The Extra Who Shouldn’t Exist

On the northern border of the Moonshade Empire, where the Elven Empire's territory ended, the land turned wild and treacherous as the abyssal territory began.

Far from prying eyes, deep in the mountains just beyond the elven borders, stood a sprawling complex—massive stone and metal buildings linked by bridges of black steel.

The air around it shimmered faintly, humming with layered magic.

For two full kilometers in every direction, nothing living stirred.

The reason became clear when a curious hawk strayed too close—its body convulsed mid-flight, flesh sizzling away in a blaze of invisible power as it dropped to the ground in a smoldering heap.

The protection arrays here didn't simply repel intruders—they annihilated them instantly.

Inside one of the largest buildings, a dimly lit laboratory stretched out like a cathedral to obsession.

The air reeked of alchemical smoke and formaldehyde.

Rows upon rows of cylindrical glass vats lined the walls, each one filled with a viscous, greenish liquid.

Suspended within were human-shaped figures—some perfectly still, others twitching in unnatural spasms.

An old man, well into his sixties, moved between them. His frame was wiry, his face a tapestry of deep lines, his long silver hair tied back loosely.

His eyes—cold, sharp, and tinged with madness—were fixed on the creature before him. It was not truly human, nor truly beast.

Its flesh was a patchwork of scars and grafts, its veins pulsing with a faint abyssal glow.

Dr. Kellian adjusted a series of runes on a control panel, watching as the marionette twitched violently.

The runes flared—and then, with a sharp hiss, the creature's head lolled forward, its life extinguished.

Kellian's hand clenched.

"No, no, no, no—this isn't right either!" His voice rose, sharp with frustration.

He kicked the base of the control unit, the echo ringing across the lab.

"No matter how much ancient abyssal beast blood I try to integrate… I can't create a being that surpasses the Monarch rank!"

His breathing slowed, the rage draining into cold resignation.

'Looks like I'll have to rely on the hero's blood after all,' he thought darkly. 'And even then… there's still no guarantee I'll succeed.'

A sharp chime cut through the lab's heavy air. He pulled a small, rune-engraved communicator from his coat and answered it instantly.

"Well? Did everything go well? Were we able to capture the hero?"

The voice on the other end was trembling.

"N-No, Dr. Kellian… the mission was a huge failure. The hero escaped. Aaron was captured… and the Wraith twins are nowhere to be found."

Kellian's face darkened, a vein bulging at his temple.

"What the hell are you saying? Even after all that preparation—and a rare chance to get the hero outside the academy, alone—they still failed?!"

"Y-Yes, sir," the voice stammered.

With a snarl, Kellian cut the call, slamming the device onto a workbench.

"Useless, scar-faced musclehead! I knew he'd mess up! Not even a shred of intelligence in that thick skull of his—and he wanted a seat at the table!" His voice dripped venom. "And his useless disciples… nowhere to be found either."

He was still muttering when the teleportation circle at the center of the lab flared to life, flooding the room with pale light. Kellian's eyes narrowed—then widened in surprise.

The very people he'd just cursed—Veyron and Veyra—materialized before him.

Or rather… what was left of them.

Veyra's body was a ruin. All four of her limbs were gone, her flesh mangled and torn, her remaining torso barely held together by shreds of abyssal energy.

Veyron wasn't much better, his body slashed and bloodied, wounds both deep and fresh covering him.

Kellian stared.

'These two… made a contract with an Outer God. What in the abyss happened to reduce them to this?'

Before he could ask, Veyron stumbled forward, cradling his sister.

"Doctor… please! Help Veyra—sh-she's not in a good state!" His voice cracked, tears streaming down his face.

"Put her on the ground," Kellian ordered, kneeling as Veyron obeyed instantly.

The old man's hands were steady as he checked her pulse—what was left of it—his eyes assessing the damage with clinical detachment.

Finally, he straightened, meeting Veyron's desperate gaze.

"She's gone. There's no hope for her."

The words shattered Veyron. His knees hit the ground.

"It can't be… it can't be… IT CAN'T BE!" His voice broke into an ugly sob. "Doctor, please—do something, anything! I'll do whatever you say, just… please bring her back!"

Kellian felt nothing. He knew these two well—their cruelty matched their master's. They had inflicted horrors far worse than this on others without a second thought.

If anything, he thought coldly, their good days were over.

The higher-ups wouldn't kill Veyron… but they wouldn't make his life easy again either.

'If he's going to be screwed anyway… I might as well get something out of it.'

"Maybe," Kellian said slowly, "I can do something. But… what do I get in return?"

Veyron's eyes lit with desperate hope. He didn't hesitate—he removed both his and his sister's storage rings and placed them in Kellian's hands.

The old man's lips curled into a thin smile of satisfaction.

"Don't worry. Go meet the boss first. I'll… do something about your sister. And be careful—the other avatars aren't going to leave you alone after this disaster."

Veyron nodded weakly and pushed himself to his feet. But as he turned to leave, Kellian's curiosity pricked at him.

"Hold on," the doctor said. "At least tell me what happened."

Veyron froze. A shadow passed over his face as memories clawed their way to the surface—memories he wanted buried.

