Albert's Struggle and Reawakening

There was a searing pain boring though Albert's body, tearing away skin and flesh from him as the volcano's lava embraced him like the depths of Hell itself. The smell of burning hair and human skin filled his nostrils, almost causing him to retch. He saw him, his enemy- formerly his subordinate- escaping into a helicopter with Sheva. He wasn't going to die. He couldn't die. He wasn't ready.

He was scared.

Fear. An emotion he thought he was incapable of feeling even in the face of Death. But now, as his rival walked away with minor injuries, everything he lived for, he dreamed about, everything that encompassed every fiber of his being; was now in vain. He was going to die for nothing. As he momentarily let fear engulf him, he called out to him. He was still the captain, was he not? Wouldn't he still feel loyal to him? No. He was betrayed.

"CHRIIIIIISSS!"

He screamed, pain everlasting, suffering never ending, and just as he thought he couldn't be hurt any longer, the one he called his subordinate shot him with missiles. He heard the explosions and ringing in his ears before he felt them, fire and metal bursting through him and his body in great bursts, like being punched by Nemesis. He could no longer scream. His eyes couldn't cry. He had lost vision before he was submerged.

And now, fully under the surface, his skin, hair, muscles, thoughts, dreams, everything that was Albert Wesker tore away from him by fire, plunging him down to what felt like Satan's lair. Only the sound of his voice calling out echoed in his mind.

He awoke, gasping and covered in sweat, the sun blinding his eyes as a scream was caught in his throat. He blinked, looking around an unfamiliar room. Quite old fashioned looking, it seemed. Somewhat high arches reached about the doorway with a long mirror about the wall, on the other side of the room stood a bookshelf with a leather seat near it- like a small study. The room looked medieval. Groaning as he got up from his bed he stood, looking down at himself. It really did seem as though he were in a completely different time period; his attire consisted of a white blouse with cross strings about the top of the collar and a pair of long, white sleeping trousers.

Thoroughly confused he crossed to the mirror on the stone wall, studying himself. He certainly changed, his hair his normal length though without it being slicked back and he seemed to look younger. Subtle lines on his face that were the only signs of aging were now gone and his physique was somewhat skinnier. He still had a very strong build and a lovely body to show off but it was as though all the years of training that he spent was depleted. In fact, it looked as though he were more or less in his teenaged years. The only similarity between how he previously looked and then were his eyes. They were still crimson about the edge of the iris and golden around the pupil. Eyes that would have the ability to glow when the scenery was dark. Was this a dream? Was it the after life? Had he finally found rest and now his Heaven- or Hell was in this medieval realm where everyone was younger? He walked back to where his bed was, looking out the window and out onto a lavish garden bursting with lilies and a rich looking fountain. Standing about his lawn were a group of what looked like soldiers- theirs or did they belong to someone else- who started entering into his castle. Were they after him?

In an instant his thoughts stopped and his wondering ceased. The voice he heard sounded familiar... The very sound of it made his stomach churn and bile threaten to enter his throat.

Spencer.

The voice was faint, so much that it would be impossible for anyone else to hear him but he heard. He couldn't mistake that voice. Rage built up inside him as he stormed out of his room and down a long corridor; high walls with windows that reached from the floor up to the ceiling, long silken curtains blowing as warm air tickled his hair. No matter how serene the scenery was the fury within his soul did not cease. It could not for it burned as hot as the lava that was the death of him- or so he thought. He could not bare to look upon the face that held the voice he heard- getting clearer as he drew closer to the winding staircase that lead to the ground level floor. The floor plan of the estate seemed oddly reminiscent of the mansions he had explored while killing monsters.

I killed you. I could still feel my hand ripping through your chest. I could still see the light leaving your disgusting eyes. I remember you being old. I remember your wheelchair. I murdered you. You were gone from my life and yet you still haunt me in my death?

His lips were pulled back in a snarl as he bounded down stairs- though they relaxed back to normal as his gaze fell upon the soldiers he was talking to. By the time he reached them, his gaze looked as calm as it normally did- even though his insides were tumbling and making him feel sick.

"Ah, Albert. We were just speaking about you." Oswald Spencer smiled, though his entire manner seemed a manufactured pleasantness as he clasped his shoulders and displayed him before the soldiers. "You are seventeen now. You are to be a tribute for the Queen." he spoke with a sneer. Albert couldn't help but shake from his grip on his shoulder, noticing the manner of Spencer's attire. He was a king so it seemed, dressed in regal attire of the era.

"A tribute? What exactly will I be doing then? Fighting? Am I to be a soldier?" he asked, his eyes glaring daggers at the older man. Spencer and the soldiers laughed heartily as though Wesker had told a particularly amusing joke.

"My boy, do you not know what goes on at the Queen's Castle? My King, have you so horridly sheltered this boy that he knows not of what goes on every year?"

"Of course not. I've made sure he knows very well of the deeds that go on within her castle. However, perhaps he needs to be reminded. Spoiled brat he is." Spencer spoke with the faintest leer, the last sentence spoken more aside. "At the castle you will be nothing but a slave. You will be treated like filth. And you will learn respect for those who are superior."

I suppose you believe yourself to be superior, do you, Spencer? Do you have the right to be a God? I made that right mine when I murdered you.

He was silent, however seething. He could turn and run if he so chose to, but he stood his ground. He wasn't to be cowardly in front of these men. He would fight them. They weren't going to take him anywhere until they beaten him down.

"Now, young prince, we are to remove your clothes and prepare you for departure."

"Remove my clothes? Who on earth do you think you are?!" his anger broke out as he growled at him, his once calm face now a perfect picture of the pure rage that was building up inside him.

"Do not struggle, Albert. They'll take care of you." Spencer said with an air of indifference as he departed from the scene. The soldiers began to advance on him and immediately he started fighting them off, growling and snarling like a cornered animal as they tried to keep him still enough. Finally one of the guards took out his sword and cut open his clothing before binding him with a leather bit fitted to his mouth and his arms and legs bound together. Albert was still wriggling when one the Captain of the Soldiers slung him over his shoulder as though he were merely a sack of potatoes.

"Come along, young prince. We haven't got all day for you to act like an uncontrolled child." the soldier spoke apathetically before giving his behind a firm spank with his hand. Wesker growled, his voice groaning behind the bit as he wiggled harder, trying to move himself away from his blows. Soon he found his struggle was useless as they were all on horses and moving forward through the kingdom.