The Game's Extra: Azhriel Odyssey

David's eyes stayed sharp as he watched Alaric vanish with the instructors.

The grin that curled across his lips was slow, deliberate—predatory.

Finally, the moment they had been waiting for was close.

Crash!

The sudden shatter of glass beside him snapped his attention away. Luke stood there, trembling, eyes bloodshot and wild, his breath coming out in harsh pants.

His hand, stained with spilled drink, shook violently as the twisted demonic energy inside him almost began to leak out, and every muscle in his face strained to hold back the frenzy threatening to consume him.

The waiter in front of them looked pale, bowing deeply.

"I-I'm so sorry!" the man said, voice hurried and genuine. "I wasn't watching where I was going. Please forgive me!"

"You sh—" Luke began, rage burning in his voice.

"It's okay," David cut in quickly, stepping in front of him and placing a firm hand against Luke's chest. He couldn't let Luke lose control yet—not here, not now.

"I'm very sorry, sir," the waiter continued quickly, "because of me your suit has been ruined. I'll speak to the event manager and have it replaced right away."

"There's no need for that—" David started. However the waiter was already gone.

Quickly another voice rang out.

A boy with clean white hair approached, carrying himself with an almost too-polite composure. His tone was smooth, every word chosen carefully.

"On behalf of my coworker, I sincerely apologize, sir. Please allow us to give you a change of clothes." The boy said.

David's eyes narrowed. Something about this didn't feel right.

"It's alright," he replied shortly.

"Please, sir," the boy insisted, bowing slightly. "It would look terrible for us if we didn't at least make up for our mistake. Everyone here is watching…"

A few heads had indeed turned toward the commotion, whispers passing through the crowd.

"Haa… fine," David exhaled, clearly irritated. "But do it quickly."

He stepped closer to Luke, his voice dropping low, a whisper meant for his partner alone.

"When you come back," he said, eyes cold, "as soon as we get the signal—start killing. Understood?"

Luke's lips curled into something twisted as he nodded.

"This way, sir," the boy said, leading him through the crowd and out of the main hall.

David stood alone now, silent, waiting.

And beneath that calm exterior, the storm inside him began to stir.

*****

Away from the noise and brilliance of the hall, the long corridor grew quieter with every step.

Azhriel, acting as the white‑haired attendent, led Luke deeper into the building. His steps were unhurried, measured, yet every turn he took was deliberate.

He made sure they were moving further and further away from the crowded hall, to a part of the academy that he had prepared in advance.

Luke followed, impatient and irritated, but strangely silent.

Finally, Azhriel stopped in front of a plain wooden door at the end of the corridor. No lights, no guards, no sounds. It looked like just another storage room, forgotten and unused.

"This is the place," Azhriel said, opening the door.

The room inside was dimly lit, with nothing but a single chair and a table at the center.

Luke stepped in, frowning. "Tch. You people really don't know how to treat guests, huh?"

Azhriel closed the door behind him with a soft click. Then, without looking up, he spoke.

"Sit."

Luke scowled. "What?"

"I said, sit." Azhriel's voice was calm, but there was a coldness to it that made Luke hesitate for a fraction of a second.

With an annoyed grunt, Luke threw himself onto the chair. "Hurry up. I need to return before—"

He froze.

Because the moment he blinked, the harmless, polite attendant standing before him was gone.

What stood there now was Azhriel.

His hair, white and loosely tied, caught the faint glow of the room. His cold azure eyes, sharp like blades, fixed on Luke like a predator watching its prey.

Luke's breath stuck in his throat at that icy stare.

"You—"

"I've been waiting for you," Azhriel said softly, cutting him off.

Before Luke could react, a crushing wave of killing intent filled the room. The air turned heavy, suffocating, pressing down on him from all sides.

He tried to stand, but Azhriel was faster. In the blink of an eye, his hand slammed against Luke's chest, forcing him back into the chair.

It wasn't strength that pinned him—it was as if his body had suddenly gone weak, sluggish, unable to fight back.

