Path of the Extra

Even though they were indoors, it felt like they were standing naked in an open, frozen wasteland.

“Who did you say leaked our plan…?”

Zoran’s low, chilling voice slithered into their ears.

“A-Azriel Crimson… son of Joaquin Crimson, the Crimson King of East Asia. He was supposed to have been killed two years ago.”

Bran’s words were swallowed by yet another suffocating silence.

“….”

They wanted to breathe, but each attempt felt like drowning. Every gasp of air stuck in their throats, unable to escape.

“Are you telling me that a dead child leaked our plan? A plan that was nearly impossible to execute because we’ve barely any foothold in Asia? And now it’s ruined… because of a kid who’s supposed to be dead?”

Bran and Brian bit down hard on their lips, tasting blood.

“T-that’s not true, Lord Zoran…”

Dante’s voice broke through the tension, though it trembled like a thread about to snap.

“Oh? Then let’s hear it. Look into my eyes, Dante.”

Dante hesitated, but slowly, obediently, he lifted his head.

The sight that met him made his skin crawl, as if thousands of ants were swarming beneath his flesh.

‘It’s just like His Excellency…’

Zoran’s figure was barely human—a shadow made flesh, like a twisted, living darkness.

But there was a difference.

A glaring, terrifying difference between Zoran and Nol from White Haven.

Zoran’s head was crowned by glowing, white orbs where his eyes should have been—soulless lights that bore into Dante’s very being, making his mind scream at him to run.

‘Why… why is there such a gap between us…?’

Dante was a Grand Executor, while Zoran was a Heptarch. A difference of only one rank. Yet standing in Zoran’s presence, it felt like the chasm between a human and a god.

No…

There was never any gap to begin with.

No matter how high Dante climbed, the distance between him and a Heptarch remained the same—unbridgeable, infinite.

No one had ever witnessed someone rise to the rank of Heptarch.

No.

They were always just… there.

Like His Supreme Archon.

Dante’s mouth barely opened as he began to recount everything he’d told Bran and Brian.

His throat burned, but he pushed through, knowing that every word could be his last.

Zoran’s glowing eyes didn’t blink.

He didn’t move.

He only stared down at Dante, silently absorbing every word until Dante finished his report.

‘I need water… I can’t breathe…’

Dante’s throat felt like it was on fire, every swallow of air agonizing. He wanted to run, to throw himself out of Zoran’s sight.

He was terrified.

He knew that if Zoran willed it, he could die in an instant.

Dante bit his lip, forcing his gaze to meet those hollow, glowing eyes once more. He didn’t know what Zoran truly looked like beneath the shadows.

Perhaps it was better that way.

Because deep down, Dante knew: no matter how much stronger he became, he would never want to deal with someone like Zoran.

‘Why… why isn’t he saying anything?!’

It was hell.

The silence was hell.

Time felt warped, stretched beyond reason.

Dante’s eyes were locked with Zoran’s soulless orbs, and though only seconds had passed, it felt like an eternity.

His mind screamed at him to look away, but his body wouldn’t obey.

His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum that seemed to grow louder in his ears.

Until—

“…That’s not possible.”

Zoran’s voice sliced through the suffocating quiet like a blade, and it sent a violent shiver down Dante’s spine.

But his voice—there was a tremor.

Dante’s skin crawled.

His eyes darted toward Zoran’s mouth, trying to find movement, something to latch onto, but there was nothing.

No lips to form words, no expression to read—only the dark, shapeless figure of a man and those terrifying orbs, glowing brighter now.

“No… no, no, no, no!”

The room quaked.

A deep, visceral vibration that seemed to come from the walls themselves, as if the very foundation of the building had reacted to Zoran’s words

“Impossible!”

Glass vials shattered, spraying the floor with fragments.

Dante felt his blood turn to ice.

His mind couldn’t grasp the madness unfolding before him.

Zoran’s voice had grown louder, deeper, filled with a rage that made Dante’s stomach twist into knots.

It felt like the very air in the room was being sucked away, leaving only the stifling weight of dread.

The pressure in his chest built, a suffocating force that made it impossible to draw a full breath.

“Azriel Crimson… the Apex!? White Haven!? Our plan… leaked!?”

