CHAPTER 125: Hell in Berlin-18

CHAPTER 125: Hell in Berlin-18

Alex's laughter tore through the subway vault, first a hollow guffaw, then a sob that seemed both comic and tragic at once. He laughed until he cried, the sobs mixed with his agitated breathing, reveling in the chaos he had etched onto Phoenix's skin.

Phoenix remained kneeling for a few moments more, as if the world had stolen his breath. When words finally returned, they came out ragged, full of pain and rage.
"Damn you… you bastard…" he spat, his voice broken. "Damn you!"

He stood up trembling, his legs wounded, his clothes in tatters. Fury heated his blood like white-hot metal. Alex, still in the center of his corroded pentagram, finished recomposing himself and, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, uttered something that froze Phoenix's blood.
"The bad news for you," he said with a serenity that sounded cruel, "is that my ritual only works once a day. I've already used it. A golden card, spent."

It was both a confession and a provocation: the seal no longer protected him. In Alex's gaze was a glint of absolute arrogance.

Phoenix thought no more. Everything narrowed to a single point: vengeance, rage, the promise to Alucard resonating in his chest. He lunged like lightning, closing the distance in a second. His fists were pure, concentrated violence. With each blow, he sought to unleash all the pain he carried inside.

The first impact sounded dull against something that wasn't common flesh: Alex's skin responded like polished stone, hard and cold, as if it were a mineral layer. Phoenix's knuckles vibrated on contact; the pain shot up his arm to his jaw. Yet, he didn't relent. Blow after blow, he repeated the same offense, each impact wrenching a small grunt from Alex, each one met with a mocking smile in return.

Alex retreated for an instant, assessing, and counterattacked with the ferocity of one who has nothing left to lose. His fist found the corner of Phoenix's lip with a precision that cut the air; the vampire's hand tore through the flesh and dragged away a piece of skin large enough to reveal part of the teeth beneath, a blow that left Phoenix's smile mixed with blood and scab.

Phoenix growled, furious, and kept throwing punches. Each impact cost him: his swollen knuckles burned, his skin hurt as if his hands were on fire, but the fire in his chest was greater. Alex, for his part, returned each assault with sharp blows, his hands finding flesh, jaw, ribs. Sometimes it seemed Alex's skin was made of diamond; other times, it seemed to yield temporarily and let the steel of the fists through, only to recompose itself afterward as if nothing had happened.

The exchange wasn't clean or elegant: it was a primitive battle of two wills that knew no surrender. Phoenix unleashed all the fury in the world; Alex responded with sadism and technique, striking with the same calm a predator uses while toying with its prey.

Blood and dust floated in the tunnel. The vents echoed each blow like a drum. Phoenix, hitting until tears blurred his vision, felt his body ache to the bone, but he also knew—deep down, like a voice—that he wouldn't stop until Alex's last breath was extinguished.

And even with his knuckles shattered and his face in tatters, he continued. Alex, between short laughs and retaliatory bites, remained standing, a receptacle for the fury that had just been unleashed.

The blow was sharp as a whip. Alex struck with brutal precision against Phoenix's face; his body was sent flying like a doll, crashed against the tunnel wall, and remained there, swaying. The sound of the impact echoed for a long time, and Phoenix's breathing became a ragged thread.

He tried to get up, but his tongue burned in his mouth: upon rising, he realized he had bitten it hard. The tip hung split and prevented him from articulating clearly. He tried to speak and only a guttural, dragged murmur came out, difficult to understand.

"No…!" was all he managed to utter, his voice strange and broken.

Alex smiled at him with a terrifying calm that couldn't hide the pleasure of the game.
"Not as fun as I expected," he said, mocking. "But there are still surprises."

At that instant, Anna's figure appeared at the platform entrance, panting, her clothes stained, her eyes wide as saucers at the scene. Seeing her, Phoenix let out a scream that sounded more like a plea; with what little his voice obeyed him, he yelled:

"Anna, run! Get out of here!"

Alex's smile widened into a knife's edge. Without wasting time, he crossed the space with quick steps, his prey already in his sights. With a lightning movement, he lifted her by the neck, clamping his hand over her mouth to silence her scream. Anna struggled, her eyes filled with tears, trying to break free; her hands beat against the arm holding her, but she could only emit a choked sob.

Alex looked at her for a second, satisfied, as if examining a piece of work. Then he executed a final, cold, and calculated gesture. It was a brutal movement that ended in instant silence: Anna's body fell lifeless, inert, collapsing onto the tunnel floor. There was no display of blood or grotesque details—just the impact, the fall, and the void left in the breath of those present—the evidence was absolute in the silence that followed.

Phoenix, still with his tongue injured, watched the scene as if his own body no longer belonged to him. Clean tears streamed down his cheeks as a ragged sob was torn from his chest. His cry, this time, was deeper than any word:

"No... it can't be...!"

He struggled to his feet, staggering towards Anna's inert body, his eyes filled with horror and a rage that burned like a dead fire. His heart raced wildly; his hands, bloodied from his own blows, trembled. The tears mixed with the grime on the floor, and for the first time that night, the fury in his eyes was almost mute, cold, unstoppable.