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Description
Albert Wesker loathed Chris Redfield. He hated Sheva Alomar dimly in his mind for her following around of the Redfield, but her partner… He glared at the two of them over the wreckage of the plane, stumbling out like a man rising from his grave. They looked harried, exhausted. Honestly, Wesker expected them to be dead. How the hell they had survived that crash… he'd never figure it out.

Their backs were turned towards him, facing the lava. He sneered. "I should have killed you years ago… Chris!" He practically hissed his name, a snake's warning to the unsuspecting prey he would devour. His mortal enemy whirled around, handgun in hand and giving him his own defiant glare, and it certainly didn't make him feel any better when his African partner followed suit. That stupid look he gave him those years ago when he gave him an order when they were teammates—it sickened the human tyrant to think he was once an equal with Redfield.

"Your mistake!" Chris yelled over the flow of lava. Beads of sweat were sliding down his face, the heat already beginning to get to him. The weapons on his back only added more weight that he knew he wouldn't be able to carry if this all went down for one final effort. "It's over, Wesker!"

The blond man gave a harsh laugh and threw back his head. "Over?!" he crowed, taking a step towards Redfield and Alomar. His feet balanced themselves on the missile containing his precious virus. Three long years perfecting what was to become a new genesis, another step towards human evolution—and Wesker was standing right on top of it. "I'm just getting started!"

Without another word and without any warning, he slammed his hand down into the steel plate of the rocket and reached far down inside of it. Grunting, he pulled as hard as he could once. Twice. The worm-like virus came to life in front of his foes' eyes, and it began to weave around his arms. They came to life, bringing the man nearly down to his knees from the sheer strength of their pulling on to his arm. But he kept his balance now, ripping his arm free from the missile that once contained it.

They wrapped around his upper torso, his body—the Uroboros virus infected not only his skin and muscles, but his mind. It was almost pathetic, to be honest. The unfortunate fact that Wesker had lost his mind to the idea of him being a clone was bad enough. But now, Uroboros was whispering to him in his head. Whispering to him to that something needed to be done about the scum on the planet.

He listened to these words, looking at himself finally and at his appendage. It was a mass of black tentacles, flailing pieces of steel and harmful matter. His face burned, his body heavier than he could have imagined. But in the end, it truly did not matter.

Wesker believed he had achieved godhood right then and there. And it clearly reflected on the malicious smirk he gave a horrified Chris and Sheva. "Time to die, Chris."

He leapt down from his pedestal atop the remains of the rocket and took a deep breath, relishing in his power and grinning at Chris once again. Already, his foe was backing up slowly and gripping his pathetic handgun. Wesker hissed and threw his right arm—or what was left of it—forward, lashing out at the duo as they began to run from the mutated tyrant and towards their other death: the lava in the volcano. He could dimly hear a scream from Sheva of "FALL BACK!" but paid no heed, solely focusing on Chris first.

"Why can't you understand, Chris?!"

A thorn in his side. A pain in his ass. Everything Wesker despised about humanity was all in this little rat of a man who pissed him off to Hell and back once again. He noted the unstable bridge and watched the both of them slip, grinning wildly. How fitting—a fall to his death would have been quite nice to end the Redfield's life. But then again… he wanted to feel Chris writhing in his grasp as he held him at his mercy.

"Do you really believe the world is worth saving?"

He jumped down from the ledge, looking around and spotting him out of the corner of his eye. They weren't speaking, most likely weren't listening to him. Chris waved his partner off, and she was already bolting in another direction. Wesker threw out his arm again, slamming into rocks, boulders, and the ground. Left and right, he smashed anything and everything in sight; rage taking over him entirely. He wanted to kill him right now. Sick of him running, sick of him wasting his time. Like a wuss, Chris ran from him.

Wesker followed him, stalking his prey and snarling all the while. "Natural selection leaves the survivors stronger and better!" He could see Chris loading his gun from atop his new perch; eyes blazing wildly like a fire through the prairie. "Humans have escaped this winnowing for far too long."

Something slammed into his chest—a bullet, no doubt. Chris had his laser sight trained on his enemy, and Wesker could see it through those slits. 'Damn you!' he thought irately, feeling his blood boil over and his body straining to mutate once again.

He had known it for a long time, but the realization was washing over him. Like the lava over his skin he would never feel. Wesker had an obsession. A wicked, horrific fixation on one sole thing.

