Path of the Extra

“Oh, but how convenient it was for me,” Xian Feng said, his voice laced with venomous sarcasm, “that after four years of pure torture, the God of Time decided to bless me once more—show me a path out of limbo, and restore my mana core. Saving me from what might have been an eternity of agony… until you finally died and reset the timeline.”

He took another sip from his glass, the amber liquid catching the light as Azriel pursed his lips in silence. He didn’t know what to say—or if he should even say anything at all.

To possess the [Unique Skill] to regress through time, only to end up trapped in a realm where it was useless—where it twisted itself into another kind of hellish time loop.

Truly, that must have been hell.

“And now that we’re on the topic of hell,” Xian Feng continued, tone light but gaze razor-sharp, “I suppose you’ve experienced something similar in this life, haven’t you, my friend? A torment where I may have played a small—insignificant, really—part, if I recall correctly. Who would’ve thought you’d be chosen for Project New Eden?”

Azriel’s face hardened at those words, but Xian Feng pressed on, undeterred.

“It makes me wonder… Do you seek revenge?” He tilted his head slightly. “Against me, personally?”

Azriel didn’t answer right away. He stared at the glass in his hand, turning it slowly, watching the reflections bend and twist in the golden liquid. His expression darkened.

“Being Subject 666… participating in Project New Eden… was my own personal hell. I sent myself to the Void Realm—to that nightmare—to break me.”

He paused.

“The torture… was never even called torture. Doctor Arthur, Vincent… they labeled it ‘research.’ Every day. Without rest. My insides felt like they were boiling—melting. The pain was… beyond comprehension.”

His voice faltered, but only for a moment.

“And the worst part?” he whispered. “I lived through two different versions of being Subject 666. Two separate lives. Two separate realities. And even then… the most painful experience in both was exactly the same.”

The glass in his hand began to crack. The juice inside trembled.

“You see… there was a girl. A little girl who somehow ended up at the facility. Her name was Sia. Short brown hair. Blue eyes. Her body was covered in wounds, her clothes filthy and torn. And yet… she smiled. She thought she was finally safe.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened.

“Until that bastard Vincent told me to kill her.”

His knuckles turned white.

“And in both paths, I gave the same answer: ‘I won’t,’ I said.”

He fell silent for a beat.

“Every day now, I regret it. I think—why didn’t I just raise Void Eater and slit her throat? It might’ve spared her… spared me. Spared her the slow, agonizing death that came because of my answer. Spared me from hearing her screams, day and night… for three days straight.”

“….”

“And on the final day… they presented her flesh to me as food, while I sat rotting in a cold, dark cell.”

“….”

Azriel finished his drink in one heavy swallow, slamming the glass down with a dull thud. Silence followed—suffocating.

Then, suddenly, Oscar’s voice burst through the air like a jarring jester’s horn.

“Ladies and gentlemen! What an amazing war this was! And now, crowning the owner of these divine, mysterious wings… Number 667, with an astounding victory of 545 billion velts!”

Azriel’s expression froze the moment he heard the amount.

‘…Fuck.’

His eyes twitched, panic flickering behind them.

‘Wait. No. Dad wanted to win! So technically… this isn’t our fault. Yes. Definitely his fault…!’

It’s not his fault—Jasmine’s or Nol’s—that they maybe spent a bit too much!

What did he expect going up against the richest of the Four Great Clans?

Xian Feng, however, ignored the outcome of the bid war entirely, raising a brow as he looked straight at Azriel instead.

“…So do you want revenge on me or not?”

Azriel returned his gaze, frowning slightly before shaking his head.

“Why would I? Sure, Neo Genesis was your doing and all, but me being Subject 666… that was on me—or rather, on my now-dead other self. And the ones who hurt me in that facility? They’re already dead. There’s no revenge left for me to take. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t really kill you, could I?

