Eternal Undying Chronicles

Alicarde's heart was engulfed with terror so suffocating he could barely breathe. His whole body trembled as if he were in a fever dream. The mansion felt colder than usual, the air thick with an unsettling stillness that sent shivers down his spine. He could hear the whispers of the creature in the dark, its menacing presence shrouding his mind with dread.

He paced nervously through the dark halls, each step echoing like a warning in the oppressive silence. A chill wind howled through the open windows, causing the curtains to dance like ghostly specters. Alicarde tried his hardest to remain quiet in the darkness of the mansion, though he doubted it would do him much good.

Suddenly, a low growl reverberated through the hallway, freezing Alicarde in his tracks. His heart pounded against his chest as he widened his eyes, staring into the darkness ahead.

Shadows danced ominously on the walls, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to watch his every move. Despite his enhanced vision, it felt as if the shadows themselves were moving, ready to pounce on him at any moment. His legs felt weak beneath him.

A flicker of movement caught his eye—a silhouette darting across the hallway, fleeting yet unmistakably real. Alicarde's breath caught in his throat as he realized the skinwalker was still watching him.

Panic surged through him as he stumbled backward, tripping over a rug and crashing to the ground with a dull thud. He rolled around warily, gasping for air, then scrambled to his feet, his eyes frantically scanning the hallway.

But there was nothing—just the oppressive silence and the faint scent of fear that hung in the air. He cursed under his breath, his mind racing with fear and confusion.

Then, a blood-curdling scream pierced the silence—a sound so visceral and agonizing that it seemed to tear through Alicarde's very soul. He instinctively covered his ears, trying to block out the horrifying noise that echoed through the mansion's halls. The scream was followed by sinister laughter, echoing from somewhere within the mansion.

It was a chilling sound, devoid of humanity—a cruel mockery that sent chills down Alicarde's spine, highlighting his own weakness.

And then he saw it—a figure standing at the end of the hallway, bathed in the dim light streaming through a nearby window. The creature was tall and lean, its body contorted and unnatural. Its pale skin was stretched tightly over a skeletal frame, and a wicked grin stretched across its face, revealing sharp, jagged teeth that seemed to glisten in the dim light.

The smile was eerily human, yet utterly monstrous.

The creature's eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, fixated on Alicarde with an intense malevolence that chilled him to the core. Its mouth twisted into a more sinister grin, revealing rows of jagged teeth stained with darkness. In its hand, it held a bone, its origin unknown but undoubtedly sinister.

He turned around and fled; the skinwalker didn't hesitate to follow. Clutching the sword in his hand, he sensed it was closing in on him as it ran along the walls of the corridors.

Turning around, he swung the enchanted weapon as hard as he could. The fiend dodged, launching superhuman attacks of its own before retreating into the shadows. In that brief instant, it had struck him thrice, the pain severe as blood soaked his clothes, and he groaned in agony.

Alicarde's gaze fell to his own body—a ghastly sight met his eyes. Deep gashes marred his flesh, oozing blood that stained his clothes and pooled around his trembling feet. Every movement sent waves of pain through his body, but fear kept him rooted to the spot.

He regenerated quickly, his wounds closing as he backed away slowly, eyes fixed on the creature.

The creature moved closer, its movements unnaturally silent as it glided across the floor towards him. Alicarde's breath came in ragged gasps as he backed away, his mind racing with terror and despair.

He searched desperately for an escape route, but the mansion seemed to twist and shift around him, trapping him in a nightmarish labyrinth of fear.

He was enveloped in suffocating blackness, his heart pounding so loudly he feared the creature could hear it. He fumbled for a nearby wall; his hands shook violently as he struggled to find his bearings.

Keeping his eyes wide open, he steeled his heart and suppressed his fear. Maintaining his composure was one of his few talents, and he needed every ounce of it now.

A piercing screech echoed through the darkness—a sound so horrifying that Alicarde's blood ran cold. The creature's voice whispered in his ear, taunting and mocking him with promises of eternal torment.

"Heeehehehhehh," it laughed with demented glee, its voice a mockery of humanity.

Alicarde's mind reeled, horrified, as he fought to maintain his reason. He knew he was trapped in a deadly game with a malevolent entity that relished in his fear and suffering. Every shadow seemed to conceal the creature's twisted form, waiting to strike when he least expected it.

Despite the terror gripping him, he remembered Carrisa's words; this was the creature's fear—a supernatural ability to fill an opponent's heart with horror. He was afraid, but fear wouldn't save him. So he resolved to do what he always did when he was afraid: steel his heart and kill the source of his fear and unease.

