The moonlight washed over the oasis-city of Pyrelith like a cold kiss. Below its glowing domes, nestled in the slums, a lab hidden beneath a butcher's shop pulsed with flickering blue light. Machines hummed. Tanks bubbled.
Inside one of them floated something... divine.
She looked like Solara.
She wasn't.
Yet.
The man in white watched her—expression calm, gloved hands caressing the tank. "You'll be the first. The prototype. Imagine... no more dependence on one woman's mercy."
He held up the vial again. Just a drop. A single bead of Solara's essence—harvested from a stolen kiss.
With a press of a button, the clone opened her eyes.
And smiled.
---
Meanwhile, Solara moaned into silk pillows, back arched, mouth parted. Her latest session had left her glowing—literally. Her body exuded a faint gold aura now, enough that servants wore tinted goggles around her.
Wraith leaned against the window, shirt half-open, watching with his usual mix of stoicism and sexual frustration.
"You're glowing again," he said dryly.
She panted. "Guess someone hit the jackpot downstairs."
"You say that like your orgasm could power the city."
"It probably could. We should test it."
The door burst open—Lady Vess storming in, clearly not in the mood for glowing nipples and sassy comebacks.
"Solara. There's been an incident."
"I'm in the middle of post-coital radiance. Can it wait?"
"No. Someone's trying to copy you."
Solara sat up, glow flickering. "What?"
"A clone. Your fluids were stolen. Someone's made a... a knock-off queen."
Wraith's hand went to his blade. "Where?"
"We tracked the energy signature to Pyrelith. Underground labs. Dirty tech. But this isn't just science—it's mixed with alchemy. They're trying to mass-produce you."
Solara stood. The glow faded. Her face darkened. "Someone wants to make me obsolete?"
"They want to own your power."
Solara cracked her neck. "Not while I'm still dripping."
---
The next day, she arrived in Pyrelith not in royal garb, but in a tight, barely-there leather suit that screamed 'I-dare-you-to-look-away.' Guards tried. They failed.
The lab was buried five floors beneath a slaughterhouse. And by the time she and Wraith reached it, five men were already unconscious, one of them with his pants still around his ankles.
"Didn't even touch them," she said smugly, stepping over the moaning pile. "I just said moan."
Inside the lab, the clone stood—naked, perfect, smiling.
Solara stared.
The clone stared back.
"You're beautiful," the clone said.
"So are you," Solara admitted. "But you're not me."
"I can be. I will be."
The air crackled.
Wraith stepped forward. "You sure you want to do this?"
Solara smirked. "Let's see if she's got my moves."
What followed was less a fight, more a sensual ballet of dominance. Bodies twisting, legs entwining, grunts and gasps echoing as power flared from skin-to-skin contact. A slap here, a lick there. The clone tried to match her.
But there was only one original.
Solara grabbed her by the throat mid-mount, eyes gleaming. "You might look like me. But I've earned every drop."
She kissed the clone—hard, forcefully.
And drained her.
The clone collapsed, trembling, power flickering out like a dying flame.
Solara stood, breathless. Glowing brighter than ever.
Lady Vess and Wraith just... stared.
"Was that necessary?" Wraith muttered.
Solara grinned. "She wanted to be me. I gave her a taste."
---
Back in her palace, the glow didn't fade.
If anything, it intensified.
And deep beneath the sands, another clone opened her eyes.
This one smiled wider.
And whispered, "Round two."