Tell the Angels It'll Be Alright
Part Four
I think I'm done nursing the patients
It could wait one night
I'll give it all away
If you give me one last try
NOTE: There's a direct reference to my fic Requiem in here. Just so you don't get confused; it's nothing really big, so don't worry. ^_~
The stench of the Power Room was stifling. The bitter smell of melting iron permeated the air like a thick jungle musk, making a point of worming its way up Leon's nose. Leon hated this smell; it made him think of blood. Why was he even here? Oh yeah, because there was nowhere else in Umbrella's secret lab to go. He had checked all of the other rooms, and this one was the only one left. He had been fortunate enough to spot the Power Room key lying on the table in the lab. He had been even more fortunate to be able to snatch the key before that freaky naked zombie had taken a bite out of his neck.
But now that he was here, Leon could see that his fancy zombie-evading footwork to obtain the key had been for almost nothing. The Power Room was desolate except for a weird metal column running down the center with a control panel at its base. Leon didn't care much about that as he strode further into the room with his Remington shotgun held ready to face trouble. He had seen enough weird control panels to last him an entire lifetime.
…it's so cold in here…
Once Leon saw that there were no enemies lurking in the corners for him, he lowered his shotgun and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his wartorn jumpsuit. Wrinkling his long nose at the horrible stench in the room, Leon trudged into the center of the wide metal walkway with his weary limbs dragging his entire body weight. He was so tired and exhausted that he was on the verge of collapsing. That stupid Tyrant had really done a number on him this time; he felt as if someone had beaten him from head to toe with a sledgehammer.
I HATE Tyrants, he thought grumpily. That ugly bastard in that weird green dress has bashed me around the entire time I've been here. Well, not anymore! Next time, I'm gonna…
The earth suddenly shook beneath Leon's feet. He felt a dark presence looming behind him like a bat-winged demon ready to devour him whole. Injuries forgotten, he whirled around as quickly as he could…and found himself gazing into the soulless white eyes of the Tyrant. Its horribly ugly face loomed almost two feet over Leon's head, and though the abomination hadn't the power to show emotion, Leon almost imagined that the creature was smirking at him.
Heart thundering in his chest and flooding his system with adrenaline, Leon reacted almost immediately, raising his Remington and pointing upwards, aiming to blow the monster's head all the way to kingdom come.
Leon had been fast, but the Tyrant was faster. It suddenly swung one of its battering ram sized fists at the gun just as Leon pulled the trigger. Leon's trusty shotgun flew from his hands like an out-of-control pinwheel, and the high-powered shot went wild, striking the opposite wall. As the R.P.D. officer watched in growing horror, the beloved shotgun that had saved his sorry ass in tight situations whirled wildly over the edge of the walkway, disappearing over the side and plummeting to the level below. It made a soft plopping sound as it fell into the iron smelting pool, lost forever.
…lost forever in the labyrinth. No escape…
Dread and fear took holds on Leon's heart, digging their poison-tipped claws into the pulsating organ. Blue eyes wide, he turned just in time to see the Tyrant rearing back to swing again. Leon panicked and ran, knowing that he didn't have any more weapons that would cripple the Tyrant. Serves him right for leaving that goddamned Magnum back in his box…
Leon felt the Tyrant's fist slice the air behind him as he ran towards the back of the room with his blood roaring in his ears. There had better be a way out! he thought wildly. Please let there be a way out! I can't die down here!
He had to backpedal furiously to avoid hitting a metal wall. There was no way out…
"Shit!" Leon cursed out of anger and fear. This couldn't be the end!
…no end to the pain…
Whirling around, Leon was greeted with the terrifying sight of the Tyrant bearing down on him, murder written in every step of its gargantuan feet and swing of its humongous hands. Its empty eyes gleamed in the dimly lit Power Room, and Leon could see sections of gray, vein-covered flesh through the tears in its green "dress." So, this was what Death looked like…
…no, Death wears a white lab coat and is armed to the teeth with knowledge and cold intellect…
But Leon wasn't going down so easily. Rage suddenly burned his heart, obliterating any form of pain that had previously ailed his body. He may not be some big shot S.T.A.R.S. member or veteran cop, but he wasn't going down without a fight. Gritting his teeth with determination, he started to reach for his handgun, looking like David preparing to fight Goliath.
A gunshot suddenly split the putrid air of the Power Room. The Tyrant came to an abrupt stop as blood flew from its shoulder and splattered the floor in front of the dumbstruck Leon. The monstrosity stopped its ominous onslaught and spun around to face its new attacker.
