Elven Lies II Chapter 156: The Undying Man

CHAPTER 156

THE UNDYING MAN

“Come on this way—hurry, people.”

Chris’s voice cut through the chamber’s fading hum.

For a moment, Delimira still heard the silence of the pods behind her — the kind that does not echo, because nothing answers anymore.

She panned her head.

He made himself useful.

A plethora of infected, some full, some half, ran behind him like there was no tomorrow.

He stopped.

“You got the bastard,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. I saved whomever I could. The rest.”

He paused.

“They were beyond saving.”

“I understand.” She nodded, tilting to the people who followed Chris.

But their gazes stilled on the man laid beaten by her feet.

The cause of their pain.

Their tormentor.

Chris, understanding their pain, echoed. “Let’s join the main battle and get you people home.”

The word jolted them out.

“Home? Who would open their doors to this?”

“How painful.”

“If death is mercy, let it come quietly.”

“I do not want this to be the only name left of me.”

They muttered.

“If something made you like this, then there must be something that can cure you too.” Chris said, and his persona fuelled some hope to the dead eyes.

He looked at them, really looked.

“The first step to achieve that is to leave this place behind.”

He swung the beaten blue young master on his shoulders.

His eyes wandered towards Delimira, who was in a strange trance, her eyes affixed to the several pods without lives.

“Deli—you cannot save everyone. Let’s go.”

“Yes.” She turned, and they left.

Above—Inside the main keep.

The odds returned in Hans’s favour.

“Whatever is manipulating the battle is gone.” He shouted hard. “Push forward. Leave none standing.”

His voice fuelled the tiring infected. Rejuvenating them.

Zilong tore through the flank like a storm breaking formation, scales flashing between collapsing ranks.

Adrian’s Parvian heart flared — the undead reknit themselves faster than steel could sever them.

Bryan’s maces fell again and again, each strike caving bone like brittle pottery.

Krosh’s mirage fractured the field — three false advances drawing blades into empty air.

Xandor divided like a shadow cast by many suns, each copy striking a different flank.

Even Delimira’s mirage had limits. Xandor’s seemed to multiply without end.

Calipso, he whispered—and men fell as if something had quietly removed their names from the world.

He stole the lives of many with a single move.

An attack that bred confusion was much more sinister than a stronger attack.

Amid that confusion, Delimira and Chris resurfaced.

“Join the others.” Chris pointed his blade towards the infected of the main army.

And the infected he brought found their kin by biology.

The infected on Hans’s side grew double.

But his eyes kept darting to the man slung over Chris’s shoulder.

He leapt towards him, his wings closed as he walked towards him in slow steps.

“Is this him?” he asked.

“Yes.” Chris hesitated.

This was not the Theodred he knew.

The rage was something else.

He could even sense the hatred and the greed for blood in Theodred’s eyes.

“Chris, hand him over.” Delimira jolted him out of daze.

“Ah! Yes. Yes.” He put him down.

And in a flash. His chest was stomped hard by Theodred.

“Rise and Shine, bastard.”

Aelok threw blood and rose convulsing.

Theodred’s hand reached his neck.

“Oh! If it was on my hand, I’d love to snap your neck. But you can’t die until you fulfil your purpose. And that is—”

He tilted his head to the general direction.

To the deep where the Node stone was.

Light gathered in Hans’s palm — not summoned, but condensed.

It lengthened into a blade without edge.

He did not hesitate.

The sword entered just below the ribs.

Not deep enough to kill.

Deep enough to be felt.

“Anfaleen, come save your son.”

He twisted the sword, right near to the heart, and as it skipped a beat.

The air did not split.

It withdrew.

Sound thinned.

Even flame seemed to lower.

And then he was there.

Still in the wind.

Paler than most of the elves, as if the sun had denied him.

With a long robe, his feet were covered, like hanging in a clothesline.

His bones, that were holding flesh, were visible. His blackened eyes suggested the robbed sleep.

His eyes darted towards him.

Hans did not move.

Light still pinned through Aelok’s abdomen.

Blood turned to vapours along the blade.

Anfaleen’s gaze did not go to Hans first.

It went to the body.

Aelok tried to steady his breathing.

He did not look at his father.

He waited to be assessed.

For a fraction of a moment—

Anfaleen’s fingers twitched.

Barely.

His eyes traced the wound.

The angle.

The depth.

The blood loss.

Not panic.

Calculation.

But something else flickered beneath it.

Something older than calculation.

