< East Terrace - Chris/Barry POV >
The metal door creaked open, and darkness swallowed them whole.
The lantern above the frame flickered weakly. Not enough to illuminate the terrace, only enough to make the shadows move. Beyond a few feet, everything dissolved into black.
The forest wind scraped across stone.
Rustling.
Not leaves.
Something heavier.
A dragging sound.
Chris stepped out first, pistol raised. The beam from inside barely reached the center of the terrace before thinning into useless gray. The rest was suggestion. Shapes. Angles. Movement where there shouldn't be any.
There was a shape at the far end.
Seated.
Still.
The iron bench was barely visible. A darker silhouette against deeper darkness. Something slumped in it.
Barry exhaled slowly.
"Speyer?"
No answer.
The wind shifted.
Something fluttered overhead.
Wings.
But not taking off.
Adjusting.
Watching.
Chris took another step.
Boot scraping stone.
The sound echoed wrong.
Too loud.
like the terrace was hollow beneath them.
Another rustle.
Above.
Behind.
From the railing.
From the trees beyond.
They couldn't see anything.
But something was there.
Chris moved closer to the shape on the bench. The lantern flickered again just enough light to catch a pale cheek.
Forest Speyer.
His head lolled forward slightly, chin nearly touching his chest. His body was torn in places, dark stains soaking into his uniform. One hand was clenched around something long and metallic resting across his lap.
"Grenade launcher," Barry whispered.
Forest's fingers were locked around it. Rigid.
Like he'd died refusing to let go.
Then something shifted above them.
A sudden weight.
A blur dropped from the darkness overhead and landed with a wet thump on Forest's head.
Chris flinched, finger tightening on the trigger.
A crow.
Its talons dug into Forest's scalp, claws parting skin like paper.
The bird tilted its head once.
Then pecked.
A sickening, hollow crack.
It pecked again.
And again.
The sound was wrong.
Not flesh.
Bone.
The crow forced its beak through the fractured skull and began tearing.
A thick, wet tearing noise filled the terrace as it yanked back strands of gray matter.
Barry swore under his breath.
Another flutter.
Then another.
Shapes shifted above.
The darkness moved.
Not one crow.
Dozens.
Red pinpricks blinked open in the shadows.
Small red eyes reflecting the lantern's dying light.
The rustling grew louder.
Closer.
All around them.
Forest's corpse jerked slightly as the crow dug deeper, tearing and swallowing.
The lantern flickered once more —
And went out.
Total darkness.
Wings exploded outward.
Not a few.
Hundreds.
Air becomes solid.
Feathers slam into Chris's face. Talons rake across his scalp. Beaks stab for eyes.
Barry fires blindly.
The muzzle flash lights the terrace in frozen snapshots like a still framed photo:
— A wall of wings.
— Forest's skull half-open.
— Dozens of birds launching from railing and overhead beams.
— Blood mist hanging in the air.
Then darkness again.
Chris feels claws tear across his cheek.
Something tangles in his hair.
He swings his pistol like a club.
Connects with bone.
A shriek inches from his ear.
More hit him from behind.
One latches onto his shoulder and starts pecking at the seam of his vest.
Barry roars and starts firing upward.
The magnum detonates in the confined space.
The recoil nearly knocks him backward.
Feathers explode midair.
But the swarm doesn't thin.
It compresses.
They can't see.
They can't breathe.
Wings jam into mouths, eyes, ears.
Chris spits feathers.
"MOVE!" Barry shouts — but even he can't tell which direction is safe.
The terrace railing slams into Chris's back.
For a moment Chris can see around him.
Forest's body.
Bench.
Grenade launcher.
Three seconds away.
Chris makes a decision.
He lowers his head and charges forward through the swarm.
Birds slam into him like thrown stones.
Talons dig into his neck.
He grabs Forest's arm.
Cold.
Rigid.
The grenade launcher is still locked in the corpse's grip.
He yanks.
Doesn't budge.
Another crow lands on Forest's exposed skull and digs deeper.
