I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra

Chapter 316

Akali was the first to notice—but instead of waving back, she frowned and leaned sideways to peer behind me.

Directly at Kairos.

"Well well well," she purred, eyes dragging over me like I was merchandise. "Boss, did you figure out that my plaything was destroyed so you bought this for me?"

Oh no.

Everyone turned to look at me.

Dagur and Thorne, traitors that they were, didn’t even bother explaining that it was me. Ghost just stared, silent and unsettling as usual. Seth tilted his head, eyes lighting up with disturbing enthusiasm.

"Or... Is she my new test subject? I was starting to get bored at the subject we had back at our hideout " he asked, already pulling out a syringe like he’d been waiting for this moment.

Absolutely not.

Before either of them could take a step closer, Akali licking her lips and Seth brandishing medical malpractice, I moved on instinct.

In one smooth motion, I pressed a dagger to Seth’s neck and shot Akali a glare that promised violence.

"It’s me, you psychotic bastards," I snapped, ripping the mask off just long enough to prove it—then slapping it right back on.

"Remi?!" Akali’s face lit up instantly, and before I could react, she lunged forward and crushed me in a hug.

I was immediately smothered.

I wheezed, fighting for my life. My vision obscured by her very much not-jealous boobs.

"Akali—air—AIR—I CAN’T BREATHE—!"

I shoved my way free before I actually respawned.

Seth smirked, lowering the syringe. "Figured it was you," he said casually. "I instantly recognize the smell of your blood."

"STAY BACK!" I crossed my arms and immediately retreated—strategically—behind Kairos, using him as a human shield. "You two are banned from being within stabbing distance of me."

These two were the most unhinged members of the Nightjars, and I value my life—what little of it I had left.

Before we could properly descend into chaos and hugs and potential stabbing, the air shifted.

Just a subtle pressure change—like the atmosphere itself had cleared its throat.

On the opposite end of the massive field, a man appeared.

No flashy teleport circle. No explosion of light. He was simply... there. Without everyone noticing.

A microphone floated neatly in front of him, hovering at mouth level like it had better manners than most of the players here.

"Hello everyone," he began smoothly. "My name is Seraphiel, one of Vision’s administrators and the supervisor of this platform."

He bowed slightly.

Despite the lack of speakers, his voice echoed across the entire field, perfectly clear, like he was whispering directly into each of our skulls. Three thousand players fell into a cautious silence.

"I’d love to speak to each and every one of you individually," Seraphiel continued pleasantly, "but unfortunately, we don’t have time—"

"Cut the crap."

Ah.

There’s always one.

A guy somewhere to the left shoved his way forward, face red and shoulders tensing. "I want to know if what the system said was really true."

The entire field went still.

Even the wind seemed to pause.

Seraphiel slowly turned his head toward the man. He didn’t frown and gave him a smile. "The system," he said gently, "doesn’t lie, player."

"Really?" the man shot back, clearly testing Seraphiel’s limits. "Then how do we know if we really don’t die—"

He didn’t finish because his head exploded.

Just—pop.

Like someone squeezed a watermelon too hard.

There was a split second where his body remained standing.

Then gravity remembered its job.

The players around him were instantly drenched in blood and flesh. Someone screamed. Another dropped to their knees. A girl nearby started sobbing. A guy gagged and stumbled backward.

"What the fuck did you do?!" someone shouted, voice cracking.

All eyes snapped back to Seraphiel.

He was still smiling.

Even though blood had splattered across his cheek.

"Rule number one," he said calmly, lifting a finger, "when I’m speaking, no one interrupts me. Ever."

"Bullshi—"

Second pop.

Another headless body dropped.

The field erupted in shrieks.

I instinctively stepped closer to Kairos, nearly colliding into his back. Akali had stopped smirking. Seth wasn’t smiling anymore. Even Ghost’s unreadable stare sharpened.

"Rule number two," Seraphiel continued conversationally, wiping a streak of blood from near his mouth with a white handkerchief, "everything that comes out of my mouth is the truth."

He folded the cloth neatly and tucked it away.

"Now," he asked pleasantly, "is everyone willing to listen?"

No one answered and no one ever dared speak.

Three thousand players, and you could hear everyone’s breathing.

Seraphiel nodded, satisfied. "Excellent."

He snapped his fingers.

And suddenly—

The two players who had just died were standing again.

