Eternal Undying Chronicles

The building began to rumble as the sounds of battle on the lower floors intensified. Argint was likely continuing her relentless ascent to the upper levels. The alchemists didn't seem to stand a chance, but Elizalina paid them no mind as she glided silently through the building in the form of a thin mist.

The mist drifted effortlessly through cracks, vents, and hallways, avoiding the chaos below. Eventually, it reached a quiet section of the building devoid of both alchemists and the hideous chimeras they had crafted.

There, the mist coalesced and reformed into Elizalina's human figure. Her long silver hair cascaded down her back, her striking grey eyes glinting with an ethereal beauty. Her crimson dress, clinging to her voluptuous figure, revealed just enough of her cleavage to drive men mad. She strode forward, the sharp clicks of her heels echoing down the empty corridor.

"This should be far enough, I suppose tye bitch is still on a rampage"

She carried herself with the grace and arrogance befitting a purebred vampire, her presence alone exuding an undeniable power. Pausing for a moment, she sighed as the distant echoes of Argint's skirmishes reverberated through the walls.

"Never did I envision the day would come when I would find myself allied with a werewolf," she murmured, her tone regal and tinged with disdain.

There was, indeed, a first time for everything. For someone like Elizalina, who had been raised to loathe werewolves with every fiber of her being, this alliance was nothing short of an anomaly. The sentiment was mutual; Argint had her own deep-seated contempt for vampires. Initially, they had despised one another. Their first encounters were rife with hostility—glaring daggers, exchanging biting insults, and harboring fantasies of ripping each other apart.

But times had changed. Alicarde and Carrisa had forcibly brought them together, binding them under shared goals and mutual enemies. For Argint, it was vengeance against those who had slain her brother. For Carrisa, it was a vendetta against her siblings. Amena it was loyalty and Alicarde, well Alicarde did as he pleased… but for the most part it was to protect his human family, they had aligned themselves with those causes.

Elizalina's enemies were of a different breed altogether. They were neither werewolves nor eternals, dragons nor elves. No, her adversaries were her own kind—the ruling class of vampires known as the Vampire Council.

'Those disgusting, Old fossils… I will see them burn..They will pay in blood… I swear it'

Her thoughts darkened as memories resurfaced. The council had subjected her to horrors beyond imagination. They had made her burn beneath an artificial magical sun, a torturous light that seared her flesh and mind. She had begged for mercy, pleaded that she didn't possess what they sought. Yet their cruelty knew no bounds. Experience tales at My Virtual Library Empire

She smiled bitterly.

"How ironic it is that, after all that torment, I truly did have what they sought."

Her awakening had been both a blessing and a curse. Through her suffering, she had unlocked her true name, Sol, meaning sun—a cruel twist for a vampire. With it came unparalleled power, but she had been too broken to wield it effectively or surrender it to the council. When they finally abandoned their pursuit, she escaped.

What they wanted was in her blood and that power was the sun itself… just like her truename.

'Old Fools…'

She had wandered aimlessly until she met Alicarde, and later Carrisa. Joining forces with them had been an unexpected stroke of fortune. Together, they had formed a fragile alliance, one strengthened by shared ambition and the promise of revenge. Carrisa had initially distrusted her, and Argint had outright hated her, but they had reached an uneasy truce after she helped save Alicarde.

'Although he did not require any saving'

Elizalina allowed herself a small, genuine smile. She had found something rare and precious among her newfound allies—trust. Carrisa, for all her ruthlessness, would not risk Alicarde's anger by betraying her. Argint, with her strong moral compass, would never turn on someone she considered a comrade. Amena, ever dutiful, would follow orders to the letter. And Alicarde… was Alicarde, sje had faith in him.

A warmth touched her thoughts as she considered him. Alicarde was her first true friend, a bond that carried with it a complex blend of camaraderie and unspoken attraction. Their occasional flirtations added a layer of intrigue, but they had never crossed any lines.

Shaking her head, she refocused on the task at hand. She had reached the top floor. The suite she now faced was no ordinary room—it spanned an entire level, opulent and fortified. The large double doors bore a number, one she recognized from Argint's intercepted communications.

Elizalina stopped in front of the doors, her expression unreadable. The Truth Association was considered a major power in the mundane world, but within the demiplanes, they were little more than pawns. Their influence was sustained only by the protection of larger forces.

The Order had the angels.

The Magician's Guild had the demons.

And the Truth Association had the vampires.

It was all an unspoken agreement, designed to ensure humanity's survival for entirely selfish reasons. Angels desired the faith of humans, demons thrived on their dark desires, and vampires, of course, craved their blood.

Elizalina's lips curled into a faint smirk.

"How simple their ambitions are, yet how tightly they grip this world."

Drawing a deep breath, she focused her power. Blood began to seep from her fingertips, swirling into a crimson blade as she employed hemomancy to craft her weapon. The edge gleamed, razor-sharp and deadly. Without hesitation, she slashed through the doors, the wood splintering and falling away to reveal the lavish interior.

The room was a suite in name only; it was more of a fortress. Chandeliers hung from high ceilings, casting a golden glow over plush furniture and expensive decor. But the opulence was marred by the unmistakable stench of alchemy—the metallic tang of chemicals and the faint, acrid odor of failed experiments.