"You don't get to move," Azhriel said in a quiet, merciless tone.

Every instinct Luke had screamed danger.

"W-What do you want?" Luke stammered, trying to push back, but his demonic energy was already starting to leak out.

Snap.

Azhriel pulled something out of his space ring.

"Y-you, h-how do you have that?" Luke's eyes went wide. He checked his pocket—it was gone. His body felt weaker with every second.

"That's not important," Azhriel said coldly.

Mana flowed from his hand into the object, and a barrier bloomed out, locking the room in silence. No sound, no energy could escape.

This was why no one outside ever knew what happened during the first event.

Azhriel's grip tightened. A faint blue glow spread from his palm, pressing down, crushing the demonic energy before it could even rise.

"What do I want?" Azhriel's voice was calm, but the temperature in the room dropped sharply.

Frost began to spread from his hand, thin veins of ice crawling over Luke's chest and shoulders, locking him in place.

Luke tried to move, but his body refused to listen. His breath grew shallow as he felt his strength slipping away, every attempt to summon demonic energy crushed by that cold blue glow.

"You feel that, right?" Azhriel said quietly. "It's a poison. Now, every second you stay silent, the cold will dig deeper. Until you can't move… can't breathe."

Luke's eyes widened. "What—what do you want?" He asked again.

Azhriel leaned closer, his eyes like sharp blades.

"I want you to tell me everything you know about the Dark Spades," he said slowly.

"And where they are hiding."

Luke froze. For a moment, shock flashed in his eyes before anger took over.

"I'll never—"

The ice tightened around his ribs, forcing the air out of his lungs. The demonic energy inside him flared up in panic, but it was like trying to fight against a mountain; it was crushed before it could even form.

"You think this is a choice?" Azhriel's voice stayed calm, but his tone cut deep.

"I don't care about your little plan for tonight. That's just a show.

I know all of it, bitch. All of this—" his eyes flicked toward the hall outside,

"is only bait to catch bigger fish."

Luke clenched his jaw, trying to resist, but the creeping frost was merciless. It spread to his arms and legs, making them heavy and numb.

"Tell me," Azhriel whispered, leaning even closer. "How much do you know about them?"

Luke's lips trembled as pain began to sink in.

"Speak," Azhriel said one last time, his voice soft but unrelenting, "or by the time I'm done, there won't be anything left of you to even regret it."

The room was silent, sealed away from the rest of the ball, as the interrogation began.

*****

Out in the banquet hall, chaos erupted.

It began with a low, sickening hum, like the air itself was trembling. Then, without warning, a surge of demonic energy burst out from David's body, spilling into the room like black smoke.

The elegant glow of the chandeliers turned dim and sickly. The fine marble floor cracked as if it was rotting, and the beautiful decorations started to twist and corrode.

"W-What is that?!"

"Run!"

Screams filled the hall as the students scattered, their formal shoes skidding against the slick floor. The sweet sound of music was replaced by the pounding of terrified footsteps and panicked shouts.

David stood in the middle of it all, his suit ripped apart as the dark energy coiled around him like living chains. His calm expression from before was gone—what replaced it was a wild, frenzied grin.

"This is it!" he shouted, his voice a harsh cackle that echoed in the hall. "This is the power that will tear this rotten place apart!"

A black blade formed in his hands, dripping with demonic energy. He swung it down toward the nearest cadet frozen in fear, his laughter ringing loud.

But before the strike could land—

Clang!

A silver spear slammed down from the side, stopping the blade an inch before the cadet's face.

At the same time, a dagger cut across from the other side, deflecting the dark energy with a burst of sparks.

David's grin froze.

Through the fading light, two figures stood before him. One held a long spear glowing with a pale golden light, the other a dagger that flickered like a streak of darkness.

"How the heck, do you scum enter the academy." Raymond voice was cold and filled with anger.

The demonic blade trembled against the weapons blocking it, the hall now divided between chaos and the calm, unyielding stance of those two figures.