Path of the Extra - Chapter 228

Chapter 228: Dance of Death
As much as Azriel was eager to get his revenge on the Black-Antlered King, he knew he couldn’t just wander aimlessly through the corridors of Floor -1. Who knew what else was lurking down here?

Of course, the Black-Antlered King was the strongest—perhaps the apex predator of this floor.

And besides, his soul armor still needed a bit more time to fully restore itself. If he wanted to take the Black-Antlered King down at full strength, he had to wait.

…So perhaps a warm-up would be best?

Azriel placed the lantern on the control panel and began inspecting the buttons and controls.

There wasn’t absolutely no power on this floor—it had just been redirected. Since the facility had been evacuated, all remaining power was being used to hold the void creatures in their cells for as long as possible.

Which would be great… as long as they were still in their cells.

Or maybe Edge had already released the rest of them, leaving only the one behind the glass panel in front of Azriel.

But if Azriel was right, the control panel should still work.

“I really am mad for doing this…”

Who in their right mind would do this voluntarily?

A shudder ran through his body.

“Gods, I’m becoming like Dad…!”

He needed to keep his distance from him.

Brushing his fingers over the controls, Azriel’s hand stopped over a white button.

“White means light?”

Hopefully.

Without thinking too much, he pressed it.

His luck held. With a buzzing sound, the room was suddenly bathed in pale light, revealing what lay behind the glass panel.

Azriel was indeed in a small, metal control room. And beyond the glass panel… was a containment chamber.

The chamber was dark and humid, its walls lined with blackened metal that seemed to absorb the dim glow from overhead panels. The light seeped through crevices, likely from embedded mana stones.

The floor was covered in coarse, blackened sand. Low, uneven rock formations jutted from the ground.

To the side, a lake of clear water stretched silently.

Azriel squinted, leaning forward to take it all in.

“I don’t see it…”

He was sure he’d seen something move in the darkness before. But now? Nothing.

His gaze flicked back to the control panel, where a large red button stood out.

Azriel blinked at it. Then, slowly, his lips curled up.

“How inviting.”

Without hesitation, he pressed the red button.

Immediately, the lights inside the control room turned crimson.

To his left, the wall trembled before sliding open with a slow, grating sound.

Azriel’s eyes widened.

“So it was a door disguised as a wall?”

Shaking his head, he gripped Void Eater in his right hand, leaving the lantern behind for now.

Without giving it another thought, he stepped into the containment chamber. His feet sank slightly into the dark sand as he moved forward, scanning his surroundings.

The temperature here was warm and humid—completely opposite to the control room.

Azriel bent his knees slightly before leaping onto the tallest jagged rock he could find, only about two meters high, but enough to get a good vantage point.

“This place was built to mimic the void creature’s natural habitat…”

Now that he noticed… a faint mist hung in the air.

Then, suddenly, he felt it. A ripple of mana.

His gaze snapped to the left—toward the lake.

A disturbance spread across its surface, breaking the stillness.

Then, something began to rise.

Black. Of course, it was black. Almost every void creature he’d fought so far had been.

But this one… this was something unexpected.

Not one, but three smooth, black-scaled heads emerged, water dripping from their elongated forms.

Azriel’s expression twisted into a ridiculous grin.

It kept rising. Then, slithering out of the lake, its massive body coiled and twisted, rising even higher until all six of its glowing purple eyes locked onto him.

Three forked tongues flicked outward as it let out a synchronized hiss.

A three-headed void serpent.

And it was big—so big that it couldn’t fully rise without its heads pressing against the ceiling.

Compared to most things Azriel had seen, though… this was actually one of the more normal looking ones.

Then again, what was normal?

Azriel certainly didn’t know.

He focused, controlling the flow of mana through his soul veins. With careful precision, he guided the mana toward his eyes.

His gaze landed on the mana core of the three-headed serpent.

‘A Grade 1 monster… just an infant serpent, but…’

Its mana core… was damaged.

Azriel’s eyes softened, his heart sinking as he looked at the creature.

“How pitiful… you must be in constant pain…”

Whatever emotion Azriel had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep sympathy for the serpent.

“Allow me to grant you something I cannot have.”

Without hesitation, Azriel leapt down from his vantage point. His feet hit the sand with a soft thud, scattering it around him.

A mist of black replaced Azriel’s breath as it left his mouth.

As if mirroring the three-headed serpent before him, the mist coiled around him like a living thing.

The serpent didn’t move.

It only watched—scared and curious.

He raised Void Eater. Even the subtlest movement of his blade left a trail of black mist, which bloomed into dark roses before dissipating into nothingness.

“[Death’s Blossom.]”

Azriel took a step forward—and in an instant, he was in the air, right in front of the three serpent heads, leaving a trail of black mist behind. The mist twisted and curled, forming dark roses in its wake.

