CHAPTER 50: The Fugitive Part 21 FINAL

CHAPTER 50: The Fugitive Part 21 FINAL

The park was an island of artificial peace in the heart of Berlin. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the linden trees, painting the path with light and shadows. Fénix sat on a bench of worn wood, his hands hanging between his knees. He didn't see the children playing, or the couples strolling. He only saw the void inside himself, a deep silence that followed the roar of battle and Adam's whisper.

A soft nudge against his leg pulled him from his trance. A stray dog, a mixed breed with brown fur and tired but gentle eyes, had sat down at his feet, watching him with a quiet curiosity.

Fénix smiled, a small, weary gesture. He reached out and sank his fingers into the rough but warm fur. The animal closed its eyes, leaning into the contact.

"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like," murmured Fénix, his voice a whisper for the dog and for himself. "To be you. Without the weight of what we've done. Without the guilt of what we must do. Just... exist. Breathe. Sleep in the sun. Not carry anyone else's darkness. Just be a dog."

The animal wagged its tail, thumping the ground softly. Thump, thump, thump.

"Right," Fénix added with an ironic laugh. "But that would also mean not being able to choose what I eat. And no, thanks. I've had enough of canned food."

The dog let out a soft grumble, as if disagreeing with the hypothetical menu.

The vibration in his pocket cut the moment. Fénix pulled out his phone. A message from Enid. He opened it.

ENID: Fénix. Washington is burning. Adam is moving. I need you at Enid Corp. Now.

The peace shattered. The weight returned, heavier than before. Before he could process it, the phone rang. The same secure line.

"Enid?" he answered, his voice had regained its usual hardness.

"Fénix," Enid's voice was a steel cable, tense and direct. "The president took the bait. Adam played his card and won. The White House is in check. This isn't just another mission. It's the beginning of the end if we don't act. I need you here. The team is assembling."

Fénix looked at the dog, who watched him with its loyal, simple eyes. A last vestige of a fading world.

"Alright, Enid," he said, his voice clear, without a trace of doubt. "I'm coming."

"It's judgment day, Fénix," said Enid, and for the first time, he detected a shadow of something more than determination in her voice: need. "There's no turning back."

"Sure. As always," Fénix replied, a bitter smile touching his lips. "But this time it will be different. This time we're not just going to stop him. I'm going to pull him out of Marcus. Whatever it takes."

"We'll be waiting," was all Enid said before hanging up.

Fénix put the phone away. He leaned down to the dog one last time, scratching behind its ear.

"See you, friend. My place isn't here."

He stood up. His back straightened. The fatigue and doubt sloughed off him like an old skin, revealing the core of cold steel that had always been there. The dog watched him leave, not following, instinctively understanding that this man no longer belonged to the park's tranquility.

Fénix walked with a determination that resonated in every step. Berlin, with its facade of normality, was already a battlefield. He knew it in his bones.

And then, he knew he wasn't alone.

A change in the quality of the silence, a familiar cold that didn't come from the air. He looked up.

Alucard was leaning against the trunk of a linden tree, as if he had been sculpted from the shadow itself. His arms were crossed, his smile enigmatic.

"I'm always watching you from the shadows, Fénix," he said, his voice a silken murmur only Fénix could hear. "It's not spying. It's... art appreciation."

Fénix didn't flinch. An ironic smile, almost a real reflex, touched his lips.

"Well. Just when the world is about to explode, you decide to show your face. Did you come to give me one of your cryptic sermons, Alucard? Or just to make sure I don't run away?"

Alucard laughed, a sound as soft as the rustle of silk.
"Both, if you'll allow me. But today, the sermon is simple." His expression sobered, the amusement giving way to absolute certainty. "There is already a clear winner in this war, Fénix. And I'm looking him in the eye."

Fénix stared at him, defiant.
"Don't make me laugh. Adam has control of..."

"Adam?" Alucard interrupted him, with disdain. "Adam is a noisy parasite with a god complex. No. The winner is you. Not because you're a god. But because, against all logic, against all probability, you're still standing. And it's not stubbornness. It's core. That's what shows me this is already decided."

Fénix was silent. Alucard's words, as always, found their way through his defenses.

"I know," Alucard continued, as if reading his thoughts. "I trained you. I invested time in you not to create a soldier, but to polish a weapon that already existed. You became more than a student. You are a beacon. And beacons, dear Fénix, don't go out in the storm; they shine brighter."

Fénix took a deep breath. "A beacon." The word resonated in him in a way "hero" or "legend" never had.

"Don't worry," said Fénix, his voice low but clear as crystal. "I don't intend to lose. I'm not going to let that damn parasite win."

Alucard nodded, a spark of genuine respect in his red eyes.
"That's what I like to hear. Even if you're not alone in this, my faith is in you. It always has been." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "It's not about power, Fénix. It's about who you are in the darkness, when no one is watching. And you... you are unbreakable."

Fénix nodded slowly. The weight of expectation didn't crush him; it anchored him.

Alucard straightened up, preparing to melt back into the shadows.
"You are going to win," he said, stating a simple fact. "Because you are the one thing in this world Adam cannot comprehend: the will to protect something greater than oneself. Enough hiding. It's time for the beacon to shine."