The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?

The desert night howled with madness.

The woman lunged first—her bare body twisting unnaturally, veins glowing with a sickly crimson light as corrupted mana writhed around her like serpents. Luca's sabers flashed upward, twin arcs of silver moonlight, but the impact rattled his bones. Her mana wasn't just power—it was hunger given form.

The sand beneath them rippled as if reality itself bent under her weight. Every strike from her bare hands cracked the air like thunder. She moved like a lover and a butcher both, every graze of her touch leaving his skin burning as if she were branding his soul.

"Fight harder, pretty boy," she purred, her lips glistening with a twisted smile. "I want to hear you break."

Luca's sabers crossed, deflecting another strike. Sparks scattered, tiny stars swallowed by the dark. His breath tore through his lungs, sweat streaking his temple.

Dammit… her mana—it's too thick, too corrupted. Every clash is like cutting through tar.

She leaned closer, her voice sultry, breath ghosting his ear as her claws scraped against his blade.

"Don't run. Don't hide. Let me consume you…"

Luca shoved her back with a snarl, sabers dancing in a furious whirlwind. His body blurred, moonlight flickering across the dune as he struck in rapid succession—slashes like silver comets streaking the night.

But every blow that landed only seemed to make her laugh harder. Blood trickled from shallow cuts along her arms, her shoulders, her thighs—but instead of weakening, she shivered, moaning softly, her eyes alight with fevered madness.

"You're beautiful when you're desperate," she hissed, licking a streak of her own blood from her wrist. "Don't stop."

Across the dune, the ground quaked with a different battle.

Big Bull roared, a guttural bellow that split the night. His massive mace swung like a falling star, colliding with the broad-shouldered Archmage. The impact detonated, sand exploding outward in waves. The man staggered, spitting blood, but laughed, his grin splitting ear to ear.

"Good! GOOD! Stronger than a mountain!"

Before Big Bull could recover, the chained madman slithered in, his iron links screeching as they wrapped around the giant's arm. Big Bull snarled, muscles swelling, veins bursting as he flexed. With a primal roar, he ripped the chains apart, the sound of metal snapping like thunder.

The madman's eyes rolled back, saliva dribbling down his chin as he laughed.

"Break… break more! I like it!"

The Archmage surged forward again, staff slamming into Big Bull's chest. The ground split beneath him, cracks racing outward. Blood sprayed from his lips, but he didn't fall.

Luca's gaze flicked over—his chest tightening.

Big Bull I knew he was strong but… how the hell is he still standing? Those blows would shatter mountains.

But the giant only staggered, then slammed his mace into the ground, sending a shockwave that sent both enemies reeling back a step. His face was a mask of blood and fury, his teeth bared in a beast's grin.

Luca's blade clashed again with the woman's clawed hands, his arms trembling under the force. She leaned closer, her crimson-lit eyes boring into his.

"Why… why aren't you breaking?"

He hissed through gritted teeth, his voice sharp as steel.

"Because I'm not fighting alone."

With a surge, he shoved her back, blood dripping from his forearm where her nails had torn through flesh. His lungs burned, his vision swam, but his voice cut through the chaos.

"BIG BULL!!"

The giant turned his bloodied head, eyes blazing like molten fire.

For one breath, the two of them stood defiant—two broken bodies refusing to bow.

Then they moved.

Big Bull slammed forward, plowing through the two cultists like an avalanche, while Luca's sabers flashed in tandem. Together, they didn't retreat. They charged—straight past their foes.

And then they leapt.

Over the dunes, into the heart of the horde.

A thousand cultists howled, their cries rising like a chorus of beasts. The ground shook beneath the stampede of feet, weapons raised high. Eyes gleamed with hunger, madness, devotion to their twisted gods.

The night was no longer silent. It was alive with war.

And into that storm, Luca and Big Bull descended.

The desert floor drowned in screams.

Steel bit into flesh, bone shattered under blunt force, and the stench of blood coated the night like a suffocating fog.

Luca thought , his sabers refusing to rest, let those mad dogs kill their own, maybe in this chaos we may find a chance to escape.

Luca spun, his twin sabers carving arcs of silver light through the swarm. Heads rolled into the sand, fountains of blood spraying as bodies collapsed in heaps. A cultist lunged from behind, blade raised, but Luca twisted, severing his arm at the elbow before burying his saber in the man's chest.

His face was spattered red, droplets streaking across his jaw, but his eyes burned cold.

Beside him, Big Bull was carnage made flesh. His mace whirled like a comet, every swing turning men into paste. A dozen cultists rushed him at once, knives and spears flashing. His roar split the air as he brought the mace down—bodies burst like overripe fruit, limbs scattering across the sand in grotesque arcs. Blood poured in rivers, pooling around his boots, yet he only stepped forward, crushing skulls beneath his heels.

And then—

BOOM.

The ground erupted as the broad-shouldered Archmage slammed his staff into the sand. A tidal wave of fire surged outward, engulfing dozens—hundreds—of his own cultists. Screams became shrieks as flesh melted, bones blackened, and the air filled with the stench of charred meat.

"HAHAHAHAHA! Burn! Burn, all of you!" the man howled, his grin stretching impossibly wide.

