The Extra's Transcension-Chapter 63 - 57: The Chivalry Attack (1)

The world quaked, its very foundation groaning beneath the weight of an impending catastrophe.

A deep, reverberating hum filled the air, as if the planet itself was keening in agony.

Cracks wove through the firmament, jagged and malevolent, each fracture pulsating with an eerie, otherworldly radiance.

The sky, once an unbroken canvas of celestial vastness, had become a shattered mosaic of swirling energy, its fissures bleeding incandescent light that bathed the land below in an unsettling glow.

Shadows, long and distorted, danced unnaturally across the trembling earth, twisting and contorting as if possessed by an unseen will.

Lyrium stood motionless amid the chaos, his figure an unwavering sentinel against the storm of arcane turbulence.

His gaze remained fixed upon the ruptured heavens, their ceaseless unraveling reflected in his piercing eyes.

The very fabric of reality trembled, the distortion within the mana field surging in volatile currents.

Arcane waves pulsed outward in rhythmic undulations, each one lashing against his core with a dull, relentless ache.

It was an insidious pressure, neither sharp nor immediate, but a slow, creeping agony that gnawed at his essence, as though the world itself was unraveling from within.

The air grew thick with mana—raw, untamed, and chaotically unbound.

It slithered through the atmosphere like unseen serpents, writhing and coiling in discordant patterns.

Every breath Lyrium took was laced with an unnatural weight, his lungs filled with the cloying essence of impending doom.

The very laws that governed existence teetered on the brink of collapse, the boundaries between order and entropy blurring into a maddening cacophony.

Yet, amidst the turmoil, Lyrium did not flinch. He merely watched, unyielding, as the heavens fractured further, as the unseen forces waged war upon the world itself.

The end was not merely approaching—it had already begun.

Then, as if reality itself had drawn a ragged breath and exhaled with a shudder, the fractures in the sky widened.

The ominous glow emanating from within intensified, swallowing the heavens in its boundless radiance.

The air vibrated with an unseen resonance, a soundless hymn of creation and destruction interwoven into a single, incomprehensible melody.

From the abyssal depths of the rifts, something began to take shape.

It did not step forth, nor did it descend—it simply became, seeping into existence like ink bleeding through parchment.

A presence.

A force.

Neither bound by the constraints of time nor shackled by the feeble laws of mortal comprehension.

The very concept of being warped around it, struggling to define what should not be, what could not be.

A silhouette coalesced amidst the ethereal storm, its form ever-shifting, slipping between existence and nonexistence with each fleeting moment.

One instant, it was nothing more than an abstract wisp, a shadow cast by a light unseen.

The next, it stood as something nearly tangible, a vague, insidious shape that defied all reason.

Foreign, yet familiar.

Distant, yet impossibly near.

It was both presence and absence—an entity straddling the precipice between reality and the void beyond.

The very air recoiled at its emergence, shuddering as though burdened by a weight too great to bear.

The mana field convulsed in protest, the fabric of the world itself writhing against the intrusion of something so utterly wrong.

And yet, despite the dread coiling at the edges of comprehension, despite the sheer impossibility of its being—Lyrium could not tear his gaze away.

A being that should not be.

Lyrium's fingers twitched, his instincts screaming at him to move, to act—yet he remained still.

Not out of fear, but because deep down, he knew the truth.

This moment... was inevitable.

"This isn't right,"

He murmured.

"The timeline is—"

A deafening boom shattered his thoughts as the academy trembled violently beneath his feet.

Mana surged chaotically, forming a vortex of unstable energy at the heart of the courtyard.

The once-pristine architecture buckled under the unseen force, cracks spiderwebbing across the marble ground.

Then, a whisper.

A voice—not spoken, but felt.

A soundless, formless thing that crawled into his mind like a parasite.

"You are not yet ready."

Lyrium's breath hitched.

The entity within the fractures... it was aware of him.

It was speaking to him.

His vision blurred for a fraction of a second.

In that brief lapse, images flashed through his mind—visions of countless possibilities, timelines unraveling, fates entwining and severing in an endless loop.

And at the center of it all—

Himself.

—But different.

A version of himself bathed in shadows, eyes hollow with understanding far beyond human comprehension.

A reflection of what could be, or perhaps what should have been.

A warning.

Or a promise.

Lyrium's hands clenched into fists.

"No,"

He muttered.

"I refuse."

The very air trembled at his defiance, and for a moment, the distortions seemed to hesitate—before a low, resonant laugh echoed through the void.

Mocking.

Inevitable.

Then, the sky collapsed.

A wave of otherworldly force slammed into him, consuming his vision in an abyss of darkness.

*****

Silas gritted his teeth, his entire frame tensed against the relentless tremors that rippled through the fractured terrain beneath him.

The very ground seemed to writhe, unstable and treacherous, shifting as though reality itself was on the verge of collapse.

His boots scraped against the uneven surface, struggling to find purchase as a fresh quake sent jagged fissures spiraling outward.

His body, still reeling from the abrupt transition, refused to cooperate.

The sudden shift from the structured confines of the virtual battlefield to this warped, broken reality had thrown his senses into disarray.

His equilibrium wavered, the dissonance between mind and body manifesting as a dizzying vertigo that gnawed at his focus.

The change had not been seamless—far from it.

It had torn through him like a frayed thread unraveling, disrupting the intricate pathways of his mana circuits.

Pain lanced through his core as his mana surged erratically, pulsing with uncontrolled intensity.

His circuits, finely attuned to the artificial precision of the simulated world, rebelled against the raw, chaotic energy saturating the air.

Each breath he took felt laden with resistance, the very atmosphere thick with volatile mana that crackled and twisted, refusing to settle.

