The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice

[POV: Caspian]

Caspian could hardly hear anything over the clash of swords, and the echoing countdown of doom: two capsules gone

One remained.

He exhaled, steadying himself. Across from him stood Darian—The heir of the dragonblood line.

Two capsules broken, just like Caspian.

This fight would be the decider.

'He's insane,' Caspian thought, sidestepping a crushing tail sweep of Darian's mana-forged blade. 'No form, no restraint. Just violent instinct wrapped in divine blood.'

CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK

Sparks lit the air as their weapons clashed again, and again, the rhythm quickening.

Each strike was a conversation of desperation.

Each dodge, a prayer.

Every second stretched.

Then—a blur of silver and air magic crashed between them.

Steel intercepted steel.

Caspian stumbled back, breath catching.

"What the—?"

A second figure now stood between them, sword poised with calculated elegance.

Oliver.

Darian snarled, his dragon-glow flaring along his arms.

"Don't come into my fight." Darian said.

Oliver didn't flinch. "Who are you to order me?"

Caspian blinked, struggling to process.

Why now? Why him?

He turned, eyes scanning for familiar figures.

Lyrius? Vera?

Gone.

"What...?" he whispered aloud.

Oliver turned, a smirk twisting on his lips. "Your teammates? I eliminated them."

Caspian's gut twisted.

That wasn't right.

That wasn't how things were supposed to happen.

In the version he read, Oliver never once managed to surpass Lyrius—not at the entrance exam, not in the training hall, not ever.

That defeat had burned into Oliver's psyche, twisting him into a man obsessed with supremacy. It was his reason. His fuel.

But now Lyrius was gone. Defeated. The flame that created Oliver in the novel…

Didn't even exist here.

...

[POV: Darian]

He could feel it again.

The familiar, suffocating weight.

Interference.

His knuckles ached around the hilt of his weapon. His breath came out in hot, bitter clouds.

"Move." His voice was a rumble. "Now."

Oliver didn't even acknowledge him.

Of course.

The weight pressed harder.

Every fight. Every moment meant to be his own—always stolen.

---

A courtyard in the Dragon Clan.

Two brothers stood at the podium.

After Darian Match—

"CEDRIC..... CEDRIC...CEDRIC..."

"they're too loud," his older brother said.

'It was his match his win so why are they shouting his brother name,' Darian thought.

"Big brother, why are they shouting your name when this was supposed to be mine?" he exclaimed, confusion etched on his face.

His brother, however, remained silent, his expression unreadable as he walked past him.

"Because you are weak compared to me," His brother replied.

---

Those words buried deep in his ribs.

Even now, in this fight—his moment—Oliver had stolen the stage again.

The air around Darian warped with heat and mana.

"You're always in the way," Darian hissed.

He raised his sword.

His pupils slit into golden dragon-irises. "Fuck you, Oliver."

....

[POV: Caspian]

Caspian's instincts screamed.

He spun toward the chaos, just as Darian lunged—not at him, but straight at Oliver.

Their teammate.

His own teammate.

He's serious.

Darian's blade burned with crimson aura as it tore toward Oliver's final capsule.

"Caspian!" Darian roared. "Eliminate him first, then we'll finish this!"

He's using me, Caspian realized.

He's making a battlefield of his own team—just to clear the stage for his glory.

But he moved.

He didn't know why.

Maybe because he saw the opportunity.

Maybe because Oliver's presence was chaos incarnate.

He moved in sync with Darian.

Two enemies.

One shared target.

Oliver's blade clashed against Darian's—his stance perfect, even in shock. "What the hell—?!"

But he couldn't guard both.

Caspian slipped low, sweeping his blade around, precise and brutal.

Crack.

A sharp hiss echoed in the air.

[Oliver — Eliminated.]

Caspian stood, chest heaving. Darian lowered his weapon.

Oliver staggered back, his face unreadable. Pride fractured.

Eyes blazing not with anger, but disbelief.