The chained madman followed, his iron links snapping outward like serpents. They coiled around both ally and enemy alike, crushing ribs, splitting spines, dragging bodies across the ground like ragdolls. He licked the blood from the chains, eyes rolling with ecstasy.

"Meat is meat! Bones crunch the same!"

The naked Archmage woman danced between the chaos, her corrupted mana blooming like thorned vines. Every gesture sent jagged crimson spikes erupting from the earth, skewering cultists by the dozens. They writhed and screamed, pinned to the ground like insects, while she moaned with delight.

"More… more, break for me!"

Luca ducked under a spike, his sabers flashing upward. A cultist's torso split clean from his hips, spilling entrails across the sand. He kicked another backward into Big Bull's swing, the man's skull detonating into mist.

But even as they tore through the horde, even as the three monsters slaughtered their own, the cultists only howled louder—madness driving them into the meat grinder willingly.

There were too many.

Blood caked Luca's arms, soaking into his clothes, dripping from his blades like falling stars. His lungs burned, his body screamed, but still he fought—stab, slice, dodge, slash, kick. Over and over until his muscles felt like fire.

Dammit… this won't work.

Another wave pressed in, blades glinting in the dim moonlight. Big Bull roared, his mace sweeping wide, exploding men into gore. But for every cultist crushed, three more climbed over the corpses.

The elites didn't care. Their attacks rained down like divine punishment, annihilating everything—friend and foe alike. Luca and Big Bull barely kept ahead of the devastation, their footing slick with blood, their ears ringing with endless screams.

A chain snapped past Luca's face, slicing the cheek of a cultist beside him. The man's head popped like a melon, spraying Luca's shoulder with gore. He gagged at the iron tang in his mouth, his vision narrowing.

No… this won't do. If this keeps up, we'll drown in their madness.

Luca's sabers whirled again, cleaving through two more, before his voice ripped free, raw and sharp.

"Big Bull!"

The giant's mace crushed another wave, his blood-soaked grin still blazing. He turned his head, veins bulging across his neck.

"RAAAHHH?!"

Luca's eyes locked on his, fierce and unyielding despite the carnage. His chest heaved, blood dripping from his chin.

"Give me some time!"

Big Bull roared as he swung his mace, the weapon a blur of destruction. He smashed through the Archmage's fire, shattered a dozen chains mid-swing, even forced the naked woman to step back with sheer force of will.

But three monsters were too much.

A crimson spike tore through his thigh. Chains coiled around his arm, yanking it back with a sickening crack. A wave of fire smashed into his chest, blasting him across the sand like a ragdoll.

BOOOOM!

He crashed through a mound of corpses, blood spraying in every direction. His mace slipped from his hand as he skidded across the dune, arms mangled, his breath rattling like broken glass.

"SHIT!!"

Luca's eyes widened as he sprinted toward him, sabers trembling in his blood-soaked hands. His chest seized with panic, his throat tightening.

No… no, no, no! Damn it! Is there no way for us to escape?

But before his thoughts could form, the air itself quaked.

Three overwhelming auras exploded outward, crashing down on them like a storm of mountains. The sand caved, blood mist evaporated, and even the corpses seemed to bow under the suffocating weight.

The naked woman tilted her head, her tangled black hair cascading down her bruised shoulders. Her lips curved into a feral smile as her crimson eyes shimmered with madness.

"Looks like this is it."

Her words dripped into the silence like poison.

Luca staggered, his knees threatening to buckle, but he forced himself upright. His sabers quivered in his grip, both blades slick with blood. His own body was a map of wounds—cuts across his arms, gashes along his ribs, blood running freely from his brow and mouth.

And still—his back was straight. His gaze, unyielding.

Defiant.

Around them, the cultists faltered. Their shrieks dimmed, their steps slowed, and for a heartbeat the horde stared. The sight of the blood-drenched youth, still standing against their three gods, froze their frenzy into silence.

"Still trying to struggle huh" the woman said, eyes glinting with mischievousness.

"Hmph, we will send him to the afterlife then." another muttered, trembling.

Even madness gave pause before that kind of defiance.

The broad-shouldered man stepped forward, his staff gripped tight, his scarred chest heaving with laughter. His voice was thunder, cruel and final.

"Then you can die."

The three moved as one.

The woman arched her back, corrupted mana writhing around her body like a thousand crimson serpents. The spikes around her rose higher, glowing with a sickly brilliance.

The chained madman spread his arms wide, iron links rattling in frenzy. The ground cracked as his chains spiraled outward, each one glowing with twisted runes as they lashed in every direction.

The broad-shouldered Archmage thrust his staff into the sky, flames spiraling upward before condensing into a molten sphere, the desert itself trembling under its heat.

Together—they were apocalypse.

The night warped, reality screaming at their combined presence.

Luca's body screamed in agony, his breath ragged, but his eyes narrowed into slits of steel.

Hmph. So be it.

He planted his feet, his sabers raised. Aura surged, burning his veins as he called forth the technique. Moonlight flickered faintly along his blades, silver arcs gleaming against the sea of red and fire.

Moonslayer.

His lips curled, slow and almost serene, a smile blooming even as blood dripped down his chin.

This may be my last attack… but it'll be one they'll never forget.

And then—

"STOP!!!!"

A voice cut through the night, defiant and commanding, shaking the battlefield to its core.