Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 42 Emotional Undercurrents

The night was a dark one, save for the neon city lights that intermittently reached Alicarde. He was in tatters, his body caked in blood, his clothes eviscerated from every angle, barely holding together.

The watch on his wrist had survived for the most part, though the opulent accessory was now a Rorschach of blood and grime, with a thin line of cracks on it.

The Strigoi, by the name Zagarath, as Malefica had identified him, was a true freak. The way he moved demonstrated mastery over himself and the principles of battle. His strength was already above Alicarde's, yet the fiend had so elegantly used body enchantments of different kinds along with spells, bombarding Alicarde with fireballs in quick succession.

He didn't recall much from the battle because it had been just that short. It wasn't even a battle—just a one-sided beatdown. He was toyed with, looked down upon, and made to submit to his own weakness. He fled like a rat.

Alicarde gritted his teeth, his eyes full of fury and indignation.

'Magic. I need to learn magic... I need to get stronger', he clenched his teeth.

Alicarde hadn't rejected Malefica immediately because of her simple offer to teach him spells from her grimoire.

The weight of his failure loomed over his heart—the fear, pain, and humiliation. He had to set things right, otherwise, he would be consumed by his own trauma, forever unable to face Zagarath.

'I must keep moving forward,' his thoughts drew him in as his body led him back to the mansion, a testament to his homing instincts built by daily routine.

Alicarde returned home, the night's events weighing heavily on his shoulders. He stopped the car outside the mansion's grand entrance, opting not to park it in the garage. As he entered the fully lit mansion, he was greeted by the quiet, comforting presence of Carrisa. She stood in the entrance hall, her usually aloof eyes full of concern.

Alicarde stood there, his body and spirit in tatters, torn apart by the vicious claws of his enemies. He was charred, burned by the cruel flames of his defeat.

In his heart, he felt like a soldier who had returned from a vicious war, scarred and broken by its horrors, to his kind and loving family. He didn't say a word—he didn't need to. His eyes said too much.

Without a word, she stepped forward and enveloped him in a hug. Her embrace was warm and steady, providing a solace he hadn't realized he needed.

He hugged her back, feeling a momentary sense of relief as her arms tightened around him. The scent of her familiar fragrance mixed with the faintest traces of magic lingering in the air. It was a small, quiet moment of connection in the midst of his inner turmoil, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel safe.

He did not want to admit it, yet he could not deny it—his bond with Carrisa had grown far more quickly than he had ever anticipated. He had come here reluctantly, but as the weeks passed by, he had come to see this as home.

Carrisa didn't ask any questions. She didn't need to. Her silent support spoke volumes. When they finally pulled apart, she gave him a gentle nod and stepped back, allowing him the space to process his emotions.

Amena and Argint soon arrived. They didn't say anything either. The taciturn maid merely stepped forward and handed him his phone. He didn't ask where she found it, he only needed to look at the mud stains on her usually pristine maid's outfit to know that she had done more than just look for his phone.

Argint was also silent. She had a few leaves in her dazzling red hair, and her eyes betrayed how worried she was about Alicarde. He had not forgotten the fact that her brother was killed by him, and tonight he had killed even more people. Did they have siblings too, he wondered?

Alicarde didn't say much. He merely smiled, "Wow, you guys look like crap. Were you out playing in the garden this late at night?"

"Yes, something like that," Argint forced a smile. "A certain perv I know didn't come back home, so I went out to beat him up."

Amena was silent, clearly in no mood for a joke. Her stoic face looked unchanged, but her eyes betrayed the note of worry.

Alicarde's eyes changed at her words. He felt something shift.

'Make him pay with his blood.' Her words filled his mind with a crimson hue for vengeance.

Feeling the weight of her words, he knew she was right, but the burden of his actions still weighed heavily on him.

"I am just another weakling. I don't even matter."

Carrisa moved closer, her presence a steady anchor. "You are Alicarde. I know who you are, even if you do not yet comprehend your full potential. Should you transform into something unrecognizable, I will still see the essence of you. I shall stand by you for all eternity, no matter what you become.

Though you are not yet strong, you will be, just as a bird is born without the gift of flight but later grows to soar high above the earth. I have no doubt that you shall rise in the same way."

She shifted even closer. "I will remain by your side today, tomorrow, forever, and always."

He looked into her eyes, finding a flicker of hope amidst his despair. "Even if I were weak, if I were wrong, cruel, or a coward, would you sti—"

She cut him off, smiling—a rare, genuine smile that warmed his heart. "Always. Even if you were to descend into the depths of depravity, to become the vilest creature upon this earth, I would still stand by your side. I would never forsake you. This, I swear, as it is the promise I made long ago."

"Whatever may come, remember this forever and always," Carrisa said, her tone resolute.

"Their deaths are not yours to bear; they are not your burden. Only your vengeance is of consequence now. Nurture your grudge and annihilate your enemies."

Her words were like a faint light illuminating his darkened soul. They weren't the sentiments of a good person; they were indifferent to the suffering of others. Her message was simple: only he mattered, and the lives of others were insignificant in the grand scheme.

The curtains in the room swayed like silent phantoms, the violet of her eyes the only clear thing in the dim light. They conversed some more, but eventually, exhaustion overtook him. He drifted into a deep slumber, comforted by the warmth of the violet-eyed woman beside him.

Carrisa smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sinister glow.

'Impressive as always. He has grown far more rapidly than I anticipated. His mental fortitude has reached a critical juncture. Just a little more... and the first fragment of his true name may awaken. As for that which I commissioned...

it must be nearing completion. It will serve as the perfect gift for his hunt.'

She delicately toyed with the stray hair on his face, her thoughts unknown to him, her gaze filled with an icy malice.

'Sleep well, my Alicarde. Zagarath shall be yours to destroy this time... only because it is necessary for your growth. Otherwise, I would have hunted down that wretched beast myself and made him suffer for eternity for the unforgivable crime of daring to lay a hand upon you.'

Her smile twisted into one of sinister delight—the kind of smile that only a beautiful yet terrifying demoness could wear.

Yet her eyes burned with fury. The violet glow in them was so cold, it seemed to drop the temperature in the room.

'Zagarath shall perish by Alicarde's hand, but the one who sent him... they are mine. I will extract my blood debt for the sin of ever thinking to harm what is mine.'