— Suspicious merchant.
— A lot of corpses, — Ashley Graham frowned, examining the unidentified objects along the way, possibly the bodies of cultists.
— Who did this to them?
— They fell by themselves? — I suggested, even though it sounded bold.
— Suspicious, — she ignored my comments, as expected from girls with a good education received from the best teachers in America. But she is far from the level of Albert Wesker! Moreover, if it were necessary to convince people that the Earth is flat, I would do it better than all the board lovers. Why boards?
They are flat, and they have a double meaning related to certain girls and their diminished body parts. I am sure that the flat Earth theory appeared precisely because of the lovers of such girls. Everything fits together and is quite logical.
— M-m, — my companion on this mission suddenly clutched her head and began to cough up blood. A familiar motif, but the universe is without cultivation, unless you count Alexia. Ordinary people are unlikely to cough up blood and suffer from headaches without a reason. — What… what's wrong with me…
Taking a few chaotic steps back, she almost fell into the mud, but I, the good guy, quickly offered her my shoulder. The best support in the world is Wesker, that's a proven fact. Proven by whom? All my employees in accounting. If they didn't earn a lot, they would never praise me as a reliable pillar of their bright future.
— The parasite is slowly taking over your body. If nothing is done, you will learn Spanish and begin to worship the parasites and the cult leader — Saddler. And you'll also try to help him take over the world, — I explained good-naturedly, perfectly understanding a simple truth: forewarned is forearmed. Well, unless, of course, you are imprisoned by the Las Plagas parasite…
— Can this be fixed?! — she recoiled from my shoulder, flailing her arms in a state close to hysteria. But there is no need to worry. I haven't driven a single girl to tears yet. And certainly haven't hurt them. Except for a couple of cuties I shot, and even then, with a sub-lethal outcome. For the record, all my test ladies for human experiments don't count. Ah, yes, there were a couple more cases, but let bygones be bygones…
— I'll use a lifeline, — I frowned, taking out an earpiece and activating the connection on my phone. I contacted Ada Wong, addressing her with feigned importance. — How is the search for the cure progressing?
— «The idiot Luis hid the Amber before Saddler's people caught him,» — I heard her nervous voice through the earpiece. — «But there is good news. He can independently develop the equipment for parasite extraction, and he has experience, judging by the scar on his chest.»
— Where is he now? — I asked.
— «In Salazar's Castle,» — she quickly replied. I hope the Spaniard doesn't mess anything up. — «As soon as I sort out the task or if additional information appears, I will definitely contact you. And yes, thank you for your concern.»
— The goal is above all. We must not allow the parasites to bully the only beauty in the area, — I pronounced majestically, winking at Ashley.
Disconnecting, I put the earpiece in my pocket. If I am not mistaken, the parasite inside the spy should have dissolved under the influence of T-Wesker, fragmented and spread throughout Ada Wong's body. A regular operation won't help the spy, but it's perfect for Ashley, provided she doesn't get worse and I don't have to repeat the T-Wesker implantation operation.
This is my backup Plan "B". That's why I conducted a test operation on Ada without unnecessary words, and, as expected, my genius didn't fail. With new experience, I can perform the operation to implant my virus and control the fusion with the parasite more competently. After all, superiority knows no bounds. Especially when the life of the President's daughter is at stake. — What is it? — she asked, as she only heard the conversation from my side.
— My people are looking for the cure; there is already information about a biologist capable of performing the parasite extraction operation. He is right in Salazar's Castle, — I nodded. — Everything is under control. If you get worse…
My companion's face was getting paler, and her coughing was becoming more frequent, indicating the need to provide first aid before the end of the day. It is hard to have a problematic companion, but any difficulties temper us and contribute to establishing relationships with Presidents' daughters. Help one today — receive help during the election race from her father tomorrow.
— I will perform the emergency operation myself, — I continued. — That is why I am here, to provide backup.
In reality, I just needed a useless companion with no chance of stealing my enemies. The vacation should be remembered as something good for one person, not the Black Watch squad.
— O-okay, — she managed to say, wiping the blood from the corners of her lips. — Thank you. I'm still… controlling myself.
Shrugging, I calmly continued walking through the cleared Spanish countryside. The uneven terrain was half the trouble, and the rain and bad weather brought on a desolate sadness. I should have gone to the Bahamas — it's sunny there, and I could flirt with cuties.
— I want to ask… — the girl cautiously inquired. — Why do you need sunglasses in the rain?
— The clouds will part sooner or later, — I answered thoughtfully. — The glasses will stay.
A thud was heard, but it was probably just the wind, and not a sick hand hitting a sick head. Ashley is unlikely to suffer from masochism, deliberately trying to harm herself.
