CHAPTER 13: New Beginnings

CHAPTER 13: New Beginnings

Waking up was a slow, painful return to consciousness, like emerging from the depths of an ocean of nightmares. Fénix opened his eyes, each blink an assault against the dim light filtering from the ceiling. He instantly recognized the padded room—his personal cage—where the foam-lined walls absorbed even the slightest sound, creating an oppressive silence that weighed more than the chains.

These were no simple bindings; they were engineering for war: titanium alloy coated with non-slip polymer, designed to withstand the strength of five adult lycans. Every link creaked as he tried to move, reminding him of his status as a domesticated beast.

Through the frosted glass of the observation window, he made out blurry silhouettes. Enid. And with her, the men in white coats—his scientist jailers—whose voices murmured like flies buzzing around a corpse.

"The Uber Lycan project is a catastrophic failure," he heard one say, a high-pitched voice that reminded him of a mouse. "His behavior is erratic."

"The control formula is unstable at the mitochondrial level," added another. "We must discard the subject and start over."

The door opened with a pneumatic hiss. Enid entered first, her heels sinking into the padded floor. Behind her, the scientists stayed close to the exit, like zoo visitors facing a tiger's cage.

"Hello, Fénix," said Enid, her voice a perfect hybrid of authority and calculated concern. "It seems we've had... setbacks."

Fénix smiled, a gesture that tugged at his cracked lips. Dried blood covered his chin like a grotesque mask.

"Ah, what a surprise!" he spat, the chains creaking with each word. "I wake up chained again. Is this part of the loyalty rewards program, or do you just enjoy seeing me like this?"

He tried to raise a hand, but the manacles bit into his wrists. A new trickle of blood gushed from his nose, warm and metallic.

Enid approached, ignoring the scientists' tacit warning. She pulled a sterile cloth from her pocket and began wiping the blood with precise, almost maternal movements.

"You've caused an unacceptable level of chaos," she murmured, her eyes fixed on his. "Ruhleben station looked like a Renaissance butcher shop."

Fénix laughed, a harsh sound that reverberated in the silent room.

"Well, how considerate. Playing nurse now? Maybe you should worry more about your shitty formula than my facial hygiene."

One of the scientists coughed nervously.

"His sarcasm is a defense mechanism," he whispered. "The limbic brain is overexcited by..."

"Shut up," Enid cut him off without looking. "Fénix, this is over. Either you learn to control it, or you become another dissected specimen in the pathology wing."

Fénix kept his smile, but his eyes—they shone with a dangerous light.

"I promise to behave, boss. Unless you give me another chance to have fun."

Enid put away the red-stained cloth.

"You'll have it. But on my terms."

The rain hammered the bulletproof window like an invasion of needles. Suddenly, the lights flickered. A moment of darkness, and when they returned, he was there.

Alucard materialized from the shadows, as if the very darkness had woven him into existence. He wore a black silk suit that absorbed the light, and his wine-red eyes glowed with an ancient curiosity.

"Ah," he said, his voice a silky whisper that cut through the air. "So this is the problematic pup they're all murmuring about."

The scientists recoiled as if they'd seen a ghost. Enid, for her part, hardened her expression, but her pupils dilated slightly.

"Alucard," she pronounced his name like a warning. "I don't recall inviting specters to my facilities."

Alucard smiled, showing fangs that were not metaphorical.

"Dear Enid, always so territorial. I came out of curiosity... and because I detected an interesting smell. Young blood, raw power, and... desperation. A delicious combination."

He approached the bed. Fénix sized him up—predator recognizing another predator.

"Well, an opera vampire," growled Fénix. "Did you come to give me fashion advice or to suck my blood?"

Alucard laughed, a sound like shattering crystal.

"I like him. He has fire... though misdirected." He turned to Enid. "The problem isn't the serum, dear. It's the vessel. This boy fights his own chains as much as he fights yours."

Enid crossed her arms.

"And I suppose you have a solution?"

"But of course. Training. Not in this... scientific kindergarten." He made a disdainful gesture toward the test tubes. "I'll take him far from here. To places where the night is darker and the monsters more real."

Fénix raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds like a shitty vacation. Does it include a tour of decrepit castles?"

"It includes making you the most lethal lycan that has ever existed," replied Alucard, his voice now deep as an earthquake. "Or dying in the attempt."

Enid studied them both—the ancient vampire and the chained wolf. Finally, she nodded.

"Three months, Alucard. No more, no less."

Alucard bowed elegantly.

"Generous as always."

Then, he turned to Fénix's chains. His fingers—pale and long—touched them gently. The titanium crystallized and disintegrated like burnt sugar.

"Consider this your first lesson," murmured Alucard. "Locks are for small minds."

Fénix rubbed his wrists, where the manacle marks still smoldered.

"Great. Are you sticking with the magic key trick, or are we going to do something interesting?"

In the break room—a cube of steel and leather with coffee machines buzzing like insects—Fénix waited by the window. The rain ran down the glass like a giant's tears.

Enid entered without a sound. She sat next to him, her perfume—jasmine and gunpowder—clashing with his smell of dried blood.

"So, it's time to say goodbye," she said, watching the storm.