Eternal Undying Chronicles

A group of young men lounged in the trendy seating area of a bustling nightclub. Drinks and snacks were scattered on the table before them. Liam, sporting a stylish combover, sat at the head, exuding confidence.

Beside him was Marcus, his green-haired friend, still live-streaming their night out. Mark, the curly auburn-haired assistant class rep, looked slightly out of place, while Akimitsu, with his dark hair, seemed restless. Felix, the chubby blonde, sipped his drink quietly, and Alec, a lean young man with dark hair, appeared lost in thought.

"Why didn't the boss come to the club with us?" Akimitsu grumbled over the loud music.

"He has a girlfriend. I don't suppose you can understand his pain," Felix teased, smirking at Akimitsu.

"Actually, I think it's because he doesn't drink or like loud places," Mark added, his tone more thoughtful.

"Yeah, I remember him saying that at La Belle Époque, but how did you know, Assistant Class Rep?" Liam asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Call me Mark. I actually heard from the class rep. She talks about him a lot," Mark replied, his face slightly flushed.

"Damn, that's the boss for ya, always having the ladies talking," Akimitsu said, clearly impressed. Then, in a dramatic fashion, he dropped to his knees.

"I'm never going to get a girlfriend. My lineage ends with me! Why won't any girl date me?"

Marcus glanced at the comments section of his live stream, which was full of random viewers saying they would date Akimitsu. Grinning, he leaned over and showed it to him.

"See, Akimitsu? There are people out there who want to date you," Marcus said with a chuckle.

"Really? I see some of the boss's charm is finally rubbing off on me!" Akimitsu exclaimed, his spirits lifted.

"Wait, have you been live this whole time? So, everything we did and said has been on the internet?" Alec asked, his eyes widening.

"Oh my goodness," Mark groaned, rubbing his temples as a headache began to form.

"Yeah, we've been live since the restaurant," Liam added nonchalantly.

Felix, who had been quiet until now, glanced at Akimitsu with a teasing smile.

"At least you're internet famous now. But just so you know, some of those commenters who want to date you might be dudes... just saying."

Alec nodded solemnly. "We'll all die virgins, including you," he said, pointing at Akimitsu, who now looked as if he had seen the end of all hope.

"Except the boss, because you know he's been getting some lemons," Akimitsu quipped.

"Damn, I'm so jealous," Felix sighed.

As the boys continued their playful banter, the club suddenly fell silent—a silence no nightclub should ever have. The crowd parted, and the young men turned to see why.

A figure clad in an imposing black outfit, with a hood pulled low to conceal his face, walked into the club. His entire appearance was a study in darkness, with sharp metallic gauntlets and a long cloak trailing behind him, giving him an otherworldly, dangerous aura.

Liam paled, his voice trembling as he stammered, "Is that the... the... t-the Reaper?"

The others were too terrified to even speak, their eyes wide with fear as they stared at the ominous figure.

Alicarde strode into the club with an air of ominous purpose, making no effort to conceal himself. His appearance alone commanded attention, cloaked in darkness, his hood obscuring his face, and a long, flowing cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

He didn't need stealth—his power and presence were more than enough. The weaklings inside were no match for him, he was here to harvest their souls, shatter their bones, and crush their spirits. This was the beginning of his vengeance, and he wanted everyone to know he was here.

The bouncers made no effort to stop him. Upon sighting him, they quickly fled.

As he advanced, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, whispers of fear spreading through the masses. The music abruptly cut off as the DJ spotted him, the room plunging into an eerie silence.

Alicarde's eyes scanned the area, finally settling on a group of men armed and standing guard in front of a door. The tension in the air was palpable—he had found his quarry. Behind that door were the mafia members he sought.

The men guarding the door noticed his approach, and panic quickly set in. One of them, with trembling hands, pulled out a gun, and the others followed suit, their weapons aimed at the grim reaper advancing toward them. But their attempts at intimidation were futile.

The first shot rang out, a loud crack echoing through the room. The bullet raced toward Alicarde, but with a slight tilt of his head, he effortlessly dodged it, the round harmlessly whizzing past him. His steps never faltered.

