WARNING: This fanfic contains spoliers from a fairly pivotal scene in Resident Evil 5, and as such, contains spoliers. Read at your own discretion.

The Right to be a God

November 13th 2006, 2132 hours, somewhere in Europe…

Thunder crashed in the dark sky once more, sending flashes of lightning coursing towards the rain-lashed soil, and illuminating the outline of a massive formal manor house, built on the steep-cliffed coastline. This estate had served as the home for several generations of the Spencer family, a prestigious European line descended from British Royalty. Though several hundred years old, countless renovations had kept the Spencer Estate in excellent condition: its exterior walls remained standing, while its interior rooms were practically spotless, but keeping the features of its original construction.

Near to the far side of the building, just outside of the large study which overlooked the raging ocean, several fresh corpses lined the flagstones of the entry corridor. They were all men, dressed in black suits, shades, and with earpieces and throat mics. They had all been beaten to death with extreme force, a few of them dead with great ragged holes punched straight through the middle of their torsos. They were private security, intended to protect the Estate's current resident, Ozwell E. Spencer, the former CEO of Umbrella Incorporate, formerly one of the world's largest pharmaceutical companies.

Umbrella…there was a time where everyone in the world had used at least one of their medical products. Umbrella truly was the leader in world wide pharmaceutical and medical developments, but that was destined to end. It began in 1998, when the company's U.S base of operations, Raccoon City, was wiped off of the map, due to a massive outbreak of the T-Virus, a mutagenic toxin that had been developed in secret by the corporation since its original founding. It would not be until 2003 though, and following numerous smaller viral outbreaks, that Umbrella would be dismantled by the government, the full nature of their crimes becoming public knowledge.

Following that landmark court case, many of Umbrella's researchers went underground, taking their creations with them, and it didn't take long for these bio-weapons to end up in the hands of terrorists on the black market. Fearing that another incident like Raccoon City was inevitable, the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium founded the Bioterroism Security Assessment Alliance, or the BSAA, a paramilitary group dedicated to hunting out and quelling biohazards the world over.

Through all of this, Spencer himself had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth, becoming a literal ghost to find….until now.

Another figure stood within the corridor, over the most recent body. He too was dressed from head to toe in black, including a long black trench coat, black shirt, black pants, gloves, and black leather boots, the look completed with a pair of dark mirror shades, a somewhat questionable addition, considering that it was pitch black outside for the most part. Above the shades was a shock of blonde hair, slicked backwards perfectly.

"Pathetic," muttered Albert Wesker, tossing aside the remains of a Beretta M92F handgun previously used by one of the guards he had just killed. "All your power Spencer, and you rely on these amateurs to keep you safe?"

It had seemed so long ago now…when Albert Wesker had cast off the shackles of his previous existence, in the midst of the initial T-Virus outbreak, at the Spencer Mansion in the Arklay Forest. The day when he had faked his death, and returned to life as something more than human, something that would allow him to further his plans for the future. After nearly 30 years of working with the Corporation, he knew they were finished, and he made plans for his future with 'The Organization', selling them all of Umbrella's secrets regarding the T-Virus and bio weaponry. He had seen much from the shadows as a 'dead man': witnessed the fall of Raccoon City, seen the legal case against Umbrella stall constantly in the court, witnessed the rise of the BSAA to combat the new threat of bio terrorism…he had seen much, and learned much as well.

In those 9 years since his original death and rebirth, he had amassed samples of practically every bio-weapon and viral agent developed by Umbrella and its competitors, including those parasites encountered in Spain two years prior despite a setback over who he could trust. And he built up a massive base of wealth and resources, peddling those lethal products to the highest bidder. As long as there was a need for bio weapons, then Albert Wesker would always be content.

Or so he thought.

All these years, one thing continued to concern: the true motivations of Ozwell Spencer himself. Wesker had always thought the location of the Arklay Research Facility was in a bad spot, as any viral outbreak would quickly be spread towards Raccoon City by the abundance of life forms living in the forest. It was almost as though Spencer wanted Raccoon to be hit by an outbreak…a thought that had triggered Wesker's transfer to Umbrella's Information Services sector to try and learn the truth.

