Extra's Stories

In Another World

'Shit...'

Fate cursed under his breath, eyes locked on the man standing before him.

The figure looked to be in his mid-30s, dressed in a dark blue trench coat. His slicked-back white hair gave him a refined yet menacing air, but it was his icy blue eyes—sharp, calculating—that sent a chill down Fate's spine.

And in his left hand, he gripped a katana that Fate knew all too well.

'What is it with menacing figure wielding sword approaching me!?'

Hearing his thought, Morgan's voice chimed in through their link.

"Do you need me to come out and help?"

'No, he's—'

Before Fate could finish, the man vanished—blitzing forward with blinding speed.

The katana never even left its scabbard, yet the sheer force behind the swing sent Fate flying. His body crashed and rolled along the ground before he barely managed to push himself back up.

Morgan, still inside their inner world, was stunned.

Fate, on the other hand, wasted no time. He projected his twin blades into his hands, the familiar weight grounding him as he analyzed the opponent's speed.

'Too fast… wait for an opportunity.'

The man stopped, tilting his head slightly as he observed Fate's new weapons.

"Twin swords, huh?" His voice was calm, unreadable.

Fate met his gaze, then—without warning—threw the blades straight at him.

The sudden move actually made the man raise an eyebrow in mild surprise. But in the next instant, he effortlessly sidestepped, dodging the spinning blades without breaking a sweat.

He smirked.

Fate narrowed his eyes.

This fight was going to be a problem.

Install!

Fate's body glowed, his outfit shifting into a long white tunic styled after traditional East Asian robes, paired with baggy black trousers and sandals. He now wore two sets of bracelets, one adorned with a green stone, along with a wide metal choker and a beaded rosary draped around his neck.

With a steady hand, he reached behind him and drew his weapon—

The Blade of Boundary, a droplet of the stars themselves.

Amenomurakumo-no-Tsurugi.

A blade once wielded by Takeru Yamato.

The moment it left its sheath, Fate swung, channeling [Mana Burst] (Water) into the strike. Water slashes tore through the air, surging toward his opponent like relentless waves.

The white-haired swordsman watched with a faint smirk.

"Interesting," he muttered, lifting his katana. "Odd choice of clothes, though."

With a smooth, effortless motion, he unsheathed his blade—and in an instant, the water slashes were cut apart, dissolving into mist.

Fate barely reacted, his thoughts flickering with amusement.

'This is kind of ironic… using Takeru Yamato's blade to fight someone wielding Yamato. What was his name again? Gilver? Virgil? ...Virgin?'

He shook the thought away. It didn't matter. He'd recall it later—if he lived long enough.

The man's stance shifted.

He bent his knees, gripping Yamato's scabbard with one hand while the other rested on the hilt. Fate's instincts screamed at him.

Then—

A flash of steel.

Before Fate could even register the movement, slashing arcs erupted around him, cutting into his body from all sides.

The swordsman's technique was so fast, it looked as if he had only drawn and resheathed his blade once—yet the reality was far deadlier.

More Judgement Cuts followed, striking with pinpoint precision, leaving deep lacerations across Fate's form. His healing factor immediately kicked in, sealing the wounds as quickly as they appeared, but the relentless barrage left no time to counter.

Gritting his teeth, Fate clenched his blade and released a powerful [Mana Burst] (Water) beneath him, using the surge to launch himself backward, escaping the flurry of slashes just in time.

Landing a few meters away, he exhaled.

Change!

Fate's body glowed once more, his form shifting as he switched into a different Class.

Now clad in a skin-tight dark purple suit, reinforced with shoulder guards, a matching purple scarf flowing behind him. In his hand, he spun a crimson spear, its surface gleaming ominously. With a flick of his wrist, several identical red spears materialized in the air, hovering in formation behind him.

Without hesitation, he thrust his hand forward—

The red spears launched at the man in a relentless barrage.