Instead, I destroyed Doctor Arthur’s original vial containing the Voidwalker’s blood. I have gotten your two geniuses—Vincent and Doctor Arthur killed. I orchestrated Zoran’s death and ruined Neo Genesis’ grand debut in Asia. I’d say we’re kind of even now… though the bounty you put on my head isn’t exactly pleasant.”

Xian Feng stared at him for a moment, then suddenly chuckled.

“It’s not like your father didn’t return the favor. There’s a bounty on my head now too. Seems like the Crimson Clan and my organization are officially at war.”

Then, without warning, Xian Feng’s expression darkened. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Now that you mention it… did you really have to kill Zoran? Do you know how much effort it took to nurture that boy? And because of your interference, this time—the changes to the timeline were so drastic that all my Gospels are now useless.”

“It was either I kill him,” Azriel replied, his tone sharpening, “or let him turn this world into some tragic, dark-fantasy novel.”

There was a beat of silence before Azriel tilted his head, eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“Since we’re… bonding? As friends? What’s the deal with those Gospels of yours?”

Xian Feng remained quiet for a moment, tapping the rim of his empty glass with a finger. Then he spoke.

“As you know, each time we die and activate our [Unique Skills], the information we learn in that timeline remains stored in our souls. The higher your mana core, the stronger your soul. And the stronger your soul, the more you’ll instinctively recall from your previous lives.

There are ways to trigger those memories. I, as a Sovereign, can sometimes recall fragments in my conscious mind. If we advance our mana cores even further… we might fully remember everything. That’s just a theory, of course—I don’t know what exactly needs to happen for it all to come back.

But the Gospels… they’re what I can recall instinctively. Using a specific [Skill] and certain mana contracts, I wrote them down—carved them into form. Each one held instructions and routes, and I gave them to some, hoping they would play their roles perfectly. It nearly cost me my life. And now, you’ve rendered all that effort worthless.”

“O-oh… well… I’m sorry? I think?”

Azriel brought a hand to his chin, thinking aloud.

“But if you can already glimpse fragments of our past failures, then it might really be possible—to remember everything, I mean—if we become stronger than even a Sovereign…”

“Indeed,” Xian Feng interrupted, his voice suddenly calm… too calm. “But allow me to give you a warning, old friend.”

“…!”

Xian Feng’s eyes narrowed, and Azriel felt a chill crawl up his spine, goosebumps rising across his entire body.

“You’ve become an Advanced now… your soul has strengthened. But the more time you remain alive in this timeline, it won’t just be names you begin to recall. It will be feelings… emotions… the touch of someone’s skin… their scent.

Don’t let those things sway you. We died in those timelines for a reason. Don’t let them become your downfall again. We don’t get another chance at life anymore.”

Azriel fell silent at the weight of Xian Feng’s warning and could only nod lightly.

Then, suddenly, Xian Feng smirked, his gaze fixed on Azriel’s eyes with amusement.

“Though, looking into those eyes of yours—always radiating that dark obsession—I suppose I needn’t worry. How is it that no one else can see it? That overwhelming thirst for victory you carry like a second skin… Is it something that needs to click in their minds before they finally recognize the obvious?”

Azriel’s expression hardened, his features growing colder by the second, but Xian Feng went on:

“It makes me curious, as someone who truly knows you… Why is it that you must win? Is it guilt—something eating away at you? Or are you trying to prove something? To someone long gone, perhaps? Is it something carried over from your dead world… or something you’ve inherited from this one, along with the legacy of the unworthy prince? Maybe both? But tell me, friend—what are you trying to win? And against what?”

Azriel parted his lips, his voice colder than he intended.

“I have nothing to prove to anyone. And there’s nothing I need to feel guilty for. I may not fully understand how this soul-memory nonsense works yet… and we may be or have been friends, Xian Feng, but don’t speak as if you know me.”

“And that,” Xian Feng murmured, “is exactly the problem—mine… and the gods’. You’re the anomaly they fear.”

His gaze turned to ice, cold and still as a frozen black lake.

