A Touch of Red
By evolution-500
Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance
Feedback: Always welcome
WARNING: This story contains violence, course language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.
Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.
Chapter Nine: Wandering Souls
She heard the knock at the door. "I'm coming!" Claire said as she adjusted her bathrobe, tying it securely. Drawing open the locks, she cracked it open, her eyes widening in surprise. "Billy!"
"Hey," Billy gave a slight wave.
"Hey!" Claire blushed, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear.
"Is now a bad time...?"
"No. I mean, I just got out of the bath."
Billy blinked. "Oh, uh, sorry," he coughed, clearing his throat in embarrassment. "I'll come back later-"
"No no, it's fine!" Claire waved assuredly, folding her arms together. "What do you want to talk about?"
He exhaled, sweeping a hand through his mullet. "Well, the big guy and I were feeling worried about you. You did just walk out before the show had finished. Everything okay?"
The girl frowned. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I just...I just wasn't feeling well after that."
Billy stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "First time, huh?"
Claire bit her lip, then gave a conceding nod.
"Yeah, I thought that might have been the case. I reacted similarly first time after my first fight. All that adrenaline coursing through you and you're feelin' too wired up to think straight."
She nodded more rigorously. "Yeah." She then looked around outside. "Is T.J. out there?"
"Nah, he's back at the arena," Billy replied, "but he did want to check up on you himself. I told him that I'd cover for him and send you his regards."
Claire frowned. "God, I feel bad for missing out on his fight."
He shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. His fight's been delayed."
She blinked in surprise. "Has it?"
"Yeah. His opponent had dysentery or something, so his match was replaced with someone else's."
"Do you know who's?"
He shrugged. "No idea."
The two awkwardly stood there at the doorway.
"So, uh, listen," Billy said slowly, "the Baron said something about a celebratory dinner at six and I was wondering if you feel up for it?"
Claire gave a slight smile. "Why Billy! Are you asking me out on a date?"
He leaned on one side of the door frame with a smug though charming grin, flashing perfect white teeth, "What if I am?"
His grin grew as she averted her eyes to hide her blush, clearing her throat as he chuckled. "Hey, I'm just messing with ya." Billy then dropped his smile. "But seriously, though, will you be coming?"
Claire felt a twinge of disappointment at the admission, though did her best to hide it. "...Um...well...Yeah. Yeah, I'll definitely be there. I just need to clear my head and get dressed. Maybe do a bit of jogging and some exercises over at the gym."
Billy then pushed himself off from the doorway. "Okay then. Guess I'll see you there." As he turned around, he stopped, hesitating.
"Yes?" Claire asked expectantly.
Turning back to face her, Billy nervously swept his hand through his hair. "So, uh...would you like me to pick you up-"
"I'll meet you at the mansion," Claire said too quickly, wincing at the rushed words afterwards.
Billy gave a slightly dejected look, stiffening slightly.
"Oh." He said simply. "Okay. See you there."
Claire peered out as Billy quickly walked away, reaching her hand out, "Billy! Billy wait!"
She watched as his form disappeared. Lowering her eyes, Claire receded back into her room, closing the door behind her as she leaned her back against it and stared up at the ceiling.
Why did she have to open her big fat mouth?
Claire banged the back of her head several times against the door. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"
She stared up at the white ceiling, exhaling sadly.
Claire Redfield, knock-out queen and empress of shit dating decisions.
"Goddamn it," she breathed.
She leaned against the door for a long while. Sighing, Claire lazily pushed herself off, clicking the lock back into place before unenthusiastically walking toward her bedroom to get dressed.
What a fucking day this has been.
"You should eat up. Your supper is getting cold."
Claire sat at the dining room table, staring down at her plate of chicken with salad dressing. Sitting around her were all the fighters. Billy sat all the way down one end of the table, refusing to look at her. Sighing, the girl grabbed her fork, fidgeting with a piece of lettuce.
"Sorry, Baron," she apologized. "I'm just not really hungry at the moment."
Opposite her, Sabrewulf sat and studied her, his cloak and scarf in place.
"Is everything alright?" he asked concernedly.
Claire wordlessly moved a piece of chicken with her fork while to her left T.J. was scarfing his steak down noisily. To her right, Jago was scooping up forkfuls of salad and eggs from his plate, slipping it underneath his veil, not bothering to take off his mask.
Looking away from her, Claire watched as the Baron turned his attention over to the monk. "Is it to your liking?"
Jago nodded in affirmation.
"Are you sure you don't want a steak or some chicken?"
Jago shook his head. "My religion prohibits me from eating from meat, Baron."
Sabrewulf tilted his head curiously. "Doesn't your religion also prohibit you from having more than one meal, let alone eggs? Doesn't it also require you to shave off your hair?"
The monk's fork paused over the egg as he glanced up from his plate. "My...denomination...is a little more lenient in certain matters," he replied calmly.
"Ah." The Baron then dipped his head respectfully as Jago resumed eating. "My apologies, I didn't mean to offend."
T.J. scoffed as he chewed. "Ya know, you could always take off your mask while you eat, Ninja Boy."
The monk steadily turned his eyes over to him. "I'm afraid I can't. Again, it's against my religion."
The boxer stared back, then shrugged. "Strange-ass religion."
"No stranger than a lot of others, Christianity included," Thunder said as he cut into his steak with a knife and fork, his neatly-pressed shirt tucked into his jeans. "Every religion across the globe has some feature or custom that would be considered peculiar."
T.J. shrugged again. "Touché, I guess."
The fighters quietly ate at the dining room table as the grandfather clock counted on.
Taking a drink, T.J. then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked over at Claire. "So how did you find your first match, Wonder Woman?" Claire cracked a small smile. "Eh? You took out that Alice chick with one punch!"
