Path of the Extra Chapter 421: This Is Not My Skin

Azriel’s eyes slowly widened with fury.

"...You... know the reason."

Pollux appeared amused.

"Do I?"

Azriel pushed the muzzle of the Desert Eagle directly against his forehead.

Pollux’s gaze naturally drifted past Azriel, towards the chained princess of the Frost Clan. The gun remained pressed to his skull, yet he merely tilted his head and placed a finger on his chin.

"Now that I think about it," Pollux stated, "didn’t you defy the God of Time for Celestina?"

Pollux was already aware of this fact, of course.

His smile turned knowing.

Sinister.

"Such a perilous choice, carrying such dire consequences. All so you could bring her comfort."

He let out a laugh.

Azriel’s eyes blazed open, and he shoved the gun harder against Pollux’s forehead.

"Silence."

"I truly cannot discern if she is a fortunate maiden or an unfortunate one!" Pollux erupted into laughter. "Hahahaha!"

"I told you to be silent!"

"Oh? What, are you going to shoot me for her sake!? Or for your sister!? Come on, then. Which is it!? For whom do you intend to end my life, you monst—"

A deafening shot shattered the silence of the oubliette.

The sound reverberated violently against the walls.

Another chilling breeze swept through the chamber, stirring dust into the air.

Azriel had already closed his eyes.

He felt warm blood spray across his face.

Then, he heard the body gently impact the ground.

Atropos’ Elegy slipped from his grasp. A moment later, the weapon disappeared.

Azriel slowly reopened his eyes.

Inexplicably, he found himself kneeling.

A sharp agony began to spread from his heart, creeping through every fiber of his being.

He looked down.

"I… I killed him…"

He had done it.

He had actually fired the shot.

"Oh…"

An excruciating headache started pounding inside his skull, throbbing relentlessly behind his eyes. Azriel gripped his face.

"Oh God…"

His eyes began to tremble uncontrollably.

"I… I killed her…"

He had gone through with it.

He had actually pulled the trigger on her.

"No…"

His breath caught in his throat.

"Ghah… shit…!"

His fingers dug ruthlessly into his hair.

"Dammit! Fuck! Dammit!"

A consuming, horrible pain enveloped his body. Azriel froze, overwhelmed by its sheer weight, but his mind could only fixate on the terrifying act he had just committed.

"W-why did I do this…?" His voice began to quake. "I did not want to do this…"

He grunted as another savage wave of pain coursed through him.

"N-no. I had to, but… but still…"

His voice dissolved into a broken whisper.

"I… God, no…"

His lips parted slightly.

"I-I killed a child…?!"

As if those spoken words made the reality solidify, tears streamed uncontrollably down Azriel’s face.

His entire frame trembled, seized by an agony that the [Soul’s Crucible] could no longer shield him from, and by the sheer horror of the choice he had just committed.

It finally dawned on him.

What he had done within the arena.

The manner in which he had treated that knight.

Then Dorian.

And subsequently, Pollux.

And now this.

"Ah… ahhh…"

His breath began to fracture.

"No…!"

Azriel’s fingers dug into the flesh of his own face. His nails tore through the skin, and blood welled up beneath them.

"This… this is not my skin…!"

A scream tore itself from Azriel’s throat.

It was not human.

It was more akin to the anguished cry of a dying creature, consumed by terror and suffering.

And amidst this overwhelming chaos, from an unseen source, the wall directly in front of him began to transform.

Blood seeped across the stone surface.

Slowly, impossibly, the crimson rivulets formed letters.

Large characters.

Sinister inscriptions.

Azriel’s gaze became fixated upon them.

He was unable to look away.

"W…"

A silent plea escaped him.

The letters writhed and shifted.

More blood spread across the stone wall.

His eyes widened further, now filled with a different, more profound dread.

"W… …P"

"W..E …P"

"W… KE …P"

Then, after a moment of chilling ambiguity, the message became undeniably clear.

Inscribed in blood.

Baleful.

Unmistakable.

Azriel read the words aloud in a shaky whisper.

"Wake up."

*****

"…Huh?"

Azriel blinked several times, his eyes regaining a surprising clarity despite the oppressive haze clouding his mind.

"Wh… where am I……?"

His voice echoed through the expansive passage, swallowed by the ethereal silver flames illuminating the torches mounted along the walls.

Yet, Azriel already knew his location.

He recognized this place.

He had been here only moments prior.

This was the tunnel situated beneath the colosseum—the very pathway leading directly into the arena.

Therefore, that was not the true query.

The real question was why.

Why was he present here once more?

How had this happened?

Merely a second ago, he had been within the confines of the chamber; now he stood here, back in the tunnel, as if the fabric of existence itself had forcefully pulled him backward without the slightest warning.

"Arghh!"

Azriel clutched his face as an explosive pain surged through him.

No.

It wasn't confined to just his face.

His entire being screamed in agony.

Every bone, every muscle, every nerve throbbed with a profound and relentless ache, as though he had been violently torn asunder and crudely reassembled incorrectly. He was experiencing so… so much pain.

And yet, despite it all, his feet began to move.

He did not command them to.

He simply walked.

Step by step, he drifted toward the arena with a dazed, unsteady gait, like a drunk man stumbling through a nightmare he could not understand.

When he emerged from the tunnel, the light struck him.

Azriel squinted, his bloodied eyes struggling to adjust to the brightness.

Then his vision cleared.

And he froze.

This time, he looked less like a prince and more like a hollowed-out corpse wearing the shape of one. Confusion bled into fear as his gaze settled on what stood barely a meter in front of him.

A stake.

And atop that stake was Dorian’s severed head.

Blood soaked the wood beneath it. His face was twisted in the final expression he had carried into death—a bitter mask of madness and terror, frozen forever in his last moments. The stake had been driven up through his neck, holding the head upright like some grotesque trophy.

Azriel’s guts twisted.

He staggered back a step, his heart pounding so violently it felt loud enough for the entire colosseum to hear.

If only there had been a living soul left in the arena to hear it.

His gaze drifted across the blood-soaked ground, over the gruesome carnage he had supposedly caused.

Only now, something was different.

To his right.

To his left.

There were more stakes.

Rows of them.

And on every single one was a head.

Each belonged to someone Azriel had killed in this arena.

A cruel, familiar laugh echoed through the silence.

Azriel’s breath caught.

He knew that laugh.

It was the same one that had come from his own lips before.

Only this time, it did not.

At least...

He hoped it did not.

The stakes, except for Dorian’s, formed something like a barrier. A path. A corridor of severed heads leading Azriel straight toward the center of the arena.

His gaze followed it.

Naturally.

Unwillingly.

Until the endless line of stakes finally came to an end.

"Ah..."

There it was.

One of the questions he had asked.

One of the questions no one had answered.

The long dinner table.

The same one he had been sitting at not long ago.

It stood there in the middle of the arena, untouched by the blood around it, waiting beneath the dead silence like a memory that had no right to exist.

And at the far end of that table sat someone.

This time, from where Azriel stood, he could see the figure clearly.

...It was himself.