Path of the Extra

Hearing his suggestion, Azriel laughed.

No—genuinely, he laughed.

Not to mock Mirius. Not to provoke him.

He just honestly found it funny that Mirius was about to decide his fate with a coin toss.

Leaning back against the table, Azriel crossed his arms, watching with open amusement.

“I imagine your boss won’t be too thrilled. Nor will Neo Genesis, considering what you’re about to do. Think carefully, Mirius.”

“Boss is boss,” Mirius replied smoothly, “but that doesn’t mean I must obey him. From the conclusion I’ve drawn from our little chat, I deem this the most suitable choice.”

A brown coin appeared between Mirius’s ring and index finger. He held it up for Azriel to see.

“Heads or tails?”

Azriel smirked, tapping his finger idly against his arm before answering.

“Tails.”

Mirius nodded, his tone casual as if he weren’t deciding life and death.

“Tails—I make you my prisoner. Heads—I kill you.”

Suddenly, Mirius raised his free hand and made a casual flicking motion toward the ceiling.

Without warning, the wooden beams above shattered like glass, erupting into a storm of splinters and dust that spiraled violently downward. The howling wind tore through the opening, screaming as though wounded, slicing through their clothes until they danced frantically upon their bodies. Azriel lifted his gaze upward and saw night had already fallen.

’How disappointing.’

It would have been far more amusing if Ranni were here to witness it all. The more spectators to witness Azriel’s grand performance, the better. Alas, it seemed she’d chosen her precious morals instead—saving helpless children over facing Mirius.

Azriel frowned.

’What a reckless instructor!’

No wonder the book was a tragedy. Every single one of these heroes always chose morals over the brutal truth of what must be done.

Meanwhile, completely indifferent to Azriel’s inner critique, Mirius tossed the coin into the air.

Naturally, Azriel’s eyes followed the coin as it soared upward. But gradually, his confident smirk slipped away, replaced by confusion, then disbelief, then outright irritation, as the coin kept rising—higher, higher, higher still—until it vanished into the darkness above.

’Oh… of course.’

Azriel’s eyes slid slowly back toward Mirius, whose irritatingly smug expression lingered behind that blindfold. Azriel returned the smile—but his own was sharper, darker, twisted in anticipation.

And then, simultaneously, both men stepped forward.

Instantly, they vanished from sight.

Above, the coin continued to rise and spin, lost among the stars that now silently bore witness to the violence below.

Azriel and Mirius reappeared face-to-face, their right fists cocked back in identical postures. A heartbeat later, Mirius’s fist surged forward first, blazing like a shooting star streaking toward the earth. The air itself screamed as it ruptured, and Azriel abruptly aborted his overhead punch, forced to twist sharply to the left.

The punch missed—but barely.

The wall behind Azriel didn’t merely break; it disintegrated, reduced to dust in an instant. Beyond it, dozens of trees exploded in quick succession, vaporized by the aftershock.

Already recovering, Azriel hurled his punch forward again, an overhead strike aimed precisely at Mirius’s head. But the Master merely crossed his forearms, absorbing the blow effortlessly. The moment Azriel’s knuckles made contact, it felt like striking an immovable mountain, the impact reverberating through his bones. Wind detonated around them, annihilating the bed and obliterating more walls, leaving them standing in the skeletal remains of the cabin with one wall still intact.

’He’s strong…!’

Mirius smirked wickedly. Azriel jumped backward, increasing the distance just as the coin reached its apex, paused, and began its gentle descent downward.

Both men stared each other down, expressions now deadly serious.

Then Mirius lunged, his feet shattering the already-ruined wooden floor. His leg whipped through the air like a guillotine blade aimed at Azriel’s head, but Azriel ducked low, narrowly avoiding decapitation. Behind him, even more trees fell, cleaved cleanly by the invisible razor-sharp force.

Azriel sprang upward from his crouch, fist swinging in a savage uppercut, but Mirius merely bent backward at an impossible angle, avoiding the strike with eerie fluidity.

Yet from that unnatural stance, balanced on the tips of his toes, Mirius’s left leg shot upward in a deadly arc. Red lightning surged around Azriel’s body, and in a burst of desperation, he leaped skyward to dodge.

But Mirius moved faster than any human should, straightening his body instantly and driving forward with yet another crushing punch, his twisted grin wider than ever.

Azriel’s eyes widened.

Midair, nowhere to dodge—death rocketing toward him.

Yet at the very last second, astonishing even Mirius, Azriel grabbed the incoming fist with both hands. His body twisted midair in an impossible maneuver, intending to hurl Mirius out into the night.

But Mirius simply defied physics itself. Mid-motion, as he was being pulled off balance, he stomped one foot down and dragged Azriel downward instead, slamming him violently into the ruined floor below.

Azriel’s impact turned what remained of the ground into splinters, sending his body bouncing back upward. Before Azriel could even process the shock, Mirius spun swiftly, his foot striking Azriel’s stomach with sickening force.

Azriel shot backward like a cannonball, crashing through the last intact wall and shattering it completely. His body rolled roughly across the floor of the adjacent room, grinding to a halt on a bloodstained animal hide.

Lying flat on his back, Azriel sighed softly.

Next to him, three bound cadets stared wide-eyed, their expressions cycling between horror, confusion, terror, surprise, and outright dread.

Azriel stared back at them, thoroughly impressed.

