Aetheric Chronicles: Reborn As An Extra

Behind them, the soldiers began to murmur amongst themselves, exchanging uneasy glances. Those who hadn't known about the plan assumed the worst—that the man who had descended into the heart of the werebeast army, who had orchestrated that daring move, had sacrificed himself to turn the tide of battle.

"He was so brave," one of the soldiers whispered. "He knew the risks, and he still did it."

Another soldier nodded, lowering his head in respect. "We may have lost him, but… we will win today because of him."

The soldiers who had fought alongside Adrian, though victorious, felt a somber weight in their hearts. It was a bittersweet victory. The spectacle of his bravery—charging into thousands of werebeasts, facing down the werefox king himself—was something they would never forget. But the thought of losing him, the brave young man who had led them with such unwavering resolve, dampened the victory.

Still, as much as they wanted to mourn, something in their hearts told them to wait.

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Elsewhere, on the far edge of the battlefield…

The three remaining werebeast kings stood, their expressions dark and grim. They had watched from afar, witnessing the destruction of their forces, and now, they narrowed their eyes at the horizon.

"The light… it was too bright," one of them growled, his voice laced with frustration. "I couldn't see anything. How could that human possess such power?"

Another snarled, his sharp claws digging into the ground. "It doesn't matter. He may have blinded the army, but we will crush them ourselves now he is gone."

The third werebeast king, larger and more menacing than the others, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the sky. His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in suspicion.

"There's something coming…" he muttered, his nostrils flaring as he took in the faint scent of charred fur. "Do you smell that?"

Swoosh....

Thud-!

Before either of the other two could respond, a figure plummeted from the sky, slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. Dust and debris rose from the impact, and when it cleared, they saw the charred, broken form of their fallen comrade—the werefox king.

His once-regal fur was singed and burnt, patches of it scorched black. His body was riddled with wounds, his breathing shallow and ragged. The sight of their kin, brought so low, only deepened their rage.

"He's still alive," one of the kings said with a grimace, stepping closer to examine the werefox king's injuries. "Barely."

"Pathetic," snarled the second, curling his lips in disgust. "We were supposed to crush them, yet look at him."

The largest werebeast king, still silent, merely stared at the fallen figure, his mind calculating.

"Rar..." The werefox king opened its eyes and looked at its body.

He groaned in agony, his body twitching from the immense pain coursing through him. His muscles burned, and the stench of his singed fur made his stomach churn. As his vision slowly cleared, his mind raced back to the explosion.

He shouldn't have been this injured—his strength, resilience, and power should have protected him from the blast. After all, the explosion's power was equivalent to that of a peak Stellar Tier, dangerous, but not enough to leave him in such a state.

But that 'disgusting boy'—the one riding the black beast—had thrown countless things at him before the explosion. Poison. Explosives. Chemicals. Each one added to his injuries, gnawing away at his strength.

"Damn... Insect..."

The werefox king let out a guttural growl, cursing Adrian for using such underhanded tricks.

As the pain flared again, the king forced his head to rise, his gaze locking onto his three fellow kings. They stood above him, towering like sentinels, their eyes gleaming with disdain and contempt. He could feel it—their judgment, their disgust. His fur bristled, a fresh wave of fear creeping up his spine.

He cursed his luck.

Of all the places he could have fallen, it had to be here, in front of them—his supposed allies. But deep down, he knew they were never on good terms. They tolerated each other only out of necessity. There was no camaraderie among them, no trust—only a shared hunger for power and dominance.

And now, he was weak, vulnerable.

'They won't help me,' he realized with mounting terror.

There was no mercy for the weak.

It was the absolute rule they lived till this day.

His breaths came in shallow gasps as fear gripped his heart.

He cursed himself for falling into that boy's provocation, for getting caught in the trap. He should have known better, but his pathetic rage and pride had blinded him, and now... this was the consequence.

"Please..." The words slipped out before he could stop them. He lifted his head weakly, locking eyes with the largest of the three, possibly the strongest among them. "Please don't kill me. I can still fight... I swear it!"

The largest of the werebeast kings squinted at him, his expression cold and calculating. His voice was a low growl as he spoke. "What happened to the boy?"

The werefox king's teeth ground together at the mention of Adrian. His mind replayed the battle, the boy's dirty assault, his traps, his maddening confidence. He felt the burn of humiliation searing deeper than the physical pain.

"I... I don't know," he muttered, struggling to find the words. His vision swam, the world growing hazy around him. "I couldn't—"

Suddenly, a quiet whoosh filled the air, and the werefox king's world turned upside down.

For a moment, there was no pain, only confusion. He could see the other werebeast kings standing over him, the ground at an odd angle, the sky blurred and distant. Then, it hit him.

His head had been severed cleanly from his body.

His final sight was the second werebeast king, his long, sharp claws dripping with his blood as he stood over the werefox king's decapitated body. The werefox king's lips twitched in a final, silent curse before darkness claimed him.

"Curse... you... boy..."

The second werebeast king wiped his claws on the ground, an expression of cold satisfaction on his face. "Pathetic," he sneered, stepping over the body without a second glance.

The largest king remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he gazed out at the battlefield. "It doesn't matter what happened to the boy," he growled, his voice laced with simmering rage. "If he survived, we can avenge our brother's death."

The three kings turned their attention back to the war that still raged around them, their minds focused on the new threats. But in the back of their thoughts, the memory of the boy's power lingered, a dangerous possibility that they could not ignore.

"Ready your forces." The largest king muttered. "We are going all out."