Path of the Extra Chapter 414: "Hands"

Perhaps seeing himself in such a state finally quelled his laughter. His throat, however, felt as though it were ablaze, flames licking the very walls of his trachea.

While the two remaining figures knelt in abject terror, Azriel slowly raised his hands, observing them. They were drenched in so much blood it appeared they had been painted anew. Tiny fragments, seemingly of innards, bone, and flesh, still adhered to his fingers.

The emotions swirling within him were difficult even for himself to articulate.

His expression was one of processing, tinged with fear and bewilderment, yet the trembling humans before him seemed to interpret this as composure. Perhaps, in a way, it was.

Azriel clapped his hands together sharply, causing both to flinch. He continued to clap, again and again, attempting to dislodge the ghastly remnants clinging to his skin.

This action, too, was gravely misunderstood by the sole survivors.

Finally, Azriel rose from his icy throne. Glancing down, he deliberately stepped over the corpse of the duchess, a ruined knight herself, and began a slow advance toward them.

His footsteps reverberated through the slaughter-filled colosseum.

The sound alone intensified their violent trembles.

When Azriel halted before them, his gaze devoid of any mercy, it fell upon a torn pocket in Prince Dorian’s attire. A cylindrical object protruded from it.

A device.

Azriel recognized it instantly.

More precisely, it appeared to be a communication device.

The answer materialized in his mind without delay.

Azriel gave the thought minimal consideration; his mind felt sluggish, as if navigating through dense fog.

He pressed his lips together, clenched his teeth, and slowly lowered himself to meet their gaze.

"What did you witness?" he inquired, his voice roughed by disuse.

"Hey."

Suddenly, Azriel extended his bloodied right hand, and both recoiled. Hearing the prince emit a soft whimper, Azriel clicked his tongue.

"Pathetic."

He spat the word, then thrust his hand forward, gripping the prince firmly by the chin.

Tilting Dorian’s face upward, Azriel spoke in a low, menacing tone.

"Look at me."

Yet, the prince resisted.

Azriel tapped his cheek lightly.

Each touch caused Dorian to flinch more violently than the last. Tears cascaded down the prince's face, his eyes squeezed shut. Beneath his helmet, the knight, Sir Évrard, bit his lip, casting a look of utter despair and helplessness toward his sovereign.

"Hey. Hey, hey," Azriel’s voice remained chillingly calm. "I asked you to look at me, Dorian. Look at me. Into my eyes."

At length, the prince complied.

He opened one eye, fixing Azriel with a stare as if beholding the devil himself.

"Where is the dinner table?" Azriel asked, attempting to infuse his voice with gentleness.

It had no effect.

"D-dinner... table?"

Confusion, intertwined with sheer terror, flickered in Dorian’s eyes. He clearly couldn't fathom Azriel’s question.

Azriel perceived his bewilderment.

His lips tightened.

He then repeated his inquiry.

"What did you witness?"

"I... I apologize..."

The prince offered an apology instead, seemingly too petrified to address the question directly.

Irritated, Azriel shifted his attention to the knight, intending to direct his question toward him.

But in the very next instant, before Azriel could even register the action, Sir Évrard lunged.

With his remaining hand, the knight drove a punch directly into the side of Azriel’s head.

The impact landed true.

Azriel was violently propelled backward at a terrifying velocity, sent hurtling toward the magnificent ice throne. In the fleeting moments before impact, he caught a full glimpse of it.

It was beautiful.

Majestic.

So stunningly beautiful, in fact, that words failed him. He could never have conceived of crafting such a masterpiece, not even in his wildest dreams.

Then, he crashed through it.

Ice splintered around him as Azriel tumbled across the ground, a chaotic cascade over blood, viscera, and shattered bodies.

"My prince! Flee! Quickly! I shall hold him off with my very life!"

Azriel registered the knight's desperate cry as he finally came to a rest.

His vision flickered to black several times, and he struggled to regain his equilibrium.

"Hehehe..."

A soft, involuntary chuckle escaped his lips.

The instant it did, Azriel's eyes snapped open, and he clamped his mouth shut.

A profound shudder coursed through him.

