Gales of frosty wind whipped across the mountain range, and all Chris Redfield could do was pull the insulated balaclava tighter over his head, and yank his fur-lined hood lower. He eased himself down into the makeshift sniper's nest his team had setup hours prior. Though of course, sniper's nest was putting it generously. They had foregone much of the usual bits, like the white camo tarp to help fend off the wind and obscure their position from airborne surveillance. There was no need for that. All it would do was flutter in the wind and catch the attention of any eagle-eyed bioweapons.
Instead, this shooting platform was just that – a patch of rocky outcropping, partially swept free of snow to prevent any additional unnecessary chill. Rolando – or Umber Eyes, as was his callsign – was already in place. His spotting scope was deployed on a low tripod, giving him a clear view as he surveyed the expanse of the valley below, and the blighted village that settled within it. Next to him were the pair of rifles deployed on bipods and ready to fire.
Closer to Umber Eyes was the M110 SASS, which was his bread and butter for his role as the team's designated marksman. It could take most of the lesser bioweapons out of the fight with ease. The ever-reliable suppressor allowed Umber Eyes to sow death in the creatures' ranks from afar without having to worry about compromising his position.
The second rifle, closer to Chris as he lied down flat on his stomach, was the Barrett M82A1. While ordinarily filling the role of an 'anti-material' weapon, it didn't at all take Chris and his team long to find that the Barrett was more than useful for eliminating massive threats from staggering ranges. With the odds heavily stacked against Hound Wolf Squad, they needed every advantage they could get against Miranda and her forces.
"Evening, Captain," Umber Eyes greeted without taking his eyes off the scope's lens.
"What do you got for me?" Chris pulled the Barrett over, easing the stock into position against his shoulder.
The condensation in front of Umber Eyes' concealed mouth hovered in the air for a moment, only to be swept away by the chilly wind. "Aside from the usual?"
"Yeah," Chris muttered, peering into the rifle's scope and fiddling with the dials to get a better view, "Aside from the usual."
The usual was the scores of bioweapons that made up the bulk of Miranda's ground forces – lycans, their team had taken to calling them, given their wolfish appearances. They were brutish monsters, but nothing that Hound Wolf Squad's arsenal couldn't deal with. The trouble arose from their numbers, and how quickly they recouped their losses.
The valley below was home to a number of remote villages. Castle Dimitrescu and the nearby town in its shadow only served as the tip of the iceberg. After that community had been wiped clean, and its denizens turned into more bioweapons, Miranda began sending her forces to the other villages. Every single body that dropped was another body to feed the Megamycete, and fill a spot in Miranda's army.
Chris and his team did what they could to be a thorn in Miranda's side and slow her advance. Every pack of bioweapons killed with extreme prejudice helped to thin the herd. They set fire to the fallen human bodies to prevent their desecration and use as more fodder to Miranda's forces. They eliminated the larger, stronger, more imposing bioweapons that commanded the lesser lycans.
But they were only six people with little to no backup. Reinforcements were limited to air support – and not an A10 Warthog or a Spectre Gunship that could level the battlefield either. Air support was limited to paradrops of ammunition and supplies – the last few favors Chris could still call in after going rogue from the BSAA. Yet even that was something Chris lost sleep over – which he got little of to begin with.
He knew it was only a matter of time before his man on the inside was either compromised, or forced to stop sending supplies to save his skin, or both. They would eventually need to tap into the local black market to keep their supply line active.
Maybe they accepted Mastercard.
He didn't want to say they were in over their heads, but then Chris would be lying to himself.
Things had gone to shit quicker than any of them could have anticipated, and now people were dead because of him. Because of his lack of foresight. Because of his inability to stay one step ahead of Miranda.
When they first learned that Miranda had infiltrated the Winters' household, Chris kept his cool. The alternative – freaking out and shitting bricks – would do no good, and the panic would only spread to the rest of Hound Wolf Squad. He needed to be strong for them, so that they would be strong for him.
Chris had rationalized to himself that the jig wasn't up just yet.
They failed their role as protective detail and their secondary mission of monitoring Miranda's operations – given that Miranda had located the Winters Residence instead of remaining woefully ignorant of their presence in the region.
They found Mia's SUV crashed down the side of a dirt road and trapped in a ravine, reduced to nothing but a hunk of twisted, blood-soaked metal. Bullet casings littered the damp, snowy ground, and not a body was in sight – it was an easy deduction that Miranda had made short work of Mia in order to assume the latter's form.
Miranda prancing around the Winters' home was alarming in every sense of the word – but Chris had convinced himself the whole operation could still be salvaged.
It had to be salvageable. It just had to. Because Chris didn't know what he would do with himself if it wasn't.
That was why they watched and waited, with rifles poised on Miranda around the clock for an entire week. When Miranda had shown up disguised as Mia, parading around with her bruised and bloody head, claiming she totaled her car and had to walk home – Ethan fell for it in an instant. Miranda capitalized on Ethan's deep sense of protectiveness, and he had no reason to doubt her claims – not when his wife was wounded and in need of help.
The extra confirmation came when Chris called up Mia with his weekly check-in, fully expecting the passphrases to go over Miranda's head. When told, "You've been through a lot lately. In your condition, I hope you've been staying away from the chainsaw," Miranda failed to give Mia's rehearsed reply of, "No hands have been lost today – don't worry."
Miranda stumbled, sounding somewhat puzzled by Chris' remark. The precaution Chris had set up with Mia paid off in spades, even if it was far too late to save the latter.
The house was bugged, and Chris wasn't unaware of the tension that had started to mount between Ethan and Miranda in the days that followed. Hound Wolf Squad was operating outside the confines of the law, so there were no pesky wiretapping rules to get in the way of their monitoring.
Chris' plan had been to wait for Ethan's suspicion to peak, and then finally contact him in private when they got the chance. That way, he would be more receptive of the utterly unbelievable news they had to spring on him – that his wife was dead, and it was a stranger – a twisted cult leader and mad scientist of a woman – that was in his house. Doing so earlier may just result in violent reactions from Ethan, which would then tip off Miranda, who would put Rose and Ethan's lives at risk.
The relief that things were going according to (fallback) plan only lasted a moment. Because then Canine's reconnaissance of the nearby village yielded alarming results – that Miranda was planning to finally take Rose, by force now, and return to her hideout.
They got all units in position barely an hour after that, and once more, it was Chris' fault that things had gone sideways. It had been too easy. Lobo's slew of automatic gunfire and Chris' own bullets made short work of Miranda. Rather than take a step back and acknowledge that Miranda had gone down without a fight, Chris had pushed on, suppressing the mounting dread in his chest.
At the moment, the only thing that mattered was getting Ethan and Rose out of dodge as quickly as possible. Chris had already failed Mia – he wasn't going to fail them too. He could explain the whole mess away once they were at a safehouse halfway across the country. After checking her pulse – which she had none – they loaded Miranda's body into one of the vehicles, and off they went before the Lords of the Village knew what had happened.
Things never did go according to plan when Chris was involved. At this point, he was fairly sure that was his curse to bear. Around him, people died, and he failed to protect anyone he remotely cared about. The Winters had trusted him with their safety, and where were they now?
Mia was dead, because Chris wanted extra reconnaissance on Karl Heisenberg, who'd been seen trifling with one too many graveyards. The one time Tundra wasn't shadowing Mia, and that's when Miranda struck.
