Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 57 Prelude

Alicarde watched the young girl. She was an adorable little girl with dark hair cascading in soft waves around her shoulders and vivid green eyes that sparkled with life. She looked about ten years old, her small frame dressed in a simple dress. Her eyes showed signs of cunning and mischief.

She kept yelling at the little boy with dark hair and brown eyes, who was obviously her little brother.

"Ali, stop playing with a soccer ball in the living room! Stop! You'll break something, and Mom is going to be so mad when she gets back," she warned, her voice a mix of worry and irritation.

The little boy, Ali, seemed equally irritated. "Shut up, Sarah, and mind your own business," he snapped back, kicking the ball with even more vigor. "It's not like I'm going to break anything."

"Yes, you will!" Sarah insisted. "Remember last time? You broke Mom's favorite vase, and we all got in trouble!"

"That was an accident," Ali retorted. "It won't happen again."

"It better not," Sarah said, folding her arms. "Because if you break something, I am so going to rat you out to Mom."

"Traitor... I'm your only brother," the boy seemed indignant.

"So what? You never listen to anything I say," the girl replied angrily.

They went back and forth for a few more minutes, Ali stubbornly refusing to stop despite Sarah's warnings.

"I'll be careful," he kept saying. "Just leave me alone."

Sarah sighed in exasperation. "Fine, but when you break something, don't come crying to me," she said, turning on her heel and leaving him standing in the living room, sulking.

She sat on a sofa next to another little girl. Alicarde looked at the second girl, his mind in tatters yet recognizing the little five-year-old as Layla. She was adorable, with dark hair and brown eyes, quietly playing with a sketchbook and paying no mind to her arguing older siblings.

Alicarde was in so much agony, yet he silently watched the siblings, wondering about them. Who were they? His mind wavered between pain and clarity. The scene before him was both familiar and distant, like a half-remembered dream—one instant he knew them all too well, and the next, he was lost on who they were.

Not long after, he heard the sound of glass breaking. He turned around to find that the soccer ball had shattered one of the house's decorations.

Sarah's face lit up with a triumphant smile. "You finally did it, didn't you? I am so going to tell Mom, in detail, how you didn't listen to your big sister," she said, her tone gleeful at her brother's misfortune.

Ali's face went through multiple shades of fear, and then he gestured for Sarah to come closer. She walked over, her expression smug.

"So, what do you want this big sis for, little Ali who stupidly disobeyed his big sis?" she asked, hands on her hips.

Ali forced a smile. "Say, big sis, best big sis in the world, won't you help a little brother out?" he pleaded, his voice dripping with false sweetness.

Sarah looked at him, thinking her brother had no shame. Her expression remained indifferent, her eyes gloating at her brother's sycophant attitude.

"So, sis, you have to help a little brother out, and I'll give you two weeks' worth of my allowance. What do you say?" he offered.

She smiled. "Hmm, not gonna do. I have to be paid some special fees—emotional and psychological trauma from having to deal with you, and my voice is kinda sore from trying to tell you to stop. All in all, your bill comes down to three weeks. Pay up."

Ali twitched a bit, then reluctantly agreed. "Fine, three weeks. Shall we have it on paper?"

"Don't you trust your big sis, Ali? I would never betray you," the girl said.

The boy was having none of it. "Actually, you will."

She smiled. "Fine, you win. Huh, so little trust in your sister... your blood sister."

"Just get the paper already, I don't have all day," the boy said.

Sarah nodded. They went back to the sketchbook Layla was playing with, took it from her, and tore out an empty page, earning themselves her ire and some cold words.

"Hey! That's my sketchbook!" Layla protested. "You can't just take my stuff like that!"

"Shut up. We'll get you another one," Sarah said dismissively. "This is important."

The scene shifted to his high school. He was among a circle of guys in the school hall, their faces blurred. They were recounting stories of their teenage exploits with girls. Alicarde couldn't remember any of their names or faces, the assault on his mind was finally taking its toll.

"Bro, you won't believe how many rounds I went. I was a real beast," the first boy bragged.

"After what you did to get there, I think you recovered some aura points. The Rizz points you lost had been regained," young Ali laughed.

The boys' conversations turned vulgar. "Man, she couldn't get enough," one boasted. "I've got her hooked."

Another chimed in, "Yeah, but did you see her friend? She's even hotter."

A girl passed by, and Ali found himself staring. His friends laughed at him.

"Dude, I can't believe you're so into her. What happened to our Casanova?" one teased.

"I thought you only liked the hot ones with the fat tits. Why the interest in our resident cutie?" another added.

The teenage Ali shut them up. "Oh, go to hell, guys. This is love."

One of the guys placed a hand on his shoulder. "Should've said something sooner, 'cause we're totally going out."

Ali's heart sank. "So that's how it is. Oh well, doesn't matter now," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

His friends were just trying to be supportive, but to the girls, they probably seemed like classic assholes. His friend smiled. "Should I break up with her? Bros before hoes, you know."

Young Ali laughed. "Nah, dude, I'd be over her in like a week."

Alicarde remembered he did get over her. He had told her how he felt, and her face turned completely red. Though he kept his best poker face, he distinctly remembered his legs trembling. That was his first love.

"That was your first love," a voice said from behind him.

"How pathetic. What a pathetic life you've lived," the voice continued.

Alicarde turned around to find the black smoke had congealed into a familiar human silhouette—his own shadow.

"Who are you?" Alicarde asked.

"It's quite obvious if you weren't so stupid. I am you," the shadow answered.

Before he could respond, the violet flames consumed him again, pulling him into the next memory. This one was of his grandmother's death. While everyone cried, Ali felt nothing. He didn't shed a single tear. He remembered his sisters and cousin crying their hearts out. All he could do was fake it to avoid standing out.

He had rubbed his eyes until they turned red, pretending to be overwhelmed with emotion, even though he felt sad. But why couldn't he cry?

The black smoke conjured itself into a mist-like figure. "Yes, that's exactly how you felt about death," it taunted in a sinister voice.

"Not only are you pathetic, but you're callous too. You don't deserve to live. Why are you even struggling, you maniacal hypocrite?" the voice mocked.

Alicarde looked at the mist, which sounded exactly like him. "Who are you?" he asked, his mind unraveling.

The shadow moved closer. "Admit it. Admit how you really felt, you trash bastard."

Alicarde felt part of the mist flow into his body, breaking his mind further. His voice echoed out as he looked at his grandmother's tombstone.

"You're wrong. I wasn't callous. I wasn't indifferent. I just couldn't cry. I tried, I really did, but the tears wouldn't come. I did care...

I did," Alicarde muttered, falling to his knees.

"Is that right?" the shadow laughed as more of its foggy figure seeped into Alicarde.

His eyes grew cold as the black mist consumed him. The mist floated away, leaving him as a lifeless corpse on the street. This memory was of the day he died—the day Ali Asad ceased to exist, and Alicarde Asad was born.