Eternal Undying Chronicles

Alicarde dismounted the bicorn, its muscular form dissolving into the shadows with a dark grace. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, slanted shadows over the city.

Today was meant to be one of his rare days off, a chance to let the weight of his burdens lift, if only for a moment. Malefica had even insisted on a therapeutic tour of the city's districts—a suggestion he had begrudgingly accepted.

As fate would have it, his path had led him back to the building of the Bureau of Intelligence, the very place where his first rampage had left a trail of devastation.

The memories clawed at the edges of his mind, a reminder that his past was always a breath away, ready to drag him back into the abyss. As he stood there, an unexpected sight caught his attention—a statue of Malefica.

It was ancient, its stone surface marred by the passage of time, yet it bore no cracks or fractures. Dust and grime clung to it, but the statue radiated a strange, almost ethereal beauty.

What captivated him most was the expression on her face—a smile so genuine, so warm, that it seemed almost out of place compared to the Malefica he knew.

The light in her eyes was different too, softer, more humane, a far cry from the cold witch who had become his closest ally. For a moment, he stood transfixed, the statue pulling at a part of him he had long thought dead.

His reverie was interrupted when he ran into a detective from the precinct. She approached him with a casual demeanor, striking up a conversation that felt oddly personal. Her questions were pointed, yet there was something disarming about her presence. When she claimed to be a reporter, Alicarde knew it was a lie, but he didn't push the matter.

People often harbored prejudice against law enforcement, and perhaps she was merely trying to avoid that stigma. Either way, he didn't mind the conversation—it was a fleeting distraction from the storm brewing inside him.

What caught him off guard was when she mentioned her love for games. It was a simple thing, but it stirred something within him. The excitement he felt was familiar. Apart from Amena and Anne, he didn't know many girls who shared his interest in games.

Anne, in particular, was a kindred spirit, a fellow weeb who understood him in ways few others could. Their bond had always filled the void left by his lack of dude friends, making him feel less alone on campus, although some might argue he already had a beautiful girlfriend—what more did he want? Only he knew otherwise.

Anne was special to him, someone he genuinely valued from the bottom of his heart. The thought of losing her was unbearable.

When Mark called to inform him that Anne had been kidnapped, a dark, relentless wave of distress crashed over him. It was like reliving the nightmare of Zagarath all over again. The wounds that had barely begun to heal were ripped open, leaving him bleeding and raw.

Rage consumed him, blinding him to everything but the need to act, to find her and destroy those responsible. That unbridled fury led him to this abandoned building. It was no mere coincidence—it was similar to a place steeped in his past failures, a silent witness to his previous defeat.

The irony wasn't lost on him, and it only served to fuel the inferno raging within his chest. Each step he took was heavy with intent, his violet eyes burning with deadly focus.

Amena had sent him data on the assailants, a group of espers who had recently thrust the supernatural world into the harsh light of the mundane. Their actions had exposed pain he would have liked to keep hidden, and now they would face the consequences.

Alicarde had only skimmed the information, but it was enough. Among the group was a boy, no older than a middle schooler. His youth would not spare him from the wrath Alicarde was about to unleash.

The building was deathly silent, the air thick with the scent of rust. Alicarde paused, honing in on the faint presences he could sense upstairs. As he reached the upper floor, the dilapidated state of the building became more apparent. The walls were crumbling, the floor creaking under his weight.

He stopped before a particularly worn section of the wall, deciding he had no time to search for the door. With a single, powerful punch, he reduced the wall to rubble. What lay beyond the debris confounded him, if only for a moment.

Alicarde saw a total of twelve people, their heads bowed, kowtowing in his direction, with Anne on her knees like some medieval knight. The sight stunned him, his seething rage momentarily giving way to utter confusion.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, the entire group roared in unison, their voices trembling with fear.

"We submit, please have mercy!"

He halted, his gaze locking onto Anne, who knelt before them as though she were the leader of this bizarre congregation.

'Hmm, wait… Is this an esper group or a weird cult? Am I too late? Did Anne get initiated into this cult?'

He looked at them, and it was clear—their fear was of him. The realization was strangely satisfying. He could see the terror in their eyes, the way they quivered at his mere presence.

'Have my escapades as the Reaper finally borne enough fruit that people cower just by seeing me?'

Anne got to her feet, trembling, her hands spread wide as if to protect the others from a ferocious monster. Alicarde's heart twinged with an unfamiliar pain, but then he remembered that his current appearance was that of an infernal grim reaper.