He'd gotten complacent. After the quiet months in the countryside, with Hound Wolf Squad growing tired of playing babysitter, it was an easy decision to transfer Mia's guardian angel to give Canine some backup. Mia had just gone on a routine grocery run, as she had dozens of times before. She was a tough woman, like any bioterrorist turned informant would be. The compact submachinegun tucked into the glove compartment was there at the ready. There was no reason to expect Mia would run into any trouble on this trip. Every other drive had gone by quietly, with Tundra tailing behind a few cars back.
Chris had seen enough shit to last him a lifetime. He should have known better by now that all it took for lives to be lost was a single lapse in attention.
It was part of why Chris hadn't bothered enlightening Ethan further during the one time they made contact by morse code.
What was the point of painstakingly spelling out who Miranda was, and the fact that it had been she that Chris unloaded a gun into? Mia was still dead, and it was Chris' decision-making that had caused it. He may as well have actually fired five rounds into Mia's chest. It was the same shit, and there was no use complicating it for Ethan while he was locked up. The man surely had enough to worry about while trapped in that castle. He could get the full story if they got him out of there.
When they got him out of there – Chris corrected himself.
The mission had evolved much over the days.
At first, it was simple. Protect Ethan, Mia, and Rose Winters. Conduct reconnaissance on Miranda, and avoid making contact.
Then, it was protect Ethan and Rose, and monitor the situation as Miranda masqueraded as Mia. Strike when the time was right, and when Ethan was in the know.
Now, they were waging full on guerilla-warfare against an enemy that didn't fatigue, had no morale to break, and did not run out of combatants to fill the ranks.
They kept an eye on Ethan, who was alive, but imprisoned in the Dimitrescu Castle along with Rose, who they had yet to see through the drone.
They culled the swarms of bioweapons wreaking havoc throughout the valley, for what little it was worth. For every pack that was put down, another soon emerged from a cave halfway across the valley.
They conducted reconnaissance on the other Lords, who each served different roles under Miranda. For the most part, they were hands-off when it came to the hordes of bioweapons raiding the nearby towns – which Hound Wolf Squad did their best to intercept when they had enough warm bodies in place, and could afford to burn the ammunition and explosives.
Alcina Dimitrescu created bioweapons capable of flight, which the locals had dubbed Samce. The creatures swooped in from the sky, making the townsfolk even more defenseless, and forcing Chris and his team to spend even more ammunition to take them down. It was a working theory that Lady Dimitrescu created the Samce in Miranda's main base of operations. Follow the Samce, and surely you find Miranda's hideout.
Chris figured it was a few more weeks of tracking until they could pinpoint the hideout, which they were now certain was underground. It explained why the flying bioweapons emerged from so many different areas. It made sense that they likely originated from a sprawling cave network that Hound Wolf Squad had barely scratched the surface of.
Salvatore Moreau brought life to the bioweapons that resembled wolfmen the size of small trucks – the vârcolaci. They multiplied the efficacy of any pack of lycans, and served as high value targets for termination whenever they wound up in Umber Eyes' sights. Eliminating Moreau would simplify matters, but nothing was ever simple. It was a fair guess that a .50 caliber round through the head wouldn't eliminate him – and the same went for Dimitrescu.
Engaging him in any sort of prolonged firefight meant first navigating to his nook of the village, where the rivers and the terrain worked to his advantage. The best they could do for now was quell the numbers of his hulking wolfmen. The Barrett was getting much use filling that role.
Donna Beneviento was a recluse, and it was only through a near-lethal encounter that they uncovered her role in Miranda's army. Canine had been scouting dangerously near the Beneviento Manor when he was overcome by violent hallucinations. His brief bout of insanity directed his rifle towards Night Howl – who just barely displaced Canine's line of fire before grappling and incapacitating him. It took an entire day, bound and gagged, until Canine came to his senses. Now, they never combatted larger raiding parties without wearing complete kits of biohazard gear.
They later discovered it was mold-infested pollen which Canine had inhaled – and which some lycans coated themselves in before raiding villages, allowing it to stick to their fur. It added an extra layer of chaos to the raids, and kept the populace from fighting back – since then the villagers started to fight each other as a result of the pollen. Because they never had a clear shot at Beneviento, and they lacked the means to blow up her entire manor, their current efforts were to mitigate the symptoms, rather than destroy the root of the issue.
Night Howl and Umber Eyes were working on synthesizing a counter to the moldy pollen. They had enough experience between the two of them, and all the notes that went into the serum which put an end to Eveline in the Baker Estate. The mold had originated from right here. It stood to reason that they could use those notes to prepare a serum that could be injected into the moldy heart of this valley – wherever it was. When the two weren't slaying bioweapons by day, they were hitting the books by night, and working on their serum – the ace up their sleeve that just may tip the scales in their favor when the time came.
The last Lord was Karl Heisenberg, who Chris found to be the most interesting of the lot. It appeared that his main function, as far as Miranda was concerned, was to manufacture weapons and armor for the bioweapons – because a hulking wolfman covered in steel plating was twice as hardy as their unarmored brethren. And to make matters worse, the bioweapons were apparently adept at archery, and Heisenberg ensured their arrowheads were sharp. It gave the ceramic plates in Chris and his team's vests good mileage whenever a stray arrow came calling.
Heisenberg also received occasional shipments from Beneviento – deliveries of the mold-infused pollen. If mutated archers weren't bad enough, Heisenberg outfitted batches of arrows with tiny canisters of the pollen. It gave the lycans the capability to fire volleys of the psychosis-inducing particulates into a village before commencing a raid.
However, after bugging Heisenberg's factory, and sending a drone to creep around, they discovered the man had a deep-seated disdain for Miranda – given how foul his tongue ran when speaking of Miranda. While toiling away in the factory, he did much talking to himself and to his cybernetic creations. The beings, half-corpse, half-machine, were referred to by Heisenberg as his Soldaten. Yet Hound Wolf Squad had yet to encounter a single one of them in the field of combat. It fueled their current theory that Heisenberg was gearing up for a civil war, and this was something Chris was very interested in taking advantage of.
If things kept up, Chris had a mind to try making contact with the begrudging Lord. The man was a walking, talking bioweapon, and he would need to be eliminated eventually, but until then, Chris was aware of how badly the odds were skewed against them. They needed every edge they could get, and a mechanical army would go a long way to giving Hound Wolf Squad the opening they needed to strike critical targets. Heisenberg could die last, after having outlived his usefulness.
Chris rubbed a tired hand across his eyes.
It was a lot that they were doing, and he was worried of just how long they could keep going at their current pace. Being a six-man team meant they were light, quick, and mobile. It was how they remained undetected for so long, save for whenever they ambushed Miranda's bioweapons, or engaged them head on. By constantly moving and camping at different points across the mountain range, they remained as elusive as they were deadly – as long as the fatigue didn't catch up to them.
The sooner Umber Eyes and Night Howl created their serum, the better. Once they zeroed in on the root of the mold, they could put this whole war to bed with a single injection. Granted, they still had to bust into Castle Dimitrescu to rescue Ethan and Rose, but the end could be envisioned at the very least. There was some comfort in that thought – that it wasn't all bleak, and Chris' long string of failures – Mia's death being the latest addition – wasn't all for naught.
"Boss, did you catch that?" The voice to his left broke Chris from his ruminations. Umber Eyes was turned his way, spotter scope at the ready.
