A/N: Hey all. I recently opened Trades on DeviantArt (there's a link to my account in my profile), and this was one of the pieces that came out of it. I was so pleased with it that I decided I would put it up here. Anyone who's read Die, My Darling, or Mercenaries, should know who the lovely Shakahnna is. In fact, anyone who doesn't should be ashamed, quite frankly, because she's fantastic (go and read Damnation, or talk to her, if you don't believe me; she's VERY nice). I could try writing a synopsis of the Shak character I wrote, but it makes her sound like a Mary Sue when she definitely isn't. Essentially, just read the story and you'll probably get it, but if not then DMD explains everything. This is worth reading for the descriptions of the town alone, I think; I was really pleased with them. Also, I'd like to think this is a good example of a crossover, since those are very difficult, so am quite proud of that. Let me know what you think, won't you?
Save It For The Bedroom
For Shakahnna
"Where the fuck am I?" Shakahnna asked the empty air, coming to a stop in the middle of the open area she had run into and turning a slow, deliberate circle, squinting into the mist that surrounded her.
She had been walking for what she was certain had been a good few hours since she had arrived and she was only just beginning to realise how truly lost she was. The ghost town she had picked out to lie low wasn't panning out quite like she had hoped. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; there was less chance of collateral damage if she chose a place where people weren't living, just in case Wesker eventually caught up with her. On top of that, there would be no one to give her hiding place away and she would hopefully be able to evade him for days, if she got lucky.
But almost as soon as she had got to within spitting distance of the location's outermost border, the fog had descended, thick and oppressive, leaving her to stumble blindly through the murk. Vehicles lying abandoned in the road seemed to lurch out of the haze and directly into her path. Worse yet was the fact that some of the streets ended in gaping chasms or were intersected by ravines that dropped steeply away into dark oblivion. She had taken more than a couple of years off her life, and probably added a few more onto her purgatory sentence for all the cursing, by almost plummeting into one of the bottomless pits by accident.
She could definitely tell why everyone had moved away, although the haphazard, almost impulsive, parking of the cars made it seem more like an evacuation than a migration. An earthquake would explain all the broken roads, but not why nowhere else in the area had been similarly afflicted.
All told, there was definitely something wrong with the town, something unnatural.
As she continued to rotate on the spot, her narrowed eyes picked out odd shapes through the thick veil of white. It took her a few minutes to realise what she was seeing; a merry-go-round, a Ferris wheel, the looming, undulating tracks of a rollercoaster. She had passed a weathered sign, faded until it was unreadable, stretched out above the street, but a fairground was the last place she had been expecting to end up.
A noise made her ears twitch. At first, she thought she was hearing a rhythmic drumming, made flat and dull by the thick air around her. It took her moments to realise that it was actually the sound of footsteps, gradually approaching.
She spun, snatching up the Colt from its holster on her thigh and aiming it into the mist surrounding her, desperately searching for wherever the new arrival might be. The person's stride was unhurried, almost casual, which was unnerving all by itself. The bizarre nature of the surroundings should have been enough to unsettle even the most composed of individuals.
There were monsters, Shak knew that; she'd been fighting Umbrella long enough to have seen, and killed, just about every hideous little beastie they had ever created. All the same, the fear of whatever else there was, lurking, just out of sight, was enough to make her feel like a scared little girl again, sleeping with the light on. Swallowing down her apprehension, she steeled herself and wondered if she was about to get disembowelled.
A silhouette appeared in the fog, a blurred shape composed entirely of darkness, moving smoothly and slowly towards her. Its pace did not quicken, and she had no way of knowing if it had seen her, but she could at least see it. Her heart thundered in her chest, sweat prickling across her back, as she waited for the answers to her questions, adrenaline spiking her blood, fuelling her imagination like a hallucinogen, which did the rest. Thoughts of teeth and claws and hundreds of eyes burst into bloom in her mind.
