Path of the Extra

“That golden blood and his dumb pride… he really thought I’d team up with him, huh?”

Pierre glanced down at the corpse at his feet, then looked at Azriel.

“I should thank you, pretty boy. The Margrave finally let his guard down around me. He was a pain in the ass to kill, honestly. But thanks to that wound you gave him… I managed to finish the job.”

“…Is that so.”

“Mhm. Who would’ve thought there’d be a pistol capable of piercing even the body of an advanced-ranked human? I did warn him to be careful. He reaped what he sowed, I suppose.”

Pierre’s lips curled into a sharp grin.

“Well, now it’s just the two of us. No more distractions, right? That’s why you baited him. Pretended to focus on me while waiting for him to strike so you could end it. Sorry. Looks like I was faster.”

“…”

“Let’s take it up a notch, shall we?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. His knees bent slightly, body lowering into a stance. Then, without a word, he dismissed both of his soul weapons, leaving Pierre visibly confused.

Red lightning coiled furiously around Azriel’s form, crackling like a storm trapped in flesh. The bolts flared brighter, hotter—then began to shift. Red turned to white.

The storm changed.

White lightning surged across his body, flashing like divine judgment. Every bolt that struck the muddy earth beneath him froze the ground solid before shattering it into shards of ice that burst like glass.

Pierre’s one good eye widened as his face hardened.

“Mana Will… dual affinities… and now merging incompatible ones? To deal with the Margrave, I got someone even more troublesome. Are the gods trying to balance the scales against me?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed—but he didn’t answer.

He moved.

The world blurred.

In the blink of an eye, he stood in front of Pierre.

‘He can teleport… but that doesn’t make him faster than me.’

Before Pierre could react, before his mind could even process the movement, Azriel’s fist slammed into his face. He was launched backward, the ground tearing beneath him in a shockwave of ice and thunder.

Azriel followed.

He surged forward again—faster than thought, faster than sound—and before Pierre could recover, Azriel was above him. Pierre was still falling, slower than a stone in syrup, when the next blow landed.

A punch to the chest.

Another to the stomach.

Another to the jaw.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The ground exploded. A crater formed beneath them, deepening with each strike. The earth quaked. The few standing houses in the area trembled and collapsed, unable to withstand the aftermath of their clash.

Azriel didn’t stop.

His fists hammered down in a relentless rhythm.

Chest. Face. Gut. Chest. Face. Gut.

‘Again!’

By the time either of them realized it, Azriel had driven Pierre deep—dozens of meters into the earth. The crater was filled with shattered ice and fractured stone, white lightning dancing in the air like vengeful spirits.

Azriel’s fist descended once more, ready to crush Pierre’s face—

But he vanished.

“…!”

Azriel’s eyes snapped upward. Pierre floated above the crater, looking down.

Despite the ice.

Despite the merged affinities.

Despite the destruction.

Pierre was completely unharmed. Not a single scratch on his body.

“You’re strong! Fast! Smart! Which is why I have no choice… but to kill you before you become more trouble!”

Azriel’s gaze sharpened.

Then Pierre raised his right palm and pointed it toward him.

Azriel’s entire body tensed. Something primal twisted inside him. A jolt of pure instinct screamed in his veins.

Get out.

Now.

His mind rang with alarm bells. His skin tingled. His hairs stood on end.

Azriel gritted his teeth.

‘This better work.’

He forced every ounce of mana into his legs. His aura pulsed violently as he reinforced it, flooding his limbs with raw power.

Then—

He vanished.

“Huh?”

Pierre blinked.

The crater was empty.

Then—

A white bolt of lightning shot upward, not down. It exploded from the crater like a divine lance ascending toward the heavens, piercing the clouds above and parting the sky.

The ground erupted.

Pierre’s body was launched backwards, crashing through buildings like paper, flung kilometers away by the force.

“Huh?” he repeated, dazed.

Then he froze.

A breath. Cold and damp.

Behind him.

Something was breathing down his neck.

A whisper followed.

“Tempest Lock.”

“Huh—?”

Before the thought could finish forming, crystalline chains burst out of thin air. Pale-blue. Semi-transparent. Glowing with veins of white lightning.

They wrapped around him in an instant.

“What? Wait—wait! Wait! W-wait!”

His body was slammed into the ground, mud splashing everywhere. Yet still, not a drop clung to him. Still, he was unharmed.

And yet—

He screamed.

“H-How is this fair?! This is not fair! This is unfair! You—you’re cheating! Yes, cheating! How can you move faster than an advanced-ranked human should?! You’re way faster than an advanced! You have Mana Will! You have dual affinities! Your mana regeneration is off the damn charts! You have those weird weapons and armor!”

