Path of the Extra

Chapter 156: 666 vs. 431 [1]

Cold.

Dark.

Lonely.

It didnʼt 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 heʼd slipped into a different reality altogether.

Azriel didnʼt know. Heʼd stopped trying to understand long ago—stopped grasping at the remnants of a world that shattered in a single day.

ʼThis feels... nice.ʼ

ʼItʼs quiet, comfortable.ʼ

ʼIs this what dying is really like?ʼ

ʼAm I already dead?ʼ

Heʼd escaped true death twice before. Maybe, this third time, heʼd finally reached it—an actual ending.

He sank deeper, letting it carry him, unresisting.

ʼIʼm tired…ʼ

The further he sank, the more he felt something essential slipping away—something so precious he couldnʼt even define it. But he didnʼt notice. Not fully.

ʼItʼs not like anyone needs me.ʼ

ʼI have no value… Iʼm weak… and…ʼ

ʼIt feels like the whole world wants me dead.ʼ

A fracture formed inside him, splitting along hidden lines.

ʼEven if I win, I lose.ʼ

ʼThereʼs no point in fighting… they donʼt need me. Theyʼll keep moving forward without me.ʼ

ʼIʼve given them all a chance—a real chance to win this time.ʼ

ʼSo…ʼ

ʼI can finally rest, canʼt I?ʼ

”....”

”....”

”....”

”....”

”....”

”....”

”....”

”....”

ʼRest..?ʼ

ʼWhat... am I even saying?ʼ

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

ʼWhy should I rest?ʼ

ʼWhy am I being so... pathetic?ʼ

ʼEven if Iʼm exhausted, what gives me the right to wallow in it, to use it as an excuse to lie here and surrender?ʼ

He couldnʼt see, but he could feel his body blazing with some renewed force.

ʼSo what if nobody needs me?ʼ

ʼIf Iʼm not strong, Iʼll become strong.ʼ

ʼIf every god, every apostle, every damned world wants me dead… why should I care? Let them try.ʼ

ʼIf this is fate… then to hell with fate.ʼ

ʼI made myself a promise, didnʼt I?ʼ

ʼEven if the book was a lie—I swore…ʼ

ʼI would see the end with my own eyes.ʼ

ʼThat will never change.ʼ

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.

ʼIf I lose, Iʼll get up. Again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Iʼll keep going—until I win.ʼ

”...”

ʼI wonʼt die.ʼ

ʼI… I donʼt want to die.ʼ

ʼI want to live.ʼ

ʼAnd...ʼ

ʼI just want to win.ʼ

*****

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.

”Heʼs 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 theyʼre wasting a kid with dual affinities…”

Not that it mattered. In truth, he didnʼt mind being a subject in this hellhole. Before, heʼd 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 werenʼt challenges; they were warm-ups. Heʼd won every fight against those on his level, but he wasnʼt stupid enough to challenge the higher-ranked subjects.

He didnʼt have a death wish; he just wanted a real fight.

Sighing, he rubbed his head, casting a disappointed look at Azrielʼs body.

”If you didnʼt 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 431ʼs brow furrowed. A strange chill crept down his spine, and he turned, eyes widening.

Azrielʼs 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 hadnʼt anticipated. Azrielʼs 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.

”Iʼve got to hand it to you. Didnʼt think youʼd—”

His words faded, his grin vanishing as his gaze locked onto Azrielʼs eyes.

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

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

ʼThis boy..!ʼ

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 Azrielʼs face—only to pass straight through him.

”...!”

ʼWhat kind of absurd skill is this?ʼ

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

431 quickly leapt back, watching as Azrielʼs lips curved up ever so slightly.

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

431ʼs eyes narrowed, incredulous.

ʼSo, he can talk…ʼ

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

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

Azrielʼs 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.

431ʼs 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.

Azrielʼs mocking voice echoed through the arena.

”Yeah, I can do that too.”

431ʼs 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 431ʼs shoulder as he narrowly evaded it.

ʼThis isnʼt a battle any normal Awakened could survive…ʼ

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.

ʼHe thinks this will stop me?

ʼ

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 431ʼs 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...!”

ʼHuh!? His ice got stronger… No, heʼs been holding back!ʼ

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.

ʼI shouldʼve killed him while I had the chance… His mana regeneration is absurd.ʼ

He barely had a second to catch his breath before Azrielʼs 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.