Zeke’s mind whirred with the implications of his plan. Using [Blood Manifestation] was already a delicate procedure, but attempting it on a Progenitor—a being whose Soul was far stronger than his own—was on an entirely different level. He paced, weighing the risks, yet the poison ravaging Winter's body left him no time to come up with a different plan.

Unlike with the Dragon, who was a willing participant and already connected to him, this process was much more arduous. To create a [Blood Manifestation], Zeke needed a part of Winter’s essence to serve as a guide for the form the spell would take. Without it, his entire plan would fail. He needed to create an exact replica, something the poison would recognize.

Stepping back to the bedside, Zeke closed his eyes and sent a telepathic message. “Wolf, I’m going to try something different. It’s risky, and it involves your Soul. I need your help, if you can hear me…”

Silence.

“Please… Just don’t fight back, ok?”

Zeke waited, anxiety gnawing at him, but there was still no response. Winter was too weak to reply. Zeke’s brow furrowed in frustration, but he refused to stop now. There was a chance Winter’s Soul might retaliate during the process, and if Zeke failed to control it, his own Soul could be damaged—perhaps even destroyed.

Taking a deep breath, Zeke sat beside Winter again and slowly let his consciousness drift into a deeper layer of awareness. His vision dimmed, colors melting away as he slipped into Soul Sight, and his senses were immediately drawn in a specific direction.

There, he found it. Not far from him floated a massive, glowing white figure. The creature's fur shimmered like frost under moonlight, and its eyes burned with a fierce, ancient intelligence. It was larger than any Soul Zeke had ever encountered, its presence alone enough to send waves of pressure through the room. The wolf didn’t move, yet its power radiated, drowning the space around it.

Zeke swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm. If he was going to succeed, he needed to tread carefully. Tentatively, he extended a Soul tether toward the wolf, willing it to gently connect with the Progenitor's Soul. As the tether approached, a sudden growl resonated in the air, shaking his concentration. It wasn’t a sound in the traditional sense, but that was the best way Zeke could describe the sensation.

The wolf's Soul stirred.

Zeke’s mind raced as he fought to steady his emotions. His experience with Souls had taught him one crucial lesson: the key to handling a Soul was to maintain a calm, focused state. Easier said than done; it felt like he was walking on the edge of a blade.

Steady, he reminded himself, trying to soothe his own nerves. With deliberate precision, he guided the tether forward once more. He moved slowly as if approaching a dangerous beast. The task was nerve-racking, and Zeke’s unease grew with every moment. Before the towering white wolf, he felt his own existence shrink—like a fragile snowflake drifting toward the sun.

As soon as the tether touched Winter’s Soul, the wolf's eyes snapped open, fierce and glowing. Yet, that was all that happened; it didn’t resist. Perhaps the Progenitor had heard him and managed to keep his Soul at bay.

Zeke grew bolder, reinforcing his tether, but there was still no reaction. He prepared to extract a piece of Winter’s Soul. While he had ample experience, extracting hundreds of Soul Fragments from the Archmage in Undercity, this would be his first attempt to steal an actual piece from a complete and far more powerful Soul.

His mind was on high alert. This was the most critical moment. From his own experience with Soul damage, he knew the pain would be intense—enough to test Winter's control over his Soul. With a swift, precise motion, Zeke's once-gentle tether sharpened, slicing off a single strand of the massive wolf’s fur…

The reaction was as immediate as it was violent.

A crushing pressure erupted as the Soul lunged at Zeke, its massive jaws snapping with bone-crushing force. Panic surged through him, his instincts screaming in alarm. Zeke tried to retreat, but the wolf was too fast, too powerful. As its jaws closed in, Zeke braced himself for the pain. This was going to hurt. His reinforced tether held a considerable part of his Soul. How much would he lose—a day’s worth of memories? A week? A month? More?

Just then, a roar echoed through the void, deep and ancient, shaking the very foundations of the Soul plane.

A draconic roar...

The wolf’s attack halted mid-motion, its ears flattening as the cry reverberated through the space. Slowly, the beast backed down, a low whine escaping its throat as it calmed under the influence of the sound.

Zeke took a shaky breath, his tether quivering from the tension. He quickly re-focused, using the opportunity the Dragon had created to secure the fragment of Winter’s Soul. He carefully grabbed the small, shimmering piece, holding it delicately in the grasp of his Soul tether.

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The fragment flickered, radiating a faint, icy glow. Zeke didn’t dare move too hastily as he fully enveloped the fragment with his tether. He had plenty of experience with this part, but he still didn’t dare to be careless. He brought the tether back to his own Soul, attaching it to himself to prevent it from evaporating.

It was done.

