CHAPTER 31: The Fugitive Part 2

CHAPTER 31: The Fugitive Part 2

The inside of the van smelled of sweat, metal, and the static electricity of fear. Fénix, huddled in the farthest corner, was a ghost of what he used to be. The suit he wore—wrinkled and stained—seemed like a mockery of his condition. Between his trembling fingers, two vials of Uber Lycan serum spun with a hypnotic rhythm, the golden liquid inside glowing with a sinister light under the van's dim lighting.

"Always a mess," he muttered to himself, another violent cough shaking his body. "No matter how hard I try... chaos always finds me."

The cough was so severe he doubled over, one hand clutching his chest as if trying to keep his heart from leaping out of his body. When he finally caught his breath, scarlet spots decorated the sleeve of his white shirt.

*Bravo, Fénix.* The voice emerged in his mind, cold as steel and as clear as if someone were sitting beside him. *You're really surpassing all my pathetic expectations. If you keep this up, I assure you you only have... six days left? Maybe less. But hey, who's counting?*

"Shut up," Fénix growled through gritted teeth, clenching his fists until his knuckles whitened. "I don't need your damn commentary now."

*Oh, no?* Adam's voice dripped with sarcasm. *It seems you do. Because, let's be honest, I'm the only thing keeping you hanging by a thread. Every cough, every drop of blood, is just my way of reminding you that your time is running out. Six days. Maximum.*

"You think I'm going to play your game, you damn parasite?" Fénix spat, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "I'd rather burn alive than surrender to you."

*Burn alive?* Adam laughed, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate in Fénix's bones. *Curious choice of words, considering you're already doing it. Every time you inject that cocktail of pride and desperation, you're just pouring gasoline on the fire. Do you want me to explain it like you're a child? You're committing suicide, but hey, who am I to stop you?*

Fénix looked at the vials in his hand. Anger, an old and familiar feeling, briefly replaced the exhaustion.

"If I only have six days left," he murmured, with a flash of defiance in his eyes, "then I'm going to use them to the last second. And if that means dragging you to hell with me, even better."

With movements driven more by sheer willpower than skill, he pulled a sterilized syringe from a metal case. The needle gleamed under the dim light. Without ceremony, he pierced the rubber stopper of one of the vials and filled the syringe with the thick, golden liquid.

*Ah, this is going to be fun.* Adam's voice was now an expectant whisper. *Go ahead, Fénix. Inject that misery. Feel it burn.*

Fénix didn't hesitate. He plunged the needle into the vein in his forearm and pressed the plunger. The pain was instant and searing, as if molten metal were coursing through his veins. He gasped, muscles tensing in familiar agony.

"If I'm going to die," he wheezed, his face contorted in pain, "it won't be crawling like a coward. It'll be fighting... and sending you into the abyss with me."

*That's what I like about you,* Adam whispered, his tone now darker, more intimate. *So predictable. So... desperate. But here's the cold truth: the more you fight, the stronger you make me. Thanks for the feast, friend.*

The pain subsided, replaced by a wave of fierce, distorted energy. The weakness evaporated, his muscles bulged slightly under the fabric of his suit, and his eyes flashed with a fleeting golden glint.

*Now you're ready for the fight,* Adam said, and Fénix could almost taste his mocking smile. *But remember: every injection binds you tighter to me. Are you sure you can last six days, Fénix?*

Fénix didn't respond. He stood up, ignoring the ringing in his ears, and headed for the van's rear door. He had a mission to complete.

Meanwhile, in the bowels of the Berghain, Vanessa and Lucian were making their way through a maze of side corridors. The air here was heavy, laden with the cloying smell of burnt herbs, sweat, and the distinct metallic scent of blood. The main music was a distant throb, replaced by whispers, gasps, and the occasional crunch of bones.

Vanessa frowned as she pushed aside a heavy black velvet curtain, only to immediately recoil at the scene of pure visceral decadence that greeted her.

"God," she murmured, looking away in disgust. "This is worse than I remembered. Sometimes I wish I didn't have such sharp hearing..."

Lucian, beside her, scanned the corridor with icy calm, his hand never far from the weapon hidden under his jacket.

"We're not here to judge their... hobbies, Vanessa. We're here for intel. Focus."

They advanced further, passing doors marked with symbols they didn't recognize. Suddenly, a deep, resonant whisper stopped them in their tracks. It came from a room at the end of the hallway. The door, made of solid oak, was ajar, and a faint, flickering light filtered through the crack. A voice, deep and reciting with an intensity that chilled the blood, reached them.

*"... for our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."*

Vanessa and Lucian looked at each other. No words were needed. They both recognized the voice. With a silent signal, Lucian slowly pushed the door open.

Darem was standing, his back to them, leaning against an improvised altar table laden with black candles and ritual artifacts. He didn't turn, but his reflection in an old, dark mirror showed them clearly. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.

"Well, this is disappointing," he said, his voice a rough purr. "I was expecting a wolf with teeth, and I only find his trained pups."

Lucian stepped forward, placing himself between Darem and Vanessa.