My Auto Cloning System

Episode 69– The Elites Land, and the Mess Levels Up

The problem wasn't the monster's size. It wasn't even the smell coming off its fur like somebody had boiled gym socks in sewage. No, the real headache was the regeneration. The thing healed like it had a subscription plan.

Do-hyun's brain clicked. "Number Two—legs. Take them out. Don't argue."

The clone didn't waste breath. One step, two, and his blade carved straight through the troll's hamstring. There was a meaty snap and the beast bellowed, collapsing to one knee.

Do-hyun didn't even wait. His feet dug in, eyes locked like a gamer hitting a headshot streak. "Pop goes the eyeball," he muttered, and his spear tip punched into one socket, then the other, in quick precision jabs.

The troll roared, blind now, swinging wildly. Number Two swept low again, cutting the other leg's tendon clean. The monster went down hard, face-first into the cracked street, limbs folding in ways that would make a yoga instructor gag.

Then—crying.

Do-hyun blinked. "Wait, what—? This thing is… scared?"

The giant's chest heaved, whimpering like a hurt dog. But Do-hyun wasn't here for sympathy hour. His wrist flicked, and aura flared around his spear. Strike Ability—loaded.

"Night-Night Special," he whispered, jamming it down.

The crew didn't even watch for finesse—they wanted the thing gone. Everyone piled in. Blades, boots, blunt ends, somebody's broken chair leg—if it could smash, it got used. The troll's skull gave under the onslaught with a wet, cracking finality.

Silence.

Then the system chimed, cheerful as a store clerk ringing up a sale. [Stats Gained +++++]. Do-hyun's screen looked like someone had dumped a bucket of points on it. His hands, however, were wrecked. That strike ability hit like a tank but chewed his tendons in return.

"Worth it," he groaned, staggering upright. "Alright… sister time—"

He patted his pockets. Froze. "Where's my phone?"

Number Two looked suspiciously busy cleaning his blade.

"Hey. Gimme back my phone."

The clone didn't answer, but before Do-hyun could tackle him, the city lit up with another explosion.

BOOM.

Dust and debris rained down. More monsters, a whole wave this time, surged out from the far end of the boulevard. The ground trembled with their steps. Above, aircraft screamed past, tracer rounds slicing the night. Armies poured in from every street, uniforms clashing with whatever gear they'd grabbed in a hurry.

And then—

Godzilla's cousin showed up. A monster so big it didn't walk; it shoved buildings out of the way. Skyscraper glass shattered under its shoulders, entire blocks bending to make space for it.

A flash of blue-white streaked through the sky. Torpedoes hammered into its skull—only, no. Do-hyun's pupils tightened. That wasn't tech. That was mana. Rank Nine magic, bright and mean, burning through the rainclouds.

He spotted the casters: Red Flame Guild.

The hunters had arrived, motivated by equal parts civic duty and the promise of a month's pay in one night.

Magna, their leader, stood at the front line, armor catching the light.

Confident.

Too confident.

BAM.

Big Shot.

Huh? Bam—Big Shot alert.

Nobody even saw the warning signs before it happened. One second, the sky was just sky, the next it was whoosh-bam, explosions thundering left and right like the weather had finally joined the fight. Shockwaves rolled through the streets, rattling loose glass, making everyone's teeth feel like they were vibrating out of their gums. Smoke geysers rose between collapsed buildings, and in the middle of all that chaos—an aircraft, sleek, black, looking like somebody had welded a jet and a bunker together.

The side hatch hissed open. Inside, men in matte-black armor moved like they'd been rehearsing this moment since birth. The leader was leaning against the hatch frame like the wind owed him money. Han Sen. Leader of one of the top three guilds. Supposedly the kind of guy who could solo a mid-tier beast without messing up his hair. Right now? His face was calm, but his crew's fingers were already twitching over their weapons.

The aircraft tilted. Han Sen didn't even shout a dramatic line. He just nodded, and they all dove. No parachutes. No ropes. Just aura flaring and gear clicking in mid-air.

If this was a movie, the camera would've followed them in slow motion with epic music. But this wasn't a movie. It was the middle of a city-killing brawl. By the time Han Sen's boots hit the cracked asphalt, the tank down the street had already spun its turret toward him and started spitting shells like it was offended they even tried to make an entrance.

And for once in history, humanity wasn't being completely stupid with their gear. The tank was actually hitting things. The shells detonated in mid-air against a mix of beast aura and mana shields, lighting up the street with white-hot flares. Han Sen's team scrambled behind debris, exchanging fire and energy bursts, their landing grace replaced with the exact same "cover me, bro!" panic everyone else was in.

Then a voice cut through the noise:

"Godzilla's getting away!"

Some poor bastard came sprinting past with a cracked helmet and one shoe, pointing toward the smoke like we were supposed to do something about it. His arm was shaking so hard it looked like it was about to fall off.

And yeah—through the dust, you could see it. That giant reptile-thing, hauling itself over a pile of collapsed buildings like the city was its personal obstacle course. It already had more than a dozen hunters clinging to it, stabbing, blasting, biting (don't ask), and it still didn't look like it cared.

"Let's go do something else," somebody muttered. Probably the smartest sentence spoken all day.

The battlefield blurred into a mess of gold and red. Hunters in full golden armor clashed with beastmen wearing something that looked like stolen pharaoh cosplay. Between them were piles of bodies—some twitching, some not—while the air stank of ozone, burnt stone, and whatever Godzilla's skin oozed when you hurt it.

Some people were cheering like this was a festival. Others were crying over friends they couldn't fix.

One guy was laughing. Laughing so hard it didn't fit the scene at all. A stranger tried to comfort him, asked if he'd lost someone. Turned out he had—his woman. But the grin didn't fade, and the way his eyes darted told the truth. He wasn't heartbroken. He was just a scumbag who'd been freed from commitment mid-apocalypse.

Some survivors staggered into view—faces pale, clothes shredded, but still breathing. That breathing wouldn't have lasted long, though, because they were surrounded by a gang of scavenger-types. The kind who waited until the real fighters had passed before jumping in to loot the wounded.

And that's when our boy and his squad stepped in. The scavengers turned to face them, and whatever they saw in those eyes made them hesitate just long enough for the squad to cut the circle open.

Han Sen noticed. His gaze lingered, sizing up Do-hyun like he was a new weapon on the market. "Hmm." No praise. No lecture. Just that unreadable "I might steal this guy later" look.

Do-hyun didn't bother hiding the fact that there were only two of them. On this battlefield, that was basically wearing a sign that said "eat me." But somehow, they were still upright. Still holding their ground. Still not bleeding out in a ditch.

And Han Sen, for all his ranking and gear, couldn't see the trick. Couldn't see that the reason Do-hyun was making it work was that his "eyes" skill wasn't just for aiming. It was already sweeping the whole area, pulling in details from blocks away like he had a drone in the sky feeding him intel.

"Head north," he told his partner, like they were just on a casual stroll. "Rescue's coming."

Lyotang's wings snapped open—sleek, high-tech, folding out from a frame on his back like a superhero reveal. Black carbon mesh with a faint shimmer of spirit-light at the edges. The kind of thing you'd expect in sci-fi, not a mana-scorched war zone.

People on the street actually stopped fighting for half a second to stare.

It was weird. First time in this whole mess that technology had slotted itself neatly into the chaos of aura and brute force. Usually, in these kinds of stories, humanity acted like they'd all gone back to medieval times—blades and fireballs only, no tech allowed.

But not this time.