Dieter smirked. "I had figured that would happen. Her brother punches boulders, after all."
People murmured, chuckling and giggling while T.J. gave a slight laugh. Billy lifted his head from his plate and arched a brow at her.
Claire cleared her throat. "It's true."
T.J. scoffed. "Yeah. Sure."
"No, it's true! He's a member of S.T.A.R.S."
The boxer frowned. "'Stars'?"
"Special Tactics And Rescue Service. It's an elite police unit here in Raccoon City. He saved a hiker stuck in the mountains when the guy got pinned by a boulder."
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No shit?"
"Yeah."
"And he...punched...a boulder?" Billy said slowly.
"Yep."
"...Is your brother retarded?"
Claire grinned. "A question I ask myself all the time," she deadpanned, causing people to laugh before laughing it off herself. "In all seriousness, though, no."
Billy scoffed, then shook his head. "Must be a juiced-up 'roid user to pull that off."
"Nah. Just Redfield guts and determination." She replied, flashing a brilliant smile.
Sabrewulf made an amused grunt.
Looking over to him, Claire's smile lowered. "Aren't you going to eat, Baron?"
He waved dismissively. "Nein, nein. I'm fine, thank you."
"Are you sure? I feel kind of bad having this while you're not eating-"
"It's fine."
"Okay."
The dining room fell quiet as forks clattered over plates, mouths chewing and slurping noisily.
Claire watched as Sabrewulf tilted his head in Jago's direction, the monk staring at him. Through him...at least, so it seemed to her.
"Is something wrong?" The monk was quiet, his piercing brown eyes locked on the Baron. "Well?"
Raising up a cup of water, Jago slipped it underneath his veil and took a sip before pulling it away. Finally, Jago spoke again, his voice low and full of concern as he looked back to Sabrewulf. "You said earlier that church is where people go when they experience inner turmoil, the arena for the soul as you put it..." he said slowly. "...Is that why you have appropriated a church for yourself?"
The Baron clicked his tongue thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly. Exhaling, the hooded head shook slowly from side to side.
"...I...suppose...there is some...element of truth to that." Sabrewulf admitted hesitantly, staring up to the ceiling. "All my life, I have been searching for a cure. But...as years pass by and you're confronted with one discouraging failure after another...eventually... one ends up feeling desperate."
Claire watched as the aristocrat stared blankly up at nothing, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
"...What demons haunt you, Baron?" she asked.
Turning to her in surprise, Sabrewulf looked directly at her. Claire could feel his sunglasses-concealed eyes on her, staring at her. Looking away, he then lowered his hooded head, shaking it from side to side, raising a hand to cover his face.
"Baron?"
Claire watched as the Baron's form trembled.
Oh God, did she make him cry?
He made slight rasps in his seat, the shaking growing as he made a series of loud barks or coughs.
Getting up from her seat, she was just about to circle around the table when she suddenly stopped.
At first, she thought that he was having a seizure, but then she heard the cold, sharp laugh as it rose, catching her and the others off-guard as the sound punctured the quiet air, cutting into her.
It was a disturbing noise to listen to, one that sounded so sickly.
So...unhealthy.
The way it sounded...it actually frightened her.
It was an awful noise, the kind of sound one would probably hear at a nuthouse.
Demented.
Hysterical.
Tearful.
Weakly.
It was the sound of a broken soul who had lost his way, a man who was mere steps away from plunging headlong into oblivion, into madness, if he hadn't already.
It was the sound of a man near the edge of his life, so full of despair and untold-of misery.
Even more, it was the sound of someone who was damned.
At first, Claire felt afraid of the Baron as he roared hysterically, unsure about his mental state and how to respond.
Before coming to the castle, Claire had seen old pictures of Sabrewulf on the Internet, in newspapers and on YouTube.
To see a once-strong, handsome man that she had long admired, a man that had absolutely everything, reduced to a cripple...it was a sobering experience, if not a painful reminder about the impermanence of things, the fragility of life. The Baron was able to accomplish many things in his lifetime, blessed with gifts and fortunes that many a person could only dream of.
And yet, she began to realize, despite still possessing such a luxurious home and enormous wealth... he was powerless against an unseen enemy, afflicted with some unknown condition that was not only wearing him down physically, but also mentally as well, it would seem.
A condition that in all likelihood would continue to wear and tear at Sabrewulf until he was nothing more than a shell of his former self, perhaps until death mercifully claimed him.
With that thought in mind, Claire's fear turned to pity as her eyes softened.
'What have you been through?' she wondered sorrowfully.
Once the laughter mercifully subsided, she watched as the Baron's seated figure recovered.
"My apologies," he waved, "I...I just never expected to have that directed at me."
Sabrewulf then sat contemplatively in his seat, his gloved fingers pressed together, looking as if he were meditating on the answer. Sniffing, he shook his head in a slow and despondent manner. "To answer your question..." he said slowly with a suggestive knowingness, as if he were telling a private joke, "...a great many."
Claire's brow wrinkled in confusion, curious and a little uneasy about the ominous response. Turning to Jago, the Baron then gave a conceding nod.
"You are correct in what you said earlier," he admitted. "I...do... lack faith. If only because I have my...predicament."
Jago nodded understandingly. "And because of that you feel an inner void. A void that you have been trying to fill. You're a materialist."
The Baron took a long time to answer.
Finally, he let out a dismissive scoff. "So what if I am? Is that a crime?"
"Exploitation is." A voice muttered.
All heads turned to face the speaker, Claire herself included as she found herself looking at Thunder as he continued eating from his plate.
"Come again?"
"You heard me just fine, Baron." Thunder said gruffly with a mouthful of steak.
