An Extra’s Rise in an Eroge

"Damn it!" one of the warriors growled, blood dripping from his forehead.

Arthur finally moved.

CRACK!

With a sudden burst of speed, he vanished from his spot, reappearing beside the Goreclaw.

"Took you long enough." He smirked, raising his hand. "[Dark Rend]."

A black blade of energy formed at his fingertips—

SLASH!

The Goreclaw's head was cleaved clean off. Its massive body convulsed before crashing to the ground, shaking the earth beneath them.

Silence.

Then—

BOOM!

Arthur moved again, weaving through the battlefield like a phantom. Every time a warrior was about to be overwhelmed, he appeared. A precise strike here, a quick heal there. He wasn't just supporting—he was controlling the flow of battle.

The wolfmen watched in awe.

"What kind of monster is this kid?"

"How the hell is he this strong?"

But Arthur didn't care about their whispers. He was too busy ensuring no one died.

With his system, he had stocked up on an absurd number of healing potions. As soon as someone was injured, he tossed them a vial. "Drink this and get back in the fight!"

One warrior, missing half his arm moments ago, suddenly had his wound closing at an unnatural speed. He looked at Arthur in sheer disbelief. "What... What kind of potion is this?!"

Arthur simply grinned. "A good one."

The battle continued, but with Arthur's intervention, the tides turned. One by one, the monsters fell, their grotesque forms littering the blood-soaked ground. The warriors panted heavily, many injured but none dead.

If not for Arthur… they would have been wiped out.

Morrika, standing amidst the carnage, wiped blood off her face. She stared at Arthur, who stood atop the corpse of the Goreclaw, his expression as calm as ever.

For the first time in a long while, she felt something unfamiliar.

Respect.

Arthur glanced at her, smirking. "That's one hell of a warm-up."

Morrika exhaled, shaking her head. "You're a damn monster, boy."

Arthur simply chuckled. "Takes one to know one."

With that, they pressed forward—deeper into the abyss of the forest, where even greater horrors awaited.

The deeper they ventured, the more the forest twisted into something unrecognizable. The once-thriving greenery turned into a grotesque wasteland. The towering trees had lost their lush foliage, their bark cracked and oozing a thick, tar-like substance. Their roots writhed like serpents, coiling and snapping at anything that came too close. Some of them even bore distorted faces, their hollow eyes leaking streams of black ichor as if weeping for salvation.

The air was thick—oppressive. Every breath felt heavy, tainted with an unseen miasma that clung to their skin like an unshakable chill. Even the ground beneath them was wrong, pulsating slightly as if it were alive, veins of black energy slithering beneath the surface.

And then, they saw it.

A tear in space itself, jagged and shifting, pulsating like a wounded beast. It hovered in the air just beyond a clearing, dark tendrils of energy leaking from its edges, spreading their corruption into the world. The land around it had already succumbed—twisted trees loomed like skeletal remains, and creatures near the crack were barely recognizable as beasts anymore. Their flesh was rotting, limbs grotesquely elongated, their once-intelligent eyes replaced with soulless, glowing pits of void energy.

A wolf warrior stepped too close—

SNAP!

A corrupted tree lunged, its elongated branch piercing through the warrior's shoulder. He snarled in pain, trying to tear himself free, but the branch pulsed, dark veins slithering from the bark, attempting to consume him.

SLASH!

Arthur moved in an instant, his blade slicing through the branch in a single, precise stroke. The tree let out an unnatural screech, recoiling as if wounded.

Arthur turned to the warriors. "Stay on guard. The land itself is against us now."

Morrika stepped forward, her crimson eyes narrowing as she gazed at the tear in space. The energy rolling off it was suffocating, pressing down on them with an almost sentient malice.

"Is this it?" she asked, her voice lower than usual.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah. This is the entrance."

Morrika clenched her fists. "It feels… ominous."

Arthur smirked slightly. "That's because it is." He then turned to the warriors behind him. His expression became serious. "Listen up. From this point forward, there's no turning back. If any of you have doubts, if any of you feel like backing out—this is your last chance."

Silence.

The wolf warriors looked at each other, their faces firm with determination.

A younger warrior stepped forward, placing his fist against his chest. "We are the descendants of Fenrir! We do not retreat!"

A chorus of agreement followed.

Morrika smirked, pride shining in her eyes. "Good. Then let's move."

