Path of the Extra

Drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning.

How many times had he drowned?

How many times had he returned to this place—this all-too-familiar abyss?

It was a void of absolute darkness. No light, no reflection—only the all-encompassing dark. A vast, hollow emptiness that stretched on without end.

Here, there was no sound, no taste, no scent. No warmth, no touch, no breath. Only the endless sensation of sinking deeper and deeper into nothingness.

And yet—

It was peaceful.

In this abyss, he became nothing. A tiny speck suspended within an infinite universe that contained only him—alone, isolated, free of meaning or identity.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been here.

Every time consciousness slipped away, every time his eyes surrendered to exhaustion, this was where he found himself. A sanctuary, perhaps—a place untouched by nightmares. A silent refuge from all he’d endured.

But what was this place, truly?

Where had his mind taken him—again and again—to this sanctuary beyond nightmares, beyond memories?

He tried moving. Fingers curling, nostrils flaring, mouth opening—

But nothing happened.

Not even the faintest hint of breath filled his lungs, nor did a heartbeat echo in his chest. Emotions did not exist here. Fear, sadness, caution—they were meaningless concepts. They held no sway in a place where he himself had ceased to exist.

He was nothing.

And yet…

Within the heart of absolute darkness, something stirred. Light—No, not light. Something colder. Something older.

A sickly glow bled into the void, emerging like pale stars from the deepest corners of oblivion. It spread slowly, encroaching from all sides, pressing closer.

He watched silently as the pale radiance revealed itself, inch by inch, as countless shapes emerged from the black.

Hands.

Millions upon millions of shriveled, ghostly hands reached toward him—fingers curled like dying petals, flesh pale and rotted. They grasped upward from the depths, clawing desperately at emptiness, extending toward the speck of his existence, reaching with insatiable hunger.

He floated, frozen, as they encircled him. An endless sea of grasping, desolate fingers. Hands of the forgotten, hands of the damned, hands of those he’d left behind, hands of those he’d killed…

He was ambiguous enough to feel it now—the faintest tremor of fear, and beneath it, a dark curiosity. Who were they? Whose hands reached so desperately for him, unwilling to let him escape this place once more?

Their desperation intensified as they drew nearer. They would seize him. They would drag him down to join their eternal congregation. They would claim him at last, to ensure he could never again flee from this emptiness.

But then, just as their fingertips brushed against the edges of his existence, a single, defiant memory surged into clarity—a spark amidst oblivion, a truth burning fiercely within his fading soul.

He remembered. He remembered who he was.

He was—

*****

“Kh—Ah!”

An incomprehensible sound ripped from Azriel’s throat as he bolted upright, his single eye shooting open. Pain consumed him instantly, burning and relentless. Reflexively, his gaze darted downward, as he saw his right arm missing—only a jagged stump, hastily sealed by his ice affinity, remained.

Before panic could claim him, his remaining eye swept across his surroundings.

Mud clung thickly to his battered, blood-streaked body. Silver flames roared fiercely everywhere, illuminating the inside of a cave. Outside was nothing but a raging ocean of silver fire, seething and crackling relentlessly.

Further within the cave, shadowed by darkness on solid rock, stood a figure he recognized immediately—Lady Mio, calm and unchanged, watching him quietly.

And directly before him stood the Skinwalker. Its grotesque body was still, arms missing completely, entirely engulfed by those unrelenting silver flames. Yet it did not move, nor did it collapse. It merely stared back silently.

How long had Azriel been unconscious?

A minute at most—though in a minute, an eternity could pass, especially when beings like these were involved.

“No one can harm you here, my lord.”

A familiar voice gently cut through his spiraling thoughts. It had been so long since he’d heard it that Azriel almost flinched at its softness.

He turned his head painfully, his blood-matted, shoulder-length hair plastered to his pale, muddy face. Lady Mio met his gaze briefly before shifting her attention back to the Skinwalker.

“Though this creature is resisting my mana… it cannot harm you for the moment.”

Azriel stared at the frozen Skinwalker, swallowing dryly.

’This creature… unable to move because of her?’ The revelation sent cold dread crawling along his spine, but rage soon overtook even that.

His torn lips trembled as he rasped hoarsely, voice colder than intended, “…Why show yourself now?” He ground his broken teeth, fury boiling from within.

“All this time deceiving me… why appear now, when you know I’m here to kill you?”