Chris swears and kicks the bird off.
He wedges his pistol under Forest's fingers and pries.
Something snaps.
The corpse tilts sideways, falling off the bench with a heavy thud.
The launcher comes free.
Chris almost drops it. It's heavier than expected.
Barry is now half-blind, shielding his face with one arm while firing point-blank into the air with the other.
"CHRIS!"
"Got it!"
Another crow slams into Chris's temple.
White flash.
He nearly loses his footing.
He swings the grenade launcher like a bat, smashing two birds out of the air.
They explode into feathers.
But more fill the space instantly.
Barry doesn't argue.
They move toward the door —
But can't see it.
The lantern is dead.
The terrace is pitch black except for muzzle flashes and distant lightning.
Barry shoulders forward, bulldozing through the swarm.
Chris follows tight, one arm shielding his eyes, the grenade launcher clutched awkwardly against his chest.
The door finally appears, a darker rectangle in the dark.
Barry slams into it first.
It doesn't move.
Locked? No.
Just warped metal.
He wrenches it open.
The swarm tries to follow.
Wings batter into the doorway.
Chris turns at the threshold and fires his pistol once into the mass.
Not to kill.
To scatter.
The flash blinds him for a second.
Barry grabs his collar and drags him inside.
They slam the door shut.
Birds hammer against it.
Talons scratch metal.
Beaks peck frantically.
The sound is relentless.
Barry throws the bolt across.
They stumble backward.
Silence.
Except for frantic breathing.
Feathers drift slowly to the marble floor.
Blood runs down Chris's temple.
Barry's forearms are torn and bleeding from shallow cuts.
They both look like they crawled out of a nightmare.
Chris is sitting, leaning against the balcony railing as Barry slumps down across from him.
Chris looks the launcher in his hand, "this is all I could grab."
"There was nothing we could do Chris!"
"I know…I thought we could…" Chris drifts off, head low.
"Maybe Wesker was right."
"About what?"
"About us being out of our depth."
"No! we did the right thing Chris…Forest needed help and we were the only ones who could."
"But we still failed –
"Yeah" Barry cuts him off.
Few silent moments pass as both Chris and Barry process what just happened.
They had come to rescue one of their teammates but almost got killed.
Then:
A distant creaking.
Below them.
From the main hall.
Sound of a door cricking open downstairs.
Wind howls into the mansion.
Silence,
A moment pass then,
A low, guttural snarl echoes upward.
Both men freeze.
They step toward the balcony railing overlooking the first floor.
Below—
Silhouettes step through the open front doors.
Not slow.
Not staggering.
Lean.
Red.
Crimson Heads.
One.
Three.
Five.
More.
At least a dozen pouring in from the night.
Chris tightens his grip on the grenade launcher.
Barry slowly shakes his head.
"No."
Not here.
Not now.
One of the Crimson Heads lifts its face upward.
Sniffs.
Locks eyes with Chris.
A moment passes,
Then screams.
And they all charge for the staircase.
Barry grabs Chris's arm.
"RUN!"
And this time —
They don't hesitate.
They sprint down the second-floor east corridor.
Straight toward the door Wesker had kicked open earlier.
The only path left.
The first Crimson hits the staircase on all fours.
Not running.
Bounding.
Hands and feet slamming marble in sick, rhythmic impacts.
The rest follow.
Too fast.
Too coordinated.
Chris doesn't look back.
Boots pound hardwood.
Barry's heavier steps right behind him.
A Crimson clears half the staircase in a single leap.
Claws scrape marble.
One vaults onto the railing and runs along it like an animal.
"Don't slow down!" Barry shouts.
Chris risks a glance.
Bad idea.
They're already halfway up.
One launches.
Chris ducks instinctively.
It slams into the wall behind him, claws gouging plaster before rebounding forward again.
They reach the kicked-in door.
Chris shoves through first.
Barry nearly loses footing as something grabs the back of his vest.
Fabric tears.
He elbows backward blindly.
Connects.
A snarl inches from his spine.
