Aetheric Chronicles: Reborn As An Extra

Time passed by.

Adrian stood steadfast inside the ship, his eyes never leaving the swirling dome of black and red energy that encapsulated the Black Wyvern's Domain. Lightning arced across the dark sky, and distant roars echoed within the dome as the battle inside reached its zenith.

Eight or so minutes had passed, though it felt like an eternity.

The remaining wyverns outside the domain had mostly been dealt with, either subdued or slain, and a calm—albeit fragile—settled over the battlefield. The Awakeners and tamers breathed heavily from the exertion, but they kept their eyes on the massive dome in the sky, waiting for the inevitable conclusion.

Suddenly, the dome shuddered.

A low, ominous rumble echoed across the battlefield, sending a wave of nervous energy through the crew on the ship and those still fighting below. Adrian's sharp gaze narrowed as the swirling dome began to pulse, its black and red hues intensifying.

Then, with a crack that split the sky, the domain began to break apart.

Flashes of light pierced through the cracks in the storm as it unraveled, revealing the carnage within. The first thing that emerged from the chaos was the massive silhouette of the Black Wyvern.

But something was different.

Its form had changed, grown larger, and now sported draconic features.

Its wings were broader, its scales harder, and its face had shifted to resemble that of a dragon more than a wyvern. Horns jutted from its skull, and its tail was tipped with jagged spikes, giving it an even more menacing appearance.

A collective gasp rippled through the crew, their worst fears seeming to come true.

Adrian tensed, his eyes locking onto the massive creature.

But then, something unexpected happened.

The Black Wyvern's eyes fluttered shut, its wings sagging as it lost all semblance of control. The once-mighty beast wavered in the air, its balance faltering, and without warning, it began to plummet toward the ground at an alarming speed.

"Is it... defeated?" one of the crew members muttered, disbelief coloring their voice. Stay tuned to empire

Adrian's lips tightened as he watched the massive form of the wyvern fall, crashing into the earth with a thunderous impact that sent a cloud of dust and debris spiraling into the air. The ground trembled under the weight of the beast's fall, but there was no further movement. The Black Wyvern lay motionless, its draconic eyes closed as though it had succumbed to a final, decisive blow.

The crew erupted in cheers, their shouts of victory rising into the air. But Adrian's focus shifted from the fallen creature to the three figures who had emerged from the shattered domain.

Floating in the air, their forms slowly descending to the ground, near the slain monster. They were Lloyd and Yor Fawger along with General Theron. The Fawger couple moved gracefully despite the strain of battle, but their bodies bore the marks of their confrontation with the wyvern. Lloyd's left hand was visibly injured, blood staining his sleeve as he cradled his arm.

Yor, while the most bloodied of the three, wore the blood of the Black Wyvern rather than her own, her sharp eyes scanning the battlefield with a calm intensity.

The general, however, appeared worse for wear. His right hand was heavily injured, and he gritted his teeth as he landed, his breathing labored. Despite his injuries, he carried an air of triumph, standing tall as they approached the fallen wyvern.

"We did it!" someone from the ship shouted. The crew burst into a chorus of triumphant cheers, their voices ringing out in celebration.

Adrian allowed himself a small smile as he watched the scene unfold. Victory had been hard-won, but it was theirs nonetheless. The Black Wyvern had fallen, and with it, the greatest threat of the battle had been neutralized.

But as he watched the celebrations unfold, his mind remained sharp. The battle may have been over, but something still didn't feel right.

Still, the Fawger couple and the general had survived, and for now, that was what mattered.

The cheers aboard the ship grew louder as the news of victory spread. The skies, once filled with wyverns and chaos, now stretched clear above them, the storm of battle finally dissipating.

'We should head back to the city.'

Although Adrian wanted to celebrate with the others as well, he wanted to quickly return to the city, so his uneasy heart could calm down.

