CHAPTER 79: Father vs Son-2

CHAPTER 79: Father vs Son-2

Phoenix gasped, his breath tearing through his chest. Rage gave him a sharp clarity; everything else tunneled until it focused on the hidden gun. With automatic movements, he drew the Matilda—his trusted weapon—the tension in his fingers pure determination. He aimed, squeezed the trigger, seeking to end this once and for all, to finish the monster who called himself his father, the one who had humiliated him.

Azazael didn't flinch. In a move as swift and final as a tide sweeping the shore, he extended his hand and, with a sharp blow to the grip, snapped the pistol in half. The Matilda broke like old wood; the pieces clattered screeching onto the asphalt as the crowd held its breath.

Before Phoenix could react, Azazael delivered a slap that snapped the young man's head back and sent him flying several meters. He landed violently on the pavement, blood buzzing on his split lip. The sound of the impact was like a brutal book slamming shut.

Azazael approached with feline calm, his footsteps echoing among the cars and dust. As he leaned over him, his voice was low, metallic, and blunt.

"See?" said Azazael, no trace of anger in his tone, more as if he were explaining a basic lesson. "You draw a weapon and think that defines the fight. But weapons are borrowed rules. They make you dependent, predictable. If you want to discover what you truly carry inside, you must fight without crutches. Without excuses. Without shots that hide who you are."

Phoenix, still dazed, spat blood. Humiliation burned on his skin, and something ignited in his chest: a mix of defiance and wounded pride. He wouldn't accept being reduced to a didactic lesson. He staggered to his feet, gritting his teeth, hatred fueling his muscles.

With a choked snarl, he lunged at Azazael again. This time, his movement was pure instinct and fury: a straight hook, maybe without perfect technique, but loaded with all the weight of his will. His fist found Azazael's jaw with a solid impact. The sound of bone meeting the blow felt like a small victory in the night.

Azazael retreated just long enough to savor the hit; a slight grimace crossed his face, more surprised than hurt. Then, without hurry, without arrogance, he launched a precise kick to Phoenix's stomach. The impact was like a wall: the air was ripped from the young man's lungs and sent him flying back again, tumbling over the asphalt and coming to a stop in the dust and the sparks from the crowd.

Both stood tense for a few seconds: the father, with the calm of one who controls the storm; the son, with broken breath and rage still smoldering. The people around exhaled in unison, aware they had witnessed something intimate and terrible: two forces of the same blood testing each other without concession.

Phoenix's body trembled. Blood throbbed in his temples, his jaw was clenched, and his instinct roared within him.
His breathing accelerated, and with a growl, his muscles began to deform, his skin to tighten, and his bones to creak at the start of his transformation.

"I… don't like resorting to this…" he muttered through gritted teeth. "But you leave me no choice."

His nails began to lengthen and sharp fangs protruded, when suddenly a powerful hand grabbed him by the neck and slammed him brutally into the ground. The impact rumbled like thunder.

Azazael, imposing, held him pinned to the pavement with one hand. His eyes shone with a disturbing gleam.

"Don't you dare transform!" his voice boomed, deep and authoritative.

Phoenix snarled, trying to break free, but the pressure on his throat held him immobile.

"Do you still not understand, boy?" Azazael bent his face down, speaking inches away. "Turning into that beast won't make you stronger… just clumsier, slower, more vulnerable. You are not a monster that depends on fangs and claws. You are more than that!"

He lifted him just a few centimeters and smashed him back into the ground, as if wanting to imprint each word with a blow to his mind.

"Your true power isn't in that form, Phoenix…" he continued in a tone mixing harshness and a strange paternal air. "It's in you, in your human body, in your discipline, in how you control every muscle, every movement. That is the strength you still don't know how to master."

Phoenix breathed in ragged gasps, his thoughts clouded by the mix of fury, pain, and the internal struggle of his instinct. He felt as if a fog enveloped him, pushing him towards transformation, but his father's voice pierced that darkness.

"Listen to me well…" whispered Azazael, tightening his grip a little more. "If you learn to master your human body, if you learn to fight with a clear mind… there will be no one who can stop you."

The young werewolf squeezed his eyes shut, sweat dripping down his forehead.