CHAPTER 74: Father and Son

CHAPTER 74: Father and Son

The music started again, the waiters resumed their routines, and conversations were forced to continue as if nothing had happened. But that festive atmosphere was no longer the same. Tension floated in the air like an invisible poison, and furtive glances were fixed on the shattered figure of Phoenix, still standing by the broken fountain.

Enid was the first to approach, followed by Marcus, Vanessa, and Lucian. They all wore the same expression: a mix of concern and bewilderment.

"Phoenix..." whispered Enid, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremor in his body.

The young Lycan breathed raggedly; each inhalation was a reminder of the pain that encounter had left him with. With a bitter grimace, he tried to pull himself together, but the blood on his lips and his dangling wrist betrayed his condition.

"I didn't think..." he murmured in a hoarse voice, looking up at them. "I didn't think my father would turn out to be... a damn bastard."

Marcus looked at him intently, his jaw clenched, containing his own rage. Vanessa looked away, uncomfortable with the rawness of the moment. Phoenix, however, didn't stop:

"That son of a bitch isn't a father. He's a monster in human form!" he growled, spitting on the ground while clutching his aching stomach. "He looks at me like I'm a broken toy... like I'm worthless."

His breathing accelerated, and pain mixed with fury. He curled up slightly, as if his own body was rebelling against him, and added in a lower tone, almost confessional:
"And the worst part... is that I admit it... I felt fear. A damn feeling that he was crushing me just by existing. His presence..." He closed his eyes, remembering the weight of that aura. "It's stronger than Adam's. Even darker."

A silence fell over the group. Phoenix's words had revealed a harsh truth that none of them wanted to accept: if Adam had been a nightmare, Azazael was something more, something beyond the limits of comprehension.

Lucian was the one who broke the tension. The most serious of the group leaned towards Phoenix, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. His gray eyes pierced through him with gravity.

"There is nothing worse in this world," he said in a low, grave voice, as if quoting a universal law, "than an angry father when his own son disrespects him."

Phoenix looked at him, frowning, as if that phrase hurt him more than any blow. He felt a shiver run down his back, remembering how Azazael had humiliated him in a matter of seconds.

Marcus narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.
"Lucian is right..." he murmured. "That man is not someone you want to play games with. Especially if he shares your blood."

Phoenix gritted his teeth, holding back a mix of rage and vulnerability. He slumped into a chair at the table, his hands still trembling, while Enid stayed by his side, not taking her eyes off him, trying to support him emotionally in that sea of shadows.

The party continued in appearance, but for them, everything had changed.

The full moon bathed the cobblestone streets of Vladslavia with a pale, cold glow. The party was left behind, still echoing with forced music and laughter, but Azazael walked without haste, his shoulders squared and a broad smile etched on his face. His steps were heavy, firm, as if each footprint left an invisible mark on the earth.

His reptilian eyes glinted under the moonlight, reflecting a strange gleam, both fierce and satisfied.

It seems I found one of my sons... he thought, with a certain amusement mixed with a strange pride.
That kid... has my eyes, my strength... though he's still green, fragile. He can't even withstand a single blow without shattering like glass.

He brought a hand to his chin, scratching it slowly as his smile widened.
Maybe I was too harsh... he admitted silently, laughing to himself. A spank and a couple of hits, and he was already crying like a puppy. It's not his fault, after all... he never had his father around to forge him.

Azazael stopped walking, raising his gaze to the moon. The night air was cold, but a different warmth burned in his chest, a strange feeling for someone like him.

Maybe I should invite him to dinner... he mused, amused, as if the idea was an absurd but pleasant notion. Father and son, face to face. Not as enemies, but... as blood. I could teach him what it means to be a true Roger. Not that nonsense he learned from humans and false teachers.

For a moment, his eyes shone with an almost paternal glint, strange for a monster of his caliber.

That brat denied me, insulted me... but I understand. He's young. He thinks strength is enough to challenge me. He'll learn. Whether he likes it or not, he carries my blood. And I don't abandon my own. Never.

Azazael laughed softly, a hoarse chuckle that rumbled in the empty street.
"Yes, son... sooner or later you'll understand who I am. And then... perhaps you'll offer me your hand instead of your back."

With a calmer smile, he resumed his walk, like a satisfied giant who had found a new purpose amid the silent war looming over Vladslavia.

Midnight had fallen over Vladslavia. The music from the party was now just a distant echo fading in the city's corners, while a solemn silence reigned in the presidential residence.

On the top floor, inside a spacious office of dark wood, Cesar Halberg remained seated at his desk. A crystal lamp cast a golden halo over the piles of papers and contracts surrounding him. His face, young but marked by ambition, was serious, the pen resting between his fingers.

The door opened softly. His assistant, a thin man with glasses, entered with another stack of documents in his arms.
"Mr. President, more papers to sign. The contracts with the investors from Singapore and Moscow require your signature before dawn."