A/N: Warning this is an 'R' chapter for very harsh violence and imagery. Yep, Chapter 9 kinda imagery. Either consider yourself warned, or go grab a sandwich to enjoy whilst you read. Feel free to pick out as many typos/missing words as you can, if that's your thing. D

One last thing, fanfiction net is being finicky and won't let me put my usual marks for telepathy, so /'s will be used to denote it until this is fixed.

Chapter 22

More than anything, Alfred just wanted it to stop. Everything. The pain. The misery. The sheer helpless feeling that came with not being able to do anything...all of it.

Death; yes, that was what he wanted. No more pain. No more guilt. ( Strange, he would have never thought he'd ever regret any of the things he'd done. ) No more worrying about this or that. No more anything. Peace.

Utter oblivion held a great appeal right now. Alfred Ashford was ready for it.

Again and again the Nosferatu beast rained stinging blows across his already beaten, tortured body. Again and again Alexia's brother was unable to help the heartrending shrieks of pure agony that escaped his sore, raw throat. It was useless, he knew. Nobody in the castle could come to their aid. Alexandra had already tried, and nearly lost her life because of it. Certainly Ash could fair no better. That was, if he could muster up the guts to enter the room in the first place. Which Alfred doubted. Sure, his son liked to talk tough, but the boy had a yellow streak a mile wide when real danger was concerned. Just look at the way he had acted around Alan in Africa. Not that Alfred blamed him, but still.

Craaaack!

An angry green tentacle snapped through the air before finding it's mark on Alfred's cheek. He cried out as the flesh was stripped away leaving a thin red line two inches long. A minor wound. He'd been lucky...this time.

Still, the pain had long since passed the unbearable stage. You just never, never appreciated true suffering until you were tortured to death. Three hours with the monster and there was not an inch of flesh on him that was left unscathed. His clothes hung in ripped, bloody strips from his frail form. Hundreds of cuts now graced his dying body, dripping more blood than he would have ever thought possible. His pale skin was now a patchwork of vicious bruises and welts. Wrists and ankles had turned ghostly white in the places the metal alloy cuffs bit cruelly, strangling his circulation. His face was a disaster. One eye was dripping gore, the other was almost swollen shut in a nasty blue welt. Streams of red flowed over the now various shades of scarlet, black, and blue his face had predominantly taken on.

It hurt. God, it hurt. Every second he lived felt like a century of suffering. Every strained, agonizing breath he drew he prayed would be his last.

And that wasn't even the worst of it.

In the past, Alfred had often wondered what true Hell would be like. It seemed an appropriate thing to worry about: after all the ungodly crimes he had committed, Alfred Ashford knew where he was going when he died. And it wasn't the place heroes roamed. His curious mind had whirred with the questions: was there really a devil? Did he force you into a lava pit? What kinds of company would he meet down there? Were you damned to Hell forever, or did you, after a set amount of time, get a chance to set things right? Did Hell even exist at all, or only in the imagination?

Now, at long last, he knew the answer to at least one of these questions.

Yes.

There was a Hell, and he was in it. True Hell was constant, neverending pain. Thanks to Veronica, he was experiencing just that. Thanks to her, death was no longer an option.

It was beyond his worse nightmares. More than once, both Ashford twins had been fatally wounded. Each time these mortal wounds had magically resealed themselves--like it never even happened. Problem was, the pain didn't vanish with the wounds.

Alexia had been the first to learn this harsh lesson. Minutes after Alexandra's visit, the Tentacled Terror had at last managed to rip her arm clean off her body. Alfred would never forget that piercing scream; the scream that contained all the pain, fury, and hatred in the world elicited out in one terrific howl.

She had good reason to be upset. Severed just below the shoulder, her now no-longer-attached arm was still bound by the wrist from the metal cuff hanging on the wall. It was not a pretty picture. Very grisly. Cherry red blood gushed like a fountain, forever tainting everything it came into contact with.

For Alexia, it had been Hell on earth.

Alfred had been sure his sister was going to die, and Alexia herself knew better than to think she was going to live to see retribution on that damned Veronica. Surely she would bleed to death--and in normal circumstances, she would have.

