The Extra's Rise

Chapter 150 Lich (4)

The Basilisk Heart sat on the table, its crimson surface glimmering faintly under the lab's lights. Golden veins traced intricate paths across it, pulsating in a slow, deliberate rhythm that reminded me of a beast's heartbeat, echoing from some forgotten era. It exuded a power that was both awe-inspiring and menacing—a living, breathing remnant of a mythic creature long since vanished from our mortal plane.

I steeled myself, hands poised over the Heart. This was the Source, the very Soul of my would-be Lich, and the apex of my re

A ripple of power, faint at first, coursed through the Heart. It crested into a surge so forceful it slammed into my consciousness. My surroundings disintegrated, replaced by a boundless void. The Basilisk Heart loomed there, impossibly large and pulsing with golden veins like rivers of molten fire.

A voice, deep and resonant, called my name. "Arthur Nightingale."

It resonated through every cell of my body, hypnotic in its allure. I was transfixed.

"You have come far," the voice said. "Few command such resolve. Even fewer such ambition."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. "Who are you?" I managed, voice cracking with strain.

"I am the will of the Basilisk," the voice whispered. "A fragment of the being you now harness. And I can grant you what you desire."

The void shifted, revealing a grand vista: a mountaintop under a golden sky, armies kneeling in silent devotion. Beside me stood the Lich, impossibly majestic, radiating power that dwarfed anything I'd seen. My heart pounded. It was everything I'd ever dreamed—authority, renown, and an escape from every mortal limit that caged me.

"Embrace me," the Basilisk's will said, a seductive current woven through its tone. "Accept my power, and together we will conquer. Your name shall endure for all time."

My hand, seemingly of its own accord, stretched out to touch the Heart. The vision vibrated with an intoxicating promise. But just as my fingers made contact, the dream shattered. I found myself back in the lab, drenched in sweat, the Basilisk Heart beneath my hands.

I gasped heavily as I touched my beating heart, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. I understood it now.

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Professor Gravemore watched Arthur sway on his feet, eyes glassy from whatever unseen struggle he had just endured. Gravemore had never seen him so pale. The gloom of the lab pressed close, the only light coming from the Basilisk Heart's bands, now half-forged and flickering.

"Arthur?" Gravemore said carefully, taking a step forward. "Are you all right?"

Arthur did not respond at first. His hands remained planted on the Basilisk Heart, dark mana sparking fitfully around his fingertips. The final band—the Soul—was unfinished, the weave incomplete. Had he run out of mana? Or had the Basilisk's will bested him?

Just then, Arthur's head snapped up. His eyes were wide, but there was a strange clarity in them. Gravemore braced himself for a collapse; instead, Arthur drew a shuddering breath and exhaled slowly, as though centering himself. Something had changed in the boy's posture.

"Stay back, Professor," Arthur said, his voice subdued but not weak. "I'm about to try something... different."

Gravemore felt a spike of unease. "Arthur, we must adhere to the known principles. The Soul band must follow the sanctioned method. If you deviate—"

"I know," Arthur replied, voice low. "But the Basilisk Heart is more than a mere power source. I can feel it resisting in ways the standard texts never accounted for." His gaze flicked to Gravemore, then back to the Heart. "Trust me, Professor, or stop me now."

Gravemore's grip on his cane tightened. Everything in him screamed that meddling with the established process was a fool's errand. He had witnessed countless students, each convinced they had a new angle, only to watch them fail catastrophically. Yet Arthur's determination was unsettlingly convincing. The tension in the air crackled, as though fate itself were holding its breath.

"Arthur, I warn you—" Gravemore began, but it was too late.

In a single fluid motion, Arthur rearranged his mana threads, severing several lines of the incomplete Soul band. Gravemore almost lunged forward in protest. Changing the structure so abruptly? That was unthinkable! But the Basilisk Heart shuddered, flaring bright in alarm, as though it recognized the shift.

"Arthur!" Gravemore shouted, his voice echoing in the small lab. "You'll destroy yourself and everything we've worked for!"

But Arthur pressed on. With a steadiness that made Gravemore's heart pound, he channeled mana directly through the Heart's golden veins, weaving new connections into the existing Body and Mind bands. The complexity of it staggered Gravemore. Each thread was braided with a dark mana current that pulsed in time with the Heart itself. It was as if Arthur were coaxing the Basilisk's will rather than overpowering it—an approach entirely off-book, verging on heresy by every standard Gravemore knew.

Desperate, Gravemore tried to intervene. He prepared a counterseal, intending to shut down the reaction before it escalated. But the moment he raised his cane, an invisible force slammed him backward. Sparks danced across his vision as he hit the lab wall. Arthur's control over the Basilisk Heart had grown so entwined that it defended him—consciously or not.

Groaning, Gravemore staggered upright, heart thrashing in his chest. He peered through the haze of swirling mana and saw Arthur enveloped in a storm of shadowy light. The Basilisk Heart glowed with an intensity that bordered on blinding. The final Soul band was forming, but its structure was nothing like Gravemore had studied or taught.

Then it happened: a sudden stillness, as if the world itself paused. Arthur stood over the Basilisk Heart, the newly forged triple bands—Body, Mind, and Soul—vibrating with raw energy. In a single, decisive motion, Arthur completed the last thread.

The resulting shockwave knocked Gravemore off his feet despite his strength. Shelves rattled, glass beakers shattered, and dust rained down from the ceiling. The Basilisk Heart blazed with an unearthly light, then went dark. In the silence that followed, only Arthur remained standing. His breaths were ragged, and dark mana still crackled faintly around his hands.

Gravemore stared, incapable of speech. He had expected failure, an explosion, anything but this. Yet the Lich drew breath—or some facsimile of it—its empty eye sockets shining with faint red embers. With a single, shaky movement, it flexed its clawed fingers. A test, as if verifying its own existence.

As if in a dream, Gravemore stumbled forward. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He sank to his knees, cane clattering beside him.

"H-he scaled the Wall of Talent!" Gravemore whispered, voice quivering with equal parts reverence and disbelief.