But it wasn't just that. Though Wesker had come into possession of Umbrella's entire research archive (stolen from the depths of their Caracus facility in Russia), the records gave away little of Spencer's actions during the Corporation's early days, since the discovery of the Progenitor Virus. It was almost as though those records had been wiped clean off the face of the earth. Maybe they had…and soon Wesker found a deep anxiety gripping his body, and for someone so good at remaining in control of everything else around them, it disturbed him greatly, and he eventually decided that he would have to seek out Spencer himself to settle himself.

It took the best part of a year, countless dead ends, and a large amount of Wesker's resources, but he the breakthrough came two weeks ago, when she, his Crimson Butterfly, gave him information from Ricardo Irving, a B.O.W dealer on the black market, who in turn learned this lead directly from Spencer's personal butler. Whether the butler had sold Spencer out intentionally, or it was an accidental leak, Wesker didn't care. All he knew was that he had finally found the man that had been like a mentor to him, and he would finally get the answers he sought.

And so he had come here on the first, stormy night of Autumn, to Spencer's familial home. He had to admit the feeling of déjà vu he could sense as he wandered through the main hall, almost an exact carbon copy of the Arklay Estate. But he also felt somewhat unnerved by the lack of security Spencer had. Sure, he had a fair number of private bodyguards, but the grounds and the house were patrolled by nothing else: no guard dogs, no CCTV, no alarms; nothing. It was almost as though Spencer was willing Wesker to reach him.

But standing just outside of Spencer's main study, there was no more need to ponder those questions anymore, as he was within a hair's breadth of getting the answers he needed.

He approached the huge double doors and threw them open effortlessly, the incredible strength from his miracle virus serving him well as always. He stood in the doorway for several seconds, just looking around the room, a massive study, its walls lined with enormous glass-doored cases packed with countless books on science, medicine and history. There was a long oak table across from him as well, with cutlery already set out for one lone person, and a set of steps at the back of the room leading up to a row of huge windows which overlooked the ocean.

And near to the windows was a lone, hunched figure in a wheelchair. He could hear deep breathing from the figure.

Spencer…

Wesker stepped forward, letting the huge doors sweep shut behind him with a noticeable sound, yet the figure in the wheelchair did not react. The former Umbrella researcher crossed the stone floor briskly, his boots making quiet scuffs as he moved, but still the man in the wheelchair did not react, seemingly content to just stare out of the window before him.

Wesker ascended the shallow steps in three strides, and he was stood directly behind the wheelchair. He just stared down, at the balding head in front of him, wisps of white hair tumbling down from the back of the man's skull. He noted the small life support system mounted on the chair's right arm, feeding a pair of cables into the side of the man's skull. Wesker decided he had delayed the inevitable for long enough.

"Spencer."

His voice was cold and calm, as it always had been all these years. As soon as the word had left his mouth, the chair spun around to face him, Spencer's heavily wrinkled face and disturbing faded blue eyes meeting Wesker's tinted shades, a look Wesker had not seen in a very long time. Spencer's bony frame was clad in a light purple night gown complete with plain slippers. The old man looked up and managed a malevolent smile.

"So…you've finally come."

Spencer immediately descended into a fit of hacking coughs, but Wesker ignored that as he stared dumbly down at the Umbrella CEO.

Spencer had fully expected him to come. So the information leak was deliberate. For the first time in a very long time, Albert Wesker had been rendered speechless.

"Yes, yes, I did expect your coming," said Spencer suddenly in a croaky tone, turning his wheelchair away and easing himself into a position nearer to the top of the stairs, anticipating Wesker's next question. "As ever, Patrick attended to his duties admirably."

"If you expected me to come, then you must know why I am here," said Wesker firmly, trying to shake off his feelings of unease. Spencer just chuckled lightly.

"Always to the point, Albert," he remarked, looking to some point in the distance. "You were always so direct and prompt, never hesitating-"

"Stop it!" snapped Wesker, moving around to stand directly in front of Spencer's view, forcing the old man to focus on him. "All my time I worked with Umbrella, I prided myself on being able to read everyone else around me, knowing them down to a tee. Except you, Spencer. You took me under your wing, taught me much in the way of Umbrella, and yet never for once letting me onto your true intentions. You were always very good at disguising your true plans Spencer…but now the deception ends."

Spencer allowed the silence to linger for a few seconds before he finally replied.

