Path of the Extra

Both Azriel and Subject 431 circled each other clockwise.

"You know how long I've waited for this? A deathmatch should end with one of us dead. You losing that day should have been your death. It is almost ironic, isn't it? How they now call you the Horseman of Death."

Azriel sighed, his gaze steady as they continued their deliberate steps.

"I won't fight you, War. I don't have time to waste on this. If you want to attack me, go ahead, but I won't fight back. Will that satisfy you?" Find more adventures on M-V-L

War's face darkened, his scowl deepening into something almost feral.

"You know I won't be satisfied with that!" he barked. "We fight, and we fight with everything we've got! To hell with this organization, to hell with everything else! All that should matter is our fight!"

Both stopped in unison, their footsteps halting like the strike of a clock. They stared at each other, the silence between them heavier than the tension before. Azriel's expression shifted, turning solemn.

"Any moment now, they'll come or the void creatures outside will start attacking this facility. We don't have time for this."

War scoffed, crossing his arms as a bitter grin twisted his face.

"Why should I care about any of that? I want our deathmatch, kid. Besides, how certain are you that those void creatures will even come? Maybe there isn't enough chaos to draw them in."

Azriel didn't respond. Instead, under War's watchful eyes, he pulled his gown slightly down, revealing his left shoulder. War narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharpening.

"What's that…?"

A thin patch covered Azriel's shoulder. Beneath it was something hidden—a wound. A wound sealed shut by Azriel's ice.

War's confusion grew as Azriel dispelled the ice with a thought. The moment it was gone, blood began trickling down, staining his skin. War's perplexity turned to shock as Azriel raised his right hand, his fingers pressing against the wound.

"Hey...! What are you doing, kid?"

Azriel didn't answer. His face twisted in pain as he dug his fingers into his shoulder. War flinched, watching in disbelief as Azriel's bloodied hand pulled something out—a small, silver ring covered in his blood.

The wound instantly froze over again, ice spreading to stem the bleeding. Azriel looked at War, holding the ring in his right hand, his expression calm despite the blood on his fingers.

"A Heptarch naturally has a few spare storage rings."

War's confusion deepened as Azriel tapped the ring once. A small remote appeared in his palm, sleek and black, with a single button.

Without waiting or offering an explanation, Azriel pressed it.

The entire facility trembled.

A deafening explosion followed, the sound reverberating through the walls. Massive chunks of rock and debris rained down as the ground beneath their feet shook violently. The chaos continued for several seconds before subsiding into an eerie silence.

War looked around, wide-eyed. Dust and debris hung in the air as Azriel smiled faintly.

"You think this will be enough chaos for them?"

"W-what did you…?"

War stammered, his voice unsteady.

Azriel shrugged, his right shoulder rolling while his left remained stiff with pain.

"Simple. Heptarch Iryndra gave me a storage ring with a mana bomb in it. I kept it hidden in my shoulder. When the doctor left, I planted the bomb in his lab… and voilà. Enough chaos to draw out the void creatures, wouldn't you say?"

The faint sound of distant groaning metal reached them, the echoes of destruction spreading through the facility. If they ascended now, they would see almost half the structure obliterated.

War glanced up warily, his eyes darting to the cracked ceiling as if expecting it to collapse. Then his gaze snapped back to Azriel, filled with something close to frustration.

Azriel's smile faltered, a shadow passing over his face. He pressed his lips together tightly.

"You know, don't you? What PE-2 has done to us? Even if the doctor tried to hide it from you… he told me, in his own way."

War's expression hardened, his metallic sheen dimming as his affinity receded. His voice was quieter now, almost resigned.

"I had a feeling. The nausea, the weakness… I always thought it was a matter of time. Kid, how long?"

Azriel's gaze darkened.

"Two years. In two years, we'll either lose ourselves… or die."

The drug, PE-2, was a replica of Voidwalker blood. Its side effects were inevitable—loss of self, transformation into a mindless beast, or death. Perhaps even more. Arthur's hypothesis had been grim, but the signs were undeniable.

Azriel had always believed it. His body, constantly under stress from daily injections, bore the truth of their situation. Even his advancement to Intermediate hadn't alleviated the toll.

"I do not wish to become a mindless beast..."

War's expression twisted in confusion as he studied Azriel.