Whole.

Alive.

No wounds. No missing heads.

Their bodies were intact as if nothing had happened.

But the blood was still there.

On the grass.

On the players around them.

On Seraphiel’s face.

The resurrected men were shaking violently, hands flying to their heads, eyes wide with raw, animal fear.

"I—" one of them choked. "I— I died—"

"Yes," Seraphiel confirmed brightly. "You did."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"So allow me to clarify," Seraphiel continued, clasping his hands behind his back. "When the system states that death here is real... it is not lying."

A cold wave passed through the field.

"You can die," he said simply.

He gestured lazily toward the two resurrected players, who were still shaking like malfunctioning mannequins. "But there’s also a time limit where you can respawn infinitely."

Infinitely.

The word should’ve been comforting.

It wasn’t.

He smiled again, as if he’d just offered us complimentary snacks instead of existential dread. "Now, where was I? Ah, right!" He spun slightly and pointed around us. "See this chaotic platform?"

I finally took a proper look around.

He wasn’t exaggerating.

To my left, there were snow-covered hills like a tundra. To my right, thick jungle vines twisted around trees that absolutely did not belong in the same climate. Behind us? Steam rose from cracked volcanic rock. Somewhere in the distance, I could see swampy marshland bubbling ominously.

It looked like someone grabbed every biome in existence and dumped them into a blender set to violence.

"I can’t even tell what this place is supposed to be," I muttered.

"An environmental identity crisis," Seth supplied thoughtfully.

"Your goal is simple," Seraphiel continued, pacing leisurely through the air. "Find the portal that leads to the next platform. But be careful of traps, monsters... and the time."

A player—brave, or perhaps just naive—raised her hand.

Seraphiel’s smile sharpened with amusement. "See that?" he said, gesturing at her. "If only everyone behaved like this young lady, we wouldn’t have had that unpleasant mess earlier."

He turned to her with exaggerated politeness. "Yes, dear?"

She cleared her throat nervously. "Uhm... about the time. How many minutes or hours are we allowed to respawn before it’s finally over and we only get to live one life?"

"Excellent question," Seraphiel beamed.

The girl relaxed. Big mistake.

"The answer is..." He paused. Of course he did. Dramatic timing was his love language. "You don’t!"

Silence.

Her face crumbled in real time.

"Where’s the fun in that?" he added cheerfully, smile widening like he was pitching a carnival game instead of a death arena.

"Crazy," I muttered under my breath. "That admin’s actually crazy."

"But," Seraphiel continued, lifting a finger, "since I’m benevolent—unlike the other administrators—here’s a little clue."

Oh good.

A clue.

I was sure it would be comforting.

"There are ten portals scattered across this platform. Each portal can hold fifty players."

A ripple went through the crowd.

"Here comes the fun part," Seraphiel said brightly. "Each portal takes eight hours to travel back and forth. In other words, once a portal departs... it will not return for the next eight hours."

It meant there were two separate clocks ticking over their heads—whether they could see them or not.

An eight-hour window of unlimited respawns and an eight-hour window of true death.

The moment a portal ascended—lifting fifty lucky players into the next platform—that specific region would enter its second phase. The mercy period would end and the infinite respawn safety net would snap.

From that point on, death would no longer be a temporary inconvenience.

It would be permanent.

Likewise, when a portal descended back into a region after its eight-hour travel cycle, the "grace period" would reset there. Respawns would be available again—for eight hours.

But here was the real cruelty of it:

Each portal governed a different area of the chaotic platform.

The tundra’s clock wouldn’t match the jungle’s.

The volcanic ridge wouldn’t sync with the marshlands.

One region could still be in unlimited-respawn mode while another, just beyond a stretch of forest, had already entered its irreversible death phase.

Which meant players couldn’t just keep track of time.

They had to keep track of location.

They had to remember:

’When did a portal last depart from this region?’

’When will it return?’

’Are we still in the eight-hour safety window?’

’Or have we already crossed into the eight-hour slaughter window?’

If a portal had just ascended from the volcanic zone, then everyone left behind there would now be in the "real death" period. Anyone who died would not respawn. Not until the portal completed its eight-hour cycle and descended again.

But in the jungle, if the portal hadn’t left yet, players could still die and respawn endlessly.

The platform wasn’t just chaotic geographically, it was also temporally fractured.