"Yes…like a closed book," the old man remarked. "I always knew that was the only way to keep the research safe from all others around me. But your anxiety…building in your gut, like a lead weight- that is what compelled you to seek me out, correct?"

Wesker remained silent as Spencer talked, knowing it would be fruitless to try and deny what the old man was referring to.

"Intended, my dear Albert. It was a system implemented into the programme, designed to bring all the remaining children back to their 'father'…"

"Children?" asked Wesker curiously.

"Yes…the Wesker Children."

The revelation hit Wesker like a freight train out of nowhere. The Wesker Children…if that was an Umbrella project, why could he not find any trace of it in the massive archives he had taken from over Sergei Vladimir's dead body in the Russian facility? And he prided himself on knowing every Umbrella project like the back of his hand. Spencer smiled lightly before he continued.

"You see, Albert, when myself, Ashford, and Marcus first discovered the Progenitor virus all those years ago," explained Spencer, maintaining eye contact, "I realised something. Mankind was too fragile a species to occupy this planet. So much death and disease out there, a thousand different ways to kill a person: how could we hope to survive, to propagate our species? Our studies with Ebola showed me as much."

Wesker just continued to watch and listen, his keen mind taking in every single detail he could ascertain and going over it many times. Spencer continued his monologue after a brief pause.

"And so shortly after Umbrella's founding, the Wesker Children project came into being…the project named after and headed up by Alex Wesker, one of our finest researchers in our initial line-up. Alex was always a genius, capable of picking up on an individual's personality and methods just through observation…"

Wesker's mind raced. He had never heard of another researcher with the surname Wesker during his time with the company, and indeed nothing showed on the data he had taken from the Russian facility. Had the archives been doctored in an attempt to keep this project totally secret, even from Spencer's closest confidants?

"The premise was simple: forced evolution to create a new race of superior human beings. It began with the abduction of hundreds of children from across the world, from parents with above-average intelligence…tell me Albert, do you remember your parents?"

"I…"

It was uncanny. Wesker could remember very little of his childhood, but what little he could remember, he never saw his biological parents included in the memories. Just the orphanage, where he was told his family had been killed in a horrific traffic accident, and of his foster parents, both of whom worked for Umbrella. And considering Spencer's revelations now…it all seemed too much of a coincidence.

"I thought not," smiled the old man, clearly relishing twisting the knife on his former 'student'. "All of these children, yourself included, were carefully monitored and given the best education possible to prepare them for their intended roles-"

"And what role was that, Ozwell?" asked Wesker firmly, his anger beginning to rise at being messed about like this. Having only come to confront Spencer, he had been exposed to a whole raft of revelations that had turned everything he had ever done and fought for in his life on its head. Spencer just smiled and continued, ignoring Wesker's question.

"Most of those children came to work for our corporation, including one who came to work at the Arklay Research facility, if I remember correctly…"

Wesker remained totally silent, knowing fine well the old man was referring to himself, all those years back from when he had first joined the team at Arklay as a fresh-faced teenager.

"Once those children had reached a certain age, they were all administered with an experimental virus…a pure form of the Progenitor, designed to separate the wheat from the chaff," explained Spencer with a slight amount of glee. "Some were given it as part of a health check up, some were given it by force, others took it willingly…tell me Albert, how did you receive your sample?"

Wesker froze at those words. He knew exactly what Spencer was referring to. That night before he lured the S.T.A.R.S Alpha Team out to the mansion, way back in 1998. When he had met with his old friend William Birkin, who had provided him with that mystery virus, the one that was meant to be an experimental virus with endless potential-

"Through your good friend, William Birkin, of course," smiled Spencer. "Of course, we had to make sure that he 'found' it in time for your meeting, and obviously, he knew nothing of its real potential." Wesker lowered his head slightly, realising that taking that virus wasn't some choice on Wesker's part, but a carefully-planned plot on Umbrella's part. The damned company had been pulling his strings for years.

"You had so much potential Albert, and then we though you were lost," continued Spencer. "But then we heard that you lived, and my heart was lifted once again. The project's success was assured-"

"And what was meant to be achieved with this project?" asked Wesker, the words being spat out with considerable venom, his cold and calm façade gone. "You seemed to have gone to considerable trouble to keep this 'project' secret from even your closest friends and aides, Spencer. What of all the other B.O.W research with Umbrella? Was that all a front as well?" Spencer just smiled and wheeled himself over to a different position, overlooking the huge oak table in the study.

