Path of the Extra Chapter 423: Forty-Eight Hours

"...What exactly does that mean?"

His other self offered no reply, his smile vanishing instead of answering the question.

Then, Azriel watched as tears began to trace slow, almost gentle paths down his own blood-stained cheeks.

Azriel’s brow furrowed.

For reasons unknown, he felt an urge to flinch away.

"I underestimated them," his other self stated gravely before looking up and murmuring,

"The stage is set... the audience watches... but few will truly feel the burn..."

He turned his gaze back to Azriel, and Azriel felt his heart begin to pound with a mixture of fierce speed and mounting fear.

Then, in a voice tinged with what sounded like apology, the other him spoke, "Sorry."

A wave of lightheadedness washed over Azriel. He bit down hard on his lip, shaking his head.

"I don’t need your apology... I—I just want an explanation. No... I just want to go back home..."

A silence followed.

"...But I won't, will I?"

Another silence.

"I... I’m truly going to die..."

Azriel then looked up, a faint spark of hope rekindling in his eyes. "B-but you... you are the real me, aren't you? You know what the key is. The item Pollux is searching for, right? You might be able to help me. Can’t you? Tell me what I—"

"Ha..."

Azriel froze.

"Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

His other self suddenly erupted into laughter, the very same sound Azriel had made earlier. It was loud, sickening, and filled with madness.

Tears continued to stream down his face, yet he managed a wicked smile, laughing hysterically as his shoulders shook. His expression was a chaotic storm of conflicting emotions.

Azriel could only stare. He was laughing, but Azriel didn't find it amusing. Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he felt amusement, grief, and happiness all at once.

Azriel felt his stomach twist into a knot. The last vestiges of hope in his eyes were extinguished.

This person was not the true him.

At least, not the him Azriel had wanted to encounter.

Not the him he had held out hope of seeing.

This individual... this individual was merely a fractured version of himself.

And, quite naturally, Azriel chuckled when his other self finally ceased his laughter. What was the point of seeing the person before him?

What purpose did it serve, other than to confirm Azriel’s own descent into madness?

He tried to process the situation, to reason with himself, to find an explanation that didn't lead to insanity.

Then, he heard his other self whisper, "You have forty-eight hours left to live."

Azriel's head snapped up, but the figure was gone. The table had vanished.

It was only then that Azriel grasped his surroundings—he was back in the center of the arena, encircled by the stakes where numerous severed heads had been impaled.

He glanced around, then dropped into a low crouch, clutching his bleeding head with both hands and staring at the ground as he fought to regain his composure.

A long, weary sigh escaped him.

*****

Sensing a growing difficulty in breathing, Azriel's exhales became quiet wheezes, so faint they would only be audible to the most attentive ear. His entire body throbbed with pain, yet he forced himself onward.

Eventually, he located the oubliette and the hatchet within it.

Azriel regarded the hatchet for a moment before making up his mind and leaping down.

The instant he landed, his feet failed to support him. A sharp, violent, and immediate pain shot through his soles and ankles, causing his legs to buckle beneath him.

"Arhk!"

He let out a groan of agony, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second. He truly couldn't get accustomed to the pain.

Shifting his weight, Azriel groaned again before pushing himself upright. He found himself facing the familiar wall.

Previously, words had been scrawled there in blood:

WAKE UP

But now, nothing remained. Still, Azriel did observe blood. He looked down and noticed the dark stain left by a corpse that should have been lying there. However, the corpse was gone. Lia’s body was nowhere to be found.

Azriel released a shaky breath. So, he... he had actually killed her. That part wasn't a fabrication. But now her body was missing. Wonderful.

Just fantastic.

Then, abruptly, a voice reached him that made his heart surge. "You’re back."

Azriel turned instantly. Celestina was still there, bound and blindfolded.

He responded without a moment's hesitation, striving to maintain his composure. "And you’re awake."

Immediately, Azriel stood and approached her. "Give me a moment. I’ll set you free."

He knelt before her. His first action was to gently lift the blindfold from her face. As he leaned closer, he felt her shallow, uneven breaths caress his skin.

For an instant, she flinched when Azriel’s fingertips brushed against her bloodied cheek.

Azriel frowned. "Are you injured?"

He removed the blindfold entirely.

Celestina let out a soft groan and squinted, her eyes trying to adjust to the dim light of the chamber after such a prolonged period of blindness. "Not anymore," she replied. "I already healed myself."

Those words did little to improve Azriel’s mood.

If anything, their actions only made the situation worse.

"So, they inflicted harm upon you?"

Celestina turned her gaze towards him.

Or at least, she attempted to.

After a lapse of a moment, he discerned a flicker of lucidity returning to her previously clouded grey eyes.

"Well... a great deal transpired."

She still appeared disoriented, her vision unfocused, yet she could now perceive the crimson stains marring Azriel’s face.

"Are... you injured?"

"Yes."

Azriel let out a faint, mirthless sigh.

"Indeed. A great deal transpired."

Then, his attention shifted to the chains binding her.

The key was not in his possession; it was likely with one of the combatants engaged with Sir Felix’s contingent.

Or perhaps, it was among the fallen individuals Azriel had eliminated.

This implied the key was probably buried somewhere near a misplaced liver or amongst spilled intestines.

Upon closer inspection of the restraints, he discerned that the chains were a form of mana artifact.

Azriel came to a halt.

This world boasted advanced technology and formidable weaponry in certain domains, yet surprisingly retained a primitive nature in others.

As he contemplated methods to break the chains—short of resorting to sheer brute force—Celestina abruptly lowered her gaze.

Then, with a voice laced with apprehension, she uttered words that caused Azriel's very essence to seize with dread, reaching into the deepest recesses of his soul.

"Azriel..."

Her voice trembled.

"What precisely did she mean when she claimed you defied the God of Time for... my sake?"