Prodigal Son

Chapter One:

Primordial Ooze

7:16 pm - Abandoned Castle- Initium Novum

He was supposed to be on vacation.

The crackle of his radio sounded so loud as he emerged into the decrepit foyer. It might have been a beautiful castle once, but what was left was a crumbling ruins. Snow trickled down from the half collapsed roof, peppering his face in flakes of white as he eased forward.

The leather coat he wore barely insulated against the frigid air and he was grateful, beyond words, that he'd chosen to wear wet weather gear beneath it and a thermal. It was likely the only reason hypothermia hadn't taken him the second he'd started trekking up the long stone staircase from the dock below the castle. The damn thing was marooned out in the middle of the murky water.

It was cut off, mired, kept away from the rest of the world that waited back on dry land. Once, it had likely stood as a great fortress to protect those that lived within in, but those days were long past now. All that remained of those times gone by was the suggestion of a tapestry stilling clinging haphazardly to one moldy wall.

His light bobbed as he moved, bouncing over the staircase that curled up into the darkness above him. The left side of the staircase was completely collapsed, offering no hope of heading that way. The right side had an archway still standing and a once great dining room now buried in snow. He could still make out the fireplace tucked beside the enormous table that had somehow withstood collapse despite Mother Nature's most voracious attempts to destroy it.

With little choice, he stepped through the small bank of snow gathered at the base of the stairs and moved upward into the dark. As his light guided his way, his radio crackled again and a familiar voice filled his ear, "How's it going, Leon?"

With a light chuckle, he shook his head, "My balls are freezing. My face feels like I had too much Botox and I'm afraid to piss because it might come out in ice crystals. But otherwise? Peachy."

Hunnigan didn't even laugh. She was known for having a stick up her ass on a good day. He was constantly trying to shake it loose.

When she said nothing for a long moment, Leon finally added, "It's mostly derelict. The landscape isn't favorable for passage. I barely docked the boat and found footing to climb up here. You're sure the call said this castle?"

"Yes,"Replied Hunnigan staunchly, "The outskirts of Initium Novum. There's only one castle in that region. Apparently, it was suspected of being used for witchcraft in the fifteenth century."

"...great." The sarcasm dripped from his lips as he rounded the top of the stairs and avoided falling through a huge hole where they'd chunked away into the darkness, "Super. Should I be on the lookout for big nose broads on broomsticks then?"

Again, he could nearly hear Hunnigan roll her eyes, "Focus on the mission, Agent Kennedy. The call said the disturbance was supernatural in context. You want the local police to show up there to inspect? We both know what happens to regular people in castles where potential monsters lurk."

He sighed, audibly, "You think I'm any better? I should be on a beach with a willing woman in a tiny bikini bringing me mai tais, Hunnigan. When am I ever gonna get to finish a furlough?"

"When the time is available, Agent Kennedy. USSTRATCOM reserves the right to recall Agents from furlough to active duty in the event of threat to land and pe-"

"Save the speech, kid. You sound like a talking head for the company. I got it. I'll let you know when I find anything."

He clicked off with a roll of his eyes and muttered, "...women."

Hunnigan was a company man through and through. She was always selling him that shit they fed her at board meetings and in office. He wasn't entirely sure why he was still working for the government. It had started after Raccoon, but surely he'd served his masters well enough at this point to be granted a reprieve. Why didn't he just branch out and go freelance?

He was sure the BSAA would take him if he offered. Although the idea of working for Chris Redfield was nearly as pride swallowing as being a government lapdog. He was practically choking on the impotence that would come with it.

Amused, Leon turned the corner at the top and the light bobble over the totally collapsed second floor. There was almost, literally, nothing here. What had he expected? That hoards of the undead might come at him and offer some credence to the anonymous tip that had gotten him out of bed at the crack of dawn, on a plane from the beautiful beaches of the middle of nowhere, and tossed into a wasteland of white nightmare where it was so cold that has balls had crawled up his own ass for warmth?

After all, personal misery and risk to life and limb with zero reward was the story of his life.

Leon almost turned back to head back to his boat when he heard a rustling sound. At first, it sounded like the chittering of bugs like the time he'd seen the buzz emerge from the head of that thing in Raccoon City. But this...it was different somehow.

Because the chittering was joined by a moaning sigh.

Leon froze and his gun turned into the dark while his light joined it. He shined it down the sloping demise of the second floor to find it had created almost a slide into the waiting beyond. Something was down there in the black moaning.