Hard-wearing, black leather boots emerged from the gloom. Next appeared the coarse material of combat fatigues, loose trousers, a shirt with its sleeves rolled past the elbow, and a tightly buckled tactical vest and equipment harness. Finally, smooth, ageless features with a crown of compulsively neat blond hair made themselves known, a pair of sunglasses perched upon the bridge of a proud and distinguished nose. It was a familiar face, the kind that Shakahnna wanted, more than anything else, to punch, attached to balls she quite fancied hoofing.
"Fuck off, Wesker," she said, her tone more annoyed than angry or frightened, her posture relaxing slightly when she realised that he wasn't quite the slavering, toothy nightmare she had been half-expecting, "God, you're a cunt. I thought you were a monster. I mean, a proper monster; you're a dick and all, but you're still debatably human, I guess, even if your soul is made out of shit."
"Might I enquire as to why you have selected such a peculiar locale for this confrontation, my dear?" he asked her.
He didn't waste his breath on pleasantries or demands, knowing full well that she would defy him right up until the point where he beat her into unconsciousness and dragged her back. Or until she killed him again, whichever came first, and even then he would come after her just as soon as he had regenerated. They had been through this process more times than either of them could count and it didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon, much to his chagrin, no doubt.
"Well, what choice did I really have, thou fucker?" she responded, pushing her tongue between her teeth and lower lip to emphasise the fact that she thought the answer should have been obvious, "you either torture and murder everyone to find out where I am or lure me out, or we burn the place down while we're fighting. Wasn't too keen on that happening again, thanks very much. Hey, does this place seem wrong to you?"
"To what do you refer?"
"I dunno. It just seems a little on the weird side. I mean, was it foggy before you came into the town? And why are there gaping holes all over the place? It just doesn't feel right."
"I must confess that I have experienced no such misgivings," he informed her, before scanning their surroundings cursorily, taking in the mist-smothered attractions, "though it would appear that you are correct in your assertions that this town possesses a certain illogic that seems beyond the realm of possibility. You need not concern yourself with these matters, however; we will be departing very shortly."
"Pfft, you've gotta catch me first, dick-breath."
With that, she turned to flee deeper into the park. Unfortunately, she was now no longer certain of any direction other than up and down, which was going to make running away from him quite difficult. At least it would be hilarious if she fell into one of the big holes trying to get away from him; he'd be so angry if that happened and she'd be glad. Dead, but glad. She wondered if he'd try to save her; he'd done it once before, but it didn't look like the kind of thing he wanted to go through twice, especially for someone he only didn't want to murder some of the time.
She took off at a run, legs pumping, arms swinging, as she fled through the mist, letting it envelope her and hide her from his predatory eyes. It hadn't been more than a few seconds, however, before she slammed headlong into something solid and unyielding, feeling for all the world like a brick wall. She staggered backwards a step, disoriented, before slumping onto her posterior heavily. Looking up, she found herself staring into the face of Albert Wesker again. His hidden eyes were searching the surroundings rather than glaring down at her.
"You're a cunt," she informed him for the second time, massaging her rear.
"I assure you that I did not move," he answered, his rebuttal to her unvoiced accusation, a note of consternation in his voice as he spoke, which made her shudder slightly.
She had never met anyone quite as self-possessed or confident in their own abilities, or their superiority, as he was. To see him now, perturbed, was even more unsettling than the crazy world they had stepped into. The fact that it was also a little amusing didn't change how worrying it was.
"What's up?" she asked, but before either of them could speak again a noise pierced the silence around them.
It began as a low drone, a groaning hum, obviously artificial, before rising steadily into a piercing shriek, trilling so loudly that it made Shak feel as though her brain were rattling inside her skull. She cried out involuntarily and clamped her palms over her ears, but the wail seemed to stab directly into her head, bypassing them entirely. Looking up, she saw Wesker's neutral façade waning, his features pulled taut with the effort of suppressing the pain, his jaw locked and his eyes narrow behind his sunglasses. From her angle, she could see his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
Around them, existence seemed to warp and change before their very eyes. The mist lifted in an instant, dissolving to reveal the dirty, disused fairground in all its squalor, with its faded images of cheer and its dilapidated rides. The sky above them darkened, the white haze of the fog transforming into a pitch black nothingness.
