Novel's Extra: I Awakened The Strongest Physique From The Start

The world, Astralorbis, was vast.

It was so big that there were several thousands of worlds mixed together. Among them, some worlds—now called realms—were big while others were small.

Alex’s world—the human realm—was an example of a medium-sized world, while the dragon realm, one of the strongest realms, was a big world.

And Originveil Academy was the place that maintained order in all those worlds.

The academy oversaw this huge world, but how?

Even if people say that the principal was powerful, there was no way they could be everywhere at all times, right?

Yes, it was true, and that was why the principal had decided on a different approach.

A rule was made that every ruler of every world would send their family members to the academy to study or teach.

It was called a way of maintaining peace, but in reality, it was just the academy holding those people hostage so that they could keep the world in control.

However, why would the leaders—who definitely understood that their family was going to be held hostage—not gang up against the academy?

The reason was simple: the leap year competition.

It was said that the competition’s winner would get a chance to meet the principal and possibly become their student.

And that was why most strong people around the world would be curious to see this competition.

The problem, however, was the lack of space.

With the number of people coming to watch this event, there was a lack of seats.

But what was this place? This was the best academy in the world—a place housing the best of the best.

"What are we gonna do now?" A boy asked as he couldn’t find any seat to sit in.

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"I guess we’ll have to return..." Sighed his friend, his head lowered as he really wanted to see the competition.

Some would say, ’Why not just stand and watch?’ Well...

"There’s no place to even stand," lamented a girl in the group, disappointment evident in her voice as she looked at the people filling the stadium.

RUMBLE!

But before they could turn around, something shocking happened. From behind the already existing seats in the Colosseum, a new series of seats rose.

The number of seats was now doubled, causing everyone present there to widen their eyes in surprise before they all rushed toward the empty seats, thanking whoever had made those arrangements.

But while the academy prepared for a grand spectacle, far away from the cheering crowds, a very different kind of entertainment was taking place...

............................

In a room dimly lit by a single flickering candle placed atop a table at the center, shadows stretched along the cold stone walls, shifting with the dance of the flame.

The air carried a faint, intoxicating scent of incense, mixing with the aroma of freshly roasted meat on the plate before him.

Damian Dickerson sat comfortably in a high-backed chair, humming a quiet tune as he picked at his meal. A glass of deep crimson wine rested beside his plate, half-empty, its surface reflecting the eerie gleam of his silver fork.

He took slow, deliberate bites, savoring each mouthful, his gray eyes half-lidded in satisfaction.

Before him, on a small wooden stage, a girl danced.

Her form was barely visible beyond a delicate, swaying silhouette. The candlelight barely grazed her, allowing only glimpses of the curves of her petite frame as she twirled, arms moving in fluid grace.

The soft melody playing in the background accompanied her movements, a lullaby of sorts—calm, soothing, deceiving.

Damian watched in amusement, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he tapped his fingers against the table in rhythm with the tune. He set down his fork, wiping the corner of his mouth with a pristine napkin before tilting his head slightly.

"So? Any news about that idiotic brother of mine?" His voice was casual, almost playful, as though he were asking about the weather.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, from the shadows cast by the candle, a voice emerged, respectful yet hollow, devoid of emotion. "No news, Master Damian."

Damian let out a dramatic sigh, resting his elbow on the table and pressing his cheek against his palm. "Hah... what could that fool be doing right now?" His voice was laced with mild irritation, though there was an undeniable amusement in his tone.

Slowly, the light revealed his sharp, pale features—the striking contrast of his gray hair and piercing gray eyes.

He was always handsome, but right now, it was in a way that felt unnatural, almost inhuman. His gaze flickered to the dancer once more, lips twitching upward in an amused smirk.

Then, suddenly, he exhaled a single phrase:

"I wish he would just die somewhere."

At that exact moment, a sharp snapping sound echoed through the room.

The melody in the background ceased. The candlelight flickered violently. And then, with a sickening thud, the girl’s head rolled from her shoulders, tumbling down from the stage before stopping right at Damian’s foot.

For a moment, there was only silence. An oppressive, suffocating silence that swallowed all warmth from the air.

Damian remained still, his gaze lowering to the severed head at his feet. The dim candlelight finally illuminated her features—her once-delicate face was now a grotesque horror. Her eye sockets were hollow, the flesh around them torn and raw. Deep claw marks ran from her forehead down to her mangled lips, frozen in an eternal scream.

He sighed.

"She used to look so good," he mused, voice tinged with a mockery of nostalgia.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, a grin stretched across his face—wide, unnatural, reaching almost to his ears. His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter as he lifted the head by the strands of her blood-soaked hair, bringing it close to his face.

"But she looked even more beautiful when she was screaming." His voice dripped with twisted delight, his gray eyes shimmering with unhinged excitement. "Ah, that was such a satisfying feeling."

He exhaled slowly, his expression abruptly returning to something neutral, almost bored. He tilted his head, his gaze shifting past the stage.

"Why aren’t you coming out?"

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A sharp inhale came from the darkness behind the stage. A trembling figure hesitated before stepping forward.

A young woman emerged, her body wracked with violent shivers, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Her wide, terrified eyes darted from the head in Damian’s grasp to his unreadable expression. Her lips parted, but no sound came out—only the erratic gasps of someone barely holding onto their sanity.

The moment she did, however, the girl, whose head had fallen off, fell to the floor as if she were a doll whose strings were cut off.

Damian, staring at the girl who walked out from backstage, smiled at her, almost kindly.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" He asked, his voice gentle, soothing.

The girl opened her mouth, but before a single word could leave her lips, Damian was suddenly right in front of her.

Her breath hitched. Her pupils shrank in sheer horror.

She hadn’t even seen him move.

"You don’t really need to know what you did wrong," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her ear. "You just need to last longer than the last girl, and I’ll let you live."

Her scream never left her throat. Damian’s hand struck fast and precise, rendering her unconscious before she could even react. Her body crumpled into his waiting arms like a broken marionette.

With a quiet hum, Damian scooped her up effortlessly, carrying her toward the dark recesses of the room. ’I hope you entertain me until I have Margaret...’

The candle flickered again, elongating his shadow against the wall—twisting, writhing, almost as though it were alive.

And then, the light went out, swallowing the room in darkness—just as another scream was about to begin.