"Sorry," Chris grunted. He shifted around to reach into his pants and retrieve his pack of smokes, and his lighter. "Lot on my mind. Say again?"
"Check out the castle," Umber Eyes brought his face back to the scope's level. "Carriage is setup and getting ready to move out."
Chris pulled down on his balaclava to pop a cigarette into his mouth. He shielded his lighter from the harsh wind as he struck the starter. After a few failed attempts, the flame started, and the cigarette lit. With a deep inhale, the nicotine flooded his system. It dulled his nerves, and the latent, all-encompassing sense of dread that came with acknowledging the day-to-day struggles to come. With a puff, the smoke drifted from Chris' nostrils, and his hands steadied when they took hold of the Barrett.
He swiveled the weapon on the bipod, directing it to the castle entrance as he asked, "Isn't that just the Duke on the move?"
"I don't think I've ever seen that guy move." In spite of the deadpan delivery, Chris could make out Umber Eyes' smile beneath his balaclava.
"Touché," Chris muttered around the cigarette. Aside from never actually seeing the large man mobile – they had literally never seen the Duke in transit. Whether it was due to gaps in surveillance or inopportune reconnaissance timing was anyone's guess. The mysterious merchant simply transferred from one locale to another as needed, barely leaving a trace of his travel. He catered to nearly anyone and everyone. That included hapless villagers pooling their money together to buy a firearm; anything to help keep the tides of bioweapons back.
It appeared the only exception was Hound Wolf Squad. Chris didn't know if they simply did too good of a job at remaining hidden in the mountains, or if there was no clear trail for his carriage to follow them – but the Duke had never offered his wares to them. Not that much good would come of it anyway, since everyone in Chris' team was rather light on cash, and got most of their resupplies from arial drops.
The only currency they could deal in these days would be severed lycan heads. If their luck started to improve, maybe the Duke accepted that as legal tender.
"But anyway – no visual on the big guy." Umber Eyes got back to business just as Chris acquired the scene through his scope. "We got those two helpers of his loading the back – looks like wine."
The carriage was situated in front of Castle Dimitrescu's towering gatehouse. The two men went about their work under torchlight. Numerous sconces crackled with fire, casting a warm glow throughout the area. The men carried boxes and small crates from the side of the gatehouse and into the back of the carriage. They only paused to chat every so often, or light up a cigarette with little regard for the chilly weather around them. It wouldn't be the most unusual thing if those two were infected by the mold. Chris couldn't picture ordinary humans working so closely with an enigma like the Duke.
"If it's not just those two hitting the road… maybe Colossus is heading out for a trip to Miranda." It was by habit that Chris referred to Dimitrescu by the callsign they ascribed to her. There wasn't much use to it anymore, given the little chance that their comms could be intercepted, but it paid to be safe. They didn't bother giving Miranda another name, since that would be too little too late by this point, after the months of reconnaissance and speaking of her.
"Can't be," Umber Eyes shook his head slightly. "Colossus left hours ago in her own carriage. This is the Duke's ride."
Pivoting the rifle, Chris peered through the scope to follow Umber Eyes' observation. True enough, the carriage had The Duke's Emporium painted onto one side, barely visible thanks to the angle it was parked.
Chris hummed, pausing to take a deep drag of his smoke. The warmth filled his insides – a tiny little addition to help fend off the piercing cold. When he blew it out, he posed the question, "Who's coming out for a joy ride this late at night?"
On cue, a third figure came into sight from the castle's interior. Humanoid in shape, the figure was bundled up from head to toe. As the silhouette walked towards the carriage and into the light, Chris noted it was feminine in appearance – lacking the stocky shoulders and gait of a male.
She wore a dark blue heavy-duty down coat that fell to just below her knees. Her fur-lined hood was pulled up, obscuring much of her features. Large ski goggles covered her eyes, and a dark scarf ensured her face was sufficiently concealed. Jeans – probably flannel lined – peeked out from beneath her coat. Black boots completed her ensemble.
"Ever seen the maids out after dark?" Chris posed the question just to be sure, even though he was anticipating the negatory from Umber Eyes. The clothing alone was a giveaway. Considering the relative wealth of the villagers, no ordinary local would be wearing what this woman was. She was positively decked out for cold weather. If Chris' scope was any more high-powered, he'd probably be able to make out a North Face tag somewhere on her clothes. It was worlds away from the simple woolen coats that most of the villagers wore when the lycans put their home to the bloody torch.
"Nah. Colossus keeps them locked up tight at night. Probably doesn't want us bagging them to turn 'em into informants… Is that one of the daughters?" Umber Eyes thought aloud. "The hell is she doing out here?"
Chris observed the woman through his scope as the same question rattled in his skull. Ever since surveillance began late last year, they never got so much as a glimpse of the Dimitrescu daughters. The focus of their recon was on Miranda, but still – Chris would have expected to see them out on the prowl by now, especially after all they inadvertently learned, thanks to the drone hidden in the castle. It was clear the daughters didn't get out much, and that went double for these sub-zero temperatures.
So why on earth was one of them risking life and limb by being out and about past midnight in the freezing cold?
"Whatever she's doing out here, she's an HVT, right?" Umber Eyes remained still as a board while speaking. Nothing but cool professionalism as he asked, "Or a target of opportunity, at least?"
For the moment, Chris answered with a question of his own. "Do we have eyes inside the castle?"
"Negative," Umber Eyes answered, "We had to take it back this morning to recharge."
No actionable intelligence then. The figure standing under the lamplight was either Bela, Cassandra, or Daniela. There was no way of discerning which sister was in Chris' crosshairs – not that it mattered.
Chris wouldn't lose sleep over putting any of them in the ground. Their body-counts racked up into the hundreds, judging by the stories they heard from the locals during the few times they made direct contact. The daughters were dangerous mutants and had to be put down.
And even if it was Bela Dimitrescu standing in the open, killing her meant one less obstacle for Ethan. It meant more ease to facilitating his jailbreak from the castle when the time came. It brought them one step closer to ending this war.
The bond between Ethan and Bela be damned, it was a risk Chris was willing to take for the bigger picture.
"Give me the readings." Chris took one final drag from his cigarette, flooding the prickling nicotine through his system. It was summarily extinguished against the closest mound of snow – the last thing he needed was smoke wafting into his eyes as he prepared to take the shot. Chris pulled back on the bolt, chambering a massive 0.50 BMG round. The bullet slid into place, ready to fire once he flicked the safety off.
"2,789 meters."
The corresponding knob on the Barrett was twisted accordingly.
"Elevation?"
Umber Eyes tinkered with his rangefinder and inclinometer as he gave his response, "1,014 meters."
The seconds ticked by as Umber Eyes fed Chris more and more data, which ran through the former's handheld ballistics meter, preparing them for the shot. The bullet's weight, spindrift, the Coriolis effect, the barometric pressure – these all came into play as Chris continually adjusted his optics.
The Dimitrescu daughter wrapped her gloved hands around her person, as if she still felt cold despite the thick layers – thicker than what Chris was wearing. Her head appeared to swivel back and forth to the two men loading up the carriage. After they acknowledged her with quick, curt bows, they continued on, barely paying her any more mind.
She was a sitting duck.
Even from this staggering distance, it would be too easy to put her down. She was out in the open, illuminated by torchlight, and stood frozen in place, staring at the two men.