Common sense told him to turn around and toss a grenade into the dark...but what if it was a person needing help?

What if it was simply that a couple of stupid teens had been farting around in the castle and gotten themselves hurt? Were there some horny lovebirds at the bottom of the crumbling rock walkway needing a hand out of the dark? Is that what he was here for?

Leon eased down the slide, losing traction as he went, but managing not to go onto his butt like a kid having a great time at the park. The darkness swallowed him whole as he went, leaving just his little light as the only break to the black. He reached the bottom with a clunk and clatter of rolling stones and heard someone breathing sharp, fast, and shallow.

As he turned, looking for the source, it actually took him a handful of seconds to realize it was him. He was breathing like a scared kid. Forcing himself to swallow slower, even, breaths Leon eased into the swirling dark. It was the absolute lack of light that was terrifying him. There was nothing good, ever, in this kind of total lack of illumination.

His boots were the only constant sound. His breathing was the only echo. His breath puffed white and pretty in a cloud out of his frozen lips.

And the giggling started.

He stopped and nearly gagged on the vomit that tried to rise up. Fear. He was choking on fear. After all this time, he could still be scared shitless. It was almost academically interesting.

Something skittered ahead of him. He heard the slap of feet. Leon shined the light into the dark and called, "I don't wanna play your reindeer games, whatever you are. Let's just do this thing, alright? I have theater tickets. I hate to miss the opening previews."

The dark actually seemed to breathe around him before it answered, "...it's hard to see without eyes."

Aloud, Leon called back, "So off with the panties, huh? You're just gonna start with the threats before you buy me dinner? Some people have no manners."

And the voice returned, "...some people have so soulllllsss.."

Superb. A creepy soul eating turd of a monster. Those were seldom good for business. When the dark trembled, Leon shot blindly into it. It shrieked in pain, something snaked around his foot and he was jerked off them before he could blink. It dragged him roughly along the broken floor. His jacket ripped, his leg protested the speed and before he could fight back, the tentacle wrapped around his ankle just tossed him like a hand grenade.

Up, over, and flipped into the darkness, Leon had a moment to brace as his back smashed into a crumbling part of the castle and took it with him as he went right on through it. It collapsed in a roar of rushing stone, Leon flipped twice through the debris, and skidded on his side through the dark until he stopped.

His body throbbed like a wound. He rolled his neck and groaned. But he didn't think anything was broken.

Aloud, he lamented, "...ouuuuuch. That was unpleasant."

The crackling giggling followed him and flittered around his head like birds in a bad cartoon. "...not human...not real...monster...not mortal...not man...man but...demon..."

Who?

The missing link in the dark kicking his ass?

Leon grunted as he gained his feet, stumbling once. The bad news was that he'd lost his gun somewhere in the ensuing tossing of the caber that had gone before. He'd kept his light though, for all the good that would do him. So, Leon tugged the knife from the front of his vest and parried...nothing. He parried nothing.

Because he couldn't see shit anyway.

He questioned, "You wanna fight like a girl some more and keeping slapping me around? Or you wanna stop wasting my time and come at me?"

The slap to his side was probably deserved that time. After all, he was taunting something big enough to launch a full grown man like a kid tossing a baseball. He managed to get a swipe at it before he was knocked over, rolled to his back, and raked the blade of his big knife down the tentacle that tried to encircle his throat in a hug gone wrong.

The scream was high pitched and painful to his ears. Leon recoiled against the noise, gritting his teeth around the pain in his skull from it. The tentacle whisked away and the twittering giggling around him turned to whispering.

Sibilant, the echoes stirred behind him, above him, adjacent to him.

Leon clamored up again, staggering a little. "Ok. Now this is just getting old. Stop flirting and fight me!"

It echoed like thunder. It raced around the dark room and hammered at the shadows. Angry, Leon taunted the dark, "Come on! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!? An invitation? You want an evite? You need a text message granting permission? Stop fucking around and show yourself!"

The ground beside him made a clack clack of falling rock and a voice answered, "Why not? I was never much for stabbing a man in the back anyway."

Leon whipped the light around, his knife jerked up out of habit, the bobbling yellow blaze hit the face of his attacker as steel kissed steel in a metallic cry of battle. The blades sparked. The light wavered. And two pairs of the same eyes stared at each other in horror.

His attacker backed off and Leon stumbled two steps away. He waved the light on a face that was too familiar. Why? He'd been looking into it all his life.

