Still covered in blood and on his knees, Alicarde felt the pain gradually subside as he desperately gripped the hilt of the sword lodged in his body. With a guttural roar that echoed through the desolate grounds, he summoned every ounce of strength and, with a sickening sound of metal grating against bone, pushed the sword out of his flesh.
The moment the blade was freed, his strength gave way, and he collapsed onto his back, the world spinning around him.
For a moment, there was nothing—no pain, no sensation—only the eerie stillness that followed the storm. Alicarde's breath came in shallow gasps as he turned his head to the left, expecting to see a torrent of blood gushing from the wound.
To his astonishment, there was none. The ground around him was stained with the blood that had already soaked into his tattered black hoodie, but no fresh blood flowed. Confusion flickered in his eyes as he pulled at the torn fabric, revealing the flesh beneath. Through the ragged gaps in his clothing, he could see his skin—unmarred, pristine, as if the battle had never happened.
"I... I healed," he muttered, disbelief coloring his voice.
"Indeed, you have, my Alicarde," came a voice that seemed to resonate from the very air around him. It was ethereal, carrying an otherworldly elegance that sent shivers down his spine.
His gaze slowly rose, and he found himself staring up at a mysterious woman with dark, flowing hair. She stood over him, her presence both commanding and otherworldly, casting a long shadow across his prone form.
"Who... who are you? And what in the hell happened to me?" Alicarde demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. "More importantly, what was that monster?"
The woman ignored his questions, instead kneeling gracefully beside him. Her movements were fluid, almost like a dance. She reached out and placed a delicate finger on his lips, silencing him.
"I am Carrisa Evernight, a princess of the Evernight Empire. You are now bound to me as my undying, sharing in both my fate and destiny for all eternity—my one true undying warrior." A gentle smile curved her lips as she continued,.
"As for the werewolf you so valiantly slew to protect your lady, he was a proud warrior known as Aiden Beowulf, the son of the War Wolf."
Alicarde stared at her in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on him like an iron shroud.
"Any more questions?" she asked, her tone as aloof as ever.
"What... what have you done to me? Did you... did you turn me into a vampire like you?" he whispered, his voice laced with a fearful hesitation.
Carrisa's expression softened, and she gave a soft, almost musical laugh.
"A vampire? Heavens, no. You are not a vampire, nor am I, so rest easy. You need not concern yourself with such things."
His mind was still reeling, struggling to make sense of what had transpired. With a dazed, thoughtful expression, he asked again, though with evident hesitation, "Am I... am I a zombie? An undead? Are you a witch or a necromancer?"
She brushed a lock of her dark hair aside, leaning in closer until her face was mere inches from his.
"You surprise me with your calm demeanor. Were I not so near to you, I might not have sensed how tense you truly are. Are you the sort who maintains a calm facade when fear grips your heart? Good, such a quality befits my champion, " she remarked, her voice almost teasing.
"As for your questions, you are neither a zombie nor any form of lowly undead, nor a lich or anything of that macabre nature. No, you are something far more significant—whether that is a blessing or a curse depends on your perspective," she said, her tone serious now.
She leaned in further, and he could feel the warmth radiating from her.
"You are alive and forever undying. You belong to a rare class known as the Undying. Death has relinquished its claim on you; it wants nothing to do with you anymore."
Carrisa's gaze held his captive as she concluded, "So, my Alicarde, you are now mine for all eternity."
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice.
"Ali," he answered despondently, barely hiding the tremble in his tone. "My name is Ali."
"It was, but I have bestowed upon you a new name. Your new name is now Alicarde, and you shall be my sword in the wars to come. Consider it the greatest honor," she declared, her voice leaving no room for argument as she dismissed his protest.
'This woman must be mad. What in the world is she? I need to get out of here,' Alicarde thought frantically, his mind racing for a way to escape.
But she was kneeling right beside him, her proximity making any thoughts of flight seem futile. If he were to make a break for it, he would have to wait for the right moment.
'Ahhh, God must love me too much,' he mused sarcastically as Carrisa finally stood up and began walking towards a nearby mansion. This was his chance.
"Come along, Alicarde," she called out, waving her hand dismissively towards the maid who had been lying on the ground. Seeing this as the opportunity he had been waiting for, Alicarde quickly got to his feet, surveyed his surroundings, and then, with a sudden burst of energy, sprinted off in the opposite direction.
He wasn't foolish enough to stay.
"This world is full of cultists and human sacrifices. I'm my parents' only son—if I die, the lineage ends with me, goddammit," he muttered to himself as he fled into the night.
His legs moved faster than ever before, his body driven by a surge of adrenaline that pushed his already enhanced abilities to new heights. The bushes and trees blurred past him as he ran, and it wasn't long before he had vanished from Carrisa's sight.
Carrisa sighed, her expression one of mild amusement.
"That fool, where does he think he's going, covered in blood like that?"
"Shall I pursue him, mistress?" the homunculus maid inquired, her voice calm and unwavering.
"No, leave him be," Carrisa replied.
