Eternal Undying Chronicles

Amena set down the magical communicator, her expression unreadable, though the tension in her posture betrayed her unease. It had been three days since their encounter with the Espers, and Alicarde's absence loomed heavily over her. No calls, no sightings, and no trace of his location—it was as if he had vanished into thin air.

She sighed, rubbing her temples as frustration and worry gnawed at her.

'I should've put a tracker in his Reaper Vestments,' she thought bitterly, but she quickly dismissed the idea.

No, that would've been reckless. Those vestments were designed for stealth, and any tracker she added could potentially expose his location to their enemies. It was a calculated risk, but now it felt like a mistake.

"Did his phone get destroyed?" she muttered aloud, pacing the room.

That seemed to be the most logical explanation. Alicarde's location had been cut off almost instantaneously, a clear indication that his phone was compromised. Her first instinct had been to rush to the last known location, but Carrisa had stopped her with a single, decisive command.

"If Alicarde is with Malefica, the Witch of the Night, he'll be fine," Carrisa had reasoned.

Amena had reluctantly accepted that conclusion. After all, they had sought information on Malefica from the organization known as Words Through the Grapevine, and what they'd learned was enough to give anyone pause. The witch's power was devastating—far beyond what they could face head-on. Yet, despite their reputation for information, the Grapevine hadn't been willing to divulge more, and Carrisa lacked the funds to pry it out of them.

Amena clenched her fists.

'An exiled princess has her limits,' she reminded herself, though the thought offered little comfort.

In the meantime, Carrisa and Amena hadn't been idle. While Argint and Elizalina focused on dismantling the city's criminal underworld, replacing key figures with their loyalists, Carrisa and Amena turned their attention to the political arena. They had swiftly bought the loyalty of several politicians, using a combination of bribes, blackmail, and thinly veiled threats. Those who resisted were dealt with discreetly—accidents, assassinations, and disappearances that the public would never connect to them.

Carrisa was determined to clean up the city before Alicarde returned, and she was moving with ruthless efficiency.

However, their work had led to an unexpected encounter—a man who had developed an unnerving obsession with Alicarde: Dr. Victor Stein. The name alone was enough to send shivers down Amena's spine.

'He's a little creepy'

The so-called "good doctor" was a direct descendant of Victor Frankenstein, the infamous alchemist who had sought to conquer death itself. Unlike his ancestor, Stein wasn't content with merely creating life; he had developed a formula for mass-producing esper abilities.

For Carrisa, this discovery was nothing short of a goldmine. If her army could harness both their inherent magical abilities and the added power of espers, they would have an unparalleled edge in the battles to come.

'Too bad he rejected the offer,' Amena thought grimly, recalling their tense meeting.

Carrisa had offered Stein high-quality alchemical knowledge from the demiplanes—an incentive few could resist. The doctor had been visibly tempted, his eyes gleaming with hunger at the promise of such arcane secrets. And yet, he had refused.

"He insisted on meeting Alicarde in person," Amena murmured, still puzzled by the demand.

Stein had claimed some sort of "unique brotherhood" with Alicarde, but Amena knew better. Alicarde likely didn't even remember the deranged doctor, let alone consider him a friend.

'And he definitely doesn't think of him as a brother,' she thought with a wry smile.

In the end, Carrisa had been forced to abandon the pursuit—for now. Stein's lab was protected by a hidden vampire whose power rivaled that of the most of them. Forcing their way in would've been too great a risk, especially with so many enemies already on their tail.

"We'll revisit the matter later," Carrisa had said coldly, her disappointment barely concealed.

And so, they had shifted their focus to another pressing issue: the Nexus Fragments.

The fragments in Carrisa's possession had begun to vibrate with increasing intensity, a clear sign that the remaining pieces were drawing closer. With the current level of activity, it wasn't just one fragment—it could be multiple, perhaps even all of them.

Amena's gaze darkened as she considered the implications. The Nexus Fragments were objects of immense power, capable of reshaping the world itself. If they fell into the wrong hands, the consequences would be catastrophic.

That was why Carrisa had been so meticulous in her preparations. Every move they made—political alliances, underworld takeovers, gathering resources—was part of a larger strategy to secure the fragments and solidify their position.