In response, the swordsman summoned astral blades, glowing with an ethereal light, sending them flying to intercept.

The red spears and astral swords clashed mid-air, a violent burst of energy erupting from the impact. The astral blades shattered, unable to withstand the force of Fate's attack, and the remaining spears pierced through, stabbing into the man and pinning him to the ground.

But before Fate could follow up—

"Not bad."

The man simply stood up, as if the impalement had been nothing more than an inconvenience. He brushed the dust off his coat, his expression unreadable.

Fate narrowed his eyes. "Are you mocking me?"

Without waiting for an answer, he rushed forward, his spear gleaming in anticipation of blood.

The man responded in kind.

-CLANG!

Their weapons met in a deadly exchange.

-CLANG!

Blades scraped against each other, sparks flying with each impact.

-CLANG!

Strike after strike, neither giving an inch.

Watching from within Fate's inner world, Morgan furrowed her brows. Something felt off.

'When we first met, this guy was way faster. But now... Fate is keeping up with him?'

Had his opponent slowed down, or had Fate adapted?

Before she could dwell on it, Fate launched another wave of spears. This time, the man dodged with ease, weaving between them like a specter before retaliating.

With a flick of his blade, multiple astral slashes shot toward Fate.

Tsk—!

Fate was forced to jump back, narrowly avoiding the deadly arcs—

Only to realize too late—

Astral blades were spinning around him, forming a lethal circle.

Fate uninstalled his Class Card, his body glowing briefly as he switched tactics. In an instant, he activated [Mirage Edge], summoning his own astral swords to counter the spinning blades surrounding him.

The two circles of blades clashed mid-air, canceling each other out in a shower of sparks.

"Interesting."

The white-haired swordsman muttered, eyes narrowing as he analyzed Fate's Mirage Edge—noting the subtle difference in color compared to his own astral blades.

Without missing a beat—

Archer

Fate's aura shifted as he switched styles, pulling out his Devil Arm, Hama-Yumi—a sleek, demonic bow crackling with latent power. He drew back the bowstring, and arrows of pure energy formed instantly.

Using [Lock-On] and [Blitz Draw], he released a relentless barrage of arrows.

The swordsman's eyes flickered with recognition.

'His arrows are much faster than his spears.'

He weaved between them, his movements precise, dodging the attacks with minimal effort.

'Though… they don't hit as hard.'

Seeing that his opponent remained unfazed, Fate swiftly changed tactics again—

Caster

A familiar figure materialized, perched casually on Fate's shoulder. A girl—almost identical to him.

With a mere gesture, she raised her hand—

Hundreds of magic swords manifested in the air, enhanced by [Boost] and [Territory/Item Construction], a unique advantage of the Caster style.

The swordsman's expression darkened.

"Another one..."

His tone carried a hint of irritation as he dodged the incoming barrage, sidestepping the first wave before shifting weapons—

With a flash of light, his katana disappeared, replaced by a set of black gauntlets and boots.

Now unarmed—yet just as dangerous—

He punched and kicked the incoming magic swords away, each impact sending shockwaves through the battlefield. At the same time, he summoned more astral swords, using them to deflect the remaining projectiles.

But Fate was already preparing his next move.

His voice rang out—

I who have awakened to the call of the Fay—

Kneeling on one knee in a shooting stand holding his bow and 'arrow' in hand pointing toward the men.

Rhongomyniad

The holy spear's form shifted, bending into an arrow-like shape, its energy surging with destructive force as it turned into a Broken Phantasm.

The moment he launched it, the swordsman instinctively tried to sidestep—

Too late.

The spear pierced through his chest, sending him hurtling backward—crashing through multiple trees and buildings before the holy weapon finally reached its limit and shattered into pieces.

"I'm impressed."

Fate and Morgan snapped their attention to the source of the voice.

A blue devil descended from the sky, landing gracefully before them. As his form shifted, the demonic features faded, revealing the same white-haired man, completely composed despite the battle.