Zeke exited Soul Sight, his vision returning to the physical world as he felt the weight of the fragment inside his core. He glanced down at Winter’s body and placed a hand on the Progenitor's chest. The process had taken a toll on him, but there was no time to rest.

He whispered a soft thanks to Khai’Zar before beginning the next step.

[Blood Manifestation].

“Ready, Akasha?” he asked mentally.

[Answer]

I am ready, Host. Do you have any special instructions?

“The process will be different from what we’re used to, but I’ll do my best to control the fragment. However, you might have to pick up the slack.”

Akasha confirmed his command, and Zeke took a final steadying breath. He couldn’t afford to mess this up; otherwise, he would have to extract another piece from Winter’s Soul—a prospect he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Zeke’s fingers wove through the air, turning into a crimson stream as he drew upon the blood within his own body. The Soul fragment hummed in his chest, guiding him as he poured blood into the space beside Winter.

While he provided the Intent, Akasha wove the intricate Spellform needed for this task, which resembled a Ritual in complexity rather than a simple spell. When the moment came, Zeke focused on the foreign fragment attached to his Soul, integrating it into the spell as smoothly as possible.

The air thickened with magic, swirling as blood congealed and shaped itself into a body. The clone took form slowly, its limbs stretching and skin hardening under Zeke’s careful manipulation. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow as he concentrated on the task. The spell was demanding, draining him with every passing second. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the replica was complete—a second Winter, lying beside him on the bed, pale and still as death.

Zeke took a deep breath to steady his trembling hands. He had done it—he had created a copy of the Progenitor, identical to the one lying beside it. This was truly a marvel! However, he had no time to celebrate. Time was running out for Winter, and the procedure had only weakened him further.

If he didn’t act now, it would be too late.

Zeke used his [Perfect Body Control] to command the newly created body. As a construct without a will, it couldn’t resist his spell, allowing him to take control swiftly. He adjusted its breathing, heartbeat, and organs, ensuring everything matched the vital signs of the original body perfectly.

Now, only one last step remained.

With a flick of his wrist, Zeke conjured another Blood needle, piercing the wrists of both bodies. He created a sort of umbilical cord made of Blood Magic, connecting Winter’s real body to the clone. The cord pulsed with red light, binding them together.

Zeke held his breath as he watched the blood flow between the two Winters, their bodies working as one. Their hearts beat in perfect sync, effectively doubling the distance the blood could travel, powered by two motors.

This was it—the moment of truth. Either it would work, or Winter would die.

Immediately, Zeke felt the reaction. The poison in Winter’s body stirred, sensing the new vessel. It was as if it recognized the clone as part of Winter—a clean, untainted extension. The poison surged through Winter’s veins, racing toward the clone with terrifying speed.

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. This was it.

He watched as the dark blue substance flowed through the umbilical cord and into the clone. The moment the first drop of poison left Winter’s body, Zeke raised his hand, gathering all his focus. The timing had to be perfect. He couldn’t eliminate all of it with this trick, but it needed to be enough to give Winter a chance to recover on his own.

Time slowed to a crawl as Zeke’s pupils narrowed, elongating strangely as he tuned out everything else, focusing solely on the thin cord before him.

Now.

With a sharp motion, he severed the connection between Winter and the clone, cutting the umbilical cord in one swift stroke.

The clone froze, its skin instantly turning blue as the poison consumed it. The body stiffened and solidified, the poison having no place left to go. Within moments, the replica turned to solid ice, the poison trapped inside.

Zeke let out a ragged breath, his body trembling from the strain. He stared down at the frozen clone, the lifeless body that had absorbed Winter’s poison.

It was over.

Winter’s body remained still, but most of the poison was gone, no longer coursing through his veins. Zeke could already sense the faint signs of recovery, the chill in Winter’s skin beginning to fade.

Zeke slumped back, exhausted but relieved.

The Progenitor would live.

***

In a dimly lit room, an elderly man sat cross-legged, his back straight and his expression one of deep concentration. Whatever he was doing required great focus. Occasionally, his brow would furrow before relaxing moments later. Other than that, he remained completely motionless as the hours passed.

Suddenly, his expression changed dramatically; his eyes flashed with a ruthless light. After a moment, that tension melted away, replaced by a wide smile as his eyes slowly opened.

“Finally…” the old man murmured as he rose to his feet. He pulled aside the curtains covering the window and gazed out at a massive, solitary mountain not far away. His eyes traveled slowly up to the peak, pausing at a specific spot. “The time has come to claim what should have been mine from the start.”

With those words, the old man left the room and strolled leisurely through the deserted outpost. Though his steps were unhurried, his purpose was clear: he was headed for the mountain.

“Let’s see what my useless brats have managed to accomplish so far…”