The Extra's Transcension-Chapter 114: Azrael Darkbrone [1]

"Okay… I've been walking for straight eight hours, and there's only… darkness. Nothing but endless shadows stretching in every direction,"

Azrael muttered under his breath, his dark eyes scanning the void-like corridor of the Old Path.

"Where the hell is this path even taking me?" 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

His footsteps echoed unnaturally, a hollow rhythm that seemed to belong to no natural place.

The air was thick, humid, carrying a faint metallic scent that reminded him of old iron pipes long abandoned.

Azrael paused for a moment, flicking the cigarette from between his fingers and grinding it under his boot.

Sparks fizzled into nothingness.

He rubbed his eyes briefly, though the shadows didn't move.

They weren't shadows in the normal sense, they seemed alive, as if the path itself were breathing around him.

A faint wind whispered through the place, carrying words just out of reach, unintelligible but heavy with intent.

Azrael's hand twitched near the edge of his coat, fingertips brushing against the hilt of the dagger he had sheathed at his side.

He had faced death before, but this… this felt like stepping into the lungs of the world itself.

"Somebody, anyone… show me a damn sign that I'm not walking into oblivion,"

He growled, his voice swallowed almost instantly by the oppressive darkness.

He took another step, then another.

Slowly, the path ahead seemed to shift, a faint glow beginning to appear far ahead, faintly illuminating a transparent wall, that pulsed with an almost organic rhythm.

The darkness was not empty.

It was waiting.

Watching.

Testing him.

"Haa..."

Azrael exhaled slowly, letting a rare smirk form on his lips.

"Hah… finally. About time this boring damn path gave me something."

He quickened his pace, his long coat flowing behind him like a shadow of its own.

Every step brought him closer to the glow, and closer to whatever lay at the end of this Old Path.

A faint hum began, low and vibrating in his chest.

Dark mana instinctively curled around his hands, responding to the unknown energy ahead.

Azrael's eyes glinted coldly.

"Let's see what kind of game you're trying to play with me…"

The glow ahead sharpened, revealing the faint outline of something ancient, a barrier, cracked and stained, pulsating with the remnants of some long-forgotten force.

Azrael slowed, tilting his head as he studied it, cigarette still smoldering between his fingers.

"Well… well,"

He whispered, voice dripping with both curiosity and malice,

"Looks like someone didn't want outsiders poking around… but lucky for me, I'm not exactly an outsider, am I?"

He extended his hand, dark mana coiling around his fingers like living tendrils.

As Azrael's fingers made contact with the transparent barrier, an intense brilliance erupted from the wall, engulfing him in a blinding white radiance that seemed to pierce every corner of his dark surroundings.

The light wasn't gentle; it was sharp, almost alive, as if billions of shards of pure energy were clawing at him from all directions.

He instinctively squinted, shielding his eyes with one hand, but the glow seeped through even the smallest gaps, wrapping around him like a living storm.

The air vibrated violently, humming with a frequency that made his teeth rattle and his lungs tighten.

Every step he had taken along the Old Path was meaningless here, the force of the light tried to push him back, as if the barrier itself were rejecting his presence.

His legs trembled, almost losing balance, and he had to dig the heels of his boots into the cracked stone beneath him to remain standing.

Dark mana coiled around his body instinctively, countering the pressure, but the brilliance still pressed against him with the weight of a collapsing star.

Shards of luminescence flared across the space, forming chaotic arcs and whorls, cutting through the darkness that had surrounded him for hours.

The intensity was dizzying; for a moment, it felt as if his very essence was being pulled apart, stretched thin between the barrier and the world beyond.

He gritted his teeth, every muscle straining to resist the invisible force that threatened to hurl him backward into the void of the Old Path.

His coat whipped violently around him, snagging on debris, and the cigarette fell from his fingers, extinguished by the overwhelming energy.

"...!"

And then, with a deafening roar that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, the light surged one final time, blasting outward in a brilliant explosion of white that made him feel as though the universe itself had contracted and then snapped.

His vision went completely white. He could hear nothing, not the roar, not his own heartbeat, nothing but the pressure of the light pinning him in place.

He fought, arms flailing, trying to maintain control, but the brilliance was absolute, unrelenting.

Boom—!

And then… silence.

The oppressive white vanished as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving Azrael blinking against a soft, natural light that filtered through dense, green foliage.

The damp, metallic smell of the from the sewer and the neutral smell of the old path route was gone.

Replaced by the earthy scent of moss and soil, mingled with the faint fragrance of wildflowers.

Birds chirped in the distance, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, sending a flurry of golden sunlight dancing across the forest floor.

His boots sank slightly into the soft ground, and the air was cool and alive, almost humming with vitality.

