Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 10 Skinwalker

The eerie smile of the wolf remained as unsettling as ever. Alicarde couldn't shake the feeling of unease that crept up his spine, the creature's gaze piercing through the darkness. It was the first time he had encountered another supernatural being since the werewolf, and his anxiety was palpable.

"Now what do we do?" Alicarde asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Carrisa sighed softly. "Do not fret. I have already devised a plan," she replied, her tone calm and composed.

"Oh no, I wasn't fretting at all. It's all up to you, ma'am," Alicarde said, feigning confidence with a sycophantic tone. If she was going to fight this skinwalker, he'd gladly play the supportive sidekick.

Carrisa turned her gaze to him. "Alicarde, what do you know about skinwalkers?"

Alicarde frowned. "I know they're not supposed to be real, and I definitely have no business being around one," he quipped, his sarcasm drawing a slight smile from Carrisa.

"Well then, since they do not exist, I trust you can handle that one by yourself? Clearly, that disturbing smile belongs to nothing more than an ordinary wolf," she remarked with a hint of mockery.

"Apologies, ma'am. I was merely joking. In fact, I've been a firm believer in skinwalkers since childhood. My friend's cousin's uncle swore he encountered one on his way to Dreamvalley City," he replied, his words spilling out in a nervous rush.

"Truly? And did the authorities not dismiss it as a mere moose?"

"They did, but I was absolutely convinced it was a skinwalker. I was the first to say so!" Alicarde continued, his voice nearly cracking under the pressure.

Carrisa's lips curved into a small, amused smile. "We must certainly deal with this one, then."

She turned her gaze back to the wolf below. "A skinwalker is most well-known among the Navajo people, an abominable creature that can assume the form of various animals and people. Tell me, Alicarde, do you know how the Navajo people traditionally deal with skinwalkers?"

Alicarde shook his head, his ignorance evident.

"They do not," Carrisa replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "Rather, they prioritize avoidance, steering clear of confrontation."

"So, how are we supposed to deal with it? I don't suppose we can just avoid it to death," he asked, a note of sarcasm slipping into his voice.

Over the weeks they had spent together, Carrisa had grown accustomed to his snark.

"We are not the Navajo people, Alicarde," Carrisa responded with a touch of arrogance.

Alicarde looked at her, his bravado crumbling. "That was the old me. The me from a few minutes ago. This is the new me—completely different people."

He clung to her waist in desperation. "Please don't leave me!"

Carrisa ignored his pleas and continued walking, the heartless maid already disappearing into the hall. "Does that girl have no sense of camaraderie?" Alicarde muttered under his breath.

He followed Carrisa into the corridor, still holding onto her. She finally stopped and turned to him, smiling, her proximity sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.

"Arm yourself. The enchanted weapons will harm it," she instructed calmly.

Alicarde nodded, turning away and reaching for a sword mounted on the wall. As his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the lights went out, plunging the hallway into darkness. His heart skipped a beat. When he turned back, Carrisa had vanished.

"What the hell! So it's every man for himself, you heartless jerks!" He cursed under his breath, gripping the sword tightly as he ventured into the darkened corridors.

Despite the darkness, he could still see clearly, his supernatural senses guiding him. Yet, the oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on him. The screeching sound that suddenly echoed through the hall made his blood run cold, his grip tightening on the sword as his entire body trembled.

As he rounded a corner, the fear in his heart intensified. The darkness seemed to grow thicker, more suffocating. Suddenly, he spotted a figure in the distance, her dark hair unmistakable. Alicarde lowered his sword, relief washing over him.

"Carrisa?" he called out, his voice shaky.

The figure approached, her face becoming clearer. "Ali, are you alright?" she asked, her tone gentle.

Alicarde tried to relax, but the air remained heavy, the large windows and draped curtains creating an ominous silhouette in the dim light.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But why did you ditch me?" he asked, still uneasy.

"My apologies, Ali," she said, extending her hand towards him. He hesitated briefly before taking it, desperate for any sense of security in the darkness.

As they walked together, Alicarde couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Her voice... it was different, subtly so, but enough to raise alarm bells in his mind. Then it struck him—Carrisa had called him Ali, not Alicarde. She had never used that nickname before, and she had done so twice tonight.

His heart pounded as he recalled a crucial fact about skinwalkers—they were shapeshifters. His fear spiked. Without a moment's hesitation, he raised his sword and swung it downwards.

But the skinwalker was too fast. It released his hand and let out a sinister laugh, its form dissolving into the shadows as it darted into an adjacent room. The hunt had begun, and now, Ali was the prey in a deadly game of hide and seek.