"Umbrella was part of the overall plan," he explained. "How much did Umbrella make annually? Those limitless funds made the Wesker Children project a reality, the research with other B.O.W's a way of testing the water for what would come to pass."

"And your eventual goal?" asked Wesker, starting to sound fed up now, as he turned and walk around Spencer in a loose circle, eventually moving over towards the huge windows overlooking the sea, as lightning crashed in the sky once more.

"The project was intended as a means to breed a race of superior humans, created through the Progenitor virus," explained Spencer, his voice sounding very croaky now. "The Wesker Children were filled with limitless potential, to usher in my new vision of a pure world. But in the end, only one of them has survived…you."

Wesker continued to stare out the window as he pondered this latest point. Through his entire life Wesker had assumed he was in total control of his destiny, from his time in Umbrella, through to his founding of S.T.A.R.S, his 'rebirth', all the way through to his time with the Organization…but nay, all this time he had been a pawn in the old man's scheme, his entire life a carefully laid-out plan, over decades of careful research and the utmost secrecy, intended to fulfil some mad man's dream.

Albert turned his head slightly towards Spencer. "So I was manufactured then? We all were, just like your precious B.O.W's?" Spencer just chuckled.

"In a manner of speaking you were," the old man croaked, before pausing to cough a few times. "You were all carefully monitored, instilled with my values and ethics-"

Wesker felt sick at that notion, that his brain had been implanted with the old man's insane personality and morals.

"-but the project looked doomed to failure, as all was lost in Raccoon City…"

Spencer broke down in another fit of coughs, but Wesker ignored him, turning to look out of the window once more. Inside his body, he could feel his anger rising with every second, sheer rage towards this pathetic old man, on death's doorstep, revealing Wesker's entire life to be a sham, all part of some grand plan to repopulate the planet with a superior breed of humans, to bring about forced evolution. Everything Wesker had believed in previously had been shattered, his purpose left hollow. The shackles he thought he had cast off years back had been weighing him down in secret, all this time.

He felt his hands ball into fists, rage pour into his body. Lightning crashed once again.

"…but despite that setback, your creation still holds great potential. I always knew, as soon as you walked through those doors in the Arklay Research Facility, your first day of work for the company: I knew that you were destined for greatness."

Wesker turned back towards the old man, staring intensely at his back, his fists still balled. He began to walk forwards slowly as Spencer spoke once more.

"I was to be a God," gasped Spencer as he forced himself to stand from his wheelchair, barely able to support himself on his wrinkled limbs, the life support cables detaching themselves from the side of his skull and falling freely. "Ruling over a new race of superior human beings, a new utopia." As he turned, Spencer found Wesker standing directly in front of him, his face blank. Lightning crashed once again, and the pure white light which flooded the room briefly illuminated Wesker's inhuman, glowing eyes, burning with rage.

"Yes…" whispered Spencer, looking up into Wesker's face directly. "But now my candle burns dimly! Ironic, isn't it? For one who has right to be a God…to face their own mortality." Wesker just looked down silently, into Spencer's maddened eyes.

It was almost pathetic, he decided. This was the man who had aspirations of Godhood, a man who fully intended to wipe out mankind and repopulate the planet with a new breed of virus-enhanced humans. When he had left Umbrella all those years ago, Wesker had fully intended to carve his own path, and this insane man had dragged him back into his plot for world domination...like some cheesy comic strip villain.

But at the same time he could also see Spencer's point. Mankind was weak and fragile. He had steeped himself in deadly viral agents and B.O.W's for over 9 years now, had seen all kinds of gruesome ways for a man to die, assimilated into monstrous creatures. Something did have to be done about this scourge on the planet, but nothing could be done with the shackles still holding him prisoner.

But now the only thing standing between Wesker and that goal was a feeble old man on his last legs.

"The right to be a God…" mused Wesker aloud, looking Spencer in the eye directly.

