Path of the Extra

Azriel watched in stunned silence, his mouth slightly open, as both heads exploded like overripe fruit. Subject 431 just stood there, grinning as though he enjoyed every bit of it. The sight made Azriel sick.

Killing had begun to feel familiar to him; he was slowly adjusting to it. But this—this was something else.

With a slight tremor, Azriel forced himself up, wincing as his right hand throbbed painfully. He glanced at Subject 431 with a mix of caution and curiosity, pressing his hand to his chest, probing the spot where he’d been hit. He pinched it, prodding further.

Nothing. Total numbness.

Noticing Azriel’s reaction, Subject 431’s grin widened. He spread his arms in a theatrical gesture, his voice filled with amusement.

“Caught on quick, didn’t you, kid? Good! My [unique skill] does exactly that—anyone I punch will go numb in that spot.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, both bewildered and wary.

‘Is this guy braindead? Why would he just reveal his [unique skill] like that?’

It was like being in one of those cheap novels where the villain can’t resist bragging and giving away their secrets. Still, Azriel knew better than to let his guard down—he understood now that this [unique skill] was more dangerous than it sounded. A punch in the wrong spot, like an arm or his legs… maybe even his head… would leave him as good as dead.

“You realize this is a deathmatch, right?” Subject 431 continued, his tone taking on a strange sincerity.

“Since you’re new, maybe they didn’t tell you, but if you surrender now, you could walk away alive.”

Azriel blinked, considering the offer for a brief second. But he knew the doctor wouldn’t allow him to walk away so easily. No, if he surrendered, something far worse would be waiting for him afterward. The thought darkened his expression, and Subject 431’s smile faded in response, replaced by a hardened, steely look.

In an instant, the ground shattered in front of Azriel as Subject 431 launched forward, fist pulled back to strike.

‘He’s even faster now!’

Azriel barely twisted his head to the side, narrowly avoiding the punch as it grazed his left ear. He leaped back, pressing his hand to his now-numb ear. He cursed under his breath.

‘I can’t hear anything from that side… just how powerful is he?’

Azriel summoned two red lightning javelins, which hovered around him momentarily before he launched them at his opponent. But Subject 431 only grinned wider, charging forward and destroying the javelins with a simple swipe of his fist.

Azriel tapped the ground, conjuring three towering walls of ice between them. Subject 431 plowed through them, arms crossed over his face, shattering each wall, though the effort visibly slowed him. Red lightning crackled around Azriel as he darted behind his opponent.

This time, he created five ice javelins, launching them in quick succession. Subject 431 twisted around, smashing the javelins one by one, though Azriel caught a glimpse of the man’s jaw tightening with each blow.

Azriel observed closely.

‘Just how much mana does he have to keep that metal armor up for so long?’

Then a thought clicked.

‘Armor…’

A thought sparked in Azriel’s mind, and he acted on it instantly. Ice began to encase his feet, crawling up his legs, chest, and arms until his entire body was shrouded in a thick layer of armor, mirroring the soul armor he’d gained from the Leviathan Tree.

In his hand, he formed a replica of Void Eater out of ice.

‘It’s not a Soul Weapon, so they shouldn’t complain… though I doubt it’ll pierce that metal of his.’

Subject 431 paused, eyeing Azriel more warily now. The biggest issue with facing him had been that Azriel couldn’t counterattack—his opponent’s metal armor was nearly impenetrable, and the threat of his [unique skill] forced Azriel to retreat with every hit. But now, with his ice armor, he could withstand another strike and have a chance to retaliate.

Azriel smirked. But his confidence flickered as he saw Subject 431’s metal body shift, the armor flowing like liquid. Slowly, the metal coalesced, reshaping into a massive axe that now gleamed in his hands.

Subject 431 smirked back, his voice mocking.

“Never underestimate your opponent, kid… You did well, I’ll give you that. But you should’ve taken my offer to surrender when you had the chance.”

Azriel’s face darkened as he gripped the icy replica of Void Eater and lunged at his opponent.

He raised the blade high overhead, swinging down just as Subject 431 countered with his massive metal axe. The clash of metal and ice echoed through the arena, the ground shuddering beneath them as the impact sent waves of force outward.

