Path of the Extra

When Azriel opened his eyes, he felt his back pressing against the countless shards of rubble beneath him. Above him, there was only darkness.

But around him… the remnants of the floor were bathed in an ethereal glow, illuminated beautifully by the white mana stones.

Azriel groaned and sat up.

‘I’m back…’

“Haaa…”

He exhaled loudly, his mind more of a mess than ever.

‘What am I supposed to do with all this? Seriously… messing with me however he wanted.’

He didn’t even know where to start. Where to think. All he knew was that he had somehow—against all reason—met the God of Time.

It was convenient. Too convenient. Just like how the god had suddenly decided to help him. But Azriel was not deceived by such grace.

He knew perfectly well—it was all an act. That god was using him as a mere pawn on a chessboard for a purpose he couldn’t yet comprehend. Not now. He was still too small, too weak to see the bigger picture.

Azriel still didn’t know if he should consider the God of Time a true enemy. But one thing was certain—he was now caught up in something far more dangerous. The gods were beginning to turn their eyes toward this world.

And the God of Time already had his sights set on him.

At the very least, Azriel had learned many things.

‘The world’s providence… He’s wary of it. He’s also cautious about revealing too much knowledge. He seems limited. And… he’s not entirely on the side of the other gods either. He has some kind of deep connection with the Goddess of Death as well…’

One of the Ten Gods. The God of Time. A being who supposedly knew the past, present, and future.

But now that he thought about it… did he really know the future?

Azriel… started to doubt that.

Then, another thought crossed his mind.

‘Seeker of Memories… He called Lumine that, right? Someone who possesses a system is a Seeker of Memories. And there can only be one…’

The world’s providence was the one who set that rule.

Azriel frowned.

There was too much to process. Too much from that conversation to think about all at once.

‘Oh, right.’

Suddenly, he realized something.

He was still in his Soul Armor. Next to him, Void Eater lay in pristine condition. Both were back to their perfect state.

Azriel moved his arms, then stood, stretching his body with a few strange, instinctive movements.

‘Whoa… my body feels so much lighter. Stronger. It’s like there was a delay before, and now it’s gone.’

He could feel the mana in the air more vividly than ever—his mana sensitivity had increased.

Which meant…

He would have better control over his aura as well.

Then, a wide grin stretched across Azriel’s face.

‘I won, didn’t I? I actually defeated a Grade 1 demon… Haha! How many people can say they did the same at Grade 1 Intermediate? Wait—no… I’m a Grade 3 Advanced now!’

Azriel’s eyes instantly lit up as he called out in his mind, excitement surging through him.

‘Status!’

Azriel’s vision was engulfed by a holographic screen, black and white, visible only to him.

—————————–

Status Screen:

—————————–

[Name]: Azriel Crimson

[Age]: 16

[Gender]: Male

[Titles]: Son of Death

—————————–

[Mana Core Rank]: Advanced

[Mana Core Grade]: Grade 3

[Mana Core Level]: 3

—————————–

[Affinities]:

– Lightning

– Ice

[Unique Skill]: Redo → One-time use

[Skills]:

– Core Reaper

– Soul’s Crucible

– Eidolon Flesh

– Villain’s Script

[Sword Arts]: Dance of Death → 15% mastery

– First Form: Death’s Blossom

– Second Form: Thorned Heart

– Third Form: Falling Petals

—————————–

[Soul Weapons]: Void Eater

[Soul Armor]: Nocturne Covenant

[Soul Echoes]: None / Locked → Unlocks at higher rank

—————————–

[???]: None / Locked → Unlocks at higher rank

[???]: None / Locked → Unlocks at higher rank

[???]: None / Locked → Unlocks at higher rank

—————————–

Looking at his status, Azriel couldn’t hold back the grin spreading across his face.

‘I’ve finally become an Advanced… If Jasmine isn’t careful, I might surpass her before she even realizes it.’

And that wasn’t all.

Azriel’s gaze locked onto his [Skills] section.

His fingers twitched as he instinctively selected [Eidolon Flesh], eager to read its description.

—————————–

[Eidolon Flesh]:

The Black Antlered King’s bones were never mere marrow; they were something far older, far stronger. Each fracture mended only made them denser; each break reforged them sharper. Mortality had long been stripped away, leaving behind a foundation that would never splinter again.

Or so it was believed—until it crossed paths with the Son of Death.

The battle that followed was a clash beyond mortal reckoning, witnessed only by the God of Time and [!@#%]. Their thirst for victory was silent, known to none but themselves. Yet, death is inevitable. And so, the Black Antlered King’s demise was sealed.

Its crown crumbled.

The Son of Death offered his own flesh to shatter its bones—and succeeded.

Perfection is not bestowed, but carved.

From the ruins of his body, something unnatural was born. His flesh, marred by battle, was remade—smooth as polished ivory, seamless, untouched by the scars of mortality. True strength is not found in unyielding hardness, but in the illusion of fragility. Blades slip without purchase, wounds fade before they can linger, even time itself struggles to leave its mark.

A gift or a curse? Beauty lures the eye, and something so flawless was never meant to go unnoticed.

—————————–

“….”

Azriel read the description in silence.

Whoever had written this had certainly outdone themselves.

It wasn’t just any [skill]; it was one that Lumine would have normally obtained during this very mission with Celestina… only Azriel had replaced him and completed the mission much earlier than he would have.

…[Eidolon Flesh] was not something to be considered a waste. Instead, it made his skin much more durable and would only benefit him in the long run…

To think he actually managed to get it.

Exhaling slowly, he clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted—to see himself right now. If the rumors were true, then upon becoming an Advanced , one’s appearance became more striking.

But Azriel wasn’t just any Advanced.

He was the child of one of the Ten Gods.

And now, with [Eidolon Flesh], he had no doubt that the changes were far more extreme.

Still, he resisted the urge to seek out a reflection. There were more important things to focus on.

He was on a timer.

And so, with a smirk tugging at his lips, he moved on to read the description of his other newly acquired skill—one that, at a glance, reeked of the God of Time’s influence.

—————————–

[Villain’s Script]:

The God of Time, the Son of Time, and the Son of Death vanished—sealing themselves away from the world, from all that was and all that would be.

Words were spoken in that hidden place, words that would never escape their lips.

Yet whatever was said left wounds on all three.

Still, the God of Time, in his infinite mercy, allowed the Son of Time and the Son of Death to depart unharmed. More than that—he sent them away with gifts, tokens of his boundless generosity.

For the Son of Death, he chose something most fitting.

Perhaps it was not merely a gift, but an excuse—an invitation to bare his true, treacherous nature.

Only he would know the truth.

Your presence carries the weight of a villain.

Your words drip with an insidious pull—subtle, inescapable, implanting the idea that you are an enemy.

To those who look upon you, you are a deceiver, a menace, a serpent cloaked in the skin of man. Suspicion coils around your every step, and doubt lingers in every glance cast your way.

This power is shaped by perception—those with unshakable will may resist, those with keen insight may see past the veil.

But the more you embrace the villain’s role, the deeper its roots take hold.

Hesitation cracks its foundation.

—————————–

“…What the hell?”

Azriel had a lot to say about this skill.

And by a lot, he meant a lot.

What did it mean by “treacherous”?!

Rubbing the back of his head, he exhaled through his nose and shook his head.

‘And what’s with this nonsense about the God of Time being merciful and generous? My foot!’

He could practically smell the cunning breath of that god.

He was the real treacherous one here, not Azriel.

That bastard had sent him into a full-blown panic attack just to drop the truth about his old world on him.

A truth that Azriel never asked for.

A truth that now weighed on him like a curse, with no way to undo it.

His mood darkened at the thought.

Then, his eyes drifted downward—toward the lifeless body lying beside him.

The Black Antlered King.

Broken. Dead.

Covered in dust, rubble, and blackened blood.

Azriel sighed softly.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had such an intense fight…”

A brief pause.

“For that, I thank you.”

His fingers twitched once again as he considered whether or not to take the corpse.

But before he could decide—

Boom—!

A sudden impact shook the ground beneath him.

The debris trembled, dust rising in thin, swirling tendrils.

Azriel’s gaze snapped toward the source of the disturbance.

A distant battlefield.

The fight still wasn’t over.

His lips curled.

“Good.”

Perhaps…

He should take advantage of the God of Time’s generosity.

If the god’s words and his own theories were to be trusted—

Then it was finally time.