Battle Ground

The tyrant paced toward them twitching its head. Barry braced himself and Chris jerked his head at them. "Split up! Split its focus. It can't take us all out at once!"

Rebecca ran left. Jill went right. Barry, with his enormous Magnum, kept his central position. Chris nodded at him and Barry shot it, just like that, he shot it with his hand cannon.

The heavy round smashed into its pulsing heart on that chest and it stumbled, staggered, and somehow managed to look shocked. If a monster could feel anything, the tyrant felt it in that moment. But time seemed to slow down.

As it focused on Barry, Chris ran around to its back side to box it in. And they all unloaded on it from four sides with everything they had.

The tyrant leaped, it raced, it rolled and somehow missed being hit by too many rounds. It swept an arm out at Rebecca as she hit it square in the heart on its chest and hit her full body. She tried to roll but it lifted her and swatted her like a gnat.

She flew like a dart across the roof, curled around herself. Chris caught her just before she struck the wall and they smashed against it together. It stole his breath but it saved her a broken back or skull.

Jill ran dry on ammo and raced toward it.

Too late, Chris saw what she'd do.

"JILL!"

She spun through a front tuck and missed losing her head, she swept low and tried for its feet and had it staggering. It thrust those claws at her chest and she feinted, rolled passed it, and used the momentum to throw herself up onto its back.

Barry shot it again in the heart and it reared, roaring and threw up its unclawed arm to grab for the girl on its back. Jill drove her knife one handed into that pulsing heart and blood erupted in an arch from the shredded artery.

The blow was a good one but cost her. It grabbed her throat in its unclawed fist and jerked her off. It strangled her while she grabbed for her knife still embedded in that heart. Chris saw it throat back that clawed arm to drive it into her chest and ran. He just ran at it. He caught it in a full tackle from behind and it dropped Jill to grab for him instead.

Jill grabbed her knife and ripped it clear. It swatted at her, caught her face with the edge of its clawed hand, and sent her rolling. Barry stepped into its attack zone while it grabbed Chris with its unclawed fist and jerked him back by his hair. It went to impale him and Barry shot it, point blank range, in that gushing heart.

It roared as it threw Chris away and swatted Barry back. Barry, bigger than Rebecca by a hundred pounds at least, still was thrown away like he weighed nothing. The tyrant staggered, bleeding profusely now. It ran for Chris where he was getting to his feet.

He spun back, too slow, too fucking slow…and the talons on it hand skimmed over his face as it tried to straight arm jab him through the head. He slipped in all the blood and went down, saving his life and stopping the tyrant from taking his head. Jill's knife whizzed passed his face so close he felt the air shift and it struck, like an arrow, in that heart that gushed blood onto the roof around them.

The tyrant roared, it ripped the knife clean of its body…and it threw it back at her.

She gasped, rolled, but it only cost her more. It hit her in the back as she tried to avoid it and threw her to her face on the roof. And then it turned back to him. Chris, at a loss, rolled to his back, stuck his feet in that muscled stomach and pushed.

It stumbled back, he rolled to his feet, and he punched it.

He punched the tyrant clean in the face.

In hindsight, it might not have been the wisest move but it probably saved his life again. The talons ripped his shirt at the shoulder as it swung at him, he redirected his aim, and plowed his fist into bloody heart instead. That was it, the tyrant was done playing around.

It smacked him along the face with its unclawed hand. Chris was thrown to the side and skidded along the roof. Jill watched the tyrant rush him and tried to get up. The knife was embedded in her left shoulder. She reached back but couldn't get it.

And she screamed. She screamed, watching the tyrant race toward her best friend to kill him.

The sound of the helicopter was loud now. And her headset buzzed, "HERE! HERE! HOLY FUCKING SHIT IN A SOUP CAN! WHAT THE FUCK OVER!"

And a rocket propelled grenade launcher (RPG) clunked to the roof four feet from her. She crawled toward it, gasping with pain. Her hand caught it and she shouted, "CHRIS!"

She spun it over the roof toward him.