But they weren't the only ones moving.

"The city's major players will act soon," Amena muttered under her breath, her thoughts racing.

The alchemist from the Truth Association had already begun to stir, his shadowy network extending its reach. Zagarath, the strigoi lord, had amassed a vast army of strigoi, each more feral and bloodthirsty than the last. And then there was the looming threat of the world government, an entity that rarely intervened but whose presence would be impossible to ignore if they became aware of the fragments.

It was a delicate balance—a race against time where every decision could tip the scales.

Amena took a deep breath, steadying herself. Alicarde's absence weighed heavily on her, but she couldn't afford to lose focus. There was too much at stake.

Carrisa had called back her troops. It was a calculated move, one borne from necessity rather than hesitation. The fragments' vibrations, the sudden stirrings of their enemies, all pointed to the inevitable storm brewing in Evergreen City. The pieces were falling into place, and Carrisa wasn't about to let herself be caught unprepared.

Amena glanced at the magical communicator in her hand. The device, usually a symbol of connection and control, felt oddly heavy now. She had just ended her conversation with the Night Shades, who, after months entrenched in the underground world, were finally ready to return. They had spent that time training, expanding their territory, and fortifying their ranks—all in the name of their lord, Alicarde.

Or as they now called him, The Lord of the Night.

The title carried weight, reverence, and a certain inevitability. Alicarde's rise had transformed the Night Shades into something more than a scattered group of exile. They were a force now, unified by purpose and by fearsome loyalty.

But moving an army wasn't simple. Logistics, secrecy, and timing made mobilizing the entire force an impossible task. For now, only a small elite unit, known as the Shadows, would return.

The Shadows were no ordinary soldiers. As their name implied, they were assassins—silent, deadly, and unseen. They acted as Alicarde's proxies, his hands in the dark. Their mission was clear: prepare the ground before the main force arrived.

Amena stepped onto the roof of the sixth floor of the mansion, her gaze falling on the vast forest separating their sanctuary from the sprawling city beyond. Evergreen City glittered in the distance, unaware of the chaos that was about to unfold.

"This city will become a battlefield," Amena murmured to herself, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

"Will this mark the beginning of our rise or the prelude to our fall? Will my mistress live to see the end of this senseless succession battle? Will she ever find peace?"

The questions hung in the air, unanswered and unanswerable.

She clasped her hands together, bowing her head slightly. A desperate prayer escaped her lips, quiet and fervent.

"Oh, unseen Sovereign, God of the Abyss, I call upon you—God of Despair. Hear me, Arbiter of Law, God of Nothingness and Resentment. Lord of the downtrodden, my mistress has suffered enough. Please guide her hand. God of Life and Death, let her visit death upon all her enemies."

The words were a plea as much as a prayer, spoken not from devotion but from desperation. Amena didn't pretend to understand the true nature of the God she invoked. The Unseen Sovereign had many names, each reflecting an aspect of his authority. Some called him the personification of evil, others the embodiment of good. But the most accepted belief was that he was a god of duality—benevolent and malevolent, creator and destroyer, begin and end, God and Demon.

Amena's voice trembled slightly as she whispered,

"Whatever you are, I hope you will watch over us. Aid us in this time of need." Experience more content on My Virtual Library Empire

She paused, her gaze flickering to the horizon.

"I haven't said a prayer for Ali."

Clasping her hands once more, she whispered again, this time invoking a different facet of the Sovereign's identity.

"Oh, God of Order, Sovereign of the Stars, Lord of Dreams, Hope, and Righteous Karma—Genesis Alpha—guide and protect my master."

This prayer was softer, more hopeful. Where the first was born of rage and desperation, this one carried a quiet yearning for Alicarde's safety. She called upon the Sovereign's names associated with kindness, benevolence, and justice.

When the prayer ended, Amena let out a long sigh. She had done what she could, offered her words to the unseen powers that governed their existence. Now, it was time to act.

With a determined step, she turned and descended back into the mansion. Tonight, they would strike.

The alchemist who had lingered in the shadows for too long would finally be brought to death.

The battle for Evergreen City was about to begin.