And it seems General Theron shared the same idea as him, seeing him flying in the direction of the city after swallowing a few potions.

'Let's go then.'

Adrian swiftly left the main deck, his heart racing beneath his calm exterior. The battle against the wyverns was won, but his instincts told him there was more ahead. With purposeful steps, he headed towards where Bane, the rylath.

The cheers of the crew echoed faintly behind him, but Adrian's mind was already focused on the city. Without delay, he mounted Bane, patting the creature's neck before signaling it to take flight. The wind whipped past his face as they ascended, the ship growing smaller beneath them as they cut through the sky, heading toward the city at breakneck speed.

The unease in Adrian's chest only grew as they flew.

He tightened his grip on Bane's reins, urging the beast to go faster. In just under ten minutes, the familiar walls of the city came into view. But what lay before those walls made his heart sink.

The battlefield that stretched outside the city had seen just as much bloodshed as the sky battle against the wyverns.

Smoke rose from various parts of the land, and scattered bodies of both beasts and soldiers littered the ground. Yet, it was the figures at the heart of the battlefield that drew Adrian's attention.

Near the south, on top of a massive, fallen creature—the Werewolf King—stood old man Doome. His long, silver hair and beard were matted with blood, both his own and his enemy's, yet his posture was unyielding. He gazed over the battlefield with an unreadable expression, though there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

Not far from him, leaning against the enormous body of the Werebear King, were Lady Tessa and Mr. Lenny. Their injuries were severe, and they supported each other, their bodies shaking with exhaustion. Lady Tessa's usually elegant features were marred with blood, her left arm hanging limp at her side. Mr.

Lenny had a deep gash across his chest, but his focus remained on Tessa, as though drawing strength from her presence.

Adrian's gaze then shifted to the center of the battlefield.

There, amidst the bloody carnage, stood Darius.

He was leaning heavily on his sword, his once-imposing figure now battle-worn.

His upper clothes had been torn apart, revealing five massive claw marks slashed across his chest and abdomen, blood dripping down his muscled torso. Beneath his feet lay the headless body of the Werelion King, the beast's massive form lifeless and sprawled on the blood-soaked ground.

Despite his injuries, Darius stood tall, his grip on his sword unwavering. His breath came in slow, steady draws, though the pain was evident in every movement.

Adrian's heart tightened as he took in the scene.

The battle here had clearly been brutal, and though they had emerged victorious, the cost had been high. He descended with Bane, landing gently near the center of the battlefield.

Old man Doome was the first to acknowledge Adrian's arrival, his sharp eyes meeting Adrian's from across the field. There was a slight nod, a wordless confirmation that the worst was over.

Adrian dismounted, his boots hitting the blood-soaked ground with a dull thud. He approached Darius, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The devastation was clear, but so was the strength of those who had fought.

"You're late," Darius said with a rough chuckle, though his voice was strained.

Adrian allowed himself a small almost guilty smile. "It seems I missed all the fun."

"Fun wouldn't be the word I'd use," Darius grunted, leaning more heavily on his sword. "But the battle is over."

Adrian's gaze shifted to the bodies of the defeated kings—the Werewolf, the Werebear, and the Werelion. Powerful creatures, yet now nothing more than corpses on the field of battle.

"Good," Adrian replied softly, though his mind still raced with thoughts of what was to come next. The wyverns had been dealt with, and the beast kings had been slain, but his instincts told him that there was something he had overlooked... Something he knows yet can't remember...

As if sensing Adrian's lingering unease, Darius lifted his head slightly. "Whatever's gnawing at you… we'll deal with it. One at a time."

Adrian nodded, though the tension in his chest remained. "Let's go back into the city, you'll need to be treated. And I know just the person who can help you."

"..Alright."

Darius straightened, his jaw clenched against the pain. With a final look at the battlefield, Adrian signaled for Bane once more. They would head back to the city, heal and deal with the aftermath next.

'I hope this is really the end...'