Eternal Undying Chronicles

Alicarde was relieved he had finally shown enough mental stability for his curfew to be lifted. It had been a month since the incident with Warth, and Carrisa had begun closely observing him.

She had concluded that his mental state deteriorated significantly after sunset. When night came, it was almost as if his mind became a breeding ground for his inner demons.

To ensure his well-being, Carrisa made it a point to always have eyes on him before dusk. She even assigned Elizalina to monitor him throughout the day, so for the past month, it had been as if he and the vampire were joined at the hip. The guys on campus still hated him, though.

He surveyed the mansion, now in ruins after their recent battle—a sight that had become all too familiar. The trauma from that fateful day with Warth had left his mind scarred, causing him to experience nightmares whenever he tried to sleep. His true name had restored some semblance of sanity, but cracks remained, driving him to the brink of madness.

Recovery was a gradual process. Carrisa had subjected him to numerous types of mental therapy, and his daily routine had changed drastically. He was permitted to go to campus, where Elizalina monitored him closely. After campus hours, Carrisa and the others took over his supervision.

Carrisa had convinced him to stay put, explaining that while he possessed colossal mana levels, he was still untrained. It was essential for him to train more, learn advanced sword and combat techniques, and master his innate ability to control gravity.

Alicarde stayed put to further his training. He learned etiquette and dancing from Elizalina, history from Carrisa, and, surprisingly, war strategies from Argint, who was a master strategist. His month wasn't boring. However, the main reason Alicarde stayed put was the bribe Carrisa had offered him—a formidable enchanted armor.

The Reaper's Vestments, the armor he had worn during their battles, made Alicarde feel like a true Grim Reaper. The dark design and armor-like parts provided both intimidation and protection.

The gauntlets were the real prize. With sharp fingers, they compensated for Alicarde's lack of natural claws, complementing Argint's combat techniques perfectly.

Alicarde had named the armor the Reaper's Vestments due to its shadowy design. The armor was concealed within his shadow, allowing him to equip it instantaneously, anytime and anywhere. For the past month, he had been practicing his lines for when he actually went out into the world.

The mansion may have been in shambles, but Alicarde felt he had crossed a significant milestone in his personal growth. Despite the chaos, he had shown enough mental stability to be granted more freedom.

Although he was still a bit sour, Alicarde had fought his companions virtually every night. While it was true he held back, they didn't go all out either, yet he kept losing to them. He was starting to feel like a bum, but then again, it was only natural—they had possessed their powers since birth and had been training ever since with the best teachers around.

How could his short training time compare?

As the battle concluded, the mansion began to restore itself to its pristine condition.

The cracks in the walls vanished, the flooring repaired itself, and the lights flickered back to life. The decor, a mix of weapons and traditional ornaments, returned to its proper place, creating a blend of elegance and intimidation.

Swords, spears, and shields adorned the walls, while crystal chandeliers and rich tapestries added a touch of sophistication.

Alicarde was in a good mood, and nothing could ruin it. He smiled, his eyes cold as ice, as he imagined what he would do to his enemies.

Carrisa sighed. "If you intend to pursue the city's underworld, be aware that our support will be minimal. Simply put, you will be on your own, but we are willing to grant you access to the database."

Alicarde scowled. "Huh, why? That's not fair..." He gave it some thought, then finally acquiesced. "Fine, whatever."

Carrisa sat gracefully on a sofa. "It is fair. We have numerous responsibilities, whereas you wish to play the vigilante. I am willing to assist with Zagarath if—"

"No, Zagarath is mine. Do not interfere," Alicarde cut her off, his eyes cold.

Carrisa regarded him with a stoic gaze. "Very well then, proceed as you wish."

Argint, who had been silent, finally spoke. "Now then, it's time for payment. You bastard, you'd better have a damn good reason for touching my breasts."

Alicarde could tell she was furious. "What are you talking about? I did no such thing. Why are you still on about that? You dare accuse me of something... awesome—something I didn't do."

Amena, his first victim, spoke up. "As a matter of fact, you did. My maid uniform is in shambles master."

Alicarde smirked, laughing evilly. "Heheeeeh, you guys have no evidence against me."

Carrisa placed her fingers on her temples, feeling a mild headache from the childishness at play.

Elizalina responded, "Indeed, we do. Our garments remain in disarray." Her tone carried an air of composed indignation.

Seeing their glaring expressions, Alicarde realized he was trapped.

"A lesser man would yield under such scrutiny, but you have no evidence. How dare you presume that I, Alicarde Aeternus Asad, would have any interest in touching your soft bosoms? Why would I ever commit such an act? And even if I did, it would be an act of divine intervention—an act of providence!"

Carrisa sighed, knowing all too well what was about to unfold. He wasn't even trying to deny it anymore.

Argint's claws extended, Elizalina conjured weapons of blood, and Amena's hand morphed into a blade.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

They advanced on him with fury, and Alicarde offered no resistance. Argint's claws shredded his clothes, Elizalina's blood weapons struck him with precision, leaving bruises, and Amena's blade-hand delivered sharp, painful cuts.

"Alicarde, you pervert!" Argint yelled, her strikes landing with unrestrained anger.

"Apologize, you scoundrel!" Elizalina demanded, her blood whips cracking through the air.

