Extra To Protagonist

The words echoed.

Not in the room—but in his head.

Merlin didn't flinch. Didn't move.

But his pulse had already begun to change.

'She means it.'

She wasn't lying.

She didn't even sound proud of it.

Just… stating a fact.

Like the sky was red. Like the floor was steel. Like she was a wound stitched into the shape of a girl.

Merlin kept his stance loose. Keryx at his side. The tip hovered an inch above the floor.

Subject 0 sat quietly, watching him with those hollow sockets full of silver light.

The throne beneath her pulsed in time with her presence. Not mana—wronger than mana. Something buried and poisoned.

He tried to speak. "If you're not with the thing that sent the scout, then—"

"I'm not with anything," she cut in.

Sharp.

Simple.

A truth that weighed more than it sounded.

He hesitated. "But you knew it was coming."

"I heard it." Her voice softened slightly. "They're never quiet when they're close."

Merlin frowned.

"So there's more?"

She smiled faintly.

"Of course."

She tapped a bloodstained finger against the slab beneath her.

"This place is a scar. It calls things. Hungry things. Curious things. And now it's calling them louder."

"Because of me?"

A shrug.

"Because something changed. You. The portal. The mana. Doesn't matter."

Merlin's jaw clenched.

"You've been here a long time."

Another nod.

He studied her face.

Or tried to.

But there wasn't much to read.

Her features stayed smooth. Not emotionless. Just… distant. Like she'd once known how to feel and forgot.

"And what happens," he said carefully, "when the others come?"

She tilted her head again.

"When they come," she said slowly, "they'll try to eat this place from the inside out. Tear through the walls. Consume the energy. Rebirth through violence."

He waited.

"And you?"

She smiled.

"I'll kill them."

Not defiant.

Not proud.

Just the truth.

Merlin exhaled slowly, fingers tightening just slightly on Keryx's grip.

He didn't ask what would happen after that.

Didn't ask what she'd do once the threats were gone.

Because he already knew.

She was a threat in herself.

A weapon with no leash.

She leaned back slightly, resting her blood-soaked hands behind her. Her hair draped down the edge of the slab.

"You're thinking too loud," she said.

"I'm thinking carefully," he replied.

"Same thing."

Silence settled between them again.

Heavy.

But not hostile.

Not yet.

Then—

"Why haven't you tried to kill me?" he asked.

She smiled again.

"Because, I'm waiting."

That hit harder than it should've.

'Waiting?'

He didn't answer.

Didn't give her the satisfaction.

Then she looked past him.

Toward the wall.

Her smile faded.

"…You brought more."

Merlin blinked. "What?"

Her expression shifted. Just a little.

"They're far. But they're coming."

She looked at him again.

And this time, something cold flickered across her face.

"I hope they were worth waiting for."

Merlin's heart dropped.

He didn't need to ask who.

Because he knew.

Nathan.

Elara.

The others.

They were coming.

He stepped forward instinctively.

"I didn't ask them to follow me—"

She didn't move.

But her tone changed.

"I didn't say you did."

Another pause.

Her smile returned, but it was thin now. Brittle at the edges.

"If they're smart, they'll turn around."

"And if they don't?"

She stood.

Slowly.

All the blood on her cracked like dried paint.

"Then we'll find out what kind of thing I am."

Merlin didn't back away.

He met her eyes.

Or what was left of them.

"You're not killing them."

She stared.

Something deep in the room pulsed. The throne behind her flickered once, the runes dimming.

"You don't get to make that choice."

Merlin's mana surged.

Lightning crackled along Keryx.

"I do now."

She tilted her head again.

Then laughed.

A low, breathless sound.

Not mocking.

Not cruel.

Just amused.

And something else beneath it.

Something that sounded almost—

Excited.

"Then let's see," she whispered.

The lights above them went out.

And the room descended into black.

—

Dark.

Too fast.

Merlin's breath caught.

'She moved.'

He didn't hear it. Didn't feel it. Just knew—by instinct—that the space in front of him was no longer empty.

Keryx snapped up, point-first, lightning whispering along the edge.

But it was too late.

A hand clamped around his throat.

Cold.

Not like ice.

Like stone soaked in formaldehyde.

And then—

Fangs sank into the side of his neck.

Merlin's mind short-circuited.

Pain lanced through him—sharp, then dull, then numb, like his entire nervous system was being rewritten. His body jerked, legs scraping against the metal floor as he was lifted off the ground like a ragdoll.

"Ghh—!"

No sound escaped. Her grip was too tight.

He saw nothing. Just black. But he could feel her breath against his skin—each inhalation deeper than the last. Not like a vampire. Not like a predator. Like something trying to drink his essence and his memory in one go.

