Extra's Ascent

Aldrich jumped back in haste, his instincts flaring and reflexes snapping into action.

What just happened?!

He stood frozen for a heartbeat, stunned. He had barely evaded. What even was that? Logic failed him for a moment, but the image replayed in his head with agonizing clarity.

Spatial Art? That had to be it. But how? What technique under spatial Art was it..?

Only the tip of Kyle's sword had broken through space, piercing ahead, while the rest of the blade remained firmly in Kyle's grasp. It made no sense.

Aldrich gritted his teeth. That shouldn't be possible... not without a stable tear in space.

There was no time to finish the thought.

"Hm... Mana Skin, is it?" Kyle muttered with a mild smirk. "It won't protect you a second time."

Aldrich's eyes widened. He prepared for another sudden assault, scanning the space around him. But his reaction wasn't fast enough.

A shattering sound cracked through the air.

A sharp sting tore through his side, just below the waistline.

Gasping, Aldrich glanced down, his pupils dilated. A sword's tip had erupted from his skin, having slipped past his mana barrier, through his clothes, and deep into his flesh.

Blood began to seep out slowly.

"Mana Skin," Kyle said again, stepping out into view with calm poise, his form appearing from foot to head like a slow reconstruction. "A remarkable technique created by Dwayne Aldaman himself using the ocular visual of his Clover Eyes to shape mana with precision."

He stopped beside Aldrich, now fully revealed.

"Said to be exclusive to Dwayne Aldaman, since he alone possessed the visual capacity to manifest the art's structure."

Then, with terrifying nonchalance, Kyle pressed the hilt.

The embedded blade sank deeper.

Aldrich's cry broke loose, blood surged into his throat, and he coughed violently. His knees buckled, and he would have fallen had Kyle not placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him with ease.

"For using your eyes to replicate what Dwayne saw... and for daring to innovate upon his legacy," Kyle whispered, "I commend you."

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In a blink, the world around them shifted. Aldrich was suddenly pinned against the stone wall, back slumped and blood smearing down his tunic. Kyle stood in front, sword now removed, and blood gushed freely from the deep wound.

"But this is as far as you go as an Aldaman. No…" Kyle's tone hardened. "This is as far as you can go as an Aldaman."

He lifted the sword again.

"Not everyone is Dwayne Aldaman."

The blade thrust forward again, fast and deliberate.

It pierced through Aldrich's collarbone, right into the joint. The agony surged like lightning through his body.

Aldrich screamed.

His right hand clutched the earlier wound near his waist, desperate to stop the bleeding. But he was failing. He couldn't stop it. Blood kept flowing, hot and thick.

'It hurts, damn it... it hurts so bad!'

Was bleeding from a stab wound supposed to be this painful? Or did Kyle add in an extra surge of pain effect to make it delicate than usual?

He couldn't think, couldn't breathe without pain. But even in the haze, one bitter truth cut deeper than the wounds ever could:

He'd come this far.

He'd even managed to land a scratch on Kyle Dandada's face.

That alone, he supposed, was a miracle. A feat.

But how had he come this far?

He thought about it.

This world, this cruel, beautiful world was built for geniuses and prodigies. A realm ruled by might and magic. A place where names carried legacies, and legacies carried power.

In this world… Aldrich Aldaman no, Paul was nothing more than an intruder. A misplaced soul who had found himself suddenly inside a story he was once content to read from the outside.

He had been transmigrated here.

It was grace, perhaps. A divine error or gift, he didn't know which to believe. But for the first time, he had seen his favourite characters, not as words on a page, but as living, breathing people.

Fiona Helmswoth. Selina Von Degure. Edward Handerson. Saldrich Aldaman. And, of course, Dante Pendragon.

He had intended only to observe, to remain a passive witness to the thrilling tales of their journey soon to unfold in compelling tellings.

But fate had other plans.

Even now, he still didn't see himself as part of this world. Not truly. Not like the others.

But why?

Why not him?

He was in the same class as them. Ranked the same. Recognized as S-Class.

He had no Dwayne Aldaman's eyes, no Pendragon bloodline. But through his own sheer will, he'd forged a place among the best. And by accepting both Paul and Aldrich as parts of the same self, he had awakened the Clover Eyes, an ocular Art unique to his clan.

So again he dared to ask, why not him?

Why did he still feel like an extra?

He thought back to Paul, the original him. Back then, he was a champion in archery, a man who'd risen to the top in a cutthroat sport. Determined. Relentless. Hungry for greatness.

Is this the same person?

Could it be that, in accepting his new life as Aldrich, the part that made Paul… Paul had faded? Dissolved into the blood of another name?

Maybe that's it.

Maybe that's why he no longer aspired to be the top dog, no longer chased greatness. He had buried his ambition, smothered it in fear and false humility. He had decided subconsciously that he didn't belong and thus had no reason to be among the competition.

But now… he wasn't so sure.

Where was that fire?

That same fire that once propelled Paul to greatness?

Where had it gone?

Where?!

Where?!

He screamed the question inside himself. Each echo more desperate than the last.

Could it be gone forever?

It could be.

Aldrich Aldaman was a no-page extra, the same person he now was.

Probably because this no-named character had no defining qualities aside from dying on a sick bed after years in a coma, he who possessed the body and gained consciousness could have been compelled to remain just that. Insignificant like the original character was.

Or…