In time, Chris completed the last few preparations and calculations needed to take the shot. Umber Eyes took that time to get onto one knee and double-check Chris' settings – to ensure they were on the same page and that he wouldn't miss.
Shooting from their elevation and into the valley below made the wind even trickier. They got enough cues from the landscape. Trees swaying one way. Scraps of cloth hanging off a destroyed wall billowing that way. They were lucky, too. The previously harsh, whipping wind was slowing down, making the task of dealing death all the easier.
They settled on their estimates, with Umber Eyes concluding, "Hold left edge."
Chris pitched the rifle ever so slightly to the left to ensure the shot would hit center mass. The daughters were weak to the cold, one way or another. In this weather, a single anti-material round through the chest would erase them from this world. No amount of thick winter clothing would stop this bullet. The bioweapon would be nothing but a stain on the snowy ground.
Inhale. Count to four.
Shots like this were a dime in a dozen. Her death was nothing to him but another notch on his rifle. The entire valley would be safer because of it, and countless lives will have been avenged.
Exhale. Count to four.
Chris' gloved finger tightened around the trigger, starting to exert pressure and stopping just shy of the point of no return; the slightest twitch would send the hammer biting into the bullet's primer. Life and death were separated by a hair's breadth of pressure.
"Fire when ready, Alpha." Umber Eyes gave the cue.
Over two kilometers away, the Dimitrescu daughter would only hear the slightest pop before she hit the ground. She would be dead before she knew it. It was far more merciful of an end than she or the rest of the savage bioweapons deserved.
She moved just then, turned to one of the men carrying a box. Her posture tensed, and a shaking hand came to tug at her scarf. Her lips parted – seemingly shouting at the two men. In the process, several long, wavy strands of hair came free. In the torch light, they were unmistakably blonde.
It was Bela Dimitrescu.
"She hasn't moved enough to ruin the shot – send it, boss."
Chris' finger remained locked in place for a moment longer.
All Chris could think of was Ethan – beaten and bloodied on his back in the great hall. The mind-boggling speed with which Bela had knocked her sister across the room to save Ethan. The way he looked at her and leaned into her hand when she crouched by his side. The firm stance she had taken against her sister – standing up on Ethan's behalf, despite how wholly illogical and insane it all seemed.
Click.
The Barrett's safety was flicked into place.
"Sir?" Umber Eyes' confusion was not amiss, even as Chris continued to peer through the scope.
Inhale, count to four.
Exhale, count to four.
Chris fumbled for another cigarette – anything to take the edge off his hands, which suppressed the slightest tremble. After a few moments of Umber Eyes' question remaining unanswered, the cigarette came to life, and Chris' nerves tingled with unease.
Something fucky was going on between those two – it wasn't normal, but Chris would be lying to himself if he didn't acknowledge that it was probably keeping Ethan alive. Among all the sisters, Bela was the only one observed to have treated Ethan with mercy. She ensured his time as a prisoner was comfortable. Through the drone, Chris was aware of at least the basics of Ethan's relationship with the bioweapon.
In hostage scenarios, it had become common practice to encourage bonding between the hostage-takers and the victims. It increased the likelihood of the hostages surviving, since the aggressors would be less likely to hurt them, if nothing else.
The same principle could be applied here, as much as Chris hated to admit it.
Chris had seen Ethan sparing Bela from the cold in that dining room, all those days ago. The man could have easily overpowered and killed her then and there – something Chris would have done without blinking an eye. Ethan's choice that day could be seen paying off in this morning's events, after Ethan had survived whatever it was he'd gone through in the dungeons, and his personal bout with Cassandra. Ethan would be missing his tongue or another limb if Bela hadn't intervened and protected him.
If Chris wanted Ethan in one piece while biding his time before breaching the castle, then Bela Dimitrescu could not die.
His cigarette blew ash to the wind with each gust that battered the mountainside, and he tried not to bite down on it – to grit his teeth in frustration. He could feel more than see Umber Eyes' bewildered gaze on him. Far down below, Bela had the two men's attention now, and she was being ushered into the side door of the carriage. She climbed in, hastily pulling her scarf up as she did so.
"She's the one who locked up Fenrir, right?" Umber Eyes broke the silence to ask. Ethan's callsign now felt ironic – especially after hearing the blonde bioweapon referring to the man as puppy on more than one occasion.
Chris gave a non-answer, "Find me another target. Round's chambered. Would be a shame to let it go to waste." There was no need to affirm Umber Eyes. He knew just as well as Chris did who Bela was, and how Ethan had bonded with her. He'd been controlling the drone while Chris watched the feed, after all.
"Rog'." Umber Eyes nodded, turning his attention back to the valley below.
The mutants in this valley were different. There were the lycans and their bigger, more animalistic counterparts – those were the ones Chris was accustomed to hunting as part of his career. But the others were unlike those bioweapons. The four Lords. The Dimitrescu daughters. Miranda herself.
Even like Eveline, in a way, they had human qualities to them. But unlike Eveline, they were far more… sentient and self-aware. Not quite as far gone into the madness as Eveline had been. Bioweapons like this were not something Chris had seen much of in the past. For the most part – excluding Moreau's deformities, or Dimitrescu with her height – they could masquerade as humans.
Not unlike Ethan.
"Got a big wolf over by the cemetery," Came Umber Eyes' next target. After a pause, he added, "But I do suggest we keep an eye on blondie afterwards; see where she goes and all."
"Solid copy." Chris muttered, pivoting his sights over to the location in question. Finding his shooter in agreement, Umber Eyes focused on their current quarry.
When the drone wasn't struggling to get reception, they spent much of their time piloting it to get the lay of the land. They tried mapping out the levels, both above and below ground, and even all the way to the roof, should that prove as a possible entrance to breach from. It was only in passing, and the few times the drone had been rather close, that they were able to witness the head-scratching connection Ethan was forming with Bela Dimitrescu.
Chris could chalk it up to Stockholm Syndrome and call it a day. But it was stranger still to witness Bela's own displays of kindness for Ethan, and the treatment he got that any prisoner in history would have killed to receive. Maybe it was all part of Bela's game. Chris was more inclined to believe that than any notion of genuine goodness and kindness from a murderous bioweapon like her.
Bela Dimitrescu was still one of Miranda's creations, after all. Just like Eveline. There had not been a scrap of goodness or kindness in that deranged monster, who paraded around as a poor imitation of a lonely child. Why would Bela be any different – especially given the gruesome tales they'd heard from the locals?
Though Chris' inclinations had no effect on the fact of the matter: Ethan was alive and relatively well thanks to Bela's interventions. She had to remain off the kill-list until Ethan was out of that castle.
After that? Chris could personally put her and her siblings six feet under, and the valley would be better off.
Umber Eyes gave the readings, and Chris automatically – almost robotically – went through the motions of adjusting the dials on his scope and pitching his rifle this way and that.
Chris could appreciate the scope's effect of inadvertently blocking out the larger picture of the valley – because then he didn't have to consciously watch the Duke's carriage depart, with Bela safely inside.
Every fiber of his being was split two ways – with one demanding to paint the snow red with her blood, like she and her sisters had done to countless innocents. She was dangerous, and her elimination would deal a blow to Lady Dimitrescu herself. One way or another, the elimination of a high value target such as her would shake up the status quo in the valley. It could open more opportunities to strike at the other Lords, or make them sloppy, leading to easier tracing to finally uncover Miranda's lab. There were limitless possible benefits to driving a stake through the Dimitrescu Family's heart.
