The Extra's Rise

The memory shifted. The neon slums dissolved, replaced by the gray, ash-choked horizon of a battlefield.

I wasn't on the Abyss homeworld anymore. I was standing on Ignis III, a border world the Demon Empire had colonized a century ago.

The landscape was a graveyard of machinery. Burning husks of heavy assault walkers and crushed automated tanks littered the valley. The sky buzzed with dropships, but they were keeping their distance.

Technological warfare had its limits.

In the center of the carnage stood Tenebria. She was older now, her movements sharp and predatory. She wore a suit of high-grade composite armor—scavenged tech—but it was dented and scarred. She held a vibro-blade in one hand, the metal humming with electric current.

But the enemy facing her didn't care about technology.

"Put down the toy, mongrel," a deep voice rumbled.

Stepping out of a hovering transport skiff was a giant. He stood nearly nine feet tall, his skin the color of cooling magma, his horns curled and etched with glowing runes.

Count Moloch. A Noble of the Wrath Faction.

He wasn't carrying a gun. He wasn't wearing powered armor. He wore simple ceremonial robes that burned away at the edges, exposing his rock-like skin.

He looked at the wreckage of a heavy tank next to him—a machine capable of leveling a building with its railgun. With a sneer, Moloch placed his hand on the tank's hull.

His Gift of Wrath flared.

He didn't use a spell. He just pushed. The sheer, supernatural force of his Authority crumpled the high-alloy steel like wet cardboard. The tank imploded with a screech of tearing metal.

"You rely on machines," Moloch scoffed, dusting off his hands. "Steel is for the weak. Only the Gift is absolute."

Tenebria didn't flinch. She deactivated her vibro-blade and tossed it aside. It clattered against the rocks.

"You're right, Count," she said, her voice calm. "Steel breaks."

Moloch laughed. "You surrender? Smart. A Count is not an opponent a scavenged rat can fight."

"I didn't say I surrender," Tenebria said. She raised her fists. "I said I don't need the blade to kill you."

Moloch's eyes narrowed. "Arrogance."

He charged.

He didn't move with the speed of sound, but he moved with the momentum of a freight train. His fist, glowing with the red aura of Wrath, came down in an overhead smash meant to turn her into paste.

It was a blow that would shatter a bunker.

Tenebria didn't dodge.

Her eyes shifted to a dull, heavy Blue.

'Gift of Sloth: Dampen.'

She raised her forearm.

BOOM.

The impact shook the ground, kicking up a cloud of ash. But Tenebria didn't crumple. The kinetic energy of the Count's strike hit her arm and simply... stopped. It dissipated, absorbed by the conceptual apathy of Sloth.

Moloch's eyes widened. "What? That is the Belphegor family's technique!"

Tenebria didn't answer. Her eyes flashed Green.

'Gift of Envy: Flicker.'

She stepped forward. To Moloch, she seemed to glitch. She wanted his position, so she took it. She appeared inside his guard, inches from his chest.

Moloch roared, trying to grab her. "You thief!"

He unleashed a burst of Miasma, an omnidirectional shockwave meant to blow her away.

Tenebria's eyes turned Violet.

'Gift of Pride: Nullify.'

She didn't block. She simply refused to acknowledge the damage. The Authority of Pride wrapped around her like a second skin, hardening her existence. The shockwave washed over her, burning her armor but failing to burn her skin.

She drove her fist into his gut.

Her eyes turned Orange.

'Gift of Gluttony: Metabolic Strike.'

It wasn't just a punch. It was a bite. Upon contact, her knuckles drew power out of him.

Moloch gasped as a chunk of his stamina was ripped away. He stumbled back, clutching his stomach.

"Three..." he wheezed, staring at her with genuine horror. "No. Four? You hold four Gifts? That is impossible. The resonance should liquefy your organs!"

"It gets crowded," Tenebria admitted, shaking her hand to bleed off the excess energy. "But I make it work."

Moloch snarled. His pride as a Count, a ruler of worlds, wouldn't let him lose to an anomaly.

"I am Moloch! I am the Hammer of the Empire!"

He gathered every ounce of Miasma he had. His skin cracked, glowing bright white. He was preparing a powerful Heart technique—a focused explosion of Wrath capable of breaching a starship's hull.

"DIE!"

He punched the air, sending a concentrated lance of force straight at her.

Tenebria didn't use a Gift to block this time. She used the martial arts she had refined over a decade of desperate survival.

She stepped to the side, using the Gift of Envy to accelerate her perception, watching the lance of force pass inches from her face.

As Moloch overextended, drained by the attack, she moved.

She used the Gift of Sloth to silence her footsteps. She used the Gift of Wrath to empower her legs for a single, explosive leap.

She landed on his shoulders.

Moloch reached up to crush her, but he was too slow. He was a powerhouse relying on a single concept. She was a tactician wielding four.

She drove her hand into the soft spot between his collarbone and neck.

"Authority of Gluttony," she whispered. "Consume."

She didn't eat his flesh. She targeted the Gift anchored in his heart.

Moloch screamed. It wasn't a scream of pain; it was the sound of a being losing its definition. The red light in his eyes flickered and drained away, flowing up into Tenebria's arm.

He fell to his knees, then to his face.

Tenebria hopped off the corpse. She stood there, panting, sweat dripping down her face.

The red light swirled in her palm—the Greater Gift of Wrath. It was dense, angry, and far stronger than the minor scraps she had stolen before.

She pressed it to her chest.

She staggered, coughing up a mouthful of black blood. Her body convulsed. Integrating a Count-level Gift was dangerous, even for her.

But then, her eyes snapped open. They burned with a new, terrifying intensity. The red light settled, taking its place alongside the Blue, Green, Violet, and Orange.

She stood up straight. The Miasma on the battlefield seemed to grow heavier around her, acknowledging a new predator.

I watched her, realizing the scale of what she had done. She hadn't destroyed a continent. She hadn't thrown a moon. She had simply walked up to a high-ranking noble—a creature that viewed technology as a toy—and dismantled him with superior supernatural versatility.

She looked at her hand, clenching her fist. The air rippled with the heat of her new Wrath.

"Five," she counted.

She turned her gaze upward, toward the sky. Not at the moons of Ignis III, but past them. Toward the center of the magical world, where the strongest beings in existence lived.

"The Lust Faction is next," she murmured. "And then... the Dragons."

She was done conquering the fringe worlds. She was ready for the capital.