Path of the Extra

Cold.

Dark.

Lonely.

It didn’t hurt anymore.

Azriel felt… nothing. Just a numbness, like he was drifting through a bottomless, frozen ocean.

There was a strange peace in it. A stillness. Maybe he was trapped in some old memory, or maybe he’d slipped into a different reality altogether.

Azriel didn’t know. He’d stopped trying to understand long ago—stopped grasping at the remnants of a world that shattered in a single day.

‘This feels… nice.’

‘It’s quiet, comfortable.’

‘Is this what dying is really like?’

‘Am I already dead?’

He’d escaped true death twice before. Maybe, this third time, he’d finally reached it—an actual ending.

He sank deeper, letting it carry him, unresisting.

‘I’m tired…’

The further he sank, the more he felt something essential slipping away—something so precious he couldn’t even define it. But he didn’t notice. Not fully.

‘It’s not like anyone needs me.’

‘I have no value… I’m weak… and…’

‘It feels like the whole world wants me dead.’

A fracture formed inside him, splitting along hidden lines.

‘Even if I win, I lose.’

‘There’s no point in fighting… they don’t need me. They’ll keep moving forward without me.’

‘I’ve given them all a chance—a real chance to win this time.’

‘So…’

‘I can finally rest, can’t I?’

“….”

“….”

“….”

“….”

“….”

“….”

“….”

“….”

‘Rest..?’

‘What… am I even saying?’

A spark flickered, faint and defiant, deep in Azriel’s chest. Heat bubbled up, raw and restless.

‘Why should I rest?’

‘Why am I being so… pathetic?’

‘Even if I’m exhausted, what gives me the right to wallow in it, to use it as an excuse to lie here and surrender?’

He couldn’t see, but he could feel his body blazing with some renewed force.

‘So what if nobody needs me?’

‘If I’m not strong, I’ll become strong.’

‘If every god, every apostle, every damned world wants me dead… why should I care? Let them try.’

‘If this is fate… then to hell with fate.’

‘I made myself a promise, didn’t I?’

‘Even if the book was a lie—I swore…’

‘I would see the end with my own eyes.’

‘That will never change.’

A fire spread, hot and uncomfortable, through every part of him, setting him ablaze. He struggled now, pushing against the weight of this dark, endless ocean.

‘If I lose, I’ll get up. Again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. I’ll keep going—until I win.’

“…”

‘I won’t die.’

‘I… I don’t want to die.’

‘I want to live.’

‘And…’

‘I just want to win.’

*****

Subject 431 looked at Azriel, suspended motionlessly, his body impaled on dozens of spikes, feet dangling lifelessly in the air. His tattered gown revealed a scarred chest, his entire body battered, but still—unbelievably—alive.

His heart was still beating.

“He’s not dead yet,” 431 muttered, his gaze shifting to the silent, observing doctors behind the ceiling, hidden. A hint of confusion flickered in his eyes as he felt his mana begin to recover.

“Guess they’re wasting a kid with dual affinities…”

Not that it mattered. In truth, he didn’t mind being a subject in this hellhole. Before, he’d been known as the Iron King, infamous for impaling his victims in ruthless displays of power. He had a bounty of 250,000 velts—a terrifying figure for someone with a low-level mana core. That notoriety had been his pride, a badge proving that he was one of the most dangerous criminals on American soil.

And he loved to fight. Craved it.

431 had hoped Azriel might break his endless boredom, might even offer a decent challenge. But his hopes had been crushed; the kid was skilled, sure, but… lacking.

Sure, there were others here, but they weren’t challenges; they were warm-ups. He’d won every fight against those on his level, but he wasn’t stupid enough to challenge the higher-ranked subjects.

He didn’t have a death wish; he just wanted a real fight.

Sighing, he rubbed his head, casting a disappointed look at Azriel’s body.

“If you didn’t have the will to fight, you should have just surrendered.”

A voice blared through the invisible speakers overhead,

“Subject 431, you—”

The voice abruptly cut out, and 431’s brow furrowed. A strange chill crept down his spine, and he turned, eyes widening.

Azriel’s body was no longer impaled.

He stood on the ground, barefoot, his form somehow ghostly and transparent. Wounds glistened under a thin layer of ice, sealing his injuries, a feat 431 hadn’t anticipated. Azriel’s figure seemed almost ethereal.

