Path of the Extra

Chapter 173: Son of Death

For a second, Azriel felt his heart stop.

He couldn't breathe.

Couldn't move.

Couldn't blink.

The God of Death stood before him.

And Azriel was terrified.

Wasn't this supposed to be a memory?

Despite being the God of Death, she was just a fragment of the past—wasn't she? A memory couldn't be real. It wasn't as though she was truly here, standing before him. Right?

Then why was she looking at him?

Why was she so vivid, so real?

Azriel's thoughts raced, and then, like a key unlocking a door, something horrifying clicked in his mind.

It was a theory so dreadful it made his entire being recoil. Yet, it made perfect sense.

How was he seeing this moment?

He should have been unconscious. He should have no memory of this. Just like he had no memories of his family's deaths—how could he remember what he had never witnessed?

The answer was simple.

Horrifying.

Heartbreaking.

He wasn't alone in these memories.

Because they weren't his memories at all.

Not yet, at least.

The God of Death shifted her gaze from Azriel to the future version of himself—the one who stood trembling, eyes wide with fear.

"How sad..." her voice echoed, soft yet resonant, like the final breath of a dying star.

Azriel stared, disbelieving. His future self—the despicable bastard responsible for all of this—was terrified.

He had never thought he'd see that man, that version of himself, so afraid.

The God of Death tilted her head slightly—or so it seemed. Azriel couldn't quite understand what he was seeing. It was like she was right in front of him, yet impossibly far away.

And then, without another word, she turned.

In the next instant, she was by his past self's body, which now hovered in the air.

She spoke.

Her voice, filled with a strange tenderness, sadness, and an almost painful familiarity:

"For the price of your life, you formed a mana contract with me. Your life... How lonely it must have been, child from Ynoth."

A hand—if it could even be called that—formed from the nebulous void of her being. It reached out, caressing his past self's chest.

So gently.

As if even the slightest pressure might shatter him.

"To lose everything you once knew, without understanding. How pitiful... Oh, you are the child who stole from t????????????i??????????m??????????????e??????????????.?????????????????d????????????????e???????????????t?????????????????h???????????????.????????????... How vile."

Her words resonated through him, each syllable like a chime reverberating in his soul.

"How many times have you been unable to come to me? Oh... I finally understand."

Her voice softened, yet it filled Azriel's ears with unbearable weight, as if his very essence might unravel.

"How unfair. This world has been so unfair to you. Perhaps this time it can change. Will you change? If I make you mine... perhaps we both will change. In this world, where we have been abandoned by all, I will be your family. So don't be angry again. Not like me."

And then, she touched his left arm.

The moment her form brushed against it, the mark of the God of Death burned into his skin.

Azriel felt his heart break.

It hurt.

It hurt more than anything he had ever known.

Tears streamed down his face, unbidden, and he didn't even know why.

The world around him began to shatter.

The memory fractured, breaking apart like glass, revealing the infinite void.

It was ending.

In those final moments, Azriel looked at her.

The God of Death.

Her voice, soft as the sigh of distant tides and unhurried as the turning of the seasons, whispered one last time:

"Do not condemn, criticize, or judge. Do not hate, resent, or detest... You are not alone anymore. This time, try to find another way—to be happy. Try to live. And... I will be waiting for you, at the end. My son."

Everything went dark.

...The nightmare was over.

*****

It was dark.

As always, it was dark, and Azriel felt a growing irritation.

How many times had he witnessed this same, familiar darkness? Just the word itself—dark—it was beginning to annoy him.

But something was different about this familiar void.

Ahead of him, in the distance, was a small, white light.

Azriel squinted and began walking toward it.

He walked, but no matter how long he moved, it seemed the light never grew any larger. It was as if he was never getting closer.

Still, he walked.

Despite it never approaching, Azriel kept going.

And then he began to run.

He ran—faster, desperate to reach that elusive light, though it felt as though it was moving away from him.

Soon, it felt as though he was running through mud, his legs heavy, as if they were made of lead. But still, he kept pushing himself forward.

How long had he been running? A minute? A day? A week?

Azriel couldn't say.

He didn't even know why he was running anymore.

Why was he so desperate to reach the light?

What was the point?

Why was he running?

He didn't know.

The uncertainty, like the darkness itself, was starting to gnaw at him. Why could he never understand what was happening? Why couldn't he know? Why couldn't he grasp the reason behind any of this?

Yet still, Azriel ran.

And he didn't know how long he had been running; he just wanted to get there.

He simply knew, for some reason, that he had to get there.

And eventually, the light began to grow brighter. Closer.

Azriel ran faster, each step propelling him forward with increasing speed.

And then, he reached it.

Azriel stopped.

He stood still, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and stared down at the small, bright white mana core resting on the dark ground before him. Its surface was smooth, its light almost serene.

"Peaceful."

A voice drifted to him, and Azriel turned, his gaze landing on himself—his future self.

He watched the mana core as well.

Was that his own mana core?

And then... the darkness stirred.

Suddenly, the scene changed. The world around Azriel shifted, and he found himself staring up at a vast, open white sky. In the distance, a single sun shone—so bright, so white, that it almost felt soothing on his skin.

A breeze kissed his face, its howling wind making his hair flutter.

Azriel looked around.

His eyes widened as he realized where he was.

They were atop a snow-covered mountain, a place untouched, silent, and still. The air was crisp, biting with a cold that sharpened the senses. But it was a clean, pure cold—a cold that filled his lungs with clarity. The snow beneath them was soft and unbroken, stretching endlessly in every direction.

Azriel didn't dare to find and look over the edge of the mountain. Something in him refused to gaze down.

For some reason, the thought terrified him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Azriel turned his head and saw his future self, slumped against a boulder blanketed in snow.

Both of them wore the same military uniform that Solomon had given him back in Europe.

A small, peaceful smile played on his future self's lips as he gazed up at the bright sun.

Azriel walked toward him, each step sinking into the snow with a satisfying crunch.

When he reached him, Azriel sat down on the thick snow beside his future self.

It was just them, together.

Two versions of the same person, alone, in whatever this place was.

At least... it wasn't a memory.

At least, Azriel hoped that it wasn't.

His future self turned toward him, his smile widening.

Azriel could feel something—something that felt different. Calmer. At peace?

He didn't understand why. It annoyed him.

Azriel spoke, his voice neutral.

"What is all of this? What was all of that? Why did you do this?"

His future self had told him that a trip down memory lane would do them both good.

Because of that, Azriel had learned what happened in those two missing years. He had learned the truth about how his family died.

He had even met the God of Death.

But why?

Why would his future self put him through all of this?

Why had he allowed him to see everything—everything that had been taken from him?

His future self gazed at him with a gentleness that stirred something dark inside Azriel.

Why? Why did he look at him like that?

It was irritating.

Azriel clenched his fist, frustration bubbling up inside him.

Why would he?

Why would the man who had dragged Azriel through hell look at him with such kindness, such gentleness, as if he had done nothing wrong?

Why...?

It was annoying. Frustratingly, infuriatingly annoying.

Everything was annoying.

The world was annoying.

This place was annoying.

The God of Death was annoying.

Then, his future self spoke again.

"Do you hate me?"

Azriel met his gaze without hesitation.

"I do."

"Do you want to kill me?"

"Of course."

His future self smiled wider.

"Unfortunately, you can't."

Azriel frowned.

"Why?"

The smile on his future self's face deepened.

"Because I'm already dead."