Albert Wesker was obsessed with Chris Redfield. His death, his smug voice, his stupid boy scout, goody-two-shoes, "I'm going to save the world" ways.

Everything about him. And it drove him over the edge towards the insanity that drove him onward in this damned volcano.

'Mutation… imminent…'

That voice. Who the hell was talking to him?

'Beware… your anger… your vendetta… your demise…'

Screw the voices. Screw all of them! Wesker's other arm suddenly exploded into a mass of tentacle and steel, albeit a controlled version of his other appendage. It was like a stump, but it was equally useful for destroying anything in its path. With a wicked reach and just as much infected terror, he was in absolute control of Chris and Sheva's destiny. His eyes glowed even in the light of the lava, hissing and feeling another bullet hit his torso.

There was a shriek, and Sheva had slipped on the edge of the cliff she was once standing. She was bait for him right there, and Wesker took it all: hook, line, and sinker. An easier chance to destroy Redfield's partner? He'd damn well take it! Chris still might have had a bead on him, but it'd be tricky to hit him… perhaps.

Wesker could feel his brain continue to deteriorate, his reasonable side disappearing into nothingness. The very thing he didn't wish to become… it was taking him over completely. He knew one day his lust for destroying Chris was going to destroy him from the inside out. He just wished that today wasn't that day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, reason poked his brain again, and he advanced on the struggling African American.

"War and pestilence wherever you go!" he raged, advancing onward. "Everywhere, nothing but loathsome humans."

Somewhere, there was a yell and the firing of a gun. Bullets rained on his body now, the blond dimly aware Chris was most likely attempting to shoot the life out of him and his infection. It would be nothing more than a fruitless effort, however, as Wesker slowly but surely continued to move towards the woman. He didn't care anymore—he wanted humans eradicated, his own reign to begin. He was going to be God, and everyone would listen to him!

'You'll lose…'

Wesker snarled angrily, shaking his head as he leapt for Sheva. 'I will NOT lose!' he thought, fighting the voices.

'To him… to him…'

"I will NOT lose to a boy scout like him!" he suddenly screamed, laughing maniacally. "I will destroy him!"

Chris grabbed Sheva's hand, the both of them on the opposite side of the lava from Wesker. Chris must've used some of his steroid-inducing ability to knock down the boulder she crossed, because even Wesker knew there was not a chance in Hell she could have made that jump. He glowered at the both of them, his face disfigured from Uroboros infecting his entire frame now. No one was quite sure how he was standing from taking bullets to having metal now in his skin and blood.

Hell, no one knew how he still was holding a human figure considering the fact the other infected by the virus had all become misshapen blobs of tentacles and flesh.

But none of that mattered now.

"The human race requires judgment!" Wesker snarled, jumping across the lava with ease and little grace.

Chris could have laughed at this outburst. "And you're going to judge us? Do you get all your ideas from comic book villains?!"

Something taunting in that voice made the two of them realize they only pissed off the tyrant even more. Wesker had had it. He hadn't been playing around in the beginning, but dammit. That was the last straw. Chris and Sheva raced for another ledge, and Wesker was behind them in lumbering pursuit. That cheap little son-of-a… Wesker's head filled with thoughts of rage, fury, hatred for the pathetic little piece of vermin Redfield was. No—he didn't even deserve to be called that. He was worse than that.

"Chriiis!!"

Wesker lunged out with the tentacle arm, hissing and laughing wickedly and attempting to inflict more pain about his mortal enemy. His dislike for Chris was surely hotter than the volcano itself now, and it was made evident when more bullets sprayed into his body from the duo. He roared in pain now, lashing out and feeling a body hit his arm. It curled up and squeezed with all its might, but its captor struggled hard and long before finally delivering a nasty kick to his face.

Chris was panting, Sheva staring at the tyrant. Wesker flung his arm out again to grab Sheva, but nothing doing. She immediately dodged out of the way, but Chris… he wasn't so lucky. Some of the tentacles managed to attach to his skin, ripping at him now as he tried to take them off and continue to avoid Wesker. "Shit!" Chris muttered.

"I can't lose! Not to you!" the tyrant screamed now, lunging again and attempting to slam his arm into Chris once more.

There was a cry of pain and more hails of gunfire. Wesker couldn't see, blindly lashing out and laughing hysterically. It was so funny.

The voices were right as he felt a body suddenly slam right on top of him.

He had lost. For the first time in his life, Albert Wesker…

…had lost.