He knelt on the floor, sword in hand, taking deep ragged breaths as he tried to control his fear. He focused on his heartbeat, slowly letting his terror be replaced by resolve.

He sprang forward, running towards the main hall on the first floor. Ignoring the stairs, he simply jumped down, crashing straight to the next floor. The creature shrieked upstairs, and Alicarde braced himself, forcing his trembling body to stop. The creature jumped down after him, hiding itself in the darkness.

Steadying his breath, he raised his sword and pointed into the darkness.

"I can see you, you bastard. You aren't the only one with night vision," his sword aimed at the corner of the room. The hideous creature emerged, still clutching its bone blade.

It didn't bother hiding anymore, noticing that its prey had resisted its fear. It charged forward with a chilling screech, and Alicarde charged with a roar, his eyes briefly glowing with a violet hue as he rammed his body into the hideous fiend.

The impact left him momentarily disoriented, but he fought through it, kicking towards the skinwalker, who returned the attack with a snarl and dug its claws into his side. Alicarde slashed his sword at its arm, and both their weapons were knocked away from the impact.

It was a brutal, unsophisticated battle; Alicarde didn't need it to be anything else. He didn't have the skills for refined swordplay anyway, and getting the creature unarmed was better.

It still had its ghastly claws, but so what? He had immortality. He would have the last laugh.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Grabbing its hideous blood-soaked body, he roared to suppress the fear and disgust and buried it in a flurry of punches and kicks, putting it in a chokehold. It dug its claws into him, and he gritted his teeth through the pain as he struggled to suppress the screaming skinwalker.

The creature finally rotated its body around and grabbed his arm, tossing him away like a rag doll. Not giving him any breathing room, it unleashed a few ghastly attacks that should have left him dead. But too bad—he was immortal, so he regenerated, covered in blood.

Grasping a wooden chair, he slammed it into the creature, and it screeched in pain and reeled in shock. Alicarde remembered that Amena had told him the mansion's wooden furnishings were made from Whitewood Ash. He repeatedly slammed the chair on the reeling creature until it broke, still full of dark fury.

He jumped on it, driving his elbow into its body and once again going for a chokehold. His fighting style was that of an untrained amateur, but his superhuman strength, reflexes, and, most of all, his fury in the face of fear made him something of a berserker.

The creature struggled below, lifting itself despite his weight, leaving Alicarde wishing he were heavier. But wishes weren't horses, and he was no beggar. He tightened his grip even more and roared.

As the creature lifted him, disregarding his hold, a boom filled the hall, followed by the scent of gunpowder. The bullets grazed Alicarde, but they had not been intended for him; rather, they struck the skinwalker dead on.

Screaming in agony, it threw Alicarde off, but that was a mistake because Carrisa, who was holding the shotgun, simply cracked it open, reloaded, and fired, letting the spray of bullets tear into the creature again.

The skinwalker fled in pain, retreating further into the mansion's darkness. Alicarde stood up from the ground, found his sword, and endeavored to follow, but Carrisa stopped him, wordlessly dragging him through the mansion's grand entrance. She shut the door behind her, running while holding his hand. They stopped when they noticed the maid, Amena.

"Amena, seal the mansion now," Carrisa ordered. The translucent blue film once again covered the mansion, trapping the skinwalker inside; it must have noticed the barrier being erected.

Alicarde heard its deafening scream.

"We need to kill it, not trap it! We missed our chance when you let it go."

"I released it intentionally," Carrisa said with calm authority. "It will meet its end here today." She nodded to the maid, who responded with a solemn nod and tapped her wrist, summoning a blue hologram. After a few more taps, she spoke again.

"All gas chambers have been activated, Mistress. I am now engaging the furnace." Moments later, the mansion erupted into flames, the conflagration soon followed by the agonized screams of the skinwalker.

Alicarde stared in shock. "So, your great plan was to burn down the mansion?"

"Do not concern yourself," Carrisa replied with unwavering confidence. "We can always reconstruct my citadel. It is of little consequence. Prepare yourself; the barrier will soon be compromised due to the damage sustained by the mansion's magical circuits. Once the creature emerges from the inferno, we shall deal with it."

He nodded, gripping his sword and observing her. She carried a gun and a greatsword sheathed on her back.

"Wait, since when did we have a gun?" he inquired.

"From the beginning; you simply never inquired. We possess an armory stocked with various weapons," she answered matter-of-factly.

"How was I supposed to know that?" he retorted, his fear diminishing now that he was in company. As the mansion's barriers dissipated, they faced the horror engulfed in flames. It was time for retribution, and this time, he would claim its life.