His veins burned with the strain, a relentless ache spreading through his limbs as his internal flow struggled to synchronize with the unstable domain.

Yet Silas refused to yield.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself upright against the violent upheaval.

His vision swam, yet his resolve remained unshaken.

Whatever this place was—whatever nightmarish force had dragged him here—it would not break him.

Not now.

Not ever.

Ren and Lily weren't faring much better.

Ren staggered backward, his footing unstable as the ground beneath him twisted unpredictably.

A scowl marred his face as he fought against the disorienting pull of the warped reality, his instincts screaming at him that something was terribly wrong.

His breathing was uneven, his body still adjusting to the sudden and violent displacement.

His usual composure wavered beneath the weight of the unseen forces pressing against them.

Lily, meanwhile, had one hand braced against her temple, her other gripping her wristband in a desperate attempt to stabilize her readings.

Her normally sharp gaze flickered with uncertainty as she scanned their surroundings, but the device crackled with static interference, its display flooded with incomprehensible data.

A deep shudder passed through her as she felt the chaotic ebb and flow of mana in the air, an unnatural current that defied every fundamental law she understood.

"The mana flow… it's completely unstable,"

She gasped, her voice strained from the sheer effort of maintaining her balance.

A cold sweat beaded at her forehead as she processed the unthinkable.

"This isn't just a simulation collapse."

Her breath hitched, realization dawning like a slow-moving horror.

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She clenched her wristband tighter, the flickering screen confirming her worst fear.

"We're physically here. Somehow, our bodies were transported—"

Her words cut off as another violent tremor ripped through the space around them, the very air distorting in translucent waves.

The world was shifting, unraveling, and they were trapped within it.

The sky was splitting open once more, its fractures deepening with a dreadful finality.

The jagged rifts pulsed, each widening crack exhaling waves of unearthly radiance that painted the sundered heavens in hues beyond mortal comprehension.

A low, resonant hum filled the air, neither sound nor silence, but something vast and all-encompassing—a presence felt within the very bones of existence.

And from within the chasm of light and shadow, something began to descend.

At first, it was formless—a distortion against the fabric of reality, a void where light dared not settle.

Yet as it drew closer, it began to coalesce, its silhouette shifting between tangibility and abstraction.

A form—an entity—cloaked in undulating darkness, its edges shimmering with the prismatic glow of cosmic luminescence.

It was neither wholly matter nor pure energy, but something between, something beyond.

Its very presence warped the air around it, the mana field bending and twisting in silent submission.

It was as if the unknown itself had been given form.

The shadows that clung to its being writhed like living tendrils, swallowing the surrounding light only to radiate something even more foreign in return.

Its shape was never constant, shifting and evolving with every passing heartbeat—one moment humanoid, the next something far less comprehensible.

It did not walk, nor did it drift; rather, it simply was, existing where it willed, bound by laws unlike those of the world it had intruded upon.

A pressure settled over the land, heavy and absolute, as though the very concept of gravity had been rewritten in its presence.

The air grew thick, dense with an energy that sent shivers through the marrow of all who bore witness.

It was not simply a being—it was an inevitability.

And it had arrived.

Ren's clench his fist, his knuckles paling as he forced himself to steady his stance.

His instincts screamed at him, every fiber of his being urging him to run, to look away, to deny the existence of the thing descending from the rift.

But he couldn't.

None of them could.

His pulse hammered in his ears, his fist feeling far too small—too insignificant—against the weight of the presence before them.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he kept his gaze locked on the shifting form.

"Silas,"

He said, his voice low and measured, but carrying an unmistakable edge of unease.

"I don't think we're supposed to see that thing."

Silas exhaled sharply, forcing down the gnawing discomfort twisting in his gut.

The air felt wrong—too thick, as if the world itself was resisting their presence.

The pressure on his mana circuits was suffocating, like an unseen force pressing down on every nerve, testing their limits.

"Yeah,"

He muttered, his tone somewhere between dry amusement and grim resignation.

"No shit."

Then, without warning—

It moved.

The entity shot forward like a spear of living darkness, a blur of shifting void and cosmic brilliance.

The air shattered in its wake, space itself bending unnaturally as if recoiling from its passage.

It was not merely fast—it was beyond perception, beyond logic, a thing that should not be able to move, yet did so with effortless inevitability.

A crushing force slammed into reality, an invisible shockwave rippling outward as the world buckled under its advance.

The ground beneath them screamed, cracks spiderwebbing outward as if the very land was trying to escape its presence.

Time seemed to stretch and contract in its wake, moments bleeding together in a disorienting cascade.

And for the first time in a long while—perhaps longer than he cared to admit—Silas felt something close to fear.

It wasn't the ordinary, fleeting fear of battle—the kind that sharpened his instincts and honed his reflexes.

No, this was something deeper, something primal.

A suffocating dread that clawed at the edges of his rationality, whispering of things that lurked beyond understanding.

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched against his weapon.

And then—

It was upon them.

*****

Azrael watched with quiet interest, his gaze laced with something dangerously close to amusement.

From his vantage point beyond the veil of mortal comprehension, he observed as the threads of fate twisted and tangled, shifting far sooner than even he had anticipated.

The tapestry of destiny unraveled in real time, yet he made no effort to interfere.

After all, this was merely the prelude.

A ripple in the grand design.

A fleeting whisper of the storm yet to come.

His lips curled into a smirk, eyes alight with an unfathomable knowing.

"Now then,"

He murmured, his voice barely a breath against the deafening chaos.

His gaze flickered over the unfolding calamity, not with concern, but with intrigue—as if watching a performance reach its first true crescendo.

"Let's see who survives the first act."

And with that, the fractures deepened.

Reality groaned.

The world trembled.

And the descent into madness began.

*****