Extra’s Survival: Reincarnated with a Doomed Bloodline

Fenix closed his eyes and drew a breath that seemed to last an eternity. His enhanced senses had reached a plateau of clarity that transcended anything he had achieved during his months of impossible training. Every fiber of his being focused on a single objective: observe everything down to the most minute detail.

When he opened his eyes again, the world seemed to move at a different pace - not slower, but more comprehensible, as if layers of perception that had previously been unavailable were now crystalline clear.

His hand touched the katana's hilt with deliberate precision.

Reality dissolved once more, depositing him onto the infinite black plane where the being awaited with eternal patience. But this time, Fenix's awareness had achieved a state that bordered on the supernatural in its acuity.

As the being spoke those fateful words - "First Art - Ethereal Rend... Collapse" - Fenix watched with microscopic attention that catalogued every infinitesimal detail. He saw the subtle shift in the creature's stance, the way individual muscle fibers tensed in preparation for movement that would transcend normal speed. The preliminary micro-adjustments in foot positioning that preceded the devastating technique. The almost imperceptible shift in breathing pattern that marked the transition from stillness to explosive action.

More importantly, he witnessed the precise moment when mana began gathering around the being's form. Not the sudden manifestation he had perceived in earlier iterations, but a complex process that started deep within the creature's core. Energy flowed from sources that seemed to exist in dimensions beyond normal space, channeling through pathways that had been refined through eons of perfect practice. Each current spiraled up through the form's arms with mathematical precision, following routes that maximized efficiency while building toward the devastating crescendo that would condense into azure radiance along the katana's edge.

The energy didn't simply coat the weapon - it merged with the steel itself, transforming mundane metal into something that could cut through the fundamental forces that held reality together. Fenix traced each mana current as it integrated with the blade, watching the process with the desperate attention of someone whose survival depended on understanding every nuance of perfection.

Then came the draw.

What had seemed like instantaneous movement during previous iterations now revealed itself as a sequence of perfectly coordinated actions that flowed together with the inevitability of natural law. The being's thumb pressed against the katana's guard with pressure calculated to the precise pound per square inch required for optimal release timing. Its drawing hand began moving in a diagonal arc that had been refined through countless repetitions, following a path that minimized energy expenditure while maximizing destructive potential.

The weapon emerged from its white sheath like lightning given physical form, but Fenix could now see the individual components that created the illusion of supernatural speed. The angle of the draw that allowed the blade to clear its housing without wasted motion. The rotation of the wrist that positioned the cutting edge for maximum effectiveness. The subtle shift in shoulder position that channeled the being's entire body weight into the strike.

Every element worked in perfect harmony to create the diagonal slash that didn't just cut through air - it carved reality itself, opening the tear that would birth the azure technique capable of severing existence from consciousness.

For the first time in thirty-one deaths, Fenix could see everything coming with perfect clarity.

His Willstep activated the precise moment mana pressure began building around the being's form, carrying him away from his original position before the paralysis could take hold. But this time, his spatial displacement was informed by complete understanding of the technique's timing and trajectory. He didn't just evade - he positioned himself to maintain optimal distance while observing the attack's full development.

The azure energy that erupted from the being's slash followed predictable physics despite its reality-altering properties. Fenix could track its path, anticipate its adjustments, even predict the moments when it would attempt to correct course based on his evasive movements. His enhanced mobility kept him dancing just ahead of annihilation for nearly a full minute - sixty precious seconds where every aspect of technique was laid bare before his analytical observation.

But when he attempted to launch a counterattack during one of the technique's brief recovery phases, his katana passed through empty air as the m being's position shifted with movements too fluid to intercept. The creature seemed to exist in multiple locations simultaneously, making targeting impossible despite his perfect understanding of its capabilities.

The azure slash eventually found him, severing existence with familiar finality.

Thirty-second death. Thirty-third. Thirty-fourth.

Each iteration granted him longer periods of mobility as his understanding of the technique's rhythm and patterns improved exponentially. He began anticipating not just the primary attack, but the subtle variations the being introduced to counter his increasingly sophisticated evasion patterns. By the thirty-sixth attempt, he was staying mobile for nearly three minutes before the reality-severing energy claimed him.

More significantly, he was beginning to understand the fundamental principles that made the technique possible. It wasn't just about speed or raw power - it was about perfect integration of consciousness, mana manipulation, and physical movement into a single expression of will made manifest in the material world.

The thirty-eighth death taught him something crucial about the vulnerable moments that existed between the technique's activation and its completion. There were instants - microseconds really - when the being's attention was completely focused on guiding the azure energy, leaving theoretical openings that a sufficiently precise counterattack might exploit.

The thirty-ninth iteration confirmed his suspicions about those vulnerabilities while simultaneously revealing the being's defensive capabilities when threatened.

The fortieth death changed everything.

Fenix activated his Willstep the moment he detected the first stirrings of mana around the being's form, but instead of seeking safe distance, he used his perfect understanding of the technique's timing to position himself for the one opportunity he had identified through exhaustive observation. As the azure energy began its reality-severing arc, as the being's consciousness focused entirely on maintaining control over forces that could unmake existence itself, Fenix appeared directly behind its position with spatial displacement timed to exploit that crucial moment of vulnerability.

For one impossible instant, he stood within striking range of something that had killed him forty times without apparent effort.

His katana began its arc toward the being's neck, enhanced by every technique he possessed and guided by months of training that had prepared him for exactly this kind of desperate precision strike. The blade sang through air that seemed thick as honey, carrying the weight of absolute determination and refined skill.