But the other side of Chris called for placidity. Observation and reevaluation over rapid action and retaliation. Guerilla warfare was complex enough as it is, and killing an HVT was typically a good thing – but not when said HVT was, whether they realized it or not, in line with Hound Wolf Squad's goal of keeping Ethan alive. It had been the right call to not take the shot, as much as Chris didn't want to admit it.
He'd already failed Ethan in the worst possible ways – causing Mia's death, and allowing Rose's kidnapping and his subsequent capture. He'd nearly failed Ethan all over again by murdering the one being in that castle who treated him well.
Killing Miranda and securing Rose and Ethan was the endgame. That was all that mattered now that he'd allowed the situation to devolve this badly. It was all three of those objectives or nothing.
Ethan had lost enough for two lifetimes. Chris wasn't about to let the man down again.
The remorse was heavy in Chris' heart, even as he homed in on the hulking wolfman in the cemetery. His body went through the motions of its own accord, slowly squeezing the trigger millimeter by millimeter.
"Send it, Alpha," Umber Eyes gave the signal.
He tried not to think of how the bullet about the be discharged had nearly killed Ethan's last safety net in the castle.
Chris muttered quietly – silent enough that only he could hear it.
"Sorry, Ethan."
Bela pressed a firm, trembling hand to her lips. She curled into a ball as best as she could within the tight confines of the Duke's wagon. Normally she would be conscious of dirtying the upholstery.
Now? Fuck that. Fuck the Duke's lazy helpers. Fuck the weather. Fuck all of it.
She was freezing and the Duke's carriage was only marginally warmer than the frigid gales of midnight wind. With her boots – another very foreign thing to her – up on the seat, she was able to tuck herself inward, preserving the meager body warmth she still had. She leaned her hooded head – a hood much thicker than the light, mobile material she was used to – on the side of the door.
Bela's gloved hand massaged her mouth through her scarf to no avail. The entire lower half of her face felt numb, and continued to prickle with an unpleasant, painful warmth. It was reminiscent of frostnip from her earlier years, but Bela wasn't entirely sure if she was even capable of getting frostbite. She was under the impression her form would simply crumble to dust if exposed to the deathly temperatures for long enough. Although that was not a theory which she was eager to put to the test. The sooner she could get close to a heat source, the better.
It wasn't the smartest move on her part, Bela had to admit – but in the heat of the moment, with the palincă still strong in her veins and amplifying her temper, it couldn't be avoided. Much like any time alcohol was involved, a bad decision followed – this time yanking her scarf down to ensure her voice carried in a shout.
The Duke's helpers hardly acknowledged her after their nearly mocking bows in greeting – as if chatting, smoking their lungs out, and loading their fucking crates of Sanguis Virginis were all more important than getting her sheltered in the carriage. The snubbing and the crippling cold alike rendered Bela stunned speechless for an impossibly long, painful few seconds. The Duke had said he had made the necessary arrangements, and that she would be taken care of in her journey.
Apparently, he was wrong on that account. There were arrangements made, but that was it – his two stooges didn't give a shit about her beyond that. Why it was the two men had made it a point to dawdle and take their sweet time was a mystery to her – unless the Duke had neglected to mention the part to his men where a stiff wind could kill her if not for her wardrobe change. When she spoke up again, still they hardly paid her any attention – as if they were delaying her swift entry into the carriage. It was only when she tugged down on her scarf and bellowed at them that they finally moved their asses.
In hindsight, she should have just tossed herself into the back of the carriage – or maneuvered herself into the side door. Bela blamed the palincă for her poor judgment, and the headache and hiccups that accompanied it.
In any case, the wheels were turning now, crunching their way across the snowy road. They were mobile, and the Duke's men were piloting the carriage, where Bela did not have to deal with their stupidity and carelessness.
She would have a few choice words for the Duke about his employees once she got the chance.
Bela took that time to properly survey the carriage's interior for the first time. The dark suede seat she'd taken was the only vacant one, as the one to her side, and the two across from her were occupied with lows stacks of boxes. Above the boxes in front of Bela were large coats, hanging from the ceiling and acting as a makeshift privacy curtain to the little open window where the drivers sat. The clothes also served as a barrier from the bitter cold outside, which Bela could appreciate. Not that they helped a whole lot, but beggars – or in her case, runaways – couldn't be choosers.
To Bela's left was a small window, which gave her a view of the frigid landscape outside.
And it hit her just then, that this was the first time in over fifty years that she had been outside during winter – or even simply at night.
Bela let out a soft, quiet breath in wonder.
She had been a night owl, once. The town square was beautiful in the evening and was a lovely place to take a stroll. The local pub was liveliest when the sun was down too, and she was no stranger to the laughter and merriment it housed. After a long day of hard work, it was a lovely place to unwind, surrounded by friends.
Then there was the church, where teenagers loved to sneak over to. Some came for the scares of being in the adjoining cemetery at night. Others enjoyed the privacy towards the backside of the church, away from prying eyes. There, they partook in some less than chaste activities, and used the Lord's name in vain to their heart's content. Bela would have probably counted herself guilty of doing the same, if she hadn't had access to her home, which she had all to herself.
Her close call with nearly freezing to death was forgotten, enthralled as she was with the view outside. The boxes in Bela's neighboring seat were soon pushed to the floor, giving her access to the window. She pressed up to it – inadvertently smacking her goggles against the glass and letting a soft "ouch," slip from her lips in the process. She blinked repeatedly and steadied herself – still unused to the eye protection, and still a tad clumsy from going hard on the palincă.
With more spatial awareness this time, Bela peered up, glimpsing the full moon peeking down from the cloudy sky. It was a beautiful night, and even with the slew of clouds drifting by, the moon shone bright, surrounded by twinkling stars.
It wasn't something Bela had put much thought into over the years – especially the past ten or so. She had much more damning thoughts to be tormented by. Because of that, she had never quite gotten to process how bizarre that was – that she had not been out on her own in the evening since an entire lifetime ago.
Daniela probably had a book like that somewhere, knowing her tastes – or maybe even a movie stashed away in the attic. Some princess trapped in a castle, with freedom out of her grasp until some Prince Charming or knight in shining armor came along. Though admittedly, Bela preferred how things played out in her case – securing her own freedom, even if it was only for the evening, and for the sake of her –
Well, Ethan was neither princely, nor knightly by most standards – more like that rude and grumpy green ogre from that one movie, really – but still, Bela liked him as he was. He was just Ethan, and that was more than enough for Bela.
She missed it more than she really thought she would have – the serenity and stillness of the night. That had been a part of her once, and it had eluded her for some time now. Maybe once she exited the carriage, she could stand still for a moment and admire the night around her. The peacefulness of it all, only broken by the faint howling of wolves in the distance.
Though Bela also doubted she would get the chance to do that. She would be too busy freezing her ass off to enjoy the scenery. At best, she could admire the view for now from the safety of the carriage.
That plan went out the window the moment the carriage rolled into town.
Bela's breath stilled.
The once humble houses all around were in shambles. Walls of wood were splintered and torn asunder. Even their sturdier brick counterparts were knocked down and crumbling, revealing the blood-spattered and snowy interiors. Furniture lay in broken pieces, showing clear signs of panic and fighting. Numerous structures had their rooves partially caved in – as though something of great mass and weight had crashed down on them. Bullet holes pocked the walls that still stood.