A memory.

A body laid on white stone.

Blood too bright against pale skin.

Hands that would not answer.

The flicker vanished.

His spine straightened.

“Return him,” Anfaleen said.

Not loud.

Not rushed.

The battlefield did not resume.

It held.

Hans’ wings unfurled slightly.

“You finally stepped out,” he said.

Anfaleen’s gaze shifted then.

To Hans.

To the light blade.

To the deliberate placement.

“You pierced him to summon me,” Anfaleen observed.

“I suspected you tied him to something deeper,” Hans said evenly. His blade nearing Aelok’s heart. “Turns out I was right.”

“You should have killed him if that was your intention,” he said calmly.

Hans’ grip tightened.

“I want you to feel it.”

Aelok’s breathing faltered once.

He did not cry out.

Anfaleen’s eyes returned to him.

That flicker again.

Smaller this time.

Controlled.

“Pain is temporary,” Anfaleen said.

But the words were slightly slower than his usual cadence.

Delimira saw it.

The almost imperceptible pause.

“You speak as if you believe that,” Hans replied.

Anfaleen’s gaze sharpened.

“Belief is irrelevant.”

The ground pulsed again.

This time the stone beneath them hummed faintly.

The Node was not responding to Aelok anymore.

It was responding to him.

Delimira felt it.

That density again.

The same pressure from the chamber below.

Something beneath the fortress stirring—not violently.

Attentive.

Anfaleen’s eyes moved to her.

He stilled.

Not because he recognised her presence.

Because he recognised the pressure around her.

“You,” he said quietly.

No accusation.

Recognition.

Delimira did not bow.

She did not step back.

“You felt it,” she said.

The corner of his mouth moved.

Not a smile.

Acknowledgment.

“So, the bloodline still carries it.”

He paused.

Almost lost.

“Untouched,” he murmured. “Interesting.”

Hans glanced between them.

Unsettled.

“Key of what?” He demanded.

Anfaleen did not answer. His gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have.

Not at her power.

But at her potential.

“At least there is some fortune in this chaos.” He finally spoke, not to anyone but to himself.

“Enough riddles.”

Light flared brighter around his blade.

Aelok’s body tensed involuntarily.

Anfaleen’s eyes flickered back to him.

There it was again.

That half-second.

Not rage.

Not strategy.

Fear of repetition.

He stepped forward.

The battlefield did not shift around him.

It lowered.

As if giving him passage.

“You presume leverage,” Anfaleen said quietly.

Hans smiled without warmth.

“I presume nothing.”

“Then you misunderstand.”

Anfaleen extended one hand—not toward Hans.

Toward Aelok.

The air between them did not crack.

It thickened.

A thin strand of pale light emerged—not from the ground.

From within Aelok’s wound.

Hans’ eyes widened slightly.

The blade trembled.

Delimira felt it clearly.

Not dark mana.

Not light mana.

Something woven.

Balanced.

Life anchored by something beneath.

“You see?” Aelok whispered faintly.

“Continuance.”

The light did not heal him fully.

It stabilised him.

Just enough.

Xandor watched in silence.

“You grow heavier each time,” he said at last.

Anfaleen’s eyes shifted toward him.

“And yet,” he replied softly, “you still fail to finish it.”

His eyes shifted back to Hans.

“Royal cur,” Anfaleen said quietly. “You touched something you do not understand.”

“Yes, I do.” He tore the blade free.

Aelok collapsed forward.

Hans kicked him toward Delimira.

“Keep him alive.”

His eyes met Anfaleen, yet Anfaleen’s interest was not on him.

But on Delimira.

And that was worse.

He could feel it.

The desire.

His desire.

To obtain what was lost.

Through her.

The way his eyes lingered did not feel like hunger.

It felt like recognition.

“The rest of you are irrelevant.”

“No one is dying here.” He signalled Adrian to tear the inner shield once more, right through the frontlines.

At least Adrian obeyed.

The sky folded inward with a sound like scales grinding against storm.

A shadow crossed the field—vast, serpentine, coiling through smoke.

Zilong descended.

“

“You survive again,” Anfaleen said quietly.

“You always did.”

His gaze shifted briefly to Delimira.

“But you are no longer the one I require.”

Zilong’s eyes snapped to Delimira.

The air around him ignited.

Hans stepped beside him before the storm could break loose.

“You will not decide that.”

“Not today.”

“This ends now. Push forward.” He reminded all.

“To home.”

***