Chris rolled to his back, he grabbed it in one hand and went right, still rolling, rolling. The tyrant smashed its talons into the roof three inches from his left cheek. Chris needed it away so he could shoot it. He needed to shoot it from a distance.

Barry shouted at it, "HEY NUMB NUTS! Come get some of this sweet ass!"

And there was Barry Burton…mooning the tyrant. He smacked one fuzzy buttcheek and made a kissy face. The tyrant roared, roared, and Barry spun back and shot it. He used his last heavy Magnum round and shot it in the face.

The tyrant spun back and raced at him, so fast. It was terrifying.

Chris got to one knee, he braced the big RPG in his hands. And he shouted at it now, "Suck on THIS, you stupid FUCK!"

The weapon WHOOSHED, it nearly knocked him over with the strength of it. It made a sound like a tornado with rushing wind. The tyrant turned back, Barry was already fleeing to the far side of the roof. Jill tucked Rebecca's still body under hers, Chris threw himself on top of them both….and the RPG hit the tyrant broad side.

It was instant. It was ENORMOUS. The sound was so loud it reminded one of being too close to thunder. The tyrant was instantly obliterated. It was pink mist and chunks It rained down on them in a disgusting homage to summer showers. It smelled like rot and death and copper.

The helicopter shivered the air and settled down. And Brad Vickers, the coward, shouted, "GET ON HURRY!"

No time to do anything but listen, they moved. Barry grabbed Rebecca. Chris lifted Jill against him. They jumped on the chopper and Brad lifted off, fast, so fast. The self destruct sequence informed them of thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

They grabbed on and prayed.

And then the coming dawn was lit by the sound of eruption. It was graced with the beauty of destruction. It bore witness to the end of their longest night and the final moments of their nightmares. The building imploded, exploded, throwing rock and stone and debris as it geysered up like a volcano into the pink and gold sunrise.

Chris jerked the knife from her back while Jill braced. She gasped and grabbed his face, shuddering. He didn't hold on to her. He just…let her go. She watched his face, trying to see anything that looked like him on that filthy countenance. Filthy, she thought, they were all so filthy. They were all so scared.

And they were ALIVE.

They were the only four to survive the Spencer Mansion. The only four to make it. It felt like dying inside to know it. They were the only ones left alive that could find the answers to set it right.

Even though there was no one left to blame.

…..

But there was.

He awoke from his death ascended. The prototype virus he'd injected himself with aroused his dead flesh and reanimated his cold heart. He opened his eyes and sat up, soaked in blood in a pool of his own human waste on the floor of the lab.

Wesker waited for his emotions to kick in. But he'd rarely suffered from them before. In death, what little he'd had left seemed to have been eroded. He was empty. And he was ready now to become…a god.

He rose from the ground to hear the strains of the self destruct system activated.

Annoyed, but expecting it, Wesker extricated himself from the bonds of his mortality and moved to the computer to extract what he could from it. He encountered the first of the disappointments that awaited him when he entered his login information. Sergei Vladimir had locked him out of the mainframe by using the Red Queen to thwart him.

Wesker let out of a roar of rage. It shook the walls and echoed. The tyrant was lost to him at the hands of his former pupils, the data was lost to him at the hands of Spencer's most trusted colonel, and he was left to flee the bowels of the ugly mansion where he'd lost it all.

The roll of revenge was hot and wet in his blood as he moved toward the elevator to the main floor. He encountered a Hunter as he came around the corner. Its beady eyes watched him with lack of intelligence. It warbled a cry at him and leaped.

Wesker caught it in his hands like playful pet and threw it into the wall beside him. It hit, slid down, and Wesker ripped its throat out in a burst of blood and fluids. Ignoring the mess, he shifted back toward the elevator.

Lisa Trevor waited for him there. She dragged her chains on the ground and moaned. Wesker tilted his head like a curious dog. She watched him, intelligent, even if she was rotting.

"Not one is perfect, Lisa. Not even you. I am beyond you now. Beyond you. Stand down."

He shot her three times with the pistol in his hands. It didn't even seem to faze her.