While I was enjoying the tour, observing the cultists' structures, I saw fire in the distance. What's more surprising, someone had added chemicals to it, since the fire was not extinguished by raindrops, strong wind, or any other conditions that could put it out. And the blue hues of the fire indicated the presence of chemical additives.
— Welcome, stranger! — a suspicious arms dealer greeted me. He was in a long dark coat, worn in places, and with a purple scarf tied around his face. — I buy, I sell, rare items at affordable prices, and especially for foreigners, I have a special offer: one gun for the price of two. Only today.
Someone is trying to cheat me somewhere…
— Do you have a shooting range too? — I asked, nodding towards the room behind him. — And how's the demand?
— More than enough, more than enough. Many drop by from the castle, as well as from the island. The Ganados are less solvent, which is why they are dead. If they had my weapons, they wouldn't have been slaughtered like cattle. Heh-heh, — chuckling, he graciously invited the lady in the rain to visit the shooting range. I nodded, suggesting she practice a bit before heading into the enemy's lair. The merchant turned out to be shrewd; he even provided shooting headphones. — So you are an illegal arms dealer?
— The best in all of Spain, — he bowed, adjusting his purple mask.
— And if you need to arm two thousand people with the best weapons at high prices, do you think you can handle it? — I asked more in jest than seriously, examining his assortment. There is a lot of weaponry here that is impossible to obtain without connections to the military. I have them, but it's better to anonymize all transactions for a charitable mission.
— Albert Wesker! — he raised his hands. — You should start the conversation with that. Ho-ho, do you want to arm rebels? I understand, great goals require big guns. I can get any quantity, as long as you pay. Three shipments on a fifty-fifty principle. Just three months in exchange for complete confidentiality, foreigner.
Is he reading minds? Although, know your clients and their secret motives, get solvent and loyal customers! We will quickly find common ground. Very quickly… We entered the shooting range and passed Ashley, who was aiming at the targets and could accidentally shoot herself. But I am sure that luck is benevolent to beautiful girls, so I ignored her and went to a drier room to discuss all the details.
There were many of them, including shipping methods, customs issues, payment through dummy accounts, and much more. At first, I was skeptical of the suspicious merchant in a war zone, but he turned out to be a true professional. Out of politeness, I bought a waterproof cloak, a lot of travel weapons, grenades, knives, and an elephant gun from him. I paid through a dummy company engaged in charity, but in reality, sponsoring my illegal operations, for example, paying for the services of a smuggler in the depths of Spain. All for a good cause!
When I was fully equipped, I politely said goodbye to the merchant, who began to pack his things. We will meet again, probably in Africa. I need to visit a few acquaintances there to conduct suspicious experiments with parasites, but those are the problems of the future me. Work, future me! And the present one will enjoy life.
If only there were more girls. Ashley often coughs up blood, suffers from headaches, and after the shooting range, she often clutches her ears, despite the fact that the headphones were excellent. I didn't check them, but my faith in the merchant exceeds all limits. And his prices are low, as if he is stealing weapons directly from military bases. He probably worked closely with the cultists, and they could well have seized control of important figures in the country's armed forces. This explains a lot, in particular, the presence of prohibited weapons.
While I was pondering, one of HUNK's men contacted me again, which made me tense up. If they report that they accidentally cleared the castle… Ugh, I'll cut everyone's bonus in half.
— «Reporting: enemies are moving towards the village. I repeat: enemies have left the castle and are moving towards the village. The infected leader is Bitores Mendez,» — the scout near the castle reported good news. Finally, a brawl!
— Acknowledged, — I thanked dryly, taking off the earpiece.
— Did something happen? — Ashley asked nervously.
— Enemy reinforcements are moving towards us, — I relayed. — Everything is under control. They won't kill you; they need you alive, but they might try to do something bad. They are cultists, after all.
The blonde shuddered and pressed closer to me, like a cute kitten.
Coughing blood onto a waterproof cloak, but still a cute kitten.
They have become stronger, which guaranteed the rupture of internal parasites with just one strong pressure.
Party time!
Mendez, having risen, decided to look in again, his transformation complete, turning him into a strange hybrid of a centipede and himself. The sight, of course, commanded respect from all "filmed for bread" horror movies, so I respectfully began to throw grenades at him. So to speak, with the highest honor!
I spared nothing: neither grenades nor bullets from the various weapons. Anyway, he couldn't do anything to me — I am faster, and whoever is faster wins with a long-range weapon in hand.
Following that, when the opponent was thoroughly battered by life, I accelerated and plunged a knife into his head. Simultaneously, as I landed, I delivered a spinning kick. Half of Mendez's elongated body crashed into the mud, allowing me to triumphantly lift and forcefully bring down my foot. Where? On his head, crushing it like something vile and disgusting. Smeared my shoes again… Next time I need to be wiser and buy shoe covers or a second pair of shoes in case of unforeseen circumstances.