'Move—'

He couldn't.

His limbs twitched, but his mana—

It wasn't responding.

No, it was leaking. Spilling from the punctures in his neck like steam under pressure. She was draining it.

'Keryx—'

The blade in his hand trembled. But it was pinned between them, useless.

Then he did the only thing left.

He let go.

Dropped Keryx.

And with his one good hand, summoned everything.

Wind. Water. Lightning. Space.

The convergence wasn't neat. It wasn't stable. But it was violent.

Mana detonated around him in a sudden burst of raw backlash.

She reeled.

Just barely.

Enough.

His body crashed to the floor, gasping—coughing, blood and saliva catching in his throat. The gash on his neck steamed from residual energy. His vision blurred.

He staggered upright, dragging himself to one knee, then two.

She stood on the far side of the room.

Lips wet with his blood.

Expression still—calm.

But her eyes—

No longer hollow.

Now bright.

Alive.

She tilted her head. Licked her fingers absently, as if tasting something rare.

"You're delicious," she said.

Merlin spat blood onto the floor. "Glad I could be a gourmet fucking snack."

His voice was rough. Shaky.

But steady.

Keryx quivered on the floor nearby—buzzing faintly with residual energy. He called to it with a thread of mana, but—

The hilt didn't respond.

'She took too much.'

She stepped forward.

"Why didn't you strike me?" she asked, almost curiously.

Merlin didn't answer.

She kept walking.

"You could've tried to kill me. You had the chance."

Still, he didn't speak.

Because he didn't have to.

She smiled again, just slightly.

"…You really are like the others," she said. "Always trying to save something."

Her next step cracked the tile.

Not because she was heavy.

Because the world strained around her.

Merlin reached for Keryx again—this time not with magic, but with fingers scraped raw on steel.

The moment his hand wrapped around the hilt—

She was there.

Not walking.

Just—

There.

Her bare foot landed silently in front of him, toes brushing the edge of his boot.

She leaned down.

"You're interesting now," she whispered. "Finally."

And this time—

Her smile reached her eyes.

Because they were burning.

Silver fire.

Not mana.

Not magic.

Something else.

Something older.

Merlin pushed off the floor, Keryx flashing upward.

But she caught it.

Two fingers.

Like it was nothing.

And then—

She vanished again.

No movement.

Just absence.

Merlin staggered forward, blade still raised, his breath ragged.

The room was empty.

The blood on the floor was his.

The silence returned.

He stood there.

Alone.

Neck bleeding.

Mana drained.

And still alive.

Barely.

'She didn't kill me.'

'Why?'

His hand trembled.

Not from fear.

From fury.

From helplessness.

He sheathed Keryx.

Slowly.

Then fell to one knee and vomited.

The slab was still glowing in the corner.

Still pulsing with that same, awful rhythm.

He looked at it.

And whispered.

"…What the fuck is this place?"

—

The air in this place felt fake.

Like it was pretending to be breathable.

Nathan exhaled slowly through his nose, but the taste didn't change.

Ash and rust.

Like the world had been bleeding for too long and forgot how to clot.

He adjusted his grip on the dagger in his right hand—light enough to feel familiar, sharp enough to matter.

Elara moved just ahead of him, steps precise and deadly quiet, her spear tilted diagonally across her back.

Her expression hadn't changed since they crossed the last threshold, but he could read the tightness in her shoulders.

'She's worried too.'

The hallway twisted. Warped. Like the stone didn't know how to stay in one shape. Sometimes it bent, sometimes it pulsed. At one point he swore it was breathing.

They didn't speak.

Because something had changed.

It started about two turns back—when the old tech gave way to something colder. When the broken floor stopped creaking and just… stopped.

Like the facility had frozen in its last breath.

The faint trail of mana they'd been tracking had flickered out here—thinned like smoke against the wind. But it had been enough. Barely.

Then—

A flicker.

Elara's hand went up.

Nathan stopped.

He followed her gaze.

Down the corridor. Past the melted doors. Through the cracked metal where the ceiling drooped like wilted skin.

Someone was there.

On the ground.

Lying in the middle of a small pool of blood and broken glass.

Not moving.

Nathan's lungs stopped.

"…Merlin?"

He didn't wait.

He moved before Elara could grab his shoulder.

Boots skidding against the slick floor. He dropped to his knees beside the body—no, not a body—please not a body—

It was him.

Merlin Everhart.

Pale skin drained further by exhaustion, blood matted into his black hair, uniform half-torn and soaked with mana residue.

His rapier—Keryx—lay beside his hand, still crackling faintly with the ghost of wind-static.

Nathan reached out, fingers trembling, and pressed two fingers to the side of Merlin's throat.

A beat.

Then another.