CHAPTER 81: Father vs Son-4

CHAPTER 81: Father vs Son-4

A fine rain fell over Vladslavia, but at the epicenter of the imperial square, the water was merely a decoration: what shook the air was the clash of father and son. Phoenix and Azazael took a step forward, and in the next instant, reality overflowed in bursts of movement.

Punch after punch, kick after kick, blow after blow.
The human eye was incapable of following them: only the cracks of impact were heard, the roars of the pavement splintering, the metallic echo of atmospheric pressure breaking with each strike. To the crowd, it all seemed like a blur of shadows colliding and retreating, only to collide again with more violence, like two storms compressed into flesh.

High above, on the terrace of an old, half-restored building, Darem observed with the calm that only experience brings. His eyes, trained and marked by centuries of battles, could distinguish every movement, every detail in that impossible dance. He crossed his arms, leaning against the railing with a half-smile of amazement.

"Incredible..." he murmured to himself, and then aloud, as if someone else could hear him. "This isn't the same Phoenix I met just a few months ago."

His gaze hardened, but a nearly paternal expression remained on his lips.

"I remember that lost, irate boy, with brute strength, yes, but with the control of a puppy. His attacks were disorderly, his mind a directionless tempest. He could hit hard, but he didn't understand how to hit well. And now..." He clicked his tongue with a gesture of genuine astonishment. "...now I see someone who has understood the value of discipline. Not just strength: technique, reading the opponent, instinct refined in weeks, as if something inside him had awakened."

Darem let out a short laugh, laden with a certain nostalgia.

"It's not normal. No one, absolutely no one, evolves this fast. Not even the original creations achieved such a pace. And yet, here he is... showing that he is not just strong: he is destined."

He placed both hands on the railing, leaning forward as he followed the rhythm of the battle.

"Phoenix Rogers... without a doubt, you are the reincarnation of the Tenth Birth. The one who never saw the light. The creation that wasn't born, that remained sealed in the womb of creation, has found its path in you. That explains your resistance to the serum, your body adapting perfectly, your spirit refusing to die even when your heart stops beating. It's not chance, it's not luck: it's legacy."

The veteran narrowed his eyes, assessing every move.

"How close is Phoenix to his maximum? Hard to measure, but if I had to put numbers to it... right now he's barely at thirty percent of what he can become. Thirty. And he's already fighting on equal footing with Azazael, the colossus among colossi. Imagine what will happen when he reaches sixty... eighty... when he reaches one hundred, not even history will remember a comparable fight."

Darem exhaled slowly, as if trying to release the weight of that certainty.

"I've seen it with my own eyes: every battle shapes him, every defeat sharpens him, every wound turns him into something new. He is not the same as yesterday, nor will he be the same tomorrow. And that, that is what makes him terrifying. Because we still don't know what a Phoenix Rogers at his peak means."

And while in the square the blows continued to thunder like invisible cannons, Darem fixed his gaze on that blur of impossible movements and concluded in a deep, almost reverential voice:

"He is destined to surpass every limit. And when that happens... there will be no one who can stop him."

The air was charged with electric tension. Every clash between Phoenix and Azazael rumbled like thunder, sending out shockwaves that made the windows of nearby buildings tremble. The circle of spectators held its breath, unable to look away from that impossible struggle.

Phoenix, panting, his shirt in tatters and blood trickling from the corner of his lips, lunged forward with a roar that sounded more like the bellow of a beast. His father received him with a crooked smile, confident, with that invincible air that seemed unbreakable.

But this time, Phoenix was faster. He dodged a straight punch, slipped under Azazael's guard, and, in a fluid motion, twisted his body to hook his father's arm. With strength and technique, he managed to lock the joint and apply pressure to the shoulder.

Azazael raised an eyebrow, feeling the tension in his tendons.

"A hold?" he laughed with a cavernous voice, as if it were a child's game. "Do you really think you can bend this body?"

Phoenix gritted his teeth, sweat and blood mixing on his face.

"If you don't yield, I'll dislocate it right here..." he growled fiercely, sinking more pressure into the joint, the veins bulging on his arms.

For a moment, the crowd fell silent. Azazael, with his arm almost at its limit, tilted his head towards his son. And then he let out a deep, booming laugh, so overwhelming it echoed across the square.

"That's how I like it, brat!" he thundered, with a disturbing satisfaction. "But you still haven't understood... that I don't need just one arm to crush you."

In that instant, Azazael drove his other fist into the ground. The pavement exploded as if a bomb had detonated, raising a cloud of dust and stone fragments. And in the same movement, with an upward blow, he discharged his free arm against Phoenix's torso.

The impact was brutal. The young man was sent flying, like a cannonball, hurtling through the air until he crashed into a parked car several meters away. The vehicle's metal crumpled like paper, the alarm blared a sharp screech, and Phoenix's body was lodged in the shattered hood.

The crowd roared in astonishment, unable to decide if they were witnessing a fight or a cataclysm.

From his position, breathless and body shaken by pain, Phoenix spat blood onto the ground. His gaze, nonetheless, burned with an indomitable fury.