"Run!" Ada Wong cried desperately, her slender form visible now that the Tyrant had moved out of the way. Leon's heart sank as he saw the blood dripping from her wounded shoulder and pooling on the ground, leeching away her strength. Pain and anxiety contorted her beautiful face into a determined but terrified mask of dark tragedy. Her brown eyes were steady as they locked onto the rapidly approaching form of the Tyrant. All she had in her bloodstained hands was a handgun…
"Ada!" Leon cried as the Tyrant moved away from him and started lumbering over to the ravaged and vulnerable figure of Ada Wong. God, this wasn't happening!
…can't believe what happens down here. Innocents sacrificed for…
…our souls bound to them by blood, expecting no liberation…
But Ada did not hear Leon's desperate cry. Out of either weariness or determination, she didn't move from her position in the Tyrant's path. Instead, her eyes blazed with noble light as she lifted her handgun and started firing round after round into the Tyrant's approaching figure, each bullet igniting miniature spigots of blood as it tore through the Tyrant's coat and pierced the gray flesh underneath. The Tyrant's approach slowed a little with each new wound, and Leon felt a weak hope suddenly start beating its fragile wings in his chest. Maybe she had enough bullets…
Ada pulled the trigger.
Click.
Oh no!
Click. Click. Click.
Her gun was empty! Ada, reload! Leon thought in a panic, watching the scene unfold before his eyes with a heavy heart and frozen limbs.
…we will die here…
The next act of this horrific tragedy was done in slow motion. Leon could only watch in utter horror as Ada reached into her side pack and fumbled around for an extra clip with agonizing slowness, the cold metal slipping again and again from her blood-wet grasp. The Tyrant was still bearing down on her, nothing left to deter him from his dark course. Ada managed to slip her clip into the handgun, but it was already too late.
…too late for me. Too late for her. But too late for us all? Rook is still young…
…I am the first. I must save them from this imprisonment…
"Ada!" Leon cried, beside himself in emotional agony as he saw the Tyrant's murderous fist reached down and close on Ada's delicate throat, the bloated digits tightening around the pale flesh. Ada's eyes widened in pain as the Tyrant lifted her slender body into the air above its head, its figure exuding menace. God, this was too cruel! A woman with a handgun against all the monstrous muscle of a Tyrant?! The fate of the battle was already there, written in blood, but at the last moment, as she hung in Death's grip with her feet dangling uselessly, Ada defied fate with everything she had…which was her heart and a handgun.
Twisting in the Tyrant's grasp, Ada brought her handgun to bear on the behemoth, angels guiding her aim to what her darkening vision could not see. She emptied three rounds in quick succession straight into the Tyrant's face, and the creature was blinded by the red river of its own blood. As Leon watched helplessly, the Tyrant began to reel drunkenly, its free hand up to its bleeding face as Ada dangled bonelessly in its grasp. Then, with all the abruptness of the Reaper bringing its scythe down for the killing blow, the Tyrant brutally flung Ada to the side, sending her fragile body careening into the control panel with such a force that it made a humongous dent in the metal and sent electrical shudders up the metal shaft behind the panel. Ada's face twisted in pain as blood flew everywhere, staining the floor around her a deep shade of red. A horrendous cry of agony ripped from her throat and flew across the power room like an angel-winged demon to pierce Leon's heart and reanimate his limbs. He started to run.
…twenty, twenty, twenty four hours to go. I wanna be sedated. Ha. Ha. Ha…
Leon was heedless of the Tyrant tottering over the edge of the walkway and falling into the iron smelting pool, a demon blasted back into its fiery hell. All he saw was the woman with the raven hair and chocolate brown eyes slumped with such grim finality in a pool of her own blood, dying, dying for him… All he knew was her; he wanted to hold her, tell her that he…
Then Leon's world collapsed, he was falling. There was darkness all around him; Ada was gone. Gone, gone forever into the abyss of death. Why did it have to end this way?! Why?! He was supposed to protect her! This was too cruel. Ada…give me another chance! God, god…
"God!" Leon screamed into the endless void of dream, his rage and heartbreak resonating like Death rampant on a battlefield. "Where are you now, Almighty King of Heaven?! Where's that justice that everyone preaches about?!"
…shot to hell…
…we must survive…
It was then that Leon noticed for the first time that he was not alone. That this strange voice which spoke and sang at sporadic moments was not his own. Confusion, lethal and dangerous, suddenly inundated his senses, and he desperately searched the darkness all around him with eyes that weren't really there, trying to pinpoint something that he knew couldn't really be seen.
…I'm dying for my sins…
"Who are you?" Leon asked with his soundless dream voice, suddenly desperate to know who or what it was. This heartfelt anxiety, borne of a lifetime trying to defend a corrupt system, to protect a hollow center, rang throughout the void of darkness, searching with demonic fervor for the origin of this voice that spoke of the strangest things.
But Leon's entreaty received no answer. Silence rang unchallenged throughout the darkness of dream, taunting him.
He continued to fall.
