Eternal Undying Chronicles

Wrath's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Without hesitation, it lowered its maw, carefully clamping its fangs around his cloak and lifting him gently onto its back, as if holding a precious but delicate burden.

Wrath's powerful legs started forward, carrying him swiftly through the ravaged forest, each step guided by a sense of urgency, and Alicarde allowed himself to close his eyes, knowing he was in safe—if unconventional—hands.

"At least have the decency to throw me on your back. The saddle would be softer,"

Alicarde groaned, his voice laced with frustration. His body ached, and the dizziness didn't help matters.

Wrath, apparently fed up with its master's complaints, let out a low, rumbling growl. Its violet eyes narrowed with a flash of irritation. In one swift motion, it whipped its head back violently, using the force of the movement to launch Alicarde high into the air.

Before he could even react, Wrath's powerful body shifted, its muscular frame pivoting with precision.

Alicarde soared for a brief moment, his cloak fluttering around him like a flag. He braced himself for impact, but as he came down, the bicorn twisted beneath him, guiding his fall.

With a thud, he landed on the saddle, but the awkwardness of the position made him immediately lose his balance. He slid off, crashing to the ground with a hard thump.

"Ouch…" Alicarde muttered, groaning in pain as he lay there for a moment, feeling the effects of the impact.

"Gentle, Wrath... I feel like throwing up."

Wrath loomed over him, its violet eyes gleaming as if mocking his failed attempt. It stood perfectly still, a silent reminder that a saddle ride was not meant for someone in his state.

Despite his dizziness and the obvious discomfort, Alicarde knew the alternative—being carried by the bicorn's mouth—was far worse. The idea of being held between those razor-sharp teeth was unbearable, a humiliating experience he wasn't about to endure.

He gave a small, resigned sigh, his gaze locked onto the saddle once again. "Alright... let's do this."

With determination, he tried again. Wrath stood motionless, watching as its master clumsily pulled himself to his feet. Alicarde's legs wobbled beneath him, and his hands grasped the saddle with shaky fingers, but he wasn't about to give up.

He took another deep breath, bracing himself for another attempt. This time, he swung his legs up and managed to land more squarely on the saddle, but his grip was weak.

He teetered for a moment, his head spinning, before finally, with a mix of balance and willpower, he settled fully into place, though not without difficulty.

Alicarde gave a tired smile, though his face remained hidden by his hood.

"See? I told you I could do it."

Wrath didn't respond, but it moved forward, its powerful hooves making no sound on the soft ground. It had been patient, waiting for Alicarde to get it right, and now that it had, it carried him off—swiftly, but carefully, as it navigated the forest's treacherous terrain.

The wild and unpredictable forest seemed less threatening as Wrath moved through it with purpose, the scent of danger still lingering in the air.

"Ahhh, I'm so dizzy I could die… getting stabbed would be so much easier than this… it sucks big time," Alicarde groaned, his voice thick with exhaustion as he clung to Wrath's back, the sensation of the bicorn's steady strides barely registering over the spinning in his head.

The forest around them blurred, only the faintest threads of moonlight peeking through the dense canopy. Wrath's movements were smooth and practiced, the rhythmic beat of its hooves a contrast to Alicarde's growing discomfort.

But then, as if the night itself had been disturbed by an unseen force, the air seemed to shift. Alicarde's mind was spinning, and yet something felt… wrong.

"Hey, where are you taking me, anyway?" he mumbled, his gaze hazy but attentive.

The bicorn offered no response. Wrath remained silent, its dark form cutting through the moonlit forest. Yet, as they ventured deeper, the atmosphere grew heavier, thick with a strange energy. The woods fell still, and the air crackled with a charged tension.

Alicarde's breath hitched. The sky above seemed to shudder, the moon's pale glow dimming, its light swallowed by a monstrous presence.

Slowly, the heavens themselves began to warp, the stars flickering out one by one as an overwhelming force filled the night sky.

It wasn't just the moonlight that faded, no. There was something far more ancient, far more powerful.

Hundreds of glowing magic seals erupted into existence, hanging in the air like fragments of shattered stars.

They were massive, swirling with chaotic, twisting lines of magic—basic runes at their core, but as they expanded outward, more complex, advanced sigils began to form.

Alicarde watched, eyes widening in disbelief, as the seals pulsed and shimmered, their energy spilling into the very fabric of the night.

Each symbol was a spell in its own right, but together they wove a spectacle that spoke of unimaginable power. The air hummed with the weight of it, the very ground trembling beneath the force of hundreds of incantations being cast in perfect synchronization.

Alicarde's gaze darted upward as he processed the magnitude of what he was witnessing. There were not that many witches in the coven—certainly not enough to be casting this many spells at once. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

"They're not… not from the coven…"

Alicarde whispered, his voice barely audible above the magic's overwhelming crescendo.

"This… this power… it's coming from one person…"

His violet eyes burned with the intensity of recognition as he saw the pattern within the magic, the familiar lines of power radiating from the seals. There was no mistaking it now. The energy was too unique, too personal.

"What…" Alicarde's breath caught in his throat, a chill running down his spine. "What is this…?"

The sky above had shifted into a wild, kaleidoscope of colors, swirling like a living being. Reds, blues, greens, and golds twisted around each other, reflecting off the surface of the massive, spinning seals. It was beautiful, a mesmerizing display that seemed to shimmer with divine energy. But beneath that beauty, Alicarde could sense it: the potential for utter destruction. The magic was so potent, so vast, that it threatened to crack the world apart if it were unleashed.

The world seemed to hold its breath as the seals hovered above them, their power palpable in the air. Then, Alicarde saw the one thing that brought clarity amidst the chaos: the unmistakable magic at the heart of it all.

"Malefica," he muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of dread and recognition.

It was her signature, her magic energy —unmistakable, overwhelming, and ancient.

Alicarde's eyes sharpened, a knowing fear creeping into his chest. Whatever she was about to do...…..