He thrashed against the chains.

“You—you—you’re a cheater! A CHEATER!”

Azriel turned his body, his gaze falling on Pierre with disdain.

“Cheater?”

Without hesitation, Azriel summoned Atropos’ Elegy and aimed the Desert Eagle squarely between Pierre’s eyes. His finger pulled the trigger.

The white bullet slammed into Pierre’s skull, throwing his head back as it crashed against the muddy ground—yet again, no damage.

“If I’m a cheater…”

BAM—!

“…Then—”

BAM—!

“What—”

BAM—!

“Are—”

BAM—!

“You?”

BAM—!

BAM—! BAM—! BAM—! BAM—! BAM—! BAM—!

Azriel kept pulling the trigger, his mana draining with each shot. But he didn’t care. Not even a little.

Each time Pierre’s expression twisted in frustration, something inside Azriel stirred—cold satisfaction blooming with every impact.

Then, amid the sound of bullets, Pierre shouted at him:

“Stop!”

BAM—!

“S-Stop! Damn you, STOP!”

BAM—!

“STOP!”

BAM—!

“You bast—!”

BAM—!

“GOLD BLO—”

BAM—!

“YO—”

BAM—!

BAM—!

“I SAID STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!”

The gun finally stopped. Azriel stared down, cold eyes void of pity.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to take it up a notch? If you’re so bothered, you can always teleport again.”

Pierre glared back, contorting his face in a mask of hatred and contempt.

“Why can’t you get it?! I AM SUPERIOR TO YOU GOLD BLOODS! I AM NOT KILLABLE! I AM UNKILLABLE! NO ONE CAN DEFEAT M—”

BAM—!

Azriel fired again, slamming Pierre’s head back into the mud.

“Liar.”

BAM—!

“You really are a hypocrite.”

BAM—!

“If you were truly immortal… then you wouldn’t have such a scar.”

BAM—!

“Ah.”

BAM—!

“S-Stop—!”

BAM—!

“Plea—!”

BAM—!

“STO—!”

BAM—!

“I SAID STOP!!”

‘…!!’

Without warning, the chains shattered. A burst of force threw Azriel backward, hurling him into a half-crumbled house that instantly collapsed under the impact.

Buried under the rubble, white lightning crackled around him. It burst outward in a blinding pulse, vaporizing the debris into shards of ice.

Azriel stood, brushing the dust from his armor.

Above, Pierre hovered in the air—floating, sneering, looking down with an eye that glowed with raw hatred.

Azriel laughed, hollow and bitter.

‘I’ve really done it now…’

Again, Pierre raised his right hand and aimed it at him. Azriel’s body seized up in response. Every instinct screamed.

Dodge!

Mana surged inside him. Azriel gritted his teeth, channeled it to his legs, and vanished in a burst of light, a jagged trail of white electricity scorched into the earth behind him.

Then he felt it—a massive ripple of mana sweeping across his skin like a tidal wave.

‘Shit!’

In a flash, he reappeared atop another house. A white bolt of lightning marked the path behind him.

And then… he saw it.

Where he had just stood—a long, clean gash now split the earth. It ran so deep that not even his eyes could see the bottom.

‘When did he…?’

His thoughts were interrupted as Pierre raised his hand again, aiming with eerie calm.

Azriel clicked his tongue and leapt to another rooftop.

A breath later, the house he’d just abandoned—

Split in half.

No warning. No flash. No energy build-up.

Just a clean, vertical cut.

‘…What the hell is that?’

Azriel pursed his lips.

With a flick of his wrist, Void Eater materialized in his right hand. Holding both weapons low and ready, he watched Pierre cautiously.

‘What did he just do…? He’s still an Advanced, that hasn’t changed. But it feels like he’s leveled up. I don’t know how to explain it, but… he’s different now. More dangerous.’

‘None of it matters unless I figure out a way to bypass that damn invincibility. Is it part of his Space affinity? It doesn’t feel like a skill he’s activating… it’s like it’s just on—no matter how many times I shoot, no matter the timing… it never deactivates.’

In the end, Azriel had only one choice.

He had to wait. Wait for an opportunity.

Raising Atropos’ Elegy, he steadied his breathing, about to pull the trigger—

But before he could, Pierre spoke. His voice colder than Azriel had ever heard it.

“You seem to be under a certain… misunderstanding, Gold Blood.”

“…Huh?”

Azriel’s gaze sharpened. Pierre’s expression had turned hollow, emotionless—his face now a porcelain mask staring down at Azriel as though he were an insect smeared across glass.