— I'm done, — I waving triumphantly towards the hiding Ashley, who watched the fight from the shadows. Her eyes flickered hesitantly, as if she had stepped out of reality for a couple of minutes, for her female needs. And she was in no hurry to return. — The weak specimens are dead; we can go to the castle.
She was silent, prompting me to stare discontentedly at the statue, which suspiciously resembled the President's daughter. And how long will the current lady of the country pretend to be an element of nature?
— Hmm, — I rubbed my chin. — I see you. Deciding to go all out, I saw the girl wake up and cautiously head towards me, rubbing her trembling fingers. The blonde herself was shaking, like something light in a strong wind.
— You… you… who? — Ashley inquired, almost prompting me to say something about the sexiest man in the world. But I restrained myself; modesty is my middle name.
— Albert Wesker, — I shook my head, placing my hands on my hips. — Don't be so scared; those were just cultists. In the castle, we will definitely meet better enemies, not deadbeats with one foot in the grave.
— Maybe… we shouldn't go? — Ashley bravely suggested, trying to avoid further attractions.
— It's all for your salvation. Sacrifices will have to be made for it, — I revealed instructively, pointing out her mistakes, putting my hands behind my head, and once again stepping onto the mountain path.
I should have killed the cultists right away, using my acceleration, but then it would have been too boring. It's like mixing cognac with ninety-proof alcohol right after the party starts. It will be fun, but not for long; the party will most likely have to be spent in the restroom. And why would I even think about speeding through my vacation? It's all because of Ashley Graham. The second ascent up the mountain was so difficult for her that I had to awaken the full power of a gentleman. Carry her? Put her on my back? All this is long outdated.
My eyes, full of faith in female independence, are the future of all gentlemanly affairs. And the fact that my eyes are hidden under sunglasses is a minor and unnecessary detail.
Climbing the mountain, we saw a path leading to an ancient and majestic castle, notable for its size.
Ramon Salazar was a descendant of an ancient and noble family, endowed with power for his determined attempts to protect the locals from Las Plagas.
In return, the locals paid generous tributes that helped maintain such structures. But, as they say, every family has its black sheep. Salazar suffered from psychological problems since childhood, which became the reason for his transition to the dark side of the force. What else to expect from a man famous for dousing his maids with acid? Only absolute devotion to the cult that wants to enslave the world. Ramon even killed his parents, raised his hand against his father to seize power that his father never even dreamed of.
A bad dwarf, a very bad one.
Reaching the fortress walls, I pondered: how to get into the lair of evil? The options were few: find an underground passage, politely ask the guards to open the huge gates, or climb up myself.
Sighing, I glanced at the girl, weakened after the exhausting climb. Alright, today I can make an exception and help her jump higher than her head. Even five times higher than herself. It doesn't take much brains: pick her up, carefully calculate the force, and jump. Since she is alive, it was necessary to accurately calculate my capabilities, otherwise unpleasant incidents could occur. A broken neck is the least of the possible problems.
— Ah! — she cried out loudly when I landed on the castle walls.
So loudly that all the nearest guards noticed her and her failed stealth. Why her and not me? I put her on her feet, and the guards continued to burn her with their glowing, cat-like eyes. I had to help: I pulled out my pistol, attached a silencer, and in the style of an absolute hitman, eliminated the threat with the most precise shots between the eyes. Were there any nuances? Oh, of course. One of the cultists in a black robe fell from the fortress right into a circle of sectarians who decided to have dinner outdoors.
A gift from the heavens — nothing less, warning of my presence. Now the cultists raise their heads and see me, the poor guy, forced to pull out a grenade and pull the pin. "If the barn burns, let the castle burn too."
It certainly won't get worse from the grenade thrown after the cultist. I can state this as Albert Wesker, the master of executing reliable plans. True, some small but unpleasant problems arose… The castle turned out to be complex: it had catapults installed with burning stones, and large cannons from the century before last. Combined with a bunch of cultists armed with morning stars, crossbows, shields, maces, and other antique weapons, I felt like I was in the Middle Ages, as if I had immersed myself in the atmosphere of chivalry. Essentially, all that's left is to kill the sleeping princess and save the dragon.
— We're all going to die! — Ashley shouted loudly, now lying on my reliable right shoulder. Like a kitten, I gently held her, trying to quickly get away from the flying catapult projectiles.
Ashley was, of course, shaking and swaying heavily during my elegant evasions, but it was the best I could offer. Seriously, what is wrong with our enemies' brains? They want to deliver the infected Ashley to the US President, so why are burning stones flying at us? Or do Saddler's followers believe that the stones consist of simple pixels?
