The Manaless Extra (A Progression Fantasy Story)

Volume 03, Chapter 121
Guzman vs Dominic [3]

"Shadow Clone!" Dominic commands.

Three fresh clouds of black smoke erupt into the air. As they clear, three more clones materialize, their forms solidifying beside the others.

"That should be plenty," Dominic mutters as he scans the group. There are now eleven versions of himself.

One of the new clones grins. "Alright, Original, what's the game plan?"

Dominic smirks. "We're going to create a new spell, something big. Imagine channeling dark wind currents, weaving them together to sweep up the poison smoke and compress it into a massive dark wind sphere. We'll trap all the toxic gas inside."

All nine new clones light up, their voices overlapping in unison: "Ohhh!"

One of the earlier clones chimes in, "Once we've trapped the smoke in the sphere, what then?"

Dominic's eyes gleam. "Some of you will take it way out. As in, straight into space."

The clones exchange looks of shock and excitement.

"I volunteer!" one clone blurts out, shooting his hand up.

"Me too!"

"Count me in!"

"I'll do it as well!"

Dominic raises a hand to quiet the chorus. "I know you're all eager, but let's do this with a little order. I'll assign the roles. First, all of us will focus on weaving the spell—summoning and shaping those dark wind currents, herding the poison gas into a sphere."

"But what about that demon?" another clone interjects, jerking a thumb toward the crater, where the lightning demon had twitched and smoldered earlier.

Dominic nods, turning to two of his counterparts. "You two, stand guard over the demon. See if you can communicate with it, but defend yourselves if it gets violent."

"Understood!" the two clones reply in perfect sync, already moving to their post.

Dominic turns to his left, addressing six clones. "The six of you will take the wind sphere and carry it as high as you can—out of the atmosphere, if possible. That poison's not coming back down on our heads."

"Yes, sir!" they chorus, saluting with mock solemnity.

A proud smile touches Dominic's lips as he faces the last three clones. "You three, you're with me. We're going after Guzman. No mercy this time."

"Ready!" they reply, steeling themselves for the coming confrontation.

Dominic's gaze lingers on the roiling sea of purple fog that still chokes Eñeforte Town, his determination sharp and unwavering—like a blade cutting through the storm.

"Let's get to work, everyone. Time to clean up this mess and finish what we started."

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Guzman stumbles into the old stone plaza at the heart of Eñeforte Town, stopping near the weathered fountain. The cracked marble shimmers faintly beneath a haze of purple mist.

He kneels, rubbing the soreness from his neck.

"He's strong… far stronger than I expected," he mutters, his voice rasping in the heavy, tainted air.

He glances over his shoulder, retracing the events in his mind—Dominic, the dome of shadow, the overwhelming surge of Mana.

"Not only that… I was forced to bring out the demons using Luo Minghao's control crystal. That was supposed to be my last resort—only if the poison failed. Now, even that's collapsing…" he whispers bitterly.

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Guzman exhales, his breath shaky. 'I have to get out. I have to warn Colleen to retreat. This fight isn't winnable—not head-on. If I don't… everything Uncle built, all of La Peste Noire, will disappear.'

He begins to rise, ready to vanish into the smoke. But something—an instinct, or perhaps guilt—makes him pause.

At the very edge of his vision, he sees movement.

A small form, low to the ground, dragging itself slowly across the ruined plaza.

He turns, pulse racing, and his breath catches in his throat.

Jelena.

Her skin is just as corrupted as the other victims', blackened and marbled with poison. Yet somehow, she is alive, crawling desperately toward him, her head bowed so low he cannot see her face.

Guzman's eyes widen in disbelief. "H-how…?"

For a moment, a feeling rushes through him—not horror, but something dangerously close to relief.

'Why do I feel this way?' he wonders. 'After all, I'm the one who caused this. I'm the reason she's like this…'

Jelena drags herself closer, her little body trembling.

"Mama… Papa… please… help me…" she whispers. Her voice is thin and raw, scraping through the silence.

Guzman's fists clench so tightly his nails dig into his palms. His heart thuds wildly in his chest.

He moves toward her almost without thinking, dropping to one knee and reaching out with a trembling hand. He gently lifts her chin.

Her eyes meet his—crystal clear, shockingly lucid. Tears stream down her cheeks.

"Mister… it's you…" she breathes, her tiny hands weakly wrapping around his. "Do you know… where… Mama and Papa are…?"

