The Extra's Supremacy

The ground trembled as the colossal black wyvern walked. Its obsidian scales gleamed faintly under the pale morning light, each plate a menacing shield that seemed impenetrable. Standing at a staggering 10 meters tall, the creature exuded an aura of pure malevolence.

Its eyes were voids—pitch-black abysses that seemed to devour light itself, radiating an unnatural emptiness that sent chills down the spines of all who dared to look. Those who met its gaze felt an overwhelming sense of despair, as though staring into the end of all things.

The wyvern let out a deafening roar, a sound so deep and guttural that it seemed to shake the very fabric of the city. Windows shattered for miles around, and the air felt heavy with its monstrous presence. The sheer force of the sound sent shockwaves through the streets, knocking down those unfortunate enough to be nearby.

With terrifying speed and ferocity, the wyvern began its rampage. Its massive, clawed wings swept through the air, toppling buildings with a single strike. Entire structures crumbled into dust and rubble under its might. Its tail, long and barbed like a blackened whip, lashed out with devastating force, demolishing everything in its path.

People screamed as they scrambled to escape, their terror palpable as the beast moved through the city like an unstoppable force of nature. The wyvern's claws dug into the earth, tearing through stone and concrete as though it were paper. Buildings fell one after another, their supports crumbling under the wyvern's relentless assault.

The destruction left countless people buried beneath the rubble. Their cries for help were drowned out by the thunderous roars of the beast and the chaos of collapsing structures. Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring the sun and plunging the city into an eerie, apocalyptic haze.

The wyvern paused for a moment, spreading its massive wings as if to survey its handiwork. Its abyssal eyes scanned the carnage below, unfeeling and devoid of mercy. Then, with another earth-shattering roar, it resumed its rampage, its claws carving through the heart of the city without hesitation.

Kythera was no longer a bustling city; it had become a battlefield in the blink of an eye, with the wyvern at its center—a living nightmare that left destruction in its wake.

The city lord, a formidable Archmage, arrived at the battlefield with twenty highmages flanking him. Each of their expressions was grim yet determined, their robes billowing in the wind kicked up by the wyvern's rampage. They had trained for moments like this, to protect Kythera at all costs.

The city lord raised his staff, his voice ringing out with authority, "Formation 19: Direct Confrontation!"

The mages moved swiftly, taking their positions. Formation 19 was a well-practiced strategy designed for overwhelming frontal attacks. The highmages aligned themselves in four rows, five standing at the forefront, with the city lord anchoring the rear as the focal point for their combined magic.

As they began to chant, the air around them crackled with energy. Their mana synchronized, forming a unified spell circle that glowed brilliantly beneath their feet. Arcane glyphs appeared in the air, pulsating with raw power. The earth trembled as their spell reached its apex.

But just as the mages were about to release their devastating attack, a sudden pulse of magic rippled through the battlefield—a disruption spell.

The synchronized spell shattered violently, the backlash sending shockwaves through the highmages bodies. They cried out in agony as blood spurted from their mouths, collapsing to the ground in pain.

Shock and confusion filled their minds. They knew one thing: the disruption hadn't come from the wyvern in front of them. It had come from behind.

Their horrified gazes turned to the city lord, who stood frozen in place. His hands trembled as if fighting an unseen force. And then, to their terror, the city lord began to laugh—a deep, haunting laugh that echoed across the battlefield.

It was a chilling sound, so unlike the man they had followed and trusted. But as they watched, they noticed his eyes. Tears streamed down his face, glistening in the faint light of the morning. He was crying.

The highmages realized the horrifying truth. The city lord wasn't laughing of his own will—his body was no longer his to control.

"Bewitched…" one of the highmages whispered, his voice trembling.

The word sent a wave of dread through the group. Bewitching—a unique and terrifying ability possessed by vampires. Once a person was bewitched, they were nothing more than a puppet, their actions dictated by their unseen master. Despite centuries of conflict, humanity had never discovered the principles behind this sinister power.

The city lord's laughter grew louder, more deranged, even as his eyes pleaded silently for help.

Suddenly, the wyvern, which had been preparing another strike, froze. Its primal instincts screamed of danger. It felt a surge of dread emanating from the city lord—a feeling it couldn't ignore. Without hesitation, it lunged forward, its massive jaws clamping down on the city lord with bone-crushing force.

The Archmage didn't even have time to scream. The wyvern's teeth severed him in an instant, leaving only his legs behind.

The battlefield fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of the wyvern's heavy breaths. The highmages, bloodied and battered, stared in uncomprehending horror.

The truth was undeniable, etched into their minds like a cruel brand: the city lord was gone, bewitched and devoured, and they were next.

Kythera was doomed.

The wyvern, sensing the presence of more creatures in the vicinity, shifted its attention. Its black abyssal eyes scanned the area, then opened its massive jaws. Dark mana began to swirl and coalesce within its throat, forming a dense, crackling ball of pure destruction.

The highmages, battered and hopeless, watched as the mana ball grew larger and brighter, its power unmistakable. They had no strength left to resist. Their fate was sealed, and they knew it.

But amidst the despair, one oddball stood out.

Chris, an 18-year-old seeker-level ascender, sat crouched among the fallen highmages. Unlike the others, he wasn't accepting his fate with quiet dignity. Instead, he was muttering furiously, his crystal recording every word as part of his livestream.

'Am I really going to die like this? Damn it! I'm still a virgin!' he wailed internally. His face twisted in regret as he kept talking aloud for his followers.

'I should've rejected these idiots when they invited me to watch them 'slay a fallen creature.' What a joke!' he grumbled, gripping his crystal tighter.

His viewers, watching in real time, were no doubt as panicked as he was—or laughing at his predicament. Chris didn't care. The only thing he could do was vent.

"Anyway, it's been nice knowing you guys," he said, his tone oddly sincere despite the tears pooling in his eyes. "Thanks for watching my videos. Even though I don't know any of you, it means a lot…"

Behind him, the wyvern's mana ball had reached its peak. The sheer force of its power distorted the air around it. Then, with a deafening roar, the wyvern launched the ball straight toward them.

The ground shook as the devastating attack streaked through the air, leaving destruction in its wake.

Chris, staring at the oncoming doom, sighed in resignation.

"Yep, this is it. I guess it's over. I hope this world gets destroyed tomorrow since I won't be around to see it."

He didn't close his eyes, he wanted to see it through to the end.

But it never came.

A sudden burst of wind sliced through the battlefield, sharper and more focused than any blade. The concentrated mana ball was severed in two, its energy dispersing harmlessly into the air.

Chris was dumbfounded in disbelief, his crystal still recording.

"What the—"

Before he could finish his thought, a figure stepped forward from the shadows. The air around him shimmered with compressed energy, his presence exuding lethal precision.

It was the Reaper.