The other man spat, "What the hell is this shit? Another doppelganger?"

Another?

Was there more than one?

Leon returned, "You tell me...you a clone? They hatch you out of an age? They could have at least given you a better wardrobe. Who wears that kind of crap? Didn't anyone tell you that the Matrix sucks?"

"That's rich coming from a guy dressed like a bad video game character."

"Takes one to know one. By the way Lestat, where's Louis?"

His attacker was garbed in a red duster over black pants and boots. As he shifted, Leon realized the pants were black leather. They made a wet sound as the two men circled each other.

Curious, Leon shined the light right in his face and the other man spat, "Get that shit outta my eyes, you knock off, before I feed it to you."

Leon laughed and taunted, "Give it your best shot, I'll shove it up your ass and watch the light shine outta your mouth."

The other man paused, head tilted. He looked curious now and the light passed over his hair. Blonde? No. Leon squinted, he wasn't blonde, his hair was the shocking silver white of the snow around their feet.

The other man returned, "You're the first one I've faced that sounds like me, so I guess they're getting better."

Leon arched his brow, "Yeah? Who're they? Umbrella?"

The man laughed and it echoed. It also sounded suspiciously like Leon's. "What? Who made you? Mundus?"

"Who?"

They stared at each other. Finally, the other man said, "Enough of this. I'm tired of talking to myself. And even more tired of staring at your bad dye job. Blonde don't work if its out of a bottle, dude. Seriously."

Leon snorted and retorted, "Better than looking like the ugly albino version of me. You get uncomfortable in sunlight, big guy? That why you're hiding in the dark like a mole?"

No more fun time, apparently, as the man in red executed some kind of spin kick in the air that was impressive, snake quick, and sent Leon to his butt on the floor. He got his wrists up in a half block, the guy open handed jabbed him in the solar plexus, and Leon was shoved across the floor - breathless- like he'd been kicked by a horse.

Aloud, the other man chortled, "What? That it? You telling me you're a fucking demon without powers?!"

Apparently.

And then? The guy added, "Alright. Have it your way. We'll fight like mortals. Ready?"

Was that rhetorical?

He swung a hook and Leon kicked him in the knee. The other guy slapped his face and Leon grabbed the front of his black shirt, rolled to his back, stuck his feet in his belly and threw him up and out.

He heard the man in red roll to his feet and laugh, "Not bad. Still weak, but I like a challenge. You want me to tie one arm behind my back?"

Arrogant prick. Enough was enough of playing nice. Tauntingly, the man queried, "Is that a no?"

Leon rushed him, ran up the broken column beside him, spun out and kicked him in clean in the face. Blood splattered, Leon hit his feet, rolled across the floor and came up with his knife raised to block the swing of the other guy.

Their weapons clashed. The guy in the duster had an enormous sword. The damn thing looked like someone out a comic book had handed it to him and said, "Kill some shit, ok?" It had an angry looking hilt as wide as a his outstretched hand and a blade that was nearly as long as a man.

How the hell did he wield a sword that size?

The blade struck Leon's knife and shattered it. The pieces zipped off into the darkness as Leon rolled, missed losing his head, and kicked his foot out. Boom, he thought as it landed, groin shot.

The other guy grunted, made a gagging sound, and staggered away. Before he could turn back, Leon kicked him from the ground in the ass and grabbed for the sword. He wrenched it, the guy turned to fight him, and Leon punched him in the dick. No thinking, just reaction, he punched him right in his already throbbing family jewels.

The sword tumbled out of his grip as the other man stumbled back and grabbed for his junk. Leon grabbed it and rose and his arms screamed under the weight. What kind of fucking metal was this thing made out of!?

He could barely lift it as he taunted, "See? Who's the clone!?"

Leon raised the sword above his head and brought it down on the hunched back of the man in red. The giggling filled their ears as it struck. It cleaved hard into that leather clad shoulder. The man sprayed blood like a fountain and went to one knee. Leon let go of the hilt and stumbled back and the voices hissed, "...not human...not mortal...not man...demon...demon...DEMON..."

Angry, Leon shouted, "Who is a demon!? WHO!?"

And the voices answered, "...youuuuu..."

Annoyed, Leon started to answer, and something horrible happened. The man he'd nearly split in half reached a hand over his shoulder and grabbed for his sword. Horrified, Leon swung his light around looking for his gun. The sword squelched, the man grunted in pain, and he tugged his blade out of his own destroyed back. There was a slurping sound as he used the sword to boost himself up.