He dives through the doorway and slams it shut.
It doesn't latch.
The wood splinters instantly.
Claws punch through.
Barry throws his weight against it.
"GO!"
They don't barricade.
No time.
They sprint down the L-shaped corridor.
This corridor is tighter.
More enclosed.
Footsteps echo.
The Crimson Heads squeeze through the doorway behind them — wood exploding outward.
Now the sound changes.
Not a swarm.
A pack.
Focused.
Hunting.
They reach the end of the L shaped corridor. A door is open leading to a small library.
"This way" Chris barks,
Barry right behind him.
The library leads to another door, open.
They rush through then,
Chris nearly slips on dried blood.
Then he sees them.
Bodies.
Five of them.
Crimson Heads.
Laid out in brutal, surgical kills.
Throats opened.
Spines severed.
One skull crushed inward.
Barry slows half a step.
"What the hell—"
"Keep moving!"
But that moment costs them.
A Crimson Head leaps on the ceiling from behind them. Crawling, bounding, and dropping directly into the hallway ahead of them.
Now they're sandwiched.
Chris swings the grenade launcher up instinctively—
"No!" Barry shouts. "Too tight!"
The blast would kill them too.
So they pivot.
To the right, a door.
They slam inside.
Barry throws the door closed.
This time it holds for half a second.
Then the impacts begin.
Heavy.
Rhythmic.
Claws tear wood apart piece by piece.
Chris looks around.
Desk.
Bookshelf.
Cabinet.
"Move everything!"
They shove furniture against the door.
Wood creaks.
Splinters begin to punch through.
Barry empties his magnum cylinder into the lower panels of the door as shapes push through gaps.
Screams on the other side.
But the pressure doesn't stop.
The barricade shifts backward an inch.
Then another.
Barry reloads with shaking hands.
The door bows inward.
Cracks spiderweb through it.
Then:
Everything stops.
The hallway goes silent.
Not gradual.
Instant.
Suddenly:
Screech.
Not Crimson.
Different.
Heavier.
Something stronger.
Then:
Crimson Heads shrieks.
Wet tearing sounds.
Bones snapping.
Then silence.
Chris and Barry freeze.
Barry whispers:
"What the hell was that?"
Chris slowly walks toward the door and looks out through a broken part.
Bodies everywhere.
Not shot.
Not stabbed.
Torn apart.
The Crimson Heads were not just killed.
They were surgically dismembered.
One had its head removed cleanly.
Another's spine was severed in a single diagonal slash.
No wasted effort, surgical, calculated.
Then:
In the corner of the corridor in the shadows Chris saw a small movement.
A shift.
Something was lurking, waiting, watching
Two yellow slitted eyes opened in the dark.
It stepped into view slowly.
Not shambling. Not rushing.
Deliberate.
The creature stood roughly man-height but carried itself in a forward hunch, like something not meant to be upright had forced itself into that posture. Its skin was a slick, dark green, amphibian in texture, stretched tight over dense, coiled muscle. Veins pulsed faintly beneath the surface.
Its torso was humanoid in structure but too broad, too thick through the chest. Each breath expanded its ribcage unnaturally wide, accompanied by a wet, rattling hiss.
Its arms were wrong.
Longer than a human's by several inches. The forearms thick and corded, ending in massive, three-fingered claws curved like sickles. Not blunt talons — sharpened killing tools. The claws were darkened at the tips, caked with fresh blood dripping.
Its legs bent backward slightly at the knee joint, digitigrade like a predatory animal. The muscles in its thighs flexed with restless energy, built for explosive movement rather than endurance.
Its head was reptilian.
Angular.
Predatory.
The mouth split too wide, lined with small, needle-like teeth not meant for chewing but for tearing. When it opened its jaw, a low, guttural croak vibrated deep in its throat, somewhere between a hiss and a growl.
Its eyes were large and forward-facing, yellow with slit pupils. Intelligent. Tracking. Not mindless.
It didn't twitch like a zombie.
It assessed.
