Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 162 Too Easy

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow that glistened against the untouched snow blanketing the village. An eerie silence pervaded the air, broken only by the faint murmurs of a congregation of witches gathered in the village center.

They formed a circle, chanting a spell in low, harmonious whispers that melded together, creating the illusion of an ethereal choir.

At the heart of this gathering stood Cassandra, positioned beside an altar in front of a crumbling statue. Her face was solemn, eyes focused intently on the ritual at hand.

Lying on the altar was Marian, blindfolded and motionless, ready to embrace her fate. The entire scene held a sense of somber finality.

In Cassandra's hand, a ceremonial knife gleamed faintly under the moonlight. Unlike before, this blade was no mere ornament—it had a purpose tonight, one that would demand blood.

She sighed, a flicker of sorrow crossing her face, though her resolve remained unshaken. Tightening her grip on the knife, she cast a glance upward, eyes fixated on the luminous moon.

"This is for the coven," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassandra repeated these words as if they could strengthen her wavering spirit, each utterance grounding her resolve in the grim task she was about to perform.

Yet, her conscience reminded her of the path she had chosen—the elders she had already sacrificed, and now, the impending fate of Marian. The thought weighed heavily on her, but she clung to a single hope

'Lady Diana is the only chance of salvation for the coven… we need a leader.'

Her gaze drifted to Marian, lying silently on the altar, showing neither resistance nor fear. Cassandra bit her lip, conflicted. Marian was prepared to die, and the moon was nearly at its zenith—there was no turning back.

Lowering her head, she clasped her hands in silent prayer to the God of Despair, the creator she hoped would guide her down the correct path. She closed her eyes momentarily before reopening them with renewed determination.

'Great Unseen Sovereign…. This is the right path,' she reassured herself.

The only lingering concerns now were the meddling nuisances—Malefica and the shadowy figure in dark, hooded garments —who could yet disrupt the ceremony.

Just then, right on cue, Helga appeared, her face streaked with fresh cuts. She was flanked by two other witches who bore similar signs of struggle, their clothing torn and singed from what was clearly a difficult battle.

Vidalia's eyes were red and swollen as if she'd been crying, her hair tangled, and her dress marked with rips. Madera, her lipstick smeared, limped slightly, bruises forming on her arms. But what caught Cassandra's eye wasn't the state of her sisters.

it was the two figures they brought with them.

One lay utterly still, while the other, bound by magic, glared with fierce hatred—Malefica.

Blood trickled from Malefica's mouth as she spat, her gaze venomous.

"You traitors… I should never have trusted you. When I'm free of these restraints, I'll make you suffer."

The other figure was a lifeless body, cloaked in dark robes, with an unmistakable white wood ash stake driven through his heart.

Cassandra's gaze lingered on the body with a cold detachment.

"You succeeded?" she asked, her tone betraying a hint of surprise as though she hadn't fully believed they would prevail.

Helga nodded, though her expression was weary.

"We did. Is something amiss?"

"No… nothing," Cassandra replied, though the skepticism lingered in her voice.

"It's just unexpected that the three of you—despite your experience—managed to defeat Malefica, the Witch of the Night."

There was a murmur of agreement from the surrounding witches. Malefica's power was formidable; even weakened, she was no easy adversary.

Helga took a breath, her voice steady as she recounted,

"We beat her, but not without struggle. She tried to parley with us, and we let her think we were listening. The moment she dropped her guard, we attacked. Even then, it was a hard-fought victory."

Cassandra nodded slowly, somewhat convinced. Her eyes fell upon Malefica, whose icy stare radiated defiance.

"Deception, then," Cassandra mused aloud.

Her gaze moved to Alicarde's still form, noting the stake protruding from his chest.

"And him?"

Vidalia's face twisted with disdain as she kicked the motionless body.

"Dead. I drove the stake in myself. He could regenerate, but with a white wood ash stake to the heart, he's done for."

Cassandra's brow lifted slightly, but she nodded in acceptance.

"And the warlocks… did they meet the same fate?"

Vidalia shook her head. "They're alive, though defeated. We ensured they were fine and wouldn't pose any more trouble."

"Good."

Cassandra's attention returned to Malefica, whose eyes burned with resentment.

"Take her away."

Helga hesitated.

"To where? We don't exactly have a prison in the village."

A sigh escaped Cassandra's lips.