Guzman's composure shatters. 'How is she even alive? The smoke should have killed her. No one could survive it… not even an adult, much less a child. Is it her Magic Attribute? Or…'

He feels her tears wetting his glove.

'Why do I care?' he thinks frantically. 'Why does this ache so much? I was the one who poisoned this town, the one who brought all this death. What right do I have to comfort her… to promise anything?'

Yet even as shame and confusion war within him, he cannot pull away.

He squeezes her hands gently. "Don't worry, Jelena," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion he barely understands. "I… I'll find your parents. I promise."

The words slip from him, an audacious, impossible promise.

'What am I doing?' he thinks, horrified by his hypocrisy. 'How can I say this? After what I've done…?'

As he holds her, Guzman's mind spins with guilt and disbelief. He has orchestrated the death of hundreds, yet here he is, kneeling in the rubble, comforting the last survivor. Is it penance… or something even he does not understand?

Guzman carefully lifts Jelena into his arms, cradling her limp body as he staggers away from the square. He tries to steady his breath.

Then suddenly, the world changes.

–Fwoosh!

A violent wind tears through the town, whipping his coat and scattering debris. Guzman nearly loses his footing as a gale of unnatural force sweeps through the square.

"What—?"

He looks up in shock.

Above him, the sky is a swirling chaos of darkness and wind. Twisting currents of shadow magic dance in the air, corralling the poison gas, forcing it away from the streets and out of the homes.

Flying above the rooftops, he counts one… two… three… nine Dominics, each with vast, dark wings unfurled, each weaving the wind with disciplined movements of their hands.

"Why are there so many Dominics…?!" Guzman mutters in disbelief. "Is this some kind of spell?"

The gas, once thick and deadly, is herded into a single, immense sphere, trapped within a swirling cyclone of shadow.

"No—no!" Guzman shouts, his voice ragged. The last piece of his plan vanishes before his eyes.

In the sky, the original Dominic points, issuing orders. "Okay, six of you—get that sphere out of here. Into space!"

"Roger!" Six Dominics answer in perfect unison.

The six clones seize the dark wind sphere and rise rapidly. Guzman watches in awe and horror as the black orb ascends higher and higher, shrinking until it is just a pinpoint, and finally vanishes beyond the clouds, out of sight, out of reach.

For a moment, Guzman stands frozen, breathless. 'What kind of magic is this?'

He feels a cold, helpless dread growing in his chest—a feeling he has not known since childhood.

He spins, ducking into a narrow alley. Inside, he kneels and carefully lays Jelena's fragile body down. Her eyes are closed now, her breathing faint.

"I'll be back, Jelena…" Guzman whispers, gently stroking her hair. He turns away, fists clenched, forcing himself to keep moving.

I don't understand why I'm feeling this way, he thinks as he runs, his mind a blur of grief and confusion. But right now, I have to survive. I have to retreat.

He fumbles for his commlink, trying to reach Colleen, when suddenly, a surge of Mana roars from above.

Guzman reacts instantly, legs tensing with magic. He leaps away—

BOOM!

A dark beam crashes into the alley where he stood, obliterating brick and stone, filling the air with dust and shattered masonry.

Guzman skids to a stop and looks up. One of the Dominics hovers above him, expression icy and unreadable.

"Hey, Original—I found him," the clone calls, his voice echoing down.

Guzman's heart pounds. He gathers Mana in his hands, muttering, "Blightstorm."

Instantly, thick red smoke erupts around him, swirling like a living shroud. The Dominic clone ascends to avoid the cloud, eyes narrowed.

"He's using smoke to escape," the clone mutters.

Guzman bolts down the winding alley, heart hammering. He cuts right, emerging suddenly into the open plaza—only to sense another torrent of Mana from above.

Again, he powers his legs, leaping aside as another massive dark beam tears into the earth where he stood. The shockwave blasts through the plaza, sending Guzman tumbling across the flagstones. He crashes against the central fountain, coughing, vision blurring.

"That power…" Guzman gasps, trying to regain his bearings. "That's… even stronger than before. Is that the original?"

He looks up—Dominic descends from the sky, dark wings outstretched, eyes burning with resolve.

Two more Dominics land around him, boxing him in.

The hunter has become the hunted.

And Guzman, for the first time, is running out of places to hide.