Its gaze moved between targets with measured calculation.
Then it shifted its weight.
And the hardwood beneath its claws splintered slightly.
It wasn't decaying.
It wasn't frantic.
It was controlled.
And it was fast.
Too fast.
When it moved, it didn't lumber.
It exploded.
One moment still.
The next — airborne.
< Chemical Room - MC/Rebecca POV >
Wesker and Rebecca enter the Chemical Room and are greeted with a gun aimed at them.
"Jesus, I thought you were one of them." Frosts said as he lowered his gun.
Rebecca rushed in and started checking on Jill.
"Nice to see you to Rebecca." Frost said rolling his eyes.
"Rebecca?" Wesker asked,
"She doesn't have much time, but I only need a few minutes to make the serum." She then looked back at Wesker with a gentle smile, "She will be just fine."
With that Wesker legs gave out as if all his strength left him alongside the anxiety.
He caught the edge of a nearby desk to stop himself from hitting the ground.
"WESKER!" Both Frost and Rebecca said as they saw him fall.
Rebecca started to walk to him, but Wesker stopped her, "JILL FIRST!" He said fighting through the pain.
Rebecca, seeing the stubborn look in his eyes started working faster.
A minute later she had the serum ready and injected Jill.
Almost immediately Jill's pale complexion was gone. Her breathing steadied, and her face relaxed as the pain subsided.
"See she is better, no more arguing" Rebecca said with a firm tone leaving no room for Wesker to complain.
And he didn't as Rebecca started removing the old blood-soaked bandages off him and started stitching him back up.
As Rebecca was working on Wesker he asked Frost, "So where the hell did Chris and Barry run off to?"
Frost then explained the events to Wesker and Rebecca. Both were surprised but Rebecca seemed apprehensive, not wanting to believe another one of her team members was alive just to be heartbroken again.
"So what you're saying is the left with no idea where they were going, no idea what they were facing, oh and also hardly any ammo?"
Frost looked sheepishly at Wesker and nodded.
"Great, that's just great. I feel like a principal dealing with teenagers."
Rebecca smiled at that comment and said, "So are we the good kids or the bad?"
That made all of them crack a smile.
As soon as Rebecca was done. Wesker got up and said, "I'm going after them. They have no idea what can come across in this place."
"Then I'm coming with you!"
"No Rebecca, Jill still needs you and Frost took a bad hit to his head. You can't leave them and I'm a big boy I can take care of myself." Wesker said with a grin.
Rebecca handed him some pills and said "Fine, take these if you open up your wound again. It will stop you from bleeding out and dying."
"Thanks."
With that Wesker left the chemical room in the direction of the outdoor terrace.
< Chris/Barry POV >
The door and the barricade explode as the Hunter smashes through it and lands between them and the exit.
Hard.
The impact splinters wood.
Chris fires instinctively.
Three shots center mass.
The bullets hit, dull, meaty thuds.
The creature barely reacts.
No stagger.
No flinch.
Just a slight tilt of its head.
It crouches.
Barry moves first, shoving Chris sideways as the Hunter explodes forward.
It doesn't charge.
It vanishes.
One second in front of them.
The next — claws scythe through the space where Chris's neck was.
Air whistles.
The bookshelf behind them splits clean down the center.
Books fall in a wave.
Barry swings his empty magnum like a hammer.
The Hunter ducks beneath it and drives the back of its clawed hand into Barry's chest—
Not piercing.
Testing.
Shoving him backward hard enough to crack him into a desk.
Barry crashes but rolls, barely avoiding a follow-up downward slash that punches into hardwood instead.
Chris tries to shoulder the grenade launcher up.
The Hunter lunges.
Too close.
He abandons it mid-raise and dives sideways as claws carve deep grooves on the wooden floor.
"Handgun won't drop it!" Chris shouts.
"No shit!"
The Hunter doesn't frenzy.
It calculates, stalking in tight arcs.
Forcing them apart.
It feints left.
Chris fires again.
Miss.
It was bait.
