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Wesker's Chosen	By : maiafay376 Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 7824 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own this fandom. All Resident Evil elements, recogonizable plot, and characters are the property of Capcom. However, all original characters are mine. This story is not for profit and intended for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter List
- 1-Wesker's Chosen
- 1
-------Wesker's Chosen-------
Prologue
A God's Judgment
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Pairings: Leon/Wesker, Leon/Claire, Leon/Ashley
Warnings: Spoilers for RE5, slash, dark themes, character deaths.
Rated R
Summary: AU, RE5 (Spoilers in prologue). The world is plunged into chaos after Uroboros detonates. Wesker searches ruined countries to gather his chosen. Inside the President's bunker, Leon and the last of humanity fight to stay hidden and survive. Leon/Wesker, Leon/Claire
Note: This chapter will (not “might” as I had it the first time I wrote this note) be hard for some people to read. This is a dark, disturbing story with mature content. Character deaths, proceed with caution.
Every thing that may abide the fire, ye shall make it go through the fire, and it shall be clean: nevertheless it shall be purified with the water of separation: and all that abideth not the fire ye shall make go through the water - Numbers 31:23
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“Do you see him anywhere?” Sheva called from the cargo hold door. Her voice shook, her slender brows knit in frustration. “I can't believe he just latched onto me like that! If you hadn't grabbed ahold—“ She struggled for a moment, exhaling through gritted teeth. “I swear, I hope when that bastard landed he cracked his bloody head open!”
Chris Redfield smiled despite his frustration. Wouldn't that be a sight. Somehow, he doubted their mission would end that easy. Hard and complicated seemed to be Wesker's favorite past times. Everything from Wesker's grand schemes to fighting him had the touch of a complex puzzle he could never hope to solve. Not that he wanted to. He'd rather stay ignorant the reasons behind Wesker's half-cocked Darwinism theories. He suspected his former captain had gone mad some time ago. Just when was debatable.
Under the rock ledge, the lifeblood of the volcano surged. Chris squinted and scanned the area. His heart pounded against his temples, his stomach a tangle of barbed knots. Back and forth his watering eyes darted. Heat stung his face. The scent of sulfur made him gag: rotten eggs and smoke. It made him glad he hadn't eaten anything recently. The gray ash and fire created an odd mix of mauve light flecked by burning embers. If he wasn't standing in the middle of it blind and eyes burning, he would have thought the effect beautiful.
Where the hell was Wesker? The plane crash wouldn't have kill him, not with him jacked-up on the PG67 A/W Sheva and he had managed to inject. Poison alright, just as Jill said, but it hadn't worked as he hoped. On the ship, after chasing Wesker around in the dark and playing missile dodgeball with him, he expected Wesker to weaken, maybe even pass out. His mouth quirked. Yeah, and afterwards Uroboros tentacles could tie a big black bow around his neck, an ugly ranting gift for the BSAA. Let them deal with his tirades about overpopulation and pestilence.
He sighed and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Even his sweat smelled like sour milk. The ground crunched beneath his shoes, dark bones of the earth hardened by fire and gas. He did another sweep of the barren landscape. Nothing but smoldering magma rivers and pits of wafting sulfur. No slicked blond hair, no sunglasses hiding the crimson eyes of a mad wolf. Maybe the crash had knocked him out, or dumped his ass in a lava pit. No, Chris didn't expect luck to smile on him now after she'd been spitting in his face for the last twenty-four hours.
He went back to the bomber. The blackened underbelly of the plane caught his attention, the paint peeling off the metal in furling ribbons. The missiles containing Uroboros lay exposed and strewn like white pieces of chalk. Lava seeped through the cracked ground; capillaries and veins of orange rimmed with red threatened to melt those fragile chalk sticks. Bubbles formed along the black lettering and began to spread. Shit. If those casings ruptured—
“Come on!” Chris held out his hand, his eyes on the ticking time bombs no more than a few feet away. Wesker or no Wesker, if fire perforated those Uroboros missiles, they were dead. He doubted he or Sheva had the so-called superior genes that Wesker boasted would survive the infection. A hasty retreat to higher ground would put much needed distance. Once there, they could regroup and figure out how to get the hell off this mountain.
Sheva staggered to her feet from her crouching position and clasped the edge of the cargo hold door with stiff fingers. She rested there, panting. Her necklaces formed a tangled circle around her neck, the longer chain trapped beneath the shorter. Looked uncomfortable. Absurd as the notion was, he thought about freeing them. He lifted his hand, but then she said, “You didn't see him anywhere?” Her eyes narrowed at his silence. “He's out there, Chris, we can't just let him walk away! Remember the tubes? The conveyor belts? All those people‪—too many have died because of him!”
“I have no intention of letting Wesker walk away,” he said. “But for all our trouble, we're not ending up fried or a big slurping mess of tentacles. Those missiles look ready to pop!”
“What?” She jumped down and looked toward where he pointed. In the last two minutes, blisters had eroded the lettering beyond recognition. Only the U of Uroboros remained legible. Little flames flickered along the bottom of one missile, tiny tongues licking the metal. Soon they would tire of tasting and would take big old bite. God help them if they didn't get clear.
