CHAPTER 117: Hell in Berlin-10

CHAPTER 117: Hell in Berlin-10

Phoenix leaned heavily against the wall, his breathing ragged, trying to gather his strength. Blood dripped from the wound on his abdomen, and the cut on his face kept stinging. His legs trembled, and the pain began to swirl in his chest like a knot of fire. He remained stuck to the wall, without enough strength to move forward or back. He was a perfect target, and Marius knew it.

"You stopped moving, pup," murmured Marius, taking a step forward with a smile that radiated pure malice. "Never stop moving."

Phoenix blinked, and it was his fatal mistake.

A pipe pierced his chest with a dull, brutal sound. The rusty metal penetrated flesh and bone, and Phoenix felt the cold bar pierce his heart. His entire body shuddered with unbearable pain. The air left his lungs in an agonizing gasp.

"Look at you, Phoenix," said Marius with a low, sadistic laugh. "So much power, so many injections... but in the end, you're still weak."

Marius pushed the pipe deeper, twisting the metal with both hands as he watched the life seem to slowly fade from his former subordinate's eyes.

Phoenix gritted his teeth, his breathing becoming heavier, more irregular, but he didn't scream. He refused to give him that satisfaction.

"You know...?" whispered Phoenix, his voice barely a rough murmur. "Sometimes, you have to remember who the hell you are."

Marius tilted his head, curious, but didn't stop pushing the metal, feeling Phoenix's heart being completely pierced, pumping blood that slid down the pipe.

"What are you trying to say, pup?" he asked disdainfully.

Phoenix looked up, his face covered in sweat and blood, but his gaze held no fear, only defiance.

"You are Marius... The same Marius who hated vampires." Phoenix spat out a bit of blood before continuing. "You hunted them mercilessly... But you never... never touched your own pack. Never a lycan."

For an instant, Phoenix's words seemed to pierce something deeper than Marius's hardened skin. The leader, though still smiling, stopped pushing the bar. His gaze darkened, as if those old memories, buried in blood and hate, returned to his mind with an unexpected force.

Phoenix, breathing with difficulty, smiled—a bitter, broken smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"You used to be more than this," he said firmly. "You used to protect your own, Marius."

For an eternal second, the two men stared into each other's eyes, frozen in their deadly dance. Marius loosened his grip on the pipe slightly, but not enough to free him.

"What a disappointment," added Phoenix, almost in a whisper.

Marius let out a low growl, like a wounded wolf. There was truth in Phoenix's words, and that was what irritated him the most.

Marius retreated a few steps, staggering slightly, as if the conscience that once defined him was returning. His breathing was heavy, but something new shone in his eyes: clarity. The memories, the rage, the essence of what he was, and what he had become, clashed in his mind, fighting a final battle.

He held the second pipe tightly, the metal creaking in his hands. For a moment, he observed Phoenix, the young man he once led, now hanging between life and death. Their eyes met, and for the first time in years, Marius felt something strange in his chest: peace.

"It was you... it was always you, pup," he muttered with a sincere, though broken, smile. "Keep going. In the end, only will matters."

Without hesitating for another second, Marius raised the pipe in his free hand and, with a sharp, brutal motion, drove it directly through his own head. The rusty metal penetrated his skull, passing through flesh and bone until it exited the other side. A dry sound echoed in the darkness of the subway, as if fate had pronounced its final sentence.

Marius smiled as he fell to the ground—a clean smile, as if he had finally found a truth he had lost somewhere in the corners of his existence. His body collapsed lifeless, the shattered and broken vessel releasing the last essence of who once was Marius, leader of the lycans.

Phoenix, still leaning against the wall, felt his body beginning to give up. The bar piercing his chest had punctured his heart, and the pain began to fade, replaced by a strange calm. His vision clouded little by little, and each breath was weaker than the last.

"So... this is how it ends," whispered Phoenix to himself, letting the darkness envelop him like an old friend.

Everything slowed down. The sounds of the subway disappeared, the lights flickered in the distance, and his body, tired and broken, began to yield. He knew what that bar in his heart meant. He knew what was coming.

With one last effort, Phoenix managed a smile, as bitter as it was tranquil. There was no fear in his gaze, only the acceptance of a warrior who has fought too many battles.

And then, the world faded away.

Everything fell silent.

Phoenix's body slumped, its weight dragging the metal bar still piercing his chest. He hit the subway wall with a dull thud and remained there, motionless, his back against the cold concrete surface. Blood slid slowly down the metal, creating a dark puddle at his feet, staining the dirty floor of the underground.

His head fell to the side, eyes half-open but unfocused, as if his consciousness had been completely extinguished. Phoenix's breathing, barely audible, became a faint sigh, each inhalation shorter than the last.

The subway remained in an unsettling silence, broken only by the distant buzz of fluorescent lights and the echoes of the finished battle. In front of him, Marius's body lay lifeless, the pipe driven through his skull, his smile still etched on his face in a kind of macabre farewell.

Phoenix remained there, trapped between life and death, his inert body leaning against the wall like a broken statue, resisting the void that was already claiming him.