The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 185: Lightning

Daemar walked a few paces closer, stopping in front of a thick steel target mounted at the far end of the hall. His tone was calm, but firm.

"Show me your strongest spell."

Noel blinked. "You serious?"

Daemar nodded once. "Don’t hold back. This place can handle it. It’s reinforced to withstand attacks from Ascendant-ranked mages and above. And judging by your mana density, you’ve midway Adept."

Noel looked around the chamber—pillars of stone reinforced with alloy, dozens of glowing sigils etched into the floor and walls. ’He’s not lying. This place could probably survive a dragon.’

"Alright," he said. He stepped forward and exhaled slowly. "Let’s see how it holds up."

He extended his right arm. Mana flowed into his palm, bright at first—orange, red, like liquid fire. But as Noel concentrated, the color deepened, turning crimson, then blood-red, then darker still. The flames compressed into a tight sphere, dense and vibrating. The light dimmed under its weight.

The heat was intense. The air shimmered. Sparks lashed out and died instantly, unable to escape the gravity of the spell forming in his hand.

Noel focused harder. He knew this one inside and out. With no distractions, no pressure, he could push it further.

Twenty seconds.

The orb now looked like a miniature sun—except it was black, with streaks of burning red along its edges. A dark star, pulsing with restrained fury.

Thirty seconds.

He spoke the name quietly.

"Dark Sun."

The orb shot forward like a meteor, leaving a trail of embers behind it. When it hit the steel dummy, there was a flash—then an implosion of heat. The target didn’t explode; it folded in on itself, charred and twisted into slag. The floor beneath it melted into glass.

Noel lowered his arm, breathing steady. The warmth still radiated from his fingers.

He turned to Daemar, waiting.

Daemar didn’t speak right away. He approached the scorched training dummy, hands clasped behind his back, inspecting the twisted remains without expression.

Then he turned his head slightly. "Not bad."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "Just ’not bad’?"

"It was powerful," Daemar admitted. "But it took you over thirty seconds to cast."

Noel shrugged. "It’s meant to be devastating. I can’t rush it."

Daemar stepped back, facing another untouched dummy. "And in that time, you’d be dead. Let me show you something."

He raised his right hand. There was no chant, no charge-up, no stance. Just a single word.

"Stormlash."

In an instant, a bolt of lightning exploded from his fingertips. It wasn’t a crack—it was a roar. The air snapped with blinding light. The bolt struck the dummy dead center, obliterating it in a single flash. Metal flew. The stone behind it cracked. Smoke rose from the crater.

It had taken a second. Maybe less.

Noel stared, stunned. "That... was insane."

Daemar turned, smiling. "Right? Speed and power, no buildup, no warnings. That’s lightning. And that wasn’t even my best version of it."

Noel let out a breath. "You really just erased it."

"And the old man?" Daemar’s voice softened. "Nicolas is even better. He wanted himself to teach you this myself, but as you know, he left with Alveron to investigate what’s happening in Velmora."

Noel crossed his arms. "I remember. He blew a hole through Lereus’s chest when he tried to kill me. That wasn’t lightning though... that was something else."

Daemar chuckled. "Yeah. Nicolas doesn’t mess around when he’s serious. But this—" he gestured to the scorched ground "—is something I can teach you. If you’ve got the nerve."

Noel looked down at his hand, still faintly warm from the Dark Sun. Then at the crater left by Daemar’s spell.

’That wasn’t magic. That was violence in its purest form.’

"I’m in," he said quietly. "Teach me."

Daemar stepped back into the center of the chamber, the weight of his boots pressing into the stone with purpose. His posture straightened, shoulders squared, eyes calm. His usual teaching voice returned—measured, cool, precise.

"Lightning," he said, without looking at Noel, "is not like the other elements."

Noel tilted his head slightly but didn’t interrupt.

"Fire and ice can be shaped. Molded. You can guide them, contain them, give them structure and form. Darkness... behaves more like pressure. Heavy. Consuming. But even that can be handled with enough discipline."

He lifted his right hand, and a thin arc of electricity danced between his fingers. It didn’t glow steadily like fire or pulse gently like water. It snapped—violent, unpredictable.

"Lightning is wild. Fast. It doesn’t wait. It punishes hesitation and punishes control. It’s not an element you command—it’s one you release."

Noel stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the arc. "But you made it look so effortless."

Daemar allowed a breath of a smile. Subtle. Faint. Only visible if one was looking for it.

"Because I stopped trying to control it. You don’t tame lightning—you learn how to ride the edge of losing it. That’s the difference."

He turned, facing Noel fully now. His tone lowered, not harsh but firm. "That’s why most mages never master it. It’s not about force, it’s about instinct... precision... and accepting that the spell will never feel safe in your hands."

Noel said nothing at first. Then, quietly, "Sounds like it was made for me."

Daemar’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened slightly.

"That’s exactly why I’m teaching you."

Daemar walked toward a new section of the chamber—less damaged, the targets intact. He stopped in front of one of them and extended his hand.

"I’m going to teach you a basic lightning spell," he said. "It’s called Voltage Needle. Simple concept, difficult execution."

