CHAPTER 46: The Fugitive Part 17

CHAPTER 46: The Fugitive Part 17

The moon, round, pale, and full, rose above the horizon, bathing the abandoned industrial landscape in a cold, silvery light. For Fénix, it was as if a switch had been thrown in every cell of his body.

A choked cry escaped him, not of pain, but of unbearable internal pressure. His body convulsed, bones cracked and rearranged with a wet, repulsive sound. It wasn't the bestial, uncontrolled transformation of a common Lycan. It was something more... designed.

When the spasm ceased, Fénix was no longer Fénix. He stood to a height of two and a half meters. His musculature, always powerful, was now grotesquely hypertrophied, with pulsing veins running over skin that had turned grayish and hard as rock. But the most monstrous thing was the two additional arms sprouting from his ribs, ending in black, sharp claws. His face was an elongated beast mask, with yellow, pupil-less eyes, and a row of fangs protruding from his lower jaw. It was a nightmare made flesh, a fusion of Lycan and something much older and more perverse.

Marcus stumbled backward, tripping over debris, his rifle falling to the ground forgotten. His face was a mask of pure horror and disbelief.

"F-Fénix?" he managed to stammer, his voice broken by shock.

But the creature that was once Fénix did not answer him. Instead, it articulated its four hands, opening and closing the claws with a studied and terrifyingly graceful movement, as if testing a new toy. An unknown, cruel smile spread across its bestial face.

From the edge of the collapsed building, Irene watched, and in her eyes there was no horror, but ecstatic adoration. She knelt, bowing her head.

"My Alpha," she cried, her voice trembling with emotion. "Adam. You have returned to us. Please, accept my loyalty. Allow me to be your handmaiden, your instrument in this world."

The creature—Adam—slowly turned its head towards her. The yellow eyes scrutinized her with a contemptuous curiosity.

"Handmaiden?" its voice was a deep crackle, like grinding stones, coming from Fénix's throat but not belonging to him. "You are all disposable tools. But... very well. Kneel lower. Perhaps I will find a use for you."

To prove his point, Adam raised one of his secondary claws towards one of the nearest hooded figures, a man watching with fanaticism. A flash of black, twisted energy tried to erupt from the claw... but it fizzled out immediately, as if choked. Adam frowned bestially, a gesture of frustration.

"What...?" he murmured, looking at his claw. Then, a low, understanding laugh escaped his maw. "Ah... I see. The brat won't allow me completely. It's not an empty vessel. What an interesting nuisance."

His gaze shifted to Marcus, who was still paralyzed by shock. Then, he looked at the sky. A bank of thick clouds was beginning to crawl slowly towards the moon, threatening to cover it in minutes.

"But everything has a solution," Adam said, in a tone that froze the blood. "It's time to change vessels. This one has served its purpose."

With a speed that defied vision, Adam's four arms moved, and he lunged towards Marcus.

Marcus tried to react, but he was too slow. Adam grabbed him easily, lifting him off the ground. Then the beating began. It wasn't an attempt to kill, but to soften, to weaken resistance. Precise, brutal blows rained down on Marcus, who screamed in pain and impotence, unable to defend himself against the monstrous strength. Bones cracked. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth. Just as he was on the verge of unconsciousness, his eyes glassy and his body a sack of pain, Adam threw him to the ground.

"Now," Adam whispered.

The symbiote—Adam's essence, the black mass that lived inside Fénix—responded. A dark, tarry substance began to ooze from the mouth, eyes, and wounds of Fénix's bestial body, like a swarm of black snakes. It flowed through the air, avoiding touching the ground, and violently forced its way into Marcus's open, gasping mouth.

Marcus's body convulsed violently on the ground, arching unnaturally. Then, it lay still.

For a second, nothing changed. It was still Marcus, beaten and bleeding.

But then, he opened his eyes.

They were no longer his blue eyes. They were pupils red as blood, incandescent, set against a background of absolute darkness, like voids. And all over his body, visible through the tatters of his clothes, dark, complex runes began to glow with a sinister radiance, as if branded into his flesh.

Adam—now in Marcus's body—rose with a eerie fluidity. He stretched, as if testing the limits of his new home, and a deep, satisfied, familiar laugh came from Marcus's bleeding lips. It was Adam's laugh, but in his friend's voice.

"Much better!" Adam exclaimed, flexing Marcus's fingers. "A more docile vessel! And with less... moral resistance!"

He turned his red-eyed gaze towards Fénix's original body. The four-armed beast crumbled, rapidly shrinking, returning to just Fénix, semi-conscious and lying in the grass, freed from the parasite but irrevocably marked.

With a careless gesture, Adam—in Marcus's body—kicked Fénix in the side, sending him rolling several meters across the ground until he lay motionless.

"Thanks for the ride, Rogers," Adam mocked with Marcus's voice. "It was fun. But your time as host is over. Enjoy your... freedom."

A groan escaped Fénix's lips. The pain throughout his body was a symphony of agony, but it was the image of Marcus—not Marcus, that thing with red eyes and runes—that injected a final dose of pure adrenaline into him. With a superhuman effort, he got to his feet, staggering, and bleeding in the cold night.

"ADAM!" he roared, his voice a hoarse screech, torn by rage and desperation. "LET HIM GO! GET OUT OF HIM!"

Ignoring the pain, the void left by the symbiote, and the overwhelming difference in power, he lunged forward. It was a clumsy attack, born of pure will, without technique, without Lycan strength, just a broken man defending his friend.