Bodies littered the entire village. The vaguely humanoid shapes were slumped against walls or sprawled out in the open, covered by a thin layer of snow. As they drove past one corpse particularly close to the dirt road, Bela made note of the patchy fur, matted in dried blood, and its maw of jagged teeth – it was a lycan.
Her sharp eyes darted to every observable body in range. They were all dead lycans, without a single human body in sight. It made sense, considering Miranda likely had use for every human corpse in the vicinity. These lycans had outlived their usefulness to her as hosts for the Cadou. All they were good for now was food for the ravens and crows – yet even the birds did not seem eager to pick on their bodies, somewhere between rotten and frozen.
Tatyana had once made mention of the destruction in the village. Witnessing it with her own two eyes was another thing entirely.
Over the past decade, Bela had been on few hunts beyond the castle walls – by and large, she made it a point to secure a catch before Cassandra, in order to take the person captive, rather than kill them outright. Sustainable blood source and all that. Not that her mercy ever counted for anything, in the end.
Even during those few hunts, Bela had gotten familiar with the lay of the land in the village all over again. She knew it by heart once in life, and she relearned it all over again in her new life. Now, through the carriage window, Bela hardly recognized the desolation around her. She'd been a fool for disregarding Tatyana's recollection of the village – thinking that destruction was an exaggeration. Reality was that the word 'destruction' did not even begin to cover the state of the village.
The village was a bloody ruin – used as a battlefield and now forgotten and left to the harsh elements.
The town square, with the proud statue of the maiden of war in the center, was a far cry from her memories of idle strolls from long, long ago. No young couples with arms linked as they meandered through the area. No elderly fellow parked on the stone bench, taking in the clean, crisp night air.
Only bodies and dark red pools of frozen blood.
Overturned wagons and carts blocked some of the roads – more leftovers of the carnage that had swept through the village. It caused Bela's carriage to reroute, passing the smaller side roads in order to reach the other side of town. Whether she liked it or not, she was being given the full tour of the bloody husk that was once a small, thriving farming village. The very same village she had been born into, and lived an entire life in. Now, the only thing living here were the bitter regrets and haunting memories of a woman long gone.
There was an unsettling familiarity to the paths they took, and it was not long before Bela recognized their local equivalent of a post office. It was a small, single floored structure – barely bigger than a shed for housing a tractor. The village never had need for a larger one, considering the relatively small population, and the similarly low volume of mail and packages that came in.
Bela could still see herself standing in line, fur coat pulled tight over her figure – waiting for her turn to see if the latest shipment of antibiotics had come in. Hogging the postman was none other than Daniela. She'd lean on the counter, smiling wide as her long red hair shined in the lamplight. Even back then, she was a sweetheart. She eagerly relayed to the young man tending the booth her excitement to receive mail, or a delivery of books.
That was long before, when Daniela was nothing but an acquaintance and a distant neighbor whom Bela never truly talked to much.
Before everything went to hell, and before they had been reborn as sisters, stripped of their identities and memories, and given new names.
Now, the tiny post office was missing an entire corner, and the remaining walls were a splintered ruin. Mangled, broken lycan bodies left indentations in the building mounds of snow. The pigeonholes were logged with more snow, and whatever parcels and letters within were steadily being tarnished by the frigid weather.
The carriage rolled by before Bela could gaze at the destruction for any longer. She had to wonder if the young postman had passed away peacefully, since he had always carried an air of picturesque health about him. Not even that damned epidemic could keep Leonardo down; he kept Bela's supply lines open, up until the very end, when they failed to even arrive in town itself. It would be a shame if he had lived to see his home torn asunder all over again, for a bloodier final time with no hope for a return to normalcy.
The wheels of the carriage came to a slow stop, crunching along the icy dirt. Bela pressed her goggled face up to the window, which was beginning to frost over. They were still a way off from their destination. She found herself glaring at the makeshift barrier separating her from the drivers.
"What are we stopping for?" Bela grumbled in question.
There came a grunt, and the telltale munch of boots on snow as one of the drivers disembarked. The other man still seated at the front called back in response, "Just a moment, madam."
Bela suppressed another hiccup as her entire head continued to throb with a dull palincă-induced ache. "Is there a problem?"
The driver on foot soon came into Bela's view from the window. Squinting through the frost, she recognized the ruined façade of the structure they had paused in front of.
With a lantern in hand to light the way, the man approached the path leading in, ducking under the crooked signpost – the image of a tankard frothing with ale. The local pub's entire doorway was missing, with the wood splintered, frayed, and burned. All the windows were shattered, and whatever broken glass that had not been swallowed by the snow then glinted in the moonlight. She caught sight of one deceased lycan hanging over a windowsill, his frozen insides spilling out onto the snow. Even from the carriage, Bela could make out the wrecked furniture within – the remains of tables, chairs, and stools were all haphazardly scattered along the floor. She didn't need to see the bodies inside to guess that the interior was also likely up to its eyeballs in dead lycans.
Without a single care in the world, the Duke's man pushed into the building, stepping over debris and charred bodies alike. He reached the singed counter, leaning on it and peering over the other side, as if searching for something. The man only stopped to crane his head back and flash a devilish smile at his companion. "See? I told you."
Then, he placed either hand on the counter, testing its stability before he mantled over it completely. A moment's worth of rummaging later, and he raised an intact bottle of vodka into the air, earning a whoop and a holler from the other driver.
"You have got to be kidding me," Bela growled under her breath – only to be interrupted by a hiccup.
Here they were in the middle of the night, in the ruins of her hometown, with lycans and God knows what else on the prowl – and they were stopping in the middle of the road so her trusty companions could pick up some vodka. Practically serving themselves up on a silver platter to any of Miranda's minions looking for a snack.
"Yeah, sure – why not?" Bela snarled through her teeth, "I like freezing to death in the middle of fucking nowhere as much as the next person. Take your time! Just, take your time!"
Bela was woefully ignored, and left to grumble and curse under her breath. She wrapped her hands tighter over her cold, irritable self, and continued to gaze out the window.
The extra pep the vodka put into the man's step reminded Bela all too much of her own nights in the tavern. The din of music, singing, chatter, and laugher that filled the warm space. The sizzling of food from the kitchen just a door away, and the smell of fresh, thick cuts of bacon in the air. Alcohol setting her insides on fire, and forming a light, happy haze in her head as she gossiped with her friends, or fixed her current company with a dreamy gaze.
Just as clear in her mind's eye was the view from her corner of the pub – all the way to the opposite corner, where the stocky, burly men took their spot. Fur coats were draped across their broad shoulders, and thick ushankas kept their heads warm and toasty – everything they wore, they had once hunted. They boasted and recounted the tales of their latest hunts and catches; all the stories of how cunning they were, and how dangerous their prey was.
The hunters carried a certain presence with them into any room they entered. Yet even they softened their voices and gave sharp nods of respect to the brunette woman who often sat at the head of their table.
Cassandra had come a long way in that life. From the tormented, bleeding mess Bela had once stitched back together, Cassandra had pulled herself from that bleak void she'd once been stuck in. One way or another, every hunter in the village paid heed to her advice and expertise before setting out into the dangerous countryside.