They are too hefty and hot for pixels, and they also destroy Salazar's property upon landing. The destruction effect is certainly twelve out of ten, but couldn't these effects be directed away from good guests? Mentally addressing the void, I ran to the locked castle door. There were no keys, but there were virus-enhanced legs. One powerful kick easily knocked down the door, allowing us to plunge into the wide halls, decorated with ancient artifacts. For example, elegant red curtains with sun protection, self-cleaning floors — otherwise their shine cannot be explained, mystical statues from cheap museums, and much more. Running through the halls with Ashley, I somehow broke away from the cultists, calmly putting her on her feet.
For the umpteenth time today.
— I'm going to throw up… — the blonde was not coping well with my pace, so she leaned against the wall and began to breathe heavily. Dizziness, nausea, all this intensified after the marathon, but nothing critically dangerous. You could say it was training for other, more interesting races. I am, in fact, a King of Interesting Races myself. Alexia and Claire wouldn't lie.
— Are you okay? — I asked out of politeness, checking my ammunition.
Ahead is the main hall of the castle; the owner of these lands will surely be there. No need to consult a fortune teller; all bad guys love to say something pompous to their enemies at the threshold, and then hide in the depths of the dungeon until the very end. Classic, as any Imperial Stormtrooper would say.
— Yes… ha… I'm fine, — she moved away from the wall. — But can I go myself? I run well… For a person… — Your safety is paramount, — I stated, repeating a typical cliché in such situations, and it worked. The girl smiled sweetly, entrusting her safety to the most reliable person in the world.
Ashley didn't leave my side, and, reaching the majestically furnished two-tiered hall with me, she clung to me. But this is not surprising when someone is surrounded by cultists armed with crossbows…
We were surrounded…
— Albert Wesker, — Ramon greeted us with a nasty voice from the second tier. He was just over a meter tall, with gray hair and wrinkles on his face. He seems to be about twenty years old, if I'm not mistaken, but he looks like an aging aristocrat. — The Great Traitor has honored my castle with his presence.
Let us greet him with honors.
.....
Spreading his arms, he prompted his pawns to start muttering something unintelligible — a mixture of Spanish and Dothraki.
— Traitor? — Ashley whispered softly; the enemy's words alarmed her.
— I am often mistaken for someone else, — I shrugged, raising my head again to look at the gray-haired dwarf. — And may your life be short, Ramon Salazar.
— What unfriendliness, although I didn't expect anything else from someone who betrayed the tenets of Umbrella. You turned your blade against those who created you. But I, the great Ramon, — he proudly nodded to himself. — will correct this mistake if you don't hand Ashley Graham over to me. Under the protection of my lord Saddler. It's not the first time you've betrayed someone, is it?
Ashley frowned, but didn't believe the dwarf's words. We are in a medieval setting, after all, and "Tom Thumb" never commanded respect or trust in those times. However, neither did eunuchs or girls with low social responsibility. Dwarves can even shoot their own father with a crossbow, and not just in the right setting, but in the toilet. And the worst part is, they don't even say goodbye: "A Lannister always pays his debts." In general, they miss a lot and often lie. I am sure Ashley thinks so too.
— I never betrayed the tenets of an organization eager to rule the world by the power of bioterrorism, — I explained my motives. — I only learned how to destroy it for the good of society. As for my dear companion, Ashley Graham, she is under my protection no matter what. Which cannot be said about Tom Thumb, trying to add height to himself… With a ruler of discord?
— Tom… Thumb… — his sick eyes widened, as if Vietnamese flashbacks surfaced before him. — Kill… Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!
Falling into a hysteria, he continued to shout the same thing, like a broken tape recorder. Judging by the look of his two huge bodyguards, they understood that it was better to lead him away from the source of irritation. They almost took him by the armpits, dragging him away from me… and the reinforcements pouring out of all the corridors.
Ugh, I feel like I'll have to do my signature glasses throw…
Ashley, who was trying to escape from two perverted cultists…
It is regrettable that they are preventing me from enjoying a noble duel. I tried to knock the weapon out of his hands, but he, the scoundrel, parried my attack. I had to strike his vulnerable knee, almost toppling the huge carcass, and then magnanimously shoot him in the head with a sawed-off shotgun. All the canons of a knight were observed, amen. Now I can go and seduce the princess… Ouch-ouch… A spear was hurled at me, which barely missed my chest. Fortunately, I managed to pull out my pistol and hit the projectile precisely. Almost without cunning, the virus simply accelerated my reaction several times, which stopped time for me. It's not my fault, if anyone asks; time stopped by itself!
