CHAPTER 41: The Fugitive Part 12

CHAPTER 41: The Fugitive Part 12

The silence of the Hotel Sakura broke. Not suddenly, but with a whisper. A multiple rustling, like silk being torn, coming from the depths of the hallway. It was a low, constant sound that made Fénix's skin crawl. It grew louder, mixed with a wet clicking and the crunching of chitin.

Lucio raised a hand, stopping him. Both crouched, blending into the shadows. At the end of the endless corridor, something was moving. The faint emergency light flickered, illuminating for seconds the nightmare approaching.

There were three of them. Monstrosities that looked like they were ripped from a medieval engraving on hallucinogenic herbs. The size of a large dog, their bodies were a grotesque fusion of arachnid and human. Eight hairy, articulated legs like spears supported a swollen, pale, hairless torso, from which emerged disproportionate human arms ending in claws. Their heads were the most horrifying: jet-black compound eyes surrounded a vertical mouth that opened to reveal fangs the size of daggers, dripping a shiny, amber fluid. They moved their humanoid torsos in a spastic, unnatural way, like puppets controlled by a demented puppeteer. The whispering came from their legs scraping the carpet and the ceiling.

Fénix held his breath, a wave of pure disgust and horror freezing his blood. He had never seen anything like it.

"My God..." he managed to spit out, his voice a thread of disbelief.

Lucio didn't flinch. With a calm bordering on the supernatural, he unbuttoned his trench coat. Underneath, on a simple harness against his torso, he carried a sword. It wasn't a katana, but a European longsword with a double edge, a hilt of worn leather, and a simple steel guard. The scabbard was of dark wood, unadorned. He drew it with a soft, hissing sound. The metal didn't shine; it seemed to absorb the little light in the hallway, dark and matte.

Fénix looked at him, then at the aberrations advancing, and back at the sword.
"And that?" he asked, panic making his voice sound higher than usual. "That thing's going to work against... that?"

Lucio didn't take his eyes off the creatures. His voice was a flat murmur, didactic, as if he were giving a lesson in the middle of hell.
"This sword isn't measured by its edge, Rogers. It's measured by its hunger." He made a wrist movement, and the blade seemed to vibrate slightly, emitting an almost imperceptible hum. "Every unnatural being it ends, every aberrant soul it releases, strengthens its essence. The souls of my enemies are forged into its metal, feeding it, making it more deadly. It doesn't cut flesh. It cuts the very essence of what should not exist."

Before Fénix could process what that meant, the lead spider, with a shriek that was half hiss, half human scream, lunged at them. Fénix reacted on instinct. He drew his Matilda, aimed, and fired three times.

Phut. Phut. Phut.

The impacts sounded dull on the creature's pale torso. The holes oozed a black liquid, but the beast barely flinched. Its compound eyes fixed on Fénix with a malign intelligence. With a speed that defied vision, one of its front legs, sharp as a spear, shot towards him.

Fénix tried to dodge, but he was too slow. The leg hit him in the side with the force of a battering ram, lifting him off the ground and throwing him against the plaster wall ten meters away. The impact was brutal, shaking him to his bones. He fell to the floor, gasping, seeing stars, the taste of plaster and blood in his mouth.

The spider-monster loomed over him, its fangs gleaming, dripping venom onto his face. Fénix tried to raise his weapon, but his arm wouldn't respond. He could only stare, paralyzed by pain and horror.

Lucio hadn't moved.

He watched as the creature hovered over his student. There was no hurry in his movements. He took a deep, calm breath.

Then, he acted.

It wasn't a charge. It was a glide. He moved with a perfect economy of motion, dodging another thrusting leg as if he knew its trajectory beforehand. The dark sword traced a silent arc in the air.

There was no sound of cutting. No shriek. The blade simply passed through the creature's chitinous neck as if it hadn't been there. The head, its eyes still fixed on Fénix, detached and rolled across the carpet. The body collapsed, convulsing, a thick black fluid gushing from the stump.

Lucio didn't look at the corpse. He turned to the other two advancing creatures, his sword now with a barely audible energy, a sound of a thirsty wasp. The blade seemed even darker, as if it had drunk the darkness from the beast.

"Lesson number four, Rogers," Lucio said, his voice clear and cutting in the hallway. "Bullets are sometimes just a greeting. To kill monsters, you need a tool that understands monsters." His eyes settled on Fénix, who was still struggling to get up. "Now, are you going to lie there or are you going to learn?"

The metallic clatter of the Matilda hitting the carpet was a period. Fénix spat out a clot of blood, his eyes, now free of the initial shock, burning with a cold fury. The pain in his side was a flare, but the humiliation burned hotter. He got into a fighting stance, bare hands raised, his body adopting the posture Lucio had drilled into him with blows. He was no longer a man with a weapon; he was a cornered predator.

The two remaining spiders gave no more time. They moved with a speed that defied physics, their eight legs a blur crossing the hallway in an instant. Fénix focused on the one on the left. He ignored the pain, ignored the fear, and channeled all the latent power in his Lycan muscles.

When the creature lunged, fangs first, Fénix didn't dodge. He launched himself forward, inside its guard, and delivered a direct, brutal punch to the center of its "face." The impact was satisfying and repulsive at once; he felt the chitin give way and something crunch under his knuckles. The spider let out a high-pitched shriek and recoiled, staggering.