Extra Borne: Transmigrated Into A System Apocalypse Soulsborne Novel-Chapter 41 - 39: Show Me

The Ashen Knight’s armored fist came dangerously close, a blur of dark and shadow filled energy crashing through the air. I twisted my body just in time, the edge of his strike grazing my shoulder. The impact sent a shudder through every part of my body, even though it barely made contact.

Each of his punches grew heavier, darker. The energy surrounding his fists pulsed and expanded, like an aura feeding on the air itself. His strikes were relentless now deliberate, yet too feral, as if he’d grown tired of testing me and has decided it was time to end this.

There was no other choice.

I dematerialized into mist, the familiar sensation of weightlessness and freedom taking over as my body disintegrated into mist. The room thickened with my presence, wisps of mist spreading and twisting like a coiling serpent. It enveloped the hall, shrouding everything in an opaque haze.

I doubted it would work.

Through the shifting mist, I saw him: Geralt, the Ashen Knight. He stood motionless at the center of the hall, his imposing frame unyielding, his silhouette sharp against the blurred edges of the mist. He didn’t turn. He didn’t move. He simply... waited.

The silence was unnerving.

My mist crawled slowly towards him, slithering across the dark, silvery ash of his armor. Tendrils of it coiled around his armored body, probing, searching for a way in. I tried to force it, to dig deeper and burrow into his armor like I had done with that statue. But it didn’t work.

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The dark energy surrounding him wasn’t just armor; it was a shield, alive and reactive. Every time my mist drew closer, the energy flared, repelling it like an impenetrable wall. That’s when I realized: his stillness wasn’t hesitation or caution. It was strategy.

If he moved, if he fought with aggression, I might find an opening. But by remaining still, his energy stayed focused, a constant defense that left no room for me to parasite him.

"Cunning Wanderer," he said, his voice echoing through the hall, calm yet commanding. It carried a weight that pressed against the fog, as though even my mist recoiled from the sound. "You will find no victory with this."

His head tilted slightly, the faint glow of his reddish-orange eyes piercing through the haze.

"I, Geralt, shall dig your grave on this very floor... You have defiled this kingdom simply by daring to pass through this door."

He stretched his arms wide, a deliberate gesture that felt more mocking than threatening.

"Come out," he taunted, his tone venomous. "Fight with all you have, Wanderer. And I shall use my bare hands to gouge your eyes and feed your flesh to the beasts."

Something snapped inside me.

It wasn’t anger I recognized. It wasn’t even mine. It was as if someone had reached into my chest and twisted something vital, forcing emotions to erupt uncontrollably.

Before I could think, I materialized back into human form, my mist blade already solid in my grip. My movements were instinctual, driven by something strange. I lunged forward, thrusting the blade straight toward the knight’s chest.

His hand shot up, catching the tip of my blade mid-air. His grip held firm, unflinching, as though the weapon I wielded was no more than a twig.

"Better," he said, his voice low and mocking. "Let me see your rage flare."

I stared at him, my breaths ragged and uneven. My chest rose and fell with an intensity I couldn’t control. My pupils constricted slightly as I met the faint glow of his eyes.

"What... have you done to me?" I asked, my voice trembling... not with fear, but with an anger that felt foreign, invasive.

Geralt’s voice rumbled like distant thunder.

"I planted a seed in the depths of your subconscious," he said. "A seed that feeds on any of your emotions, twisting them into pure rage. From this moment onward, every action you take, every thought you form, will be driven by that seed."

I clenched my teeth as the weight of his words sunk in.

This... this is bullshit, I hissed through gritted teeth.

But the anger inside me only grew. It wasn’t just emotional... it was physical. My body ached with it, every fiber of my being screaming for release. My mind reeled, drowning in thoughts of blood and destruction.

I wanted to fight.

I wanted to kill.

I wanted devour.

My vision blurred, the edges tinged with red. My breath came in shallow gasps, and my grip on the mist blade faltered. The dull glow in my yellowish-brown eyes dimmed further, life itself seeming to drain from them.

And then, without fully realizing it, I dematerialized my blade.

The mist around me surged, emanating from my body like a storm unleashed. It wasn’t a weapon anymore; it was raw energy, pulsing and alive, mirroring the chaos within me.

"Now," Geralt said, his tone almost approving. "Show me what you are made of, Wanderer."

But even as he spoke, his focus remained on the wrong target.

I walked forward, my body moving with a deliberate slowness that belied my true intent. His glowing eyes locked on me, but he didn’t realize... he couldn’t realize.. that my true self had already dissolved into mist, swirling behind him, silent and unseen.

Before he could react, I reformed, solid and whole, my fist clenched and ready.

Boom!

The punch connected with his back, the mist exploding outward like a smoke bomb on impact. The force of the blow sent him staggering forward, his armor cracking faintly along the seams.

But it wasn’t enough.

Geralt straightened almost immediately, turning to face me. His gaze burned into mine, unshaken and unfazed. He was stronger than that, more resilient than I’d accounted for.

My body, driven by the seed he had planted, didn’t hesitate.

In an instant, both of us blurred, our figures vanishing and reappearing in rapid succession as the battle resumed.

A flesh piercing sound was heard.