CHAPTER 186: Blood War-2

CHAPTER 186: Blood War-2

The device flickered with a faint red light as Raze turned it on. A short beep preceded the deep growl that resonated from the other side.

"Raze," Marius's voice sounded like a distant thunderclap, cold and laden with disapproval. "Speak."

Raze cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. He knew that bad news was never well received.

"Marius, we had... complications. Steffan tried to intercept the target, but he failed. He's dead."

There was a silence so heavy that even Marcus shifted nervously and looked up. Phoenix, for his part, flashed a sly smile, enjoying Raze's discomfort.

Finally, Marius spoke, his tone as cold as a razor's edge.

"Complications." The word was almost a whisper, but it was loaded with threat. "Are you telling me that once again... he got away... and on top of that, he eliminated Steffan? What kind of incompetents do I have under my command?"

Raze swallowed hard, his eyes flickering toward Marcus and Phoenix as if looking for support, though he knew he wouldn't find any.

"The target isn't just any lycan or vampire, Marius. We know he's trained and armed. Besides, his blood makes him more dangerous..."

"Excuses?" Marius interrupted, his voice rising slightly. The communicator nearly trembled in Raze's hands. "Is that what you bring me? EXCUSES!"

Raze squeezed his eyes shut.

"No, sir. I'm just saying that..."

"Silence," Marius ordered, his tone final and unquestionable. "Return. All of you. Now. This is no longer your concern."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, and Phoenix fell silent with evident discomfort.

"Listen to me carefully," Marius continued, deliberately ignoring the awkward silence. "Return to the meeting point. Now. I will handle this matter personally. I want no more mistakes."

Before any of them could respond, the communicator clicked off with a dry snap.

Raze clenched his fists, furious at the humiliation. Marcus simply shrugged and lit another cigarette.

"Well, you heard the boss," he said indifferently, exhaling a puff of smoke. "I guess the party's over for tonight."

Phoenix crossed his arms, looking down the road Michael had taken.

"Go back? Fine, let's go back. But I'll bet anything that Marius is going to need more than pretty words to catch that guy." His smile returned, this time with a touch of defiance. "And when that happens, I want to be there to see it."

Without another word, the three of them disappeared into the shadows of the forest, leaving behind Steffan's body and the traces of their failure. The hunt was far from over.

Michael's car moved along the deserted highway, its headlights barely illuminating the dark road that stretched out like an endless tongue of asphalt. The engine was beginning to emit a slight rattle, and Michael glanced sideways at the fuel gauge.

"Don't screw with me..." he muttered under his breath, seeing the needle dangerously close to empty. He slammed the steering wheel in frustration. "Perfect. As if tonight couldn't get any worse."

Just as he considered the possibility of being stranded in the middle of nowhere, he spotted a worn-out sign by the side of the road: "GAS STATION AND CANTINA - 1 KM."

"Would you look at that, a miracle in this hell," he said sarcastically as he turned the wheel toward the indicated exit.

The place appeared before him like a decadent postcard. A decrepit gas station with a flickering light and an adjacent cantina that looked like it was straight out of a low-budget cowboy movie. The parking lot was almost empty, except for a couple of rusty pickup trucks and a motorcycle that looked like it had survived several wars.

Michael parked his car next to one of the old gas pumps and turned off the engine. He got out, brushing the dust off his pants, and looked around. The air smelled of stale gasoline and cheap tobacco.

"Well, if I'm going to die tonight, at least it'll be on a full stomach."

He walked toward the cantina, pushing open the wooden door that creaked as if it were about to fall off its hinges. Inside, the atmosphere was as depressing as the exterior. An old-fashioned jukebox played an out-of-tune country song, while a couple of taciturn customers drank in silence at the bar. The walls were adorned with deer heads and yellowed photos of better times.

Michael approached the counter, where a man with a weathered face was wiping a glass with a rag that looked dirtier than the glass itself.

"What'll it be?" the man asked without looking up.

Michael looked at the handwritten menu on a chalkboard hanging behind the man. There were only three options: hamburger, chili, or scrambled eggs.

"Give me a hamburger. And a soda." Michael left a bill on the counter and dropped into one of the nearby tables.

The seat creaked under his weight as he settled in. He glanced around; it was clear that the few people present weren't there for the food. One of them, a man in a cowboy hat, was staring at him intently while smoking a cigar.

Michael ignored the stares and ran a hand over his face, feeling the accumulated fatigue. He needed to recharge, but he also knew he couldn't stay long. These kinds of places weren't usually friendly to strangers.

When the man from behind the counter appeared with his hamburger and soda, Michael simply nodded in thanks.

"Anything else?" the bartender asked.

"No. This is fine."

As he ate in silence, his mind continued to work at full speed. He had left a trail of chaos behind him, and although he had escaped for now, he knew that danger wasn't far away.