CHAPTER 1: The Wolf in the Shadows

CHAPTER 1: The Wolf in the Shadows

The night enveloped the forest twenty-five kilometers southwest of Berlin. At midnight, the air was filled with a biting cold, and the sky, though clear, barely managed to filter the light of the full moon through the tops of the tall pine trees. That spectral clarity bathed the ground in a ghostly glow.

The wind whistled through the trees like an omen. And in the midst of that stillness, a man dressed in an expensive suit ran desperately, stumbling over roots and hidden branches. His breathing was ragged, and sweat, mixed with the damp mud, soaked his pale face.

He stopped for a moment, turning his head in terror. Something was following him.

A treacherous root caught his foot. The man fell heavily down a small slope until he crashed against a tree trunk. He screamed as he felt the dry branches pierce his side. He tried to free himself, but the more he struggled, the more entangled he became.

A crack, behind him.

He raised his head slowly, and then he saw it.

An imposing figure emerged from the shadows. A lycan over eight feet tall made its way through the trees. Its gaze, of an intense gold, shone with a cruel intelligence. Its fangs, sharp as blades, glistened under the moonlight.

The man tried to scream.

It was useless.

With a single movement, the monster raised its claw and decapitated its prey. The dry sound of the impact echoed among the trees. The head rolled slowly across the ground. The body remained hanging, still trapped in the branches.

And then, something changed.

The lycan's muscles began to contract, shrinking little by little. The fur disappeared, the jaw retracted, and the limbs took human form. Where there had once been a wild creature, now stood a man with black hair, piercing eyes, and a mocking smile barely visible on his lips.

"Ah..." he murmured as he dusted off his suit. "A night in the outskirts of Berlin. Nothing like a little nightly exercise, eh?"

Fénix Rogers held the decapitated head in front of him. He observed it for a moment, as if trying to decipher his victim's last thoughts.

"This poor devil... probably thought he could escape me. But let me make something clear," he said, throwing the head away like trash, "you can't run from a lycan. And especially not from Fénix Rogers."

He wiped his hands disdainfully and began to walk among the trees, as if the murder had been nothing more than a daily errand.

"I wasn't always like this, you know?" he continued aloud, as if speaking to an invisible ghost. "I believed I could be something more. Something better. But life reminds you, with brutal force, what you truly are."

He stopped.

He looked up at the moon, and for an instant, his expression turned grim.

"The worst part about being a monster..." he said in a whisper, "is that even if you try to change, there's always something that drags you back. There's always something that reminds you who you are."

He sighed, letting the icy wind caress his face.

"But I'm not seeking your pity. I just want you to understand who Fénix Rogers is. A man trapped between what he wants to be... and what he must be."

Then he turned his head, as if noticing the presence of an invisible observer.

"Wondering how I got here? Well... I'd better start from the beginning."

The sound of rain bounced off the cobblestones of a narrow street in the heart of Berlin. Flickering neon lights tinted the puddles forming on the pavement red and blue.

In a dark alley, Fénix leaned against the wall, panting. Cold sweat ran down his forehead, and his skin, normally tanned, had taken on an almost ghostly pallor.

Beside him, Marcus Blackwood watched with concern. His friend and comrade-in-arms was not an easy man to break, but the poison running through his veins was another story.

"So... how much time do I have left?" asked Fénix, his voice muffled, looking up at the sky.

"Don't focus on that now. Just stay awake," replied Marcus, avoiding his gaze.

Fénix smiled bitterly.

"Come on, Marcus. You know it. I know it. So tell me... how much?"

The silence grew thick. Finally, Marcus murmured:

"No more than an hour... maybe less."

Fénix laughed, a dry, hollow laugh.

"I guess it's not the first time we've brushed with death. Remember Moscow?"

"Yes. Though this time... luck isn't on our side."

"Nothing we can do, huh?"

"Nothing. Just wait."

Both fell silent. The silence was broken only by the rain and Fénix's irregular breathing.

And then, an engine was heard. A black limousine stopped at the mouth of the alley. A woman with an aristocratic bearing stepped out. Blonde, impeccably dressed, she held a black umbrella that protected her from the rain like a goddess among mortals.

Fénix looked at her with a sarcastic smile.

"Well. Looks like royalty has come to visit. Are you lost, princess?"

"Fénix Rogers. Marcus Blackwood," she said, unflinching.

"Who are you?" asked Marcus, his tone firm.

The woman handed him a white card.

"Enid Corp. We are dedicated to maintaining the balance between lycans and vampires in the world."

Fénix arched an eyebrow.

"And what does your company want with two poisoned vagabonds?"

Enid smiled, barely.

"You have less than an hour to live. The poison is already affecting your organs. But we have the antidote. In exchange... you will work for us."

"You could have started with a 'hello'," Fénix scoffed.

"We are not a charity organization. Take it or die here."

Fénix looked at Marcus. Marcus nodded silently.

"We accept," he said.

"A car will come in five minutes. Be ready."

The black Porsche 911 roared down the wet streets of Berlin. Inside, Fénix and Marcus watched the city unfold like a lit chessboard.

The vehicle stopped in front of an imposing skyscraper of glass and steel. Upon entering, they were met with a lobby of white marble, gleaming chandeliers, and the solemn silence of a corporate cathedral.