CHAPTER 86: The Farewell

CHAPTER 86: The Farewell

The cabin fell into a thick silence, broken only by Karolus's ragged breathing and the distracted dripping of a candle. Kinji, with the calm of one who has seen more than one idea born and die, placed the empty container on the table and approached with measured steps.

"You have done what I asked," he said, without fanfare. "But you still don't understand what you have drunk."

Karolus, still unsteady from the convulsions and the pain that had just transmuted his body, looked up. That deep voice that now emanated from him resonated in his chest like a drum.

"What did you do to me?" he asked, the question coming out rough.

Kinji placed his hands on the table as if to steady himself and spoke with cold precision:

"You are no longer human, Karolus. What you drank is a catalyst: it has opened you to another nature. You are now"—he paused, weighing the word—"a wendigo."

The word hung in the air like an omen. Karolus felt something inside him vibrate at its naming; a new and unsettling current ran through his veins.

"Wendigo?" he repeated, barely comprehending. "What does that mean?"

Kinji didn't sweeten anything.

"It means your hunger will change. That simple human flesh will have a call for you. That blood will attract you, and if you do not master that impulse, you will end up devouring men. It's not just strength: it's a curse of appetite and nature. It will change your mind, your desires, your instincts. In time, the beast will want more and more."

The horror of the idea ignited something in Karolus that was already dangerous: rage, panic, rejection. In a fit, he lunged at Kinji, grabbed him by the neck with his enormous hands, squeezing with a strength that did not belong to him before. The wood of the table creaked on the brink of disaster; Kinji's wrist remained still, surprisingly unresisting, as if the old man knew this and allowed it.

"Did you hear me?!" growled Karolus, his voice broken. "What kind of monster are you trying to make of me?! What will you do to my wife, to my son?!"

Kinji, with sunken eyes and a martial face, did not seem frightened. He whispered with an incomprehensible calm:

"Lower your hand," he said simply. "Listen. You can still choose how your path will be. And I have the solution for the immediate problem."

Karolus squeezed tighter, expecting an attack or a cruel prophecy. Kinji, unperturbed, continued:

"The best thing for you now is to leave this place. You cannot stay among people who will remind you of what you were, nor where hunger might force you to yield. Do not remain in these lands. Go far away; find a place to hide where instinct won't drag you to your first victim. I will give you what I promised: fertile land for your family. That is what you want, isn't it? Security for Elizabeth and for Karick."

Karolus's rage did not completely subside, but the thought of Elizabeth and the boy—their famished faces, the empty house—tangled his heart. He clenched his jaw, the fury turning for a second into calculation.

"And the name?" he spat, with a thread of voice. "What is left for me? Will I still be Karolus after this? What will they call me if I leave?"

Kinji allowed a small smile, almost paternal.

"Karolus no longer fits you. That name belongs to a life you can no longer sustain. Another name will suit you better: Azazael. It sounds of iron and blood. It defines you. It forges you."

That word fell like a hammer. There was no immediate response in Karolus's throat; his new body trembled, more from conflict than cold. For an instant, he felt the inner beast peek over the summit of his consciousness, licking the idea of a name that smelled of power.

He squeezed Kinji's throat again, this time with less fury and more demand.

"If you fail me again," he said in a cavernous voice, "if my wife or my son do not receive what you promised, I will come for you. And this creature will have no mercy."

Kinji, with the serenity of one who has paid many tolls, lowered his gaze and replied simply:

"I will fulfill. I will give you the lands. I want no enemies in this matter. Not when the seed I planted must grow. I will keep my promise."

For a second, the violence was frozen. Karolus's hand loosened its pressure; he let the old man fall forward, coughing, color returning to his face. His chest rose and fell with the unbalanced breathing of someone who has passed the limit. He looked at Kinji with eyes that were beginning to hold something new: acceptance intertwined with hatred.

Kinji rubbed his neck and, from a distance that seemed safe, added:

"Go. Prepare yourself. Change your name if you wish. And when you are far away, when your family has what I promised... then, control the beast. Or let yourself be carried away. The choice will be yours."

Karolus remained silent for a while, a storm of thoughts crashing inside his head: the debt to his family, the thirst he didn't know if he could master, and the new name offered to him like a forged destiny.

Finally, in a harsh and cold voice, Karolus said:

"Azazael, then. Fulfill your part."

Kinji nodded. The promise was sealed in the air like a sentence. Karolus heard deep within the voice of the awakening beast, and between the weariness and the hatred, he also felt that pang of duty that bound him to Elizabeth and Karick. He left the cabin with long, heavy steps, leaving behind the flickering light and the shelf of manuscripts, with a new name on his lips and a terrible task ahead.

The rain had subsided, but the pavement was still wet, barely illuminated by the streetlights and the lights of the wrecked cars. Fénix was sitting, exhausted, his breathing ragged, his clothes in tatters, the blood drying on his face. Beside him, Karolus—Azazael—remained motionless, his imposing silhouette contrasting with the tired air of a man who, for the first time in centuries, seemed human.