Description
Albert Wesker loathed Chris Redfield. He hated Sheva Alomar dimly in his mind for her following around of the Redfield, but her partner… He glared at the two of them over the wreckage of the plane, stumbling out like a man rising from his grave. They looked harried, exhausted. Honestly, Wesker expected them to be dead. How the hell they had survived that crash… he'd never figure it out.

Their backs were turned towards him, facing the lava. He sneered. "I should have killed you years ago… Chris!" He practically hissed his name, a snake's warning to the unsuspecting prey he would devour. His mortal enemy whirled around, handgun in hand and giving him his own defiant glare, and it certainly didn't make him feel any better when his African partner followed suit. That stupid look he gave him those years ago when he gave him an order when they were teammates—it sickened the human tyrant to think he was once an equal with Redfield.

"Your mistake!" Chris yelled over the flow of lava. Beads of sweat were sliding down his face, the heat already beginning to get to him. The weapons on his back only added more weight that he knew he wouldn't be able to carry if this all went down for one final effort. "It's over, Wesker!"

The blond man gave a harsh laugh and threw back his head. "Over?!" he crowed, taking a step towards Redfield and Alomar. His feet balanced themselves on the missile containing his precious virus. Three long years perfecting what was to become a new genesis, another step towards human evolution—and Wesker was standing right on top of it. "I'm just getting started!"

Without another word and without any warning, he slammed his hand down into the steel plate of the rocket and reached far down inside of it. Grunting, he pulled as hard as he could once. Twice. The worm-like virus came to life in front of his foes' eyes, and it began to weave around his arms. They came to life, bringing the man nearly down to his knees from the sheer strength of their pulling on to his arm. But he kept his balance now, ripping his arm free from the missile that once contained it.

They wrapped around his upper torso, his body—the Uroboros virus infected not only his skin and muscles, but his mind. It was almost pathetic, to be honest. The unfortunate fact that Wesker had lost his mind to the idea of him being a clone was bad enough. But now, Uroboros was whispering to him in his head. Whispering to him to that something needed to be done about the scum on the planet.

He listened to these words, looking at himself finally and at his appendage. It was a mass of black tentacles, flailing pieces of steel and harmful matter. His face burned, his body heavier than he could have imagined. But in the end, it truly did not matter.

Wesker believed he had achieved godhood right then and there. And it clearly reflected on the malicious smirk he gave a horrified Chris and Sheva. "Time to die, Chris."

He leapt down from his pedestal atop the remains of the rocket and took a deep breath, relishing in his power and grinning at Chris once again. Already, his foe was backing up slowly and gripping his pathetic handgun. Wesker hissed and threw his right arm—or what was left of it—forward, lashing out at the duo as they began to run from the mutated tyrant and towards their other death: the lava in the volcano. He could dimly hear a scream from Sheva of "FALL BACK!" but paid no heed, solely focusing on Chris first.

"Why can't you understand, Chris?!"

A thorn in his side. A pain in his ass. Everything Wesker despised about humanity was all in this little rat of a man who pissed him off to Hell and back once again. He noted the unstable bridge and watched the both of them slip, grinning wildly. How fitting—a fall to his death would have been quite nice to end the Redfield's life. But then again… he wanted to feel Chris writhing in his grasp as he held him at his mercy.

"Do you really believe the world is worth saving?"

He jumped down from the ledge, looking around and spotting him out of the corner of his eye. They weren't speaking, most likely weren't listening to him. Chris waved his partner off, and she was already bolting in another direction. Wesker threw out his arm again, slamming into rocks, boulders, and the ground. Left and right, he smashed anything and everything in sight; rage taking over him entirely. He wanted to kill him right now. Sick of him running, sick of him wasting his time. Like a wuss, Chris ran from him.

Wesker followed him, stalking his prey and snarling all the while. "Natural selection leaves the survivors stronger and better!" He could see Chris loading his gun from atop his new perch; eyes blazing wildly like a fire through the prairie. "Humans have escaped this winnowing for far too long."

Something slammed into his chest—a bullet, no doubt. Chris had his laser sight trained on his enemy, and Wesker could see it through those slits. 'Damn you!' he thought irately, feeling his blood boil over and his body straining to mutate once again.

He had known it for a long time, but the realization was washing over him. Like the lava over his skin he would never feel. Wesker had an obsession. A wicked, horrific fixation on one sole thing.

