The Extra's Rise-Chapter 263: Bishop Vale (2)

Her breath hitched, a small, broken sound that somehow carried over the din of battle. "What—?" The word escaped her lips like a prayer, like a plea.

"Now!" I roared, the command tearing itself from my throat with a force that seemed to make the very air vibrate.

The Bishop turned back to me, his eyes glinting with newfound interest, like a collector who had just spotted a rare specimen. He raised his staff again, the wood humming with power, with promise.

I raised my sword in defiance, Purelight flickering along its length, struggling to maintain its brilliance as my strength waned. My stance was wide, unstable, my body betraying me as blood loss and exhaustion took their toll.

Gifts weren't meant to be shared.

That was the rule. The fundamental law. No one could transfer the core of their Gift to another—it was part of them, bound to their very existence. Like trying to give away your heartbeat, like trying to lend someone your breath. Impossible. Unthinkable.

The only known exception was Rachel. Her Gift could be given freely, like a blessing, like sunlight spilling over the world. A miracle made flesh, a law unto herself.

Mine, Lucent Harmony, could do it too. Technically.

It was inefficient. Wasteful. A glorified trick. Most of the time, it wasn't worth the effort, the power lost in the transfer reducing it to a pale shadow of its true potential.

But Reika's Gift?

Her Gift was something different.

Something raw. Something that bent the rules in a way nothing else did. A contradiction, an impossibility, a glitch in the fabric of reality itself.

Because Reika's Gift didn't just enhance her strength or sharpen her senses. It changed her very foundation.

Her mana rank itself.

Right now, she had forced herself from Light Yellow-rank to White-rank. A temporary surge, an unnatural leap forward. An impossible increase, like skipping five rungs on a ladder in a single bound.

The only Gift in existence that could do that.

The Bishop launched another attack, this one more focused, more precise—a spear of condensed blood magic that cut through the air with a sound like a banshee's wail, aimed directly at my heart.

I twisted, barely avoiding it, the spear grazing my shoulder and leaving a trail of searing pain in its wake. The wound hissed and bubbled, the blood magic trying to burrow deeper, to consume me from within.

"No!" Reika shook her head violently, panic flashing across her face, her eyes wild with fear. "The suffering... the dread... you can't!"

The black symbols on her skin writhed faster, more agitated, responding to her emotional state. Tendrils of darkness curled around her limbs, like chains, like shackles.

"I must," I said. My voice didn't waver, despite the blood bubbling up in my throat, despite the edges of my vision growing darker by the second. "Please."

The Bishop stalked closer, his patience wearing thin, his power building to a crescendo that promised oblivion. With each step, the ground beneath him blackened and withered, as if life itself retreated from his presence.

I staggered back, raising my sword again, but the motion lacked conviction, lacked strength. The Purelight was dimming, flickering like a candle in a storm, moments from being extinguished completely.

Reika looked at me, eyes wild with disbelief, with something that might have been betrayal. "Are you doing this just to save me?"

The question hung in the air between us, weighted with implications, with unspoken emotions. Time seemed to slow, the chaos of battle receding as I held her gaze across the distance that separated us.

"No," I shook my head, the answer slipping out without hesitation, without artifice. "I'm doing this for myself."

Her breath hitched, a small, wounded sound that somehow cut through the noise of battle, through the roaring in my ears.

I was selfish.

I had always been selfish, taking what I needed, using what was offered, all in service to a goal that sometimes seemed more like an obsession than a purpose.

I wanted love when I didn't deserve it.

I wanted love with someone I didn't deserve.

And I wanted to burn down the world that dared to harm the tiny, fragile thing that made life more than survival.

This thing called happiness.

I wasn't doing this because I cared about Reika.

This was payback.

Against a world that saw children as nothing more than tools to break and reshape.

Against a world that thought it was fine to take something innocent and twist it into something useful, something profitable, something with purpose beyond mere existence.

Because when I looked at her, I saw myself.

The child I had been. The broken thing I had become. The monster I had made of myself to survive.

And that was something I couldn't ignore, couldn't turn away from, couldn't pretend didn't matter.

"Give it to me."

The Bishop lunged, his patience finally exhausted, his staff spinning in complex patterns that left trails of blood-red light in the air, forming sigils that burned themselves into reality itself.

I braced myself, knowing I couldn't dodge, couldn't block, couldn't hope to survive what was coming.

I wasn't a hero.

I didn't deserve to be a hero.

But that didn't stop me from wanting—just once—to save someone from the same fate. To shield one person from the darkness that had consumed me, that had made me what I was.

Reika clenched her fists, her knuckles white with strain, indecision warring across her features. Then, slowly, her hands unclenched, fingers splaying wide as if releasing something invisible.

She exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that seemed to carry the weight of a decision that couldn't be unmade. Her eyes shut, lashes fluttering against pale cheeks, and I felt it.

The black letters on her skin moved, slithering across her flesh like living ink, detaching themselves one by one. They hovered in the air between us, pulsing with a rhythm that matched no heartbeat, that followed no pattern known to human minds.

And then—

They shot toward me, a swarm of darkness that cut through the fading Domain like arrows through mist.

Pain.

Not the kind that made you wince. Not the kind that left bruises or fractures or bleeding wounds.

The kind that unmade you.

The kind that boiled you alive from the inside out, that rewrote your very being one agonizing atom at a time.

The symbols burrowed into my skin, merging with my flesh, becoming part of me in a way that defied description. Each one brought with it a new dimension of suffering, a new layer of agony that transcended physical sensation.

Every cell in my body screamed, a chorus of torment that threatened to shatter my mind, to reduce me to nothing more than a vessel for pain itself.

And I smiled.

Because in exchange, I took her power.

The black symbols settled into my flesh, pulsing with a rhythm that gradually synchronized with my heartbeat, becoming extensions of my will, of my being.

And my mana rose.

Low Integration-rank.

The first surge was like a dam breaking, power flooding through channels never meant to contain such forces. My vision blurred, colors shifting, becoming more vivid, more intense. The air around me crackled with energy, with potential.

Then—

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Mid Integration-rank.

The second surge was stronger, more violent. My muscles bulged, veins standing out in stark relief against my skin as power coursed through me like liquid fire. The Erebus Bone Armor responded, shifting, expanding, becoming more elaborate, more complete, as if awakening from a slumber.

I could feel it. Every fiber of my being stretching, cracking, reshaping itself under the sheer weight of power flooding through me. Bones reinforced themselves, muscles densified, neural pathways rewired for increased speed, increased processing.

The Bishop faltered, his attack hesitating mid-formation as he sensed the change, as he realized something had fundamentally shifted in the dynamic between us.

'This is the limit,' Luna's voice echoed in my mind, cool and detached, a reminder of boundaries that couldn't be crossed, of lines that shouldn't be blurred.

I exhaled, tasting blood, metallic and warm, a physical reminder of the price being paid for this borrowed power.

'I know.'

And I raised my sword once more, Purelight blazing along its length with renewed vigor, burning so bright it cast no shadows, only pure, unfiltered radiance.

The Bishop's eyes widened, a fraction of genuine surprise crossing his features before his mask of confidence reasserted itself.

"Interesting," he murmured, adjusting his stance, his grip on his staff tightening. "Very interesting indeed."

I didn't respond.

I moved.