But the sorceress's curse was for the twins to be tortured, not killed. At that last possible second, when all the blood had all but drained from Alexia's body and her heart had slowed almost to a halt, the impossible happened.

A mystical green aura had appeared out of nowhere and engulfed the detached arm in a supernatural glow. Then, even as Nosferatu was busy working over her midsection, mangled tissue began to mend. Broken bones re-connected and knitted back together. Torn veins filled with new blood and re-connected with their other halves. Cuts sealed. Bruises vanished without a trace. Everything shifted, changed, and went back to how it should be until Alexia's left arm was once again whole, beautiful, and unblemished. Sadly, the time to rejoice was short-lived. Though the pain at having lost the limb ended when it healed, there was still plenty of torment to go around.

Nosferatu was a tireless worker, and a nasty retributionist. No sooner had the flesh healed than a tentacle struck and--bam-- there was a fresh bleeding cut. Now Alexia was starting to notice a pattern:

Get cut to shreds. Receive a fatal wound. Heal. Repeat again. It was a neverending cycle of pain. One which would only stop when Veronica at last took mercy and either killed them outright or healed them completely.

Alexia had to give her credit: for being an air-headed sorceress with less than half the IQ of mashed potatoes, Veronica sure knew how to conjure up a punishment. And she was fair about it too. Interestingly enough, Nosferatu could apparently only wail the stuffing out of only one twin at once.

He'd work on them each one at a time--rending, destroying, dishing out his worst. There was no clock in the room with which to keep track of time, but the pair formerly known as the Gruesome Twosome guessed these sessions to each last close to fifteen minutes. Then, as if answering the ring of some demonic bell only he could hear, the beast shifted away from his current object of dis-affection and resumed work on the other.

Mostly there wasn't time to think about anything other than the pain. But once the blows ceased, it was slightly, just slightly more bearable, and Alfred had the chance to reflect. Or, as the case all too often was, to slip off into another time and re-live the past through the eyes of his victims. It was the worst kind of agony he could ever imagine. More than a dozen times worse than the worst he had ever done to any of the people he'd killed. Not only was his body broken, but his spirit as well.

Presently, a razor-tipped tentacle lashed his cheek a final time, eliciting a weak cry of pain. There. That was the closing act. The beast was done with Alfred for the moment.

Now it was Alexia's turn.

The female half of the twins acknowledged this by bowing her head, shutting her eyes tightly, and bracing herself for the inevitable pain. She didn't have long to wait.

A few well-placed thwacks at just the right angles effectively broke her jaw in the first ten seconds. A dry hiss of air escaped her throat, but that was all the once powerful Ashford could muster. Even if that hadn't happened, she no longer had the breath to scream.

Or the strength to test her bonds.

What was the point in trying anyway? Veronica's magic wasn't going to be any weaker now than it had been a half hour ago. Not unless a miracle happened, and Alexia didn't believe in miracles. I never dreamt it would end this way.

Yes, after a mere three hours of torment, Alexia Ashford--child prodigy, ruthless fiend, and evil mastermind behind the mighty T-Veronica virus--was at last beaten.

The T-Veronica virus had been a brilliant scientific breakthrough, and she'd very nearly succeeded in her goals, but in the end it had been brawn, not brains, that had conquered. If only she'd known.

Alexia may very well be ten times smarter than the ditzy redhead, but it made no difference. Being able to do algebraic equations in her head and efficiently solve complex calculus problems in a speed that would leave most N.A.S.A. employees sick with envy were fantastic feats, but they weren't going to break her bonds, heal her wounds, or make the abomination in front of her vanish.

For Alexia, it was all crystal clear now. Science was good, but magic was better. You didn't have to be a rocket-scientist to twitch your wrist and make anything your heart desired appear in front of you. You just had to be talented. Extraordinarily talented. Such a crushing truth.

