CHAPTER 19: Old Rules

CHAPTER 19: Old Rules

The forest clearing was bathed in the amber light of dusk. Ancient cedars stood like silent guardians, their elongated shadows weaving patterns on the damp earth. Fénix panted, kneeling in the center of the clearing, his body covered in a mixture of sweat and mud. Every muscle burned as if he had live coals under his skin.

Alucard watched from a fallen log, impeccable in his black suit, as if exhaustion were a concept foreign to his existence.

"Well done, Fénix," he said, his voice a soft contrast to the sound of the lycan's ragged breathing. "Though I wonder if you'll ever find your limit. Or if you'll always push it further."

Fénix looked up, spitting out dirt.

"Great!" his sarcasm sounded weak, worn out. "Just what I wanted: training that seems ripped from a Buddhist hell. What's next? Walking across a bed of hot coals?"

Alucard smiled, his fangs showing slightly.

"That would be too cliché. I prefer creativity."

The sun sank behind the mountains, painting the sky purple and orange. Fénix stood up shakily, leaning on his knees.

"I can't do anymore, Alucard," he confessed, his voice hoarse. "When does this end?"

"It ends when you stop breathing," Alucard replied, standing up. "But let's talk about your other nature. The basic transformation. Not the monstrosity Enid injected into your veins, but the one you've carried since you were turned."

Fénix frowned.

"My normal lycan form? What's this about?"

"Because you underestimate it," Alucard walked toward him, his steps making no sound on the leaf litter. "That version is more... pure. Less controlled, but more honest. How does it feel?"

Fénix looked at his own hands, as if expecting to see claws.

"It's like an overflowing river. Raw strength, impulses that cloud the mind. Hunger for... action. For destruction, sometimes."

"Natural," Alucard nodded. "The basic beast is emotional. Reactive. The Uber form is a designed weapon; the other is who you truly are. How do you tame that torrent?"

"I try to channel it," Fénix closed his eyes. "Focus it on combat, on movement. But it's hard. Sometimes I just want to... break things."

Alucard stopped in front of him.

"That's the key. You must not tame it; you must direct it. Use that rage like an architect uses steel: with purpose. The Uber form is a hydraulic hammer; the basic one is a hand-forged sword. More elegant, more yours."

Fénix looked at him, intrigued despite the exhaustion.

"And how is that done?"

"By practicing," Alucard pointed to the forest. "Here, where no one judges you. Where you can fail without being shot. Tomorrow, you will transform. Not into the monster, but into the wolf. And you will learn to dance with your own shadow."

Fénix let himself fall to the ground, his back against the cool earth. The sky was now dotted with early stars.

"I guess that makes sense," he admitted. "But for now, I need to breathe."

"Rest," Alucard conceded, sitting on a nearby rock. "But don't get used to it. The training doesn't end; it only pauses."

Fénix looked at the stars, his body aching but his mind clearer than ever.

"You know? Sometimes I hate all this. Other times... I almost enjoy it."

"That's the line between madness and genius," Alucard pulled out a water bottle. "Drink. Dehydration is as vulgar as death."

Fénix took the bottle, drinking eagerly.

"And you? Don't you ever get tired?"

"I got tired centuries ago," Alucard replied, his gaze lost on the horizon. "Now I just... observe. And occasionally, train stubborn wolves."

Fénix smiled, a genuine gesture for the first time in days.

"Thanks. I guess."

"Don't thank me yet," Alucard stood up. "Tomorrow I'll make you wish you had died centuries ago."

He walked away toward the cabin, leaving Fénix alone under a now fully starry sky. The air smelled of pine and possibilities.