The ground seemed to dissolve beneath them, the concrete bubbling and hissing and vanishing, leaving only gore-slick metal in its wake. The rancid smell of cooking rot rose from beneath, a smouldering shape glimpsed through the mesh throwing embers up at them, casting meagre light into the darkness. Looking down, the redhead's eyes widened when she realised that something was moving, pulsing, breathing below.
Greying paint began to flake from the carved wooden horses dancing on the merry-go-round, dissolving into the air as though it were evaporating. The surface of their slender bodies peeled away, revealing wire skeletons, cruel barbs poking out through their dissolving flesh, dripping liquid the colour and consistency of blood. The ornamentation crumbled across the entire carousel, leaving it as nothing more than bare steel grating and iron pipes, looking for all the world like a torture device.
A nearby popcorn stand immolated with a roar, melting into a pile of bubbling slag, its remains drooling through the spaces in the mesh at their feet.
"What the fuck...?!" Shak began, yelling to be heard over the din as she stood up beside her blond nemesis.
As she watched, the Ferris Wheel transformed. Its circle ignited into a ring of fire, a hideous symbol appearing at its centre, etched in flame, so grotesque and unnatural that it stung her eyes to look at it. The compartments became gibbets, each with its complement of grinning, skeletal occupants, as the machine began to turn, agonisingly slowly, its gears grinding and screeching in protest. Sparks spewed from its mechanical innards, but still it spun, a cheerful melody emitting in a strangled chorus of warped notes from the P.A. system set up beside it.
The siren's scream came to an end, leaving her ears ringing. The tension seeped out of Wesker's posture. Even now, confronted with a nightmare world, where before there had only been a misty, run-down old lakeside amusement park, his face remained completely devoid of concern. If he had been surprised by what was occurring, she hadn't seen his expression change. He nudged his sunglasses into place on the bridge of his nose and she remembered how much she hated him.
She lunged forward, leaping into the air and slamming a fist into his cheek, swatting the shades from his pristine features and blackening his eyes. His head jerked away sharply, but the rest of his body remained stoically unmoving until his arm snapped out, his fingers wrapping around her throat. Letting out a choked gasp, she struggled wildly as he effortlessly picked her off the ground and held her aloft.
Her boot connected firmly with his testicles, before she lifted her knee, slamming it into the underside of his chin, forcing his head up so that he was looking directly into her eyes. His mutated orbs, cat-like slits ringed with red and gold, flickered crimson at their centres, and then she was flying through the air, tossed aside as though she didn't weigh three hundred pounds at all. Sometimes his viral enhancements seemed a little bit too much like cheating for her liking.
She slammed stiffly into what felt like a tree, its bark cracking beneath her mass, and rolled along its trunk onto the floor. Shooting a glance back at what she had collided with, she realised that it was rooted directly into the metal and that the spot where she had struck was beginning to bleed. Black, shapeless husks that were probably supposed to be fruit clung to the withered branches above. Her impact had shaken a few loose, where they had exploded into pus on contact with the ground.
Before she was able to look back, Wesker's hand snatched at her neck again, the leather of his gloves cracking as it constricted around her windpipe and hoisted her into the air. He forced her into the tree, its dark ichor smearing across the back of her combat gear, and leaned in towards her.
"This development does not absolve you of your transgressions, my dear," he informed her, his breath washing over her face as he spoke, fresh yet faintly stale, but overpowered by the foetid stench rising from beneath them, "you remain ever my possession and when I return you to my estate you will face a severe reprimand for this disobedience."
"Get bent!" she spat back at him, snapping her Colt up in her right hand and aiming it into his face, blowing off the side of his head with a wet splat.