And to think all her life she had poured every ounce of her efforts into the darker fields of science and had a big fat zero to show for it. She still hadn't accomplished what she'd set out to do. Umbrella wasn't doing any better now than it had during Alexander's reign. If anything, things had headed even farther down the toilet on that front. The general populace still viewed her magnificent bloodline as a troop of deranged failures, and as if all that already didn't combine to make the biggest steaming cow pie in the history of mankind, a rag-tag band of rebels known as S.T.A.R.S. had missed no chance to make monkeys out of her and her entire family at every turn. Heck, she hadn't even been able to avenge her own death yet, an opportunity which had already arose twice since her resurrection.

Veronica, on the other hand was an all-powerful entity who was no longer even mortal. She didn't have to worry about viruses, guns, linear launchers, monsters, or even weapons of mass destruction. Money was also no longer a concern.

Want that island out in the Pacific? No problem! With a flick of her hand she could make all the cash she needed appear right in her fingertips.

No island available? Never worry. Blink and an island appears out of nowhere.

That wasn't just power, that was awesome power. With it Veronica could easily rule the world, and she'd be untouchable, just like a god. Impervious. Invincible.

No, Alexia's dazed mind struggled for coherent thought beyond the hellfire pain wracking her body, not invincible. Someone hurt her. Discord was able to trap her in that tea-cup. She can be hurt. Maybe even killed. Alexandra will come through and convince her to free me.

The fact that she had a twin brother several feet away who was also suffering didn't even register. Right now only one thought gripped her mind, only one image burned in her brain: freedom.

Hurry Alexandra! She cried mentally, purposely letting all the anguish she was feeling slip into those two simple words. Alexandra was a sucker for that kind of thing.

She hated to admit it, but her daughter's pure heart and kindness towards others had served her well and saved her from their ancestor's wrath. Alexandra had always been able to win others over easily. A smile here, a kind word there, and people loved her for life. On a deeper level that not even she herself realized yet, it made Alexia blackly jealous. She'd always viewed love, kindness, tolerance, and everything that most people would define as good and holy as signs of weakness.

Well, Alexandra may be weak, but at least she didn't have Veronica on her ass.

Perhaps these emotions had an upside after all. Perhaps, just perhaps, Alexandra's love for her could save her from the all-powerful sorceress. Idealistic, but Alexia didn't like to give up hope and right now it was their only shot. If sweet and innocent Alexandra couldn't convince her then no-one could.

Keeeerraaaaack!

A six-inch razor slashed her throat at the jugular, drawing a bright red line against soft white flesh.

Pain! Alexia's senses were on fire. Warm, sticky blood traveled down her breast. Fiery supernovas exploded in her head as her brain registered the signals and prepared to shut down.

Of course, a fatal injury was not permitted. A flash of effervescent green mist, and the cut re-sealed itself in the blink of an eye. New blood--an exact DNA duplicate of her own in every way--formed to fill the space the shed blood had left. That pain winked out.

But there was more. There would always be more.

----

With a grunt, Alfred turned his head painfully to check on his sister. He instantly wished he hadn't. As usual, his dearest Alexia was getting beat to a bloody pulp. Bad enough that he had to suffer, but seeing his twin in so much pain was a direct stab to the heart that cut deeper than any wounds Nosferatu could inflict.

It hurt seeing her like this.

Head hung low, Alexia endured torrent after torrent of blows, and the rare times the monster missed were getting fewer and farther between.

At first, she had tried to be strong; defiant even. But now that rebelliousness was almost completely gone. The past hour and she'd just hung there listlessly; not moving, not striking out, not taking any action at all. It may just as well have been a rag-doll dangling from those chains. It had been well over half an hour since she had last said a word to Alfred, either mentally or aloud. Mangled, bloody clumps of blonde hair streaked with red hung lifelessly, masking her lowered face.

He couldn't see her expression through the ragged waves of hair, but he wondered if she was still silently fighting, still plotting her revenge.

She can't hold out much longer. The Voice observed, You should offer her a kind word.

What good would it do? It won't change anything. Alfred sighed mentally, wrinkling his nose and flinching at an itch just to the side of his nose he would never be able to scratch, Besides, I thought for sure you'd say she didn't deserve it.

She doesn't. But kindness is loving people more than they deserve. You love her, don't you?

Yes. Alfred would have been fool to deny it.

Then why not tell her? Just hearing those words will do wonders for her spirit. Love is a powerful thing.