Claire watched as Sabrewulf stared at him and took his appearance in, the hooded figure shaking his head. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Don't you?" Thunder drawled. "Your business is built on exploitation."
The Baron bristled. "How dare you. I'll have you know that no one has ever been exploited in my company. Not once!"
"I beg to differ," Thunder challenged. "You and your company have exploited the land. Its resources. Its people."
Claire watched as Sabrewulf's gloved hands impatiently tapped the handles of the wheelchair as he allowed the Native American to make his point.
"According to surveys commissioned by your own company, Baron," Thunder continued, "the majority of those that participate in your tournament tend to be from lower-income families, usually in their early twenties to thirties. I know of a number of communities and programs that would have benefited enormously from the kind of money that you are offering, all of them far more useful and noble than what you are doing here." His mouth tensed as he looked up from his steak, his eyes narrowed, "Instead, you force people into making spectacles of themselves. Force people into watching others bleed and get hurt for everyone's amusement while your company profits from them getting hurt. You broadcast and feed off of people's desperation and pain." Thunder shook his head, his lip curled angrily. "It's disgusting."
Claire felt the very air thick with tension as both men stared each other down.
Sabrewulf growled. "Look, I don't claim to have the solution for every single wrong out there," he said slowly in a restrained tone, "but I'm not going to sit back while you talk to me like that! Spare me the holier-than-thou shit - I'll have you know my company has done far more good than you give credit for!"
"Yes, but at what cost?" the big man said evenly. The two men glared at one another, the air tense as Thunder continued, "My people have a saying - 'You are who you take care of.' But you, Baron, take care of nothing. You only take. You think that you are a shepherd, but you are really the wolf."
Claire watched as the Baron jerked back in surprise along with his bodyguard Dieter, the two of them exchanging looks. Turning back to face Thunder, the hooded figure scrutinized him carefully.
"...I don't believe I caught your name," Sabrewulf said lowly, his voice a raspy growl.
The Native American shook his head slowly. "You have forgotten," he rumbled, shrugging nonchalantly. "Can't say I'm surprised."
Taking in a deep breath, Sabrewulf exhaled, giving a conceding shrug. "It's not just you - I'm pretty bad with names generally." He admitted, then gave an expectant look. "Would you be kind enough to remind me?"
Thunder stood still, his face dark and tense.
"Well?"
Claire watched as his eyes narrowed.
"Can you see my face with those glasses on, Baron?" He asked.
Sabrewulf exchanged puzzled looks with Dieter, returning his eyes back to Thunder's still form.
"I can..." he answered in an uncertain tone.
"Look at my face."
Dieter blinked. "What?"
"I said look at my face for a moment. Do I look familiar?" Thunder said slowly. "Someone you recognize, perhaps?"
Before the Baron had a chance to respond, the speaker went off.
"Forgive my interruption, Baron," ARIA spoke mechanically, "but you have an urgent call waiting from Dr. Matheson."
"Thank you, ARIA." Looking back to Thunder, Sabrewulf said nothing for a moment, then turned to the other fighters. "My apologies, everyone, but I'm afraid I have business to attend to. Ms. Redfield. Mr. Garrett. I bid you all good evening."
Claire nodded and smiled. "Good evening to you too, Baron."
She watched as Dieter wheeled the Baron toward the other end of the dining room. A guard opened the door, allowing them through before closing it behind them.
Turning her attention over to Thunder, she raised a brow. "What was that all about?"
Thunder quietly cut into his steak and raised another forkful. Taking a bite, he then grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth, putting it back on the table as he got up from his seat.
"Where are you going?" Claire asked.
"Taking a walk," Thunder enigmatically replied as he headed for the exit.
Looking over to T.J., the girl gave him a quizzical look. "What's with him?"
T.J. shrugged. "Guess the steak wasn't to his liking."
"Ninety-eight...ninety-nine...one hundred!"
Wiping the sweat off from her forehead as she finished the last sit-up, Claire got up to her feet, stretching her back noisily as the training manager Tyler Zhou, a bald old man dressed in a tight green and black tank top and shorts, approached with a towel in hand. Zhou was a sixty-seven year old Chinese-American with the enthusiasm and energy of a young man and the body of a forty year old, much to the girl's incredulity, always walking around with a smile on his face.
"Thank you," she smiled as she took the towel from him, wiping herself off.
He smiled back. "Any time. By the way, I saw you on television."
"Oh, you did?" Claire said in surprise.
"Indeed." He nodded, then added with a grin, "A couple guards and I were making bets, and boy did I win the jackpot with you!"
She grinned back. "You did, huh?"
Zhou laughed. "Absolutely! Five hundred bucks, and it's all thanks to you, Ms. One-shot." He winked.
Claire gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I didn't really think that I was going to do all that well, to be honest."
"Nonsense."
"No, no, it's true!" she insisted. "I was really nervous." The girl then shook her head. "I bet the Baron never felt that way whenever he got into a match."
Zhou scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. When he was a young man, he was so anxious that he threw up into a garbage can."
"No way!"
He nodded. "It's true. I can tell you all sorts of stories about the mischief he was up to, the funny ones especially." The trainer paused. "Of course, I can't really divulge. At least, not without his express permission."
Claire then looked around the gym. Seeing that they were alone, she looked back. "Baron Von Sabrewulf's condition...is it serious?"
The trainer said nothing at first, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Finally, Zhou frowned, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't talk about it."
"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to put you in such an awkward situation like that. I swear I didn't want you to get in trouble or anything, I just...well...I'm, uh, kind of a fan of the Baron's," she explained anxiously.
He gave a weak smile. "Even so, I'm afraid I can't divulge that kind of information."
She wept a strand of hair behind her ear, looking away with blushing cheeks in embarrassment. "Um. Sorry. Just, uh, just forget I said anything, okay? I'm really sorry." Claire then cleared her throat as she handed back the towel. "Thank you."