His free hand came up, ensnaring her wrist and forcing her aim away, her next two shots ricocheting ineffectually from the steel ground. He narrowed his eyes, the left peering out from only half a socket, and then she swung her other arm up, a knife clutched in her fingers, and rammed it through his throat. Blood began to flow slowly down his neck, a bubble of it welling in his oesophagus and parting his lips, before drooling down over his chin.
He twisted her captured limb, her digits convulsing painfully and shirking reflexively away from the handgun clutched in them, which bounced into a nearby puddle of the tree's effluence. Then, without a moment's warning, he hurled her across the park. Her body hurtled through the air, before colliding violently with a second solid object, this time a tall post bolted to the floor in the park's midway. She fell, landing heavily on a seesaw-like contraption, before rolling to the ground again. A bell rang behind her and it took her several moments to regain her composure enough to see that she had struck a Test-Your-Strength game.
Considering that the world was now a hellish parody of its former self, she really didn't want to find out what the stuffed animals had transformed into, in case she'd won something that wanted to eat her.
She struggled to stand up again, only to realise that something was tugging at her clothing. Panicking, she lashed out with a vicious elbow and felt the same something claw at her arm, ripping into the flesh below her shoulder. Swearing loudly, she spun, kicking out and back-pedalling at the same time. With a surge of relief, she realised that she was fighting with a length of barbed wire that had, until she had gotten tangled in it, been wrapped around the bell tower and immediately relaxed.
Grinning to herself, she reached over and pulled the length of metal cord towards her, whipping another blade from a pouch on her belt and kicking and sawing and slicing at it. Eventually, she had managed to acquire a suitable strip of the jagged cable and held it aloft triumphantly. She looked up gleefully to see her wounded paramour walking in her direction, his usual confident gait unhindered by the hole in his head. Unfortunately for him, she knew that he would find his motor functions impaired by the injury until he could regenerate it.
Bounding forward, she ducked under his right arm, its reflexes dulled by the damage to his brain, and leapt up onto his back, wrapping the wire around his throat, using them for reins. She wrapped her legs around his torso, clamping her muscular thighs around his midsection and wishing fervently that she had spurs on her boots so that she could stab them into his stomach. Wrapping her hands in the metal string, she groaned throatily at the bite as its barbs gnawed the flesh apart on her palms, delighting in the feel of blood under her fingertips. Tugging back hard, she felt the same pinpricks burrow under the flesh of Wesker's neck, severing arteries and spilling gore in thick, crimson rivulets down his neck.
"You're mine, bitch," she purred huskily, and she could almost feel his eyes blaze with arousal, knowing him oh-so well, as one searching hand reached back to try and snare her.
His fleshless skull knitted back into being at the wounded side of his head, epidermal tissue beginning to creep across it, patching the hole. She responded by leaning in and biting at the fresh skin, tearing it away with her teeth, ripping the flaw all the wider. The bitterness of ash settled on her tongue as his blood splashed into her mouth. He didn't taste the way people were supposed to taste; it was almost as though his corrupt soul had tainted his being from the inside out. His appearance was certainly aesthetically pleasing, as much as anyone could be when you knew how ugly they were, but inside there was no mistaking him as anything other than evil.
He bucked, his body moving erratically in his attempts to dislodge her, but she dodged his questing hand, even going so far as to bite its fingertips whenever it strayed too close. Unfortunately, another set of digits latched firmly around her ankle, which she had not been guarding, and pulled her loose from her seat. She swung around, hair trailing out like a streamer in her wake, and then felt her body whip as he threw by the leg into the air.
She sailed across the open courtyard at the centre of the park, spinning wildly as she did so. This time, rather than a solid wall, she landed in something that, at first, felt almost like a hammock. However, the sharp points needling her skin quickly corrected her; she had struck a web of barbed wire and she was now tangled in it. As gravity made her sag, her body snagged on the metal thorns, pulling her flesh taut across her entirety as it held her weight.
The pain washed over her, sharp agonies in dozens of places all over her ample figure; in some places it felt as though her epidermis would simply snap like over-tense elastic. Her left hand snagged in a loop, its razors sending blood, slick and hot, gushing down her forearm. Her right boot was similarly trapped, and she could feel a spike piercing her foot even through the leather; the sock soaked with warm crimson.