«Somehow hitting an unarmed man is unmanly,» — I mentally considered and frowned, looking at the spearman without a spear. It's like a girl without breasts, only worse, because there is a risk of dying dishonorably.
— Wesker, help! A-ah! — cries for help flew from Ashley's lips throughout my confrontation. But can I help a girl when a spearman is in distress? No way… So that the lancer wouldn't be disgraced by the lack of a weapon, I selflessly shot him exactly in the left eye.
Washed away his disgrace with blood!
Glancing around, I noticed four perverts already, trying to catch the shrewd President's daughter. She was running in circles, and the cultists, like moths, were flying straight toward her. Well, the blonde thought she ran well. She's probably practicing and trying to prove it. She doesn't need my help yet. But I need help, because two more spearmen rushed at me with the intention of plunging the glorious guest deeper into historical romance. My heart was almost pierced — only a rebound from the first and a dive under the swing of the second helped me.
Essentially, they showed a good master class, so I rewarded them with a tip. I didn't have any money with me, but I had a ring — metallic and quite rare. But there was only one ring, and I couldn't give it to two spearmen. I had to start frantically deciding who to give the ring from the grenade to, and who the grenade itself. Unable to choose, I threw both at their feet. And jumped away, possibly out of shame.
It is quite awkward when there are not enough gifts for good tour guides. Or did I confuse them with someone? Exactly, how blind I was, but I saw the light.
All of them are my good fans, who dispelled my doubts with their blood! They even sent me a commendation letter with an arrow, although only the arrow arrived for some reason… Minor things, but it's still unpleasant to intercept arrows in the air, returning them to the addressees with a silent request to reattach the letter. Hmm, perhaps because of the hit to the forehead and skull penetration… I won't get anything back. But these are all conjectures. Reloading my pistol, I advanced deeper into the arriving reinforcements. They sent all the castle dogs after us. It seems my objective comment regarding Ramon's height seriously enraged him. And if so, I'll have to remind Salazar of his low place in society again.
On the move, I aimed and took down the first crossbowman, simultaneously rolling across the floor, because the second scoundrel chose a good moment. Just a little more, and the bolt would have hit my shoulder, preventing me from fully straightening my shoulders for a new technique. I'll call it "armed monk." With one hand, I nimbly dealt with a pair of shield-bearers, smashing their shields and faces as a bonus, and with the other, I continued to take down targets with long-range weapons.
It was not difficult: reloading a crossbow is a troublesome business and requires a standing, statue-like position. A couple of shots are guaranteed to knock them flat, unless the Las Plagas parasite jumps out of the host's body. One jumped out, flailing blades with the intention of mincing everything alive.
What is this, if not a living bomb?
Accelerating, I appeared behind him, so as not to embarrass him with my dazzling presence. Were there other reasons to approach the opponent from behind?
— Of course, the Spartan kick is a timeless classic, allowing me to send the unruly parasite into the ranks of its allies. Oh, the fun cultist slicing has begun! The parasite's blades sliced all the nearby fanatics like ingredients for a troll stew.
If only I could find elf ears, but no luck; it's unlikely there's such a thing here for the stew. Unless I evoke them with controlled mutations… Sounds like a plan! Create elves! And then sell them to rich bastards who look like fantasy trolls for their dark deeds. A good idea, too bad countless opponents won't let me concentrate on it.
«Someone decided to play Robin Hood, but apparently didn't consider that I am a law-abiding citizen with a protected bank account,» — I lamented mentally, once again shooting down a crossbow bolt, and then the shooter himself.
— Albert, help! I've been grabbed, a-a! — some extraneous shouts almost threw off my concentration again.
More precisely, they did. A halberd blow crashed down on me with full force. I wanted to dodge, but I wildly wanted to encourage my fans.
The halberd sliced through a part of my ribs and dug deeply into my flesh, almost throwing me backward along with the halberd itself. And the opponents froze, as they subconsciously understood that even shock doesn't save you from such a weapon. Anyone who is pierced by a huge halberd will be guaranteed to be killed. No way would he be standing, thinking that this is his chance!
And besides, there are ten things I've always wanted to do.
Putting on a dead serious face, I straightened my posture and slowly reached with my left hand for the hilt. It hurt a bit, almost like when I was pierced by a Tyrant's claws in the Spencer Mansion. But I've become much more resilient since then. With just one tug of my arm, I pulled the blade out of my body.
Time to inspect all the guards of Salazar's Castle with the most contemptuous look, then approach the former owner of the weapon and return it with a throw at his feet.
— Try again, — I declared arrogantly, one of the ten phrases I always wanted to say. The opponent immediately heeded it, quickly lifting the halberd, swinging at my neck. I had reinforced it beforehand, but even so, my head almost flew off my shoulders. This was evidenced by the tentacles preparing to chase after it. But, it avoided unnecessary chaos, giving our performance more charm.