It rebounds off the wall and comes at Barry instead.
Barry barely manages to grab a fallen chair and jam it into the Hunter's chest.
The claws slice straight through the wood.
The Hunter growls, annoyed now.
It swipes horizontally.
Barry drops flat.
The claws pass inches above his face.
A gust of displaced air hits him.
If that connects, it's a decapitation.
Chris fires at its head.
This time it reacts — a snap of its jaw, irritation more than pain.
It leaps.
Hits the wall.
Pushes off mid-air.
Comes down at Chris.
Chris rolls under it and crashes into the window frame.
Glass rattles behind him.
He scrambles up, launcher still slung awkwardly across his back.
Every time he tries to create distance, it closes it.
Every time he aims, it moves.
It's controlling range.
Barry signals for the grenade launcher.
"Get clear!"
Chris tosses it.
Bad idea.
The Hunter intercepts.
Mid-air.
It swats the launcher aside.
The weapon skids across the floor into the far wall.
Now they're disarmed and separated.
The Hunter crouches, low.
Eyes locked on Chris.
This is the execution stance.
Its pupils narrow.
Its muscles coil.
Then:
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Gunshots.
Sharp.
Precise.
The Hunter's head jerks slightly to the side.
Not injured.
But interrupted.
A voice from the corridor:
"Get up, Chris."
Wesker steps into view, smoke rising from his pistol.
Calm.
Measured.
He doesn't rush in.
He maneuvers around, forcing the Hunter to shift its focus.
The Hunter reassesses immediately.
Now three targets.
It chooses the loudest threat.
Wesker.
It launches.
Wesker doesn't dive wildly.
He sidesteps at the last possible second.
Efficient.
The Hunter's claws rake his sleeve, slicing fabric but missing flesh by inches.
Wesker pivots and fires again.
This time into the knee joint.
The Hunter staggers half a step.
Not wounded badly.
But slowed.
"Now!" Wesker barks.
Barry shoulder charges into the creature's side — not to overpower it, just to unbalance it.
The Hunter slashes Barry across the back.
Armor absorbs most of it, but Barry goes down hard.
Chris sees the launcher across the floor.
Ten feet away.
The Hunter recovers and reorients,
Toward Wesker.
Wesker deliberately retreats.
Toward the window.
Controlled steps.
Drawing it.
"Chris!" he snaps.
The Hunter lunges for Wesker's throat.
Wesker drops low at the last instant and drives his shoulder into its midsection, redirecting its momentum.
Not overpowering it.
Using its speed.
The Hunter slams into the window.
The impact snaps something in Wesker's shoulder nearly dislocating it.
Glass fractures but doesn't fully break.
It recovers instantly.
Claws coming down.
Wesker catches the descending claw with both hands.
The impact drives him to one knee.
The talons hover inches from his eyes, trembling against his strength.
Blood trickles down Wesker's abdomen, the stitches are ripped.
Strain shows for the first time.
Wesker twists violently, shoving the Hunter off balance — throwing both of them sideways.
"NOW, REDFIELD!"
Chris plants his feet.
Launcher up. No more hesitation.
He fires.
The explosion fills the corridor.
Deafening.
The blast doesn't tear the Hunter apart.
But the force
The force hurls it backward while pushing Wesker to the corner of the room, hitting the wall hard.
The already fractured window detonates outward.
Wood and glass explode into the night.
The Hunter's body disappears through the shattered frame.
Silence.
Wind howls in from outside.
Glass rains down onto the grounds below.
Chris lowers the launcher slowly.
Barry groans from the floor.
Wesker gets up slowly and limps to the broken window, breathing raggedly.
He grips the edge of the shattered frame.
He stares into the dark grounds below.
Nothing moves.
Few seconds pass then,
From somewhere in the trees,
"Hsssssst-KRRREEE!"
Wesker exhales slowly.
"It's not dead."
*********
[Author] Hey everyone hope you enjoyed the long bonus chapter. Please help me by spreading the word and if you can write a quick review. Thank you all again.