She imagined that this was maybe something like how crucifixion felt; on the bright side, she'd have some wicked stigmata after this, providing she survived.
The surroundings snapped to her attention suddenly when she heard what sounded like a motor groaning to life somewhere nearby, choking on rust and heat as it spluttered into action. She was on the Carousel, its wire frame horses beginning to slowly bob up and down to the strains of yet more warped fairground music. The net in which she had landed was strung between the central pillar and the gently trotting animals like some intricate and brutal weave.
She watched, confused, as the skeletal creatures began to move in circles around her, and then the wire started to pull tight. They jerked her upwards into the centre of the web, wrenching her limbs out from her body. The wire scraped deep grooves along her left thigh and right arm, and a hundred rusted spines ripped lacerations in her flesh as the trap snapped shut around her. Blood started to weep across every inch of her body and she screamed through clenched teeth, tears crawling unbidden from the corners of her eyes.
And then something blasted past nearby with a rush of displaced air, slicing clean through the tangle of metal, and she dropped heavily to the ground.
Powerful hands scooped her up and she felt herself being carried even as the shock began to set in, her breath catching in her lungs, cold sweat rolling out of her pores, her gorge beginning to rise. Through hazy eyes, she caught a glimpse of glowing embers glaring back at her. There was a repugnant sense of irony to the fact that the human being worst for her in the whole world would never allow any harm to come to her. But then, that was Wesker all over; a little kid who didn't want anyone else to break his toys.
Still, at least now she wasn't going to die.
A cut above her left eye dribbled a red sheen over half of her world as he lay her down. All the same, she watched as he looked at her, his expression the closest approximation to fondness that he was capable of, little more than a deep-rooted desire to possess and control. His arms were shredded from the thorns of the snare he had freed her from. Any other person might have been flattered by what he had done; indeed, any other person might have deserved praise for such a selfless act. But they were two exceptionally unique people.
So instead, she jammed her boot solidly into his crotch, then lunged forward and bit his fucking nose off.
He recoiled, silent as the grave as her teeth chewed through the cartilage that connected his skull to the proud, perfectly aligned bone of his nose. A firm palm strike to her chest send her slamming down into the ground, where she bounced hard and rolled over, spitting blood and the morsel she had snatched onto the metal. His hand gripped a fistful of her hair, pulling her up into a kneeling position, from which she elbowed him hard in the testicles.
Even as she started to struggle, however, she realised that he was not moving to counter her, and that alone was enough to make her pause, unsure of what was transpiring. Twisting her head as far as his solid grip would allow, a quick upward glance revealed that, aside from now looking like an idiot without his beak, his attention was elsewhere. She followed the direction of his eyes, tracing a line directly to what looked like the amusement park's entrance.
Barbed wire had grown like living creepers across the opening, so thick that it completely obscured the view of the street beyond. But there was a noise, obviously the one that had caught her paramour's focus, which drew her own notice, the sound of rusted metal scraping on rusted metal in quick, sharp jerks. It was getting closer, increasing in volume with each passing second.
"Oh, what now?" she asked, moments before the grinding stopped altogether. Unless she was mistaken, whatever had been causing it had paused behind the tangle of metal.
And then an immense blade cleaved apart the iron vines, slicing them apart with a shriek of protest that sounded almost like a human scream.
At once, the breach filled with a thousand wriggling, chittering shapes, a horde of deformed insects flowing like a river, five deep, through the gap. Shak let out a scream of disgust, unable to stand with the blond's hand still wrapped in her hair, and clamped her arms tightly around her head as the tide washed over her. Hundreds of little legs needled her flesh, some of the miniature monsters getting caught in her matted tresses, some of them even biting her as they passed. But as quickly as they had crowded about her, drowning her in the stink of rot that they carried with them, they pushed on, racing across the fairground in search of shelter. That was the moment that she realised they had been fleeing.
