CHAPTER 42: The Fugitive Part 13

CHAPTER 42: The Fugitive Part 13

A mistake. A damn miscalculation. Lucio admitted it to himself in the fraction of a second the beast, with a strength he hadn't anticipated, redoubled its push. He had underestimated the resilience of this particular creature, perhaps the matriarch of the colony, strengthened by the mutant strain. His sword, though hungry, couldn't overcome the brute mass and blind fury.

With a grunt of effort, the spider-monster charged one last time, and this time Lucio couldn't hold it back. He was thrown backward like a sack, crashing against the opposite wall of the hallway with an impact that knocked the air from his lungs. The dark sword slipped from his numb fingers and fell to the carpet with a dull thud, out of his reach. The creature reared over him, victorious, its fangs dripping venom inches from his face. A grotesque triumph shone in its multiple black eyes.

It was then that Fénix burst in from the shattered suite. Without hesitation, he lunged onto the chitinous back of the beast, grabbing it by what might be its shoulders and pulling back with all the superhuman strength he had left.

"Not... today...!" he roared, his muscles straining under the titanic effort.

But the spider barely budged. It was like trying to topple a building. Its legs anchored into the carpet, resisting his pull. Fénix gritted his teeth, the veins in his neck standing out like cords. It wasn't enough.

Despair overwhelmed him. In an act of pure instinct, of impotent rage, he shouted into the void, to the parasite in his mind:

"ADAM! Damn it, do something! HELP ME!"

For a moment, nothing. Then, a feeling of pure mockery, of obscene amusement, bloomed in his brain. On his right cheek, the skin suddenly distended, forming an unnatural protuberance that opened to reveal... a mouth. Small, with tiny sharp teeth, and a dark, reptilian tongue. It wasn't a real mouth, it was a psychosomatic manifestation, a cruel joke from Adam.

The mouth on his cheek laughed, a shrill, high-pitched sound that didn't come from his lungs.

«Help you?» Adam's voice whispered directly from that aberration, a wet, close sound only Fénix could hear. «But this is the most fun I've had in centuries! Fight, little wolf. Entertain me!»

The mouth vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only intact skin and a burning humiliation.

The mockery, however, stoked the fire of his fury. With a cry that was pure Lycan rage, Fénix found a reserve of strength he didn't know he had. He stepped back to gain momentum and charged again, no longer trying to knock it down, but to distract it, to move it even a centimeter.

It was enough.

The beast's hesitation, however minimal, gave Lucio the opening he needed. He rolled to the side, his hand finding the familiar leather hilt of his sword. Upon feeling its touch, the dark blade vibrated, as if waking from a light sleep.

In one fluid motion that was pure death, Lucio rose and, with the force of his arm and the accumulated hunger of the weapon, delivered a perfect horizontal slash. The blade didn't cut; it devoured. It passed through the spider's abdomen as if it weren't there, and the creature froze, its triumphant chirp cut short. Then, it split in two, its upper and lower halves collapsing in opposite directions, bathing the hallway in black fluid.

Silence returned, now broken only by Fénix's panting breath as he leaned on his knees, exhausted.

Lucio straightened up, wiping the impeccable blade of his sword with a cloth from his pocket before sheathing it. He walked to where Fénix's Matilda lay, picked it up, and approached his student. He offered him the weapon first.

"Don't drop it again," he said, his voice rough but lacking the usual contempt. "A weapon is an extension of your will. Abandoning it is abandoning yourself."

Then, he offered his hand.

Fénix looked at the outstretched hand, then at Lucio. He took the weapon first and holstered it. Then, he grabbed Lucio's hand and let himself be pulled up. The gesture was firm, without condescension.

"You almost ruined everything with that tantrum," Lucio said, releasing his hand. "Yelling at that... parasite... was a rookie mistake. Desperation clouds judgment."

Fénix nodded, not denying it. "Yes, Instructor."

Lucio studied him from head to toe, covered in black blood, plaster, and sweat, but standing. Alive.

"But..." Lucio continued, pausing dramatically. "In this week, you've improved. You've gone from being a clumsy hammer to a chisel... a dull one, but a chisel nonetheless. You learn. Fast."

It was the greatest praise Fénix had ever received from him. An almost imperceptible halo of pride appeared on Lucio's face, quickly hidden behind his facade of toughness.

Fénix, despite the pain and exhaustion, managed a tired smile. "A chisel... thanks, I guess." Then, he remembered. The reason that had fueled his last desperate charge. "Hey, about that promise... the one about the meat. The Argentine grill. Is it still on? Because I think I've earned a good steak. Or three."

Lucio let out a snort that might have been a stifled laugh. "Three? You'll be lucky to get a sausage." He looked around, the hallway turned into a slaughterhouse. "But yes, Rogers. The promise stands. Now, help me secure this area. Then, we get the hell out of this stinking hole." He pointed to the spider corpses. "And while we're at it, we collect samples. Enid will want to study them."

For the first time, they walked down the hallway together, not as master and student, but as companions who had survived the same nightmare. The relationship was still rough, full of thorns and warnings, but now there was a respect forged in combat and the promise of a meal that would taste like victory.

The aroma of grilled meat, charcoal, and smoky haze was a balm to the senses after the metallic, sweetish smell of the Hotel Sakura. The Argentine restaurant was noisy, vibrant, and earthy. Thick wooden tables, walls adorned with photos of ranches, and an open grill where huge cuts of meat sizzled.