The Extra Who Shouldn’t Exist

Reality itself shivered. The world bent and twisted as the seven incarnations of the Abyssal Sovereigns stepped forth from the darkness, their presence distorting existence like ripples through fragile glass.

Every breath Alex took felt heavy—like inhaling through liquid obsidian. Even the air itself resisted motion within their presence. His system instantly blared warnings.

[ Host, do not attack recklessly. Their combined energy signatures surpass all recorded limits. ]

Alex didn't listen. The black aura around him pulsed violently as he blitzed toward the nearest figure—a tall green-haired man radiating unshakable dominance. His death-forged blade slashed horizontally toward the man's neck—yet before it could connect, Alex's world suddenly tilted.

It was as though gravity, momentum, and balance ceased obeying him. His body locked in place.

Then—

Thud!

A kick slammed into his gut with unmatched force, sending him careening thousands of meters backward. He tore through mountain after mountain, his body carving a molten trench through the ground. The earth quaked beneath the impact, dust and molten stone scattering into the air.

Alex coughed blood, clutching his abdomen before quickly regenerating. His gaze snapped toward his attacker, disbelief flashing in his golden eyes.

'Impossible… he actually touched me.'

The green-haired man stepped forward, rolling his neck until his joints cracked. His expression was calm, almost amused.

"Usually, people die from that one kick," he said with a sharp grin, rows of jagged teeth gleaming. "What are you, kid?"

An infernal voice boomed beside him—a massive figure with burning skin and hair like flowing magma.

"Looks like you've gone soft, Grambell. Couldn't even kill a single mortal? Perhaps it's time I remind you who the strongest truly is."

Grambell growled, his smile darkening. "So Wrath still thinks he can stand above Pride?"

He turned, his aura glowing with supremacy as countless symbols of disdain hung in the air around him. "You're welcome to try, Drathos."

The ground screamed as both their auras erupted, colliding midair with a surge of catastrophic energy. Reality warped, sound and color bleeding into incoherent chaos as those two forces—sin made manifest—clashed purely out of ego.

The remaining five Sovereigns watched, their faces etched with cruel amusement, none feeling the need to interfere.

The four men among them radiated dread and superiority.

Grambell, green-haired and immaculate, radiated power and arrogance incarnate. His brown eyes gleamed like judgment itself, every strand of hair flowing as though reality adjusted itself for him. He was Pride given form: flawless, divine, and terrifying.

Beside him stood Drathos—a infernal titan towering above all, molten veins pulsing beneath his crimson‑black skin. His hair blazed like liquid fire, his breath burning the ozone around him. Every heartbeat from his chest shook the air, filled with volcanic rage. Wrath defined him—a living embodiment of fury that could never cool.

Third stood Valen, greed made flesh. His body was encased in reshaping gold armor adorned with jewels that screamed, cried, and melted into his form. His amber eyes burned with sick desire, and behind him hovered phantom treasures that shimmered, whispering to be owned.

And then there was Gorath.

"Man" was the wrong word. He was a grotesque, shifting colossus—an amalgamation of flesh, mouths, and shadow. Each maw whispered a different hunger, each whisper a world devoured. His core pulsed with black light, and anything that glanced near his aura was consumed whole. Gluttony overflowed from him like a disease.

The three remaining Sovereigns carried a different but no less horrifying beauty.

Lysandra, with emerald hair shifting into slender blades, moved gracefully, every motion whispering deadly envy. Her eyes gleamed like fractured glass, never resting, always measuring what others possessed. Her every thought dripped jealousy.

Marina followed—a woman of surreal perfection, her form ethereal with wings of velvet shadow. Her red‑rose hair flowed like living silk, moving of its own accord. Her pale skin glowed faintly beneath the corrupted light, her gaze hypnotic as she murmured silent temptations. She was Lust incarnate, weaving desire without words.

And lastly, Linnea—the calmest of them all. She appeared almost dreamlike, wrapped in twilight silk, her pale-blue hair drifting like mist. Her dark eyes were half-open, expression unreadable, and her very presence bent the rhythm of existence itself. To look at her too long was to feel your heart slow, time crawl. From her radiated the Sin of Sloth—stillness eternal, peace before death.

Kyle's voice cut through the chaos. His aura writhed in the distance, his tone fierce and commanding.