The guards exchanged panicked glances, realizing that the usual threat of violence would not work. They were not facing a man—they were facing a nightmare made flesh.

Without hesitation, Alicarde raised his hand. Gravity began to swirl around him, bending the very air in the club. His gauntlet shimmered under the dim lights, and a low hum of power resonated as he prepared to unleash [Flux Field].

The pressure in the room shifted, as if the walls themselves were closing in.

Alicarde unleashed a wave of pure, unadulterated fear. The oppressive force washed over the guards like a tsunami, paralyzing them where they stood.

Their bodies seized, trembling violently as icy dread wrapped itself around their hearts. The first guard's eyes bulged as if gripped by an unseen hand, his mouth frothed, and his knees gave out.

He hit the floor hard, convulsing briefly before going limp.

Alicarde's lips curled beneath his hood into a dark, sadistic smile. He wasn't finished. Raising his hand, his [Flux Field] power surged through the air, yanking the man's consciousness back in a violent jolt.

His eyelids fluttered open with a gasp as if waking from a nightmare into another far worse.

With no need for words, Alicarde lifted all the guards into the air effortlessly, their bodies suspended against the ceiling like puppets caught in invisible strings.

The room held its collective breath; fear had silenced every spectator.

The tension was thick, as if death itself had taken hold of the atmosphere. With a simple flick of his wrist, Alicarde released them.

The men fell like lead weights, their bodies smashing into the hard floor with a sickening chorus of cracks. The sound of bones shattering echoed through the room, followed by blood-curdling screams.

As their groans of agony filled the air, Alicarde's cold gaze lingered on their writhing forms. He wasn't done yet. With focused intent, he manipulated gravity with cruel precision, concentrating its crushing force on their knees.

The pressure intensified, and the snapping sound of bones giving way followed. Their legs buckled and crumpled like paper under an invisible weight. Their howls of pain reverberated through the club, a cacophony of suffering that made the onlookers recoil, paralyzed by fear.

The grim spectacle unfolded before them, yet no one dared move—no one dared draw the reaper's attention.

From the far corner, one of the mafia men's survival instincts kicked in. He bolted for the exit, his footsteps frantic, heart thundering in his chest.

Sweat poured down his face as he neared the door, the promise of escape tantalizingly close. But the illusion of freedom shattered in an instant.

Alicarde noticed the man's futile attempt to flee, and with a mere wave of his hand, the metal door groaned before collapsing inward, crumpling like it was made of tin. The room was sealed, the man's desperate bid for survival was over before it had begun.

The would-be escapee froze, his body trembling in terror. Alicarde's violet eyes locked onto him, and with a flick of his fingers, the man was yanked backward through the air like a rag doll, his limbs flailing helplessly.

He hung suspended in front of the reaper, a lamb before the slaughter. Alicarde's gravity powers twisted and contorted the man's body.

The pull of opposing forces strained his muscles, bones, and organs to their limits, stretching him in impossible directions. The grotesque sound of flesh tearing filled the club as his body gave way, splitting apart in a bloody eruption of entrails and gore.

His organs splattered onto the floor, painting the scene in a macabre display of carnage.

Under his hood, Alicarde's smile widened, a dark satisfaction coursing through him as he gazed at the grisly aftermath.

"This is justice," he hissed. "The guilty would know true agony."

The men who still lived groaned on the floor, broken and soaked in blood. Alicarde moved them with another wave of his hand, their mangled bodies levitating once more.

They hung in the air, suspended like broken marionettes as he approached, his voice cold and commanding.

"Where is Vito Carmine?"

Terror gripped the survivors. Their eyes darted wildly, their hearts pounding as they struggled to respond.

One man stammered, his words barely coherent through his fear.

"W-We don't know..."

Another man sobbed, "Please, don't kill us!" His voice cracked with desperation.

"I-I have a family," one whimpered, the tears streaming down his face mixing with blood. "Please... spare me..."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Alicarde's face remained impassive. Their begging fell on deaf ears.