"I still don't understand. Why are you even still here? The mana bomb's gone off—it's only a matter of time before something horrific comes for this facility. Or maybe the doctors themselves will come and kill you. Why didn't you leave with Heptarch Iryndra?"

There was no logical reason for Azriel to stay.

Even with their fates sealed—destined to die or lose themselves in two years—there was no point in remaining in this cursed place. War's thoughts raced, piecing together Azriel's actions.

If Azriel's plan was simply to destroy the facility and end Project New Eden, he had already succeeded. The bomb ensured that chaos would tear the place apart. The creatures would invade. The collapse was inevitable. Azriel could have used the ensuing turmoil to escape with Iryndra, leaving everyone to think he had died in the chaos.

Bodies disappearing in the Void Realm during an attack wasn't uncommon. If anything, it was expected.

So why?

Azriel's smile was faint, tinged with sorrow.

"You know... the graveyard is full of people who thought they had more time."

War narrowed his eyes but said nothing. The faint tremors from above grew stronger as debris occasionally fell around them. Neither of them flinched.

"I thought I had more time once," Azriel continued. "Ever since I came to this world, I've been thrown from one nightmare into the next. And yet, I survived. Somehow, I always survived. I thought this time would be the same. That I'd survive and maybe... maybe I'd find my way back to them. My family."

War clenched his jaw but didn't interrupt. His thrill for battle, his thirst for their fated deathmatch, had begun to wane. What was the point? If both of them were destined to die anyway, where was the victory?

Azriel's voice softened.

"But why should I go back to them?" Azriel's crimson eyes flickered with an intensity that made War uneasy.

"You don't die when your heart stops... you die when no one remembers you. And I know there are people who still remember me. But I don't want my family to remember me. Not like this."

The ground shuddered violently, the echoes of another explosion rumbling through the facility. Dust and small chunks of debris rained down around them. Both men instinctively looked up but remained rooted to the spot.

"They've already lost me once," Azriel said quietly.

"I can't curse them with more memories."

War's fists tightened as the air around them grew heavier. Somewhere above, chaos raged. He imagined Arthur and Vincent locked in a desperate battle.

"They must be fighting by now," Azriel muttered, almost to himself.

War's teeth ground together as his thoughts spun.

"So, what are you saying? That you'd rather die here? Let the world keep thinking you were dead all along? All of this..." He gestured around them, his voice rising in disbelief.

"If you just left, you could still—"

He stopped. He didn't know what else to say.

Everything Azriel had done in the span of a single day had plunged them into chaos.

A single day.

All because Azriel wanted to make a little girl his family?

War stared at him, trying to find an explanation. But then he saw them—those crimson eyes. Deep, unflinching, and raw with emotion. The longer War looked, the more it felt like they pulled him in, like they were unraveling him from the inside out.

He snapped out of it with a sharp breath, shaking his head violently.

A laugh escaped him—low and hollow.

"You..." War said, his voice tinged with something between awe and disgust. "You've gone completely fucking crazy."

Azriel didn't answer. He just smiled, but it wasn't warm. It wasn't sad either. It was something War couldn't define—something that made the pit in his stomach twist.

And for the first time, War wasn't sure if he wanted to fight Azriel anymore.

"That is what we call those who let their emotions consume them..."

"...!"

A voice, seething with barely-contained rage, snapped from behind. The sound was sharp, venomous, and commanding.

They turned.

Arthur stood there.

Blood stained every inch of his once-pristine lab coat, dripping onto the cracked floor in crimson splatters. His mismatched eyes—heterochromatic and burning with fury—were darker than the void itself as they locked onto Azriel.

Azriel, who... smiled.

"Ah... it looks like I have to take things into my own hands now, huh?"

A crazed, fractured smile stretched across his face—a grin of defiance, mockery, and something far more sinister—all directed squarely at Arthur.

"You are not the only one cursed with knowledge, Doctor."

Arthur's footsteps faltered. His body froze mid-step as he processed the words. His glare intensified.

"Letting myself get consumed by emotions..." Azriel's tone dipped, venom lacing every syllable, "that was one of the easiest conditions for a mana contract, right?"

The words struck Arthur like a thunderclap.

His breath caught. His heart froze.

And those eyes.

Azriel's eyes.

They were as dark as his own.