CHAPTER 32: The Fugitive Part 3

CHAPTER 32: The Fugitive Part 3

Fénix woke with a choked gasp. Every beat of his heart was a hammer blow to his temples, a dull throbbing that resonated in his skull. The air he breathed was thick, metallic, saturated with a nauseating sweetness he knew all too well: the smell of fresh blood and open viscera.

He sat up with difficulty, his trembling hands sinking into something warm and sticky covering the floor. Looking at them, he saw they were stained a dark, gleaming red. His suit—wrinkled and torn—was soaked, stuck to his skin with a repulsive viscosity. His face, as he ran his fingers over it, was covered in a wet, coagulated mask.

The hallway was a chamber of horrors. The walls, once austere, were now decorated with a grotesque mural of crimson splatters and unrecognizable chunks of organic matter. In the center of the corridor, what was once a man lay scattered over a radius of several meters. It wasn't a corpse; it was a terror installation. Pieces of bone, flashes of fabric from a shredded uniform, and torn organs that still steamed faintly in the cold air.

Fénix's stomach contracted violently. He brought a hand to his mouth, barely holding back the retching.

"What... what the hell...?" he managed to stammer, his voice a hoarse thread of horror.

Oh, quite a spectacle, don't you think? Adam's voice emerged in his mind, not as an echo, but as a tangible presence crawling through his cortex. It was deep, reverberating, and dripped with obscene delight. I told you, Fénix. My power is not something you can underestimate. This... this is just an appetizer of what would flow if you finally accepted the deal.

Fénix scrambled backward, his boots slipping on the sodden floor. His eyes, wide with shock, scoured the carnage, seeking a logic, an explanation his mind refused to find. The memory was a black void, but the evidence was as tangible as it was terrifying.

"This... this can't be real," he murmured, his voice cracking with panic. "What... what did you do?"

Me? Adam let out a laugh like the cracking of old bones. I did nothing, dear host. It was you. Or, to be more precise, a version of you fine-tuned by my... influence. Can you imagine it? This level of efficiency, at your disposal. Once a month. That's the whole price. A small exchange for no longer being the cockroach everyone steps on.

Fénix clenched his fists, feeling the dried blood crack on his skin. A pure, burning hatred for the parasite in his mind fought against an even deeper fear: the fear of himself, of the monstrosity he was capable of without even remembering it.

Come on, Fénix, Adam whispered, his tone now seductive, a serpent in the darkness. Look around you. Look at the art we can create together. With me, no one would ever rise above you again. Viktor, Darem... dust under your feet. Why fight the inevitable?

Fénix didn't respond. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, trying to drown the panic, to find the center of cold calm that had always been his refuge. When he opened them again, his expression, though pale and bloodstained, had regained a spark of iron determination. He stood up, ignoring the trembling in his legs, and began to walk, leaving the abattoir behind. He didn't look back.

Ignore me if you want, Adam sang, his voice fading like smoke. But you know I'll come knocking again. I'm always here. Waiting.

Fénix moved down the hallway, each step a battle against the weight of his own body and the echo of Adam's laughter. The adrenaline dissipated, revealing the stabbing pain in his side and a mental fog that clouded his senses. Only one clear idea remained: move forward.

Suddenly, a familiar silhouette blocked the end of the corridor. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes.

"Well, well, well," said Darem, his voice a rough purr that cut through the silence. "Look who decided to crash the party. Is this the great Fénix everyone fears? Because what I'm seeing... is pathetic."

Fénix looked up, exhaustion clouding his usual sharpness.

"Darem... I don't have time for your games. I'm not in any shape, so move aside and..."

The sentence died on his lips. Darem moved with a deceptive speed for a man of his size. There was no flash of metal, just a dull, burning impact in Fénix's side. He looked down and saw the hilt of a combat bayonet protruding grotesquely from between his ribs. The pain, sharp and nauseating, bent him double, wrenching a choked gasp from him.

"Did you really think you were going to leave here without saying hello?" asked Darem, leaning down so their faces were level. His breath smelled of cigar and something sourer. "You know how much I've longed for this, Fénix. To see the 'invincible' one finally crack... it's almost poetic."

Fénix coughed, spitting a drop of blood that stained Darem's impeccable boot.

"You're... a damn idiot," he managed to spit out, one hand gripping the knife's hilt, feeling the blade move inside him with every breath. "Don't you have... something better to do... than stab a man who's already finished?"

Darem shrugged, a casual, carefree gesture.

"Maybe. But where would the fun be in that? Besides, look at you. You can barely stand. This isn't even a fight; it's a reminder of your irrelevance."

Well, this is an interesting turn, Adam murmured in Fénix's mind, his tone curiously amused. Are you going to let this ape in overalls take you out here, in this grimy hallway? Because I could solve this in the blink of an eye. Just say the word.

Fénix gritted his teeth, ignoring the voice. With a grunt that was pure rage, he forced himself to straighten up, the bayonet still embedded in his side. Blood welled around the blade, warm and constant.

"If... if you wanted my attention... you have it," he wheezed. "But don't think... this will be easy."