CHAPTER 164: The Crucible of Chaos - Part I

CHAPTER 164: The Crucible of Chaos - Part I

In the Crucible of Chaos, there is no luck, only the will to stand for one more day. Here inside, we all bear a brand seared by fire, a cursed beacon that shines for anyone within fifty meters in any direction. There are no shadows to protect us, no corridors in which to hide. Everyone is forced to hunt or be hunted.

Resources... scarce, scattered in zones that reek of certain death. Weapons, food, bandages: it's all out there, but every step to get it is a pact with risk. And speaking of pacts... no alliances last. If you join with someone, the brands link. If one falls, the others explode with him. The Crucible does not tolerate trust; it punishes it.

When half have fallen, we will all be dragged toward the city center, to the nucleus. The barriers will fall and there will be no escape but to advance into the heart of hell. And for the ambitious, chaos always pays: the more you take down, the stronger you become for a time... faster... more resilient. But that same blood on your hands makes everyone see you as a prize, a target. Audacity feeds power, but also your sentence.

Only three will survive.
Only three will earn the right to leave this damned red labyrinth.
And I intend to be one of them.

Two days. Seventy-two hours of a silence broken only by distant screams and the echo of footsteps that were not his own. New York, once a symbol of greatness, had become a mausoleum of steel and glass, its streets carpeted with rubble and abandoned bodies.

Fénix was taking refuge in an abandoned apartment, sitting on the floor by a window whose shattered glass framed a horizon of smoke and ash. With a pen found on a wrecked desk and an old notebook, he traced words in the gloom. It was his anchor to sanity, a survival diary.

**Fénix's Log, Day 2:**
*"New York is a different kind of hell. A silent hell. I move, I avoid confrontations. Not out of fear, but strategy. Every fight is a drain, and the Crucible does not forgive fatigue.*
*My greatest find: a frozen lasagna in a looted supermarket. A glacial feast that tasted like glory. Hunger does not discriminate.*
*I know nothing of Marcus or Enid, but I know they're alive. If anyone can survive this, it's them."*

He lifted his eyes from the notebook. The red sky was all he could see. He rubbed his tired eyes; the lack of sleep was a slab on his shoulders. Every shadow was a threat, every noise, an alert.

He put the notebook in his backpack, along with his meager belongings: a half-empty water bottle, a rusty kitchen knife, and a lighter on its last legs. It wasn't much, but it was everything.

"Two days..." he murmured to himself, his voice a rough whisper in the silence. "How much longer can I last?"

He adjusted his backpack and left the apartment. The stillness was a mortal risk.

He moved stealthily down the desolate avenue, his boots stepping on broken glass and remnants of a bygone world. The wind carried ash and papers like specters. Then, an alien sound: footsteps. Fast, sure.

He stopped. His muscles tensed.

From the shadows of a doorway, two figures emerged. A man and a woman, with the smiles of predators who had smelled blood.

"Well, well," said the man, his voice smooth and mocking. "A lost lamb in the concrete forest."

"And what are you planning to defend yourself with, sweetie?" asked the woman, her red eyes scrutinizing the rusty knife in Fénix's hand. "With that? How adorable."

Fénix did not answer. His gaze calculated distances, movements.

"Come on, don't be so serious," the man insisted. "This will be quick. I promise it won't hurt... much."

"But first," the woman interjected, "introductions are in order. I am Melissa, and this is Tannis. Both proud children of the Umbra Era."

Fénix frowned. The Umbra Era. A name he thought buried in the past. A name he had lived through.

"Doesn't ring a bell? What a pity," Tannis taunted. "In the end, you'll just be another corpse in this ridiculous game."

"We'll make sure it's memorable," Melissa added. "At least for us."

They began to approach, moving with supernatural fluidity. But Fénix was not prey.

"Umbra Era, huh?" said Fénix, with a calm that cut through the air. "I see."

Tannis stopped, arching an eyebrow.
"What, now you realize you don't stand a chance?"

"No," Fénix replied, and a faint but sharp smile appeared on his lips. "I realize you don't know who you're dealing with."

The vampires' confidence wavered for an instant.

"Oh, really?" Melissa challenged. "Then enlighten us, hero."

Fénix raised the knife, not as a threat, but as a casual extension of his arm.
"Here, eras and lineages don't matter. Only decisions matter. And yours, right now, is terrible."

Tannis lunged with lightning speed. Fénix dodged with unnatural grace and his fist struck the vampire's face with a dry force, sending him reeling back.

Before Tannis could recover, Melissa attacked from the flank. Fénix pivoted and his elbow drove into her ribs. A sharp crack sounded and Melissa was thrown against a wall.

Both got up, surprise clouding their arrogance for the first time.

"Interesting..." Tannis spat, dusting himself off. "You're not the lamb we thought you were."

"But this has only just begun," Melissa howled.

Fénix watched them, ready for the next assault, when a deep vibration shook the ground. A guttural roar tore through the air and the asphalt erupted. From the bowels of the city emerged an abomination: a mass of twisted muscle and scarred skin, with red eyes and a mouth full of fangs. A Mutated.

Fénix recognized it instantly. A human possessed by the Lycan virus, transformed into a mindless beast, pure destruction.

As Tannis and Melissa faced the creature, paralyzed by surprise, Fénix didn't think twice. It was his chance.