Noel followed, listening intently.

"You condense a small amount of lightning mana into the shape of a needle," Daemar continued. "Fast. Precise. The idea is to puncture—not explode. It teaches you control, not power."

He raised two fingers and muttered, "Voltage Needle."

A flicker of mana flashed around his hand. A split-second later, a thin bolt—barely thicker than a finger—launched forward like a dart of blue light. It struck the center of the dummy with a sharp zap, leaving behind a clean, blackened hole.

Daemar turned to Noel. "Your turn."

Noel nodded. He inhaled slowly, then raised his hand and began channeling mana. Fire came naturally. Ice, too. But lightning?

It felt different.

Chaotic.

He tried to compress it, to give it shape. It sparked, resisted. The mana flared back against his palm, wild and unstable. He clenched his jaw, forcing it into a line—until the energy suddenly jerked sideways and detonated in his hand.

A pop of light. Static burst across his arm. Noel cursed and shook out his fingers.

"Shit."

Daemar didn’t react, didn’t move. He just said, "Again."

Noel took a breath, cleared his mind. ’It’s not like fire... it doesn’t build up slowly. It strikes. Sudden.’

He gathered the mana again, more carefully this time, but as soon as he tried to form the needle, the energy dispersed like it had a mind of its own. Another spark jumped and fizzled against his wrist.

Noel hissed through his teeth. "This is worse than ice when I first started."

’Still remember when I reached out to Selene for help. In truth it was for another reason but I kept the advice to myself.’

Daemar finally spoke. "Lightning doesn’t forgive. It doesn’t wait for you to get comfortable. You’re either in sync with it, or you’re not."

Noel looked at the scorch marks on his fingers. Then at the target. Then back at Daemar.

"Alright," he muttered. "Again."

The air smelled faintly of ozone. Noel stood in the same position, palm open, eyes locked on the training dummy ahead. Static clung to his fingertips. His breathing was steady, but inside, frustration simmered.

Two failed attempts. Burn marks on his hand. And Daemar watching in absolute silence, unmoving.

’It’s not brute force,’ Noel reminded himself. ’It’s precision. Instinct. I can’t crush it into shape like fire. I have to let it form.’

He exhaled.

Mana gathered again. This time, he didn’t try to cage it. He imagined the current flowing—not as a mass, but as a line. A sharp point, narrow and piercing.

The energy hissed as it spun around his palm, erratic and biting. His fingers twitched involuntarily. The forming needle sparked, pulsing irregularly, threatening to collapse.

Daemar finally spoke. "You’re fighting it."

Noel didn’t answer.

"You’re trying to shape it into something it doesn’t want to be. You have to follow its path, not dictate it."

’I hate that,’ Noel thought. ’I hate not being in control.’

Still, he let go—just slightly. Instead of forcing the mana into a shape, he guided it. Not with pressure, but with focus. With intent.

The spark elongated, growing thinner, tighter. It wobbled—but held.

For the first time, the mana didn’t explode.

A needle of lightning floated an inch above his palm, vibrating with unstable energy but no longer resisting.

Daemar stepped closer, his tone quiet. "Better."

Noel’s eyes narrowed, focused entirely on the flickering spell. Sweat dripped down his temple.

He pointed his hand forward.

And fired.

The needle shot ahead in a blur of white-blue light. It struck the dummy—not dead center, but close—leaving a smoking hole the size of a coin.

Noel exhaled sharply, shoulders dropping.

"I’ll take that," he muttered.

Daemar didn’t smile, but his voice carried the smallest note of approval. "You’re learning."

Noel looked at his hand. Small bolts still danced across his fingertips, but he didn’t feel pain this time.

’Not bad for a first real try.’

Then he raised his head again.

"Let’s go again."

Daemar remained silent as Noel stepped back into position. The boy’s breathing was calmer now. His stance lower. More grounded.

’He’s starting to listen,’ Daemar thought. ’Not just to me—to the element.’

Noel raised his hand again, but this time there was no hesitation. Mana surged—not like a flood, but like a thread pulled tight.

A spark ignited in his palm. Then another. Instead of forcing the lightning into shape, he traced its rhythm, letting it find its own path.

The energy obeyed.

The needle formed—thin, white-blue, vibrating with purpose.

Daemar’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly he was impressed.

Noel extended his arm and released the spell without a word.

The needle flashed through the air and struck dead center on the reinforced dummy. A short crack followed—clean, sharp. The target jerked slightly from the impact. A blackened puncture wound marked the point of contact.

Perfect.

Noel lowered his arm and looked at his hand, electricity still dancing softly across his skin.

Daemar finally broke the silence.

"You mastered it."

Noel shrugged slightly, though a flicker of satisfaction passed through his eyes. "Took a few tries."

Daemar nodded once. "Most can’t do it in a day. Let alone an hour."

Noel smirked. "Guess I’m not most."

There it was again—that quiet defiance. But this time, it wasn’t arrogance. It was confidence born from effort.

Daemar studied him for a moment longer, then gave a small exhale. "You’re full of surprises, Thorne."

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