Love is weak. Power and ambition are the only things that get a person by in this world.

Really? Rather than flippant or sarcastic, The Voice actually seemed to be giving the matter thought. There was a bit of a delay before it's next words, Look at Alexia. High in power and ambition, low in love. Ask yourself, was this a fair trade-off? Did these traits ever really get her ahead? Where is she right now, and what is happening to her?

You bloody well know the answer! Alfred roared, fed up with the constant mind games being played by his so-called 'conscience'.

And so do you. The Voice declared matter-of-factly, Without love, power and ambition are meaningless. Even if she did somehow achieve her maya illusions of power and glory, then what? She still wouldn't be happy, and neither would you. True power is healing the soul merely with words and gestures, true ambition is going out of your way so that someone else may...

My heart bleeds. Alfred sneered, unimpressed.

It does. His unseen tormentor agreed, And it is up to you whether you want to mend it.

Alfred was about to think of a witty, sarcastic reply when a sudden ball of agony exploded in the pit of his stomach, causing his muscles to twitch and spasm; effectively de-railing his train of thought.

Argh! Not again!

The scenery changed, and this time Alfred found himself in a dimly lit underground basement. The red brick walls surrounding him were damp, grimy, and claustrophobic. A foul smell rose up from the bowels of the sewers. Looking down he saw a dirty mud floor drenched with blood and crawling with all sorts of filthy insects. A rat scampered over his bare foot, making his skin crawl.

Pain! Terrible, terrible pain! It never stopped, it never lessened. Not since that guy had came in and....Alfred's gaze shifted to his hands, and what he saw shocked him more than the dawning realization of what was about to happen.

Where hands should be there were only discolored bloody stumps eaten away by both the maggots he could not ward off and infection.

" Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh! " The voice that tore from his throat was not his. Horrified, Alfred bolted for the door. Only to be stopped short by something pulling against his neck. A heavy metal collar. That's right, how could he have forgotten? That horrid collar had been an ever-present foe dating back to his first night of hell down here. It was attached to the wall by a thick iron chain. Strange that he could have forgotten it was there....

Rats squeaked in the far corner. There were always rats. Sometimes they came up and tore at his flesh with those sharp teeth until he stomped on them or crushed them beneath his weight.

Weight? What weight? He was all skin and bones and his ribs showed beneath the tattered remains of a white t-shirt. Once healthy brown skin was now five or six shades too pale.

When had he last eaten? Aside from the rat he had killed yesterday it had to have been at least four days. What moisture he could get he was forced to lick from the walls. His captors certainly didn't concern themselves with such things.

Why wouldn't they let him go? He didn't understand it. He had been thrown down here and had his hands cut off all because of one tiny mistake: Alfred was under the delusion that he had stolen Alexia's favorite doll and then lied about it. Which was completely absurd....

Alfred?

Why am I thinking this? Confusion dominated the moment as two souls struggled to make sense of what was happening.

Alfred, the real Alfred, knew all too well what was going on. It always took him a moment to adjust, to untangle his mind from his victim's. This time he was exceptionally early to do so, and now he could feel the other man's mind touching his senses.

He was curious, perhaps a bit afraid, but there was no malice in his thoughts. After all, there was no way he could know just who was sharing his every sensation. The moment was quick-lived.

Waves of agony and despair washed over him, and once again Alfred became his victim.

He was going to die here. It was only a matter of time. Hopefully it would be soon. Hopefully he wouldn't have to suffer another visit from that heartless maniac whose blood ran colder than the Antarctic itself.

Seconds ticked by into hours. The rats swarmed in, eagerly anticipating his last breath. Once he fell, that would be it. No fair play. Alfred struggled to keep on his feet, but it was no use. Weeks of suffering were taking their toll. At last he sank to his knees, beating futilely with his stump-arms at the tide of furry terrors moving in, red eyes glowing...

The door swung open, letting in a flood of blinding light. Frightened, the rats fled at the approach of another man.

" I've had about enough of your silence. Time for a little fun." The all-too-familiar voice cackled evilly. That could only mean one thing....