What happened next passed by in a only a few moments. His left arm shooting out like a whip, Wesker clamped down hard on Spencer's shoulder, hard enough to break the old man's shoulder. Then his other hand sped forward, too fast for the human eye to process, fingers outstretched, punching straight through Spencer's chest and erupting out his back in a spray of blood.

Spencer's eyes went wide, gasping in horror as he felt an immense force cut through his body like a hot knife through butter, and felt Wesker's fingers punch out of his back. As he felt blood rush up through his throat and trickle from his mouth, he looked up into Wesker's indifferent face, gasping for air, clutching at his child's shoulders. Wesker leaned in close, and whispered directly into Spencer's ear.

"That right is now mine."

Wesker stepped back, withdrawing his arm from Spencer's body. The old man's arms locked up as he stared down in horror at the ragged hole punched through his torso. His feet stumbled back, missing the top step of the gentle flight of stairs, and Spencer tumbled down, a few of his ribs and other bones breaking on impact. He hit the level floor, rolling out onto his back, the blood draining from his body and leaving a huge sticky puddle underneath his slain form. Wesker continued to stare down at Spencer for a few seconds, his right arm slick with the old man's blood.

"You? A God?" he asked with a sinister chuckle. "Arrogant as always. Only the one with the true capability has the right to be a God!"

With that Albert turned away and walked over towards the massive windows once more, looking out across the raging ocean, alone with his thoughts. These previous years, he had assumed that building up a base of resources and wealth through the sale of bio weapons to the highest bidder was what he wanted in this new life. But the gnawing anxiety had spurred him to seek Spencer out to learn the truth of the past, and that truth had been uncomfortable to say the last.

He and the other so-called 'Wesker Children' were the ones endowed with greatness and blessed with powers beyond human imagination, but Spencer, the withered old man who had delusions beyond his stature, was the one who intended to be a God in this supposed new world. It was pathetic, ridiculous he decided. Already Spencer's words rang in his mind.

…I knew you were destined for greatness…

That was it. Albert Wesker's destiny had finally been revealed to him, and that destiny would be to oversee the creation of a new perfect race, far removed from the petty and violent current state of the human race. After all, so many years steeping himself in Umbrella's bio-weapons and viral agents had showed him just how fragile puny humans could be, the same fragile characteristics he had given up years beforehand.

No…the power and influence of a mere pharmaceutical corporation wasn't sufficient for this new goal. Umbrella had barely been the tip of the iceberg, and now his eyes were awoken to the sheer potential he could achieve. He would cast aside his quest to try and restore Umbrella, and instead he would use his current resources as a base to make his former 'master's' vision a reality, to usher in a new era for mankind-

-and as if on cue, the huge double doors into the study crashed open and he discerned two pairs of footsteps entering, advancing a short distance before stopping about 20 yards away from him.

Wesker turned curiously, and he saw the two armed figures standing before him, one in blue and another in green, just standing there staring at him, almost as if in awe. Then lightning crashed and filled the room once more, and he finally saw their faces. They looked somewhat different, and a little older too, but they were unmistakeable. Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine stood before their former captain, their faces showing utter shock, apparently not expecting to see him standing there at all.

Already Wesker's features twisted into a malevolent smile, taking this sudden appearance of his greatest enemies as a sign for his future.

The weak will always resist the will of the chosen…

"Wesker!" barked Chris angrily.

Having trudged through this damned estate for the best part of an hour, they had finally reached Spencer's massive study, determined to face down the Umbrella CEO and get him to divulge Wesker's location to them.

Since they had entered through the front doors, it was impossible to shake the feeling of déjà vu in exploring the estate: so much of the house seemed to be an exact carbon copy of the same mansion the S.T.A.R.S Alpha Team had investigated back in the Arklay Forest, 8 years ago. Thankfully, they had no zombies or other B.O.W's to worry about, but finding the slaughtered bodies of Spencer's security forces had put them both on edge, as did having to go through the dungeon beneath the house, being stalked by those…things, whatever they were meant to be.

The last thing they had expected was to find Wesker standing there, almost as though he were waiting for them to come, standing over Spencer's recently dead body.

"Chris…" growled Wesker with malice. "It's been far too long. It was…Antarctica, wasn't it, when we last met?"

"Not long enough," shot back Chris, as he and Jill stayed in place, ready to act on the slightest provocation.