Albert Wesker was obsessed with Chris Redfield. His death, his smug voice, his stupid boy scout, goody-two-shoes, "I'm going to save the world" ways.

Everything about him. And it drove him over the edge towards the insanity that drove him onward in this damned volcano.

'Mutation… imminent…'

That voice. Who the hell was talking to him?

'Beware… your anger… your vendetta… your demise…'

Screw the voices. Screw all of them! Wesker's other arm suddenly exploded into a mass of tentacle and steel, albeit a controlled version of his other appendage. It was like a stump, but it was equally useful for destroying anything in its path. With a wicked reach and just as much infected terror, he was in absolute control of Chris and Sheva's destiny. His eyes glowed even in the light of the lava, hissing and feeling another bullet hit his torso.

There was a shriek, and Sheva had slipped on the edge of the cliff she was once standing. She was bait for him right there, and Wesker took it all: hook, line, and sinker. An easier chance to destroy Redfield's partner? He'd damn well take it! Chris still might have had a bead on him, but it'd be tricky to hit him… perhaps.

Wesker could feel his brain continue to deteriorate, his reasonable side disappearing into nothingness. The very thing he didn't wish to become… it was taking him over completely. He knew one day his lust for destroying Chris was going to destroy him from the inside out. He just wished that today wasn't that day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, reason poked his brain again, and he advanced on the struggling African American.

"War and pestilence wherever you go!" he raged, advancing onward. "Everywhere, nothing but loathsome humans."

Somewhere, there was a yell and the firing of a gun. Bullets rained on his body now, the blond dimly aware Chris was most likely attempting to shoot the life out of him and his infection. It would be nothing more than a fruitless effort, however, as Wesker slowly but surely continued to move towards the woman. He didn't care anymore—he wanted humans eradicated, his own reign to begin. He was going to be God, and everyone would listen to him!

'You'll lose…'

Wesker snarled angrily, shaking his head as he leapt for Sheva. 'I will NOT lose!' he thought, fighting the voices.

'To him… to him…'

"I will NOT lose to a boy scout like him!" he suddenly screamed, laughing maniacally. "I will destroy him!"

Chris grabbed Sheva's hand, the both of them on the opposite side of the lava from Wesker. Chris must've used some of his steroid-inducing ability to knock down the boulder she crossed, because even Wesker knew there was not a chance in Hell she could have made that jump. He glowered at the both of them, his face disfigured from Uroboros infecting his entire frame now. No one was quite sure how he was standing from taking bullets to having metal now in his skin and blood.

Hell, no one knew how he still was holding a human figure considering the fact the other infected by the virus had all become misshapen blobs of tentacles and flesh.

But none of that mattered now.

"The human race requires judgment!" Wesker snarled, jumping across the lava with ease and little grace.

Chris could have laughed at this outburst. "And you're going to judge us? Do you get all your ideas from comic book villains?!"

Something taunting in that voice made the two of them realize they only pissed off the tyrant even more. Wesker had had it. He hadn't been playing around in the beginning, but dammit. That was the last straw. Chris and Sheva raced for another ledge, and Wesker was behind them in lumbering pursuit. That cheap little son-of-a… Wesker's head filled with thoughts of rage, fury, hatred for the pathetic little piece of vermin Redfield was. No—he didn't even deserve to be called that. He was worse than that.

"Chriiis!!"

Wesker lunged out with the tentacle arm, hissing and laughing wickedly and attempting to inflict more pain about his mortal enemy. His dislike for Chris was surely hotter than the volcano itself now, and it was made evident when more bullets sprayed into his body from the duo. He roared in pain now, lashing out and feeling a body hit his arm. It curled up and squeezed with all its might, but its captor struggled hard and long before finally delivering a nasty kick to his face.

Chris was panting, Sheva staring at the tyrant. Wesker flung his arm out again to grab Sheva, but nothing doing. She immediately dodged out of the way, but Chris… he wasn't so lucky. Some of the tentacles managed to attach to his skin, ripping at him now as he tried to take them off and continue to avoid Wesker. "Shit!" Chris muttered.

"I can't lose! Not to you!" the tyrant screamed now, lunging again and attempting to slam his arm into Chris once more.

There was a cry of pain and more hails of gunfire. Wesker couldn't see, blindly lashing out and laughing hysterically. It was so funny.

The voices were right as he felt a body suddenly slam right on top of him.

He had lost. For the first time in his life, Albert Wesker…

…had lost.