"Then tie her to a tree."

Vidalia stepped forward, caution evident in her voice.

"That might not be wise for our coven's reputation. Lady Diana's own granddaughter, bound to a tree for all to see…"

Cassandra's gaze hardened as she regarded Malefica. "Very well. Take her to the temple and bind her to a pillar. Lady Diana will decide her fate when she returns."

The witches nodded, and Helga and Madera began to drag Malefica toward the temple, leaving Vidalia standing over Alicarde's corpse, her expression filled with unspoken bitterness.

The moon had finally reached its highest point, bathing the village in an otherworldly light. With a steadying breath, Cassandra turned back to the altar, her hand tightening around the ceremonial knife. The night was not over, and the ritual had yet to be completed.

Cassandra stared down at the dark, lifeless figure sprawled before her, her lips curling with barely concealed disgust.

"I knew he would die… getting tangled up with her… after all, he was no knight of order," she muttered, her tone dripping with disdain.

Vidalia, standing beside her, caught the low murmur but couldn't make sense of it. She decided to keep quiet, merely observing as Cassandra's gaze burned with quiet anger.

"Shall I dispose of him?"

"Yes… burn him to ash," Cassandra replied coldly, her eyes never leaving the body.

Vidalia felt her heart skip a beat, a flash of anxiety tightening her chest.

'This wasn't part of the plan,' she thought, suppressing the alarm that bubbled up.

She had expected Cassandra to be ruthless, but the casual mention of burning Alicarde felt abrupt.

Cassandra watched Vidalia's hesitation, her patience visibly waning.

"Well?" she prompted, crossing her arms.

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"What are you waiting for?"

Vidalia bit her lip, formulating a careful response.

"If we burn him here, it might create an unpleasant smell that could attract unwanted attention,"

"And, given our current focus on the ritual, wouldn't it be wiser to conserve our magic? We can dispose of him afterward."

Cassandra pushed a strand of hair over her shoulder, considering Vidalia's point. Practicality won over. Magic reserves were low, and she needed every ounce to complete the ritual.

"Fine," Cassandra said after a moment's pause, her tone begrudging.

"We'll deal with him once the ritual is complete."

Vidalia barely concealed a sigh of relief. She stole a glance at Alicarde's seemingly lifeless form, noting the white wood ash stake embedded in his chest.

He was remarkably good at feigning death—she could think of only a few creatures with regenerative capabilities strong enough to resist white wood ash.

'Could he actually be an undying?'

she thought, feeling a flicker of doubt.

'No… there's no way the eternals would allow one of their own here. Those arrogant immortals would never let that happen.'

If only she knew how close to the truth she was.

Careful not to arouse suspicion, Vidalia gripped Alicarde by the shoulders, dragging his limp form away from the ritual grounds. She maneuvered him behind one of the village cabins, out of sight from prying eyes. Leaning close, she whispered,

"It's safe now. Instead of going head-to-head, we just have to wait until Malefica finds the pentacle. This whole mess will end without a fight."

Alicarde's body remained motionless, his body slack, convincingly corpse-like. Vidalia's concern began to grow—he looked far too still. She leaned closer and gave him a little shake.

"Hey, are you alive? Please don't be dead... I'm not ready to be a widow yet,"

Alicarde's brow creased ever so slightly before he opened one eye and frowned up at her, whispering,

"I'm not dead. And I'm certainly not your husband."

Relieved, Vidalia sighed, allowing a small smile to escape.

"Good. Now let's stay put until Lady Malefica gets the pentacle, and we win this without any unnecessary bloodshed."

Just as she finished speaking, Cassandra's voice rang out from the ritual grounds not far away. Her tone was firm, her words echoing with a conviction that sent a chill down Vidalia's spine.

"Sisters… do not fear! This ritual will succeed. I hold the pentacle in my hands!"

"I will place it around Marian's neck as a beacon to guide Lady Diana back to us."

Vidalia's eyes went wide, her heart dropping at the realization. They were too late. She glanced over at Alicarde, who, under the cover of his hood, wore a smirk.

"I knew it wouldn't be that easy," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying a note of grim amusement.

Vidalia shot him an exasperated look.

"If you knew, then maybe you should've warned me."

"Relax," Alicarde replied, his voice low but steady.

"We're not out of options yet. Just keep your wits about you."