Something followed, pushing through the hole its sword had hewn through the impenetrable wires, something huge and powerful. As it came, an almighty groan went up, seeming almost to come from whatever unfathomable abomination was lying below, shaking the very ground with its ferocity. She likened it to the moan of a hundred thousand zombies, droning in hungry unison, clamouring for the flesh of the living. It foretold terror.
She felt her gorge rising again, this time from the shock of adrenaline flooding her system. It made her feel like running, hiding, cowering like an animal; it made her feel like she were prey. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling; Wesker had been able to provoke that kind of gut-wrenching fear in her before, not that she'd ever admit it, but there was no acclimatising to it.
Fight or flight were the only options, and Shakahnna had always been quite partial to the former herself.
The giant figure emerged into the nightmarish courtyard, looming to its full, colossal height, and she saw immediately that it belonged there, in the hellish realm. It was twice as tall as she was, with the stature of a Tyrant, taller even than her virus-enhanced nemesis. Over its head, it wore a mask, a colossal, pyramid-shaped shroud fashioned from the same metal as the rest of the blasted landscape. Its torso was broad and well-muscled, thick, sinewy arms hanging at its sides, its nudity hidden by a skirt of coarse, blood-streaked sackcloth tied at its waist. Its huge, gnarled right hand dragged its enormous weapon in its wake, scraping sparks from the ground.
With her lover's attention distracted, she made good her escape. Snatching another knife from her belt, she jammed it through his foot, before using another to slice through his wrist, wrenching her head loose from his hold. Copper tresses tore loose from her scalp in a fistful, but compared with everything else, even just from today, it was barely painful. Rolling clear across the open space, she whipped free her Beretta, longing for her Colt as she did so, and pointed it into Wesker's passive features.
She found herself staring into the cold, dark eye of his Desert Eagle as he levelled it at her, the two of them locked in a momentary impasse. Shakahnna realised, frustratingly, that even if she managed to get off a shot before he did, she had seen him absorb entire magazines of bullets from more powerful guns than the 9mm. His first bullet would kill her dead, maybe even before she pulled the trigger.
Sometimes, or rather, most of the time, she really hated him.
Fortunately, she knew instinctively that the sidearm he had produced was not for her. Part of the whole reason they were in this situation was because he didn't want to kill her; far from it, in fact, she was probably one of the only people in the world he didn't actively want dead. Though she hated him and everything he stood for, there was a part of her, a deep core of self-loathing, which loved their internecine little trysts. Still, she would always resist, because he didn't deserve to get his own way all the time; in that way, justice could be served, at least in part. Although, regrettably, she suspected he liked the chase, as much as the frustration of her non-compliance tended to drive him crazy.
They turned as one, bringing their weapons to bear against the monstrosity and unleashing a hail of fire. Compared with the .45 she preferred, the Beretta felt small and ineffectual in her hand, especially in comparison with the bulky handgun the blond was using. Her bullets ricocheted with dull clanks from the creature's ugly, angular mask, streaking off into the dark heavens, or impacted flatly on its muscular torso, failing even to make it stagger.
As worthless as the gun felt, however, her lover's own didn't seem to be much more useful. Though he squeezed off round after round, the violent recoil barely even creasing the solid muscle of his arm, even the massive calibre of his .50 was yielding the same dismal results. Each shot either clanged against its armoured head with a noise like a warped gong or struck its flesh with a dull thud, any wounds they left barely visible. The abomination seemed almost to be absorbing the slugs, or simply passing through them completely.
"It would appear that our current arsenal is insufficient for this battle," he observed bluntly, and though his tone remained emotionless, she could practically hear the tightness in his jaw.
"What, seriously?" she asked him, wiping blood out of her eye from one of her earlier injuries as she began to back away from the ever-approaching enemy, "no, really, Wesker, nice deduction you fucking dipshit."
"Perhaps its durability does not extend to direct attacks."
"Holy shit, cock-face; are you about to do something noble for once in your life? I'm in fucking shock."
