CHAPTER 98: The Training Session

CHAPTER 98: The Training Session

In the dim light of the Antigen training room, the air smelled of metal and exertion. The room, vast and cold, was equipped with sandbags, combat dummies, and holographic defense systems. Amid echoes of blows and controlled breaths, Darem and Alex faced each other hand-to-hand, without respite.

The contrast between them was evident: Darem, tall and serene, projected a dangerous calm, each movement calculated with surgical precision. Despite his brutal strength, his attacks were efficient, almost elegant. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the chaos. He moved with a twisted smile and overflowing energy, as if every blow, every dodge, every provocation was a source of amusement.

"Is that all you've got, old man?" Alex taunted, jumping back after receiving a light blow to the ribs. Even breathing heavily, his face maintained a mischievous, almost childish expression. "I thought you were the big legend."

Darem ignored him, letting out a patient sigh, like an adult tired of hearing the same joke for the umpteenth time. He took a guard stance without losing his composure. "If you stopped chattering, you'd last longer in a fight."

Alex let out an unhinged laugh as he pivoted on his heels and charged at Darem again. "And where would the fun be in that?" he roared, attempting a low blow, which Darem effortlessly blocked with his forearm.

Alex's smaller frame recoiled, but his eyes shone with youthful malice. "Hey, next time I see that Phoenix guy..." He paused to straighten up and wipe the sweat from his brow. "I'm gonna kill him."

Darem, impassive, observed the young man unhurriedly as he lowered his guard and took a few seconds to consider his words. "Oh, really? And how do you plan to do that?" he asked in a neutral tone, without a hint of emotion, as if discussing the weather.

Alex shrugged nonchalantly. "Dunno, something creative. Maybe dismember him slowly? Or leave a little explosive gift inside his chest?" He chuckled under his breath, as if the idea were a particularly funny joke. "The point is, that guy has no idea what's coming for him. This time, he won't be walking away."

Darem slowly shook his head, wiping his hands with a nearby towel. "It's not as easy as you think, Alex. If it were that easy, I would have killed him a long time ago."

Alex snorted, exasperated, like a teenager who's just been told he can't do something. "Please, how hard can it be? He's just another immortal. They all fall eventually."

Darem, serene as ever, looked at him with a calm that bordered on disdain. "Try it if you want. But if you end up dead... your problem."

For a moment, the atmosphere grew heavy. Alex let out a light laugh, unconcerned by the warning. "Always so optimistic, Darem."

The man didn't respond. He simply adjusted the gloves on his hands, ready to resume training. "Take this seriously, Alex. Phoenix isn't someone you can beat with just jokes and cheap tricks. If you underestimate guys like him, you won't get another chance to learn the lesson."

Alex winked at him arrogantly. "Then I'd better not fail, eh?"

Darem didn't reply. Instead, he shifted his weight into a combat stance and threw a quick hook that Alex barely dodged. The session continued in silence, with precise blows and swift evasions.

Darem knew words wouldn't stop Alex, much less change his reckless attitude. In the end, some lessons were only learned with blood... or with death.

And if Alex wanted to challenge Phoenix, Darem wasn't going to stop him. But he wouldn't help him either. Everyone placed their bets in this life, and if Alex played his hand poorly, someone would just have to pick up the pieces.

***

The dim light in the Enid Corp break room filtered a soft glow through the blinds. The room, furnished with wide sofas and minimalist furniture, smelled of disinfectant mixed with the faint aroma of coffee someone had forgotten in a corner. In the center of the room, reclining on a sofa with one leg dangling and his arm over his eyes, was Phoenix. He breathed slowly and deeply, trying to find some relief from the stabbing pain in his muscles.

The soft click of the door opening was the only thing that broke the calm. Marcus entered without announcement, his walk relaxed but with that mocking air that never left him.

He closed the door with his foot and stood for a few seconds observing Phoenix, who remained motionless.

"Wow, even immortals need naps, huh?" Marcus said with an ironic smile, approaching the sofa and dropping into a nearby armchair.

Phoenix barely moved his arm to let it rest on the back of the sofa, revealing his eyes. One was surrounded by a purple bruise, and a bandage crossed part of his right eyebrow. "Better a nap than dying, I suppose," he replied dryly.

Marcus rested an elbow on the arm of the chair and looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "How's the recovery going, old man? Did they tell you when you'll be able to get up without looking like a zombie?"

Phoenix let out a tired sigh. "The doctor says in a couple of days I should be fine... more or less." He slightly raised his hand to point to his eyebrow. "The eyebrow wound... it's going to leave a scar, according to him."

Marcus raised an eyebrow and let out a small laugh. "And you care?"

Phoenix slowly shook his head, as if the idea were completely irrelevant to him. "Nah... I stopped caring a long time ago."

"Of course you did." Marcus smirked, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "What's one more scar? At the rate you're going, you'll soon be an abstract work of art with all the cuts and stitches."

Phoenix let out a low, dry laugh, as if even laughing hurt. "Maybe I'll get hired by a modern art gallery. They could call it... 'Self-Portrait in Ruins'."

Marcus laughed along with him. "That's a good one."