The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice

His blade tore through another beast's throat, black blood spraying across the broken stone.

His arms shook.

His legs threatened to give out.

But the monsters kept coming.

They moved like shadows—dozens of them. Fangs flashing. Claws shrieking across the floor. And Caspian stood at the center of it all, soaked in blood, vision doubled, teeth clenched in exhaustion.

Bloodmoon's voice echoed in his mind.

"We're outnumbered! Cut the left—go now!"

"I know!" Caspian snapped aloud, lunging sideways to avoid the swipe of a beast the size of a warhorse. His sword met its ribs with a sickening crunch, and the monster shrieked before toppling.

His breath was ragged.

The summons had almost all vanished. Their energy had faded—burned out by the sheer number of enemies. He had only a few left, scattered around him, trying to hold the line.

"You'll die if you stay, Caspian. You're pushing beyond your limit!"

"I just need more time!"

But he knew it wasn't true.

He couldn't hold them anymore.

Even Bloodmoon was faltering—his presence in Caspian's mind flickering like a dying ember. The pressure of sustaining so many beasts, the mental backlash, the memory loss—it was all crashing down on him now like a tidal wave.

A beast lunged.

Caspian didn't even parry—he just dove and rolled.

It landed behind him, missing by inches.

He landed hard, scraped elbow screaming, and came up coughing blood.

"Retreat. You've done enough. If you fall here, there's nothing left to protect anyone."

He didn't argue.

He ran.

Ducking between ruined arches, slipping past fallen pillars, cutting down anything that got too close. His body moved on instinct. His brain, half-fried from the overload, only registered vague shapes and voices.

He didn't even realize he'd made it to the front gate until the wind hit his face.

The main gate of Bastion—jagged and broken, open just enough for a person to pass through.

And then—he saw him.

A man. Standing alone. Sword across his back.

He was facing Caspian from across the courtyard, standing just outside the gate. Half his body was covered in the mist rolling in from the forest. The other half was shrouded by the castle's dying red light.

Caspian's steps slowed.

Something about the figure...

Relief surged in his chest. He stumbled forward.

"Hey!" he called out, hoarsely. "You're… you know me?"

No response.

The figure didn't move.

Caspian coughed, still jogging forward, wiping blood from his lips. "It's me. Caspian… I think. I—" He faltered.

The man stepped forward once.

Just a single step.

Hand lowering toward his sword.

And everything in Caspian's body froze.

"Caspian," Bloodmoon growled, suddenly back, his voice colder than ever, "That man is not your ally."

Too late.

Movement.

Too fast.

A flash of steel.

Instinct roared in Caspian's spine—but too late.

A long blade drove through his ribs, piercing him from back to front.

SHKKK—

His eyes widened. A gurgled breath escaped him.

Blood.

Warm. Pouring. He collapsed to his knees, blinking in disbelief.

The man leaned closer, expression unreadable.

"Caspian Arcwright," he said coldly. "You were supposed to die earlier."

Caspian fell forward, hands catching the stone floor—slick with his own blood.

That name again.

Arcwright.

He knew that word. But it felt like looking through stained glass—familiar yet unreachable.

He crawled weakly. The pain was unbearable, but he moved.

He had to survive.

The man raised his blade again—

"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!"

A new voice.

Steel met bow. Sparks flew.

Caspian looked up, dazed.

Vera.

He remembered that name.

His friend.

Vera fought with desperation, slamming into the enemy, forcing him back.

"Run, Caspian!"Vera's voice tore through the chaos.

Caspian stumbled backward, blood coating his hands, his vision blurred from the strain. Smoke and darkness curled through the air like creeping claws.

"You always carried us…" Vera's voice cracked through gritted teeth, bow still in hand. "Let me carry you this time."

Caspian didn't want to leave him. Every fiber of his being screamed to stay and fight—but something deeper, something older whispered:

"Survive."

His fingers dug into the jagged stone as he crawled away. His body ached, his memories fragmented, blood dripping from his mouth. Every movement felt like it would be his last—but he forced himself forward. One foot. One breath. One crawl at a time.

Behind him, the sound of metal clashing. Sparks flying.

Then—

A silence.

It wasn't peaceful. It was the kind that comes after something breaks.

A heavy thud followed… and a moment later, Vera's body landed in front of him.

Caspian froze.

Vera lay there, motionless at first—until a twitch.

Blood poured from his mouth, his eyes unfocused, unfixed.

"Hey, Caspian…" he whispered, barely audible. "I don't… want to die…"

His voice trembled— from fear, from heartbreak.

"I wanted to live… with my little sister… grow up with her…"He coughed hard, blood bubbling. "…watch her smile again."

Caspian couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

He reached out.

And then—SHHHHNK—!

A long, serrated sword pierced through Vera's back, bursting out his chest.

The light vanished from his eyes.

But his body… didn't fall.

It convulsed. Jerked. Twitched unnaturally.

Like an undead.

"No… no—stop!" Caspian shouted, struggling to rise.

He wasn't fast enough.

Before the words could even form, the same blade swung again—Right through Caspian's heart.

A sharp gasp.

The world around him muted. His body collapsed to its knees, eyes wide.

The sword retracted… but something was wrong.

"Why isn't his life force draining?" one of the cloaked men muttered, there were two of them.

"He's resisting."The other growled. "Something's protecting him."

Caspian clutched his chest, barely conscious. Blood pooled, but his heart—his cursed, beating heart—refused to stop.

"Doesn't matter," the first man hissed. "We've killed the main target. The others will fall soon."

The other nodded. "Let the monsters deal with others. Throw his corpse into the Bastion's Heart."

Caspian's eyes fluttered shut as he felt his body lifted.

Thrown like waste.

"Let him suffer," the man said. "Let him regret every moment he dared oppose us."

And then—he was falling.

Falling—

Into the darkness that pulsed at the center of the Bastion.

Into the core of something ancient and wrong.

But then—

A crack.

A shift.

From the ground near the heart, a root burst from the stone, glowing faintly green.

It caught him mid-fall.

Wrapped around his torso, gently pulling him away from the vortex.

Cradling him like a wounded seed.

Vynesaa's magic.

Then caspian mind goes blank.