He took a noted in his head:
Lucian 8 – throwing knives, wild but precise.
Lucian 9 – twin-headed axe, brute strength.
Lucian 10 – poleaxe, long reach.
Lucian 11 – naginata, sweeping arcs.
Lucian 12 – spiked mace, blunt trauma.
Lucian 13 – curved sword, elegance and speed.
But it was more than that.
Lucian wasn’t throwing pawns. He was playing a formation.
he long-range weapons — Lucians 10, 11, and 12 — formed the vanguard. Their goal was to keep Dirga at bay, limit movement, choke him in.
Behind them, the pressure line:
Lucians 9 and 13, close combat specialists, ready to strike once Dirga’s movement slowed.
And behind them all — the predator with knives.
Sniper of blades. Eyes sharp, hands faster
But still — three were missing.
Dirga could feel it in the shadows.
A quiet tremble in the floorboards.
A breath out of rhythm.
Three ghosts. Waiting for their cue.
Then a scream shattered the silence.
"You’ll die today, bastard!" Lucian 8 howled, knives flashing in his fingers. "Just like you killed my brother!"
The rage in Lucian’s voice wasn’t professional.
It was personal. Vantasio hadn’t just been a boss.
Dirga’s fists curled.
The air around him rippled.
In his eyes, twin galaxies spiraled — black holes swirling with the light of collapsing stars.
"Then let’s end the bloodline."
With a sharp exhale, Dirga unleashed his telekinesis.
The battlefield responded.
Broken metal beams, shattered concrete, splinters of wood, glass shards — every fragment of debris in the room levitated, suspended in the air like the breath before a storm.
The air howled as the debris screamed toward the Lucian formation like a volley of cursed bullets. The clones tried to react, but without shields or time, they scrambled in disarray.
Bone cracked. Flesh tore. The formation broke.
Chaos exploded across the room.
Dirga’s eyes locked onto Lucian 8.
Amidst the madness, Dirga launched himself forward, a human catapult, cutting through the air with telekinetic propulsion. But Lucian 8 was quick — too quick — sidestepping with inhuman reflex.
His center of gravity snapped to his palm.
Lucian 8’s body faltered in midair. His dodge meant nothing now.
Gravity claimed him — pulled like a comet to a collapsing star.
Dirga caught him in mid-air.
The sound of a neck breaking echoed through the hall.
Lucian 8 fell limp, dead in his hand.
Dirga’s boots hit the floor. His breath fogged in the air.
Another realization hit.
They weren’t connected.
Lucian 8 hadn’t known his abilities. They didn’t share memory. Which meant — the remaining Lucians were observing. Calculating.
Three are still hiding. Watching. Waiting for the pattern.
That meant one thing:
His ultimate was still a secret.
A trump card hidden behind blood and screams.
Lucian 13’s voice slithered through the silence.
"Well... a nasty skill you’ve got there, Mr. CEO."
Lucian 10, 11, and 12 charged — armed with long weapons.
A poleaxe. A naginata. A steel-headed mace.
Their steps thundered like war drums.
Steel whistled past his ear. The naginata tore air, the mace came down like a hammer of judgment.
Dirga bent the world around him.
With bursts of gravity and precise telekinesis, he slid through their attacks like a phantom, their blades missing him by inches. Sparks burst off the floor. Wood splintered behind him.
He reached out with his mind— grabbed a fallen spear.
It flew to him, point-first.
Dirga turned it into a whirlwind, stabbing forward mid-spin.
Lucian 13 and 9 barely avoided it, catching light scratches. But Lucian 11 took the hit — a clean stab to the thigh. He staggered, blood soaking his leg, and he fall
Lucian 13 countered fast, his curved sword slicing toward Dirga’s ribs.
Dirga raised the spear just in time — steel clanged against steel, the impact jarring his arm.
But the other Lucians closed in again.
Dirga propelled himself back, flipping through the air, trying to escape the trap.
Lucian 9 was already there.
The double-headed axe swept down — slicing into Dirga’s arm.
Dirga winced, but didn’t stop. Instead, he stepped inside Lucian 9’s guard.
The axe was stuck in the floor.
Dirga’s foot slammed down on it, pinning it.
Lucian 9’s eyes widened. He stepped back—
Dirga’s fist came in from the right.
Lucian 9’s head exploded like a shattered fruit. Blood sprayed across the room.
"Gross," Dirga muttered, wiping red from his face.
He grabbed the spear again, wound his arm like a javelin thrower, and with a burst of psychic force, launched it at Lucian 10.
The spear twisted midair, rotating like a drill. Lucian 10 raised his poleaxe to block — but it shattered on impact.
The spear tore through him. Blood exploded from his back.
Dirga advanced, caught the spear with telekinesis before it hit the ground, and turned it.
The spear flew at him — but Lucian 12 managed to knock it aside with his mace.
Still, the impact ripped the mace from his hands.
Dirga dashed forward — but from the side, Lucian 13 struck.
Dirga’s instincts screamed.
He reached out — and pulled Lucian 12 in front of him.
Lucian 13’s sword ran straight through Lucian 12’s chest.
The clone gasped — a sound of metal and blood — and collapsed.
Dirga stood before Lucian 13, blood dripping off him.
Lucian 13’s eyes flared.
"You really make me angry... just die already!"
His sword danced, a blur of silver. Dirga ducked, stepped sideways, twisted. He needed a weapon.
His eyes landed on Lucian 11 — still breathing, still dying.
Dirga sprinted, dodging sword strikes, and seized the naginata.
One strike ended Lucian 11’s suffering.
Now it was two weapons vs one.
The naginata floated with telekinetic precision.
Lucian 13 pressed the attack, but now Dirga had reach — steel parried steel, sparks flashed in the dark.
Dirga spotted the gap.
With a quick burst of power, he summoned a poleaxe to join him.
Naginata. Poleaxe. Fists.
Lucian 13 was overwhelmed.
Dirga lunged — the poleaxe shot forward like a harpoon.
Straight into Lucian 13’s chest.
The room fell quiet again.
Dirga, soaked in blood, stood tall beneath flickering lights.
Nine down. Three still hiding.
He turned his head. Three shadows still lingered, waiting, watching. He could feel their breath on the edge of reality. The next round had already begun.
This is just the start