"Well well well! If it isn't the champ herself!" She heard T.J.'s voice behind her. Smiling, Claire turned to face him.
"T.J.! Hey!"
"Hey yourself, girl!" T.J. said affably, wearing a blue sleeveless tank top with black shorts in that some red and white strips at the sides. "How are you?"
"I'm good, thanks!" She smiled. "How did your match go?"
He shrugged. "Didn't happen. The match was moved to tomorrow's episode. From what I heard they were going to edit in one of their creature match-ups or something."
Claire perked up interestedly. "Really? Do you know who will be featured?"
The boxer scratched his head. "Yeah, I think it's His-" His brows scrunched up, looking as if he were trying to recall the name.
"Hisako?"
He nodded. "That's the one. The other is...shit, it started with an 'A'..."
"Aganos?" Claire squeaked.
T.J. raised a brow at her. "Do you know the names of all these monsters?"
She grinned. "Yep."
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "You need to get out more. Breathe some fresh air."
The girl laughed.
T.J. looked seriously at her. "You feelin' okay?"
She gave a small smile. "Yeah, sorry about that earlier. I just..." Lowering her smile along with her eyes, she shook her head slowly. "I just felt awful about what happened to that woman." Claire then raised her eyes to meet T.J.'s. "Do you ever think about the people that you hurt?"
The boxer was uncharacteristically quiet as he considered the question. Clucking his tongue, he lowered his chin, then gave a half-shrug.
"No."
She regarded him, studying his features. "How are you able to do it?"
He pushed up his sunglasses. "I shut them all out. When I was a kid, my family was dirt poor. Didn't have anythin' worth nothin'. Nothin' but boxing."
Claire tilted her head. "Didn't it ever bother you? Does it ever bother you?"
T.J gave her an irritated look. "No, 'cause the truth is that I can't afford to worry about it. Everyone has a reason for fightin'. Hell, some are probably more deservin' and have suffered worse than I have, or are doin' it for some noble reason or whatever. Even if that's true, that's not gonna stop me from winning a fight. I don't give a fuck if it's some charity case. I don't care if it's Satan or Jesus himself - nothin' is gonna stop me from winning. Call me selfish if you like, but between me and the next guy, I'm gonna beat motherfuckers down no matter what. T.J. Combo isn't anyone's bitch - I'm not gonna lie down for nobody. Not even for you." Claire gave a startled and bewildered expression upon hearing what he said, his sunglasses-covered eyes locked onto her as if she were a target.
"You're a good kid, Claire. I like ya, but..." He gave a weak smile, "I'm afraid that's not gonna stop me from plowing straight through ya. So," he patted her shoulder as he passed by her, "don't take it personally when I beat ya in the ring, kid."
Claire watched as T.J. headed toward one of the weight-lifting machines, sat down and started to bench press, his ebony muscles rippling. Staring at him for a moment, she anxiously turned away and left the gym, troubled by his words.
The walk didn't help at all.
No matter where he went, no matter what direction he took, there was always some guard, android or damn camera around.
Thunder tightened his large hands into fists. And those were the castle's known defenses. He had no idea what other security this place held.
The Native American frowned.
"So much for the life of a college professor," he muttered. Maybe he should have joined the Army or the Police Force like his parents before him where he could have learned how to handle firearms and lock picks, if not how to navigate through security like James Bond or something rather than a cushy university position. Of course, he had ways of getting around, but he couldn't risk it - not with all these cameras watching and recording all the time.
As he walked down a street, a noise caught his attention, causing him to pause midstep. It was a strange sound, like a deep-chested, buzzing and rumbling drone that echoed lowly. Curious, Thunder turned to his right and followed the noise all the way to its source, where he found a man sitting cross-legged on the ground. Recognizing him as the masked man in blue from the dinner table, Thunder approached cautiously, his brow furrowed in confusion at the sound.
The man's eyes were sealed shut in concentration, not paying him any notice as he made those strange sounds.
Thunder audibly cleared his throat, the sound ceasing at the interruption. Opening one eye, the man opened the other upon seeing him, turning to face him.
"Oh. Hello there." The man greeted. "Can I help you?"
Thunder tilted his head curiously.
"What are you doing?" he queried.
"Throat singing."
He blinked. "Pardon?"
"Throat singing," the man repeated. "In Tibetan Buddhism, the goal of chanting is to invoke and unite with a particular deity or being."
"I see," Thunder nodded in understanding. "So it's a means of attaining unity with the spiritual world for you?"
"Among other things," the man nodded.
"Interesting," the larger man said as he reached up with one hand and stroked his chin. "My tribe, the Nez Perce, also believe in attaining such unity as well. With nature, and with the spiritual. We do things differently, but from what you described, it sounds like there are some similarities in our cultures."
He watched as the stranger's eyes softened, looking as if he were smiling gently beneath his veil.
"Hm." The latter nodded thoughtfully. Raising his brown eyes to meet Thunder's, the man then bowed slightly. "I'm Jago."
Thunder grunted, nodding back in acknowledgment. "Hinmatoom. It means 'Thunder'. You can call me that if you like."
Jago raised his head with surprise upon hearing it. "'Thunder', you say?"
"Indeed."
"A very interesting choice for a name."
Thunder narrowed his eyes, his form tense and apprehensive. "Why? Is there a negative connotation to it where you're from?"
Jago smiled beneath his veil.
"Not at all!" he replied affably, causing the larger man to relax slightly. "Vajrapani is a deity associated with thunder and is an important figure for us Tibetans, one synonymous with power. He can appear peaceful and wrathful, in many forms. He can be an Enlightened Buddha, Bodhisattva and Protector all at the same time. He helps us overcome delusions, attachments and poisons."
