The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice-Chapter 117: Entrance Exam [17]: The Depths of His Hatred
BAM!
Lyrius hit the ground. Hard.
His body screamed in agony, every nerve set ablaze by Oliver’s relentless assault.
His breath came in ragged gasps, the taste of blood thick on his tongue.
The world around him blurred.
Hell.
No.
It was worse than hell.
The pain, the torment, the suffering—nothing compared to what he had already endured.
Nothing compared to the streets where he had learned what it meant to be abandoned.
The things I endured.
The pain I endured.
The hatred I endured.
The beatings I took.
A life where every breath was a battle.
A life where hunger clawed at his insides, gnawing away at his sanity.
He had eaten whatever he could to survive—rats, cockroaches, moldy scraps tossed into the gutters.
He had scavenged through filth, fought with stray dogs over rotting meat.
Survival was an ugly thing.
But for what?
That question haunted him every night.
Why had he been forced to suffer like that? Why had fate decided to crush him beneath its heel?
And every time, the answer came back to the same thing.
Because of that woman.
That woman who had given birth to him.
That woman who had abandoned him.
His mother. Your journey continues at novelbuddy
The woman he had never even seen.
He had no memories of her—just the stories his father had told him.
A noble lady.
A woman who had fled from her house because of her so-called "love" for his father.
A woman who had once chosen to be with them—only to abandon them anyway.
Why?
Why had she left?
Why had she disappeared without a trace?
And why—when his father lay dying, bleeding out in a dirty alley—had his final words been filled with nothing but resentment toward her?
"She left us. She ran away and married the king. That’s why they hunted me down."
A noble lady.
A runaway lover.
A queen.
The realization had struck him like a dagger to the heart.
His mother had moved on.
His mother had chosen a new life.
His mother had let him rot.
And in all of this—where was my fault?
What had he done to deserve this?
He had never asked to be born.
He had never asked for this life.
So why the hell did I have to endure it?
Why did he have to suffer in filth while she lived in luxury?
Why did he have to bleed, starve, beg, and crawl through the dirt just to stay alive—while she sat on a throne, untouched by pain?
If she had no intention of keeping me, why did she give birth to me?
Why didn’t she kill me before I had to live like this?
His fingers curled into the dirt. His body screamed in pain, but his mind burned with something stronger.
Rage.
Not at Oliver.
Not at the world.
At her.
I don’t need her. I never needed her.
But if she ever stood before him, if she ever so much as looked at him with even a hint of regret—
He would laugh in her face.
Because the boy she abandoned had survived without her.
Lyrius’ breath was ragged, his vision hazy, but his mind had never been clearer.
The weight of his past bore down on him like a shackle, wrapping around his soul, chaining him to the years of suffering, of filth, of crawling through the streets like a rat.
And now, standing in front of him—the child of that woman.
The child of the queen.
The one who had been given everything.
The one who had her love.
How the fuck am I supposed to lose?
His fingers twitched. His body ached, but deep inside, something had shifted.
A force within him stirred, something ancient, something unseen.
Then why—why do I feel it burning now?
The markings on his arms—stars inked into his skin, once faint, once barely noticeable—were glowing.
Not under the sky. Not under the stars. Then why now?
Then, a voice.
In his mind.
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[Starforged Bloodline Awakening – First Phase]
{Black Hole Endurance} → Kinetic force absorbed. Damage converted. Adaptation achieved.
{Timer- 1 Minute}
[A/N: Every bloodline has three phases only open when condition is met]
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A deep tremor ran through his body. He gasped, eyes wide, as something inside him cracked open.
Power flooded his veins like liquid fire.
The pain in his ribs? Gone.
The ache in his limbs? Gone.
The exhaustion? Burned away, turned into something else.
The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.
His mind, once lost in anger, once drowning in turmoil—now sharpened into a single, terrifying thought.
I am still standing.
Oliver noticed it immediately.
The way Lyrius’ breathing steadied.
The way his stance changed.
Something was wrong.
His eyes narrowed. No hesitation. He moved, sword flashing in the air—too fast for the eye to follow.
SLASH!
His blade cut deep into Lyrius’ side—but no blood spilled.
The impact shuddered through Lyrius’ body, but he didn’t stumble. He didn’t react the way Oliver expected.
Instead—
Instead, his muscles absorbed the impact.
Instead, he stood even taller.
Oliver’s grip on his sword tightened.
He didn’t wait—he struck again, this time with a feint, slashing low—then twisting his body for a brutal downward cut aimed at Lyrius’ shoulder.
The blade hit.
It should’ve cut deep.
It should’ve dropped him.
But instead—
Lyrius took the hit, absorbed the force, and used it.
His foot slammed forward—faster than before.
Oliver’s instincts screamed at him.
He moved to dodge—too late.
Lyrius’ fist collided with his ribs.
A sickening CRACK.
Oliver’s body hurled backward, crashing into the ground, sliding across the dirt.
Lyrius exhaled. His hands clenched.
Power surged through him—foreign, unfamiliar, but exhilarating.
It didn’t make him invincible.
It didn’t make him unstoppable.
But it made him durable.
And in a battle like this?
That was all he needed.
Oliver coughed, blood dripping down his chin. Pain exploded through his ribs.
Broken. Maybe two.
He forced himself up. His vision blurred for a second, but he pushed forward.
He wasn’t done yet.
He lunged. Faster. Sharper.
His sword danced, air affinity swirling around him, wind turning his blade into a bladed storm.
Lyrius didn’t dodge.
He walked into the storm.
Blade after blade cut into him.
Oliver moved with flawless precision, striking weak spots, targeting joints—his swordsmanship was a masterwork, honed to perfection.
And yet—
Lyrius kept moving.
Oliver’s breath hitched.
Lyrius’ strikes weren’t wild, weren’t sloppy. They were precise, relentless, breaking him down.
Another punch.
Another rib cracked.
A knee to the stomach.
Oliver choked.
A downward strike—
Oliver blocked—
Lyrius’ foot slammed into his ankle—
Oliver’s leg buckled.
His body tilted.
Lyrius’ elbow crashed into his shoulder.
Another break.
Oliver gasped. The pain was unbearable. His movements were slower now.
He tried to swing—but his hands wouldn’t grip his sword right.
Broken fingers.
He was breaking.
And Lyrius wasn’t stopping.
A hand wrapped around his throat.
Lyrius lifted him.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time, Oliver saw it.
This wasn’t just a fight for him.
This was personal.
"Your mother," Lyrius’ voice was a whisper. "She had a choice."
His fingers tightened.
"And she chose you."
Oliver choked. His vision blurred.
"And I chose this."
A final, brutal punch.
A sickening snap.
Oliver’s body went limp.
Lyrius let him fall.