"Come now, is that any way to greet your former superior?" asked Wesker in a supremely creepy fashion, still smiling. "How is your lovely sister doing as well? I do hope she isn't too upset about the incident with that boy…Steve, was it?"

"Keep their names out of this!" half-yelled Chris, rage brimming through his body at the memory of Wesker's men taking the body of Steve, the young man who had saved his sister's life on more than one occasion at Rockfort and Antarctica, only to lose his own life in the process.

Wesker ignored Chris as he turned his attention towards Jill. She hadn't changed much, though now she wore her chestnut brown hair in a long ponytail, concealed beneath a blue baseball cap right now. "Jill…it's been far too long, wouldn't you say?"

"Go to hell," she spat.

"I heard you managed to destroy the Nemesis T-Type that Umbrella Europe sent into Raccoon City," added Wesker, ignoring her curse. "Very impressive indeed, but then again you both were Alpha members…hard to believe its been 8 years since that fateful night," Wesker continued, almost sounding nostalgic as he looked off into the near distance.

"Cut the walk down memory lane," snapped Jill as she aimed her M92F handgun at Wesker's head. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh, just visiting an old friend," replied Wesker casually, looking down at Spencer's bloody corpse. "Poor Spencer was well past his prime, the arrogant fool."

"Just as well you came then Wesker," retorted Chris. "Because we can end this now rather than having to follow you halfway across the world! Killing Spencer was a waste of time!" Wesker began to grin, and then burst out into a sudden fit of laughter, throwing his head back.

"What's so funny?" demanded Jill, remaining ready for anything. Though she hadn't faced Wesker since the Mansion Incident, Chris had told her much about his new found powers, so she had a good idea of what to expect from him.

"You think that's why I killed him?" asked Wesker as he finally ceased his laughter. "No, Spencer deserved to die because of his delusion of grandeur, thinking above his station!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Chris.

"It doesn't matter," snapped Wesker, glowering at them, another burst of lightning exposing his glowing demonic eyes. "Nothing matters in the end, because your sudden appearance here will allow me to rid myself of a couple major thorns in my side…" With that, Wesker took a singly step forwards and flexed his hands, ready for combat. "This estate will be your final resting place!"

"We'll see about that," retorted Chris, even as they both opened fire.

The screaming of their handguns opening up tore through the relative silence of the study, the muzzle flash leaving bright white flashes that burned their vision briefly, red hot lead screaming across the room towards Wesker.

It was a wasted effort. Twisting and tuning his body at lightning speeds, every bullet missed Wesker by a few inches, instead impacting against the far wall or putting out some of the windows looking across the ocean. He moved so fast he blurred in and out of vision, almost as though he were teleporting, each time moving closer and closer towards the two BSAA agents. By the time Chris' weapon clicked on empty, Wesker was right in front of him.

Before he could do anything, he felt a powerful vice grip clamp down across his wrist, the handgun flipping out of his hand, quickly followed by a gloved fist striking him in the right cheek, quickly followed by a heavy elbow to the gut, knocking the wind from him and forcing him to double over, and almost as quickly another fist uppercutted him at least three feet into the air, landing heavily on his back, and by then Wesker was already gone, just a black and blonde blur that danced around the room like wildfire.

Jill stood her ground, firing off three more rounds at Wesker as he advanced, each shot missing as he disappeared and reappeared a few feet closer to her, no matter how fast her reflexes were. Within a few seconds, he was directly in front of her, his hand shooting out like a whip, powerful fingers clamping around her throat and lifting her off the ground easily, slamming her against a wooden support pillar behind her. The handgun fell from her grasp as her whole body jolted, the air rapidly choked from her lungs. Wesker smirked evilly as she struggled madly, eyes closed, hands desperately trying to pry his own arm away.

"I expected more from you," he taunted, as lightning filled the room once more.

Becoming aware of movement from his right, he quickly released his grasp and stepped back in time to avoid a right hook from Chris, Jill falling onto the stone floor and gasping for air as her long time partner faced down Wesker.

The two arch enemies circled one another for a few seconds, Wesker's arms at his side, Chris' fists raised in a classic brawler pose, determination etched on his face, despite the blood that trickled from his freshly broken lip and the bruise on his left cheek. Wesker's face twisted into a confident smirk.