The left head hesitated, distracted by the drifting petals. The other two, however, remained locked onto Azriel, hissing as gravity pulled him downward.

But he didn’t fall.

Azriel hovered, weightless, as if gravity had lost its hold on him. He drifted, his feet barely brushing the ground before he stepped forward once more—

And was back in the air.

This time, he was right in front of the leftmost head. Before any of the three could react, his blade flashed.

A single stroke.

The left head’s eye burst into a spray of black blood, staining Azriel’s body. A deafening, gruesome cry tore through the air.

Azriel twisted midair, landing lightly on the thrashing head before leaping away. The remaining two heads lunged, their fangs snapping shut on empty space as he landed softly on the sand.

The first form of Dance of Death.

Deceptively simple. Terrifying to those who faced it.

Even a Grade 1 monster, a serpent with three heads and six eyes, had failed to predict his movements.

And that was the essence of this form. The first form allowed three unpredictable movements—ones that could not be anticipated by the eye.

Against those who relied only on sight, it was a death sentence.

A ridiculous technique.

But then again…

Dance of Death was a divine sword art. If it weren’t absurd, would it even be worthy of that title?

And…

There were more forms to this beautifully harrowing dance.

The serpent, recovering from its agony, glared at Azriel with slitted eyes. Its three heads parted their maws and released a gruesome, ear-splitting screech before lunging at him, sand exploding in every direction as the entire ground trembled beneath their charge.

Azriel watched them approach.

Unmoved. Unbothered.

His expression remained unchanged, his heartbeat steady. Not too fast. Not too slow.

Like a machine, simply executing its purpose.

Then, he spoke.

“Third Form: [Falling Petals].”

The change was instantaneous.

The coiling black mist dispersed into a cloud of drifting, dark petals.

Azriel moved.

The swirling petals obscured the serpent’s vision, making it difficult to track him. But for Azriel, the world remained clear.

The left and right heads, unable to see him, turned toward the floating petals.

The middle head, however, lunged straight for him.

Azriel, midair, should have been defenseless.

It thought so, at least.

His fingers twitched.

Beneath the serpent, the black sand erupted.

A forest of jagged ice spikes tore through the ground, impaling the monster from below.

The icy spears speared through its massive body, pinning it in place. The three heads thrashed violently, but the towering spikes held firm, locking it in a grotesque prison of ice and blood.

It was like a shattered spine made of ice, veins of black spreading across its cold surface.

Azriel lunged.

“Second Form: [Thorned Heart].”

The drifting petals vanished instantly.

No mist followed his blade.

Nothing about his movement was eye-catching.

And yet, it didn’t matter.

Void Eater plunged into the right head’s eye.

Another shriek. Another violent thrash.

Azriel twisted away, landing gracefully as the monster roared in agony.

But then—

The bleeding stopped.

Where the serpent’s eye had been, something began to grow.

Dark thorns.

They coiled around the wound, embedding themselves deep into the flesh.

That was the second form.

Every strike left behind these cursed thorns—burrowing, sapping strength, spreading with each wound inflicted.

A sword art truly worthy of its divine status.

Azriel had easily subdued the serpent.

It was never a fight to begin with.

The monster had already been weakened. Its mana core was damaged. It was confused, barely able to move in this desolate space.

And it had fought Azriel.

As Azriel had wanted from the beginning… fighting the three-headed serpent was merely a warm-up.

But also a means to see everything he was capable of…

Now he knew just how absurd Dance of Death was.

In time, it could become Azriel’s greatest card.

The serpent looked at Azriel with its remaining eye, filled with hatred, resignation, and… acceptance.

It did not move or thrash anymore.

It simply waited.

“I am sorry for using you as my test subject, but… I promise this is the last time you will ever be treated this way. By anyone.”

“Though I cannot say the same for your fellow subjects…”

Azriel looked at it with empathy and slowly made his way toward the serpent, which hissed with its three tongues—cautious yet calm.

…The mind was certainly incredible, yet inexplicable.

When his memories as Subject 666 returned, it made Azriel realize something.

Before, he had acted purely on instinct. Now, he felt as if he was restricting himself.

It was like something that had been isolated inside him was finally connected again.

His knowledge had expanded, his experience had deepened, and his strength had grown.

But…

The price of it was his mind itself.

When Azriel stood right in front of the left head of the serpent, it looked at him warily with its remaining eye.

Then—

Azriel motioned with his left hand.

Two massive spikes of ice erupted from the ground, impaling the other two heads instantly.

[Core Reaper] did not activate, though… the serpent was still alive.

The remaining head stared at the lifeless ones impaled beside it.

Its eye saddened.

A tired hiss escaped its mouth.

Azriel slowly moved his hand forward, and the serpent’s eye followed it—fearful, expectant.