"Haa..."

Azrael exhaled slowly, muscles tense, still bracing himself as he turned, taking in the vast expanse of towering trees, twisted vines, and thick underbrush surrounding him.

The stark contrast between the chaos of the Old Path and the serene forest was almost disorienting, as if the world itself had rewritten itself in an instant.

And somewhere deep in his chest, a spark of curiosity, and caution, flared.

That this was something else entirely.

***

"Okay, again, like, fucking again,"

Azrael muttered through gritted teeth, his dark eyes scanning the dense forest around him.

"I've been walking for three damn hours in this cursed place, and for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a sign, not a trace of the path I was supposed to follow… and now I'm stuck here like some idiot lost in a fairy tale."

He kicked a low-hanging branch in frustration, the crack echoing softly through the silent woods.

The sun, filtered through the dense canopy above, cast fragmented patches of light that danced across the mossy ground, but even that offered no clue, no guidance.

Each step felt heavier than the last, his boots sinking into the soft, damp soil, and every rustle of leaves set his nerves on edge.

"I'm here to meet that mythical bastard, Sleipnir, the so-called eight-legged nightmare of Norse legend, and instead, I get this…"

He gestured vaguely at the forest, his voice dripping with sarcasm and irritation.

"A maze of trees, shadows, and goddamn nothingness. Someone better hope this place isn't going to waste my time entirely, because I swear…"

Chirk—!

Azrael's words died in his throat as a sudden rustling from a nearby bush caught his attention.

His instincts immediately went on high alert.

"Hmm… what's that?"

He muttered, voice low, cautious.

His dark eyes narrowed as he took slow, deliberate steps toward the source of the sound.

Every movement was careful, measured, as if even the slightest noise could betray him.

The ground ahead was cluttered with overgrown bushes, thick roots, and countless spiderwebs, their silvery threads glinting faintly in the fractured sunlight that filtered through the ancient canopy above.

Each step required him to push aside tangles of thorny branches, the leaves scraping against his coat, and the webs clinging stubbornly to his hair and hands.

A faint, musty smell rose from the soil, mixed with the decay of leaves that had lain untouched for decades, or perhaps centuries.

He moved with patience, slowly clearing the debris in front of him, his sharp gaze scanning every shadow, every glimmer of movement.

A dry crack under his boot sounded unnaturally loud in the silence, and he froze, listening.

Nothing.

Just the wind teasing the tops of the towering, gnarled trees that loomed over him like silent sentinels.

And then… he saw it.

"…!"

His breath caught, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.

"What in the shit is this?"

He whispered, his voice a mix of disbelief and awe.

Stretching out before him was a vast, ruined forest urban village, swallowed almost entirely by the relentless growth of centuries.

The buildings, once presumably lively homes and workshops, were now skeletal shells of timber and stone, their roofs collapsed, walls cracked, and windows empty like hollow eyes staring into nothingness.

Vines crept up every surface, snaking through splintered beams, wrapping around fallen posts, and weaving a chaotic green tapestry across the decaying structures.

Moss carpeted the ground, softening the rubble into an eerie, undisturbed silence, while roots twisted through cobblestone streets, breaking them apart with patient determination.

The forest itself seemed alive with history, ancient and unyielding.

Towering trees, older than any he had seen, stretched their limbs toward the sky, their thick canopies filtering the sun into shafts of golden-green light that danced on the forest floor.

Birds of strange, muted colors flitted from branch to branch, their calls echoing through the ruins like whispers of a forgotten era.

Every shadow felt like it held a secret, every crack and crevice suggested a story left untold.

Charp—!

Azrael took a slow step forward, the ground uneven beneath his boots, his senses tingling.

The sheer scale of the place made his chest tighten.

It was not just a village; it was a monument to time itself, a place that had survived centuries of abandonment, untouched by human hands, yet somehow echoing the lives that had once thrived there.

"This… this isn't just a ruin,"

He murmured, voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the leaves.

It was true, it wasn't just a ruin. It was a living memory.

A place forgotten by everyone… except maybe those who are supposed to remember it.

Whoose—!

Breeze passed aside him as he paused, letting the weight of the silence press against him, feeling the strange energy that hung thick in the air.

It wasn't just the remnants of old wood and stone, there was something more here, something ancient, something that hummed faintly in the marrow of the earth itself.

Azrael's dark eyes scanned the village again, lingering on the twisted rooftops and the crumbling walls.

His hand drifted instinctively to the box of cigarette and took it and place it between his fingers, though he didn't light it.

He knows that nothing could burn this place down, not now, not ever.

And yet, he felt it: a presence.

A history.

A story that had been waiting for him… and that was far from finished.

***