My Auto Cloning System

Episode 70: Burnt Feathers & Bad Timing

Kim Do-hyun's lungs were already screaming at him, the good kind of burn that says, Congrats, you're still alive, mixed with the bad kind that says, One more sprint and you're gonna throw up breakfast. He had barely finished turning the big fatty troll's skull into street soup when reality slapped him in the face — not the usual "another monster" slap, but the human problem kind.

A mom. And her daughter. Right there. Too close to the fire zone. Too alive to be left behind.

"Bro… no," he muttered under his breath. "This is the part where I run. Everyone go underground. Leave me here." He pointed toward the open sewer hatch like it was an emergency escape in a video game.

The crowd stared back at him, wide-eyed. Someone even shook their head. No way. You're gonna die, man.

Great. Peer pressure during an apocalypse. Exactly what he needed.

He jerked his chin toward the clone. "Number Two, rear guard. Keep those bastards off my back."

The clone gave a curt nod and peeled off, sword already humming with aura.

Do-hyun wrapped an arm around the mom's shoulders, ushering her and the girl forward, weaving between overturned carts and collapsed storefronts. But the street ahead wasn't empty — a knot of goblins was spilling out of an alley, their yellow eyes locking onto the humans like kids spotting free candy.

"Yeah, no," Do-hyun growled.

One goblin lunged. His spear came up, too slow to block clean, but fast enough to redirect. Metal bit into green flesh, snapping bone. A second goblin darted around the side — Number Two's blade caught it mid-step, chopping low and mean.

It should've been enough, but it wasn't. Bullets from somewhere up the street shredded the air, glass exploding behind them. Hunters and soldiers were fighting mixed waves now, no coordination, everyone shouting over everyone else.

Do-hyun gritted his teeth. Skills? Off the table. That last big strike move — Night-Night Special, patent pending — had wrung him dry. Aura reserves were an empty bank account. Every hit now had to come from muscle and stubbornness.

A man ahead tripped, ankle catching on rebar. Goblin teeth were already swinging for his throat.

"Ah, hell no."

Do-hyun dropped his hold on the mom and daughter long enough to yank the man back by the collar, his knee driving into the goblin's ribs with a crack that left the thing wheezing. Another goblin tried to flank — he spun, spear haft catching it across the jaw. It fell, twitching.

He didn't even have time to breathe before the air changed. Heat. The kind that made sweat roll down his back instantly.

A shadow swept over the street.

Do-hyun looked up — and saw the world's most cursed poultry. A giant black chicken, wings beating slow and heavy, talons carving trenches into the street as it landed.

Its beak darted forward in a peck the size of a battering ram — he dove aside, hitting the pavement hard. A split second later, the beak's tip erupted in fire and smoke. Not magic fire. This was worse. It smelled like burning feathers and engine oil.

The flames rolled straight toward the mom, the girl, and the man.

"Number Two!" Do-hyun barked.

The clone didn't hesitate. He jumped right into the blast zone, sword raised — not to block, but to spread his aura wide, letting it wrap his body like a second skin.

Shield mode. Full coverage.

Damn. These clones were basically Marvel Heroes.

The heat shimmer off the giant black chicken's wings bent the air like a frying pan left too long on the stove. Its beak snapped open with a hiss, the sound too sharp, too angry — like it had already picked out whose face to roast first. The ground quivered under its talons as it leaned forward, building that ugly, rolling breath before the next firestorm.

And then the street exploded.

Something — no, someone — hit it from above hard enough that the asphalt under Do-hyun's boots trembled. The bird didn't even scream at first; it just jolted like it couldn't decide if it was hurt or insulted. Then the noise came — high, grating, feathers bursting into the air in ragged chunks.

The thing on top of it wasn't human.

A tiger.

Not the kind in a zoo poster, all orange fluff and lazy eyes. This one was huge, stripes in molten gold and deep black like someone had carved lightning into muscle. Its shoulders rolled like living machinery, each step cracking the street in slow, deliberate punishment. Its eyes burned in a way that made Do-hyun's brain whisper something he didn't want to hear — we're not top of the food chain here, bro.

The chicken flailed under the weight, wings smashing into parked cars, but the tiger's paw came down once, and the fight stopped pretending to be fair.

Do-hyun's legs folded without asking permission. Breath? Gone. Stamina? Already an IOU. He hit the pavement like he'd been switched off at the spine.

When his eyes blinked back into focus, someone was standing between him and the wreckage.

Han Sen.

The Chad himself.

Dressed like he'd stepped straight out of a drama shoot, sword in hand, not a hair out of place. Even the way he stood — loose, effortless — carried the kind of arrogance you couldn't fake. He shifted the blade a single inch, no flourish, no grunt.

And reality split. A cut hung in the air like the world was too polite to close it yet.

"Is everyone okay?" His voice was casual, like he was asking about the weather.

Do-hyun stared from the ground, ribs aching, voice dry. "Who… who are you, bro?"

Something thumped. The chicken's head rolled free, still steaming.

Han Sen, the top guy of the guild, had to throw in a rhyme, huh?

---

Down in the underground shelter, the air was heavy with that damp, recycled smell you get when too many people breathe the same oxygen for too long. The old fluorescent tubes overhead kept buzzing like mosquitoes, making the silence worse. Kim Do-hyun's sister was pacing the narrow corridor, her arms folded tight, like she was holding herself back from doing something reckless.

Number Three was standing at the exit, looking way too relaxed for someone basically blocking the only way out. His stance was casual, but you could tell — if she tried to slip past him, he'd pin her back before she even touched the door.

"I said no," he told her flatly, his voice lacking any kind of warmth. "That's an order."

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "He's been gone too long. Something's wrong, I can feel it."

"That's not your call," Number Three replied, his eyes tracking every tiny twitch she made like she was a flight risk — which, to be fair, she was.

Her parents were sitting a little further back, close to the wall, their expressions tight. Her mom sighed. "Stop making a fuss. You're scaring people."

"I'm not scared for me," she shot back, her voice sharp enough to make a few heads turn. "Why hasn't he come back yet?"

Her dad finally looked up. His eyes were tired, but his voice was steady. "When I saw him… busting down doors earlier, I understood. He's a hunter now. All we can do is trust him."

The words were barely out when someone started hammering at the door from outside.

"Help? Someone? Help!"

The banging echoed through the shelter, making the little kids start crying. My first thought — and probably everyone else's — was the same: Oh no. That monster. The one that had been mimicking Do-hyun's voice earlier. The one smart enough to learn.

Nobody moved.

One of the older residents whispered, "Don't open it. Only residents know the passcode."

But the voice outside kept calling. The knocks got weaker.

Do-hyun's sister's eyes darted between the door and Number Three. Something in her expression told me she'd already decided to do something stupid. She stepped forward.

"I think it's him," she said. "Or maybe… someone he sent with a message."

And before anyone could stop her, she grabbed the handle, twisted..

AN: I'm a bit sick so there might be a tiny chance that I wouldn't publish anything chapter tomorrow. (Tiny chance)