The Extra's Rebellion
Chapter 67: Sniped by a vengeful Ghost

Chapter 67: Sniped by a vengeful Ghost

The world roared with every clash. At least to her ear drums, it sounded like it.

Each strike against the lightning boy sent shockwaves through the ruined school—tremors that cracked the foundation beneath their feet. Rubble hovered mid-air before collapsing, caught in the static storm spinning around them.

Lunethra did not flinch.

Her blade shimmered—a thin arc of refined silver. The moment it left its sheath, the air cut itself. The silence before a flash flood.

She moved like finality.

The lightning boy grinned like a devil wrapped in thunder. Every movement of his sparked light across his skin, arcs crackling like hungry veins across steel. His feet didn’t touch the ground anymore. He danced on currents, floated between strikes like a phantom.

Even she was surprised at this, it wasn’t everyday you get to see a grade 2 so attuned to his element, hell even her senior sister as powerful as she is was at grade three before she could demonstrate this level of attunement.

He was fast.

But she was sharper.

Clang!

He came in from above, spear of lightning descending like judgment. She parried—not with force, but precision. One edge met another. The strike slid past her cheek, searing a single strand of lilac hair to ash.

She stepped forward, not back.

"Come on," he laughed, spinning midair, electricity trailing behind his limbs like comet tails. "You’ve got more than that in you, don’t you, glass doll?"

Lunethra didn’t speak. Her father told her words were for uncertain fighters. She wasn’t one.

Instead, she unsheathed the second half of her sword—a hidden edge nested within the first. The blade lengthened, thinned—turned into something near-invisible. A line so fine it tore the air just by existing.

This blade—chariot. They were made by her father golden presence and they were only six in existence. One with her and the rest five with her siblings. Well until Ladarius cut down her eldest sister and claimed her sword as a trophy. Those bastards.

The boy charged.

She let him.

Just before he closed the gap, she activated one of her hollow Art and then she vanished—reappeared behind him, planning to draw a scarlet arc through his side.

Sword met hand.

But the boy didn’t scream. He twisted his body, catching her blade between his electrified hand. Lightning surged into the metal, racing down toward her arms.

Her coat split open as the charge struck. Instead of blood her other covering were burnt to ashes, the boy had limited the damage and destroyed her outer wear, leaving behind her torn uniform.

Still, her eyes didn’t waver. "Sadistic pervert". She murmured—cold, quiet.

He grinned wider. "Takes one to—"

She stabbed him in the mouth mid-sentence. Steel shrieked against teeth.

But the blade never reached his brain, he held it with his teeth, but the blade did spilt his mouth wider— he activated his amplifier and amplified his speed. he sparked out of existence an instant, reappearing behind her.

His knee slammed into her spine. Her body jolted forward, momentum stolen. Before she could fall, she twisted her wrist, slicing diagonally in an upward arc.

His shoulder caught the edge. He cried out, more in surprise than pain.

"You bleed easy". She said, landing in a crouch, sword balanced along her back.

He spat blood onto the floor, lightning crackling in his throat. "I’ll tear your arms off and use ’em when I am bored of my arms, but you body.... ohh your body, I plan to do things that would leave a sane person traumatized for life". He said with a sadistic expression on his face.

She didn’t reply him. She knew what kind of creature he was, she was royalty and she had access to lots of secrets. For one she knew that this mad man was part of Black Omnibus. He had performed ’the ritual’ and had managed to possess Miasma and retain his intelligence.

That why he wasn’t cut down by her sword now, the Miasma was improving his physical abilities but it still didn’t come without a side effect. His current state was a direct proof of that.

Then she vanished again.

This time, he anticipated it. He unleashed a dome of electricity around him—a barrier meant to burn anything that stepped within its radius. Lunethra reappeared inside it.

Burns blossomed instantly across her feet tearing away at her boots, sleeves vaporized.

But her sword was already buried in his stomach.

"You’re not fast," she whispered, breath hot against his ear. "You’re just loud." she didn’t know why but she felt compelled to speak, maybe it’s because she knew he would die soon, or that she didn’t really have someone to relate to her.

But she was in a battle field and it wasn’t time to be reminiscing, he screamed. Grabbed her by the face—shoved her back with a thunderous pulse of energy that cracked the earth.

She flew back, crashed into a column, fell to a knee, smoke trailing from her skin.

Her blade had fallen—but the thin string of Aether still bound it to her fingers. With a flick, it zipped back into her hand.

The boy staggered, blood soaking through his uniform, pooling at his boots.

They stood facing one another now. Breathing heavy. But only one was smiling.

Lunethra narrowed her eyes.

The boy’s grin was filled of madness—it was also filled with hunger— hunger at her body.

’Pathetic’.

She almost felt sorry for him.