But he didn't scream.

He didn't throw a tantrum.

....

[POV: Darian]

The battlefield was his again.

The noise was gone. The distractions burned away.

He turned to Caspian, something savage and almost gleeful burning in his eyes.

"Now," he said, stepping forward. "Let's see who really belongs at the top."

No team. No allies. Just two monsters in a cage.

Caspian raised his weapon, exhaling slowly.

One capsule each.

One fight left.

Then Darian moves—

Blur.....

The ground crumbled beneath his feet.

Then darian reappear infront of caspian —his eyes glowed like molten gold.

Then he swing his sword.

CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK

Each swing from Darian was like a hammer.

Caspian stumbled back, parrying one strike—only to get knocked off his feet by the second.

His back hit the ground hard.

Dust rose.

His vision blurred.

He's faster. He's stronger.

And that sword—it wasn't a weapon. It was an extension of Darian's wrath.

Shit…

"Get up," he muttered to himself. "Get up, you idiot."

He rolled away just as Darian's blade slammed into the spot where his neck had been, shattering stone like glass.

Caspian rose to one knee, panting.

Darian stood, coat fluttering in the wind, blade resting against his shoulder, golden scales flickering faintly on his cheekbones.

"You've already lost," Darian said. "You just haven't accepted it."

Caspian stared at him.

Then lowered his gaze to his trembling hand.

His knuckles were pale. His legs were sore.

He had no power boost. No bloodline surge. No convenient awakening.

But—

A crooked smile crept onto his lips.

He shifted his stance.

Low.

Grounded.

Like a predator.

And then—he charged.

He shot forward with everything.

Feral Charge!

A blur. An afterimage. A sound like thunder.

His body became a projectile, a missile with a mind.

He slipped past Darian's guard—blade narrowly missing—and struck the side of his opponent with brutal force.

But he didn't stop.

Feral Charge—again.

He planted his foot mid-swing, torqueing his body like a spring.

And again—

Feral Charge.

His body whipped to the other side.

Another angle. Another impossible step.

The acceleration wasn't linear. It was jagged. Chaotic. Primal.

"You think bloodline makes you unstoppable?!" Caspian roared, teeth gritted.

"Then I'll show you what a cornered animal can become!"

Feral Charge. Feral Charge. Feral Charge!

Each movement tore into Darian's rhythm.

Caspian moved like a glitch in the world—no pause, no breath, just pure forward hunger.

Each charge peeled away Darian's aura, tore through his stance.

Until—

Crack.

A loud echo filled the battlefield.

Caspian's fist, cloaked in the final momentum of his last charge, struck Darian's capsule.

[Darian — Eliminated.]

Silence.

Then an eruption of gasps.

Caspian stumbled back, chest heaving.

The dragon heir lay flat on his back, eyes wide, staring at the sky.

He'd lost.

.....

[POV: Darian]

How?

His hand reached for the shattered capsule. His jaw clenched.

All his training.

All his solitude.

He'd wanted this moment to be his.

To rise alone.

To prove he didn't need anyone.

But he'd hesitated. Just once.

And in that breath—

Caspian had stolen the ending.

---

Announcement echoed:

"Kaidon— eliminated."

"Marin— eliminated"

"Team Z — victory confirmed."

---

[POV: Caspian]

He stood in the middle of the arena.

Covered in bruises. Blood dripping from his lip. His final capsule still flickering.

Then he heard it—

Two more victory flares.

Calenthir. Kairos.

They had won their duels.

The pieces fell into place.

They'd done it.

Against all odds.

A victory carved by sweat, blood, and broken expectations.

Caspian exhaled.

His thoughts were quiet.

His body screamed.

But inside…

There was a stillness.

"No power. No prophecy. No chosen blood."

Just a man who had survived.

Again.

He closed his eyes.

{It's not talent that decides the outcome.

It's the will to keep charging forward—until something breaks.} Bloodmoon said.

{Even if that something is yourself.}