The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"Where did he go? Was it... was it me? Did I do something wrong?" Her voice was a mixture of panic and disbelief, the smooth confidence she always carried now cracking. "I didn't touch anything, I swear! Or was it something I said?"

The Draven standing in front of her, calm and collected, didn't flinch. He looked at her with those sharp, unreadable eyes that always seemed to be dissecting everything in his line of sight. But this wasn't the real Draven. She knew that now. He was a clone, but he felt so real, so complete in every way that the difference barely registered to most.

The clone exhaled slowly, more for Liora's sake than his own. "No," he said, his voice smooth, steady. "It wasn't your fault."

Liora's shoulders visibly relaxed, but only for a moment. "Then what—? Is this some new magic? Some teleportation spell?" Her eyes lit up again, curiosity overtaking her fear as her mind whirred with possibilities. "I didn't know you were working on that kind of magic. I mean, you're always into dangerous and secretive stuff, but..."

Draven's clone remained silent for a beat, watching her with that same cold, analytical gaze. He could see her mind racing, trying to piece together what had just happened, but it wasn't something he could fully explain. "Leave," he said simply, his tone soft but firm, cutting through her questions. "I need to conduct a more... dangerous experiment."

Liora blinked, the curiosity in her eyes fading into confusion again. "Dangerous?" She hesitated. "You don't mean like... I could get teleported next, do you?"

The clone raised a single eyebrow, almost as if toying with her worry. "Possibly," he replied, his words clipped and deliberate. "If you stay, there's always a chance you might find yourself in some distant, unknown realm. And I'm not sure if even I could bring you back from that."

Liora's face went pale for a second before she made a wry smile. "Yeah, no thanks," she muttered, raising her hands in a mock surrender. "I don't really feel like dying in some random place today. I've got too much to do, anyway." She backed away slowly, her eyes still flickering between where Draven had disappeared and his clone. "Just... don't blow anything up, okay?"n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Draven's clone merely nodded. "Goodbye, Liora."

Liora widened her eyes when she heard the goodbye coming out of Draven's mouth. It's something that never happened, but at the same time, she thought that she saw a flash of a face that not Draven's face for a moment, but then it reverted back.

"Y-Yeah, you can count on me on re-checking the preparation of the auction. Bye, okay?"

With that, Liora turned and exited the room, closing the door behind her. The soft click of the latch echoed through the now-quiet space. The clone stood still for a moment, the room around him settling into an eerie calm.

He muttered softly to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is the first time."

His cold eyes scanned the empty air where his original had vanished. It had happened before—this entering of quests, vanishing into that strange world where he fulfilled the system's demands—but every other time, the real Draven had returned within moments, as if nothing more than a brief loss of consciousness had occurred. This time was different. There had been no instant return.

There was no sense of continuity between his clones and the original body. The connection had been severed, and the implications gnawed at his mind.

"Time... there's a difference in time," he muttered, his thoughts racing. Normally, it was seamless. The real Draven would enter the quest, and within seconds, he'd be back in the room, no matter how much time had passed in the quest world. But now, there was a break. And that worried him.

Your next journey awaits at empire

The clone paced the room, his mind quick and sharp, weighing the possibilities. "If the connection is blocked, it could mean we're dealing with another plane. An entirely separate reality." His hand waved through the air, as though trying to grasp something invisible. "If that's the case, the communication between us and the original has been disrupted...

which also means the other clones are still connected to each other, but not to him. We can't rely on the usual sync."

That thought, cold and rational as it was, brought little comfort. His mind raced further. If they couldn't sync with the original, how long would it take for the real Draven to return? And what if he didn't? He'd have to assume the worst and proceed with caution.

He stood still, eyes narrowed, his mind cold and focused. "No," he murmured to himself. "If the real Draven doesn't return, then we adapt. It's what he would do." His eyes flicked toward the various research papers scattered across his desk, the intricate diagrams, the equations he had been working on. "The world needs Queen Aurelia," he continued, his voice dropping lower.

"Her intellect, her strength... we've prepared for every possible situation."

He clenched his fists briefly, then relaxed them, his cold demeanor never faltering. "If the original Draven is lost, we continue the work. We replace him until he returns."

The room felt even colder now, the low hum of mana reverberating off the magical devices and tools scattered throughout. With a final exhale, he uttered quietly to the empty room, "I'll leave the next part to you."

The words, though seemingly aimed at nothing, were meant for another clone—one of the others assigned to maintain Draven's presence across his multiple tasks. Without hesitation, the clone returned to his desk. His psychokinesis activated, pens lifting into the air and scribbling across journals with flawless precision.

The sound of writing filled the room as the clone continued Draven's meticulous research. His expression remained focused, but there was a grim atmosphere now, a shadow that loomed over the room.

The clone worked with even greater precision, knowing the gravity of the situation. Every calculation, every note, was made with the knowledge that the real Draven was missing, possibly in another realm. But they would endure. It was what they were built for.

____

Deep within a dungeon lined with ancient necromantic magic, another Draven—the one assigned to this particular task—stood at the center of the massive, eerie chamber. His surroundings were suffused with the energies of death, chaos, and decay, all of it swirling around him as he focused intently on his task.

The chamber was the deepest room in the dungeon, a place where only the most powerful beings could survive, and Draven had just finished conquering it.

Standing around him were the undead servants of his conquest—grotesque figures that exuded dark, menacing auras. The Undead Goblin King, a twisted and grotesque form of its living counterpart, towered over him. Beside it stood the Ascended Minotaur Devil Servant, a hulking beast of muscle and malice, its crimson eyes glowing with raw power.

The Goblin Lord Devil Servant loomed nearby, a chaotic force that emanated an aura of domination and cruelty. Lastly, the Ebon Devourer, a shadowy figure, radiated death and hunger, its presence an ever-consuming void.

Draven stood calmly in their midst, absorbing the necromantic energy that flooded the room. He had spent hours manipulating the mana, molding it to his will, bending it to his precise commands. The surrounding dark mana was thick, tangible, and yet, he moved through it effortlessly, his sharp mind never wavering.

"You can count on me," Draven muttered, his voice calm, almost distant. His eyes flashed as he focused on the mana, his body soaking it in, drawing the surrounding energies into himself. Every part of this dungeon's power was his to command now, and soon it would serve him fully.

The twisted servants stood obediently, their heads bowed in silent reverence as he continued his work. The room was filled with a constant hum of dark magic, the oppressive weight of death and decay palpable. This was Draven's domain, a place where only the most powerful could survive, and he had claimed it for himself.

The mana twisted and coiled around him, the necromantic energies flowing into his core, becoming one with him. His mind remained sharp, calculating, as he molded the surrounding forces to his will. Each servant exuded more and more malice, chaos, and death, but none of it fazed him. He had become part of the darkness, controlling it as easily as breathing.

But something shifted. Draven's sharp eyes narrowed, his senses picking up on the faintest disturbance. He muttered to himself, "It seems like practice will need to be put on hold."

Something was coming.

With a final glance around the dark chamber, Draven stepped back from the energies he had been absorbing. The necromantic forces still pulsed around him, but now, his attention was elsewhere. The real Draven was missing, and the time for quiet absorption was over. There were greater threats to address.