They weren’t even in the school anymore— well not technically. This was her brother’s domain—a sealed battlefield cloaked within the illusion of their ruined academy.

Lamar’s Domain.

This wasn’t just a tournament. It was a purge. Word had reached the royal family—Black Omnibus was trying to infiltrate the capital. Their capital.

And this was how they hunted the infected.

"I’m going to taste you," the boy growled, electricity snapping between his fingers. "It’s been too long since I had a real woman."

As he spoke of his past, Lunethra’s mind wandered to hers.

The day before the tournament, she had returned to the palace.

The academy lay within the royal capital—mere steps from the royal estate. If not for her falling out with her mother, she would’ve lived there full-time.

She had gone to her father—not in person, but to the crafted body he used to speak through. Alpha-ranked individuals couldn’t be approached directly. Not without unraveling lesser minds.

Even Magnus had worn such a vessel during the entrance exam.

She had knelt before the construct.

"I trust you, Lunethra," the Sovereign said, his voice gentle but heavy. "So I will tell you what others are not ready to hear."

"The Demios," he began, "are creatures of lust. For blood. For flesh. For war. For hatred."

"They thrive under pressure. Give them peace—and they decay. My father told me this before he named me Sovereign."

Lunethra said nothing. She tried not even to think in his presence.

"I’m grooming you to be my heir."

Her head snapped up. "What?"

She immediately bowed again. "Forgive me, my liege. But... what of my siblings?"

"Don’t act as if you’re surprised". The sovereign moved with grace towards another cabinet. "We will be lucky if he snaps out of his foolish behavior by the time he is thirty".

’optimistic’.

"Your older sister is dead. The twins war amongst themselves. Your direct older sister chases peace—whatever the hell that means."

She wanted to sigh. She really did. But not here. Then came the part that mattered.

"How’s the mission?"

"It’s progressing," Lunethra replied.

She’d been sent to observe someone. To pressure him. To test him.

’The Little Ghost,’ the Sovereign had called him. The last heir of Demios.

It confused her. If Demios thrived on hatred, why engage with him?

But she didn’t ask, she just obeyed.

Now, the lightning boy moved again. Lunethra readied her stance.

The lightning boy howled and surged forward, unhinged now, arcane sparks dancing across his fingertips like war-drums calling for madness. His movements blurred into erratic flashes—stuttering teleportations of charged energy—and Lunethra caught only the glint in his eyes before he reappeared above her, blade formed from condensed volts.

She raised Chariot.

Steel met thunder once more, the air collapsing into a deafening boom. The shockwave blasted outward, shattering columns and hurling debris like knives. Her footing skidded, but her poise held. The fine edge of her sword left a silver blur, slicing across his leg, drawing more blood.

Still, he laughed—madness coating every breath like oil on fire.

"I’m not done," he spat, crouching low. "I’ll carve my name into your bones before I go."

He lunged again, faster than before.

She met him. Blade against hand. Body against fury.

Then— everything went sideways in an instant.

The night cracked.

A soft humming sound rang out unlike any before. This wasn’t lightning. Lunethra and the boy realized this a moment too late.

A white beam—a divine spear of sheer radiance—pierced through the air like the wrath of heaven itself.

It tore through the sky, clean and unannounced.

It severed a arm.

And it struck the boy through the chest.

Not grazed— Pierced.

Time seemed to freeze. His eyes widened, mouth agape, the laughter dying on his tongue, the beam had carved through him like paper, leaving a molten hole where his heart should’ve been.

Lightning sputtered from the wound—spasming in betrayal.

Then the light dragged downward. Through his waist. His legs. A final sizzle.

The boy fell in two clean halves, smoke curling from the seared edges of his body like black silk.

Her vision swam, and the world tilted sideways as she collapsed to one knee. Her left arm—gone. It lay several meters away, fingers still twitching on instinct. The one that flew upward, spinning end over end, that had been hers.

But she didn’t scream.

Couldn’t.

Pain meant little to someone like her. It burned, yes—but she was used to the burn. She welcomed it. The body could be torn apart, shredded, gutted—but her existence was tied to something deeper. Something unbreakable.

Immortality didn’t mean invincibility.

It meant endurance.

She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, forcing herself to rise despite the blood trailing down her ribs.

Then she saw him.

A figure hopping down from a crumbling surge of rock and debris. His landing was rough—unstable. Whatever injuries he carried were not mild; the grimace that flickered across his face wasn’t fully hidden.

He stood still for a moment, breath ragged.

In one hand, he held a large, semi-melted metallic weapon—if it could still be called that. The once-sleek edges were warped and scorched, a faint trail of smoke still rising from the core. It pulsed with flickers of white—unbalanced, volatile, like a star trapped in steel.

’Little Ghost’