"You two, what are your names?"

Fate narrowed his eyes, gripping his projected Married Blades, while Morgan raised her hand, magic crackling at her fingertips.

"You know," Fate said coolly, "it's rude to ask someone's name without giving yours first."

The man considered her words before nodding slightly.

"Very well. I am Vergil, son of Sparda."

His calm tone carried weight, as if his name alone should explain everything.

Fate and Morgan exchanged glances—both fully aware that this man was far stronger than he appeared. He had taken Rhongomyniad to the chest, been sent flying, and had walked it off like it was a mere inconvenience. The massive hole torn through his coat was the only evidence of the attack.

"Fate Redgrave."

"Morgan Le Fay."

Vergil gave a small nod, as if committing their names to memory.

"Fate and Morgan, huh? I see." He exhaled slowly. "That was fun… but I'm done playing now."

Before they could react—

He disappeared.

In an instant, Morgan's vision went dark—a swift chop to the neck knocking her unconscious.

Fate barely had time to react before Yamato's sheath slammed into his ribs, sending him skidding backward.

Vergil unsheathed his sword with a sharp click.

An upward slash launched Fate into the air.

Vergil vanished, reappearing mid-air with two precise slashes, each strike cutting deep.

He unleashed Judgment Cut, the invisible slashes carving through Fate before he could even register the attack.

Vergil landed back on the ground, then swung Yamato, sending a massive energy slash that engulfed Fate midair, cutting across his chest before sending him flying backward.

But Vergil wasn't done.

He dashed forward, leaving behind an astral clone—both of them slashed simultaneously, trapping Fate between a flurry of blade strikes.

The clone dissolved, replaced by dozens of small astral swords that rained down, piercing Fate's body.

Vergil flickered forward again, his sword moving too fast to follow—a relentless storm of slashes tore into Fate, knocking him upward once more.

Another Judgment Cut.

Another blur of strikes.

Before Fate's body could even fall, Vergil's fist suddenly glowed—

Beowulf equipped.

With a single uppercut, Fate was sent flying again.

Vergil dashed to the side, jumped, and delivered a downward spinning kick, striking Fate mid-air.

Not letting up, he followed with a series of rapid kicks, keeping Fate airborne before finishing with a brutal heel drop—slamming him into the ground with bone-crushing force.

Dust exploded outward.

Yet, Vergil didn't stop.

He pulled out Mirage Edge, crossing the spectral blades in front of him before unleashing two massive energy slashes.

Fate had barely stirred when Vergil rushed forward again.

"Having fun yet?"

He raised his index finger, spinning a small Mirage Edge between his fingertips.

Silence.

No response.

No movement.

And—most notably—no heartbeat.

Vergil narrowed his eyes. He halted his attack, watching as Fate's limp body plummeted back to the ground.

Something felt off.

He crouched down, feeling for a pulse.

Nothing.

Vergil frowned. "Shit… kid?"

For a brief moment, a feeling he rarely experienced surfaced—concern.

But then—

Ba-dump.

A heartbeat.

Vergil exhaled slowly. "Tch. You had me worried for a second."

He muttered under his breath, though relief flickered across his features—not that he would ever admit it.

"I might've gone a little overboard."

With surprising care, he lifted Fate's bruised and battered form, carrying him over to the unconscious Morgan.

As he looked at them closely, something clicked.

White hair.

Blue eyes.

Devil Arms.

Fighting style that constantly shifted.

Weapon choices.

Even his age—probably 17 or 18.

Vergil's eyes darkened as his gaze settled on Fate's left arm—

The red, demonic glow of the Devil Bringer exposed, his [Second Skin] torn away due to the sheer force of the battle.

That confirmed it.

Vergil exhaled, then ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back.

"That idiot..." He muttered under his breath.

With one last glance at the unconscious duo, he adjusted his coat and picked them both up effortlessly.

