The Extra Who Stole the Hero's System

The False Crimson, an A-tier artifact, lay shattered on the ground, its power extinguished. Lord Sapphire stood frozen, the broken hilt clutched in his hand, his face a mask of utter despair. Herald, impassive and utterly dominant, had just completely shattered him.

Then, something in Lord Sapphire snapped. His eyes, previously wide with horror, glazed over, replaced by a wild, unfocused madness. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and a thin line of foam appeared at the corner of his mouth. He dropped the broken hilt, his gaze darting wildly across the carnage of his fallen guards. His hand, trembling, reached down and snatched a discarded sword from the ground – a common guard’s blade, dull and insignificant compared to the power he had just wielded.

With a guttural roar, more animalistic than human, he lunged at Herald. There was no technique, no strategy, no semblance of his earlier martial prowess. He simply swung the sword, wildly, desperately, putting no weight into the blows, his body filled with a raw, impotent rage.

Herald watched him, his blue-glowing eye fixed on the pathetic display. A flicker of something akin to sadness, a profound weariness, crossed his face. He didn’t bother to draw his own sword. He simply dodged, his movements fluid and effortless, a dark blur weaving around Lord Sapphire’s desperate, flailing attacks.

"Where is the Face of Asmodeus hiding?" Herald’s voice was low, calm, almost conversational, as he effortlessly sidestepped a wild horizontal swing. "Where is ’The One’ currently hiding? Are there other members in this manor, besides yourself?" He continued to ask, his questions precise, his tone devoid of malice, yet utterly relentless, as if he were trying to extract information from a dying man.

I watched from my distance spot, my breath caught in my throat, my heart aching with a strange, profound sadness. This was it. The man who had sent an assassin after me, the man who had ordered my death, the man who was a cult member– he was utterly broken. Reduced to a foaming, desperate animal. And for the first time, I felt a genuine, heartfelt worry for him. Not for Lord Sapphire, the villain, but for the father.

My mind flashed to Evelina, lying comatose in the medical wing, her dreams shattered. To Luminous, the ever cheerful boy, who clung to his mother in terror at the sight of Evelina cry. Their world. Their father. If he died now, if he was utterly annihilated, what would become of them? Their lives, already touched by tragedy, would be utterly destroyed. They would lose everything. Their protector, however flawed, however dark, would be gone. And they would be left alone, vulnerable, in a world I barely understood.

The sadness swelled within me, a heavy, suffocating weight. At that spot, I didn’t just think about just my survival anymore. It was now about them. About Evelina’s fragile hope, about Luminous’s innocent joy. Had I grown so attached to them? Had they, these fictional characters, truly become a part of my life? Why was I crossing the line, risking my own precarious existence, for other people’s lives? It was illogical. It was dangerous. But the ache in my chest, the profound empathy, was undeniable.

I closed my eyes, clenching my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I had to try, I had to intervene.

"Herald!" I called out, my voice raw, breaking through the chaotic sound of Lord Sapphire’s wild swings. "Stop! Spare him!"