"Always so confident, Chris," he purred. "That will get you killed one of these days."

Chris roared in fury as he charged, throwing a right hook towards Wesker, who calmly leaned his head back to avoid the blow, before twisting and ducking down to avoid a straight with the left, straightening up in time to block another right hook with his left forearm, a brief tingle running through his arm, but nothing more. In response he threw a lightning-fast jab with his right fist, striking Chris in the face and making him stumble back a few steps, but the former Alpha Team member just plunged straight in once again, throwing a left hook that Wesker blocked, following up with a powerful right straight towards Wesker's face.

There was an audible 'whumpf' as Wesker's open left hand intercepted the attack, easily forcing the fist away from him as he could heard Chris straining, teeth gritted.

"Pathetic," taunted Wesker as he twisted Chris' arm around underneath him, before striking him with a right-handed hook punch that spun Chris around, who just screamed in exertion as he used the momentum from the punch to spin back around with a powerful backhand that impacted against Wesker's right cheek.

Crack!

Wesker's head twisted away, his shades flying up and off his features, but before they could hit the ground he twisted his body around and shot his arm out, grabbing the glasses before they hit the ground and broke.

"How do you like that?" yelled Chris as Wesker straightened up again, glaring at his most hated enemy with his glowing eyes. Even though he was hideously outmatched, Chris' tenacity would keep him going for as long as he could, so Wesker would have to beat that tenacity out of him. The former S.T.A.R.S captain donned his shades once more.

Chris charged once more, unleashing a rapid and furious multiple punch combo, running on sheer adrenaline, every strike either hitting thin air or being absorbed by Wesker's forearms, looking as though he was expending no effort at all in defending himself. Chris' mind raced with the images of his fallen team mates, killed at Wesker's hands as far as he was concerned, and it was that need for avenging them which drove him at Wesker despite the fact he was massively outmatched. By the time Wesker had blocked a high spinning kick, Jill was back on her feet and back into the fight.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Three more shots rang out, and Wesker immediately disappeared from his current position, all three rounds missing entirely, before he rammed into Chris from behind, throwing him to the ground, and readying himself for Jill's next attack.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Wesker ducked down, avoiding the first round that sailed over his head, before jumping and spinning through the air in a horizontal position, his long trench coat billowing behind him, the last two rounds passing either side of him. Wesker then landed gracefully and stepped back, looking down to note the fresh bullet holes in his once-immaculate coat.

"Close…but no cigar," he taunted as Jill tried to fire again, but her handgun's slide locked back, useless. Cursing, she dropped it to the floor and ripped her combat knife free form its sheath, charging straight for him.

Wesker casually raised his forearm to block another punch from Chris, before knocking him away with a right-handed punch just as Jill reached him, slashing at him with her blade. He weaved around the slash and then stepped around a stab aimed at his gut, before he lunged forward with an outstretched palm, striking her in the middle of the chest and throwing her 20 feet backwards into one of the glass bookcase doors, shattering it with ease and sending her tumbling to her knees, crippled by pain.

Wesker turned in time to see Chris charge at him once again, and he weaved around another punch that would have otherwise struck him in the nose, and then blocking yet another punch with his forearm, before twisting his arm around, clamping down on Chris' arm and twisting it around, delivering a gut punch before 'warping' away, appearing almost immediately in front of Chris, his hand clamping around his enemy's neck.

Chris cried out as he felt himself lifted into the air, almost as if in slow motion, his legs flailing freely, hands clamped around Wesker's gloved fingers, trying to pry them loose. A split-second later, he felt his shoulders slam down against the solid oak table, before he felt himself being dragged head-first along the table, Wesker running alongside, his angry growl through gritted teeth rising up into a scream of fury as they finally reached the end of the table and he felt himself thrown fully 15 feet towards the back of the room, landing solidly in front of the great windows at the back of the study.

Chris coughed as he forced himself up to lean on one of his arms, tasting blood in his mouth and feeling pain jolting his entire body. His lip was still trickling blood; his right cheek was swollen up, as was his left eye, from Wesker's devastating punches. The adrenaline drained from his body now, and he felt as though he was weighed down with lead balls around his neck. Looking across the room, he saw Jill struggling to her feet in front of one of the bookcases.