"If you think I won't defend myself, you're wrong! I am a true advocate of feminism —equal fights for all!" Alicarde shouted defiantly.

"You brought this upon yourself, master," Amena remarked coldly, her blade slicing through the air with precise intent.

Realizing he couldn't win, Alicarde groaned theatrically. "This is an outrage! You have no evidence—this is assault! My legal team will be in contact with you!"

Carrisa massaged her temples, now nursing a full-blown headache. "This is becoming a nightly ritual," she muttered under her breath.

"You… you win. I'll let you off the hook this time," Alicarde finally conceded.

Argint didn't relent. "And you had better mean it, Alicarde! If I catch you doing it again, I'll rip more than just your clothes!"

Alicarde rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I get it. No more acts of God…"

Elizalina narrowed her eyes. "You would be wise to heed our warning. We are quite serious, Alicarde."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I give. Happy now?"

Carrisa sighed, the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders. "Alicarde, we tolerate your antics because it shows you're engaging with us, but there are limits. If you cross the line again, there will be repercussions."

Alicarde nodded, looking slightly chastened. "I understand."

Carrisa continued, "Your audacity is preferable to the alternative. When you sit and stare into the distance, uttering curses, it is deeply troubling. When you inflict harm upon yourself, it is even worse."

Elizalina added, "The more I come to know you, the less of a gentleman you appear to be. It seems the version of you I first encountered was but an illusion."

Amena's expression softened slightly. "We care about you, Alicarde. We want you to be well."

He looked at them, a mixture of guilt and gratitude in his eyes. "I know."

Carrisa nodded. "We see that. And that's why we allow some leniency. But do not test our patience."

Alicarde smiled sheepishly. "Understood. No more acts of God. I'll be on my best behavior."

Argint, still clutching her torn clothes, muttered, "You better be."

Carrisa massaged her temples again. This had become their new routine. Around them, Alicarde didn't pretend to be a refined gentleman. He acted like a hormone-driven teenager with no sense of propriety. But this much was tolerable compared to the alternative.

The past month had been challenging. Alicarde had been struggling with the aftermath of his encounter with Wrath. During the day, he was more or less stable, albeit with bursts of aggression, but at night, he was far worse. Sometimes, he would sit and stare into the distance with a twisted smile, muttering curses and vowing to destroy his enemies.

Those moments, though disturbing, were manageable. What truly alarmed them were the instances of self-harm.

Alicarde had developed a disturbing fascination with testing his regenerative abilities. He would carve deep gashes into his arms, watching the blood flow freely before the wounds healed.

Sometimes, he would burn his skin, observing as the charred flesh regenerated. He had even gone as far as stabbing himself in the chest, only to pull the blade out and let the wound close within seconds. The sight of him covered in his own blood, only to heal almost instantly, was harrowing.

When dawn broke, it was as if he were freed from demonic possession. He became hyper aware of his actions and was often filled with regret and, at times, embarrassment.

Carrisa had tried everything to set him straight, from magical interventions to more mundane methods. After a month of turmoil, he finally seemed to regain some semblance of normalcy. He was now in control of his inner demons… for the most part.

Reflecting on the past month, it had been a difficult journey, but Alicarde was showing signs of improvement. They were grateful for any progress, no matter how small.

Elizalina had grown accustomed to the way things were. Alicarde was mostly stable during the day, with occasional outbursts, but he was manageable. She had been visiting the mansion daily, and at this point, she might as well have been living there.

Elizalina had no friends or allies in this world—or any other world, really—so being here with them, engaging in such childish antics, was a new experience for her.

Alicarde groaned as he sank into the sofa, his phone ringing. It was a new device, upgraded by Amena, who had gone to great lengths to ensure he had no privacy left. For the past month, she had tracked his location in real time.

He answered the call with a dismissive tone. "Yes, what is it?"

Elizalina overheard the voice of a young woman on the other end. She was certain it wasn't Anne Amicus. Alicarde didn't know any other women besides those present. After a brief exchange, he ended the call.

Curiosity got the better of her. "May I inquire who that was?"

Alicarde, visibly irritated, replied, "It's my damned older sister, calling for no reason."

Elizalina, intrigued by this glimpse into Alicarde's mundane life, chose not to pursue the matter further. Instead, she shifted her focus to something more compelling. "Alicarde, might I request a taste of your blood?"

"You absolutely may not," Alicarde replied, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Argint laughed mockingly. "Oh, come now, parasite. Are you that desperate for a sip? Can't you find a willing donor elsewhere?"

Elizalina's eyes narrowed. "It is not desperation, I assure you. Alicarde's blood is unique. You would not comprehend."

Argint smirked. "Oh, I comprehend perfectly. You're just being your usual creepy, parasitic self."

"Better to be a refined parasite than a mindless bitch who cannot control her temper," Elizalina shot back, her voice calm yet cutting.

"At least I don't have to beg a man for his bodily fluids," Argint retorted, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Alicarde observed them, tempted to interject but ultimately deciding against it. He would only add fuel to the fire.

As the two continued their exchange, Alicarde's thoughts drifted to vengeance. The image of Zagarath and the mafia flashed in his mind, reigniting his desire for retribution. Soon, he would have his chance.