She grinned at her own wit, but a cursory glance at her paramour showed her that he was actually quite serious, in spite of her taunts. Straightening to his full, impressive height, diminished slightly by the titan slowly bearing down on him, he slipped his Desert Eagle back into its holster under his arm. Then, without even a hint of any greater emotion than annoyance, he strode forward to confront the beast.
Before he had even walked a handful of steps, however, the Pyramid Head thrust its free hand towards him, long, misshapen fingers snapping out to aim in his direction, before balling into a tight fist. As Shak watched, the mesh beneath Wesker's feet was torn to pieces by dozens of writhing, twisting snakes of barbed metal, coiling around his legs and dragging him to his knees. They climbed, ensnaring his torso and wrapping themselves around his powerful upper limbs. Blood began to flow along the lengths of his bare forearms, while crimson spots spread into blotches and then stains covering his combat attire.
One particularly zealous strand wrapped itself around his throat, slicing apart his jugular, before spiralling upwards and pushing through his right cheek.
He did not utter a sound, other than an aggravated grunt at the moment the attack began. His muscles bulged beneath blood-slick skin as he struggled to free himself, but the wires held him rooted to the spot. She saw his eyes flash furiously, a momentary strobe of bright red in his narrowed irises.
For her part, she simply smirked to herself and jammed the Beretta back into her belt, folding her arms over her ample chest as she watched the sword-wielding monster stride onwards. She wondered if she would be able to get away with having a crafty wank while the creature murdered Wesker, but reasoned that it was probably a mental image best saved for when she got home. Then she could give it her full attention.
"Go on yourself, big boy," she called out, cupping her hands around her mouth like a makeshift megaphone, yelling her encouragement to the hulking beast as it prepared to execute her paramour.
Its immense, metal head jerked around, pointing in her direction, and then it changed direction entirely, moving towards her.
"Fuck," she said flatly, taking an urgent step back, before turning smartly on her heel and running away.
She wasn't certain exactly where she was running to, although it had occurred to her that it might be a good idea to circle around and escape via the hole it had made. Of course, she'd be leaving Wesker to die, but she doubted, if he did survive, that he would be too annoyed. And if he died then the world would be a slightly better place for her specifically, and everyone else in general, to live. Although, she did wonder what she would do with herself once he was finally in the ground.
Unfortunately, before she could even start to formulate the plan of her retreat, something snagged her left ankle and sent her slamming face-first into the metal floor. She bit through the inside of her cheek, blood spewing from between her lips. When she looked back, she realised that her boot was caught in a loop of metal cord, its jagged thorns piercing the leather. She kicked her foot, trying to work it loose from the snare, but couldn't find any slack to take advantage of. In the next moment, an iron flex lashed up and wrapped itself around her forehead, sitting above her ears like a crown of thorns.
The pair of tethers held her stretched prone against the ground, blood pouring down her face, as the executioner approached.
Pyramid Head came closer, its heavy footsteps shaking the floor beneath her cheek, until it was standing over her, its immense figure towering into the dark sky overhead. It swung its blade around, taking up the haft in both of its huge hands and lifting it almost effortlessly, raising it until it was held aloft, ready to cleave her in two.
Shak slammed her palms against the floor, beginning to scream as she squirmed, her bonds ripping into her skin, and then something gave with a tearing sound. Flesh and hair ripped away from her head, and yet more blood began to drool down her features, as she pushed herself up into a kneeling position. She threw her body backwards as far as the second wire would allow, the sword whistling scant millimetres from the tip of her nose and slamming into the mesh beneath her.
The edge of the beast's weapon rent the ground asunder. A gasp of superheated air belched from below, moments before a tongue of flame licked upwards, tasting the heavens and scorching the redhead's flesh. She rolled back onto her posterior, patting out the embers that landed amid her tangled tresses and on her clothing, before jerking and kicking and struggling desperately to free herself.