“You might as well be a skinwalker—no, the king of skinwalkers. You wear the prince’s flesh and blood as though it’s yours, cloaked in his name, his memories, his life. But it’s a mask. A beautiful, convincing lie. You’ve deceived them all, acting like you are Prince Azriel Crimson… when you are not. No one but you knows what happened to the real one. No one knows who you really are and how you came to this world—what your true world was, where you once held knowledge of this world, of its rules, its secrets. And worst of all… no one can get rid of you. You always come back.”

He leaned in slightly, voice low.

“Old friend… you are as unknown as it gets. A devil from another world hiding among men.”

Azriel met his gaze—and for a single fleeting moment, he saw something in Xian Feng’s eyes before the man quickly masked it.

Caution.

Fear.

“And I do not believe for a second that you ever went mad or are mad—especially you and your dead other selves. Everything you do is calculated.”

‘…So this is how they see me,’ he thought.

‘The gods. Xian Feng.’

Azriel’s expression darkened.

“Calling me a devil… when you’re a villain who’s done more inhumane things than demons.”

Without warning, Xian Feng rose to his feet, his figure towering over Azriel like a looming shadow.

“I would rather stand alone in a world that hates me than kneel in a world that owns me!”

Then he scoffed.

“Which is better than pretending to be righteous! So tell me, Azriel—what is it that you’re really fighting? What do you truly want? Why are you here?”

Azriel lowered his head for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. Then, slowly, he stood.

A small, unreadable smile curved his lips as he met Xian Feng’s gaze.

“…I simply wish to be free.”

“….”

Xian Feng stared at him in silence for a few seconds before his voice rose.

“You want to be free? Defy fate? But those who kneel to fate will never rise above it! Only those who bite the heavens dare to change their destiny!”

“….”

“There is only one path to freedom, old friend—become a god. Only a wild beast or a god can endure what we have… without going insane.”

‘And both are insane…’

Azriel narrowed his eyes.

“Is that what you want, Xian Feng? The Supreme Archon wants to become a god?”

Xian Feng’s lips curled upward into a wide, sinister smile—one that made Azriel’s body instinctively tense.

“Exactly. Once I ascend, once I become a god, all of this will have been worth it. Then, with my bloodied hands, I will slaughter the heavens. I will show them no mercy. They feared the two of us—and rightly so. I’ll make them remember why!”

Azriel’s eyes widened.

“Even the God of Time?”

“Especially the God of Time!”

“…!”

“The gods are not human. They never were. They have no humanity in them, only the illusion of it. Even the word gods—they chose it themselves, crafted it like a crown to wear, to make themselves feel untouchable. Don’t believe anything the God of Time said or did back there. Not for a second. It was all an act—a trick of his power. He wanted to appear human, relatable… to make us feel. But the truth is, he’s afraid. Deeply afraid. And now that he realizes just how badly he’s fucked up, he’s trying to fix things. Pathetic. Playing the benevolent deity, pretending to care.”

Xian Feng laughed bitterly.

“But it’s too late. He thought I wouldn’t know? That he’s been trying to trap us in an eternity of hell across countless timelines?”

“…”

“If you wish to join me, my old friend, I will welcome you with open arms. If you want to become one of the Heptarchs of Neo Genesis, I’ll make it so. If you desire to kill the gods—then I’ll leave the Goddess of Death for you to hunt.”

He leaned forward, with a sharp voice.

“But the God of Time… Azriel, he’s mine. And only mine. The hunt begins now. Today is the catalyst. The beginning of everything.”

Azriel met his eyes for a moment, then let out a tired sigh.

“I understand… and sure, you can have the God of Time. But I believe I already gave you my answer once before, about joining your organization.”

Xian Feng’s smile never wavered. Neither did his eyes.

“And yet I ask again, old friend. I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about anything. There is no one—in any world or realm—who understands you like I do. Just as there is no one who understands me like you do. Join me, Azriel. I promise you, when the time comes, we’ll both be free of them. Our plans may differ, they may even clash… but our alliance will only strengthen us both.”