"Poisons?" The Native American repeated.
"Obstacles that prevent our progress towards enlightenment such as pride, anger, hate and jealousy. You are most fortunate to be equated with such a figure."
Thunder said nothing, staring down at the red-robed clad-man. "Hm," he grunted.
He started to turn.
Jago shifted on the ground, his smile lowering.
"Despite such a fortunate name and connection, however, " he said slowly, causing Thunder to pause and turn back to face him, "...I can't help sensing great anger and sadness within you."
The Native American was still, not reacting at all, his face marked with gloom.
"What troubles you, mighty one?" Jago asked politely.
Thunder lowered his eyes. "Many things."
"Would you like to talk about it?"
He shook his head.
"I'm sorry, but this...is something that I must do on my own," Thunder said quietly. "My burden is my own. Nobody else's."
Jago clicked his tongue thoughtfully.
"Fair enough." He folded his arms together. "So what brings you to the tournament?"
Thunder shook his head. "I'm not staying long," he replied. "I'm looking for someone. Once I find him, I'm going to leave with him as soon as possible. This place frightens me."
Jago's head perked up. "You sense it too."
Thunder nodded. "I do. I don't like it. If you have any sense at all, Jago, you would turn away and leave before it gets worse."
Jago watched him, then shook his head.
"That is why I cannot leave," he said calmly. "I wish to cleanse this place of the evil that lurks here."
The Native American shook his head grimly, his face hard and tense.
"No amount of cleansing would rid this land of this sickness," Thunder said with certainty. "It's so deeply embedded in the soil here that I tremble at the idea of walking on such unholy ground. Even the air here feels tainted."
Turning around, Thunder gave Jago a soft glance over his shoulder. "It was nice meeting you, Jago. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances, but I do not want to be here any longer than necessary."
He looked around at the castle grounds, taking in the landscape, the strange intestine-like pipelines that erupted from the ground and coiled around like snakes around various warehouses and medieval buildings, then narrowed his eyes at the dilapidated mansion in the distance.
"I don't know what this sickness is," Thunder continued, his eyes never leaving the mansion, "nor do I know what source it stems from...but...regardless of its origins... there's no denying that people have died here...in this place...in this tournament. I sense it. This place has consumed many, and if you are not careful..."
He looked over his shoulder back at Jago, his jaw tense. "...My advice to you is to always be on your guard, Jago. Guard yourself, and guard yourself well, otherwise it will consume you as it had the others."
Thunder then looked away, raising a hand, "Farewell, and take care."
Jago placed his palm and fist together and bowed quietly, watching as Thunder departed. As he raised his head, the monk looked around at the castle grounds, his fingers tracing along the prayer beads as he stared to the abandoned mansion far away, its ruined structure standing out in the moonlight like a bleached skeleton.
"Ja. Ja. Uh huh. I see. Thank you. Au Wiedersehen."
Hanging up the phone in his office, Konrad leaned back into his wheelchair with a weary grunt, pinching the bridge of his concealed nose tiredly while Dieter lit a cigarette.
"Everything alright, Baron?" the bodyguard asked mid-smoke.
The Baron sighed. "Ja. Matheson was just informing me that they have finished installing the new eye lasers for Fulgore and will be running tests to make sure they're operational." He shook his head slowly. "I have to say, as much as I detest Umbrella, I'll give them credit for one thing - they're resourceful little bastards." He gave an incredulous scoff, "Who'd have guessed that they would have that particular bit of technology available, let alone an expert of all things?"
"You mean Anderson?"
"Who else? All the man talks about is his wife Alice and lasers! The man's obsessed - I swear he has some sort of secret fetish for them or something! Did you know that he's been bothering me nonstop for the opportunity to create a laser corridor for my castle?"
Dieter laughed. "You're kidding!"
"I'm not! God only knows what goes on in that man's head!" Konrad huffed. The Baron watched as his companion snickered, then looked away. "That said, it was convenient that Sergei had his number, though why he would is puzzling."
He raised a hand to his chin, stroking it thoughtfully. "You don't suppose that Sergei has..."
The two exchanged looks, then quietly chuckled to themselves.
"Russians." Dieter said as he shook his head, the laugh subsiding.
"Hm." Konrad grunted, looking to the side in concern.
Noticing how quiet his employer had become, Dieter glanced back to him. "You okay, boss?"
Konrad's gloved fingers anxiously fidgeted with the armrests. "That man at the dinner table..."
"What about him?"
"He knows."
"About what?"
"About me."
Dieter scowled. "No he doesn't, Baron."
"Dieter-"
"He doesn't know anything."
"I'm telling you he knew!" Konrad snapped, slamming his gloved hand on the armrest. "Why else would he make that remark?!"
The bodyguard shrugged. "It's just a coincidence! Really, Baron, there's no need to get worked up over this!"
"Coincidence!" The Baron retorted. "Was it a coincidence that fucking skeleton found its way here?! Was it a coincidence that ever since its discovery that more and more horrors keep turning up on our doorstep?!"
He lowered his hooded head, "Was it...was it coincidence that Jurgen...the closest thing I have to a brother...ended up dead...while I...continue to live on in his stead?" he said in a quiet cracked voice.
Dieter's eyes softened. Stubbing his cigarette out into an ashtray, the bodyguard approached and patted Konrad quietly on the shoulder.
"I...I miss him so much, Dieter," Sabrewulf confided. "I wish..."
Dieter frowned, giving his shoulder an assuring squeeze, looking uncomfortable. "I know, Baron. I know. We'll find a way out of this shit. You don't have to worry. We'll figure things out."
Konrad remained quiet as he stared to the floor with uncertainty, feeling lost and afraid.