She raced at him and he waited, braced, and grabbed her face as she flipped over her effortlessly. She moaned and he caught her face as he went, jerked, and threw her away like she was nothing. She hit the wall and slid down, motionless.

Wesker stepped on the elevator and rode it to the top floor.

The self destruct sequence informed him that he had seven minutes left to escape the mansion. He emerged into the lobby to find Lisa waiting for him. He tilted his head again, sighing.

"Will you never tire of trying my patience?" He shifted, studying her. "Very well. Let's see who is the greater tyrant shall we? Seven minutes is all I have to play with you."

Lisa raced at him and moved like the wind. She threw those arms, she ducked and rolled, she leaped and moaned. She hit him broad side and threw him into the stairs to roll. Wesker emptied his clip at her and threw his gun away.

He finally pushed off the stairs, scissored his legs, and caught her face to flip her away from him. As she hit the ground, he leaped. The power in his body allowed him to shoot up like a dart and grab the chandelier above them. He held on, swinging like Tarzan on a tree branch, and jerked. The chain snapped, the chandelier tinkled musically, and Wesker leaped free to flip in the air and roll across the ground as he landed, dusting his hands on his pants.

Lisa rose from the ground, turned toward him, and Wesker said, conversationally, "Be a good girl, Lisa, and stay dead this time."

And the chandelier struck. It hit her. It crashed and smashed and drove her into the floor beneath its massive weight. The crystals scattered, throwing prisms around the darkened room. Wesker pushed open the doors of the mansion to hear the self destruct sequence inform him that he had one minute left to escape.

He ran. He ran like the wind. He ran and turned back to see it erupt. To see it explode. To see it imperiled on the horns of its own megalomania. The chopper lifted against the rising dawn like a black speck on the face of perfection.

And the fire lit the sky around it. It was reflected, red and horrible, in his matching eyes. He rubbed his fingers together and watched the chopper. He'd been reborn in that mansion. He'd died a man and rose a phoenix from his own ashes. He would bring his triumph to the new world he would construct in his image.

And he would wait, wait, wait for the moment he would meet again his greatest creations: the vengeful hero that would fight to cleanse the world of the stain of betrayal and the avenging Valkyrie that would seek to atone for the loyalty she'd bestowed upon the Judas that had betrayed them all to death.

What a family reunion it would be.

He HUNGERED for the moment they were all together again.

…

It was nearly ten in the morning when he rolled up in front of his house. The hospital had treated and released them. They were patched up, stitched up, and alive. The wounds would close and heal, the body would fix itself…but the nightmares were just beginning.

He leapt off the bike and moved toward the house. His right side was stiff and sore. His left hip was aching. His face was numb from the injection they'd put in it to stitch it up. Chris opened the door to Dog have a desperate panic attack.

He raced out into the front yard the moment the door was ajar to do his business.

Chris threw his keys on the counter and started shedding clothes the moment Dog was back in the house. He followed Chris into the bathroom and laid on the floor while he showered. The hot water struck his face and soothed. It spilled against his skin and made him feel somewhat human again.

The grittiness in his eyes was painful. It hurt where it clung to his eye lashes and his exhausted eyeballs. When he was clean, physically, and number, emotionally, Chris stepped out of the shower and went into his bedroom.

He crawled on the bed and flopped down, face first.

He was asleep in moments and didn't even notice when Dog leaped onto the bed beside him and curled against his naked side. Dog laid his head on his back, keeping watch, and offering comfort to the man that dreamed now, of blood and death and rot and betrayal.

Jill and Wesker. Jill and Wesker.

Jill….and Wesker.

They coupled. They gasped. They came together in naked splendor soaked in blood. She rose above him, gasping and coming, crying out and jerking. Her body was his temple and he worshiped there like a thing possessed. She was blonde. She was ice blonde. She was pale and her eyes…empty and beautiful and crystal. Wesker rolled her to her back and filled her full of his body. He fucked like he fought, all skill and no wasted movement. And he opened his eyes as he came inside of her while she screamed, spilling wet and sticky from her weeping slit to watch himself there.

His eyes were twin pits of burning flame. He turned his head above her shoulder while Jill bled and bucked, dribbling his cum down her toned thighs. And his voice was low and horrible as he spoke to Chris that watched them, watched, and was frozen there. "Mine. MINE."

And Jill rolled shoulder and stabbed Chris. She drove her knife into him while Wesker laughed. She stabbed him in the chest and watched him bleed.

And she grinned while he died there beside them.

He came awake with a cry of horror.

It was so dark in the room that he couldn't do anything but panic. He grabbed for the lamp beside the bed and flicked it on. His hand pulled his pistol as he rolled, rolled, and had it pointed at Rebecca who stood beside the bed.

Her owlish eyes were so wide. She lifted her hands to show herself unarmed.

Dog was sitting on the floor beside her watching him.

Chris was panting, soaked in sweat, and staring at her in a way that scared her to death. Rebecca finally spoke, so softly, "The door was unlocked. I just…I wanted to check on you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you ok?"

Dog woofed gently.

Chris felt the panic ease back. He lowered the gun to the nightstand and let it rest there. Rebecca spoke again, softer, "You want me to go get Jill? She's still sleeping at my place…but I can send her…if you want her…"

He did.

He always did. He always wanted Jill. That was the problem. It was always the problem. He wanted Jill and Jill…she'd been encircled in the arms of a traitor. She'd been touching him. Looking at him. Wide eyed and sweet and lost. Jill…who'd stabbed him while she laughed.

No.

Shit.

His head was a mess.

Rebecca was watching him in the low light of the lamp beside the bed. She was in a little summer dress in soft pink. Her short hair was damp around her face. Her face? It was bruised where she'd been hit and swollen in places and raw from wounds. Her shoulder sported scrapes and her left knee was starting to scab. She wore little sandals in gold.

She breathed, so softly, and he watched her tiny breasts in the flimsy pink dress.

She tried again, "You want me to get Jill?"

And then her eyes…spilled down to take in the core of his body. And she made some sound of surprise and a little fear…and excitement.

Chris rolled toward her and grabbed her wrist. She made a gasp and he tugged her onto the bed. She went, wide eyed and blinking. She bounced, those anime girl eyes of hers rapturously latched to his face.

He studied her, shifting his head one way and back the other. She had a moment to decide if this was what she wanted and she gave in. Her hands caught his face and she opened her mouth. She leaned up toward him and kissed at his mouth.

She eased his mouth open to put her tongue there against his.

Cheese and rice.

She was so untried. She was so untested. She was so…young.

He dropped his face to give her the taste of him. He kissed her and it wasn't sweet, it wasn't soft, it was wet and long and full. She squirmed, gasping, and tried to eat him. She sucked on his tongue, she moaned, she shivered. Her little hands grabbed at his back…and slid down to grip at his ass.

The want of him was all over her face.

His hands pushed up under her dress and she made a sound of surprise. He might have stopped, maybe, but she opened her thin thighs for him. He shifted instead and settled between them. And he let her feel the buregeoning length of him against her body.

He glanced down to see it. He looked huge there against her narrow hips and sweet little covered mound. His cock jutted toward her belly button like a monster.

A monster…

He shook it away and focused on the thunder in his blood.

Rebecca shivered so sweetly. Her small hands shifted over his hip. She used both to touch the eager length of him. She wrapped them around his shaft and looked frightened. Frightened of him.

Monster…

No.

He shook his head to deny the pain of that. Monster. No. No monsters now. He wanted to get rid of the monsters. He looped his hand over her little ones to guide her. He helped her work his body. He helped her touch him. She gnawed her lips and shivered, gasping, her hips rising to run her damp panties against his aching length. Sweet thing that she was, she had no idea what she was doing.

She angled the head of him at her sweet little pubis and rubbed him there. She watched his face while she did it, seeking his excitement. His blood beat. It beat. He was hard, he was ready. He wanted to be inside of her and forget.

Her? Which her?

Denying it, Chris' hands caught the little white cotton panties she wore and all but tore them down her legs.

He didn't want Jill.

He wanted to forget.