Eternal Undying Chronicles

Alicarde recognized this particular Strigoi immediately. While his hatred for Zagarath burned brightest, this nameless Strigoi was a close second on his list of despised enemies. He loathed this creature even more than the mafia members who had collaborated with the monsters.

This hideous abomination had been the one to kidnap Anne on that fateful night. The sight of it reignited the fury he had felt during that humiliating defeat—the fear and anguish that had nearly broken him.

The violet streaks in Alicarde's eyes flared with intensity, his desire to kill reaching a fever pitch. With a swift, merciless motion, he raised his sword high and brought it down, pinning the Strigoi to the ground.

The blade pierced through the creature's waist, trapping it between the cold, hard earth and the unforgiving steel. His eyes were cold, his emotions tightly controlled, though a dark smile curled under his hood.

"You are going to my dungeon. Don't expect to die quickly."n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"I already have a few friends there for you... you will join them."

The creature screamed and thrashed violently, its desperation palpable.

"No... no, free me!" it screeched in a grunting, hideous voice, each word distorted by its monstrous form.

Alicarde's eyes widened in surprise.

"You're actually sapient... good. You will give me the answers I need after a good soul search."

He reached out telepathically, his thoughts brushing against Malefica's mind.

"Malefica, can you do a soul search on this one? I know you're still watching."

Malefica's voice came through with a sigh.

"I never said I wasn't watching. Yes, I can do a soul search. However, this also presents a new development. The Strigoi are evolving—they're getting more intelligent. It seems some are starting to gain the ability to speak. If more of them develop this capacity, Zagarath's minions will become even more powerful."

Alicarde's expression hardened. He knew what she was talking about, the Strigoi were evolving far too quickly. It was unusual for them to go from being creatures of low intellect to having the ability to speak in such a short time, even if they were former humans.

"Then we kill them before that happens. But we can start by extracting information from this one. I want to know what the ritual is for, and I want a full soul search. However, don't kill it—I want it alive, and with a mind intact if possible."

"You are being awfully demanding."

"I am. I trust you can get it done, professor."

He turned his attention to the ruined chamber. It had been old to begin with, but now it was in complete disarray. The pillars lay broken and scattered across the floor, remnants of the destruction he had wrought.

Flames from his Inferno spell still lingered, flickering ominously over the charred carcasses of the Strigoi, their monstrous forms twisted and blackened.

The stench of burned flesh hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of crushed bones and brain matter, their blackened blood and entrails splattered across the ground like a grotesque mosaic of death.

He ignored the Strigoi he had pinned to the ground, its pitiful screams growing weaker as it struggled beneath his blade. Instead, he walked calmly toward Wrath, his footsteps echoing in the hollow silence of the chamber.

The bicorn stood proudly amidst the carnage, its infernal eyes glowing with a menacing light as it guarded several corpses of fallen Strigoi.

Alicarde was not surprised, these creatures often used human hostages to manipulate their prey. Their intelligence was undeniable, but this time, hostages would not have saved them.

Unlike the last time, Alicarde had resolved to kill them all, regardless of who they hid behind. Though Malefica might not have approved, he knew this was necessary. However, he had summoned Wrath to guard the humans just in case, and he had been right to do so.

"Well done, Wrath."

His voice was devoid of the hatred he once held for the dreadful steed. After all, Wrath would live its life as his slave—a fitting price for the pain it had inflicted. The bond between them, though forged in suffering, had proved its worth. He now had a powerful familiar at his command.

The bicorn did not react, its violet eyes offering only silent acknowledgment of Alicarde's praise.

He then turned his attention to the cages that lined the chamber. Most held frightened, trembling humans, but the last cage was different.

It contained those who had begun to transform, their bodies caught between human and monster. The sight of their elongated claws and distorted features was a grim reminder of the horrors they had endured—or rather the horrors they would become.

The people in the other cages looked at Alicarde with a mixture of awe and terror, their voices trembling as they spoke.

"He killed them all."

"We're saved... thank you, thank you."

"He's not going to kill us next, is he?"

"Please, help us, help us out of this horrible place."

Alicarde ignored their pleas and walked toward the cage of half-transformed Strigoi. They were still mostly human, but the monstrous changes were undeniable—twisted claws, elongated limbs, and the faint glow of crimson in their eyes.

