy. Her gentle breathing was the only sound in the stillness, unaware that danger had come for her.

One of the men, a tall figure with a scar running down his cheek, grinned wickedly as he spotted her. "There she is," he whispered, his voice laced with perverse excitement. "The boss wants her brought in front of him, and I can see why."

Another man, shorter and stockier, stepped closer, his eyes roaming over Lucy's delicate features with a lecherous gleam. "She's a beauty, alright—just like the young master's last conquest. Too bad she's caught the boss's wrath without even knowing why. Shame she angered him, even if the boss's son died for reasons that had nothing to do with her."

The scarred man chuckled darkly. "Ignorance won't save her. She should've known better than to get involved, even by accident. But now... well, the boss will have his fun."

They exchanged a glance, both clearly enjoying the thought of Lucy's fate. The shorter man pulled out a small pouch, shaking it lightly before opening it. "Let's make sure she doesn't wake up. Wouldn't want to spoil the boss's plans, now would we?"

He sprinkled a fine, glittering powder over Lucy, watching as it settled on her skin. The powder took effect immediately, ensuring that she would remain in a deep, dreamless sleep. The men smirked as her breathing deepened, oblivious to the danger.

The scarred man leaned in closer, brushing a strand of hair from Lucy's face with a touch that was anything but gentle. "She really is a shame. Too bad she crossed the wrong people."

Satisfied that Lucy wouldn't wake up, the men carefully lifted her from the chair, their movements deliberate and practiced. Every step was calculated, ensuring they made no noise that could alert anyone to their presence.

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As they carried her towards the door, one of them, a lanky man with a sneer permanently etched on his face, glanced around the room and muttered, "What about her brother? We leave him here?"

The other, a burly brute with a cruel glint in his eyes, smirked. "That little whelp? He's nothing. But let's make things interesting. Leave him a message—tell him to come to the goblin village. It'll be amusing to see him stumble into a trap, thinking he can play the hero."

The lanky man chuckled darkly, "He'll probably come running like a fool, thinking he can save his precious sister. Too bad for him, though... he'll be walking right into our hands."

With a twisted grin, the burly man quickly scribbled a note and placed it conspicuously on the table where it would be easily seen. "This should set the stage nicely," he said with a low chuckle. "We'll see if the boy's got any fight in him—though I doubt he'll last long."

With Lucy securely in their grasp, they slipped out of the house and into the night, their confidence growing with each step. They believed they had succeeded without a hitch, eager for the entertainment that would follow.

However, as they disappeared into the shadows, they failed to notice a slight twitch in Lucy's face—a subtle sign that something deep within her was beginning to stir, ready to awaken.

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Two hours had passed since Lucy's abduction. Lucas stirred awake, the remnants of his earlier exhaustion clinging to him, though he felt somewhat refreshed after the grueling time of cultivation. He stretched and rubbed his eyes, blinking away the last traces of sleep.

Rising from bed, Lucas headed downstairs, expecting to find Lucy bustling around the kitchen, preparing dinner as usual. But as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the house was eerily quiet. He frowned, his gaze sweeping the empty kitchen. The familiar clatter of pots and the aroma of cooking were absent.

"Lucy?" he called out, his voice tinged with curiosity. There was no response.

Lucas didn't immediately worry. Lucy often went to the market early in the afternoon to gather some discounted ingredients, and sometimes, if she was particularly tired, she would sneak back to her room for a bit more sleep. He glanced toward her bedroom door, half-expecting to hear the soft creak of the floorboards as she stirred awake.

But something felt off. The silence was too complete, too unnatural. His eyes scanned the room again, and that's when he noticed it—a piece of paper lying on the kitchen table, standing out starkly against the wooden surface.

A sense of unease settled in his gut as he walked over and picked it up. The paper felt rough under his fingers, hastily torn from something larger. He unfolded it, the crude handwriting immediately catching his attention. His heart began to pound even before he fully grasped the words scrawled across the page.

As he read the message, his blood ran cold. "Bring yourself to the goblin village," it read. "If you want to see your sister again."

Lucas's grip on the paper tightened, his knuckles turning white. The fear that had clawed at him in those first few moments transformed into a raging inferno of anger.

"They took her," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. The words echoed in the empty room, thick with the promise of violence. He crushed the note in his fist, the crumpled paper a poor outlet for the fury building inside him.

His mind raced, already spinning with thoughts of rescue and revenge. He knew he had to act fast, but before he could take a step, a sudden, deafening explosion shook the air. The force of it rattled the windows, sending a shudder through the house.

Lucas's head snapped up, his heart pounding as he looked out the window. A thick column of smoke was rising in the distance, dark and ominous against the morning sky. His breath caught in his throat as he realized where it was coming from—the direction of the goblin village.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Then, without a second thought, Lucas bolted from the house, his legs moving on instinct as he sprinted toward the village. His heart pounded in his chest, driven by a mix of rage and fear that gnawed at his insides, urging him to move faster.

"Hold on, Lucy," he whispered to himself, the words barely audible over the rush of wind in his ears. "I'm coming. I won't let them hurt you."

He ran as if his life depended on it, but in truth, it wasn't his life he was concerned about. It was hers. And nothing, not even the searing pain in his muscles or the burn of his lungs, would stop him from getting to her. No matter the cost, he had to save his sister.