Down…
Down…
Down…
He hit the ground, bruising his knees on the wall of solid darkness that he had just landed on. What? Leon wondered, seeing his gloved hands plastered on the "ground," which was just darkness that appeared to fall forever for all he could see. Where am I? What is this place?
…suffering for my evils, crucified for what I am…
"Who's there?" Leon looked up, and nearly died from shock at what he saw.
Hanging in the middle of the void of darkness was a cross, a simple one made of wood, probably the typical type of cross that the Romans used to crucify people back during their mighty reign. And on that cross was a man, a man who was dressed in the tattered remains of an R.P.D. police jumpsuit. This man's wrists were bound to the wood of the cross with small belts of what looked to be metal. His booted feet were bound in a similar fashion. Long locks of reddish hair flopped forward, hiding the man's downturned face from Leon's view.
But Leon didn't need to see the man's face. He already knew what it would look like. He saw the same face in the mirror everyday.
"What is this?" Leon cried, utterly horrified by the sight of himself – or was it just his body? – hanging crucified from a cross in the middle of an abyss. The air stank of misery and death, the stench ten times greater than that of the Power Room. "Answer me!" Leon screamed, forcing himself to his feet, eyes riveted on the ghastly figure bound to the cross. "I know you're here, whoever you are!"
…I watch, and I am always here…
With that, a figure materialized on the cross, its booted feet planted on either side of the crucified man's head with an air of superiority. The figure's loose white garments billowed in an unseen breeze with a demonic foreboding, and its strawberry blond hair sharply contrasted with the deathly pale skin of its face, which was fiercely handsome yet possessed unsurpassable cruelty. Its electric blue eyes, as they stared down at Leon, were colder than the darkest region of heaven and drove ice into the core of Leon's heart. The face of this new man was inanimate, but that didn't stop Leon from perceiving the subtle aura of menace hanging in the putrid air. Danger was plastered all over this man. It was written in his apathetic face and heartless eyes. It was woven into his flapping snow-white clothes and pale skin. But most of all it was intricately coupled with the two blood-red angel wings that were folded behind the man's back like crimson panthers ready to spring at a victim. The bloody feathers of these appendages rustled in the breeze with a strange sort of deadly anticipation.
But the worst thing about this new man, this crimson-winged angel that hovered over the pitiful figure crucified on the cross, was that Leon recognized him.
"Deon?" he whispered in disbelief, taking a step towards the cross, eyes riveted to the horribly angelic figure of his younger brother. "Is that you?"
No answer. Deon – if it was Deon – didn't so much as bat an eyelash at his brother's desperate entreaty.
"Deon!" Leon cried again, his voice gaining in volume. "Answer me! What are you doing here!"
…murderer…
Leon stopped his advance, dumbstruck. His brother hadn't even opened his mouth. Deon was still standing there on the cross above the other Leon's crucified form, his russet wings and white clothes clashing with the darkness that extended into forever behind him. There wasn't a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
"Did you say that?" Leon demanded in frustration. "What do you mean by that?! I've killed no one!"
…you let her die…
Leon jumped back as if slapped. "No!" he gasped, his heart thudding in his chest as he stared angrily at his brother's motionless form. "It wasn't me! I didn't do it!"
…coward! Admit it! You're damned, just like us!…
Leon's hands flew to his head, fingers sinking into the russet locks. He shook his head desperately, as if to cleanse it of the unseen voice's words. "No! No! No!" he cried through clenched teeth. "There was nothing I could do! I didn't want her to die!"
…dispensing what you call justice. You chose by not choosing. You stood by and watched…
Leon fell to his knees in plaintive agony. "No!" he whispered fiercely, blood roaring in his ears as tears stung his eyes. "That's not it at all! I would have stopped it if I could! I didn't want it to end this way! Oh, god, Ada…"
"I'm just a woman who…fell it love with you…nothing more."
"Give me another chance," Leon begged, but to whom he was begging, either Ada or the crimson-winged angel on the cross, he didn't know.
…no more chances. You've lost this gamble…
…you'll lose her to Misery if you don't watch out…
…don't fail her, too…
Something broke through Leon's agony like a desperate hand clawing for release from an icy prison. He lifted his streaming eyes from the darkness below him and focused them on the cold, aloof figure standing like the angel of Judgment on the wooden cross. Deon's strawberry blond hair was whipped into a frenzy by wind that Leon could not feel, and a portion of Deon's white shirt had flown up to reveal a section of well-muscled, scarred flesh on his pale stomach.
"What do you mean?" Leon murmured feverishly. "You're not talking about…Claire, are you?" The very prospect of Claire being harmed, either physically or emotionally, terrified him to the marrow of his bones.
The figure didn't reply.
