The Extra Who Shouldn't Exist novel Chapter 152

Chapter 152: Chapter 152 : Dance of the deadly darkness (1)

The forest had fallen eerily silent.

The only sound echoing through the trees was the broken, ragged groans of Sephira.

She lay motionless on the blood-soaked ground—right before Charlotte and Seraphina—her once proud and seductive form now reduced to a trembling heap of flesh and agony.

Both arms, ripped from their sockets.

Most of her once-luxurious hair, torn from her scalp in thick clumps.

And her left eye—ripped out barehanded by the silver-haired monster who now stood in judgment.

The very same figure whose shadow loomed protectively over the battered girls behind him.

Now, she lay like trash on the forest floor... the first time in her life she’d ever felt true helplessness.

Sephira... one of the key torturers of the Crown of Oblivion—a clandestine organization whose roots had infected empires, kingdoms, and territories across the world. From the Holy Empire of Celestara to the vile marshes of the Bloodmoon Empire... even the aloof Elven Empire had not escaped their grasp.

She and James had worked out of the Crown’s base stationed in the Human Empire.

And all her life... Sephira had enjoyed only one thing.

Torment.

It wasn’t just a job—it was a craving. A twisted, visceral need.

She had tortured children—stripped of hope and made to scream until their throats bled.

She had broken adults—mothers, fathers, even pregnant women—carving unborn names into their skin as she laughed.

She’d flayed the elderly alive, whispering soft lullabies as their wrinkled skin peeled from their bones.

None of it had mattered to her.

They were playthings.

She was an artist—and pain was her paint.

But now...

Now she was the canvas.

Her body trembled. The pain surging through her nerves was unlike anything she’d ever inflicted on others. Worse—deeper.

This... this can’t be happening... I’m Sephira. *I’m* the one who should be torturing others... I’m supposed to be the one laughing...

Yet all she could do was groan and tremble as her remaining eye, wide and bloodshot, locked onto the source of her suffering.

Alex.

The silver-haired boy.

The one she had mocked. Dismissed. Brutalized while he was unconscious.

And yet—

Now...

He was her nightmare.

Then—

Darkness slithered.

From Alex’s body, tendrils of writhing black energy emerged, crawling across the earth like hungry serpents.

They crept toward her, slowly... deliberately.

She wanted to scream, to run, to close her eyes.

But her body wouldn’t move.

Her eye wouldn’t shut.

What... what are those? They’re not going to kill me... are they...?

No.

It was worse.

The tendrils wrapped around her limbs—what was left of them—her torso, her legs, her scalp, her throat.

And then—

The agony began.

It wasn’t physical.

It was existential.

Her body began to rot.

She could feel it—pieces of her consciousness breaking down, dissolving into void. Not all at once.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Her flesh decayed, inch by inch, her skin blackening as if time itself was speeding up her death... yet not enough to let her die.

And her eye.

Still open.

Forced to watch.

Visions surged.

One by one, the screams of every person she’d ever tortured returned.

But worse.

Because now, she saw it—felt it—from their perspective.

The cries of children she had dismembered echoed in her mind.

The helpless sobs of the pregnant woman whose stomach she carved into.

The feeble shrieks of old men and women she flayed alive.

All of it.

Hundreds of times worse.

And they didn’t stop.

They didn’t stop.

They wouldn’t stop.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Her scream shook the forest, tearing through the trees like a banshee’s wail.

Birds fled. Animals ran. Even the bloodstained wind paused.

She shrieked until her voice broke.

And still, the tendrils wrapped tighter.

Still, her eye would not close.

---

Across the battlefield, Veyron’s eyes narrowed.

Enough.

A massive obsidian scythe materialized in his hand, dark energy crackling from its curved blade.

Just as he reached for it—

A hand gripped his shoulder.

"Brother," Veyra’s voice sang sweetly, almost playful. "Stop."

Veyron’s voice dropped cold. "Why? Are you waiting for him to attack us?"

Veyra tilted her head.

"Are you scared of him?"

Veyron’s gaze sharpened into daggers. "What did you just say?"

Veyra grinned, eyes glittering with manic glee. "You heard me. Are you scared?"