As if responding, a deafening explosion erupted outside the cave, violently shaking the air, sending powerful tremors through the ground. Pollux was still locked in combat against the three angels.

Yet Mio remained unfazed, her familiar, gentle eyes carrying the same warmth and concern as always. That compassionate gaze only fueled Azriel’s anger further.

How dare she? She was the root of everything, the cause of this eternal torment. If his body weren’t on the verge of collapse, he would’ve lunged at her already, no matter how suicidal it was.

Because now, as clarity returned to him, Azriel finally realized it—her rank, her strength, had all been an elaborate lie. He’d mistaken her for merely an Advanced-ranked human, yet that too had been deception. Her mana, powerful enough to restrain a Skinwalker, told a different, far more terrifying story.

Lady Mio was unimaginably strong.

“Precisely for that reason, my lord,” she said gently, her voice tinged with sorrow.

“I revealed myself so you could end my life.”

“…!”

Azriel’s eye widened in disbelief, breath catching in his battered throat.

The turbulent waves of mana abruptly calmed, returning the cavern to eerie stillness. Mio didn’t wait for him to grasp what she’d just said. With urgency threaded through her gentle voice, she turned, speaking softly.

“We don’t have much time. I’ve expended much of my strength keeping you alive in this loop, and restraining this Skinwalker is rapidly depleting what remains. I wouldn’t recommend killing it either, my lord. Please, follow me.”

Stunned and hesitant, Azriel stared at her retreating figure before forcing himself onto trembling legs. Limping behind her into the darkness, he trusted nothing—not her, nor this surreal cave. Still, what other choice did he have?

The darkness swallowed them entirely, save for the rhythmic tapping of Lady Mio’s cane on the stone floor. Azriel followed that steady, almost hypnotic sound, until suddenly—

—they stepped from darkness into a vast, impossible chamber hidden deep within the cave.

His heart stuttered violently, breath freezing in his lungs.

A tranquil, perfectly still lake stretched before him, its surface clear as glass, reflecting nothing but the ethereal beauty surrounding it. At the lake’s heart stood a solitary tree, strikingly beautiful and strangely ordinary. Its leaves shimmered, transparent like glass, scattering faint glimmers of starlight. Branches dipped gracefully, caressing the mirrored water’s surface.

Yet what captured Azriel’s full attention was neither lake nor leaves, but rather what was bound to that tree.

Suspended amidst countless delicate branches, entwined intimately around the tree’s trunk, hung a frail woman. Her body was ashen and thin, barely more than a corpse wrapped in ghostly pallor. Her eyes lay closed, devoid of life or breath. At the center of her chest, a gaping wound stood open—no blood, only a singular, gleaming core radiating pure white brilliance.

A mana core.

The world seemed to freeze around Azriel as comprehension and horror surged together, blending in his shaken voice.

“I-Is… is that you?”

Azriel stood frozen, his mind desperately attempting to comprehend the impossible scene before him. A suffocating silence enveloped the chamber, disturbed only by Mio’s calm voice as she stepped softly beside him.

“What is a lie is the truth, and what is the truth is a lie.”

Without waiting for Azriel to question her cryptic words, Mio moved forward. Graceful, despite the weight of this moment, she paused and slowly turned back towards him. Something appeared from thin air into her hand—a jagged, foreboding shape.

Azriel’s blood turned to ice as panic seized him. His breathing quickened as his gaze fixed on the object—

the artifact,

that dreadful Grade 2 artifact…

Sealbreaker.

’…W-why does she have it?’

Mio noticed his fear and smiled faintly, a mischievous glint flashing briefly in her gentle eyes.

“It’s only natural that I take it… before he even notices.”

Azriel’s heart pounded fiercely, painfully, threatening to burst from sheer, overwhelming tension. Each beat echoed in his ears like thunder, a deafening rhythm counting down to disaster.

But Mio’s playful expression soon gave way to wistful melancholy as she gazed toward the lifeless figure bound to the ethereal tree. Her voice grew quiet, warm yet unbearably sad, as though confessing something she wished dearly she could hide.

“Killing me will not destroy the forest. Even if my body perishes… even if my mana core shatters and fades away, the Forest of Eternity will persist.”

She turned back to Azriel, her eyes reflecting the weight of centuries—profoundly sad, endlessly exhausted.

“Because I am not merely human anymore.”

Her words echoed softly, gently, yet with unmistakable finality:

“I am the Forest of Eternity.”