CHAPTER 45: The Fugitive Part 16

CHAPTER 45: The Fugitive Part 16

The van stopped on a dirt road, hidden in thick underbrush about two hundred meters from the abandoned complex. The cold night air smelled of damp earth and abandonment. Fénix and Marcus got out silently, equipped with light backpacks full of surveillance gear.

"Over there," Marcus whispered, pointing towards the dark silhouettes of the industrial buildings. In front of the main entrance, like stains of luxury amidst the decay, were three black cars, impeccable, with tinted windows. Audi A8s. Vehicles of someone with money and power.

"The cars first," murmured Fénix, his voice tense. The watch on his wrist read 21:15. He had less than an hour. Fast. It has to be fast.

They crawled through the underbrush, moving with stealth. Marcus covered while Fénix, with quick, expert movements, placed magnetic tracking devices on the chassis of each vehicle. Every second that passed, he felt the moon rising higher in the sky, pressuring him.

"Done," whispered Fénix, backing away. "Now, inside. Just listen and see."

Marcus nodded. They found a broken window at the rear of one of the buildings and slipped inside. The interior was a skeleton of rusted iron and bare concrete. Dust and debris everywhere. The silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional crunch of their careful steps.

Following the sound of distant, reverberating voices, they ascended a rusty service staircase until they reached a metal walkway overlooking a vast industrial nave. Below, in the center of the empty space, a circle of hooded figures dressed in dark robes stood around what looked like an improvised altar made of wooden crates. Tall candles cast dancing, sinister shadows on the walls.

"What the hell..." muttered Marcus, adjusting his night-vision binoculars.

Fénix didn't need the binoculars. His Lycan sight caught every detail. And then, she appeared.

Irene descended a side staircase, elegantly dressed in a black business suit and high heels that echoed in the silence like gunshots. Her jet-black hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She wore no hood. Her face, serene with a contained triumphant smile, was illuminated by the candlelight.

"Brothers," her voice, clear and cold, cut through the air and echoed in the empty nave. "The day has come. The night of our Alpha's rebirth. The night when Adam will walk among us once more, incarnated in a vessel of true power."

Fénix felt the floor open beneath his feet. Adam. She said it. They knew.

No. No, no, no. The thought was a muffled scream in his mind. It's not a meeting. It's a trap. A fucking trap for ME. He looked around, searching for exits, assessing threats. His skin began to itch, a familiar and terrifying sensation. The moon. It was close. I have to get out of here. NOW.

"Marcus," he whispered, grabbing his partner's arm tightly. "We have to leave. Right now. It's a trap."

Marcus lowered the binoculars, frowning in the darkness.
"What? What are you saying? We have to listen, Fénix. This is pure gold. They're talking about Adam!"

"They know we're here!" Fénix insisted, his voice a desperate whisper. "This is all for me! To lure me in! We have to leave NOW!"

"For you? Are you delirious?" Marcus resisted, pulling his arm away. "Fénix, calm down! We have a mission!"

Below, Irene slowly raised her head, as if sniffing the air. Her smile widened, becoming predatory and sharp. Her eyes, of a glacial blue, turned directly towards the walkway where they were hiding in the shadows. She couldn't see them, but she knew.

"Brothers," she said, her voice now charged with triumphant emotion. "We are not alone tonight. We have... guests of honor." She made a dramatic pause, savoring the moment. "Look into the shadows. There, watching cowardly... is the Vessel. The chosen vessel that carries within it the spirit of our Alpha, Adam. And he has brought it directly to us!"

All the hooded figures turned in unison. Dozens of pairs of eyes, gleaming with fanaticism and something darker in the gloom, fixed on the walkway. The robes fell away, revealing faces marked with the same symbol Fénix had seen at the Hotel Sakura, and weapons that reflected the candlelight.

Fénix felt the weight of all those gazes. The pact inside him stirred, as if Adam was laughing at him from the depths of his soul.

"Marcus..." his voice was just a thread of sound. "Now it's too late."

The hunt had begun. And they were no longer the hunters.

The silence broke with the roar of ten bolts being chambered in unison. These weren't common pistols; the sound was deeper, heavier. High-caliber weaponry.

"Fénix, after this you owe me a damn explanation!" roared Marcus, shoving Fénix to move just as a volley of armor-piercing rounds shredded the metal railing where they had been seconds before.

The world narrowed to a hell of noise and twisted metal. They ran along the walkway, bullets whistling around them, impacting the rusted iron and creating a concert of death. Fénix led the way, his Lycan senses on high alert, dodging and weaving. Marcus ran behind him.

"To the left!" Fénix shouted, pointing to a half-collapsed escape ladder leading down to the side of the building.

But it was too late. A grenade launcher one of the hooded figures had produced did its job. The projectile hit the walkway's supports right in front of them.

With an agonizing metallic groan, the entire structure tilted and then collapsed. Fénix and Marcus fell into the void amidst a rain of rusted debris and dust. The fall was short but brutal, landing on their backs on a patch of dirt and dry weeds outside the building, the impact shaking them to their bones.

Gasping, trying to recover the breath knocked out of them, Fénix got up. Marcus did the same, coughing, covered in dust, with a bleeding cut on his forehead.