The Extra Who Shouldn't Exist novel Chapter 280

Chapter 280: Chapter 280 : The villain vs The Devil (8)

Reality itself shivered. The world bent and twisted as the seven incarnations of the Abyssal Sovereigns stepped forth from the darkness, their presence distorting existence like ripples through fragile glass.

Every breath Alex took felt heavy—like inhaling through liquid obsidian. Even the air itself resisted motion within their presence. His system instantly blared warnings.

[ Host, do not attack recklessly. Their combined energy signatures surpass all recorded limits. ]

Alex didn’t listen. The black aura around him pulsed violently as he blitzed toward the nearest figure—a tall green-haired man radiating unshakable dominance. His death-forged blade slashed horizontally toward the man’s neck—yet before it could connect, Alex’s world suddenly tilted.

It was as though gravity, momentum, and balance ceased obeying him. His body locked in place.

Then—

Thud!

A kick slammed into his gut with unmatched force, sending him careening thousands of meters backward. He tore through mountain after mountain, his body carving a molten trench through the ground. The earth quaked beneath the impact, dust and molten stone scattering into the air.

Alex coughed blood, clutching his abdomen before quickly regenerating. His gaze snapped toward his attacker, disbelief flashing in his golden eyes.

’Impossible... he actually touched me.’

The green-haired man stepped forward, rolling his neck until his joints cracked. His expression was calm, almost amused.

"Usually, people die from that one kick," he said with a sharp grin, rows of jagged teeth gleaming. "What are you, kid?"

An infernal voice boomed beside him—a massive figure with burning skin and hair like flowing magma.

"Looks like you’ve gone soft, Grambell. Couldn’t even kill a single mortal? Perhaps it’s time I remind you who the strongest truly is."

Grambell growled, his smile darkening. "So Wrath still thinks he can stand above Pride?"

He turned, his aura glowing with supremacy as countless symbols of disdain hung in the air around him. "You’re welcome to try, Drathos."

The ground screamed as both their auras erupted, colliding midair with a surge of catastrophic energy. Reality warped, sound and color bleeding into incoherent chaos as those two forces—sin made manifest—clashed purely out of ego.

The remaining five Sovereigns watched, their faces etched with cruel amusement, none feeling the need to interfere.

The four men among them radiated dread and superiority.

Grambell, green-haired and immaculate, radiated power and arrogance incarnate. His brown eyes gleamed like judgment itself, every strand of hair flowing as though reality adjusted itself for him. He was Pride given form: flawless, divine, and terrifying.

Beside him stood Drathos—a infernal titan towering above all, molten veins pulsing beneath his crimson‑black skin. His hair blazed like liquid fire, his breath burning the ozone around him. Every heartbeat from his chest shook the air, filled with volcanic rage. Wrath defined him—a living embodiment of fury that could never cool.

Third stood Valen, greed made flesh. His body was encased in reshaping gold armor adorned with jewels that screamed, cried, and melted into his form. His amber eyes burned with sick desire, and behind him hovered phantom treasures that shimmered, whispering to be owned.

And then there was Gorath.

"Man" was the wrong word. He was a grotesque, shifting colossus—an amalgamation of flesh, mouths, and shadow. Each maw whispered a different hunger, each whisper a world devoured. His core pulsed with black light, and anything that glanced near his aura was consumed whole. Gluttony overflowed from him like a disease.

The three remaining Sovereigns carried a different but no less horrifying beauty.

Lysandra, with emerald hair shifting into slender blades, moved gracefully, every motion whispering deadly envy. Her eyes gleamed like fractured glass, never resting, always measuring what others possessed. Her every thought dripped jealousy.

Marina followed—a woman of surreal perfection, her form ethereal with wings of velvet shadow. Her red‑rose hair flowed like living silk, moving of its own accord. Her pale skin glowed faintly beneath the corrupted light, her gaze hypnotic as she murmured silent temptations. She was Lust incarnate, weaving desire without words.

And lastly, Linnea—the calmest of them all. She appeared almost dreamlike, wrapped in twilight silk, her pale-blue hair drifting like mist. Her dark eyes were half-open, expression unreadable, and her very presence bent the rhythm of existence itself. To look at her too long was to feel your heart slow, time crawl. From her radiated the Sin of Sloth—stillness eternal, peace before death.

Kyle’s voice cut through the chaos. His aura writhed in the distance, his tone fierce and commanding.

"Kill him," he ordered. "All of you. Kill that bastard and reduce this world to ash!"

But none of the seven moved.

Their combined auras darkened, focused not on Alex, but on Kyle.

Their gazes burned through him like knives.

Grambell’s voice came first, low and dangerous. "And who, exactly, are you to order us?"

Kyle froze, his words dying in his throat.

Inside his mind, Sabrina’s frantic voice erupted.

{ Kyle, I warned you! Controlling them is impossible! You’re wielding entities that have never obeyed anyone. They’re not servants—they’re monarchs of chaos! Even the abyss couldn’t claim them! }

Kyle’s lips twisted into a smirk, rage glittering in his crimson eyes.

"Do you think I’m stupid, Sabrina? Of course, I accounted for that!"

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