Alfred swiveled around with what very well may have been his last reserves of strength to see his former boss leering over him, setting a cast-iron pail down by his side. He couldn't bring himself to see what exactly was in the pail, but there was a damn good chance it wasn't food or medicine.

Wait a second....he studied the well-dressed man before him through sore, bloodshot eyes, that's me! It was like looking into a mirror! Except, had an actual mirror been at hand, Present Alfred's expression would not have resembled the condescending sneer of his former self. Oh God.....

Alfred...no, PAST Alfred...lashed out with his right boot and kicked Present Alfred/the unnamed victim in the stomach. The blow stung, but he didn't really have the strength to cry out. He collapsed all the way to the ground with a soft whimper.

Why was this man doing this? Was this punishment for the crimes he had helped Umbrella commit? The extreme pain was overwhelming now. Present Alfred felt every twinge of it as if it were his own, felt every drop of the misery and despair this still nameless victim was going through....

I'm Tony.

Huh? Can you hear me? Do you know I'm here? Present Alfred tried before his thoughts once more merged with his victim's and made an answer impossible.

Past Alfred was not as sympathetic. He grabbed a fistful of Tony's hair and yanked the man up with all the tenderness of an enraged silverback gorilla. It was an easy enough feat. Even though his form was lean and thin, he was easily twice the weight of the scrawny black guy he was torturing.

Tony cried out and locked eyes with his tormentor, frightened beyond words by the total lack of empathy in the liquid cerulean pools glaring back at him .

" Where. Is. It." Past Alfred snarled through gritted teeth. It didn't sound like a question so much as the warning growl of a vicious dog. His gaze touched on the maggot-ridden stumps on the ends of the other man's arms, and his lip curled in disgust.

" Like I told you before, I don't know! I never took it! Please! Please Sir Alfred, you have to believe me! "

I wont though. Present Alfred once again resurfaced, recalling every event of this incidence in graphic detail.

Past Alfred snorted and turned back to the iron pail he had brought along. " It's hard to believe a liar. You were there, my guard saw you! " As Tony/Present Alfred looked on in abject horror, he proceeded to grab the bucket up by the handle and carry it over. A faint sizzling noise could be heard from within, as if the contents were extremely hot. Past Alfred's lips twisted in an sadistic grin. Glacier eyes sparkled with cold glee. " Do you know what an Ashford does to a liar, Mr. Slombers? "

Yes. Present Alfred answered miserably, a conclusion that had not yet been reached by Tony, who didn't seem to be able to hear him.

" Wh...what? What are you going to do? Dammit Alfred, I'm not lying! "

There was no bracing himself. If he could, he would have. But this was not his body, and it's owner had been painfully ignorant. All Present Alfred could do was scream along with his victim of long ago as searing coals were flung into his face, burning their way down his cheeks and neck. His bloodcurdling cries were cut short when Past Alfred once again swung the bucket, unleashing another fiery stream right into his open mouth!

Fire! Burning, blazing agony! His mouth was an inferno, every nerve ending screaming with the sensation of pure, unadulterated pain! He struggled to spit the red hot coals out and was rewarded for his effort by the sharp sting of the toe of Past Alfred's boot connecting with his chin. Although the blow cracked his head back roughly against the ground, it was a love-tap in comparison to the coals scorching his body.

He gazed up at his tormentor in a hellish haze of red pain, unable to form any coherent thoughts. Past Alfred giggled like a school-girl and said something snide, but Tony/Present Alfred was beyond hearing. One well-aimed hit to the nose from the heel of the dreaded boot, and the red stars dancing around his head exploded.

"Aiieeeeeeee!! " Alfred opened his eyes and found himself back in the castle room with his sister and the beast. Strange, his mouth still burned even though there was nothing there to scorch it.

Alexia shot him an incredulous look. What are you whining about? Just wait until it's your turn! Daddy Dearest still had not finished with her yet. Her vision swam in a crimson haze, her hair streaked with the same color.

Alfred's reply came in the form of a weak whimper, like a puppy that had been stepped on by mistake. He couldn't hold out anymore. He couldn't be strong, not even for Alexia. It was too much. It was all just too much. The pain, the images, the sensations...the memories. All of it weighed on his chest like a giant blue whale laboring his breath.