But contrary to its expectations, Azriel gently touched its head and caressed it.

“My Soul Armor is almost done restoring, but there is still some time to spare… You are just a poor monster, held in captivity, experimented on without an ounce of control over your life.”

Strangely enough, the serpent seemed to calm down, the agonizing pain numbing slightly.

Something it could not understand flashed through Azriel’s eyes.

“You have nothing to do with me or this world. Your life won’t affect anything or anyone. A mere creature on the brink of death… But perhaps, because of that, it makes it easier for me to tell you what I have not dared to tell anyone in this world.”

Azriel smiled bitterly.

“You can understand me as well, can’t you? You’re smarter than most monster-ranked void creatures, but… yeah, I see. This must be one of the many side effects of being the Son of Death—void creatures being able to, in some way, understand or comprehend my words.”

Which wasn’t impossible. There were, of course, void creatures that lacked intelligence yet still managed to understand humans.

But… with Azriel, it seemed like an undeniable fact.

Azriel stopped caressing the serpent. Under his touch, it had relaxed, its massive body settling into the black sand. Its one remaining eye, filled with confusion, watched as Azriel slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, removing his upper garments.

“Allow me to give your life meaning,” he said, his voice quiet yet firm.

“To die with knowledge.”

Bare-chested now, the only thing covering him was the bandages wrapped around his left arm.

Azriel began to unravel them. His movements were slow, deliberate. As he did, he continued speaking, his tone even.

“I hadn’t planned on doing this today, but… it’s time. Time to stop running from my responsibilities and finally take the next step. I won’t leave this floor until I do. That includes becoming an Advanced.”

The serpent’s slit pupil remained locked onto him, as if everything else had lost meaning. It was captivated by his presence—drawn in, despite itself.

The last of the bandages unraveled, falling in loose coils onto the black sand.

And then, it saw.

Etched into Azriel’s left arm was the Mark of Death.

The serpent shuddered. Its entire body tensed as an instinctive fear took hold of it.

Azriel exhaled slowly.

“My mind is a mess,” he admitted. “Memories of Leo Karumi, Prince Azriel Crimson, and Subject 666… they’re all inside me. All mine. And yet, I can’t see them as one. They feel like separate lives. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

His voice was calm, but something raw flickered beneath it.

“The perfect son who cut off a bird’s legs, just to make his mother finally look at him—only to fail? The prince who disappointed his parents because he refused to live up to his potential? Or the subject who was their greatest success… and then bit off his owner’s head?”

A quiet chuckle. Hollow.

“Emotions I’ve been forced to suppress in every life… If I’m not careful, I might just form another mana contract with how consuming they are.”

Azriel took a step forward and gently placed his hand against the serpent’s head once more.

His touch was light. Almost comforting.

Then, he spoke softly.

“I don’t know when, how, or what might trigger [Redo]. And I don’t know if my [Redo] is the same as my previous selves’…” His expression darkened. “In this life, I forced myself to become the Son of Death far earlier than before. And the God of Death… knew.”

He clenched his right hand into a fist and pressed it against his chest, just above his heart.

“But at the same time, it didn’t.”

His fingers curled tighter.

“Meaning there’s someone else responsible for me being here.”

The realization sat heavy in the air. A truth he’d long suspected, now crystallized into certainty.

A sharp breath.

“Now that I remember… I can feel it. Even now.”

His grip on his chest tightened, as if trying to grasp something that wasn’t there.

“The moment I ripped my own heart out of my chest… It’s like my hand is still wrapped around it. Still holding on.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. Then, he sighed. Smiled softly.

“I need to get stronger. Every second that passes, I feel like time is running out, and I can’t tell any human about it.” His voice was steady, but there was an urgency beneath it. “I don’t want to grow stronger just by leveling up my mana core. I need more. Other means. But it’s difficult—especially when everything around me is trying to kill me. And my research on runes…”

His gaze darkened.

“No human has done much on them. At least, not the kind of runes I’m researching.”

Azriel summoned Void Eater once more. The obsidian blade materialized in his grasp, humming with restrained hunger.

He stepped closer. The serpent watched the weapon, a strange melancholy flickering in its remaining eye.

“Maybe… because I’ve cheated death too many times already, this world is trying to correct itself. Trying to erase me by any means necessary.”

His lips curled.

“Of course, I won’t let that happen. Not by any world, hero, or villain.” His voice dropped to a whisper, low and conspiratorial. “Not even when the treaty will be broken. Vergil’s death started it the last time—the ancient war between what we call Voidwalkers and Gods.”

A war that will end in nothing but death.

Then, Azriel smiled.

Crooked. Sinister.

He leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret the universe itself had tried to bury.

“The Voidwalkers and Gods…”

His grin widened.

“They’re the same beings.”