Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

Chapter 115: Soul Fusion

The remaining participants in the arena stared in shock and disbelief at the scene before them. One of their own had not only been defeated but killed in the most brutal way imaginable.

The fact that this death had occurred so swiftly, with such ruthless efficiency, sent a wave of fear through the group. Whispers began to spread among them, all eyes turning toward the one responsible for the carnage: Hades.

It was clear to everyone now that this man was no ordinary opponent. The ease with which he had dispatched the large warrior made him the most dangerous threat in the arena.

As the realization sank in, the air grew thick with tension, each participant sizing up Hades with a mixture of fear and anger.

Above them, the old man on the high platform watched the unfolding scene with a deepening interest.

His eyes, sharp and calculating, narrowed as he observed Hades with a mix of curiosity and amusement. The corners of his lips curled into a sly, almost predatory smirk, as if he had just discovered a hidden gem among the rough stones.

"Well, well," he murmured, his voice low but tinged with a certain relish, "it seems I've stumbled upon quite the intriguing disciple."

He tilted his head slightly, his expression growing more thoughtful, yet there was a glint of something darker in his eyes. "I didn't expect to find someone like him here of all places. Such raw potential… and so willing to embrace the darker paths."

The old man's gaze never left Hades as he continued to speak, his tone a blend of admiration and anticipation. "I wonder," he mused aloud, "just how far you're willing to go, boy. What secrets do you hold, and how can they be twisted to serve my cause?"

His smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and calculation. He leaned forward slightly, as if to better observe the unfolding chaos below. "This one will be fun to watch," he whispered to himself, the words carrying a cold, almost sinister undertone.

The old man chuckled softly, a sound that was more sinister than amused, as he settled back into his seat, fully intent on watching how the events in the arena would play out.

There was no doubt in his mind now—Hades was someone worth keeping an eye on, and the old man was eager to see just what this "interesting disciple" would do next.

Meanwhile, Hades remained unfazed by the attention he was garnering. In fact, he seemed to relish it. With a casual, almost lazy motion, he reached into his spatial pouch and pulled out a chair.

As the others looked on in astonishment, Hades calmly placed the chair on the arena floor, sitting down with a leisurely air as if he were merely watching a show rather than participating in a deadly battle.

The sheer audacity of Hades's actions ignited a wave of fury among the remaining disciples. Murmurs of disbelief quickly escalated into angry outbursts as they processed the scene before them.

One disciple, his face flushed with rage, clenched his fists and barked out, "How dare he just sit there and relax in the middle of this?" His voice trembled with indignation, eyes wide with disbelief at Hades's nonchalance.

Another disciple, her brow furrowed and lips curled into a sneer, spat out, "Does he really think he's untouchable? Who does he think he is?" Her tone was venomous, each word laced with contempt as she tightened her grip on her weapon, the tension in her body evident.

"Is he mocking us?" a third disciple demanded, his voice low and simmering with barely restrained anger. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowing as he watched Hades with a mixture of fury and apprehension. "Does he actually think he's better than the rest of us?"

Their voices overlapped in a cacophony of outrage, each word dripping with resentment and the sting of wounded pride. The disbelief in their eyes quickly turned to a burning desire to wipe the smirk off Hades's face.

But Hades simply smiled, a cold, mocking expression that only served to infuriate them further. They might be angry, but in Hades's mind, they were nothing more than minor obstacles, not worthy of his full attention.

Deciding to give them something to truly worry about, Hades stood up from his chair and extended his hand toward the lifeless corpse of the big man he had just killed. With a flick of his wrist, he activated another one of his dark skills: Soul Fusion.

The participants watched in horror as the dark energy swirled around the corpse, its body beginning to twitch and convulse. The dead man's soul, which Hades had absorbed earlier, was now being forced back into his lifeless form, twisted and corrupted by the dark magic.

The corpse's eyes snapped open, now glowing with an eerie light, as it slowly rose to its feet like a puppet on strings. The once-powerful warrior was now a zombie, his movements stiff but filled with a malevolent energy.

In its hand, the zombie still gripped the dark axe, its blade gleaming with the same ominous black energy as before. The sight of this undead creature, a perversion of life and death, sent a chill down the spines of everyone present.

Hades leaned back slightly, his smile widening as he admired the grotesque figure of the reanimated corpse before him. The once imposing warrior was now reduced to a twisted mockery of life, controlled entirely by Hades's dark power.

Satisfaction gleamed in his crimson eyes as he turned to face the remaining participants, who were watching with a mixture of horror and disbelief.

"Well, this is quite the spectacle, isn't it?" Hades said, his tone light and almost playful, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the monstrosity he had just created. His voice carried a note of amusement, and the smirk on his lips hinted at the enjoyment he found in their discomfort.

"Tell you what—if any of you can manage to take him down," he gestured casually toward the zombie warrior, "then maybe, just maybe, you can consider coming after me."

His words hung in the air like a challenge, the tone dripping with condescension and mockery. The participants exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence faltering in the face of such blatant provocation.