The Fearless Immortal

The Prussian corporal Frederick readied the explosives and inspected his rifle loaded with silver rounds as he took out his mother's crucifix and prepared to pray for the first and last time.

"My Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will…. Thy will be done..?. 

Now visibly distressed, he clenched the crucifix while he bit his tongue, a reminder of his poor education and problematic upbringing. Calmly, he regained his composure as he held his tongue from cursing God, determined to finish his prayer.  

"Forgive me, Father, for I know I've done evil. For all your love and all your mercy, I expect none shall welcome my likenesses to heaven. For I've thrown my lot with the sinners, so help me, God!" 

The sound of thunder brought Frederick some brief solitude. He looked up momentarily before he tucked his crucifix back into his tunic. With one last breath, he descended into the catacombs, ignited by a flaming desire for control. He felt his heart bulge ever faster with the pace of his steps, bringing him further down the spiral staircase. He now ignored his instinctive fears, encouraged by his legs like a pianist's fingers playing classical pieces with flawless fluency. He heard the spirits of the dead warning him to leave their imprisoner's lair, calling out from the basement, where their bones remained scattered with gold and jewels around four great Roman pillars. Where bestowed the four horsemen of revelations: War, Famine, Pestilence and Death. All four held the ceiling up: A painting depicting golden fires and meteors raining down from heaven above. The rapture was kept secure by just four horsemen above. Frederick stepped inside the great hall where he repeated the words of gipsy's spell: "immortel intrépide". Sword in hand, he steadily approached the impressive centrepiece of the beast's chamber, lost in his passion to accomplish his goal. Right before him was the accursed tomb of Nicolas Flamel, a pure white sarcophagus encrusted with gold and diamonds. A grand, glorified box worthy to hide the secrets of eternal life. 

Frederick paused for a moment, excited and relieved that his treasure was in front of his grasp. Suddenly, the flame of his lantern began to wink phosphorus black, followed by a piercing scream from the surface. Frederick hesitantly turned around as his face turned as cold as snow. The Warden had arrived! Swiftly, Fredrick planted the explosives between the cracks of this buried cathedral while the echo of patient steps mimicked the demon's confidence. Frederick drank the gipsy's potion as he entrusted its properties to grant him protection. He concealed himself behind the closest pillar he could reach and clocked his rifle as he awaited the fight for his life. "Where are you, mortal?" the Warden called as his glowing red eyes illuminate the room. 

He was dressed as a French nobleman, perhaps a close advisor to Emperor Napoleon the Third. He was armed with a blood-soaked lumber axe. Frederick closed his eyes while he listened to the droplets of blood dripping from that axehead. He took his final breath and aimed his gun at the Warden's tall stature. While he searched for the intruder, the Warden noticed the reflection of a barrel, followed by a volley of shots that pierced his chest and a bullet to his face. The beast fell to the ground, mumbling in pain. Frederick swang his rifle around his back before he cautiously approached this deity, drawing the silver sword he looted from the officer he murdered. With both hands, he struck a decapitating blow at the anthropoid, only for the monster to grab the blade with his hand in one sudden move. Unbearable fear overtook Frederick as he stared into the Warden's flaming red eyes while smoke evaporated from the immortal's wounds. 

The Warden crushed the silver sword effortlessly as Frederick slowly backed away. "I have been shot seventy-six times. Not many were so painful as your pitiful attempt for glory. I will skin you alive for this!" 

Frederick headed for the stairs but felt the Warden's hand locked on his ankle. "Where are you running, mortal?" the beast dug his predator nails into Frederick's flesh and threw his prey into a wall with inhuman force. 

 Frederick pondered to himself as he raised the crucifix between him and that Warden. 

Is this how I end?

The Warden approached him, sniffing the blood on his fingers. 

"How pathetic." 

He licked his blood-soaked fingers skillfully, avoiding his sharp nails. 

"Ahhr!!!",

He collapsed to the ground, kneeling in pain as his body began to paralyse. 

"Your blood burns me of a gypsy's blessing."

Frederick triumphantly limped up with what remained of the sword and his strength, inflicted by pain from a trail of blood dripped out of his wounded ankle. He forcibly grabbed the Warden's hair, yanking its head to face him.

With a red burning face and defiant eyes, the Warden lashed out one last time.

"You will regret your ignorance, mortal!" 

Frederick smirked, "Whatever you say, ancient man."

Frederick thrust the broken silver into the Warden's jugular before he brutally severed the head like a vicious pagan chief claiming his trophy. He gauged out the Warden's eye and took the silver key to Flamel's Tomb. He pushed the lid of the sarcophagi with the last of his strength. 

The beaming purple ruby extinguished the darkness with a crimson-red glow. Snatching the Philosopher's Stone out of Flamel's hands, he recited the verse to end his mortal life.

"Immortel intrépide! Immortel intrépide!" 

Then, he fainted from blood loss. 

The new Warden awakened from his resurrection, invigorated by his hunger for flesh and power. He consumed his predecessor's corpse, leaving the tomb with a fresh pile of bloody bones. As he departed, he detonated the lair with explosives that destroyed the treasure and its secrets. With his newfound abilities, he rose through the ranks of the Kaiser's army but was cursed with the eternal hunger for death. As centuries concluded, he forgot about this young man named Frederick Karlstine and moved on with his countless new faces. As the millennium drew to an end, he lost count of his meals and the names he took and eventually lost interest, forever stuck in a cycle of attempted suicide fueled by his perpetual boredom. A fearless immortal with a long-forgotten purpose, now all he wished for was another Frederick Karlstine to replace him.