Once the bodies fell, Root Clone guided the surrounding stone to flow. Floors buckled and softened, coffins of compressed earth wrapped around corpses and shattered gear, then sank deeper until not even a trace remained.
In moments, the hideout became just another stretch of solid rock.
Tarkan State held two more bases. Root Clone treated them the same way—silent blades, silent burial—until nothing hostile remained within its borders.
Afterwards, he doesn't stop.
Travelling underground at supersonic speed, he swept across North India.
Some bases were hidden under farmhouses, some beneath city streets, some carved into border cliffs. In every case, Root Clone struck before the cells realised they had been found.
Communications died in mid‑signal. No one had time to warn anyone else.
By the time half a day passed, every known and unknown hideout in the northern region had been quietly erased.
The movement itself took little time; the real challenge lay in finding each nest. Root Clone's senses could cover huge swathes of land, but he still had to check anomalies carefully: distinguishing ordinary bunkers, army depots, and civilian structures from true terror bases. Even so, his speed turned what would have been years of counter‑insurgency into hours.
From there he turned east.
On the way, the terrain shifted into long chains of mountains and deep forested valleys. Root Clone noticed clusters of unusual herbs and minerals, their Essence signatures stronger than normal. Then he felt it—a point where Essence Flow surged like a subterranean spring.
He diverted and emerged in a secluded valley where the air shimmered faintly. At its centre, earth, air, and water Essence converged and rose in a gentle, constant tide.
An origin point.
The puppets scouting the subcontinent had never found anything like this. Root Clone's heart lifted.
An origin point would continuously enrich its surroundings, spawning rare resources for decades. He anchored four Asura Puppets there with strict orders to guard and catalog everything that grew. This valley would become one of the family's long‑term resource gardens.
Then he plunged back into the soil and resumed the hunt.
East India held fewer bases; in barely five hours, every terrorist stronghold in the region had been neutralised and swallowed by the earth.
The south was different.
Here, the land was quieter in terms of Essence oddities—no origin springs or strange phenomena—but infested with more cells than the north and east combined. Cautious, Root Clone slowed slightly, checking for hostages and avoiding any collateral damage while the Asura Puppets executed precise strikes. The cleansing took more than twelve hours before the last bunker fell still.
Finally, he turned west.
Western India held some of the most dangerous groups. Their weapons were not merely conventional; many were enhanced with Magic Energy—Essence Flow tools and prototypes likely supplied by foreign sponsors. Root Clone recognised the value immediately.
Instead of burying everything, he carefully collected samples: rifles wrapped with Essence channels, grenades with miniature cores, armour designed to redirect force. All of it would go back to Sacral and Solar for research.
Even here, the pattern did not change. Bases died without alarms. Leaders vanished mid‑plan. In roughly ten hours, the western networks were gone.
When he finally surfaced again in Tarkan State and returned to Dark Haven Fortress, two days had passed.
In that time, Root Clone had erased every terrorist hideout on Indian soil, claimed a new Essence origin point, and gathered valuable data—all without revealing his existence or drawing a single camera's gaze.
On the surface, the world only saw one thing: terrorism flaring into chaos, then vanishing as if swallowed by an invisible hand.
They were right about the hand.
They just had no idea it belonged to a quiet boy cultivating far beneath their feet, whose only real wish was to protect his family and be left alone—but who, when forced, could clean an entire nation like brushing dust from a table.
***
When Root Clone returned to the fortress, he found that Ankit's main body had already come out of seclusion. The month‑long cultivation was over; dinner with the family had begun.
Root Clone slipped into a seat without drawing attention. Gyu served dishes, Rudra gurgled happily, and the warm noise of clinking plates filled the underground kitchen.
Kamal was the first to steer the talk toward the outside world. "These last weeks have been a mess," he said, shaking his head. "Bombings every few days, raids, lockdowns… India feels like it's on fire."
Neelam joined in, face tight with worry. Sanya, by contrast, focused on demolishing her plate, clearly uninterested in politics.
After a while, Kamal turned to his son. "Ankit, what do you think? Why did the terrorists suddenly disappear? My guess is they're just hiding, waiting for things to calm down before they attack again."
Ankit took a sip of water and set the glass down. "I don't think so," he replied. "They've been wiped out. They won't be coming back for a while."
He already knew the truth; Root Clone's memories were his own. Every hideout, every buried cell, every erased leader—none of them would threaten India again anytime soon.
Kamal frowned. "How could that be? Those people have been embedded here for years. You can't just wipe them out completely overnight. They're hiding, watching."
Before the debate could sharpen, Neelam put her hand on Kamal's arm and stood up. "Enough for tonight," she said. "We should sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very good day. And Ankit"—she gave him a firm look—"you are not allowed to shut yourself away to cultivate again tomorrow. Understood?"
Kamal paused, then sighed and rose as well. If Neelam had decided something, arguing would only give him a headache.
Sanya and Ankit exchanged a baffled glance. "What's so special about tomorrow?" they wondered silently.
Ankit asked aloud, but his parents only smiled and refused to answer. He didn't press them, simply agreeing not to disappear back into cultivation. Soon after, everyone drifted to their rooms.
***