"Kill him," he ordered. "All of you. Kill that bastard and reduce this world to ash!"

But none of the seven moved.

Their combined auras darkened, focused not on Alex, but on Kyle.

Their gazes burned through him like knives.

Grambell's voice came first, low and dangerous. "And who, exactly, are you to order us?"

Kyle froze, his words dying in his throat.

Inside his mind, Sabrina's frantic voice erupted.

{ Kyle, I warned you! Controlling them is impossible! You're wielding entities that have never obeyed anyone. They're not servants—they're monarchs of chaos! Even the abyss couldn't claim them! }

Kyle's lips twisted into a smirk, rage glittering in his crimson eyes.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Sabrina? Of course, I accounted for that!"

He raised his hand, the seven cores glowing faintly.

"Don't worry—I have everything under control," he whispered.

The ground trembled as Drathos stepped forward, his savage grin flickering like fire.

"Listen up, brat," he said, his voice booming through the realm. "The name's Drathos, bearer of Wrath. And I don't take orders from anyone—especially you. I don't care what you did to summon us; I'll crush you for the insult."

Before Kyle could blink, Drathos's fist moved—an attack so fast it tore open a rift in the atmosphere, punching straight through space itself.

But Kyle didn't flinch. He simply raised a finger and flicked it.

A split second later, Drathos screamed. His molten body arched violently, wracked with unbearable pain. His aura collapsed like a dying sun as he clutched his chest. A glowing symbol appeared where his heart burned—the Sovereign Core, trembling and cracking.

He roared, shaking the world.

"Stop—STOP!"

Kyle flicked his finger again. The pain intensified, his howl rising to madness until his molten skin split under the stress.

Then it stopped.

The silence that followed was suffocating. All seven looked on with dawning horror, realizing exactly what had happened.

Kyle smiled darkly, stepping forward as shadows coiled around him.

"Even if you're beyond gods, your cores aren't," he said softly. "I revived you using my mana—the same mana that fuels your rebirth. If you disobey me, I'll make that mana implode from within your cores."

Their expressions turned venomous, murder restrained by dread. The air pulsed with their collective hatred, but none moved. None dared.

Kyle's grin widened, savoring their silence.

"Now you understand your place," he said. "Do as I command—and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you exist a little longer."

A crack of power rippled through them as their auras exploded violently in silent rebellion—but they still obeyed.

Kyle raised his arm high, his voice booming like thunder.

"Kill that silver-haired bastard and bring this world to its knees before me!"

Linnea, the quiet one, sighed softly, rubbing her tired eyes.

"All this noise," she murmured. "So exhausting. But if our existence hangs on this leash… so be it. Let's get this over with."

Her half-lidded gaze turned toward Kyle briefly as she added in a whisper that froze even him.

"But don't think it will stay this way, boy. You have no idea what you've unleashed or what waits beyond your control."

Kyle didn't answer, though his smirk twitched slightly. Inside, a darker thought brewed.

'Don't worry,' he mused coldly, glancing at the seven. 'After I use you all… I'll erase you myself.'

The seven Abyssal Sovereigns turned as one, their monstrous gazes falling toward the crater where Alex had landed after Grambell's devastating strike.

Before the dust could even settle, the space around them blurred. In mere instants, they surrounded the crater—a circle of absolute power gazing down with interest, cruelty, or endless hunger.

At the crater's center, Alex straightened slowly. His glowing eyes flickered, his aura still humming with death's energy. He wiped blood from the corner of his lip and exhaled sharply.

he muttered. "Useless what the hell happened how was he able to harm me ?"

His tone was calm, but even he couldn't deny the slight tremor of surprise beneath it. Grambell's attack had brushed the boundaries of reality itself.

Within his mind, the system's voice rang out clearly.

[ Analysing the cause... ]

[ Found it. ]

The following message came immediately.

[ Host, all seven wield fragments of the primordial sins. Even a single fragment from one of them could end an entire world. ]

[ The green-haired man, Grambell, embodies the Sin of Pride. His ability generates a self-space that manifests his pride as law. Within that area, his beliefs become absolute reality. ]

[ Simply put—he refuses to acknowledge anyone as equal. The moment you entered his space, reality bent to his conviction that you are beneath him. Thats how he was about to harm you. ]

Alex couldn't belive for a moment what he had just heard.