Zoran’s voice cracked like thunder, making their bodies tremble violently.

The dark, shadowy hands that were Zoran’s fingers clutched at his head, his voice spiraling into a frenzy.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen! It wasn’t supposed to be! Not like this!”

He staggered, lurching towards a table, his fingers scraping across the metal surface with a sound that sent shivers down their spines.

A horrible screech, like nails on a chalkboard, echoed in the lab.

“The book… yes, the book… it’ll tell me the truth. It always tells me the truth. It never lies. Never.”

Dante’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest.

He wanted to run.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to flee, to get out of the room, but his feet remained rooted to the spot.

He looked toward Bran and Brian, but they were just as paralyzed with fear, their eyes wide, faces pale, bodies trembling.

Dante and the twins squinted as a sudden, eerie white glow flickered on the table.

When it subsided, a thick book lay there—its cover completely white.

Its cover was a stark, unsettling white, and though Dante couldn’t explain why, the sight of it sent a wave of nausea crashing over him.

Zoran’s trembling hand reached out, grabbing it.

He opened the book with a snap.

Dante watched, breath shallow, as Zoran scanned the first page.

He turned to the second, then the third, his movements growing faster.

Fourth.

Fifth.

Sixth.

Page after page, Zoran flipped, his eyes darting frantically over the words.

And then—

“No… no, no, no… this is a joke. A cruel joke the gods are playing with me!”

Zoran’s voice was manic as he tore at the pages, ripping them out one by one.

“They’re blank! Why are they all blank!?”

Dante and the twins were frozen, watching in horror as Zoran spiraled further into madness.

The longer he flipped through the book, the more feral his movements became.

“It’s all gone… ruined! Destroyed! You damned fool… what have you done?!”

Zoran’s voice was almost unrecognizable now, filled with a despair that seemed to echo off the walls.

The windows shattered, the cold wind howling into the room, biting at their skin like razors.

None of them moved, none of them breathed.

They could only watch as Zoran’s madness unfolded before them

“The future… it’s all destroyed!”

Dante felt something wet trickle down his face.

His trembling hand reached up, touching his cheek.

Tears.

He was crying.

But why?

He didn’t understand.

He didn’t even feel sad.

Just… lost.

Then, Zoran’s eyes locked onto Dante.

A violent shudder ran down Dante’s spine.

Zoran took a step toward him.

‘Run…’

The thought screamed in Dante’s mind.

Run.

Another step.

And another.

Zoran was standing over him now, his towering form casting a long, dark shadow over Dante’s trembling body.

Dante had to crane his neck to look up, but he wished he hadn’t.

Those glowing eyes, once terrifying, now seemed to bore into his soul.

But he couldn’t move.

His legs were paralyzed, as if weighed down by invisible chains.

“You… what does Azriel Crimson look like?”

Dante tried to swallow, but his throat was bone-dry.

His voice barely worked.

“B-black hair… and red eyes… like his sister, Jasmine Crimson. He has a black katana that belonged to king Joaquin…”

Zoran’s shadowy hand shot forward, brushing against Dante’s cheek.

The cold touch made him flinch.

The twins looked on, horrified, but just as frozen as Dante.

Zoran’s hand gently traced Dante’s face, his fingers lingering in an almost tender gesture.

“I suppose I’ll have to deal with that dead child myself…”

“L-lord Zoran, if you could just listen— the prince is work—”

“Shush… now. It’s alright. Everything will be alright.”

Dante fell silent.

Zoran’s cold fingers wiped the tears from his eyes, the touch strangely comforting.

Another hand rested firmly on Dante’s shoulder, while the one on his face slid to the back of his head.

More tears streamed down Dante’s cheeks, and to his own shock, he found himself smiling.

He didn’t understand.

“It’s just as you said earlier… that Excellency of yours and Azriel Crimson fooled you. Fooled us. Fooled them.”

Zoran’s white, glowing eyes seemed softer now.

Dante stared into them, captivated.

‘Beautiful…’

They weren’t terrifying anymore.

No.

They were beautiful.

Then—

The only sounds that followed were of something tearing, and the unnatural, gut-wrenching screams that echoed out of the lab.

Sounds that no human voice could make.