Leon leapt to his feet, suddenly beside himself with panic. "Well, are you?!" he demanded of the crimson-winged Deon. "What's happening to Claire?! If anything happens to her, I'll…just…"
He fell silent, voice eaten by the dark void, as his powerfully beating heart thundered painfully in his chest with a newfound emotion. "Claire," Leon whispered, tears rolling down his face. "Claire…I…"
Terror suddenly gripped his soul, and Leon lifted his eyes slowly to the figure of Deon standing on the cross. A sense of hungry anticipation suddenly hung in the air, making the foul stench of the dreamland even more rank. Things were becoming distorted and hazy, and Leon was starting to feel detached from his surroundings. The dream was falling apart.
Then Deon suddenly smiled, thin lips pulling back over perfect white teeth. But it was not a nice smile; it was an insane, bitter expression of mirthless mockery that reflected the strange light gleaming in Deon's eyes. Shudders ran down Leon's spine. Then the voice came again.
…we twist and turn where angels burn…
The crimson wings suddenly unfurled from behind Deon's back like the fiery plumage of the Phoenix. Their tips stretched far above Deon's head, two pious blood-covered fingers extending their prayers to the dark heavens. Dozens of red feathers drifted down from their respective wings, unsettled by the sudden motion and seeking liberation. Deon suddenly held a sword in his hands, a mighty thing with a gleaming blade and a golden handle. Leon's blood ran cold.
…like fallen soldiers we will learn…
Deon flicked his electric blue eyes pointedly down at the crucified figure beneath him, who suddenly twitched, russet hair flapping in the roaring wind. The wood of the cross creaked as the figure shifted position. Oh my god! Leon thought in horror. He's alive!
…that once forgotten, twice removed…
As the crucified figure continued to stir, surging weakly against its bindings, Deon suddenly raised the sword over his head with the blade pointing downwards, the tip of it shining with some internal light. His horrible smile suddenly widened, and Leon realized what was about to happen.
"Deon!" he cried in horror. "No! Don't do it!"
…love will be the death…
Leon started to run again, his legs pumping steadily and his booted feet pounding the insubstantial ground of darkness. Horror and revulsion rose in his throat like poisonous bile as his blue eyes remained horribly fastened on the visage of his brother, sword upraised and crimson wings unfurled, ready to drive a sword into the heart of a living man, a man that bore Leon's face.
"Deon!" he cried again, voice hoarse with grief. "No!"
…the death of…
The crucified figure suddenly raised it head, and Leon nearly died from shock. It's not me! he thought wildly, his limbs paralyzed as the pitiful figures' eyes locked onto his. It isn't me! It's…
…YOU…
Deon's sword came down, ill-fated blade whooshing and whistling through the air of dream, on a collision course with the man's exposed chest.
Leon woke up.
He shot upright in bed, clawing at the air with his numb fingers, realizing belatedly that there was nothing there to attack. His heartbeat thundered in his ears like the roar of an awakening beast, and sweat glistened on his chest like tiny crystals. The darkness and silence of the hotel room was complete except for the sounds of his ragged breathing and soft whimpers. His legs were tangled up in the sheets, and he was shivering.
Leon covered his sweaty face with his trembling hands. "Just a dream," he told himself fiercely. "Just a dream…"
The cold air of the hotel room closed in on him, drying the sweat on his chest and trying to drag him back to the real world. The angels and demons of the time period called Here and Now locked their arms around the shaken Leon and yanked him back to reality, making him aware of the clean bed beneath him and the sheets tangled around his waist. Memories came flooding over him in a tide. Arriving in Paris. Talking with Claire. Chris calling and saying that he would bring their new allies and rendezvous with Leon and Claire tomorrow. Getting into bed, thinking of Claire. And that was all he recalled.
"What a dream," Leon murmured, lifting the hem of his sleeveless shirt and wiping the sweat from his brow. "What happened?" He strained to remember, but all the details of the dream were starting to get fuzzy and distorted, like all his dreams did after he had been awake for a few seconds. He vaguely recollected something about Ada Wong and his brother. But there was something else behind all that, something dancing on the verge of realization, something about a crimson-winged angel and Claire Redfield…
Maybe I should watch some TV, Leon thought shakily as he tried to disentangle himself from the blankets. Don't want to be going back to sleep again. I probably couldn't if I wanted to. Or maybe I should…
Then he heard Claire scream, and all he thought of was her.
Author's Note: Okay, I didn't mean for this part to be this long, but it just took off without me, and I had no choice but to follow. This fic is getting closer to its grand finale; I think I just have one more part to write. Oh, and another thing I wanted to mention. The lyrics at the beginning are from the Foo Fighters song "Learn to Fly." The "twenty, twenty, twenty four hours to go…" line belongs to the Ramones. And the "We twist and turn where angels burn…" lines that the crimson-winged angel recited at the end of Leon's dream belongs to Savage Garden. Okay, I guess that's about it for the little disclaimer stuff. Hope to be seeing ya soon with the final chapter… ~Catalina