He forced himself to calm down, realizing that his friend wasn't afraid of him—she was scared of what he was wearing. Anne and he had shared countless nerdy discussions about the Reaper, so he knew she was well-informed about his fearsome reputation.

"Please don't kill anyone. Please… don't kill them. They aren't bad people," Anne pleaded, her voice trembling, but her conviction unwavering.

Alicarde's violet eyes narrowed. "They are still guilty of kidnapping. That is a crime, is it not?"

"I came of my own volition."

"The camera feeds say otherwise," he replied coldly. "Move aside, I will decide their fates."

Anne's gaze hardened. "And what gives you the right to be judge, jury, and executioner?"

"Justice," Alicarde replied, his voice cold, made even more sinister by the Reaper's vestments.

"That's not fair," Anne replied, standing her ground.

"Justice is fair. It would never allow for the deaths of innocent people," she argued, her eyes pleading with him as she saw that he hadn't yet made a move to kill.

Alicarde's tone darkened as he responded, "Justice has killed far more innocents than you know. Justice is only just if it is powerful."

"I am powerful; that is why I am just."

"That is tyranny," Anne countered.

"But still just," he whispered.

Alicarde's irritation flared. "Get out of the way. I have people to kill."

"No," Anne said, standing her ground. "And don't even think of moving me with your powers. If you kill them, I'll stab this glass shard into my neck." She pulled out a piece of glass, her hands shaking but her resolve unyielding.

Alicarde was perplexed. In his heart, he believed they deserved to die; it was the only way for him to feel vindicated after Zagarath. But then… this wasn't about Zagarath. Discover stories with empire

'What am I thinking about?' Alicarde thought, his mind clouded with doubt.

'Don't let them deceive you. One of them has mind powers. Anne must have been brainwashed,' a whisper echoed in his mind, eerily similar to his own voice when he wore the Reaper's vestments.

The words snapped his attention to Petra, his eyes glowing with killing intent.

"You… you did something to her, didn't you?" he hissed in rage.

He activated his ability, [Flux Field], crushing the glass in Anne's hand to pieces with precision, ensuring she wasn't hurt, while pulling her behind him and making her float. Anne screamed, begging him not to kill anyone, her voice a desperate plea.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Alicarde moved with terrifying speed, far quicker than the espers who had placed their fate in Anne could react. He raised his sword, aiming to kill Petra.

"That will suffice for today," Carrisa's voice resonated through the open laptop, her tone elegant and authoritative, instantly halting the chaos in the room.

"You are not permitted to take any lives. The sun has not yet set, and already you are acting without restraint."

Caden and his group exchanged bewildered glances, their fear intensifying as the Reaper, poised to kill moments ago, froze at the sound of the unknown woman's voice.

"Who could hack my system so effortlessly?" Ping muttered, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fear.

Alicarde exhaled deeply, attempting to reign in his rage.

"They deserve to die," he growled.

"You will not kill them," Carrisa's voice remained calm but resolute, brooking no defiance.

The Reaper's violet eyes flared with frustration as he turned, driving his fist into the wall with enough force to make the entire room shake. The espers stood frozen, their worst nightmare, subdued by the mere command of a woman whose presence was confined to a laptop screen.

"My dear, these people are not Zagarath. They did not abduct Anne with malice in their hearts. You are to spare them."

'Her dear?' The thought echoed in the minds of the espers. This terrifying being—was someone's dear?

"Fine," Alicarde grunted, the violet glow in his eyes dimming. "I wasn't going to kill them anyway. Anne begged me to spare them."

"How charming of you," Carrisa's voice softened, her amusement evident though her control remained absolute. "But if that is the case, dearest, why was your sword so dangerously close to the blonde—Petra, I believe?"

Petra's eyes widened in shock. How did she know her name?

"I was only going to rough them up a little," Alicarde replied coldly, his gaze falling on the espers once more.

"But it doesn't matter now. I'll take Anne and leave. You've been granted mercy. None of you will die today."

Summer's voice shook as she whispered in disbelief, "He's letting us live."

Chrona sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face. "We survived," she murmured, overwhelmed with emotion.

"We owe Anne our lives," Oliver added, his voice filled with gratitude.

Alicarde glanced at them briefly, thinking to himself, What a bunch of weirdos.

He gently lowered Anne to the ground, and she smiled weakly, her legs giving way as she fell to her knees, relief washing over her face.