Sheva blinked, then paled. Chris had a flash of that morning when they witnessed fellow BSAA member, Reynard, executed on the platform. Her face appeared then as it did now: a woman who had witnessed her world break apart and reform into something grotesque and frightening. She didn't like what she saw, but she would fight for normalcy, for the innocent. So much like Jill. It made his chest tighten to think of harm befalling either of them. Jill spent years with Wesker, obeying every order, every whim. His fists clenched and his jaw ached. When he saw that son-of-a-bitch, he would make him suffer for every moment he caused her pain.
Sheva took a step back, drawing his attention. “Chris, if they explode—“ She shook her head, her eyes wide. Made him think of Excella before Uroboros burst out of her mouth. The disbelieving expression of betrayal and her scream of “Albert!” would haunt his dreams.
The rock rumbled under his boots in irritation, a cat sleeping with flattened ears and a twitching tail. Of all the places they could have landed, it had to be an active volcano. Sheva's bare arms shined with sweat. Tears rolled down her face from the smoke. She craned her neck toward the west-side of the crater—and by her eager pointing and excited smile—saw something he hadn't noticed before. “Chris!” she said. “There's a—“
Laughter erupted from the smoke, a choked sound of desperation mixed with amusement. He heard the clank of slow footsteps behind them. Wesker! The bomber!
Chris spun around with his gun raised and hammer cocked as Wesker walked into view. No, not walked, exactly. He didn't know what to call it. Wesker approached them with the determination of a wounded general, one whose men were dead and he alone would carry on the war. His usual swagger gone, every step took effort. Sweat coated his torso, his body bare from the waist up, the luster of his pants and boots faded and dirty. Wesker swayed a little as he stopped on the edge of the bomber wing, his chest heaved.
But his eyes. Chris felt that barbed pit in his stomach swell and grow daggers. Wesker's eyes blazed brighter than the lava around him. He couldn't help but feel some grudging respect for the shit. He may be arrogant, a traitor, and insane, but the man had reservoirs of stamina, a single-mindedness that matched his own. In many ways—and he hated to admit it—but he and Albert Wesker had much in common when it came to their obsessions. Pursue it to the death.
Sheva's lip twisted, and brought her M93R level with his, her sight laser aimed between Wesker's radiant eyes. If those things glowed any brighter they'd burn a hole right through them. The mountain grumbled beneath their feet, a lazy complaint that promised a snarling roar should they continue to disturb its slumber.
“I should have killed you years ago, Chris,” Wesker said, his voice heavy with fatigue, but disdain held strong. Empty bluster and they both knew it. Uroboros missiles glittered beneath him, their metal casings taking on a sheen that put Chris on edge. Time and fire urged this game to completion; the taunting diatribes wasted what moments they had left. The mountain itself seemed to sense his fury. It stirred at the threat of bloodshed with a yawn of fire and a restless shifting of rock. He imagined its molten eyes opening, its gaze raising to the surface where mortals tickled its nose with the feathers of their petty dramas.
“Your mistake.” He tightened his finger around the trigger and somehow resisted shooting the lunatic in the face. He kept hearing Jill, the echoes of her once animate voice broken and tired as she instructed them how to stop Wesker.
“I'll be fine, don't worry about me.”
No, she wouldn't be fine. None of them would. Not as long as Wesker lived. Like one of those relentless howling storms that battered for the spite of it, he would never stop, not until the whole world burned and he could claim his throne as God-king, or however the crazy shit thought of himself.
“It's over Wesker!” His rage throttled the words from his throat with white-knuckled fists. The ferocity of his anger surprised him. He had had enough of the ranting, scheming, and constant reminder of his failure. Back at the Spencer estate, his slow reaction and weakness had caused Jill to suffer and Wesker to succeed. Not this time. In this place of fire and rock there would be a reckoning; sins would be judged and the guilty, punished.
“Over?” Wesker swayed and blurted another of those awful laughs as if something had lodged in his throat. Then the sound smoothed, became a darker chuckle that made Chris think of oil sliding down glass. “I'm just getting start—“
The mountain woke. It surged to its feet, spitting ash and shrieking with fire. Chaos twisted the world with ribbons of darkness and spewing earth. Time did that queer thing of slowing down, then speeding up again, as if the universe hit the pause button by mistake. A crevice zigzagged over the ground and cracked the nearby magma rivers wide. Lava, thick and greedy sucked the islands of rock into their eager mouths.
Sheva cried out, lost her balance. Chris slammed into the big boulder the bomber rested against, the hunk of rock the only thing keeping the plane from taking a swim inside the magma lake behind it. His gun flew out of his hands. The impact of his body sent the rock crumbling into flames, and bereft of its support, the plane gave a mighty shudder and tumbled over the edge.
Wesker abandoned the doomed bomber with a leap that managed to look elegant despite his clumsy roll to the ground. He stumbled, fell to his knees with a sharp cry. Chris tried to reach Sheva, but the earth flopped like a skewered fish. The air snapped. Embers burned his skin. Thick clouds of sour smoke bloomed and sifted. When they cleared, Chris couldn't see Wesker anymore. Another angry wave rolled the earth beneath their feet. Once again he and Sheva went airborne like birds rudely knocked off their perch.
Sheva sailed into a lone Uroboros missile that had survived the magma swan dive, hitting it with such force that it brought tears to Chris's eyes. She wasn't walking away from that, not on her own. On his knees, with ash up his nose and gunking up his throat, he fought to keep conscious. The ground became a churning ocean with him fighting to keep his head above water. No way would they die up here, not like this, not when they were so close—
“There's only so much one person can do, even superheroes like you, