Path of the Extra

He… he really knew everything.

Azriel knew everything.

Hearing those words come from Azriel’s mouth felt foreign, unreal, almost wrong.

But he had said them.

He really had.

“H-How…?” Lumine tried to keep his voice steady, but failed miserably.

Azriel, meanwhile, looked as relaxed as ever.

No—

bringing one leg closer, he rested his arm on it, then his head, and looked down at the lantern with a lonely smile.

“How, huh?” he murmured. “Unfortunately, we only have thirty minutes before they reach their destination and start causing mayhem. And telling you everything is impossible, since it’s a rather long story. Nor am I really in the mood to open up more than I already have tonight.”

Lumine pressed his lips together, about to speak, but Azriel beat him to it.

“But what I can tell you… is that I am the Apostle of Death.”

“…Huh?”

Lumine’s mind froze.

Then, a second later, it jolted back to life, and his eyes began to tremble.

“No way…”

Then his eyes widened even more.

“N-No—!”

He clamped both hands over his mouth.

’What have I done!? I’m not allowed to speak about the system! No—Azriel was the one who brought it up, but still! Does that count!?’

A chuckle escaped Azriel’s lips as he looked at Lumine with clear amusement.

“I imagine the system gave you a warning not to reveal anything about itself, right?”

Still covering his mouth, Lumine nodded quickly.

Azriel let out a small sigh and looked at him with the kind of warmth one reserved for an idiot.

“This scenario is like a television show. They stream our points of view, place cameras on us that we can’t see. But there is an exception to that rule. At least, in this scenario.”

He glanced at Lumine.

“An apostle cannot be streamed while they are alone. Meaning that unless you have someone like Yelena with you, no one can watch you. Aside from the proctor, of course—but he isn’t here.”

In other words, since both of them were apostles, neither of them could be streamed right now.

Swallowing, Lumine felt a little bolder. Trusting Azriel—just a little—he decided to test what he had said.

“…I have a system.”

“…”

“I am a system user.”

“…”

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

Aside from Azriel chuckling at him.

Lumine scowled inwardly.

’Why is he so damn beautiful? Ugh… stop laughing!’

He looked away, oddly irritated.

…He was absolutely not jealous.

Letting out a slow breath, he asked,

“So… the Apostle of Death, huh? Then… are you the son of the God of Death? The son of death?”

Hesitantly, he asked the question, and Azriel merely nodded.

“…It doesn’t feel real,” Lumine murmured, suddenly sounding a little sad himself.

“I thought I was the only apostle…”

Azriel pulled up his sleeve, revealing an arm wrapped in bandages. Then, carefully, he began to unwrap them.

When he showed Lumine the mark beneath, Lumine stopped breathing.

“Here,” Azriel said. “There’s your proof.”

“Wow…”

A tattoo stretched across Azriel’s forearm.

Lumine’s eyes drank in every detail, utterly mesmerized.

There was a skull with hollow, endless eyes, its surface cracked and weathered like ancient stone.

Behind it, great wings unfurled—feathers shifting into jagged bone, suspended between life and death.

Beneath the skull hung an hourglass, its frame twisted with thorny vines that seemed to dig into Azriel’s flesh.

And behind it all curved a scythe, its blade gleaming with a ghostly sheen, the handle wrapped in ancient runes Lumine could not read.

’…It’s both creepy and beautiful…’

Eventually, Azriel pulled back and wrapped the bandages around his arm again.

“It’s a pain having to hide this mark all the time,” he said. “But the bandages are special enough that no one can see through them.”

Then he pulled his sleeve back down, leaned back, and gazed once more at the lantern burning between them.

Lumine did not know what to say.

No—

that was not true.

He knew exactly what he wanted to say.

The problem was that there was too much.

Too many questions.

Too many thoughts crowding his head until it hurt.

So, in the end, Lumine simply let everything spill out at once.

“How…? How are you the Apostle of Death? A-And why have you been helping me and Yelena so much all this time? A-Are you secretly evil? I-I know the God of Death isn’t exactly seen as the most benevolent, even if he’s worshipped alongside the other ten gods, but… does that make you a villain? What are you planning? Why are you being so open about this? Why did you tell Yelena everything before you told me? Why didn’t you say anything sooner? And how do you even know about me—about all of this?”

This time, Azriel was genuinely surprised. He looked at Lumine with widened eyes, almost overwhelmed by the sheer number of questions. Then his features softened, and he let out a small, quiet laugh.

“I became the Apostle of Death by dying,” he said. “And then I kept dying, over and over again, until I annoyed her so much that she finally relented and made me her son.”

“Wait… her?”

Noticing the gender Azriel had used for the God of Death, Lumine’s eyes widened again. But Azriel simply continued, answering each of his questions in a gentle, almost nostalgic tone.

“I helped you and Yelena because, well…” He looked away, suddenly seeming embarrassed, and scratched his cheek. “The line between acquaintance and friend can be a blurry one. And maybe the three of us have not really had that much time together… but I do consider you both my friends.”

Lumine froze.

At the same time, something deep in his chest warmed.

’Friends…’

More than once, Lumine had wondered whether he could really call himself Azriel’s friend. He had wanted to. He had hoped he could.

’He did so much for us… because we’re his friends…’

Without even noticing it himself, Lumine found that he was smiling—wide, bright, and full of joy.

“As for why I’m being so open about this,” Azriel went on, “it isn’t as though I would have cared if you had asked me earlier. I told Yelena because I wanted to give the two of you a little motivation. I also knew she would not tell you immediately, because I understood her way of thinking… and how much she relies on her [Instinct]. That is what confused her for so long. She probably should have told you around the time of the Tournament of the Greats, but this scenario is not what it should have been. It has dragged on much longer than most.”

He paused briefly before continuing.

“And as for why I know all of this… consider it a side effect of being the Apostle of Death. Or perhaps not a side effect. Maybe more like a reason. Or a consequence. Either way, we do not have time for me to explain the how, but the simple truth is that I know things I should not know.”

Hearing all of that, Lumine grabbed his head with both hands and groaned.

Now that Azriel was answering his questions so easily—so openly—Lumine’s head was beginning to ache from the flood of information.

“Here.”

The sudden word broke through the noise in his mind.

Azriel was holding out a book.

No, not really a book.

It looked more like a notebook, its cover plain and black.

Confused, Lumine reached for it. But the moment he tried to take it, Azriel’s grip tightened, and he did not let go.

Then Azriel spoke in a serious tone that made Lumine unconsciously focus at once.

“Listen to me, Lumine. Do not ever read what is inside this book unless you reach the absolute lowest point of your life—when you can see no way out and are certain you will not make it.”

It felt as though a cold wind had swept through him.

A chill ran across his skin, and his heartbeat quickened.

“W-Why?” Lumine asked, sounding a little frightened.

“What is inside this book?”

“Information.”

“Huh?”

Lumine stared at him, suddenly feeling stupid.

Why had Azriel made it sound as though whatever was in that book would cost him something terrible?

But Azriel looked completely serious.

“Information can be the greatest blessing and the greatest curse,” he said. “And what is in this book is both. Knowing the things written inside it might help you… but it could also get someone you love killed.”

Lumine sucked in a sharp breath.

Only then did Azriel finally release the notebook, leaving it in Lumine’s hands.

Still staring down at it in a daze, Lumine asked quietly,

“Why… why are you giving this to me…?”

Azriel rested his forehead against his knee, and Lumine heard him let out a slow breath. Then he smiled again.

There it was once more.

That lonely smile.

“This scenario you and the others are in is different from mine,” Azriel said softly. “At least… the outcome will be.”

Frowning, not fully understanding, Lumine listened as Azriel continued.

“Even if what we have to do to clear this scenario may be the same, you can think of me as having to complete an additional scenario as well. One on an entirely different level… and one I am not sure I can complete.”

“What do you mean…?”

Azriel closed his eyes.

For some reason, he looked deeply peaceful.

Then he said, in a voice so calm it made Lumine’s chest tighten—

“The truth is, Lumine… very soon, I will be dead.”