In an instant, the axe cracked—and then, Azriel’s weapon shattered.

He didn’t panic.

Ducking swiftly, he covered his right fist in ice and delivered a fierce uppercut to Subject 431’s jaw, red lightning crackling around him. The punch landed clean, accompanied by a sickening crunch as Subject 431 shot backward, rolling across the ground and leaving a trail of shattered flooring. His metal axe dropped beside him, disintegrating into liquid and fading into the air.

Azriel clutched his right fist with his left hand, feeling the sharp throb of pain radiate through him.

‘Shit, it’s broken.’

Even the smallest movement made agony pulse through his hand, but he couldn’t focus on it.

Surviving came first.

Then, a shudder rippled through his body—Subject 431 wasn’t moving. He lay face-down, unmoving on the floor, but Azriel knew instinctively that the man wasn’t dead.

Panic prickled at him, and just then, he felt it—a subtle shift in mana around him.

His eyes shot down to his feet, widening as he sprang back just in time to dodge a metal spike shooting up from the ground.

“Tch, sensitive to mana, huh?”

Subject 431 spoke, clicking his tongue as he rose, his gaze sharp and taunting. Azriel stared in horror.

‘This guy… his control over metal is insane!’

Subject 431 sneered wider, sensing Azriel’s fear.

“But you’re tired… nearly out of mana. Can you dodge until I run out?”

Azriel swallowed hard and dodged to the side as another metal spike burst up from the ground. He leapt to the right, then to the left, dodging as best he could as the spikes kept coming, filling the arena with jagged, deadly metal. Subject 431’s maniacal laughter echoed through every corner.

“Dance, 666! Dance for me!”

And then—

A spike finally pierced Azriel’s left heel, breaking through the ice effortlessly.

“ARGHHH!”

His scream tore through the air, raw and uncontainable, but the spikes didn’t stop. Another spike drove into his right leg, and then another into his abdomen. Against the metal… Azriel’s ice was useless.

The pain was unbearable, darkening his vision as tears blurred his sight. All he could hear was his own screams, mixed with the mad laughter of Subject 431. He couldn’t move.

It hurt too much.

*****

“Stop this. I can’t have him die—he’s too valuable.”

Arthur’s voice cut through the chaos. The blond man beside him turned, his expression icy.

“You know you’re breaking the rules, right?”

Arthur met his gaze, voice hard.

“And who’s going to oppose me? I’m the one who made the rules. I won’t let a compatible subject, with potential to advance our research, die over a ‘stupid rule.’”

The blond man went silent for a moment before finally speaking.

“Then let’s make a deal.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed.

“What kind of deal?”

“If Subject 666 doesn’t find a way to win in the next five minutes, you can pull him out. In exchange, I get access to him, and… one box of PE-0.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he raised his voice.

“Have you completely lost it, Vincent? Why would I ever agree to that?”

Vincent’s expression remained composed.

“Because, in return, I’ll give you Subject 001. Permanently. And,” he added, lips curling slightly, “I’ll leave your pudding alone for a whole month.”

Arthur’s mouth fell open, stunned.

‘He is… even offering my pudding a truce?’

Subject 001 was a prize, of course, but he belonged to Vincent. And yet here Vincent was, proposing an exchange over Subject 666. Arthur’s face grew serious.

“Why are you so interested in 666?” he asked.

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“It’s not like compatibility alone makes him a success—or someone worth your attention.”

Vincent’s gaze shifted to the monitors, his voice barely above a murmur.

“I don’t know. But something about him… feels like something I can’t let slip away.”

Vincent’s words only left Arthur more puzzled. But then, it wasn’t like they’d ever truly understood each other.

Arthur sighed inwardly, turning his gaze back to the monitors where dozens of metal spikes were piercing Azriel. The spikes sank into his body slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second of pain they inflicted. Azriel’s screams filled the room, each one more desperate than the last.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping to a murmur, dark and foreboding.

“Now, 666… how do you plan to win against Subject 431—a man who was once feared as… The Iron King.”