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

His destination?

Devil May Cry.

After sometime.

Vergil pushed open the door to Devil May Cry, stepping inside with measured ease, still carrying the two unconscious whiteheads in his arms.

Morgan rested against his left shoulder, her breathing steady, while Fate was held securely between his right arm and torso—though carrying them back had been anything but easy.

He had to weave through the streets carefully, avoiding unnecessary attention. The last thing he needed was some civilian mistaking him for a kidnapper.

"I'm back."

His voice was calm, but the moment the two women at the desk turned to look at him, they both froze—their eyes widening at the sight.

"Uhhh… Vergil…" Trish—her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders—stared at him, blinking in disbelief.

Vergil sighed. "Before you say anything, take a good look at them."

He gently set Morgan down on the sofa, ensuring she was comfortable—then unceremoniously dropped Fate onto the table with a thud.

Trish and Lady exchanged glances before walking over, their gazes sweeping over the two unconscious newcomers.

White hair.

Fair skin.

Striking resemblance.

Morgan simply looked asleep, but Fate… Fate looked like he'd been put through a shredder. His body was intact, miraculously healing, but his clothes were in tatters.

Then their eyes landed on it.

The Devil Bringer.

A red, demonic arm, unmistakably powerful.

Lady, the woman with short black hair and heterochromia, took a step forward, eyes still wide. "Vergil… they are—"

"You have kids!?"

Trish's voice cut through the room, her expression torn between shock and amusement.

Vergil's eye twitched.

"What? No, Trish!" He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They're my niece and nephew."

Silence.

Then, both Trish and Lady snapped their heads toward him, jaw dropping at the revelation.

Vergil had worked with them for years, ever since his early days as a Devil Hunter.

They had seen him fight demons, face impossible odds, even take down Dante—yet this? This shocked them.

Lady, still processing, muttered, "Hold on. Back up. You have a niece and nephew? Since when?"

Vergil's jaw tightened, his grip unconsciously clenching the hilt of Yamato.

His past played back in his mind—his fated clashes with his brother.

The first time Dante reappeared, obsessed with opening the gate between the human world and the underworld.Vergil had stopped him, forcing Dante to retreat into the demon realm with no way out.

Years later, Dante had returned—but this time, as a puppet of Mundus, the King of the Underworld.

Vergil had cut him down, believing it to be the end.

Believing that he had killed his only family.

That he would never see or hear from Dante again.

But now?

Now, he stood here, looking at Dante's children.

His blood boiled.

For so long, Vergil had thought he was the last of his family. That Sparda's bloodline had ended with him.

Yet here they were. Proof that Dante had lived. Had continued on.

And never once had he known.

He felt anger.

At Dante.

At himself.

At everything.

Lady, watching the storm of emotions flicker across his normally stoic face, hesitantly asked, "So… what now?"

Vergil exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into control.

He pulled out a chair and sat down next to them, his piercing blue eyes never leaving the unconscious Fate.

"What else?" he said coolly.

"We wait."

Inside Fate's inner world.

Taking a deep breath, Fate and Morgan glare at the magenta screen in front of them.

[Death Door](4/9)

1: Dead by blood loss, and internal bleeding.

2: Dead by broken bones, damaged organs, internal bleeding.

3: Dead by in contact with a Holy Artifact.

4: Dead by blood loss, and heart failure.

"To think you actually died again."

Morgan's voice carried a hint of amusement, her lips twitching upward. Across from her, Fate's left eye twitched in barely contained annoyance.

He died. Again.

Not from an enemy's blade.

Not from a grand battle.

Not even from a proper assassination attempt.

No—his heart simply gave out, his body failing to keep up.

With all his healing factors, it was ridiculous.

'Out of the four times I've kicked the bucket, why the HELL were they all accidents!?'

The thought burned in his mind, and as if hearing it, Morgan turned away to stifle a chuckle.