431 blinked, stunned. Azriel still had an ace left after all. A slow grin crept across his face as he narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve got to hand it to you. Didn’t think you’d—”

His words faded, his grin vanishing as his gaze locked onto Azriel’s eyes.

The dull, lifeless stare had transformed into a ravenous, blood-red hunger.

Every hair on 431’s body stood on end, a shiver of excitement coursing through him as his own bloodlust surged. He grinned madly, laughing to himself.

‘This boy..!’

These were the eyes of someone who wanted to fight!

In a flash, he bent his knees, muscles coiled as he launched forward, shattering the ground beneath him. His fist shot forward, aimed at Azriel’s face—only to pass straight through him.

“…!”

‘What kind of absurd skill is this?’

Undeterred, he unleashed a rapid flurry of punches and kicks, each blow howling through the air, but none met its mark. Azriel’s face remained impassive, except for those eyes, watching him as if he were prey.

431 quickly leapt back, watching as Azriel’s lips curved up ever so slightly.

“You told me about your [unique skill], so it’s only fair I tell you mine. For the next 15 seconds, I’m invincible. But… ten seconds are up. Five… four… three…”

431’s eyes narrowed, incredulous.

‘So, he can talk…’

There was no time to process it further. Azriel’s body solidified, and in an instant, both men were clad in armor—431’s of metal, Azriel’s of ice.

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But this time, there were no weapons. Only the battlefield and each other.

Azriel’s gaze flickered to the spikes protruding from the ground.

“These spikes are… annoying.”

Frost crawled over the spikes, and with a clench of his fist, they shattered.

431’s instincts screamed. He leapt back just in time, a massive ice spike piercing the ground where he had stood. He dodged again and again as more ice spears erupted, each barely missing him.

Azriel’s mocking voice echoed through the arena.

“Yeah, I can do that too.”

431’s grin only widened. In response, he stomped the ground, sending cracks racing across the arena floor and destabilizing the entire ground. Azriel jumped, surprised by the sudden display of brute strength, and steadied himself midair.

Without hesitation, Azriel exhaled, cold mist escaping his breath as the temperature plummeted.

Mist swirled around him, frost spreading across the ground, creeping up the walls, and even tinting his hair a glacial white. With a flick of his wrist, a massive spike shot up from the ground, nearly reaching the distant ceiling and grazing 431’s shoulder as he narrowly evaded it.

‘This isn’t a battle any normal Awakened could survive…’

But 431 barely had a moment to think before Azriel disappeared in a flash, trailing red lightning, appearing right in front of him with a booming explosion.

431 reacted instantly, swinging his fist, but Azriel raised a thin ice wall between them.

‘He thinks this will stop me?

‘

With a powerful blow, he shattered the wall, but as the shards fell, Azriel was gone, replaced by another ice wall.

A chill trickled down 431’s spine as he spun around, only to find himself surrounded. Ice walls reflected him on every side, casting fractured, ghostly reflections.

“Damn it! Are you hiding? Face me like a man!”

Only silence answered. Growling, he tore through each wall, punching and smashing his way through, but every shatter brought more ice, splintering in blinding shards that clouded his vision.

“Show yourself!” he roared, until a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his right heel.

Pain suddenly exploded from his heel. He looked down, seeing a spike of ice lodged in his right heel, breaking through his armor like it was paper.

“Agh…!”

‘Huh!? His ice got stronger… No, he’s been holding back!’

Ignoring the pain, he shattered the spike, but his gaze darted around in growing desperation, catching glimpses of his own reflection in the endless maze of ice.

‘I should’ve killed him while I had the chance… His mana regeneration is absurd.’

He barely had a second to catch his breath before Azriel’s cold, emotionless voice reverberated from every direction.

“You should think a little higher—or better yet…” he paused, a sadistic smile in his tone, “…look higher.”

A prickle of dread crawled up his spine. He slowly looked up, his face paling.

“Oh…”

Azriel sat atop a towering pillar of ice, red lightning crackling through the javelins of ice hovering above him. Each spear was pointed down, ready to strike.

Azriel grinned darkly, a glint of cruelty in his eyes.

“Dance, 431! Dance for me!”

And with a flick of his hand, the javelins rained down.