Pulling the halberd out of my neck, I swung it with all my might and cut the opponent in half, showing the others how to strike correctly. A second halberdier decided to repeat, delivering a wide swing. I calmly deflected his weapon with mine, simultaneously grabbing its hilt and pulling it towards me, throwing him to the ground. A pathetic sight, but not pathetic enough — I crushed his head with my second boot.
Now you can't even take the shoes to the laundry, or wherever they clean them in the twenty-first century, not the kitchen sink, right? Hmm… I'll put Alexia to work!
Having considered the great idea, I finished regenerating and lazily moved away from the second strike, hitting a nearby target with a cunning knife attack, and the further target with a vertical halberd devastation. The first one was bleeding out, and the second was cut in half.
No doubt, time to repeat!
About five times — no more, because the halberd soon dulled, turning into a club. You can't do much with that, so I threw it toward the last crossbowman. Missed, a big miss… But I made a good impression! With what? A bullet between the eyes — my shots are guaranteed to finish off what a thrown weapon won't wound.
And now, when I was preparing to celebrate my self-demonstration in front of my fans, there were suspiciously more of them. They rushed at me all at once from the corridors, but I didn't give up, continuing to hone the "Wesker's Fist" path on them. Dozens of devastating blows, reinforced by the power of the virus, crashed down on them. Someone had their limbs torn off. And someone discovered suspiciously large and superfluous holes in themselves. However, what difference does it make how they die, the main thing is whose hand they fall by!
Ow! A vile Las Plagas carrier swung a chain at me and wrapped it around my arm. What to do? Untangling is not cool; I have to come up with something. Pull him towards me? Worth a try, simultaneously turning around to deliver a precise kick to the head. I tore it off with a solid portion of the spine, and then used the chain to knock those around me to the ground.
Someone once told me that hitting those who are down is not cool; only notorious scoundrels do that. A useful memory, especially when you need to demonstrate your spiritual nature. I didn't hit those who were down! But nowhere in the rule is there a prohibition against shooting at those lying down with a submachine gun? Bullets calmly pierced the bodies of the fallen fighters, sending them to some suspicious version of Valhalla for cultists. Probably, instead of ale and Valkyries, they are met there with hot beer and damsels whom even a seasoned venereologist would be afraid to check. In short, a suspicious version of Valhalla, I am sure my bad fans end up there.
Only the last batch remained… Ugh, I was tired of beating up my modest fans, who had speech defects due to the parasite and a broken tongue. So I decided to finish quickly, intercepting the arm of another cultist, twisting it, and tearing it off. And then I used the improvised melee weapon to knock down and crush a couple more.
Only one remained… The last survivor rushed at me with a war cry — the attitude of a true warrior demanding blood. Only a hitch… By this time, the entire room was drenched in blood, and the scarlet substance doesn't mix well with cheap shoes.
Slipping, the cultist fell on his back and slid toward me.
— Hello, — I smiled sweetly, aiming my pistol at him and firing a couple of bullets. Putting the pistol away, I stretched my neck and muttered thoughtfully: — The clean-up is over; the trash is disposed of. If they forgive the appearance of the unfit-for-cleaning room, they might even give me a commendation. Don't you think so, Ashley? Hmm… Ashley?
I looked around and didn't find the President's daughter, only distant footsteps of fleeing cultists who had kidnapped the blonde for the second time. She is kidnapped more often than I am called a good guy. A bit much! Probably… When was the last time I was called good?
The attempt to recall was unsuccessful; apparently, I was too tired to remember obvious things. So I'll be distracted by catching the kidnappers — consider it a detective quest.
Sniffing, I realized that the cultists were quickly heading into the castle dungeon. I wonder what secrets could be there? Like, this mysterious barrel holds the terrible secret of the Salazar family. Or that painting has a backstory to its creation. Hmm… Unlikely. Most likely, there are the most dangerous samples of Las Plagas carriers, like secret projects. Maybe there will be a giant the size of the castle? Like Surtur, he will herald Ragnarök for all the living and the dead.
Sounds tempting!
Quickly accelerating, I soon caught up with the cultists carrying the discontented Ashley. But I didn't intervene; I decided to follow where they were taking her. Or where they would lock her up, because then Ramon Salazar himself will appear, and I'll be like, "I feel an evil presence, but it's too small and unremarkable." If it works, I'll drive him to a heart attack. Perfect psychological attack.
It's a vacation, and on vacation, you need to know how to have fun, accumulating pleasant memories of your victories! Tease the dwarf when he isn't looking. This was encouraged by the fallen Wolverine, so it's time to pass the baton. But, unfortunately, Jack is outside the scope of my authority. A pity, to say the least.
