Extra's Ascent

Chapter 139 139: The Cockroach That Refuses To Die

Eric's knees buckled as his strength waned to its final threads. The world tilted slightly, and he stumbled, using the nearby wall as a crutch to stay upright.

"Damn it…"

His breathing came in shallow, ragged bursts. The once-glowing clover mark that adorned his pupils flickered out entirely, leaving behind only the dim hue of his natural eyes. The Three Clover Eye had finally burned through the last of its reserve.

Among Mystics with mana reserve, Eric stood as an elite wellspring of mana and control. In sheer capacity alone, he eclipsed the average mystic. Yet, the volume of mana that the Clover Eye demanded wasn't something quality alone could satisfy.

The bloodline Art, beautiful, potent, and cursed with insatiable hunger devoured mana with reckless abandon.

Eric had refined and tempered his mana to its pinnacle, elevating its purity beyond what most could even imagine. But no amount of refinement could escape the basic truth: The Clover Eye drained mana at a rate that bordered on suicide.

The First Clover, he could handle that without concern. It was a balanced art, something he could maintain indefinitely, even in prolonged skirmishes. He could activate it and go about his day without it posing any real threat to his reserves.

That alone placed him far above the typical Mystic.

But the Second Clover? That changed everything.

That's where the price began.

Its consumption wasn't just increased, it was exponential. Activating it turned Eric into a master of sight, a warlock with complete spatial awareness. He could see everything, every trajectory, every intent, every fluctuation of motion. A panoramic observer of the battlefield.

Still, for all its cost, he could wield the Second Clover effectively. Not forever, but long enough to end most fights before they truly began.

But then came him? Hector.

The man whose velocity shattered prediction, whose movements danced outside the range of even Eric's panoramic vision. Hector pushed the boundaries of combat, and for the first time, Eric had been forced to reach for the final card in his deck, the Third Clover.

His ultimate trump.

It was a skill so volatile, so devastatingly taxing, that even seconds of use bordered on lethal to his mana reserve.

In Eric's case, the Third Clover was not meant for endurance. It wasn't a tool to win wars, it was the blade to end them. A technique meant for brief, decisive moments.

He had activated it only when absolutely cornered.

And now, its price was upon him.

"This is bad," Eric muttered under his breath, his gaze turning inward to examine what little remained of his dwindling reserves.

What he saw made his stomach churn.

His mana was nearly gone. Only a thread of vitality remained, barely enough to sustain motion, much less another confrontation. But he still had one task left and that was to pull up the elevator before the last strand of rope gave out.

The platform below dangled precariously, held aloft by a fraying tether. If he delayed even a moment longer, the line would snap, and with it, Dravin Ramprandt and Marvelous Kennedy would be lost.

Drawing upon the last vestiges of his power, Eric redirected the residual mana, forcing it into circulation. It was crude and imprecise, nothing like his usual finesse but it was enough to give his limbs the illusion of strength.

The fatigue melted from his muscles just enough for him to stand. The shakiness in his knees dulled to a bearable tremor. Outwardly, he looked ready to resume combat. Inwardly, he was being hollowed out, forced into a shell of determination.

He seized the rope again, bracing to pull the elevator upward.

"Hold on, Sir Ramprandt. I'll get you back up in one piece—

He didn't get to finish.

From the left, something slammed into him with monstrous force. The impact hurled him into the wall like a ragdoll, bones rattling with a sickening crack.

"You just don't stop impressing, Aldaman."

A familiar voice gravelly and sadistic echoed off the stone. Blood trickled from Eric's mouth as he forced his head up, pain screeching through his spine. His neck tilted awkwardly until he realigned it with a disturbing pop. His garments hung in tatters, shredded by the clash. Bruises marked his skin like war paint, his body an open ledger of punishment.

Eric collapsed, his head swimming with agony, crimson streaming down his temple. For a breath, he lay still, thoughts jumbled, his vision blurry. Then, slowly, he rose.

Standing opposite him, burned, bloodied, yet unmistakably alive was Hector.

"No... no way," Eric whispered.

Surely this was a dream.

He had landed a direct strike with the Third Clover using his ultimate move, his final resort. No human being, no mystic lower than the level of LORD's and LORD's candidate should have walked away from that, not breathing, not upright.

So Eric believed, so he wanted to place his faith.

"Did you really think that was enough to finish me off?" Hector's grin was wide, sinister. "You still underestimate me, Aldaman."

Eric's thoughts spiralled. Was this some illusion brought on by extreme mana depletion? A hallucination brought on by exhaustion?

No. It was real.

This wasn't a phantom.

Hector had survived.

"You've got to be joking…"

Desperation curled into Eric's gut. That attack should have been conclusive. There wasn't supposed to be an after.

Yet Hector stood before him, bruised and beaten but smiling, smiling like he enjoyed this.

"You look rattled," Hector taunted. "Come on. Don't go quiet now. Let's finish what we started!"

Madness. That's what it was. Hector wasn't just strong, he was unhinged. No man sane or broken should have been begging for more after surviving something so lethal.

But Hector wasn't most men.

He lunged forward, arms swinging back to hurl himself into another charge.

Eric groaned under his breath. "Shit."

He dug deep and forced his body into motion, sprinting forward to intercept.

They collided mid-run, fists smashing into one another with primal force. Sparks flew from their clash, the pressure of their blows rippling through the narrow corridor.

For a moment, they held in deadlock, two titans pushing for a knockback control.

Then, slowly, Eric lost ground.

Hector's knuckles connected with his jaw, sending him flying backwards. Eric tumbled across the stone floor but dug in his heels to halt the momentum, anchoring himself before he could skid further.

Something was wrong. Something was off.

He felt it in the air, in Hector's punch.

But his thoughts were cut short.

Hector was already moving again, fast and furious, Eric had no time to analyze.

Eric retaliated, pushing his body past the brink.

He didn't have the luxury to stall. The elevator cable was fraying. At any second, it would snap, and Ramprandt would plummet.

But it is not as if he could ignore Hector to go and save Ramprandt and Marvelous. Any attempt to leave Hector as later news would bite him hard, in places he would like.

So before he could even think of going over to save Ramprandt, Hector had to be dealt with first.

And with his dwindling mana reserve, Eric had to be swift about this... Very swift!

"Damn it all…"

He clenched his fists, jaw tight, muscles aching, no backing down.