‘His personality…’

Pierre let out a soft scoff, lips curling.

“The only reason I told those knights I might fall was to bait you. I needed you to come in close. If that other Gold Blood hadn’t shown up, I could’ve played with you a little longer. What a pity.”

Azriel felt something cold ghost across the back of his neck.

A breath.

‘What…?’

He spun, slashing Void Eater in a wide arc, eyes flaring open—Pierre was standing right behind him, hands calmly folded behind his back.

Then, almost lazily, Pierre lifted a single hand…

And gripped Void Eater by the blade.

‘…What?’

Pierre smiled, a maddening calm in his eyes.

“Oh—and that scar? The missing eye?” He tapped the ruined side of his face with a finger.

“That was when I was still a Dormant. Back then, I didn’t have enough mana to activate my [Unique Skill]. But now… I do.”

He leaned in again, his breath brushing against Azriel’s cheek like frostbite.

“My immortality is no trick or illusion. It’s my [Unique Skill]. My perfection. I cannot be killed. I cannot be harmed. I cannot be sullied. And the best part?”

His smile widened, splitting his face unnaturally.

“I only had to activate it once. No mana cost anymore. No maintenance. No side effects. Nothing.”

‘Bullshit. That’s not even broken—that’s… impossible!’

Azriel tried to pull his sword free, but Pierre’s grip was immovable—like he was holding onto reality itself.

Clicking his tongue, Azriel desummoned Void Eater in an instant and raised Atropos’ Elegy, aiming the muzzle directly at Pierre’s chest—

A searing pain exploded in his left hand.

He looked down.

His thumb was gone.

It lay on the ground, twitching in a small pool of blood.

“…Ah.”

A crimson jet sprayed from the stump. Before he could react, Pierre’s right hand clamped down over his mouth, silencing him, yanking his face closer.

And that grin returned.

The grin of a man who found poetry in cruelty.

“What was it you said again?”

Pierre tilted his head.

“Ah, right… ‘You think a mere Awakened-ranked sword can harm me?’”

He chuckled.

“Well then… how about this?”

From thin air, a small pocket knife appeared in Pierre’s other hand. Just a crude thing. A flick of steel. But Azriel’s eyes went wide.

He tried to move—

—but his body was locked in place.

‘No. No no no—dammit!’

‘Why can’t I move!?’

“It cost quite a lot to have even this little toy made,” Pierre muttered.

“Especially in times like these… But an Advanced-ranked weapon, even something this small… should do the trick, right?”

The cold steel touched the skin just above Azriel’s right eye.

And something inside him—his body, his soul, his instincts—began screaming.

‘Move. Move. Move. MOVE!’

Pierre frowned, tapping the tip of the knife against Azriel’s skin. Each time it touched, a ripple of unease crawled beneath his flesh.

“Your skin’s quite durable… huh.”

And it was.

[Eidolon Flesh] made his body far tougher than normal. Not only was his skin more resilient, but wounds and scars would fade faster than usual. Given enough time, Azriel’s body could heal from almost anything.

No matter the injury.

No matter the damage.

And yet, in this moment, all he felt was cold, paralyzing dread.

“Oh well.”

Without warning, the knife sank deeper—just above his right eye.

Pierre’s hand released his mouth, and Azriel’s scream tore from his throat like a broken chain snapping loose. He clenched his eyes shut, but the pain didn’t lessen.

And even then, he wasn’t allowed the mercy of thrashing.

[Soul’s Crucible] tried to numb the agony—yet all it managed to do was keep Azriel painfully, miserably conscious.

Because Pierre… never stopped.

The knife dragged downward.

Slow. Unrelenting.

Carving through his eyelid. Slicing through flesh.

Azriel screamed, his voice cracking.

He felt everything.

The skin resisted. It stretched.

And then it tore.

Warm, wet blood burst forth, coating the blade, flooding his eye.

He blinked instinctively—and crimson painted his vision. It stung like acid. It tasted of iron and bile

and burning shame.

Pierre said nothing.

He just watched.

Watched like he was curious.

Curious how long Azriel would last.

Then something snapped.

A nerve.

Fire erupted across his face.

The line where the knife had passed throbbed violently, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Pierre’s voice came then.

“And now… for the final touch.”

“W-wai—A—”

Pop.

A wet, nauseating sound. Then—

Fire.

As though his entire nervous system had been set alight.

It spread through his skull like wildfire, an inferno with no air left to breathe.

And then—

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“A—!”

Azriel let out a broken, animalistic cry.

Louder than before.

Because a knife—

Was lodged in his right eye.