"I don't remember the transformation taking this long," Alicarde muttered, his thoughts directed to Malefica.

"It seems Zagarath has improved the turning ritual... He's found a way to increase the success rate of each candidate, thereby increasing his numbers even with limited resources."

"Stop being impressed by the enemy's magic, but... I don't blame you. Zagarath's abilities are far from average. He cast spells without chants—magic I had initially assumed was basic. But that was not basic magic, and he used no chants."

"Our enemy is more formidable than we thought. A normal Strigoi could never make it this far, especially considering he's plotting against the Evernight girl."

"Yeah... Zagarath is not a common beast. He's a creature of intellect, which is why he makes deals with the powerful in this city."

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A young girl's voice interrupted their conversation, her cry cutting through the chamber.

"Daddy... please help my dad! He's in there—the monster did something to him. Please, fix him!"

A woman's voice followed, filled with desperation.

"My husband too! Help him, please!"

More voices joined in, their pleas echoing around the chamber.

"Please, save my brother!"

"Help my wife, she's in there!"

"My son... please, I beg you!"

Alicarde's gaze shifted to the cage of half-transformed people, then back to the pleading faces of those in the other cages. The half-transformed were mostly men, but he noticed two that were apparently female.

He sighed and asked Malefica telepathically.

"Can we reverse the transformation?"

"We cannot. Their bodies have already been altered to Strigoi, just as you can never return to being a normal human. Their frame has been altered."

"I see, that's too bad. I'll deal with it then."

He raised his hand toward the cage, mana flowing into his palm as he prepared the spell.

"Hel... help me," a half-transformed man whispered, his voice weak and pleading.

But Alicarde's resolve was unshaken.

"Tinder to spark, ember to glow,

in this place, let fire grow.

With a breath, let flames flow,

consume all—Inferno."

The flames erupted within the cage, engulfing the half-transformed people. Their roars of pain echoed through the chamber as the fire consumed them, reducing them to ashes.

"Nooo! Daddy!" the young girl screamed, her voice filled with anguish.

"My son... Ahhrg!"

Others tried to console her, their voices trembling. "It's too late... they were already monsters. There was nothing we could do."

"We can only pray for them now."

Alicarde watched the flames with cold detachment, his gaze eventually settling on the pale, tear-stained face of the disheveled girl.

Her clothes were torn and stained with grime and dried blood, her small body bruised and battered.

The sight of her tears made Alicarde think of Lily, a memory that threatened to stir emotions he had long buried. He had already decided—he was done with such sentiments. He was not here to be a beacon of hope, he was here to be an icon of vengeance and death.

He walked up to their cage, his expression hardened, his eyes dripping with nihilistic disdain.

"W-Why did you kill my daddy?"

"Wh- Why ... d-daddy"

The little girl's tears and words did not move Alicarde, instead, they only irritated him.

"If you want someone to blame," he began, his tone cold and merciless.

"Then blame your cursed luck. Blame the corrupt leaders who sold you and your family to monsters. Blame your weakness that let you be a helpless victim. And blame me if it makes you feel any better.

But understand this—nothing you do will change a damn thing. The world is built on cruelty. It cares not for your suffering, and neither do I. The strong consume the weak, and that is the only law here. I am not your savior, kid. Hold on to whatever shreds of hope you have left, but know this—hope is a lie.

Justice belongs to those with the strength to seize it."

The people in the cage fell silent, Alicarde's chilling words hanging heavy in the air. The young girl, who had been crying moments ago, became eerily quiet. Her tears still fell, but her mouth trembled, trying to suppress the sobs that clawed at her throat.

"Shut up, shut up! How can you be so ruthless? How can you say something so cruel to these people? Haven't they suffered enough?" Malefica's voice suddenly screamed in his mind, her anger seething through their connection.

"It's cruel, but it's the truth. What else would you have me say? That it'll be okay? Because it won't, and you know it. Your millennia of life should have taught you that much by now. I've lived barely two decades, and even I understand the cruel truth of this world.

A kind lie won't help anyone here. I've given her someone to hate—me. They can hate me all they want, it makes no difference."

"Hmph, do as you please, but at least have the decency to hold back against a child. She's been through enough—they all have."

Alicarde's eyes remained cold, unfazed by her words. He stood alone in the wreckage, his heart as still and unfeeling as the ruins around him.