Arthur exhaled, turning his gaze back to the corrupted entrance. The swirling, chaotic energy pulsated violently, almost as if it were alive… waiting for them.

"Alright then," he muttered, stepping forward. "Let's see what kind of nightmare awaits us inside."

As they stepped through the crack in space, the world shifted.

A gut-wrenching pull twisted their very existence for a moment before reality stabilized. But what lay before them was not the world they had left behind.

The sky was a deep crimson, swirling with black veins of energy, as if the heavens themselves were infected. Two massive blood-red moons loomed ominously above, casting an eerie glow over the nightmarish landscape. The air was thick with the stench of decay and rot, and a distant, unnatural wailing echoed through the endless wasteland.

The ground beneath them was not soil. It was flesh—a dark, pulsating mass riddled with grotesque veins and open wounds that oozed blackened ichor. Every step they took made the flesh twitch, sending waves of movement across the land like a living entity.

Twisted mountains of bone jutted from the landscape, their jagged edges forming grotesque silhouettes against the moons. Rivers of dark sludge, bubbling with unholy energy, cut through the land, their surfaces writhing with screaming faces—the lost souls forever damned to this forsaken place.

Morrika and her warriors had no time to process the horror before—

"INCOMING!"

The ground exploded as massive figures emerged from the rotting earth.

They were mutated giants, their flesh split open in grotesque ways, exposing bone, sinew, and pulsating tumors filled with black pus. Some had extra limbs sprouting from their backs, their twisted, elongated fingers ending in jagged, rusted claws. Others had multiple faces, each one frozen in an expression of eternal agony, their mouths moving as if screaming—but no sound came out.

And then, they charged.

"SCATTER AND ENGAGE!" Morrika roared.

The wolf warriors split into groups, their primal instincts kicking in as they leaped at the abominations with feral aggression.

One giant swung its bloated arm, crushing two warriors instantly, their bodies popping like overripe fruit, their entrails splattering across the corrupted ground.

Arthur moved like a shadow, avoiding a downward smash that shattered the earth where he had stood. He twisted mid-air, his blade slicing through tendons, severing one of the monster's grotesque arms in a spray of black gore.

The creature screamed, but it was no human sound—it was a warped, multi-layered wail, as if thousands of voices howled in agony at once.

Nearby, a wolf warrior was caught mid-leap—

CHOMP!

A giant bit down, its jagged, rotting teeth piercing through the warrior's midsection. The poor man screamed, but his cries were quickly drowned out as the monster ripped him in half, his lower body falling lifelessly to the ground while the upper half was consumed in a single gulp.

"BASTARD!" Morrika howled, lunging at the beast. Her claws extended, glowing with fiery energy as she ripped open its chest cavity, sending dark, writhing intestines spilling onto the ground.

But there was no time to breathe—

More horrors were coming.

From the twisted forests of flesh and bone, chimeric monstrosities slithered out—unnatural fusions of different beasts.

A lion-headed serpent, its mane made of writhing, snapping human hands, lunged at them, its distorted human mouths along its body moaning and whispering in unholy tongues.

A stag with the body of a centipede, each of its hundred legs tipped with bloodstained claws, skittered forward, its antlers dripping with acidic saliva that hissed as it melted the ground.

A humanoid figure with six arms, its skin stretched too thin over a skeletal frame, screeched, its dislocated jaw unhinging as a mass of writhing tentacles burst forth from its mouth.

The battlefield became a slaughterhouse.

Arthur flashed through enemies, his sword splitting heads and torsos apart with every movement. Blood—both red and black—sprayed across his face, but he didn't stop.

A warrior next to him was impaled by the centipede-stag's legs, his lungs pierced, blood gurgling from his mouth as he tried to scream.

Morrika fought like a berserker, her claws tearing through flesh, her crimson fur drenched in gore, but even she couldn't save everyone.

A group of warriors were surrounded, their screams lost as they were devoured alive, the sound of their bones crunching beneath monstrous jaws echoing through the corrupted wasteland.

Arthur's healing potions kept many from dying immediately, but it wasn't enough. Some were beyond saving.

The battle raged on, limbs torn from bodies, guts spilling onto the ground, until—

Silence.

The last of the monsters fell, its twisted form twitching before it finally went still.

Arthur stood amidst the carnage, his chest rising and falling, his blade dripping with tainted blood.

Morrika wiped her mouth, her body covered in wounds, but her eyes still burned with determination.

Only half of their force remained.