Tony...

And then you found that doll a week later, remember? Right where you yourself had left it. Tony was telling the truth. The Voice was disgusted, Bad enough you served as jury, judge, and executioner, but you know what the most sickening part was? You liked it. You took delight in maiming that poor man. Enjoyed hearing his screams. Reveled in his pain and sorrow. Wasn't so fun to be thrust into his shoes, was it? And now here you are, whining like a baby when someone gives you a taste of your own medicine. What's wrong, you can dish it, but you can't take it? You deserve everything Nosferatu can dish and then some. You...

" Enough! Just enough! " Alfred spat, finally losing it and yelling the words out loud, drawing an odd look from Alexia, " You have no idea what it was like! You didn't even know what was..."

Yes I did. The Voice cut in solidly, I was there, remember? Like I told you once before, you and I are not separate entities. I know every crime you committed because I committed them too. I wept silently while you massacred countless hundreds. Where you cowered before Alexia, I stood tall and opposed her. I rejoiced when you showed some love and affection towards your daughters. And when Steve Burnside shot us, I did not hate him for what he had done.

/Alfred, you're talking to yourself again!/ Alexia snorted telepathically. For the moment, Alfred ignored her.

Steve! His thoughts turned black with hate, He deserves to die! He hates me...

Can you blame him? The Voice was quick to retort, Look at all you have done to him. Locking him up on Rockfort and indirectly causing the death of his father. Savagely hunting him and Claire down with the intent of killing them both when all they really wanted to do the entire time was escape. You can't blame him for being a little irate about all of that. He had a good reason to open fire on us. If he hadn't killed us we would have killed him.

Quit talking like that! There is no 'us' only me!

/Alfred answer me!/ Alexia was getting rather angry. For a blessed second the Nosferatu beast paused to recharge, and she had a chance to catch her breath. So to speak. She shot an angry glance in her brother's direction, saw him quivering helplessly in his bonds like a worm at the end of a hook. /Alfred!/

You speak the truth. The Voice continued without paying heed to Alexia's calls, I have always been there, however diminished. I am every second thought you have ever had about doing something you knew was wrong. I am not merely part of you, I am you. Continue down this path and you won't like the end result.

Alfred laughed nervously, and Alexia wanted to throttle him, That so? And how might you know that, you my future self? He returned snidely. The answer startled him.

Yes and no.

Which is it?

Both.

Absurd! Alfred had never been so confused in his life. At least the insults he understood, but now The Voice was talking complete nonsense!

Heavy footsteps pounded the floor as Nosferatu clambered back over for Alfred's dose, angry tentacles lashing the air in a renewed frenzy. Thick, ugly purple veins throbbed in the creature's chest, pumping life fluid to an over-sized, over-exposed heart. The sickly green flesh was just as disturbing as before: Alfred had never really gotten used to seeing it, even after all these years. Dark blindfold still in place, the Alexander-beast paused briefly to roar; warped and decayed teeth fully visible along the mottled scar-tissue of his diseased gums.

" I hope he eviscerates you! " Alexia hissed poisonously, her eyes taking on a savage red light for the most fleeting of moments.

Alfred screamed, and that was all he had time to do before the behemoth was upon him, laying open skin and bone alike with those wicked razors.

If you're me, why don't you help us! Alfred shrieked inside, praying for once this was not one of those instances where The Voice went all silent for awhile.

You are perfectly capable of helping yourself.

The nerve! That was not at all what Alfred wanted to hear. Curved razors slashed his forehead, adding to his already impressive collection of cuts and trailing a raw, gruesome mess. He ducked his head to shield his tender face, eyes, and nose, even though he knew the motion was futile and the pain would never ease. Help me! I have no other choice!

Alexia wasn't on his side. The greatest pain in his entire existence and she didn't even care. It was a sharp dagger twisting in his heart, gutting him from the inside out. His Alexia....it was too wretched to be true.

Perhaps in the end he stood alone after all. Or had he ever really not been alone from the start? A disturbing question.

The Voice again spoke up, firm and unwavering in his head. It's words held no comfort, but they did hold a spark of hope: There is always a choice.