"Where is Zagarath?" he demanded, his voice carrying an ominous weight that pressed down on their souls.

Your journey continues at empire

But the men were too far gone, their minds shattered by terror. Alicarde's patience snapped. Without hesitation, he intensified their suffering.

He twisted the gravity around their limbs, crushing their bones into splinters. The sound of snapping joints echoed throughout the club, followed by agonized screams that seemed to shake the very walls.

He didn't stop there—Alicarde moved his focus to their insides, compressing their organs with precision, making each breath they took feel like inhaling knives.

Their cries filled the night, but the audience remained frozen, fear rooting them to their spots as they watched the horrors unfold. Alicarde's violet eyes glowed brighter under his hood, casting an eerie glow over his cloaked figure as he surveyed the damage with dark satisfaction.

A desperate group of mafia members, armed and panicked, rushed in, their guns raised. They fired in rapid succession, bullets screaming toward the reaper. But they stopped mid-air, held in place by an invisible force.

The room had turned into a battleground, yet the attackers stood no chance. Alicarde glanced at them with mild disdain, bullets were useless against him. His very existence was beyond mortal comprehension.

"Take him down!" one man shouted, his voice filled with desperation.

"Keep firing!" another screamed, his trigger finger shaking wildly as he emptied his clip.

A third man, pale with fear, yelled, "We need backup! He's a monster!"

Alicarde's dark smile widened under his hood as he recognized a familiar face—one of the men who had been at the docks. The memory of that man's cruelty resurfaced, igniting Alicarde's rage. This was the same scum who had taken pleasure in tormenting innocents, bragging about feeding men, women, and children to monsters.

Alicarde's blood boiled, his body vibrating with the intensity of his fury. He allowed the bullets to hit him, letting them rip into his cloak. Yet the impact did nothing, his body remained untouched beneath the enchanted fabric.

With a sudden burst of speed, Alicarde became a blur, weaving through the rain of gunfire with inhuman agility. He reached the first man and ripped the gun from his hands.

The weapon crumpled in his grasp like paper, the man's terrified eyes locking onto his doom. Alicarde slammed his fist into the man's skull, shattering it with brutal efficiency.

The lifeless body was tossed aside, hitting the floor with a thud, as Alicarde advanced. Another man lunged at him, and with a swift motion, Alicarde's gauntleted hand punched through the man's chest, ripping out his beating heart in one fluid motion.

The mafia member screamed, fumbling for his knife, but Alicarde was upon him in an instant. With a savage twist of his arm, he slashed open the man's abdomen, his intestines spilling out in a gory display as he crumpled to the ground, dying in a pool of his own blood.

His targets bolted into a nearby private room, slamming the door shut as two men remained outside, laying down heavy cover fire.

Alicarde moved with deliberate, unhurried steps, unfazed by the barrage of bullets that ricocheted around him.

His eyes gleamed with cold calculation as he activated [Flux Field].

In a heartbeat, gravity around him twisted violently, compressing the air and warping the environment. He raised his hand slightly, and with a subtle motion, the ground under the two shooters buckled.

A shockwave rippled outward from his body, sending the men crashing into the walls like ragdolls.

Their bones crunched audibly as their bodies snapped in unnatural angles. Without missing a beat, Alicarde reached them, driving his sword through the chest of one before grabbing the other by the neck and hurling him with enough force to shatter the thick glass of the nearby window.

The man's scream was brief as his body disappeared into the night.

Calmly, Alicarde strode toward the sealed door. His footsteps echoed eerily in the now-quiet corridor. With a thought, the gravitational force around the door intensified.

The hinges groaned in protest, and within seconds, the door buckled inward, tearing free and crashing to the floor with a resounding bang. The moment he stepped through the shattered doorway, a hail of bullets greeted him.

Alicarde's eyes narrowed as the bullets whizzed toward him, their trajectory slow in his heightened perception. His body shifted, his movements fluid and graceful, dodging the bullets with unnatural precision.

