Eternal Undying Chronicles-Chapter 203: Ire Of A Ruthless, Relentless Immortal Entity

The grudge between Alicarde and Zagarath was brief—so brief, in fact, that some might call it one-sided. Alicarde's obsessive desire to kill the Strigoi stemmed from a singular, scarring encounter. Zagarath had been the first to defeat and humiliate him, reducing him to nothing more than a shadow of his pride.

In that brief clash, Zagarath had scarred Alicarde—not physically, but mentally.

From that moment onward, Alicarde came to associate every form of defeat, even his loss to Wrath, with Zagarath. In his mind, all his pain, anguish, and despair could be traced back to the Strigoi.

Whether or not this belief held any truth, Carrisa did not know. All she understood was that Alicarde bore a knot in his heart, a wound that only Zagarath's death could untangle.

While most would cower before the source of their trauma, Alicarde was different. He sought to hunt it down and extinguish it, no matter the cost.

And now, he was here, poised to end their grudge in blood.

What could be more terrifying than the wrath of a ruthless, relentless, immortal entity hell-bent on vengeance? Zagarath had made a fatal error in earning Alicarde's ire, for he had created an enemy who could never be killed.

Carrisa's blade dripped with Zagarath's blood. She bore a few scrapes and cuts, though none of them were serious. Most were the result of holding back, ensuring that her strikes wouldn't be fatal.

Nearby, Alicarde's body, half-destroyed from his earlier clash with the guardian, was slowly regenerating. His eyes, glowing with a mix of fury and cold madness, were locked solely on Zagarath. His reaper's vestments knitted themselves back together, piece by piece, but he didn't spare Carrisa so much as a glance.

To Alicarde, in that moment, nothing else in the world existed but Zagarath.

Carrisa sighed, glancing at her eternal companion. She had waited, giving him time to heal. Now, fully restored, he was ready.

"Be careful," she said, her voice calm but edged with concern.

Without waiting for a response, Carrisa turned toward the edge of the shattered skyscraper. With practiced ease, she leapt off, descending into the chaos below to aid the others in their battle with the guardian.

Above, amidst the shattered remnants of the building, only Alicarde and Zagarath remained. A storm of vengeance brewed in Alicarde's heart.

Alicarde's cold violet eyes never left Zagarath.

The Strigoi stood calmly, holding a blade forged of blood, its crimson surface pulsating with an unnatural glow.

"We meet again, boy," Zagarath sneered, his voice laced with mockery.

"It seems in the short time since I last saw you, you smell less like breast milk." He chuckled, a vile grin spreading across his face.

"Did the princess finally stop breastfeeding you and let you become a man?"

Alicarde's heart burned with fury, but the intensity of his anger had brought him to an unsettling calm. The insult washed over him like a breeze; he had already descended so far into his hatred that it was impossible to rile him further.

"Are those your last words, Zagarath?" Alicarde asked, his tone devoid of emotion.

Zagarath smiled, his crimson eyes glowing with malice.

"No, because I do not intend to die. I'll destroy you again, boy, so you can crawl back to the princess's breast. Hehehe."

Alicarde moved first, charging at Zagarath. His blade struck the Strigoi's blood sword, and the instant the two weapons connected, Zagarath's blade shattered into crimson shards.

Reacting quickly, Zagarath leapt back, narrowly avoiding Alicarde's strike. His eyes narrowed.

"Hmm, a sword that can cut through magic... I didn't know that weapon of yours had such an ability. You certainly didn't use it when you were trembling like a child last time."

Raising a hand, Zagarath cast a spell without hesitation. A blazing fireball formed in his palm, hurling toward Alicarde.

Alicarde dodged the fiery orbs, memories of their previous battle flashing through his mind. Back then, Zagarath had wielded magic effortlessly, without even chanting. It was that humiliation that had pushed Alicarde to master magic himself.

"You seem to enjoy playing with fire, Zagarath," Alicarde said coldly. "Let me show you what true flames look like."

He raised his hand, his voice resonating with power

"Tinder to spark, ember to glow,

In this place, let fire grow.

With a breath, let flames flow,

Consume all—Inferno."

Pillars of fire erupted, roaring toward Zagarath. But the Strigoi remained calm, summoning a tunnel of wind magic that scattered the flames harmlessly.

"You've grown stronger," Zagarath admitted, his voice steady. "But I've seen far more wars than you could ever imagine, boy."

With a flick of his hand, Zagarath conjured shards of ice and launched them toward Alicarde. The projectiles flew with deadly precision, but Alicarde deflected them with his sword, the shattered remnants piercing the walls behind him.

Alicarde's violet eyes glowed faintly, streaks of madness simmering beneath their cold intensity. He advanced without hesitation, ignoring the debris crashing around him as Zagarath launched blood-forged weapons from a distance.

Alicarde raised his sword.

"Blazing Edge," he chanted, sending flaming blades streaking toward Zagarath. The Strigoi dodged, weaving through the chaos as the fiery swords struck the building behind him, sending rubble cascading in a deafening explosion of noise and dust.

Amid the destruction, Alicarde leapt toward Zagarath. The Strigoi conjured another blood blade, but it shattered upon meeting Alicarde's sword once more.

Clicking his tongue, Zagarath muttered,

"A fine weapon indeed. Having someone with deep pockets on your side is an unfair advantage."

Then, to Zagarath's astonishment, Alicarde tossed his sword aside, the weapon clattering to the ground.

Raising his gauntlet-covered fists, Alicarde said, "Come."

Zagarath's crimson eyes narrowed, his suspicion evident.

"You discard your weapon? Thoroughly naive."

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Alicarde's expression was impassive beneath his hood.

"I'm giving you a fair fight. Regardless of what happens, you'll die here today. When you reach hell, you won't have the chance to complain about an unfair fight."

For a moment, Zagarath faltered, sensing the grim finality in Alicarde's voice. But Alicarde wasn't done.

"I want you to suffer," he continued. "I want you to know I'm not the same weakling you once defeated. I want you to understand that Carrisa didn't choose wrong. Just because I'm a human undying doesn't mean I'm weak."

Alicarde clenched his fists tighter. This is the end. This is the revenge I've been waiting for. Once this is over, I can finally let go of my hatred and find peace.

But this vengeance wasn't for him alone. Out there in the city was a little girl who had lost her mother—a life destroyed by Zagarath's hands. This was for her, and for all the lives the Strigoi had ruined.

Alicarde's voice echoed through the rubble-filled air.

"Die, Zagarath."