The Extra's Supremacy

The moon hung high, bathing Regalia City in silver light.

Even at midnight, the city pulsed with life—neon signs flickering, laughter spilling from distant alleys.

But in the slums, the only thing that moved was the wind.

A bus rumbled to a stop, its doors hissing open. A group of men stepped out, their boots crunching against the dirt-covered pavement.

"Attention!"

A sharp voice cut through the stillness.

The speaker, Oliver, surveyed the group with sharp eyes.

"You all know why we are here," he said. "We're stationed here for the night."

His gaze swept over them before he continued.

"I've been assigned as today's guard captain."

The men straightened at his words.

"Our job is simple," Oliver continued. "Check every person thoroughly. No one gets inside unless cleared. If anyone seems suspicious..."

He paused, his voice carrying a hard edge.

"Mark them and keep an eye on them. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" The group responded in unison.

Oliver gave a sharp nod. "Good. Move in." 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

He took the lead, issuing quiet orders as they disappeared into the ruined barhouse ahead.

The group scattered, each heading to their assigned positions.

As they moved, masks slipped over their faces.

Each mask a symbol, hiding identities beneath cold, empty eyes.

Oliver adjusted his own mask as he strode toward his station—only to spot a familiar figure.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Hey, Dorian."

The man turned, his own mask hanging loosely around his neck.

"You're late, Oliver," Dorian said. "The auction's already started."

Oliver frowned. "Wait—already?"

Dorian exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. Seems like they're spooked by that Ghost."

He jerked his head, motioning for Oliver to follow.

Oliver scoffed. "Cowards. If they're so scared, why the hell do they keep running this shady business?"

Dorian gave him a sidelong glance.

"Because," he said, voice even, "these shady things give us money."

They walked in silence for a moment, the dimly lit corridor stretching before them.

"We may be Expert-ranked, Oliver," Dorian added, "but at the end of the day, we're still criminals."

The door creaked open as Oliver and Dorian stepped into the surveillance room.

Inside, a man sat slouched in a chair, his face buried in the shadow of his hoodie.

He wasn't watching the security feeds.

Instead, his gaze was locked onto the auction screen, where the auctioneer proudly displayed a group of elves, each one shackled with a slave collar.

Oliver barely spared him a glance, assuming he was just monitoring for any irregularities in the auction hall.

Then,

Drop...

Drop...

A faint dripping sound cut through the room.

Oliver's brows furrowed. He turned toward the noise—

And his breath hitched.

A body was nailed to the wall by a sword, blood trickling down in slow, rhythmic drips.

The mask on the corpse's face bore a small circle on the chin, the mark of the surveillance overseer.

Dorian stiffened. Oliver cursed under his breath.

Their weapons were drawn in an instant, both of them aiming at the hooded figure in the chair.

But the man didn't flinch.

He simply stood up slowly, languidly stretching his arms as if waking from a nap.

And then, in a voice laced with amusement, he said,

"Let's begin, shall we?"

Dorian raised his gun, aiming at the hooded man.

"Who are you?! How did you get in here?!" he barked, finger tightening on the trigger.

Oliver's grip on his sword tightened. But something gnawed at him—an unease deep in his bones.

He couldn't feel this man's presence. As if he wasn't even there.

But before he could act,

"The room is too bright."

The hooded man's voice was calm, almost lazy.

Then suddenly,

Black mist exploded into the room.

An unnatural chill crept into the air. The light dimmed—not flickering, but devoured.

Oliver's vision vanished. His surroundings ceased to exist.

A suffocating silence fell.

Dorian stood frozen, his mind racing.

This mist... he knew it.

A chilling memory surfaced stories of a phantom, a shadow that left behind nothing but blood and silence.

His lips trembled.

"G-Ghost..."

The moment the word left his mouth,

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

A scream, raw, agonized— ripped through the void.

Oliver's scream.

Dorian's hands trembled as he turned toward the sound.

"My hand—MY HAND!" Oliver's voice cracked with pain.

Dorian snapped his gun up, ready to fire

But he hesitated.

'I can't see him... If I shoot, I might hit'

Dorian's instincts screamed at him.

Without hesitation, he pressed the distress call—a small button embedded in his collar.

Silence.

The mist shifted.

Something moved inside it.

Then

The air turned ice-cold.

His body collapsed, his consciousness fading before he even realized what had happened.

The door creaked open.

A shadow emerged.

The Ghost stepped out, his sword dripping red.

Ahead, Dorian's unit was charging toward the surveillance room.

The Ghost tightened his grip.

A fireball shot through the air.

He tilted his head—barely dodging it.

A swordsman lunged.

The Ghost didn't move.

He met the attack head-on—but the moment steel clashed against steel, his sword shifted, diverting the strike.

Then,

Slice.

A scream tore through the hall.

The attacker's hand hit the ground.

Before the man could react

A second slash.

His head rolled.

The mage, seeing how effortlessly the Ghost dispatched a trained fighter, took a cautious step back.

His breath hitched.

'He's a monster. I have to wait for reinforcements—'

He never got the chance.

In the blink of an eye

The Ghost was in front of him.

A silver arc cut through the air.

Slash.

The mage's body fell.

Blood painted the cold floor.

The Ghost wiped his blade clean, flicking away the fresh blood.

Without a word, he turned.

His footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hall as he advanced—toward the Auction Hall.

The chaos inside had yet to unfold.

Unaware. Unprepared.

A sigh escaped his lips.

"I just want to sleep."