The clang of steel echoed through the chamber, punctuated by the desperate gasp of the alchemist clone as he hurled a concoction of shimmering light. The Harbinger recoiled, its dark aura momentarily disrupted by the blinding radiance. In that fleeting opening, Mark saw his chance.
"Now!" he roared, the word echoing in his mind as he telepathically relayed the signal to his remaining clones.
The blacksmith, his face smudged with soot and battle-fever, swung his hammer with renewed vigor. But not just any hammer. This one, crafted with an inscription gleaned from the scholar clone's frantic research, pulsed with a soft, white light. It struck the Harbinger, not with brute force, but with a disruption of its dark energy flow.
A shriek tore from the creature's lips, a sound that sent shivers down Mark's spine. His vision swam for a moment, a disorienting mix of reality and fractured images. He saw a vast facility, crackling with energy, and figures strapped into machines, their faces contorted in unimaginable pain.
The vision snapped shut as abruptly as it appeared. But it left a chilling echo in Mark's mind. Was this the Harbinger's past? Was this the source of its dark power?
The alchemist, seizing the advantage, hurled another concoction, this one laced with a potent sleeping agent. The scout, ever resourceful, launched a net infused with paralytic venom, its translucent strands snaking through the air and binding the weakened Harbinger.
It was done. The once-formidable creature writhed on the ground, its dark energy flickering like a dying flame. Relief washed over Mark, but it was soon replaced by a cold dread. Elara lay unmoving nearby, her chest barely rising with each labored breath. Several clones nursed wounds, their bodies testament to the fierce battle.
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He approached the bound Harbinger, his voice laced with steel as much as fatigue. "Who are you? What is your connection to the System?"
The creature, its voice raspy and weak, rasped out a reply. "We were… chosen. Promising specimens. They… experimented… harnessed the dark…"
Another fragmented image flashed through Mark's mind – a rebellion, a desperate struggle against faceless figures clad in white.
Before he could delve deeper, the chamber walls echoed with a chilling voice, a voice that seemed to emanate from the very shadows themselves. A figure materialized, shrouded in darkness far deeper than the Harbinger's. It glided towards the bound creature, its every move oozing power and disdain.
"Your failure is noted," the figure rasped, its voice devoid of warmth or humanity. "We will have another go at it."
With a flick of its wrist, the figure shattered the bindings on the Harbinger. The fallen creature bowed its head in subservience, its eyes filled with a newfound terror.
Mark watched in stunned silence as the figure turned its gaze towards him. A new wave of fear washed over him. The Harbinger had been a formidable foe, but this… this was something else entirely. A force fuelled by a darkness so profound it seemed to consume all light.
"And you," the figure purred, its voice slithering into Mark's mind, "you are a thorn in our side. But fear not, we will deal with you in due time."
With a final, menacing laugh, the figure vanished, leaving Mark and his injured comrades amidst the wreckage of the battle. He knew their victory was short-lived, a mere reprieve in a far greater struggle. The System, once a distant threat, now loomed large, its true purpose shrouded in an even darker veil.
Mark looked at his remaining clones, their faces etched with determination despite their injuries. He knew they had a choice to make – retreat, or stand their ground against this new, terrifying enemy. And as he met their unwavering gazes, he knew the answer. They wouldn't back down. They would fight. The battle for freedom, it seemed, had just begun.