CHAPTER 123: Hell in Berlin-16

CHAPTER 123: Hell in Berlin-16

In a dark, silent, directionless void, Alex floated. His breathing was the only thing breaking that abyssal silence, an irregular but persistent sigh. His body seemed suspended in nothingness, with no up or down, no time or space.

Then, a voice, distant but clear, resonated in his mind:
"He has the potential to surpass Phoenix, Alucard, or Adam..."

Viktor's phrase echoed like a mantra, embedding itself in his consciousness. A twisted smile formed on his face, and his thoughts began to burn with an intoxicating conviction.

"Surpass them... no, not surpass them... I've already surpassed them," he murmured with an arrogant tone, as a strange crimson energy swirled around him. "I am the pinnacle of vampiric evolution... the perfect result of selection and survival."

His breathing became firmer. His mind, sharper.

"I don't retreat. I don't stop. I don't devolve." His voice became a growl full of pleasure and pride. "I adapt, I reinvent myself... and I always come out alive."

In that void, his body began to radiate a dark glow. His veins lit up like roots of a cursed tree, pulsing with renewed power.
Alex smiled, and in that instant, the void itself seemed to tremble before his presence.

The air in the subway trembled with a deep roar, and before Phoenix or Alucard could react, an explosion shook the entire structure. The debris flew like projectiles, the ground split open beneath their feet, and a deafening roar echoed through the tunnels.

"What the hell...?" murmured Phoenix, shielding his face.

Through the thick dust, a metallic whirring cut through the air. A scythe spun at high speed, cutting through the smoke like a sharp shadow. Alucard pushed Phoenix aside just in time; the blade grazed his arm, opening a deep wound that began to bleed profusely.

"Tsk..." Alucard gritted his teeth, watching the wound regenerate, though slower than usual. "Well... it seems someone has returned from hell."

The dust slowly dissipated, revealing a figure amidst the rubble. His body was an amalgamation of muscle and darkness, an imposing silhouette of inhuman appearance. His skin seemed formed of hardened plates, with an organic, twisted texture covering every fiber of his being. From his back emerged black wings, sharp as blades, and in his right hand he held a scythe whose blade still dripped fresh blood.

Alex straightened up, resting the weapon on his shoulder, his breath echoing in the empty tunnel. A distorted, vibrant laugh escaped his throat.

"Did you really think a ton of stone would stop me?" he said with a broad smile, his eyes shining with a crimson glow. "No, no... I don't die that easily. I evolve."

Phoenix and Alucard tensed, preparing themselves. Alex spread his arms, as if receiving the adoration of an invisible audience.

"I adapt, I grow stronger, I perfect myself." His words resonated with an almost messianic tone. "I am the summit of evolution... the true pinnacle of vampires."

His smile turned more sinister as the scythe gleamed under the subway's dim light.

"You... you are just the past."

Alex burst out laughing, a laugh that reverberated through the tunnels like a rusty bell. With a wide sweep of his scythe, he raised a curtain of dust and sparks; the impact lifted a thick cloud that enveloped him completely. Alucard and Phoenix coughed, closed their eyes, and sought a reference point in the gloom: their vision obscured, their ears ringing, their breathing thick.

When the dust began to settle, the first image that struck them both was the floor: a pentagram drawn with thick, black lines that were neither charcoal nor soot. It was blood—exposed, shining—as if the earth had been painted with fury. Alex stood at the center, the scythe resting beside him, letting the blood still drip onto the drawing. He smiled calmly, triumphantly.

"See?" he said, his voice thickened by the echo of the rite. "Don't be afraid of symbols. Symbols are useful. And blood... blood is both word and key."

Alucard took a few steps forward, his gaze cold as steel.
"What have you done?" he asked, hostile.

Alex tilted his head and let his smile widen.
"Let me introduce you to my favorite technique: Shared Pain. I taste the other's blood, I use it to open a contract on the ground. I draw the pentagram with my own blood and seal it with their essence. The curious thing is this: any damage I suffer, the subject feels it too. But here's the kicker—" raising his hand, he caressed the crimson line. "—As long as I remain within this seal, I am immortal. Wounds don't kill me. They repair. And you... you can keep dishing out blows, tearing your hands apart, and I, with a simple movement, can kill you."

Phoenix swallowed, gripping the trembling hilt of his weapon.
"Are you insane?" he managed to say. "That's... perverse."

Alex laughed, like someone celebrating an intimate triumph.
"Perverse? Perhaps. It's efficient. And you, so noble, so theatrical, become my puppets of pain. I cannot die in here. And you... you can tire yourselves out hitting me, but every blow you land will hurt you too. Isn't it delicious?"

Alucard didn't smile. His eyes narrowed, processing the mechanics: the blood as a bond, the pentagram as both prison and armor. A combination that turned combat into a moral trap: to hurt him, one had to accept it, with each of their own blows suffering the replica.

"So you fight dirty," Alucard said in a low voice. "But that doesn't change the fact that we can surround you, destroy that seal from the outside..." he began, calculating.

Alex raised the scythe and took a step, feeling like the master of the center.
"Try it," he challenged. "I promise you a spectacle of agony."

Phoenix gritted his teeth. His mouth tasted of dust, his fury burned like live metal. A clear, hard idea echoed in his head, solid as an oath: find a way to break that circle, to rescue the duel from deception. He wouldn't allow the night and Alex's tricks to turn resistance into the submission of pain.