"Mistress, if I may ask, why did you not form a pact with him? Allowing him to roam free presents numerous opportunities for treachery," the maid questioned, her tone respectful yet curious.
"I did not bring him back to serve as a mere pawn. However, his actions today have piqued my interest. I shall keep him around for a few millennia and see how he fares. Now, let us depart and tend to Beowulf's body. He died an honorable death, and we will not allow his remains to be desecrated," Carrisa said, her voice filled with a quiet resolve.
With that, she turned and walked into the mansion, a gentle smile playing on her lips.
...
After fleeing from the mysterious, witch-like woman, Alicarde soon realized the gravity of his situation. He was in an unfamiliar city, his surroundings alien to him. The thrill of escape quickly faded, replaced by the harsh reality that he had no idea where he was or how he had even gotten here.
"Where the hell am I? How the hell did I even get here? And more importantly, where the hell is my apartment?" he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with frustration.
He stopped under a flickering streetlight, nervously scanning the area, half-expecting the dark-haired woman to appear out of the shadows. But as the minutes passed and she did not materialize, his fears began to subside.
Finally calming down, Alicarde felt the adrenaline that had been fueling his frantic escape fade away. Exhausted, he sank to his knees, his mind racing with questions and doubts.
"What do I do now? Where do I go?" he wondered aloud, trying to steady his thoughts. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly. After a few moments, it dawned on him that he still had his phone.
Fishing it out of his pocket, he was met with over forty missed calls from his parents. The sight of their names on the screen filled him with a sense of dread, but he knew he had to call them back. It was almost 1 am to booth.
The phone rang only once before it was answered, a trembling voice on the other end.
"Hello?" his mother answered, her voice wavering with fear.
"Mom, are you okay? Did something happen? Your voice... it's..." Alicarde began, but he was cut off as his mother broke into sobs.
"Ah, Ali, my child, it's you... you're okay, you're okay," she cried, the relief in her voice palpable.
"Mom, Mom, calm down. I'm absolutely fine," he replied, trying to soothe her.
"But we got a phone call... the hospital said you got into an accident and... and died," she choked out between sobs.
Hearing this, Alicarde had a rough idea of what had happened, but he wasn't about to tell his mother the truth. Lying was easier.
"I'm fine, Mom. I think they must have made a mistake. I've been in my apartment all day," he lied smoothly, hoping to ease her worries.
"But you... you died," she insisted, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
"But I didn't. I'm alive and well, not a scratch on me, and I have no idea what you're talking about," he continued to lie.
"Where's Dad?" he asked changing the topic.
Ali's heart was racing as he listened to his mother calling for his father, her rapid footsteps and muffled voice burrowing through his ears to plant him firmly on a planet that had grown steadily more remote and unreal.
His lips even twisted into something nearing a smile at the normalcy of it all.
So much had happened tonight, the fear and worry in his mother's voice reminded him that not everything was different.
His dad came on the line, the voice deep, with confusion and relief.
"Ali, is that really you? We got a call saying you. you were gone. We were about to catch the first flight out."
Ali could hear the fatigue in his father's voice, the disbelief. He could imagine the man standing in the hall of their house, still in his night clothes, holding the phone with white-knuckle intensity.
"Yeah, Dad, it's me," he said, working to keep his voice firm. "I'm alive. It must have been some sort of mistake, a horrible mistake. Please, cancel the tickets. I'm OK, I swear."
His father was quite and Ali, for a moment, was trembling because he might have missed his chance to persuade them.
But after a few more reassurances, and an additional twenty-minute calming of his now frantic family, Ali managed to convince them it was some kind of mix-up.
His father joked that the sister was so feisty now, teasing him about giving them such a scare, but beneath the lightness of the teasing, Ali could still feel the weight of the events of the night bearing down on him.
Finally, when he hung up, the adrenaline that had driven him began to recede and left him with a heavy fatigue.
He found his way through the unknown streets with the help of his phone's GPS, and with every step, it was more exhausting.
The road back to his apartment was long and solitary; the occasional flash of a streetlight managed to throw his shadow on the ground it followed him, as it should.
The cool air brushed his blood-stained clothes, and he avoided the eye of stragglers on the street, hopeful that such an appearance would not call too much attention.
Finally, he reached his apartment building and hovered at the door, his key hovering above the lock, as if to some deadly magic.
What was to be his sanctuary beyond this door was solitary and empty, a place where he could make a new start. But now, as he stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind him, the boxes lining the walls seemed to mock him.
He was no longer the man who, in the excitement of starting a new chapter of his life, had packed those boxes. He was something entirely different now, something that he did not quite understand yet.
Ali trudged across the little living room, and went to his bedroom where he fell unceremoniously onto the unmade-bed in the center of the room. Staring at the ceiling, he replayed the events of the night like one would a fevered dream.
'Please, let this all be a nightmare,' he said to himself, closing his eyes. The smell of blood hadn't left him, the chill from damp clothes seeping deep into his bones, till then exhaustion took over, dragging him into restless sleep.