The remaining men in the room fired relentlessly, panic growing in their eyes as they realized their shots had no effect.

With a snap of his fingers, the gravity around them shifted. Their weapons were ripped from their hands, floating momentarily before being crushed into twisted metal by the invisible force.

One man stumbled backward, his face contorted in terror, but Alicarde was upon him in an instant. His blade danced through the air, slicing through flesh and bone with effortless ease. Blood sprayed across the walls as the man's body collapsed, lifeless.

A second target attempted to run but was yanked back by an unseen force. Alicarde's hand curled into a fist, and the man's body contorted as if an immense weight pressed down on him. His bones shattered under the pressure, and he fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

By the time Alicarde was done, the room was a grotesque scene of carnage. Blood smeared across the floor, holes peppered the walls, and the sickening stench of piss, blood, and human entrails filled the air.

Only one man remained, cowering in the corner, trembling in fear—the one Alicarde had been hunting all along.

The man's eyes darted around the room, wide with panic, before he made a desperate dash for the door, hoping to escape into the crowded club. Alicarde watched him, recognizing the scar on his chin, the dark hair, and the scruffy beard.

He would never forget that face—the man who had gloated on the docks that night, laughing at the innocent lives he had taken.

A slow, predatory smile spread across Alicarde's face as he calmly followed, his pace unhurried. The crowd outside were deathly still, aware of the massacre happening behind closed doors.

Alicarde raised his hand casually, and with a flick of his wrist, the gravity around his target shifted.

The man's ankle twisted with a sickening crunch, the bone snapping clean through. He screamed in agony, crumpling to the floor just as he reached the exit. The crowd around them gasped, some recoiling in horror at the sight of the man writhing on the floor in pain, his face twisted in torment.

"It must have been fun to kill pregnant women and helpless children," Alicarde said, his voice a dark, venomous hiss as he closed the distance between them.

The man whimpered, trying to crawl away, but his mangled leg was useless. "Please... please, I-I didn't mean—"

Alicarde's eyes flared with rage. "You must have enjoyed feeding them to monsters while you lined your pockets. And I bet it was amusing to force yourself on helpless girls, wasn't it?"

The man's fear was palpable now, his entire body trembling as he looked up at the towering figure before him. Alicarde's gaze was cold, merciless. There would be no forgiveness here.

"Now your sins have caught up to you." His voice was low, deadly. "Your death will be excruciating—I will not accept anything less. Your suffering will be long, I promise you that, Carmine's Mad Dog."

With a thought, Alicarde invoked his power. The man's bones cracked and shattered under the immense pressure. His screams of agony pierced the air, blending with the terrified whispers of the onlookers.

"Oh my God, he's going to kill him!" someone gasped from the crowd.

"Call the police!" another voice cried out, filled with desperation.

"I want to go home! Somebody, please—anyone, help us!" The crowd shifted nervously, frozen between the need to flee and the horrifying scene playing out before them.

But Alicarde was deaf to their pleas, consumed by a hatred so deep it bordered on madness. He crushed the man's bones again and again, his flesh twisting and breaking under the relentless force. Yet, each time, Alicarde ensured the man remained alive, savoring every moment of his agony.

Finally, when the man was little more than a broken, bloody heap, Alicarde unleashed a wave of fear so potent it rendered the man unconscious. He stood over the pitiful creature, his violet eyes glowing with a chilling light.

But there were still questions to be answered before this wretch could be allowed to die.

As if summoned by the tension in the air, Wrath came barreling through the destroyed entrance, the bicorn's massive form crashing into the room with a thundering force. His eyes gleamed with a wild hunger, locking onto the broken man.

Without a word, Wrath seized the mangled body in his powerful jaws, lifting him effortlessly. Alicarde swung himself onto the creature's back, and with a single powerful leap, they vanished into the night, leaving the club and its terrified patrons in stunned silence.

The surreal, nightmarish scene would forever be etched into the memories of those who had witnessed it. None would ever forget the Reaper who had walked into their midst, unleashed hell, and disappeared into the darkness like a ghost.