Her opponent withdrew its blade with an easy flourish, lifting it in a downward grip and bracing to thrust it through her stomach. Still screaming in both frustration and pain, she tugged on her trapped leg, watching wide-eyed as the creature thrust down. Something tore on the top of her foot, most likely one of the barbs biting into her muscle, and then she was scrambling backwards, leaving one piece of her footwear where it was still ensnared.
The sword pierced the ground yet again, the burning discharge shooting along its length and engulfing its wielder's arms and armoured head. It seemed barely to feel the scorching heat.
Hobbling back to her feet, she lunged forward, slamming her fists into its stomach, feeling its solid musculature like chiselled stone beneath her gloved hands. Her punches did little more than bruise and burst the skin on her knuckles, even with the padding. When that didn't yield any positive results, she drew her good foot back and thrust it forward between the monster's legs, slamming it into the apex hidden by its crude skirt.
Unfortunately, though her remaining boot hammered stiffly into its crotch, there was nothing there to kick.
"No fucking fair!" she yelled out, as her wounded leg gave out beneath her and dropped her onto her rear end yet again.
Silent, Pyramid Head reached down, closing its hand around her blood-soaked ankle and hauling her into the air. She kicked at its fingers, trying to break them with the heel of her boot, but it didn't seem to even feel her attacks. Its fingers began to crush her lower leg, drawing scarlet with its broken fingernails. Flailing and writhing in its grip, she was so caught up in her manic struggle that she didn't notice Wesker driving his fist into its outstretched arm until gravity took hold of her. She fell, narrowly avoiding dropping on the top of her head, and rolled to a painful stop on the ground, looking up to see her lover standing over her, clothes bloody and torn.
The executioner's left upper limb was oozing thick, black gore from a split just above its elbow, a spike of dirtied bone protruding from its flesh.
Wielding its blade with its remaining hand, it lifted the weapon over its head and brought it down to cleave him in two. He stepped neatly to the side, letting it hum past his head by inches, before slamming into the ground with an almighty crash that jarred Shakahnna's brain in her skull. In a heartbeat, the blond leapt up, using the sword's dull edge as a springboard, and punched clean through the top of its head. The rusted metal, impervious even to the Desert Eagle's powerful payload, burst in a spray of ichor the colour of pitch.
Her lover dropped into a low crouch behind their opponent as it staggered drunkenly, before plummeting forward, achingly slow, like a falling tree, colossal and ponderous, onto its face. Its mask slammed against the floor with an impact that rocked the ground, its sword clanging down beside it.
The peel of a siren began to blare, rising in volume until, once again, it deafened her. Beaten and bloodied and flayed and abused, Shakahnna clapped her hands to either side of her head and lay prone, waiting for the noise to end and hoping that they were not descending deeper into hell. She clamped her eyes shut on welling tears, summoned by the agony, and let them roll down her cheeks, clearing tracks through the filth staining her face. And then, just as abruptly as before, the noise ended.
When nothing happened immediately, she let her eyelids peel back slowly, half-expecting to see some new horror ready to eat her face. Instead, she saw mist and faded signs and dilapidated fairground rides, with cracked concrete beneath her and thick fog above. But the vapour did not seem quite so dense now; she could see more of the world than before and even thought she glimpsed the sun, a white disc in the heavens, not swallowed completely as it had once been.
Two powerful arms scooped her up from the ground, cradling her in what could have been considered an affectionate embrace, save the possessive tightness of the hands that held her left arm and leg. With her head resting gently against the solid muscle of his left bicep, she started to doze in Wesker's grip as he carried her silently out onto the street. Unfortunately, before she could drift off, a probing finger jabbed into one of the open wounds in her shoulder, snapping her eyes open and making her yelp.
"What the fuck?" she asked angrily, glowering up at him.
"It would behove you to remain conscious until I can provide medical attention for you," he explained, features still neutral.
She continued to glare, noting that his injuries had already regenerated fully. His clothing was ruined, but after a shower and a change he would be as good as new; it would take her considerably longer to be anything approaching even fucked. She realised, once again, how much she hated him.
"Save it for the bedroom."
"As you wish."