CHAPTER 16: Luxury and Secrets

CHAPTER 16: Luxury and Secrets

The black taxi stopped in front of the Imperial Hotel like an elegant sigh amidst the chaos of Tokyo. The polarized glass doors slid open, revealing a lobby that defied the laws of opulence. Murano crystals hung from the ceiling like frozen tears of titans, reflecting on floors of black marble polished to the point of mirroring every movement. The air smelled of jasmine and old money.

Fénix stepped into the lobby feeling like every step he took was a blasphemy against so much perfection. His tactical boots, still impregnated with the dust of Berlin, seemed to stain the immaculate whiteness of the marble.

"Where do you get the money for this?" he asked, his voice an uncomfortable echo in the silent vastness. "Corporate vampirism or inheritance from some beheaded aristocrat?"

Alucard smiled, adjusting his silk shirt cuffs.

"Long-term investments, boy. When you've lived for centuries, you learn to play the stock market... and to steal Queen Marie Antoinette's jewels." He winked. "Blood is a volatile business. Gold, on the other hand, never loses its charm."

They approached the reception where an impeccably suited man greeted them with a bow that spoke of centuries of servile tradition.

"Presidential suite," Alucard said without looking at him, as if ordering the weather. "And send up Dom Pérignon Rose Gold champagne. The 1959 vintage, not that modern imitation."

Fénix murmured to himself:

"Presidential suite... of course. Because a normal room would be too human."

"Exactly," Alucard put an arm around his shoulders. "Life is too short for mediocrity. Well, yours is long, but the point stands."

The receptionist handed them the keys—white gold cards with diamond inlays—and another man guided them to the private elevator.

Outside, in a police tent hastily set up among alleyways, Roberto da Silva watched the surveillance screens. His Vale Tudo fighter's physique contrasted with the impeccable suits of the Japanese officers surrounding him.

"Lembrem-se," he said, his Portuñol cutting through the tense air. "Peguem Fénix e Alucard, e a imortalidade é de vocês. Falhem, e viram sombra." (Remember. Capture Fénix and Alucard, and immortality is yours. Fail, and you become shadows.)

One of the officers, with the rank of captain, swallowed hard.

"What if we need more reinforcements? We've already sent twelve men."

Roberto looked at him like a pitbull looks at a poodle.

"Mande o exército inteiro se precisar. Mas não falhem." (Send the whole army if you need to. But don't fail.) His fingers caressed the butt of his pistol. "A imortalidade não se oferece duas vezes." (Immortality isn't offered twice.)

The presidential suite was a three-level penthouse overlooking Shinjuku. Alucard was pouring a century-old cognac into cut-crystal glasses when the door exploded.

It wasn't an explosion—it was a disintegration. The solid teak wood turned into splinters as fine as needles, and ten tactical squad police officers burst in with assault rifles.

「動くな！この瞬間を終わらせる！」 the leader shouted. Don't move! This ends now!

Alucard slowly set down his glass. A smile of a bored predator spread across his lips.

「おやおや」 he replied in perfect Japanese, with an Edo-era accent. 「こんな歓迎を期待していなかったよ。君たち、本当にこわいね」 Well, well. I wasn't expecting this welcome. You guys really scare me.

The volley was a chorus of thunder. Hollow-point bullets pierced the leather sofas, the Hokusai paintings, the liquor bottles... and Alucard's chest.

He didn't even blink. The bullets passed through him as if he were smoke, leaving holes that closed instantly.

"More!" he laughed, spreading his arms. "I needed some new holes!"

The police officers recoiled in horror. Then Alucard moved.

He was a blur of black suit and white fangs. He tore throats with nails that were razors, dodging bullets with the grace of a dancer. Blood splattered the Chinese silk walls, painting grotesque abstract murals. In seconds, ten bodies lay shattered on the floor.

Fénix watched it all, unmoving... until a stray bullet pierced his bicep.

"Shit!" He ripped the projectile out with his fingers, throwing it to the ground. "Seriously?"

Alucard approached, wiping the blood from his chin with a silk handkerchief.

"Did that hurt, pup?" his tone was mocking. "The lycans of your generation are so sensitive..."

"Go to hell, Alucard."

"Ah, there's that spirit," the vampire smiled. "But remember: complaining is for humans. And you..." he touched the wound that was already closing, "...no longer have that luxury."

Fénix held back a curse. The smell of copper and gunpowder filled his lungs.

"Is this training or your idea of a macabre date?"

"Both," Alucard handed him an intact glass of cognac. "Welcome to Tokyo, Fénix. Where every night is a play... and blood is the only applause that matters."

Outside, on the street, Roberto da Silva put out his cigarette with a cold gesture. The screams had ceased. He smiled—he knew this was only the prologue.