Thunder stood on the rooftop of Sabrewulf castle, staring out from the terrace at the forest-covered mountains and castle grounds, the strange mix of Medieval and industrial buildings providing a sharp contrast to the serene naturalistic setting. Smokestacks puffed thick grey clouds up into the air, the moon shining red above along with the rest of sky.
"Nice night out."
Startled, he turned around and found himself face to face with a woman dressed in green. Giving her a once over, he gave a low grunt of acknowledgement, turning back to the landscape.
"Not exactly a conversationalist, are you?" The woman said, drawing closer.
Looking over his shoulder, Thunder gave her an annoyed look. "Can I help you?" he said, less than enthused about the person's presence.
The woman shrugged. "Not really. Just curious." She then turned her attention to the landscape, stepping closer until she stood right next to him. "Beautiful view this place has."
Thunder tsked, his mouth stern. "I suppose."
The woman quietly brushed back her black bangs.
"Looks even better with the moon hanging overhead," she commented, "especially with that shade of red."
"'Hunter's Moon'," Thunder nodded.
The woman glanced at him. "Sorry?"
"That is what some of the tribes during this particular season would call a moon like that." He clarified.
Tilting her head in thought, the enigmatic woman leaned on a piece of brick, resting her hand on her chin.
"'Hunter's Moon'," she repeated, testing the name out. A small smile formed on the corners of her sculpted mouth, "...I like the sound of that."
Thunder grunted. "You would, wouldn't you?"
She looked curiously at him. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"You're a predator." The tall man replied. "The way you move, the way you hold yourself..." He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. "What are you really here for?"
A wicked light and mischievous, playful look flashed in her eyes as she drew closer with a seductive smile that would have made any man melt, causing Thunder to take a half cautious step back, his form tense.
"Very direct," she said, her cat-like grin growing, her eyes like a hungry animal. "I like that." She then reached out and placed her hands on his chest, running her hands down his pecks and biceps, feeling the hard musculature as she suddenly drew closer, producing a slight shiver in Thunder's massive form.
"Does this answer your question?" The woman said in a low and breathlessly husky voice as she leaned closer.
Thunder stood straight like a signpost as he felt her move closer into his proximity, so close now that she was pressing up against him, his breath caught in his lungs as he caught a whiff of her perfume, her warm breath making the skin on his neck tingle.
"What say we find a place to make ourselves more comfortable?" The woman suggested sultrily, her eyes half-hooded.
He swallowed, his mind intoxicated. "W-where?"
"How about down at the abandoned mansion over there?" she half-whispered into his ear, blowing gently on his earlobe, causing goosebumps to form on Thunder's skin.
The big man struggled think clearly, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. "W-w-why not here or back at your room?"
She smirked. "I like living dangerously," she whispered, laughing naughtily as she pressed herself tighter against him.
Opening his eyes, Thunder's eyes narrowed. "Get," He then suddenly shoved the woman away, snarling, "off of me!"
Stumbling away, the woman looked at him in shock as she recovered her footing, then huffed, giving a smirk.
"Aww!" she pouted in mock disappointment and in exaggeration. "And here I thought this would be the start of a special relationship!"
"Find your own damn toy to play with!" Thunder retorted. "I am not interested in your games, witch!"
The woman scoffed, then brushed something off her green jacket. "Your loss." Turning around, she suggestively departed, wiggling her rear with slow drawn-out arches with each step. Looking over her shoulder at him with cold and cruel eyes, the woman smiled, baring pearly white teeth at him, reminding Thunder of a snarling cougar. "Too bad. I think we could have had a lot of fun together." She then shrugged. "Some people are just meant to be alone, I guess."
Turning away, the woman enigmatically wandered off, leaving Thunder alone on the roof of the castle as he desperately tried ignoring the painfully aching erection in his pants.
Claire wandered the halls of Sabrewulf, studying the various paintings on display along with the sets of medieval armor, admiring their craftsmanship.
"Guys wearing these must have been tiny little things," she said to herself, tilting her head from side to side with curiosity.
Claire herself wasn't a particularly tall person, just 5'6 at best, but even then, she couldn't help feeling like a fat giant in comparison to the various sets of armor that stood against the wall.
People back then must have been really, REALLY small back then, if not had weighed less due poor diets.
I am so tempted to try one of these things on, just because they look so cool...but I doubt they'll even fit me.
She shook her head disappointedly, then continued on down the next hallway.
Turning to her left, she found herself confronted with a collection of white marble busts that lined both sides of the wall, each bust depicting a handsome aristocratic male face. Every one of the faces, Claire discovered, represented some ancestor of the Sabrewulf family.
Every one of the busts were masterfully crafted, but she couldn't help wondering how true they were to the likenesses of the various men that they depicted.
Interestingly, she noted to herself, all of the busts seemed to represent the men in their twenties; hardly any were ever depicted in their thirties, let alone in their old age. Part of Claire chalked it up as being some ego thing on the part of a very wealthy family that had a lot of prestige, but another part of her, however, wondered if there was more to this.
I should ask the Baron about it one of these days.
Once she was all the way down the corridor, past the hard, staring faces, Claire noticed a door left slightly ajar. Curious, she approached and gently knocked.
"Hello?" Claire called.
"Ja, what do you want?!" She heard the Baron bark agitatedly, causing her to flinch.
"Uh, sorry, Baron," the girl called back. "I'll just leave."
"Come inside." Halting, Claire glanced back to the door nervously, hesitating.
"...Well?! Are you coming inside or not?!" Sabrewulf said impatiently.
Fumbling at the door, Claire opened it up and peeked her head into the room.
A figure sat alone on a red Koger chaise lounge chair in the middle of what seemed to be a massive library, the entire walls stacked from floor to ceiling with numerous volumes, his wheelchair cast off to the side beside a table to the right.
