The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 161: Ashes and Teeth

They were still fighting.

Noel’s blade clashed again and again with Arya’s scythe, sparks flying as steel bit into steel. Each impact cracked the stone beneath their feet, each dodge a heartbeat away from death. Charlotte moved like a blur to his side, weaving in and out of the battle line with sharp precision.

But Noel could see it.

Her steps were slower.

Her breathing was shallow.

She’d already used two blessings recently. Her body screamed for rest.

And Arya noticed.

The moment Charlotte paused to block a wide sweep, her arms trembling slightly—Arya’s eyes locked on her.

Her smile widened.

Noel’s instincts flared.

"Charlotte—!"

But he was too far.

Arya vanished in a blur of motion, her scythe glowing faintly red.

Charlotte turned—daggers rising—too late.

The curved blade slammed through her abdomen, piercing clean through.

Charlotte gasped.

Blood burst from her mouth, spraying across the air in slow, vivid droplets. Arya didn’t stop—she lifted the scythe, and Charlotte rose with it, impaled and hanging, her legs dangling above the stone floor.

Noel’s mind blanked.

There was no thought.

No strategy.

Only heat.

"—NO!!"

And then he did the unthinkable.

He spun Revenant Fang in his hand—

—and drove the blade into his own throat.

The blade sank into his throat.

Noel’s fingers clenched tight around the hilt of Revenant Fang as blood flooded his mouth. His vision fractured—then went white.

The world broke.

Everything stopped.

No pain.

No noise.

Only a message, pulsing faintly in the void behind his eyes:

[Trait: Reverse Protocol – When triggered, Ashen Sigil rewinds time by six seconds, undoing fatal outcome.]

Then—

Time cracked backward.

The blood vanished.

The pain retreated.

The blade was whole.

His breath returned.

And he stood again—exactly six seconds before.

Arya’s scythe had not yet reached Charlotte’s chest.

She was still alive.

But not for long.

Charlotte’s feet were lifting. Arya’s hand was on her throat now, not her blade. The moment would repeat. Unless he stopped it.

Noel didn’t think.

He moved.

"Noir!"

His voice cut through the stillness like lightning.

From the base of his shadow, something stirred.

A surge of black mist rippled outward, and then Noir burst forth—her form no longer subtle or small. She now stood nearly two meters tall, a massive shadow wolf, eyes glowing violet like cursed amethysts, her fangs bared in a silent snarl.

With a leap, she tore through the space between them, her jaws opening wide—

—and sank her teeth deep into Arya’s side.

The woman gasped, the scythe dropping. Blood sprayed.

She staggered, letting go of Charlotte, who fell limp to the ground.

Noel didn’t wait.

He reached Arya in the same breath, grabbed her face with his left hand—

"Flamethrower."

From his palm, a jet of pure fire erupted.

The roar of the spell drowned everything.

Fire erupted from Noel’s hand, flooding Arya’s face with a violent surge of heat and fury. There was no time for her to react, no scythe to swing—Noir’s fangs were still buried in her side, her body twisted in pain.

The flames didn’t flicker. They consumed.

Arya screamed.

Her cloak caught fire first, the fabric curling and blackening. Then her skin—the side of her face peeled and split, layers of muscle cooking, bone flashing beneath half-melted flesh. Her elegant features twisted into something monstrous, unrecognizable.

Still, she didn’t fall.

The spell ended, Noel’s mana dimming for a breath. His palm dropped, still smoking.

Arya collapsed to one knee, panting, one eye shut, the other wild and bloodshot.

And then—she laughed.

Low and hoarse.

Her voice rasped like torn fabric soaked in ash.

"Heh... hehehe..."

Noel stepped between her and Charlotte, blade up again, fire flickering along the edge of Revenant Fang.

Charlotte groaned softly behind him, still alive, curled on the floor and clutching her side.

"You should be dead," Noel growled.

Arya spat blood.

"You think this is over?"

She lifted her arm—burned, shaking, but still moving—and snapped her fingers.

A pulse spread across the barrier.

Outside, something began to change. Something horrible.

The snap echoed like a crack in reality.

Noel turned sharply just as the barrier shimmered. The solid, sealed dome Arya had created began to ripple, distorting like liquid glass.

And then it opened.

Only for a second.

But that was all it needed.

The creatures outside—the aberrations—responded instantly.

One by one, they charged the breach.

Twisted bodies of corrupted children, failed fusions, warped bone and sinew, half-formed wings and too many mouths. They sprinted, stumbled, or crawled through the opening with inhuman speed, their cries leaking into the chamber.

"Make it stop..."

"It hurts..."

"Kill me..."

Noel’s heart seized as he recognized Erick among them.

Still mid-transformation.

His arms were longer now, covered in blackened scales. His back twitched unnaturally. His eyes were wide, but he was still there.

His voice broke as he passed the barrier.

"Noel... it hurts..."

Then the opening sealed shut again, trapping them all inside.

Arya stood, bloody, face half melted, but smiling again.

The aberrations began to converge.

Bone melded into bone. Flesh twisted into flesh. Their bodies pulled together like wax too close to a flame, screaming in pain as they lost their shape—forming something larger.

Something worse.

Claws. Faces. Jaws. Arms. Eyes that blinked in wrong directions.

A monstrosity began to form in the center of the arena, pulsating with cursed magic, fed by every drop of suffering that entered.

Noel stepped back, shielding Charlotte with one arm.

The abomination towered over them now.

Its mass twisted and heaving, still fusing, still growing—limbs sprouting from its back, multiple jaws gnashing, a dozen tormented voices echoing from within.

"Stop..."

"Kill us..."

"No more..."

Arya stood at its side, one hand resting on the base of the monstrosity like it was a loyal hound. Her face was scorched. Her flesh clung to her skull in ruined patches—but her grin remained.

"Let’s see how far you’ll go."

Noel didn’t respond.

He looked down at Revenant Fang.

The blade pulsed once in his hand—dark metal glinting, faintly alive.

Two messages flared to life in the back of his mind, clear and cold:

[Trait: Will of the Forgotten — When fighting alone or when protecting an ally, grants a surge of latent power, increasing speed and sharpness temporarily. There will be consequences later!]

[Trait: Harrowed Focus — Increases clarity under life-threatening pressure. Evolves under extreme stress.]

And then he felt it.

His vision sharpened.

Breath slowed.

Every motion around him became crystal clear—the twitch in Arya’s fingertips, the convulsions in the creature’s limbs, the exact rhythm of Charlotte’s heartbeat behind him.

His grip on the blade tightened.

Noel stepped forward, the air around him igniting slightly as Revenant Fang responded to his will.

Arya raised her scythe again, her movements now slower to his eyes—measurable, beat by beat.

The abomination let out a distorted roar, shaking the entire chamber. Its voice was a chorus of agony and rage.

Charlotte coughed behind him, her voice faint.

"Noel..."

He didn’t turn.

And then he ran.

Straight into the maw of horror.

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