He turned toward Leon, pointed at him, and panted, "That hurt, you ugly jackass. I'm going to enjoy killing you."

Not human indeed.

Leon spotted his gun under a pile of rocks just behind his opponent and wondered, "Yeah? How's the balls?"

"They're gonna feel a lot better when slap you to death with them."

Well that was both gross and alarming, but somehow funny. They both laughed. It echoed. It was the same even down to the last snort. Both of them stared at each other in some kind awkward silence.

Finally, Leon mused, "Any time now. I'd like to finish making you a eunuch. You sing soprano?"

The man in red charged him, Leon rolled seconds before he lost his arm to the upswing of that horrible blade, and he dove for the gun.

The darkness giggled as he skidded out of the roll and grabbed the hilt of his gun. He spun up from one knee and the echo of another cracked like a bone into the whispering dark. Had he fired?

The pain hit him after a fleeting second. His free hand slapped over his chest.

Nope. Not him.

The other guy had a gun too.

The light bobbled as Leon tried to stop his chest from spurting all over him. He gasped and blood bubbled out of his mouth. Fantastic, a nicked lung at the least. His gun went off, the other guy ducked to avoid being shot, and Leon rolled away to get to his feet.

He spit blood on the ground as they both found cover.

Into the dark, the other guy called, "How's that lung, guy? Collapsed yet?"

Leon leaned against the shattered wall for cover and tried to breathe. Bad. It was bad. He wiped away the blood that spilled out of his mouth. Bad. Aloud, he returned, "What lung? You missed, you idiot. You're as blind as you are stupid."

He listened to the footsteps of the other man. He closed his eyes and stopped letting them mislead him. When the steps paused, he leaned out of hiding, fired, and leaned back. Thunk. Gasp.

And the other guy cursed.

Leon laughed, "See? That's how you shoot someone."

"You shot me right in the ass! You an ass man? You certainly smell like it."

Leon tracked the sounds of him again, ignoring his taunts. He waited, spitting blood again onto the ground. So far, his lung hadn't collapsed, so it wasn't as bad as he'd first thought. The sounds stopped, Leon started to lean out again, and a voice next to his ear hissed, "...boo."

Something slapped his face, twice, and Leon rolled away from his hiding place. He ducked and ran, as quietly as he could, but sound was still sound. And his opponent wasn't a rookie here.

As he slid to a stop, Leon swung his light around. It bobbled into the dark, searching for the other man. It passed through murky shadows and landed, too late, on that shock of white blonde hair.

This time, it was the man's voice in his ear that cooed, "...jackpot."

Leon fired for all the good it would do. The enormous sword went straight into his back with a crunch of bone and a wet pop of blood. It exploded out his stomach and tossed red around them like a splatter from a hose. Spitted on it like a butterfly, Leon tried to decide why he hadn't stayed on that beach.

He slumped to the side like a broken doll. His hands dropped the gun with a clatter. And his legs went numb.

Almost instantly. Numb.

Easy enough to figure out why: his evil clone had severed his spine.

In his ear, the clone said, "They should have at least given you a sword. What kind of idiot faces off against demons with just a handgun?"

Demons?

Unable to speak, Leon couldn't stop him from kicking the back of one knee to spill him to the floor. The man in red put his boot against Leon's shoulder and jerked. The blade ripped free of his back - another splash of red on the snow, another shower of it over them as Leon collapsed to his face by a broken pillar.

Above him, the man informed him, "Never bring a gun to a sword fight, rookie. Next time they need to train you better before they let you off your leash."

Rookie. He'd been that once. He wasn't now. Now? Now he was the guy dying in the dirty snow.

Leon coughed once, shivering as the cold finally leached away the last of the feeling from his fingers. His mouth bubbled blood like a fish making - ploop ploop ploop sounds. The man in red stepped away and left him where he lay.

His light circled twice on the ground and finally showed the boots of his killer as they crossed through the darkness seeking, no doubt, the sounds of the thing that was playing with them both.

The light found just a suggestion of cloven fee, just a whisper of feathers in flaming red and brilliant blue, just a shimmer of horns over heads that might have been animals. Leon's eyes flickered. His lids trembled. He heard the clash of steel and the shout of battle.

The darkness hissed around him, promising, "...not human...not mortal...demon..."

