The Game's Extra: Azhriel Odyssey-Chapter 126: To The Brink-5

"Heal."

As the word left his lips, the ring on Azhriel’s finger glowed softly. A gentle green light spread over his body, warm and soothing.

The pain faded like mist in the morning sun. His burned hand regained its color, his ribs no longer ached, and the deep ache inside his inside his internal organs slowly eased.

That was the power of an SS-ranked artifact.

But even such a powerful item had limits. His tiredness didn’t fade, and his drained mana remained the same. The wounds were gone, but the fatigue stayed buried in his bones.

Azhriel stood up, flexing his fingers before clenching them tight. He focused inward, feeling the pulsing flow of mana in his core.

’I’ve got less than half left,’ he thought grimly. His eyes lifted to Kerip, who stood across the ruined inn, dark lightning dancing over his skin.

Frostborn shimmered in Azhriel’s grip, its form shifting back into a sword.

He tightened his hold.

A scythe might have more reach, but in a battle like this—where every second mattered—he’d trust the weapon he’d trained with the most.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Kerip’s black lightning surged. It solidified around his arms, forming jagged gauntlets that crackled with raw power. The same lightning spread down his legs, shaping into boots that hummed with deadly energy.

That was his ability—using lightning as armor and weapon both. His gauntlets carried explosive power, while his boots gave him immense speed.

Their gazes locked. Neither spoke.

Without a word, both men walked out of the shattered inn, their steps slow but filled with tension. The broken floorboards creaked beneath their weight.

Outside, the night air was cold and heavy.

[Spatial Awareness – Activated.]

Azhriel’s eyes sharpened as his perception expanded.

The world slowed.

Every sound became clear—the faint crackle of Kerip’s lightning, the distant whispers of the wind, the soft crunch beneath his own boots.

He could see the shift in Kerip’s stance, the faint twitch of a muscle before movement.

Before, he’d only been enhancing his eyes with mana, reading his opponent’s actions through movement and instinct.

But now, with Spatial Awareness fully active, his senses went beyond sight. He could feel the space around him—every motion, every vibration in the air.

Still, he knew it might not be enough. The lightning around Kerip’s legs promised speed far beyond before.

There also another reason why Azhriel had been hesitant to use Spatial Awareness until now.

When his Celestial Phase was active, even small abilities demanded immense focus, and he couldn’t use the Null Phase alongside it.

His control wasn’t perfect yet. Managing both was like trying to balance on a blade’s edge.

It was the same with his elements. Ice and thunder—his twin powers—felt natural, like extensions of his own body.

But whenever he tried to use them together, his mana circuits burned. The backlash either froze him from within or sent electric pain surging through his veins.

He exhaled softly. ’I still have a long way to go. Until I master my elements, using space and null together is just a dream.’

"The city knights will be here soon, you know,"

Azhriel said, lowering his sword to his side, its blade resting on his shoulder. Frost spread along the metal, whispering in the cold air.

Kerip smirked. "Then I’ll have to kill you before they arrive." His lightning flared brighter, sharp arcs crawling up his arms.

"That’s a stupid goal to have," Azhriel said quietly.

Kerip laughed darkly, eyes glowing with demonic energy. "Arrogant brat."

The air between them tightened like a drawn bow.

Then—

Step.

They moved at once.

And in the next instant, chaos swallowed everything.

*******

The door creaked open as two figures stepped inside — the same Dark Spades monk and the eerie, hovering form of a black spirit. Their eyes turned toward the unconscious elven prince lying on the cold floor.

"Hey, maggot. Wake up," the spirit said, floating closer to the boy, his voice filled with disdain.

The elf didn’t move. His face was pale, his breathing shallow — completely unconscious. The spirit clicked his tongue in irritation before slapping him across the face.

"Tch, useless worm," he growled. "A little touch and you faint? Wake the hell up!"

When the boy didn’t respond, the spirit’s patience snapped. He drove a punch into the elf’s stomach.

Thud

"Gahk!" The boy gasped sharply, his eyes fluttering open as the air was knocked from his lungs. He coughed violently, his body trembling from the blow.

But the spirit didn’t stop.

Another punch came, smashing into the boy’s nose — a crack followed by a burst of blood.

Then another to his mouth, breaking his teeth. Each blow was merciless, faster and harder, like a storm of fists raining down on him.

The elf couldn’t even scream properly; the pain came too quickly, too brutally. Every time his consciousness started to fade, another punch would drag him back to agony.

Tears and blood mixed as they dripped down his face, his body shaking uncontrollably. His mind was a blur of pain and despair.

Why is this happening?

Is it because I didn’t listen to Brother?

Or because I disobeyed Father and went out that day?

I am sorry. I am really sorry please save me.

Please... Brother... Maera... Father... someone... please... it hurts...

His silent cries filled the room as the spirit’s laughter echoed.

"Enough," the monk finally said, his calm yet cold voice cutting through the sound of punches.

The spirit halted mid-motion, grinning as he hovered over the broken boy. "Heh... I lost control. These nature maggots are just too fun to hit."

"Stop laughing," the monk replied sharply. "Contact the Elven King."

"Yeah, yeah," the spirit said, his tone mocking but obedient. "Let’s tell His Majesty we’ve got his precious little prince."

The boy could only tremble weakly, his vision fading as the last sound he heard was the spirit’s laughter echoing through the dim room.

And then his consciousness flicked off again. However what anyone didn’t notice was the blood of the elven prince that fell on his necklace.

A blood that contained mana.

Mana that just for a second touched the necklace.