In her time, people met their end through assassination, war, beast attacks, or murder.

Yet here was Fate, defying all logic—dying four times in a row by pure accident.

Not a single one was an actual attempt on his life.

Morgan exhaled through her nose, shaking her head in disbelief before asking, "So, now what?"

She wasn't worried.

If Vergil had truly intended to kill them, he would have done so already.

He had knocked her out without causing real harm, and the brutal combo attack he unleashed on Fate? Probably a test—though he definitely went overboard.

If they had really been in danger, Fate would have lost his other five lives by now.

Fate stretched his fingers, his icy blue eyes narrowing slightly.

"What else?" He exhaled, determination flickering in his gaze.

"I need more power."

With that, he shifted his hand and scrolled up to check his SP.

Name: Fate Redgrave

Gender: Male

Story Point: 295863

Points: 7

"There is no point in saving up SP if I get myself killed before using it." 

He used [Black Friday] to reduce the costs. Thanks to [Stacking]; he was able to save up a large amount of points to use [Black Friday] for over 100 times.

[Stylish Rank] - Cost 160000 SP - Reduce to 16000 SP

[Stylish Rank] - A measurement of how "Stylish" the user's combat is, with each rank slowly boosting the user's strength by 2% and increasing the amount of SP gain by 5%. Going from (D) Dope! (C) Crazy! (B) Badass! (A) Apocalyptic! (S) Savage! (SS) Sick Skills!! (SSS) Smokin' Sexy Style!!!

[Unseen Threat] - Cost 95000 SP - Reduce to 9500 SP

[Unseen Threat] - As long as the user remains hidden or out of sight. Targets that haven't detected the user yet will reserve an additional 40% bonus damage while applying 25% [Slow] to the target.

[Sweet Revenge] - Cost 500000 SP - Reduce to 50000 SP

[Sweet Revenge] - When the user takes damage from a normal attack or is hit by an attack, they gain a stack of Vengeance: +2% Movement Speed, +3% Damage Reduction stacks up to 10 times, 5 seconds. When they reach max stacks, it reset and the user gains immunity to [Slow] effects.

[Fate Gacha System] - Cost 1000000 SP - Reduce to 100000 SP

[Fate Gacha System] - The user can do a monthly 10x roll gaining different craft essences, items, and equipment from the user's knowledge along with the multiverse. Items gained will be modified to fit the user, along with being stored in card form for easy use.

[Hope Over Fifth] - Cost 1200000 SP - Reduce to 120000 SP

[Hope Over Fifth] - After receiving the fifth attack while the user is under the influence of any negative status effects like [Stun]. The user will let out an energy burst that knocks all foes back a 5-meter distance, clearing all effects and granting the user [Invulnerability] for 5 seconds. This skill has a 24-hour cooldown after used.

Name: Fate Redgrave

Gender: Male

Story Point: 363

Points: 7

"Wow. You really go all out." Morgan said in surprise not expecting her soulmate to spend the last 2 hours making skills and adjusting them to fit in his price range.

Cracking his neck, Fate lay down expecting the grassy floor that he usually lay on, he found his head resting on something soft. Opening his eyes the Extra found out he was resting his head on Morgan's lap.

"What first time having a lap pillow?" Morgan said with a teasing smile seeing the Extra's expression.

"Well not my first, but this is nicer than those other time." He said before closing his eyes and relaxing his body.

His first lap pillow was from Erza after she read it in a book and forcefully held his head down almost breaking his neck. His second was Mira although it felt more like she was trying to choke him with her thighs.

Those weren't good times at all, he was still weak back then and didn't want to die over some stupid reasons.

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment." Morgan let out a light chuckle hearing that.

Her gaze narrowed to her own system.

Target: Fate Redgrave 

Gender: Male

Trust: 42% 

Loyalty: 29%

Love: 41% 

Affection: Dom 88%

Mental: 79%