Two unlit chandeliers hung uselessly overhead, periodically creaking, while in front of him a sandstone hearth roared and crackled noisily, pouring out its dim light across the ochre stone floor.
The sole source of light in the entire room, it illuminated the room and the Baron's still form, the orangish hue painting the rest of his environment unnoticed.
The ochre color of the floor extended upward to a pair of marble Roman Tuscan columns with smooth shafts and the burning hearth between them, their capitals connecting up to the castle's Gothic rib-like arches. The arches themselves rested against smooth concrete white walls that were disfigured and cracked from age at the top and bottom corners, reminding Claire of peeling skin.
Two feet over the mantel hung a brown clock with two pairs of ornamental bat wings protruding from the top and bottom corners, the clock ticking and winding down. At the left hand corner hung a shield with a pair of crossed sabers, while a self-portrait of Rembrandt watched from the right hand corner next to the table.
Turning her attention to Sabrewulf, she found him sprawled out on the lounge chair, his form concealed in blankets, his face concealed beneath the hood, scarf and sunglasses, his eyes fixed on a book that he was reading.
"...What were you doing outside my door, Ms. Redfield?" Came the low response.
Claire anxiously tucked her bangs behind her ear. "I am so sorry for disturbing you, Baron! I had no idea that you were in here!"
Snapping the book closed, he placed it down onto his lap and turned to face her.
"How long were you standing out there for?" he asked suspiciously.
The girl raised her hands placatingly. "I swear I only just got here!"
"Were you peeking inside?! Did you see anything?!" he pressed.
Claire waved her hands and shook her head. "No, no, I swear I would never do that!" she said hastily, her face burning red. "I didn't see anything. I would never invade your privacy, Baron. Not knowingly. I swear I wouldn't. I just saw that the door was open, that was all."
The library was still as the two stared at one another.
Finally, Sabrewulf inclined his hooded head.
"I see." He looked away. "My apologies for my behavior, Ms. Redfield. I was worried that you were intruding."
Claire then cleared her throat. "I'll...just leave you alone. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Baron." she said as she bowed her head politely.
As she was about to turn, the Baron's voice called out, "Wait."
Turning back to face him, Claire watched with surprise as Sabrewulf gestured to a chair by the fireplace.
"Would you like to take a seat?" he offered. "It has been ages since I had company."
Claire hesitated, then gave a small smile.
"Sure." Sitting down into the chair, she glanced around at the room. "This is a nice place you have."
"Danke. It's modeled after the one I have in Ravensburg. There are slight differences, of course, but this has always been my favorite room." Sabrewulf nodded. "I used to sit here and lose myself in the works of Goethe, Chaucer and Shakespeare amongst various other writers. Sometimes this was where I would write music."
The girl glanced at him interestedly. "You wrote music, Baron?"
"Ja. Not very good, mind you, but I did dabble from time to time with the arts," he replied.
Claire smiled. "Do you have any of them recorded?"
The hooded head nodded. "Ja. You might have heard one or two of them in the tournament. One was called "Zahn Und Klaue", or "Tooth and Claw", the other "Lykanthropie", or "Lycanthropy"."
Her smile grew. "Oh I recognize those names!" she exclaimed. "Those are Sabrewulf's theme songs!"
The Baron mirthlessly chuckled. "Ja. They are," he said dryly.
"I LOVE those songs!" she said enthusiastically. "Sabrewulf is my favorite character, music and all in the show!"
The hooded head quizzically tilted. "Is he?"
"He is!" Claire then absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair aside. "When I was little, we used to have a Husky named Terry. He would cuddle up with me on the couch and on the bed, just this big furry sweetheart."
"Sounds nice."
"Yeah," she smiled, reminiscing.
"Do you still have him?"
Claire's smile fell. "No. He died of old age."
The air was still as the words seemed to echo in the library.
"...I'm sorry for your loss."
The girl shook her head. "It was ages ago, but thank you, Baron."
As the two of them stared into the glowing hearth, Claire suddenly became aware of something. A sort of musky smell. Sniffing the air, Claire glanced around.
"Is something wrong, Ms. Redfield?" Sabrewulf asked.
"Oh no! Not at all, Baron." Claire replied as she kept sniffing. "Do you have a dog, out of curiosity?"
She sensed Sabrewulf tense up at the question. "Why?"
Claire shrugged. "I smell dog fur. Or, well, something like dog fur-"
"There used to be a pelt rug here, but it's getting cleaned at the moment," Sabrewulf said hastily, clearing his throat. "My apologies, I'll be sure to get some air fresheners in here."
She shook her head.
"No, no, it's alright," Claire assured, her features softening. "I actually like the smell. It reminds me of home."
The Baron looked at her in surprise, then hummed in thought.
Claire glanced around. "Out of curiosity, where's your bodyguard?"
"Dieter? He had an errand to run."
She frowned. "Forgive me, Baron," the girl said slowly, "but if you don't mind my saying so, I think you might need to get extra bodyguards for yourself. A person in your condition shouldn't be left on their own."
"Nein, it's fine." He waved dismissively. "I'm actually used to the solitude. Still...thank you for your concern."
The two sat together, staring quietly at the fireplace as it crackled.
"So what were you reading?" Claire asked.
"'Dante's Inferno'." He replied.
"Ah."
"Have you ever read it?"
"I haven't. I heard the title mentioned, but outside of that? No." She glanced curiously over at him. "What is it about?"
"It's an epic poem chronicling Dante's journey through the Nine Circles of Hell with his guide Vergil." He then looked at her. "Would you like to read it?"
Claire looked at him surprise. "Oh. Uh, thank you, Baron, but I couldn't."
He held it out to her. "Nein, nein, nein, it's alright! I've read this hundreds of times. Take it."
