CHAPTER 23: The Funeral in Africa

CHAPTER 23: The Funeral in Africa

The funeral home stood like a colonial ghost in the middle of the African savannah. Its peeling walls showed scars from decades of sun and rain, and the tall windows—dressed in dusty velvet curtains—filtered beams of light that illuminated dancing dust motes. The air smelled of damp earth, incense, and wilted flowers, a bittersweet mixture that clung to the throat.

Inside, the silence was heavy as a lead blanket. Dark wooden benches were lined up in front of a simple mahogany coffin, covered with vibrant kente cloth that contrasted with the sobriety of the place. Attendees dressed in black—some in Western suits, others in traditional clothing—murmured in languages Fénix didn't recognize.

He and Alucard occupied the last row, shadows among mourners. Fénix adjusted the collar of his black suit, uncomfortable.

"Why the hell are we at a funeral in the middle of nowhere?" he whispered, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. "We don't even know the dead guy."

Alucard, impeccable in a black linen suit, smiled without taking his eyes off the coffin.

"Sometimes, Fénix, answers lie in places where no one looks for them. Besides," his smile widened, "funerals have a... particular energy."

Fénix arched an eyebrow.

"Energy? You sound like a fairground charlatan."

"Shut up and observe," Alucard pointed with his chin toward the front. "This man was nobody. But his death... that's interesting."

An elderly speaker climbed the pulpit. His voice, deep as distant thunder, spoke in a mixture of English and Yoruba. He spoke of a simple life—a farmer, a father—but Alucard listened as if deciphering a code.

Fénix leaned toward him.

"Well? What's the big revelation?"

"Patience," murmured Alucard. "Death rituals are the only truths that cannot lie."

When the speech ended, Alucard stood up.

"That's enough." He walked toward the exit, Fénix following him.

Outside, the African sun beat down like a hammer. Alucard stopped, turning to Fénix with a triumphant smile.

"Congratulations, Fénix. You've reached the summit."

Fénix looked at him in disbelief.

"This was a test? A funeral?"

"The final test," Alucard adjusted his gloves. "Controlling your power in a place charged with pain... that demonstrates mastery. No more fits of rage or accidental transformations. You are the perfect weapon. Thanks to me, of course."

Fénix snorted.

"Ah, of course. All thanks to the great Alucard. Do you want me to build you a statue?"

"A commemorative plaque would suffice," Alucard laughed. "But now, we return to Berlin."

They walked toward a dusty Jeep parked under an acacia tree.

"So that was it," said Fénix, getting into the vehicle. "A trip to Africa for a random funeral?"

"Not random," Alucard started the engine. "This man was a traditional sage. His death releases certain... energies. And you, by maintaining control here, proved you can handle ancient power without crumbling."

Fénix looked out the window. The savannah stretched out endlessly, golden under the sun.

"And if I had failed?"

"I would have knocked you out and we would have left anyway," Alucard smiled. "But you didn't."

They were silent for a moment. Then, Fénix asked:

"What happens now?"

"Now," Alucard accelerated down the dirt road, "the missions will be more interesting. And the world will know my masterpiece."

Fénix rolled his eyes.

"Your ego is as big as this continent."

"But well deserved, dear Fénix," Alucard winked. "Well deserved."

The Jeep disappeared in a cloud of dust, leaving behind the funeral home and its buried secrets.