CHAPTER 78: Father vs Son-1

CHAPTER 78: Father vs Son-1

A roar erupted from the deepest part of Phoenix's chest as he launched his attack with all the fury he had left. Every muscle, every fiber of his being burned with rage and pain.

Azazael didn't move until the very last second. When his son was close enough, he extended his arm and delivered a single, dry punch to his chest.

The sound was brutal.

The impact sank Phoenix's chest cavity for an instant, knocking all the air from his lungs. His eyes rolled back into his head just as a tomb-like silence fell over the crowd.

Phoenix collapsed to the ground, motionless.

In his mind, everything turned to darkness. He felt as if he were falling into an infinite abyss, surrounded by void, with nothing to hold onto. A sensation of cold consumed him as the voice of his own consciousness faded.

"Is this... my end?" he whispered in his mind, sinking deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Azazael, standing over the lifeless body, slowly crouched down and placed two fingers on his son's neck. Nothing. Not a single heartbeat.

The titan remained silent for a moment, observing him with eyes that showed no sorrow, only a relentless certainty.

"It's not that easy, Phoenix," he murmured, placing his hand on his son's chest. "You're not going to die like this... not while I'm here."

Suddenly, Azazael delivered a sharp blow with his open palm directly onto Phoenix's heart. The impact made the ground beneath them vibrate.

Phoenix's body arched sharply, his eyes still white, until a heartbeat thundered inside his chest like a war drum. The air returned to his lungs in a painful, deafening gasp.

"AHHH!" Phoenix screamed, breathing desperately, sweat and blood streaming down his face.

His gaze rose to meet Azazael's, disbelieving, with a terror mixed with something he had never wanted to accept: dependence.

"What... what the hell did you do?" he gasped, his voice broken.

Azazael smiled crookedly, imposing, his shadow engulfing his son's entire body.

"I gave you back your life, brat," his voice was deep, almost paternal, but also intimidating. "And never forget this: your heart beats because I decided it should."

The crowd's silence was absolute, and Phoenix, trembling on the ground, could barely believe what he had just experienced.

The main hall of the most luxurious hotel in Vladslavia was packed. Businessmen, foreign politicians, nobles, and influential figures from the underworld had gathered in front of the immense screen hanging in the center of the hall. The murmur was deafening, a mix of excitement and tension.

On the screen, the fight between Azazael and Phoenix was being broadcast live. The son and the father, colossi clashing, with a circle of people surrounding them on the city streets.

Lucian, Vanessa, and Marcus occupied the front row, right before the screen. None of them blinked.

"Look at him..." whispered Vanessa, her voice trembling. "No matter where he is, no matter who he's with... Phoenix always ends up in the middle of a damn hell."

Marcus, with his arms crossed, stared intently at every movement of the fight. The impact of Azazael's punch to the chest, Phoenix's collapse and his apparent death, had made the entire room hold its breath.

"That idiot..." Marcus muttered through clenched teeth, his tone mixing anger and respect. "No matter where he goes, he always ends up on the edge of the grave."

Lucian, who had remained silent, leaned his head forward, his eyes fixed on the image of the young man lying motionless in the street. When Phoenix gasped and returned to life after his father's blow, Lucian let out a dry, nervous laugh.

"I don't know what the hell is more terrifying..." he commented cynically, "the beast in front of him or the damn luck that keeps him alive."

The crowd in the hall erupted into applause, shouts, and cheers. They didn't care about the son's desperation or the father's cruelty; the only thing they saw was a spectacle.

Marcus clenched his fists in fury.

"This isn't a spectacle," he said in a low voice, barely audible, but with the tone of someone fighting his own powerlessness. "That's my brother-in-arms out there..."

Lucian turned his face towards him, and for the first time, without a hint of sarcasm, murmured:

"And if he survives this... he won't be the same."

The screen continued to show Phoenix on his knees, trembling, while Azazael watched him as if he were a broken toy that still had value.

Steam still filled the room when Enid stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a white towel. The mirror was fogged and the echo of falling water still resonated from the walls. She ran her fingers through her wet hair and sighed, dropping the towel onto the bed as she looked for clothes.

"Tsk..." she murmured quietly, with a tired smile. "It's not the same, bathing alone... I've gotten too used to his jokes and how he always ends up messing with me under the water."

She stood silent for a moment, with a grimace mixing tenderness and emptiness. She pressed her lips together, disguising the feeling of loneliness weighing on her chest.

Suddenly, the room phone rang loudly. Surprised, Enid picked it up immediately.

"Yes?" she answered firmly.

"Enid..." Lucian's voice was charged with nervousness, almost on the verge of breaking. "You have to turn on the television. Now! They're broadcasting... they're broadcasting a fight."

"What fight?" she asked, frowning, though deep down she already sensed the answer.

"Your boy. Phoenix... he's in the streets, fighting that monster. His father. It's being shown on every screen in Vladslavia!"

Enid's heart gave a brutal lurch.

"What did you say?!" she shouted, unable to contain herself.

The pressure of her grip was so strong that the handset creaked in her hand, and in a second the entire phone shattered, destroyed by the force of her rage. Pieces of plastic and metal fell to the floor, leaving a deafening silence in the room.