If Cassandra even remembered a fraction of that better time in her life, Bela had no doubt that she would have turned out much differently in this bloody life of theirs. That was provided Bela herself wouldn't have gone through the lengths that she had to corrupt the woman – teaching her to revel in the blood and the carnage like she had.
Bela shifted in her seat as the anxiety crept in – crossing her legs this way and that, arms tightening over her midsection; anything to try and beat back the swirling, building dread within.
She had tried to tell Cassandra the truth on multiple occasions. It didn't matter, since the stories always fell on deaf ears, and Cassandra was having none of it. What did it matter that Bela recalled happier times in Cassandra's life, if the woman in question didn't remember a single fraction of them? Bela may as well have been telling Cassandra fairytales for all that the latter cared.
Not to mention that, after everything Bela had put her through to mold her into the killing machine that she was – that they were – Cassandra was done listening to her, and Bela didn't blame her.
Bela averted her eyes from the pub as the driver began hauling himself up to his seat. She liked to think Cassandra's deliberate move to take the fall for Ethan was a good sign that her sister could grow beyond the monster Bela had turned her into – that she could still unlearn all the terrible, sadistic habits that Bela had gone a long way to create. But assumptions were never assurances, as their mother had said. One good deed meant nothing on its own. That was a demon to contend with another time – some time she had either more or less palincă in her system; Bela wasn't sure which.
The coats towards the front of the carriage parted, and she was met with the salt and pepper beard of one of her drivers. "What kind of gentlemen would we be if we did not offer the fair lady a drink?"
Bela's eyes went between the bottle peeking out from the coats, and the driver's nose, flushed red from the cold and possibly a dose of alcohol from before they recovered the vodka.
Considering the dull ache still pulsing in her brain, Bela shook her head, "I think I've had enough for this evening. All yours. Drink to your heart's content. Just don't crash the damn carriage."
The man's face retreated from the makeshift curtain in an instant, and he announced to his companion, "As the lady commands, you hear?! It is all mine!"
"In your dreams," The other man grunted, and the sound of rustling clothes hinted at them playing a brief match of tug-o-war with the bottle.
After the two men settled down, they were once again mobile. Bela's watchful gaze through the window kept her acutely aware of the path they were taking, and just where they were passing. She could navigate this trail with her eyes closed.
She'd expected the red set of stairs before they came into view. The house was situated slightly uphill, which had always been a challenge for her older patients.
The stairs led to the shaded wooden deck, where old chairs remained wasting away. Surprisingly enough, the glass windows were intact, but the lack of lighting within kept the interior dark. Though Bela needed no light to know how it looked in there.
She kept the clinic's floorplan as open as possible – something that had paid off when she rushed in one wolf bite victim or another. The only thing taking up space in the center was her improvised excuse for an operating table – two tables pushed up together, cushioned with a mattress, and wrapped in regularly disinfected plastic. It wasn't much, but more lives had been saved on that table than she could count.
Some shelves and cabinets lined one side, giving her ample room to house patient records. Her trusty desk had its side pushed up to one wall, with a chair on either side to allow her to speak to her patients and take notes as needed. A sink towards another wall had seen much use – hands were constantly in need of washing to prevent the spread of germs, after all. And when the cruel winter froze her pipes over, she always had more than enough buckets on hand, filled with water.
The door towards the back led to her actual home, but that was more heartache than Bela's palincă-infused mind currently wished to ponder over. For now, the most she could manage was to gaze longingly at the small, mostly intact house as they drove by. It must have been through sheer luck alone that it was, for the most part, untouched by the chaos that had swept through the village – Bela ruled out divine intervention, since she'd done little to deserve any sort of mercy from the cosmos in her long life as a bug monster. If anything, maybe it was karma mocking her with the visage of her long-lost life – where she fought death, rather than delivered it.
It was all so surreal.
It had been haunting enough to watch the village from afar in the years that followed her memories' return – to see the world had gone on without her while she'd been locked in a raging blood-frenzy for decades. That despite the occasional carnage she and her sisters reaped, the village knew how to soldier on. They commemorated their lost loved ones with empty graves which were no less meaningful – since the only thing left of their missing friends and family would be a bloody stain on the ground; it was more than enough for them to know that Strigoaica Întunecată had taken them.
The village thrived, loss and all. Death, as bloody and painful as it could be, was simply another part of life for them. The denizens of the small town were resilient like that. Knocked down – or rather, clawed and torn apart – five times, and they would get up six times. Bela would know. She was the same once, over half a century ago.
Now, to see the village as desolate and abandoned as it was – Bela could hardly wrap her head around it. Back in the day, you couldn't walk ten feet without a warm greeting from the closest neighbor.
In the village's current state, you couldn't walk ten feet without tripping over a half-frozen lycan corpse.
The entire community was gone. The home she lived in – where she knew love and loss – it was all gone. Nothing but bloody ruins. A hollowing husk of its former self. They would only live on in Bela's hazy memories of days gone. The fading alcohol in her system could do little to soften the blow. The little buzz that remained was dwarfed by the mounting dread.
It was only when the carriage shuddered and bumped – running over a lycan's body – that the sheer quantity of dead wolfmen began to catch up to Bela.
The villagers were a hardy people, yes – they endured wolves, bears, and even before the end, the occasional small attacks from lycans and vârcolaci in the outskirts. But never had they been exposed to this level of violence and brutality. The scale of destruction was a sign of just how many of Miranda's minions tore through the village. The people couldn't have put up much of a fight. Resilient as they were, they were not soldiers. They did not have the training or weaponry to withstand such a massacre, even if the hunters had led the defense with their bolt-action rifles and pump-action shotguns.
Which meant that Ethan was responsible for the staggering body count of the fallen lycans.
Bela's head spun all over again – as if dealt another fresh bottle of palincă, after the buzz had already begun to fade.
With nothing but his crummy arsenal, Ethan had dropped countless savage wolfmen in his mad dash throughout the village. There were slain lycans both littering the streets and clogging up the interiors. Ethan had gone from structure to structure, firing his weapons and scavenging for loose ammunition, leaving dead bodies in his wake.
All alone, he had survived against the tide of mutants who'd massacred an entire village.
Unease brewed in Bela's stomach to even think of the danger he had been in. Her restless hands grabbed fistfuls of her thick jacket.
She'd gotten an eyeful of Ethan in his unconscious state of undress when she changed his clothes for him.
Well, maybe more than an eyeful.
But still, what she had seen still made Bela's skin crawl in worry. His body had more scars than any one man should – many of them looking as though they should have been fatal wounds at the time of their delivery. Jagged flesh, resembling bites. Long sets of uneven pale skin – hinting at sharp scratches. Thin, fine lines that only a razor's edge could have carved out of him. Warped burn marks from fire and acid alike. Even his gums and his tongue had scars; that was something Bela only discovered when she was inspecting his unconscious self for leftover sepsis symptoms. She shivered to think of the story behind them.
Some scars were clearly fresher than others, and Bela could only grip her clothes harder as her heart bled for the man and all the pain he'd endured to wind up where he was now – locked up in their castle and separated from his daughter.
Ethan was no stranger to impossible odds, and the countless corpses were concrete proof of that. Cassandra's utterly failed game was even more proof of that. After stacking all the pieces of her play against him, Ethan survived. No – more than just surviving, Ethan had dealt a blow to her ego hard enough to rile Cassandra up more than Bela had seen in years.