By the way, I completely forgot, why did I go down to the dungeon? If I'm not mistaken, I had some important goal — to find something potentially useful. Maybe I lost the keys? If only the keys to power in the US Parliament. Where is Ashley? Due to the disgusting smell of the dungeon and the distance of the blonde, it was difficult to find the captive of the evil cultists.
Saddler's people are surely intending to do something very bad to her. And if I save her one more time, she will subconsciously perceive me as a savior in any unclear situation. The fact that she was kidnapped due to my preoccupation with the fight — these are nuances, insignificant details; they quickly evaporate from memory. The main thing is that my lost princess will remember me as an unparalleled knight.
Ugh!
Jumping back sharply, I avoided the insidious blow of a living suit of armor. Some cult representative had climbed into the armor and merged with the environment to decapitate me. A bad guy, with a very good sword… Nothing can be done; I need to collect the compensation due to me. Namely, dodge his swing once more, hit his knee, knock the metallic guy to the ground, and… Beat him to death with my feet! What else is there to do with fallen knights? Beat them and nothing more.
Finishing the study of the degree of impact of my legs on cultists in knight armor, I took the payment for my appraisal services and, now with the sword, set out to save the princess. Only trouble: I was looking for gold, but I found a cut diamond! Cryogenic chambers were being delivered to one of the sections of the dungeon, I suppose, from the island. The contents are unknown, but Saddler's servants armed with submachine guns hinted at the presence of something valuable. Time to check the conjecture, using the sword as intended.
As a true Paladin, I decided to attack everyone indiscriminately, because the righteous will be saved in any unclear situation. And sinners must be subjected to thin slicing into small cubes. But since I am a bad meat cutter, sometimes only uneven stumps remained of the enemies. The sword I took from the last opponent was to blame for everything. It was last sharpened in the last millennium. Each swing, with great effort, chopped off a limb, and that's with extreme strength and swing speed. So you shouldn't be surprised at the transformation of an ordinary dark basement into a room where every horror director will want to shoot a cult masterpiece. For all time! And yet I'm curious, what artifact did the heavily armed cultists keep in the cryogenic chamber? Could it be a beautiful fairy, whose beauty will illuminate the expanses of the universe? Or a beauty of a higher rank than Alexia, who was also a product of a cryogenic chamber?
So many theories, and all of them can be verified by simply tearing out the door! So that there would open up to me…
— Well, you are one ugly guy, — I gulped, discovering a creature with a huge mouth, filled with sharp piranha teeth. Sharp spikes protruded all over its naked body, unpleasantly pulsating in time with its nauseating breath.
There were no sexual characteristics, which was good: faith in women is not lost. But the creature was truly terrifying, tall, and resembled a monster from the underworld.
— Hmpf, — I heard the sound of the monster's teeth clenching at the moment I sharply moved my head. My neck was almost bitten off! So much for a beautiful, angelic flower. In surprise, I even waved my hand and stabbed this something with the sword through its neck, but it didn't surprise it at all.
What kind of creature is this?
Tearing the sword out with effort and jumping back, I discovered how the creature healed the wound right before my eyes. The regeneration factor is beyond all possible praise; I want one as fast as that too. And in general, I want to get more of these creatures under my command… I'll call them Regenerators or Porcupines. They are the ones you shouldn't scare with a bare butt. The creature made a lightning-fast dash toward me, releasing hundreds of long needles from its body, capable of making many unpleasant holes. Not that holes can potentially be pleasant, and yet, you need to stay away from such creatures. Or show them my potential.
Accelerating with the virus, I performed two Blinks in an instant, powerful and fast movements over medium distances. The first Blink cut off the Regenerator's left arm, and the second — the right. Now the creature won't grab anyone… Oh really? The arms grew back in a second, and the creature only moaned at this, as if a mosquito had bitten it. Amazing regeneration. And although their owners are usually maimed, wounded, and humiliated by the will of fate, it's even more fun this way. It's always fun to watch someone getting beaten up, it's another thing if the guy with regeneration wants to beat you up.
— I propose working in a pair, — I put forward a tempting deal to the stupid monster, making a high jump and avoiding another grapple. Landing on my feet, I stuck the tip of the sword into the floor and slowly, but pompously, adjusted my glasses. — You attack the cultists. They will break their weapons and waste all their bullets on you, and I will finish off all the broken guys with empty ammunition. How's the plan?
He didn't appreciate it, the scoundrel…
On the contrary, he swelled up and shot spikes from his body. They flew like the throwing projectiles of a true ninja, deadly and dangerous, alarming my heart. But not my fighting spirit! Standing in a warlike pose, I deflected all the needles, after which I moved behind him and plunged the sword into his heart. It didn't help… Do not retreat and do not surrender! Pulling out the sword, I decapitated the creature in one slice. It is not a hydra: two heads will not grow in place of one!