’Great. Just what I needed. More spectators.’

At the same moment, Mirius emerged from the shattered cabin, footsteps echoing heavily across the collapsing wooden floor. Around him, splintered beams gave way, falling like a slow-motion avalanche.

Azriel turned his head lazily towards the approaching figure. Mirius wore a wide, sinister grin. Azriel simply mirrored it, bloody and unhinged.

“You punch like a little girl, you know?” Azriel taunted casually.

Mirius’s grin stretched wider, turning feral, before he vanished from view. He reappeared instantly above Azriel, knee already bent and poised like an executioner’s blade.

With a savage thrust, Mirius drove his knee directly into Azriel’s stomach. A sickening sound filled the air as Azriel’s body lurched violently, spewing blood from his mouth. But Mirius pressed even harder, pinning Azriel down beneath him with sadistic ease.

Yet, despite the agony, Azriel grinned wider through bloodied teeth.

“Was that all?”

Mirius’s smile twisted further, darkening. His right fist rose, then slammed down mercilessly against Azriel’s jaw, rattling his skull. Before Azriel could even register anything, Mirius’s left fist followed, pounding Azriel’s face again. Then his right fist. Left again. Right. Left. Right. Faster and faster, each punch an explosive impact, like meteors hammering relentlessly into a helpless world.

Soon his fists blurred into a storm. Each strike cracked through the air with the deafening roar of a cannon blast. The ground beneath shattered, the cabin walls splintered apart, and the room erupted into chaos, each blow sending a devastating shockwave in every direction. Blood sprayed from Azriel’s face like scarlet fireworks, splattering Mirius, drenching the surroundings.

Mad laughter echoed through the air as Mirius battered Azriel mercilessly.

“Your skin’s much tougher than the average Expert! It’s almost like hitting the body of a Master!”

The cabin, unable to withstand the brutality, finally exploded outward in a hurricane of debris. The three bound cadets screamed silently, thrown backward by the violent shockwave.

Only when the faint, metallic clink of a coin hitting wood reached Mirius’s ears did he finally stop, fists frozen mid-strike.

Slowly, the dust began to settle.

The cadets looked on, breathless, hearts frozen in terror. Their gazes locked on Azriel.

Crimson.

That was all they could think of—fitting, horribly fitting. The Crimson Prince lay utterly still, his face submerged in a pool of his own blood, unmoving.

At once, a single, horrifying thought entered their minds: Find the newest release on NoveI-Fire.ɴet

Is he…dead?

Mirius, breathing heavily, examined Azriel closely. With a faint whistle, he shook his head in disbelief.

“You truly are tough. Unconscious after all that, yet still breathing. Punching you felt like hitting a volcano that only spits blood instead of lava!”

Standing up leisurely, Mirius stretched, cracking his bloodied knuckles. He then turned and walked calmly toward the fallen coin.

But as he stepped forward, an overwhelming, chilling dread suddenly consumed him.

Every instinct he possessed—every nerve, every fiber honed by countless battles—screamed at him with a single, primal command:

Dodge.

Without thought, Mirius’s body reacted on pure instinct, desperately leaping upward.

At that exact moment, a beautiful white bullet pierced his abdomen, slicing clean through him like a divine lance of judgment. It streaked through the night sky, leaving behind a sparkling trail of crimson droplets before finally disappearing into the heavens like a newborn star.

Mirius crashed down heavily, collapsing onto the ruined floor, his body convulsing violently. Blood spilled through trembling fingers pressed helplessly against his wound, cold sweat dripping uncontrollably down his pale skin.

And then, impossibly, Azriel rose.

The three cadets watched in stunned disbelief as the Crimson Prince stood slowly upright, dripping in his own blood. His black robe, soaked and torn, clung to him like a shroud of death. In his right hand, Atropos’ Elegy smoked quietly. In his left hand rested a tiny vial of strange, pink liquid.

Before anyone could blink, Azriel vanished. The rubble surrounding him vaporized instantly as he reappeared atop Mirius, crimson lightning surging across his battered body. Without hesitation, Azriel forced the vial deep into Mirius’s mouth, pouring its contents down his throat.

Panicking, Mirius instinctively reached to block his mouth—but Azriel had already fired another bullet, forcing him to swallow the mysterious liquid.

The second white bullet tore through the air toward Mirius’s face—but this time, it merely grazed him, leaving only a shallow scratch.

Azriel swiftly leaped away, staggering as he landed, dropping heavily to one knee and coughing violently. Fresh blood splattered the ruined ground beneath him.

Mirius was worse. He clawed at the earth, convulsing as if drowning, coughing desperately, unable to breathe. His vision blurred; his body refused to respond.

The cadets, trembling uncontrollably, stared in stunned horror, glancing between Mirius and the blood-soaked prince who now slowly, rose once more.

Azriel tapped his storage ring lightly, then frowned slightly.

“…Looks like I’m out of cloth.”

He sighed, casually using the sleeve of his robe to wipe the blood from his face—though more blood immediately replaced it. He hardly seemed bothered, barely even noticing the continued bleeding as he regarded Mirius coldly, without a shred of pity or remorse.

Calmly, Azriel walked toward the fallen coin and picked it up.

Turning slowly back toward Mirius, Azriel smiled—a chilling, dark smile devoid of humor or warmth.

Then, in a voice dripping with cold, merciless mockery, he said:

“It’s heads.”