Now, Bela only wished to alleviate that weight – that constant state of having the world against him. He deserved some peace for a change.
She would do what she could to make that happen – starting with this excursion. Bela would help the man find some peace if it was the last damn thing she did.
After they rolled past Bela's old, abandoned home, it wasn't long until they reached the outskirts of the village. The carriage's pace began to pick up now that they were free of the tight, narrow streets. The path opened up, and the wheels found solid purchase on the rockier earth, still blanketed by the steady snowfall. Through the window, Bela got an eyeful of the gorge they were crossing by bridge. The rocky escarpments on either side – usually a dark, old grey stone – were bright with the thick mounds of snow, reflecting the moonlight above.
The carriage slowed to a stop. Through the icy glass, Bela got a glimpse of the wall, fashioned from rough-hewn stone and a chicken wire fence. Razor-sharp barbed wire sat on top of the fence to dissuade any intruders – though Bela doubted they got much use. Given what lied beyond the walls, only insanity would push someone to try and scale these defenses. The hardy steel gate blocked their path, standing tall to protect the sprawling complex within.
The stretch of silence carried on, eventually broken by one of the drivers muttering, "Is he expecting us?"
A hiccup – likely alcohol-induced – came before the response of, "Don't know. Maybe?"
Bela could only bemoan the duo's lack of coordination. "What do you mean maybe?"
As sharply as Bela had called out, a buzz then rang, and the imposing gate began to churn open.
"Heh," One of the men could be heard taking a deep swig of the vodka. "See, lady? It is no problem. We are expected."
Where did the Duke even find these people? Did he want her to die out here in their care? Bela crossed her arms, focusing instead on the view out the window and not her oh so competent drivers.
The snowy fields were home to hunks and heaps of metal. Some were twisted and deformed beyond all recognition – reduced to nothing but piles of scrap. Others resembled vehicles, farming equipment, and even old, dilapidated tanks from the wars of long ago.
All Bela could think of was the tetanus risk that the jagged, rusted metal posed.
Towering high above the fields were all manner of structures in varying states of use. Some powerlines appeared to have long since fallen to neglect. Water tanks were largely intact, as were the billowing smokestacks, which spoke of the production ongoing within the compound.
The carriage eventually stopped. At the angle they were parked, no amount of pressing her face up to the side window would give her an idea of what lied ahead.
"Here we are. This is your stop, madam." One of the drivers called.
The other added, "Yes – we will come get you when you are finished."
It was now or never. The moment of truth.
"I'm insane," Bela licked her lips, which still tingled and felt far too dry and numb for her liking. "I'm completely insane."
She went over her clothes one final time. The flannel lined jeans were tucked into her boots. The gloves were pulled tighter over her hands, to ensure not an inch of her skin peeked out from beneath her sleeves. The scarf was wrapped securely around her face, and the goggles were adjusted for better comfort and cover – especially after she'd knocked them into the window. Her hood was pulled low, ensuring her head would not leak out the meager warmth she still possessed.
Once more into the bitter cold.
With a deep breath, Bela popped the door open and hopped out. The snow crunched underneath her boots as the midnight wind billowed across the field. Bela's arms wrapped around herself nearly instantaneously as the chill seeped through her thick layers and all the way into her bones.
"Fuck," Bela hissed. Each trembling step pushed more vulgarity out from her lips as the cold made its home in her body. "Fuck. Fuck!"
A daytime trip would have likely given Bela more manageable weather conditions. Unfortunately, that also meant she was far likelier to be seen leaving the castle by servants, her sisters, or worse, their mother. Redfield also posed a unique and deadly risk. She had no idea how that man and his followers operated, or even what time they were active – but she figured the visibility under the sun painted an even larger target on her back.
That left this midnight field trip as her best bet at gathering information, as debilitating as the cold was, even through the winter clothing she'd purchased from the Duke.
Next time, less palincă was in order. Maybe some hot cocoa and even more layers of clothing instead – because honestly, what was she thinking? Had she always been so easy to goad into stupid plans like this while hopped up on alcohol?
Ridiculous. She was a fool through and through.
Bela clamped her jaw shut to prevent her teeth from chattering.
She was surviving the damn weather, and that was all that mattered in the end. Her foolishness be damned, she was alive. Ethan had been through far worse. Bela was not bleeding, being eaten alive, or having the lights smacked out of her. She was only cold. She could endure this for his sake.
Bela was hardly able to direct her stiff limbs and maneuver herself around the carriage when barking cut through the sound of the whipping wind.
She took a preemptive step back as a dog rounded the carriage to confront her. Icy grey eyes fixed on her. Yellowing teeth were bared in warning. Its mangy, patchy white fur shook with the energy the mutt contained. It charged, only for the momentum to be cut short by a chain connecting to the harness around its torso.
It pulled on the chain for only a moment before standing still, whining and growling in protest. The chain remained taut as a figure soon rounded the corner, keeping the dog on a short, tight leash to prevent it from pouncing.
Karl Heisenberg's trench coat flapped in the wind as he shot the dog a side eyed glare. The dog returned the gaze, looking up at the man from the corner of its eye. It promptly sat down and ceased pulling on the leash. Embers from Heisenberg's cigar lit up his scrutinous face as he puffed, before raising a gloved hand to remove it from his lips. He tilted his head, eyes scanning Bela head to toe – likely making note of just how ridiculously bundled up she was. A small smile formed on his face.
There he was, with an open coat and a flimsy shirt underneath – not a scarf or any extra precaution in sight. Hell, that brimmed hat on his head likely offered little in the way of warmth – and here she was, looking ready to hike up a frozen mountain.
"Well, well," Finally, he spoke, rolling the cigar between his fingers, "You're a long way from home. Isn't it past your bedtime, ladybug?"
A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter! Please do give those fave and follow buttons a hit, and shoot me a review to let me know how you liked this chapter! You guys always make my day with your messages!
What's that? You wanted a surprise appearance and POV from Chris Redfield? You wanted him to contemplate shooting a fifty-cal round at Bela? Your wish is my command!
Kidding aside, I felt it was a great opportunity to bring Chris in, and step right into his skull. He's broody, he's blaming himself, and he's tired as all hell waging a war outnumbered a hundred to one. I think it was a nice way to sort of get the bigger picture of the village and what exactly is going on - just why it is Ethan has time to become besties with Dani, get chased around by Cass, and make goo-goo eyes with Bela. I hope you liked this peek into his mind and the state of - not just the village - but the *valley* at large.
Considering that when we play as Chris, he just absolutely mows through the lycans like grass, I figure that if all his operators are deployed, they've got the fighting strength of like a hundred gun-toting goons. Fire superiority is a hell of a thing.
Bela's tour through the village was also a fun write, with a couple small revelations here or there I think. And Leonardo? Yes, that Leonardo, because Bela can't have nice things, or friends who died peacefully.
A couple of you called it as well, and there he is - hobo magneto himself! Karl is another endlessly entertaining character to write, so I hope you enjoy my portrayal of him in the next chapter. As for the dog - I just really felt like he would be the type to adopt a junkyard dog or something. Feels right, you know?
Anyway, that's enough out of me for now, I think. My writing has, uh, hit a slight hiccup, but I think I can get a chapter up by next weekend. If not, it should go up the weekend after, and I'll update y'all eventually(TM). Until then, I'll catch you guys around next time. Stay safe out there!