And one head grows back just fine! I had to retreat and nervously pace back and forth, thinking up new attack methods, sometimes moving to the other end of the room when the Porcupine reached attack radius. What is its weakness?
Destroying the heart doesn't work, the head grows back again and again, the limbs too… Damn his leg — whoever that unfortunate woman was who gave birth to the monster.
I examined him once more and found that there were no sexual characteristics. Who was it in folklore who had immortality and kept their death in a needle? I remembered! As horrible as it sounds, it's all about the balls. Like Koschei, the Regenerator sacrificed them to achieve immortality! This explains a lot, for example, his malice and immortality. Hmm… But, without irony, the special Las Plagas parasite in his body has unique abilities. You need to destroy the parasite to defeat the host. A harsh truth… The illusion about Koschei would have looked more impressive in the dungeon setting.
Moving instantaneously to the Regenerator, I plunged the blade into its maw, blocking one of its main weapons. All this was to free my hands from shackles and begin a frenzied dance across the creature's body. Wherever the parasite was hiding, it quickly encountered the frenzied impulses from my blows, exploding along with all the internal organs of the host. Thus fell my most interesting opponent of the day. "The Ball-less One" will forever remain in my memory, along with Nemesis.
I should create more of these in Africa as guards.
Sort of the Emperor's eunuchs, only from the world of horror.
The following corridors were quieter, and the exit from the dungeon appeared. It was a bit scary to go up the stairs; the burning feeling that I had lost almost all the content from the amusement park did not leave me. Each step echoed with pain in my heart. But I bravely endured all the trials, and then a few more, defeating utterly weak cultists and stoves.
This could repeat for a long time, another thirty minutes of unhurried exploration of locations. Fortunately, I received a reward for my efforts — my nose caught several targets of interest in the ceremonial hall at once. I entered there as a true stealth predator, kicking the door in. I knocked down the huge doors, dispersing clouds of dust and showing myself in all my glory to Saddler, Ramon, and Krauser.
Ashley was here too, but unconscious, lying on the parasite extraction machine. It seems the evil cultists want to introduce a more dangerous parasite to her, one that will completely subjugate the President's daughter's consciousness.
There are risks: the blonde with the new parasite could join her ancestors. It seems Saddler was thoroughly enraged by her escape, since he resorted to extreme measures.
— Wesker, — he coldly greeted me.
— Long time no see, — I smiled at my old friend, slowly heading toward him. — More than ten years, how are you?
— You've become more arrogant in that time, — the man in the purple robe of the cult leader frowned. — You ruin my property, my plans, my people.
— He insulted me! — Salazar complained, for which he immediately received a worthy punishment. I transformed my left arm into a huge tentacle, instantly reached for the target with it, completely enveloping it, and powerfully slammed him into the central wall of the ceremonial hall. His resistance immediately weakened, allowing me to absorb the local castle owner through the tentacle. I could have done this during our first meeting, but the witness prevented me. Ashley Graham cannot simply be told that a tentacle is harmless and doesn't appear by itself.
— The little things always interrupt adult conversation, — I haughtily chuckled, pulling the tentacle back and transforming it back into my hand. — It interferes with discussing the terms of immediate surrender.
— Ha-ha… You've become stronger, — Saddler tensed up. — Therefore, I offer you a deal. What do you know about the Mold?
— Mutamycete is a classified intracellular parasite; how do you have information about it? — I raised an eyebrow in surprise.
— From… Mother Miranda. I propose we join forces to capture the fungal superorganism, cross it with Las Plagas, and… divide power over the whole world. We will rule as gods, you and I, — the cult leader tried to smile brazenly. — Agree, and I will tell you everything I know and offer my services. Only I know the location of the Mutamycete and its first owner.
— The Chernobog Cult is quite widespread in the Eastern European part, and even the lousy Umbrella intelligence department knew about the leader, Mother Miranda. Do you think you have anything that interests me? — I tilted my head, clearly not understanding why they were trying to bribe me with information in the category of "The Earth is Round."
— But my power…
— I will absorb it, — snapping my fingers, I made Jack Krauser instantaneously jump away from Saddler. He covered a distance of several meters in one dash, appearing next to me. — And double agents will help me with this.
— Krauser… — the offended cult leader growled. — So that's it. Wesker, you bastard, you tried to set me up? All this was your plan!
He's perceptive…
— I don't know anything, I was just passing by, — I shrugged, preparing for a very difficult battle with the strongest Las Plagas user. Why difficult? So as not to damage the room… Poor Ashley was lying defenseless in the chair.