Then, slowly, Xian Feng raised his right hand and extended it toward Azriel.

A handshake.

Azriel stared at the outstretched hand.

‘Someone who truly understands me, huh…’

He couldn’t help it—a faint smile tugged at his lips. Then, surprising even Xian Feng, Azriel raised his own hand and grasped his.

“Very well. I’ll be in your care… old friend.”

“…!”

Xian Feng looked at the extended handshake with wide eyes before chuckling softly.

“Then a drink. Let’s celebrate the new Heptarch of Neo Genesis.”

They both sat down, and Xian Feng poured them each a glass of apple juice.

They raised their glasses, clicked them gently together, and drank.

Azriel set his cup down with a quiet clink, then spoke in a calm, measured voice.

“There are a few conditions, though.”

“Of course. It would be strange if there weren’t.”

Azriel smacked his lips before continuing, eyes lowered.

“I don’t want my family harmed or killed because they end up in Neo Genesis’ crossfire. Especially my sister.”

“Naturally,” Xian Feng nodded, then smirked slightly.

“But ‘my sister,’ huh? You’ve really begun to see them as your own… Very well. You need not worry—your sister will be unharmed. As for your father, as long as he doesn’t provoke us, we won’t lay a hand on him. But let’s be honest—there aren’t many who could take him down anyway.”

He nodded again, accepting the terms.

Azriel went on, his tone more serious.

“I understand you have your own plans… things I can’t see, things I don’t know. And I respect that. I know you’ll do what needs to be done—even if others might see it as inhumane. But if your plans ever interfere with mine… if they become a problem—I won’t hesitate to stand against them.”

Xian Feng tilted his head thoughtfully.

“We both possess knowledge the other doesn’t. That’s inevitable. Very well—you can intervene. But I can’t say how my men will take it.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly.

“That brings me to my third and final condition.”

“….”

“Do not reveal me as a Heptarch of Neo Genesis—not yet. But give me something that can prove I am one. If your men are as loyal as you claim… they’ll obey.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Xian Feng’s lips.

“Troublesome, as always. But it’s not bad to be cautious. You really are going to remain Prince Azriel Crimson, huh? I offered you a way out of that life, to shed those chains… but very well. Here.”

Out of nowhere, a golden pocketwatch appeared in Xian Feng’s hand, its chain coiled around his fingers like a serpent. He handed it to Azriel, who took it carefully, eyes studying the craftsmanship.

“Everyone of significance knows it’s mine. The moment they see it, they’ll understand.”

Azriel nodded, slipping the pocketwatch into his storage ring with a small nod of gratitude. He exhaled deeply.

“It’s only fair I give you something in return, but I don’t know what. I am a prince of the Crimson Clan, after all.”

But Xian Feng simply shook his head.

“Just be there when I call for you.”

Azriel blinked, surprised, then nodded slowly.

“…Alright.”

He looked down at his drink, swirling the liquid inside the glass. The light caught on its surface, casting golden ripples across the table.

“You know what’s happening today, right? So even though I’m now a Heptarch… somehow… we won’t be seeing each other for a while.”

Xian Feng hummed in response.

“I’m not on Earth. I won’t be affected. I could offer you a way out, but I know you won’t take it—especially with Princess Jasmine Crimson involved. You care too much for her. No matter… I wish you luck trying to prevent another tragedy.”

“….I should go now. The afterparty must’ve started. Will you join me?”

Xian Feng shook his head.

“It’s time I take my leave.”

“I see—”

But before Azriel could finish, a knock came at the door. And without waiting for permission, it swung open.

Azriel’s eyes widened. Even Xian Feng, for a single heartbeat, seemed taken aback.

A figure stood in the doorway—clad in a flowing golden dress that draped her body like liquid sunlight, every inch of her skin covered. Her hair was long and blonde, pinned with glimmering gold. Her eyes were deep, warm caramel, glowing gently beneath pale, flawless skin.

The air shifted.

‘The final member of Lumine’s harem…’

…The Saintess.