One face in particular seared itself into his mind, and with it came a wave of rage mixed with something he didn't want to admit was fear.

"We made a… massive miscalculation," he said slowly. "We managed to subdue Ethan—it took effort, but we did it. And then…" He swallowed, his voice trembling. "There was someone else. A devil in human skin. Nothing in this world can compare to him."

The dread in his tone was palpable, sending a chill through Kellian.

'Who the hell is he talking about? According to the report… they did kidnap the kids, and there was no one with them they couldn't handle.'

Kellian's fingers drummed against the storage rings in his palm. Something told him this story was far from over.

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Veyron's breathing was still ragged, his body trembling from exhaustion and rage, but his voice carried a sharp edge.

"We need to inform the leader immediately. No matter what we do, we won't be able to accomplish our objective if that guy is given even a little more time to grow."

His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I'm going to make him pay for what he did."

He began striding quickly toward the automatic door, his pace fueled by fury and urgency. But just as he was about to step through, Kellian's voice cut through the air.

"Hold on. At least tell me who it was."

Veyron froze, his back stiff. After a pause, he glanced over his shoulder.

"If I'm correct… his name was Al—"

The rest of the name never left his lips.

The room exploded in blinding white light. A slash—razor-sharp, impossibly fast—ripped through the air, cutting through space and time like it owned them both.

It came from nowhere, carrying a killing intent so absolute that even the air seemed to scream.

In an instant, Veyron's head was severed from his shoulders. His torso collapsed to the side, the wound scorched and blackened as if burned from within.

His head rolled across the floor, bouncing once… twice… before coming to a stop at Kellian's feet, its eyes still frozen wide in shock.

For a long moment, Kellian couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

His mind was blank, his breath caught in his throat. Then, realization hit like a sledgehammer.

Cold sweat beaded along his scalp, trickling down the back of his neck.

His chest rose and fell in short, sharp bursts, and he stumbled backward until his legs gave out. He hit the floor with a thud, eyes darting around the room.

'H-How… how could it be…? This is the most protected place in our entire hideout!'

His gaze scanned the corners, the shadows, the ceiling—anywhere an assassin might hide—but there was nothing. No presence. No movement. Nothing except the faint hum of the lab's equipment.

The door burst open and several assistants rushed inside, their eyes widening as they took in the grisly sight.

"Doctor, what happened?!" one yelled.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the group as they spotted Veyron's severed head. Some even recoiled in panic, one shouting, "T-That's impossible! No one could get in here!"

Kellian's composure returned slowly. He forced his voice steady.

"Take his corpse away. And send the CCTV footage to our leader—explain exactly what happened. Tell him I'll meet him in an hour."

The assistants exchanged uneasy glances but nodded. They moved quickly, removing the remains.

"Leave Veyra's corpse," Kellian added. "She could still be of some use."

With that, they finished cleaning up and departed, leaving the old man alone in the quiet lab once more.

Kellian's eyes shifted to Veyra's mangled body, and something dark flickered in his gaze.

"You never knew how much I loved you… and yet, you insulted me. Looked down on me. Called me disgusting."

His lips twisted into a grin.

"But now… you'll see. I'll turn you into my own personal marionette. You'll serve me, and only me. Fulfill all my needs."

His tongue flicked over his lips in anticipation.

Reaching for the storage rings he had taken from Veyron earlier, Kellian smirked.

"Let's see what you two were hiding…"

Because he already had access from Veyron, he began rifling through their contents.

Veyron's ring held an assortment of protection artifacts, valuable trinkets, gold, and—Kellian's lip curled—pornographic magazines and recorded tapes of the man's sadistic "games" with captured women.

Veyra's ring was more refined—beautiful jewelry, high-tier offensive and defensive artifacts… and a collection of elaborate S&M implements. Kellian's imagination immediately painted a vivid, lecherous picture of using them on her, his smile widening obscenely.

Then his hand brushed something small at the bottom of the ring's inventory—a small wooden box. He opened it, and his breath caught.

Inside was a vial of deep red liquid, faintly luminescent. The label was scrawled hastily: My Precious.

Turning it in his hand, he could see the thickness, the richness of the fluid. His experience left no doubt—it was blood.

A thought struck him like lightning.

'Could it be… she managed to get the hero Ethan's blood before she died?'

He knew of her habit—collecting strange and rare things she found interesting.

A low chuckle slipped from his lips, building into a maniacal laugh.

"Veyra… even in death, you've done me a favor."

He held the vial up, gazing at it like a holy relic.

"With this, I can make a marionette with potential and power never before seen."

Then, looking towards Veyra's body, he said,

"I'll use it on you… you'll be my creation… my masterpiece… and you'll be mine, with a power and potential never seen before in history."

His laughter echoed through the lab, manic and unrestrained, as he wrapped his arms around Veyra's corpse.

What Kellian didn't know was that he was being manipulated—Veyra had already anticipated everything before dying, and her trap was already set.

But even she could not have foreseen what would truly come to pass…

By using that blood, Kellian himself was unknowingly about to create something that no one—not even the gods themselves—could have imagined in their wildest dreams.

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A/N:

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