Biting her lip, Claire reached out and took the book from his hand.
"Thank you, Baron," she smiled, nodding. "I promise to return it back to you in perfect condition."
"Don't worry." Looking over to the clock, Sabrewulf nodded. "It is getting late. Curfew will be imposed soon."
Claire yawned. "I should get going then." She smiled. "This has been a nice talk."
He nodded. "It has. Thank you for your company." Sabrewulf then shifted in his seat. "If you ever...wish to visit the library, or if you wish to visit again...you are more than welcome to visit after 6 pm."
Claire smiled. "I'd like that. Thank you again, Baron."
Sabrewulf nodded. "Have a good evening, Ms. Redfield."
As Claire left the library, she felt her spirits soar as she closed the door behind her. Looking down to the book in her arms, Claire stared at the cover. A red book with gold lettering, the cover marked with two illustrated figures, the art done by Gustav Dore.
"Looks like I have something to read tonight," she commented, hugging it tightly to her chest as she gleefully skipped.
Inside the library, Sabrewulf stared to the door.
"What a nice girl."
Turning back to the fireplace, the Baron stared off, watching the flames as they burned.
The warehouse was dark and filled with nonstop chattering and cigarette smoke.
Dieter glanced up as the black uniformed figures of Alpha Team appeared from a tunnel at the far end, their forms cutting through the parting crowd as they were accompanied by three Theseus units.
'Speak of the Devil,' he thought, watching as they approached, led by their most infamous member, a tall, lean figure that wore a red-lensed gas mask with a ballistic helmet along with tactical load-bearing kevlar vest, looking more like a walking armory ready for war given all the armor plating.
"Ahh, Hunky!" Dieter smiled, greeting him as if he were an old friend. "A pleasure to see you."
He watched with a grin as the black-suited man tensed in annoyance at the nickname, but other than that, he kept his mouth shut, his MP-5 submachine lowered to the floor.
"What's the news?"
The enigmatic man known only as Mr. Death shook his black helmeted head, the red lens hiding his expression.
"We've eliminated all traces of the T-Virus from the old Umbrella Training Facility."
Dieter sensed a 'but' coming. "And?"
HUNK exhaled noisily through his mask. "We've been unable to locate the target."
Dieter frowned. "Hm." Sharply inhaling his cigarette, the bodyguard exhaled a low, dark cloud. "So Lisa Trevor's still wandering around here somewhere."
"I'm afraid so. We're doing everything we can to find her, sir, but given the vast terrain she could be anywhere."
His mouth curled in annoyance.
Fuck.
"Well then, keep searching," Dieter waved dismissively, putting the cigarette back into his mouth. "I want that bitch eliminated already starting yesterday."
From the side, Dieter heard a growl, drawing their attention.
Turning to look, the bodyguard watched impassively as a Hunter snarled at him in its cage, causing him to sneer.
"You really wanna tango, huh, Toad-fucker?" he taunted. "Don't worry, you'll get your fight."
For a while now, Dieter had been running a betting pool to see which creatures would last and for how long. It all started out of sheer boredom, back when they all had nothing to do but plunge in the increasingly murky, shit-stained waters that had been considerately left over by Umbrella.
Dieter shook his head in distaste. Fucking Umbrella.
After the Baron acquired it, he couldn't help noticing some peculiarities in some of the financial figures and assets listed, so when the two decided to investigate, boy were they surprised at what they found! The Baron had skeletons in his closet that he wasn't proud of, but Umbrella's? Shit, theirs was chock-full of the fuckers!
So much dark shit that it made the Baron's problems seem almost miniscule in comparison!
Thus, Dieter had to run damage control and be the shit cleaner.
Taking a drag from his cigarette, the bodyguard exhaled, shifting his jaw as HUNK stared at him. "What?"
The latter shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, we've been given explicit instructions to eliminate any and all creatures," he reminded.
The former gave a dismissive wave, "I know, Hunky, I know. Keep your panties on. The matter will be dealt with accordingly."
HUNK angrily drew closer. "Sir-"
Dieter looked sharply at the guard, meeting his red lensed eyes with a glare.
"I said the matter will be dealt with," he said in a tone that left no room for argument.
The man stood his ground, not flinching. "The Baron will hear of this in my report."
Dieter sneered. "Go ahead," he said before dropping it from his face altogether. "Now fuck off and take the rest of your faggot gimp unit with you - Papa's got a betting pool to run."
He sensed the tension in their movements. For a moment it seemed as if the unit were going to draw their weapons, but then they gave pause, glancing nervously back to the Theseus units with them.
It was a known fact that the machines were specifically programmed to take down anyone or anything that were deemed a threat to high-ranking members within the Corporation, Dieter himself included. The one instance where a USS grunt tried laying a hand on Dieter resulted in a broken arm...among other things.
As the USS soldiers stormed off angrily, Dieter turned away, shaking his head.
Pricks. Those guys were supposed to be 'elite'? Bunch of elitist pussies were all they were - Dieter had taken on and crapped bigger.
If they were as good as they said they were, this mess would have been cleared up ages ago. It was a fucking wonder that their T-Virus hadn't infected the town already.
Hearing the snarl from the Hunter, Dieter turned to face it. Exhaling, he blew smoke in its face, the creature sputtering and coughing as the bodyguard then gestured to the other personnel at the opposite end of the fighter cage. "Get our star ready, boys!"
Turning back to his guests, Dieter's smile rose.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," he said with his arms outstretched, speaking with all of the charisma and air of a showman, "everybody get the money out! Come on come on! It's time to place down your bets! One Hunter Alpha against our reigning champion, RIPTOR! Will Lady Fortune wink in our challenging beastie's favor? Place your bets, people!"