He snorted. "Veyra. We are Avatars of Tharnok. The God of Corruption. The Father of Rot. Do I look scared of a brat who killed some flies?"

He pointed his scythe toward Alex.

"He doesn’t even seem like an avatar."

But Veyra’s grin only grew.

"Exactly."

She licked her lips slowly.

"I want to see how far he goes. I want to see his darkness. His cruelty. How much of a devil he truly is."

She turned, gaze sharpening like twin moons.

"Then I’ll make him join us."

Veyron raised an eyebrow. "You seriously think he’ll agree?"

She shrugged, madness glinting in her eyes.

"If not... we’ll just start by killing his friends. One. By. One."

Her voice dropped into a soft whisper.

"He’ll beg. And when he does..."

She closed her eyes, shivering in ecstasy.

"Oh, how delightful his voice will be when he’s pleading for mercy..."

A moment passed.

Then Veyron chuckled.

"Fine. Let him play."

He lowered his scythe slightly.

"We can’t die in this realm anyway. Our Master created this space for us."

Veyra nodded. "Exactly."

---

On the other side—

James watched Sephira’s state with wide, trembling eyes.

His soul nearly escaped his body.

W-What... what is this monster...!?

The silver-haired figure slowly turned his gaze toward him.

Those galaxy-filled eyes stared right through him.

Then—

"You were the one who kicked me in the face, weren’t you?"

The voice was cold.

Void of emotion.

James panicked.

He didn’t answer.

Instead—

He did the only thing he could.

He activated his space affinity.

And vanished.

—Only to appear a meter away.

Right in front of—

"—me again?"

Alex.

He was there, again.

"Wha—?"

CRACK!

A boot slammed into his face.

His jaw snapped.

Blood sprayed.

James activated his teleport again—another meter away.

"NO—!"

Because it was true.

He had gotten his ass kicked. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Severely.

So he grit his teeth and stayed silent.

Alex’s smirk widened.

"Oh~? What’s this? Did the cat finally get your tongue? Or is your pride still crawling around somewhere on the floor?"

Alden glared daggers at him, cheeks twitching.

And then Alex laughed.

That smug, playful, arrogant laugh.

The same one he used when he described his beauty.

But then... something in Alex’s expression shifted.

That laugh faded.

Not the smile, no—he kept that smile.

But it was hollow now.

Because Alex’s gaze fell on Alden.

On the broken state he was in.

Then on Charlotte. On Seraphina. Ava. Draven. Ethan.

All of them—battered. Bloodied. Barely alive.

All while Alden had fought to protect them all alone.

Alex’s smile stayed.

But the fury in his eyes told another story.

He turned toward James—who had been weakly trying to crawl away—and grabbed him by the hair.

"Don’t worry," Alex said coldly, dragging the man like a sack of garbage. "I won’t let you die easily."

Then the darkness came.

It poured from his body like an ocean unleashed.

The forest trembled.

The ground cracked.

And the shadows themselves began to move.

Tendrils of corrupted darkness shot outward, faster than lightning, wrapping around every remaining Expert-ranked enemy trying to flee.

Screams echoed as they were hoisted into the air, limbs flailing in terror.

And one of those tendrils wrapped tightly around James’s neck, lifting him off the ground with a sickening grip.

But it didn’t stop there.

More tendrils surged forth.

One coiled around Alden’s waist.

Another around Charlotte.

Seraphina.

Ava.

Draven.

They all flinched—hearts pounding.

Even Alden stiffened for a moment, unsure of what Alex was doing.

Then his voice rang out—calm, clear, and unshakable.

"Relax."

His tone held no room for fear.

"Everything will be fine."

They breathed.

Their hearts slowed.

And the tendrils holding them became gentle—not restraining, but supportive, cradling them with almost motherly care.

Then Alex raised his hand.

His voice dropped.

"Vitality Drain."

The world seemed to stop.

And across the battlefield, Veyron and Veyra—those arrogant avatars of Tharnok—watched with wide eyes as something they had never imagined unfolded before them.

Because what they now saw seemed impossible.

And it shook them to their core.

------

A/N:

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