Then the being moved with capabilities that transcended his understanding of what was possible.

Not the lightning-fast draw that had marked its primary technique, but something else entirely - a flowing rotation that seemed to exist outside normal temporal constraints. The creature spun to face him while simultaneously executing a secondary slash that intercepted his attack with mathematical precision. There had been no preparation, no gathering of mana, no visible transition between defensive awareness and devastating counterattack.

The being simply moved, and reality rearranged itself to accommodate that movement.

Azure energy exploded between their colliding blades like the birth of stars, the impact creating pressure waves that shattered the black plane's perfect surface into fragments of reflected starlight. Fenix felt the collision through every bone in his body as forces beyond mortal comprehension met in direct confrontation.

But where his technique carried the accumulated weight of determination and skill refined through impossible training, the being's counterattack held the absolute authority of perfection achieved through eternal practice.

The competing energies met, struggled for dominance, and resolved with brutal finality.

Fenix watched his katana shatter against power that exceeded every assumption about what steel and will could accomplish when properly combined. The weapon's destruction was followed immediately by azure energy that carved through his torso with surgical precision, splitting him along a diagonal line that ran from left shoulder to right hip.

He had just enough time to see his own body separating into two distinct pieces before darkness claimed consciousness with the finality of absolute ending.

---

The throne room materialized around him as awareness returned with jarring intensity. But this time, something fundamental had changed in the quality of his resurrection. His chest heaved with exertion that felt deeper than any purely physical strain, while sweat covered his features in patterns that spoke of effort extending into dimensions beyond normal bodily function.

Forty-one deaths. Forty-one lessons in the nature of perfection. Forty-one demonstrations that even complete understanding was insufficient when confronting beings who had transcended mortal limitations through eons of flawless practice.

But that final encounter had revealed something crucial that changed his entire approach to this endless trial. The being possessed capabilities that extended far beyond the primary technique that had eliminated him through forty iterations. It could adapt in real-time, could counter threats with responses that seemed to violate causality itself, could defend and attack simultaneously with techniques that operated according to principles he was only beginning to comprehend.

More significantly, it had met his strike directly rather than simply evading or allowing the azure technique to eliminate him through adjusted trajectory. For one brief moment, their blades had clashed as equals before superior mastery reasserted dominance through overwhelming application of divine authority.

That moment of direct confrontation had taught him something that forty previous deaths hadn't revealed: the being was actually engaging with him. Not simply executing a predetermined pattern of elimination, but responding to his capabilities with techniques that matched his growing competence. It was teaching him through combat, forcing him to evolve by presenting challenges that pushed his understanding to new levels.

Fenix stared at the katana beside the throne, its white sheath pulsing with radiance that seemed to carry approval mixed with expectation. The weapon had witnessed his progress, had provided him with tools that matched those wielded by his instructor. Now it waited to see whether forty-one deaths had taught him enough to attempt something that transcended mere survival and entered the realm of genuine mastery.

His mind churned through everything he had observed with analytical precision that bordered on obsession. The being's technique wasn't just about individual components like speed, power, or mana manipulation. It was about perfect integration of multiple principles into a single, devastating expression of will made manifest in physical reality.

The gathering of energy that preceded action. The preliminary movements that optimized positioning for maximum effect. The draw that transformed potential into kinetic destruction. The mana condensation that elevated steel beyond its material limitations. The slash that rewrote reality according to the wielder's absolute authority. Even the defensive capabilities that could respond to threats with techniques that seemed to exist outside normal temporal flow.

All of it emerged from the same fundamental understanding of how consciousness could impose its desires upon existence itself through perfect harmony between intention and execution.

But he possessed the same weapon. The same basic capabilities, if not the eons of refinement that had elevated the being beyond mortal comprehension. Which meant the technique could be learned, copied, adapted to his own understanding and transformed into something that might prove sufficient to demonstrate the mastery this trial demanded.

The realization crystallized with brilliant, terrible clarity: he didn't need to defeat the being through superior power or capability. He needed to prove that mortality could aspire to divine perfection through dedication that refused to acknowledge the concept of impossible odds.

He needed to mirror the technique with sufficient accuracy to show that he understood not just its mechanics, but its fundamental nature.

A smile played across his lips as he contemplated the challenge ahead. Forty-one deaths had taught him to see divine perfection in action down to its most minute components. However many additional attempts this required, he would learn to reproduce that perfection until the student became indistinguishable from the master in all ways that mattered.

After all, he had nothing to lose except time, and apparently an infinite supply of lives to spend in pursuit of understanding that might reshape the very foundations of his existence. The being had shown him what perfection looked like when wielded by hands that had never known failure.

Now it was time to discover whether mortal determination could achieve what divine authority had perfected through eternal practice.

The katana's radiance intensified as he reached toward it once more, its approval clear in the way power responded to his renewed sense of purpose. This time, he wouldn't just dodge, wouldn't just observe, wouldn't just attempt desperate counterattacks that revealed his limitations.

This time, he would mirror divine technique with his own version of perfect execution.

"First Art - Ethereal Rend... Collapse," he whispered, testing how the words felt when spoken with genuine understanding of their meaning rather than mere repetition of sounds he had heard forty-one times.

The katana pulsed with radiance that felt like recognition, like approval, like anticipation for what was about to unfold.

Time to prove that mortality could learn to speak the language of gods.