Forcing himself to a standing position, Azriel pushed upward, only to inadvertently crush something soft beneath his boot. He winced and recoiled.

Perhaps this was why he hadn’t yet succumbed to vomiting. Or perhaps the relentless surge of pleasure, coursing through him like an electric current, continued to suppress all other sensations, even now, amidst the carnage of the colosseum.

Azriel lifted his gaze.

Standing before him was merely the battered knight, staggering as he remained, grasping a sword broken beyond repair. Yet despite the state of his body, his eyes blazed with unwavering determination as he faced Azriel.

"You..." he rasped from behind his helmet, his grip tightening on the sword with his sole remaining arm.

"You incarnation of evil... you are the living embodiment of malevolence itself."

"..."

"You... you are simply—"

"I believe the word you're seeking is ."

Azriel interrupted and began advancing, his stare like that of a predator fixated on helpless prey.

The knight's sword wavered. He struggled to tighten his hold, attempting to conceal his profound terror.

As Azriel drew nearer and nearer, the knight's muscles tensed in his last arm, preparing for a final, desperate strike.

"I'm a monster, aren't I?" Azriel inquired. "That's what your prince just called me... why? Why did he label me a monster?"

Despite the peril before him, Azriel continued his calm approach toward the knight.

For a fleeting moment, the knight felt as if he were gazing into emptiness.

Then, memories surged back—vivid recollections of events mere moments prior. His fingers involuntarily loosened, and the sword slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a sharp clatter.

The knight took an involuntary step backward as Azriel closed in.

Then another step.

Then another.

Then another.

"A-ah... aaaah... no... ah, no..."

It was barely more than a broken plea.

He blinked.

Azriel was already standing directly before him.

His upper robes had loosened and now slid down, and as Azriel glanced at his own torso, he observed the long fissures crisscrossing his chest, as if his body were crafted from shattered stone.

Azriel raised his eyes to the knight, his face reflecting clear confusion.

"What have I done?"

More blood trickled down Azriel's face. He felt a wave of lightheadedness, likely due to the wound inflicted by the knight.

"Please..." the knight whispered suddenly.

Azriel frowned and inclined his head closer.

"What?"

The knight's voice fractured as he repeated himself, trembling.

"Please... don't kill me..."

Stunned by the plea, Azriel simply stared. He then extended a hand.

The knight saw the gesture and immediately recoiled, stumbling before collapsing onto the ground.

Recognizing this, Azriel looked down at the knight, who was quietly weeping at his feet, and asked,

"Why don't you pray to your gods for mercy?"

"I..."

"Who am I?" Azriel asked abruptly.

"I... I don't know..."

"You don't?" Azriel inquired.

The knight offered a faint shake of his head, then finally squeezed his eyes shut, unable to endure looking at Azriel any longer.

"Me too," Azriel stated.

He surveyed his surroundings once more, a troubled and confused expression on his face, as if searching for something.

Then he directed his question to the knight,

"Have you seen a woman around here?"

The knight remained silent.

The lingering sensation of her touch... that embrace... her lips against his ear...

Azriel closed his eyes, attempting to recapture the feeling.

But it was not sufficient.

He yearned to feel her again.

"...How peculiar..."

At last, Azriel shifted his gaze back to the knight.

A familiar Desert Eagle materialized in his bloodied hand. He lifted it, aiming it at the knight's head.

Then, in a tone of bewilderment, he declared,

"I appear to be a king... or at the very least, I once held that title."

Stirred by these words, the knight reopened his eyes. Upon seeing the peculiar firearm aimed at him, he offered no resistance or questioning of the impending event.

Instead, he seemed to accept his fate.

"I don't know the reason, but I can simply ascertain this..." Azriel murmured. "I was, long ago, once your prince as well."

The knight made no effort to comprehend Azriel's pronouncements.

He simply appeared resigned.

"Oh well... I suppose I shall have to end my own life once more."

With that, Azriel pulled the trigger.

A white projectile launched from the Desert Eagle's barrel, tearing through Sir Évrard's helmet, shattering it into countless fragments. It revealed his tanned, blood-streaked skin and his already closed eyes. The bullet penetrated his forehead, exited the rear of his skull, and impacted the colosseum's stone floor.