The world flashed bright and white. The man in red shouted in rage. The sword he'd carried whipped over and struck, strumming where it landed an inch from Leon's left cheek. There was a gurgle and a roar of voices, "...son of sparda...seek your truth...stop the shadows...find...your brother..."

What? His eyes closed. His breath blew blood soaked snow around him.

Leon let the madness chase him into oblivion.

The fire ate along the wall in a rush of red and yellow. It devoured the door frame. He was so scared. He could taste lead in his mouth. The house was ablaze behind them as they ran to the waters edge.

She poked him onto the makeshift raft and into the arms of the man in the cloak that waited. Her desperate face was pale in the moonlight, "Hurry. Hurry. Take him. Please."

The cloaked man clutched him to his chest, wrapped in the warm blanket against the chill. "You could come with us."

"...I can't. I can't. I have to go back. My other boys...I have to go back for them."

"...you won't make it out alive."

She looked at the bundle against his chest and touched the silvery hair poking out. "I know. Tell him...to look for his brothers in the place where the shadows whisper."

The cloaked man nodded, his face lost inside his hood. "They won't remember?"

"No. I've already made sure of that. Do the same for him. Protect him. And keep him safe until the time comes."

"As you command."

She pressed a kiss to the soft hair that peeped from the blanket. "Be safe, my baby. Be happy...Ulysses. (*1)"

"-stop, Dante!"

His hands released the throat of the person in front of him. She was pale, her hands bloody from clawing at his. He gasped and slumped to the side. The sword thrust into the ground acted as a brace for him. His hand slipped on the hilt as he tried to breathe.

He avowed, almost growling, on a hoarse echo, "I'm sorry. Jesus."

"What?" The woman he'd been choking gave him an odd look.

And another voice, "It doesn't matter! Get up!"

Around him the dark was shaking like an Earthquake.

The woman he'd been choking grabbed his arm to jerk him to his feet. The one who'd shouted his name threw his other one over her shoulders as the first grabbed the sword and grunted, "I can't get it! Dante! Pull Rebellion free! Hurry!"

His hand curled around the hilt and he jerked, ripping it easily from the stone.

The blonde woman under his arm pulled on him. "Good! Good! RUN!"

They fell into a fierce lopping run. The one he'd been choking had a huge gun on her back as she took the lead. The one holding him up had some rather spectacular cleavage in a tiny leather top. Looking at her tits helped him forget he was so weak.

He had no memory. He couldn't remember. Who was he?

They'd called him Dante. So that part was clear. But what had happened to him?

They tugged him onto the boat at the bottom of the dock and it shot off into the darkness of the turbulent water. It whisked, zipping through the fog as he sagged down in the cold seats. The girl with the big gun was guiding the boat toward the main land.

The one in the leather top cupped the side of his face to turn it up to her. "...you're a mess. What happened down there?"

He didn't know. He shook his head, "...I can't remember."

With sympathy, she nodded. "What are you wearing?"

He didn't know that either. His mind was empty of anything but flashes of fire and smoke. He shrugged and slipped further over. He was going to pass out again, that part was clear.

His eyes skimmed the metal of the tackle box on the seat beside him. It reflected his image back from the foggy, filthy metal. Dante they said. Who was Dante? He didn't know.

Above him, the blonde woman said to the other, "...what happened to his hair?"

The other one glanced at him, "I don't know. Dante? Why is your hair like that?"

He stared at his face for a moment. What was wrong? It was shaggy and kinda wild, sure, but it was also very nice shade of blonde. It looked pretty good paired with the brown leather bomb coat he was wearing.

As far as he could tell there might not be a memory in his head, but at least his head was attached to a body with a good sense of style.

"Why is it that ugly color?"

Ugly. He gave the dark haired one who insulted him a hard look before he slumped his head into the seat weakly. Ugly? What a bitch. Yelling at him, calling him ugly, letting him choke her before slapping him.

His head slid against the leg of the blonde one. He nodded and slid his hand around her calve to hold on as the boat caught waves and jerked him around. She stroked his hair and said, softly, "It's ok, Dante. We'll figure it out. I promise."

One insulting him, one cooing to him - and no memory of either , he whispered, "...women."

And let the darkness take him again.

Post Note: (*1) Ulysses - The great hero of the Homeric epics the Iliad and the Odyssey. Ulysses was a bold and cunning man who is now imprisoned in the Eighth Pouch of the Eighth Circle of Hell among those guilty of Spiritual Theft. -Spark Notes