They couldn't do it. Even after all these years of training and getting stronger and more skilled, they couldn't do it. They just couldn't defeat the bastard. Even with sheer rage at the man who had murdered most of their S.T.A.R.S team mates and tried to hurt his own sister flowing through his body, he couldn't do it. What the hell were you meant to do when your opponent was fifty times stronger and faster than you?

Wesker crossed the stone floor calmly, breathing deeply, clenching and unclenching his left hand, waiting to deliver the final blow to his nemesis. Having served as a thorn in his side for so long, he would finally snuff out Chris' pathetic life and pursue his new goal, for his ascension to Godhood. After all, all objectives were never achieved without having to surmount a few obstacles on the way.

Chris felt a hand grab onto his shoulder, before the fingers wrapped around his neck and he was hoisted into the air once more, his legs dangling freely, staring down into the reflective shades of Albert Wesker, who just smiled lightly and chuckled to himself.

"You always were my best man, Chris," taunted Wesker as his opponent dangled like a rabbit caught in a snare, unable to do anything save kicking out in a feeble attempt to free himself. "But skill will only get you so far. Perhaps you would have made a good subject for one of my viruses, but we'll never know now. It will be such a shame to say goodbye…oh how your sister will weep when she hears of your demise!"

From across the room, Jill struggled to her feet, trying to ignore the waves of pain which coursed through her body, glass shards crunching beneath her feet, her knife lying too far away to be of immediate help. She looked up and across the room just as lightning flashed once again, framing the scene at the far end of the study perfectly: Albert Wesker standing tall, holding Chris up by the throat effortlessly- totally unable to defend himself from the inevitable killing blow.

The faces of her dead comrades raced through her mind- Forest, Joseph, Kenneth, Richard, Kevin, Edward, Enrico, Brad- all dead as a result of Wesker's and Umbrella's plotting, and there was no way in hell she would allow another of her old friends to be taken from her.

"No!" she cried, rising to her feet and sprinting forwards, her second wind found.

Chris gagged as he desperately tried to pry Wesker's hand away from his neck, but it was useless; the bastard was going to kill him in the end, and the deaths of his fallen teammates would go unavenged.

"I see no reason to delay this any further," snapped Wesker, raising his left fist behind his head. "Let's finish this…"

Claire…I'm sorry, he thought sadly as he waited for the inevitable end to come.

But then Jill was there, diving onto the scene, slamming into Wesker from behind like a torpedo, her arms wrapping around his waist. Wesker barked out a cough as he flew forwards, releasing his grip on Chris and letting him fall to the ground safely, arms flailing uselessly as both of them collided with the glass.

Crash!

The main window overlooking the sea erupted into a shower of glass shards, and from his position on the ground, Chris was forced to watch, almost in slow motion, as Wesker and Jill both soared out the broken window, into the cold, unforgiving night.

Jill! No!

Wesker found himself plunging headfirst towards the jagged rocks at the very base of the cliffs, arms flailing wildly, unable to do a damned thing at all to try and stop his descent. He looked around frantically, and saw Jill holding onto him as if for dear life, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, head pressed into his side, her eyes closed calmly, his trench coat billowing freely. It was a suicide attack, plain and simple. A desperate roll of the die to rid the world of her most hated enemy. Wesker looked back down, unable to do anything else, as the wind ripped into his exposed face, tearing off his signature shades.

Far above them, Chris raced to the destroyed window, falling to his knees and leaning out, reaching down as far as he could manage with an outstretched hand, screaming his partner's name.

"JILLLL!"

But they were already gone.

Lightning flashed in the sky once more.

A/N: And done. Hope you enjoyed it.

For this fanfic, I did something a little different with Wesker's character, showing his cool and calm character being undercut by the surprising revelations he learned when he sought Spencer out, thinking himself in charge of his own destiny only to be part of a much larger, twisted plot. Also extended the scene too to make it a bit more interesting to read (I hope), and also did the same with the fight scene afterwards, still came out a little short in the end, but the actual cutscene in the game is only about a minute long anyway, so what can you do?

I may plan on doing a follow up story for this fic, detailing the aftermath of Jill's death and her funeral, but that's only a may, since I have some other works on at the moment, one of which I'd like to get finished some time this decade. Either way, R+R please. Feedback is appreciated, even if its constructive criticism.