A spray of blood splattered Azriel's face.

The knight remained seated for a few more seconds before finally going limp, slumping to the ground. The familiar surge of exhilaration hardly registered as it entered his body, already overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his emotions.

Once more, Azriel scanned his surroundings.

In search of...

"Wake up..." he whispered.

"Wake up..."

He shook his head, then emitted a soft chuckle.

Following this, he stepped over Sir Évrard’s prone form and proceeded in the direction the prince had fled.

*****

Dodging through the colosseum's winding passages, Dorian hobbled along corridors illuminated by torches that flickered erratically, casting an ominous glow. At least they were illuminated now...

Unlike when he was in the arena.

When...

When—

"Arghhhhh!"

A raw scream erupted from Dorian's throat as the horrifying events that transpired surged back into his mind with crushing clarity.

"I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong... Why did I ever try to contact him!? What possessed me to do it!?"

Tears streaming down his face, Dorian stumbled onward, his shoulder slamming into the corridor's wall as he desperately tried to regain his footing.

"I must escape... I must escape... and... and I... what can I possibly do...? We stand no chance... we cannot win... nobody can win... he... it... it is... it is not something I should have ever sought out...!"

Shivering so intensely his teeth chattered, Dorian collapsed onto the ground, folding his arms around his knees and pressing his face against them, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could physically erase the memories.

"Doriaaaaan!? You can't evade me forever, Doriaaaaan!"

"..!”

Dorian's head snapped up the instant that voice reached his ears.

"No... no..."

Galvanizing himself back onto his feet despite the searing pain in his empty eye socket, Dorian sobbed in agony and utter despair as he forced himself to move forward again.

"Dorian! You're leaving a crimson trail for me to trace! You've sustained injuries, haven't you!? There's no use in fleeing, Dorian. Just... let's have a brief discussion, shall we? I have a few questions for you. For instance... have you happened upon a woman in the arena?"

That booming, ghastly voice pierced Dorian's very being, freezing the meager amount of blood left coursing through his veins.

He increased his pace.

Limping, staggering, physically dragging himself onward, Dorian frantically attempted to increase the distance separating them.

Then, he heard that chilling laughter once more, echoing from somewhere far behind him.

The silver flames flickered, casting dancing shadows.

Dorian tripped over his own abused feet and tumbled violently to the ground.

His fingernails dug into the cold, hard floor as he convulsed himself back to a standing position.

"No... I have to... run...! Run...! Run...!"

If he failed to do so, then that pursuer would catch him.

He would be caught.

He would be caught just like all those other thirty masters in the arena had been caught.

He would be caught in the very same manner he had caught them—

"I can't... I can't let him seize me... his grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp... grasp..."

The word echoed and reverberated within his mind until it lost all semblance of its original meaning.

"Hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands... hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands. hands.hands.hands.handshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshallshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshandhandhandhandshandshandhandhandhandhandshandshandhandshandshandhandhand Shandshandhandhandhandshandhandhandhandhandhandshandshandhandhandhandhandhandhandshandshandshandshandshandhandhandhandshandshandhandhandhandhandhandshandhandhandhandhandhandshandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandhandandhandshandshands"

Suddenly, Dorian came to a halt.

He cast his gaze downward upon his own two quivering hands, a desperate, broken moan escaping his lips.

The sensation of his own blood dripping into his palms became undeniable.

His sight began to grow hazy, its clarity lost.

His very mind felt as though it were being violently ripped asunder.

He felt—

Agonizing pain.

The blood that stained his hands grew darker.

Then, it deepened in its hue.

Before long, the crimson fluid that had already smeared itself across his skin started to mingle with something black that was now dripping from him.

Dark veins slowly began to snake their way across his flesh.

"I... I must get rid... of these hands..." he stammered, his voice laced with a crazed, hysterical terror that sounded profoundly intoxicated.

Then, the sickening sound of Dorian using his own teeth to rip his hands from his body echoed throughout the labyrinthine expanse of that colossal colosseum.

And even that, as it turned out...

was audible.