change, and he stopped thinking anything. He could only stare, his awe returning tenfold. A step down, and her dress burned away in searing veins of golden light, the light coming from her body. Another step, and her flesh changed, turned a deep gray, her hair disappearing, gray flesh locks growing from the top of her head and flopping down to frame her face. Her nakedness was transformed with her next step, as rough, pebbled armor grew over one leg and her groin, curled up to support a rounded breast, to cover her right arm. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she no longer resembled Alexia Ashford. His breath taken away, Wesker reached for her and with the back of her hand, she struck him, and then he was flying, landing in a heap by the front door.
Such power!
He stood up, understanding that force might be useful, and prepared himself to move, to use his own power… … and with a smile, she waved her hand and fire burst up from the marble floor, lines of it surrounding nun, beckoned to life by her slender fingers. She lowered her hand and the flames went down but didn't die, still burning from stone, from bare stone. Wesker knew then that it was over. If she chose to spare him, he'd be lucky. Without another word, he turned and walked out, running as soon as the door had closed behind him. The part-creature left, and only seconds later, the young man followed, believing that he'd escaped unseen. Alexia watched them run, amused but slightly disappointed. She'd expected more. The part-creature was no threat, and she decided to spare him. His arrogance had pleased her, if not his pathetic 'offer.' The young man, though … brave and self-sacrificing, loyal, compassionate. Physically, a good specimen. And he loved his sister, who was about to die it would make for an interesting physiological reaction. Alexia decided that she would create a confrontation for them to interact. She would test a new form for herself and see if his grief made him bolder, or if it proved to be a liability… She laughed, suddenly imagining a suitable, an apt form to take. Except for Alfred, no one had known the simple secret of T- Veronica, that it was based on the chemistry of a queen ant. She would try an insectile configuration, experience the strengths and advantages that such a form would propose.
Her disappointment was past. The girl and her boy would die, and then she would indulge herself with the young man.
SIXTEEN
Through the rooms and halls of a mansion, Claire had run, afraid to hear him scream again, afraid not to because she didn't know where to look. Past the plushly decorated halls she found herself in a prison area, cells on either wall, the environment cold and dark once more. A lone virus carrier reached for her from behind bars, wailing.
'Steve!'
Her voice echoed back at her, full of tension and fear, but Steve didn't answer. There was a thick metal door to her right, different than the others, reinforced by bands of steel. She opened it, stepping into a small, bare room that opened into a much larger one.
'Steve!'
No answer, but the bigger room was long and dimly lit, a kind of huge hall, and she couldn't see what was at the other end. She saw that there was a suspended gate between the small room and the hall, which definitely gave her pause. She looked around and found a piece of broken wood on the floor, then wedged it between the outer door and its frame, not wanting to end up locked inside. She hurried into the giant hall, intimidating, oversized statues of knights lining the heavily shadowed walls, her anxiety growing with every passing second. Where was he, why had he screamed? She was halfway down the hall when she saw him, slumped in a chair at the far end, some kind of restraining bar across his chest.
Oh, God…
Claire ran, and as she got closer she could see that the bar was a huge ax, a halberd, the blade firmly entrenched in the wall next to him. He seemed very small and very young, his eyes closed and head down, but she could see that he was breathing, and felt less anxious. She reached his side and pulled at the giant axe, but it wouldn't budge. She crouched next to him, touching his arm, and he stirred, opened his eyes.
'Claire!' 'Steve, thank God you're all right, what happened? How did you get here?'
Steve pushed at the long ax handle but couldn't move it either. 'Alexia, it had to be Alexia, she looked just like Alfred she injected me with something, she said she was going to do what she'd done to her father, but she
was going to get it right this time…'
He shoved at the ax again, straining, but it wasn't moving. 'In other words, she was whacked. I guess she and Alfred were pretty close after all…'
Steve trailed off, his cheeks suddenly flushing with color. His hands started to twitch, his body trembling. 'What is it?' Claire asked, afraid, so afraid, because his body was hunching over, his fingers clenching to fists, his eyes wild and terrified.
'Cuh … Claire …'
His voice dropped an octave, her name becoming a growl, and then he was writhing in the chair, his clothes ripping. He opened his mouth and a liquid moan came out, frightened at first but then angry. Furious. 'No,' Claire whispered, started to back away, and Steve grabbed the halberd, wrenching it out of the wall, standing up. His body continued to hunch over, his head dropping down, muscles rippling beneath skin that was turning a gray green. Spikes rose up from his left shoulder, two, three of them, as his hands elongated, as a giant, bloodless wound grew across his back, as his eyes turned red and animal. The thing that had been Steve Burnside opened its mouth and screamed, enraged, and Claire turned and sprinted away, sick with loss and fright, running for all she was worth. The monster came after her, swinging the massive axe, the sharp edge whistling through the air. She could feel the wind from the swinging blade and somehow found more speed, her legs pumping, pushing her faster. The monster swung again, hit something, the sound vast and deafening. Faster, faster, the small room just ahead… … and the gate was coming down, was about to lock her into the hall with the monster, how, didn't matter, she had to go faster still or she was dead… … and with one final, brutal push, Claire dove for the shrinking space between the bottom of the gate and the floor, sliding in on her stomach, the gate crashing closed behind her. The monster roared, began swinging the axe with abandon, sparks flying as it attacked the metal bars. In shock, Claire watched it break through three of them, bending the steel by the very ferocity of its blows, before she realized she could get out. Door, I propped the door open, she thought dazedly, and stood up, took a single step toward her escape… … and then something broke through the wall with a crash, not the monster, a thing that wrapped around her like a constrictor, lifting her, another of the tentacles. The monster continued to hack at the metal, it would break through in seconds, and the tentacle had her
tightly in its rubbery grasp. Awakened from her daze, Claire beat at her captor, pried at it, but the matter was impervious. It simply held her, waiting for the monster to breach the gate. It wanted to beat her and cut her, it wanted to rip her apart, so it slammed the weapon into the bars over and over, and finally, there was a hole it could pass through. She was making noises in the grip of the thing that held her, gasping noises that made its blood hot and excited, that made it raise the ax, lusting for the end of her. It brought the axe down, hard, remembering what he'd told her, promised her –
– you can get the next one I will
– and it, he, stopped, the blade almost touching her skull. The tentacle waited, gripped her tighter, and he remembered. Claire.
Steve lifted the axe again, strong, he was so strong, and slammed it down into the tentacle, slicing through. In a spray of green fluid, the thick coil snapped and hit him in the chest, throwing him into the wall before retreating. He felt and heard ribs break, felt the boil of his blood cooling, felt his strength going away. The pain came, sharp and dull and everywhere, but he opened his eyes and she was there, she was safe, she was reaching for his hand. Claire Redfield, reaching for his hand with tears in her eyes. The monster was gone. She reached out to hold his hand and he lifted it to his face, to his beautiful, dying face, laying it across his cheek. 'You're warm,' he whispered. 'Hang on,' she said, pleading, the knot in her throat choking her, 'please, my brother came and he'll take us with him, please don't die!'
Steve's eyes were fluttering, as though he were trying very hard to stay awake. 'I'm glad your brother came,'
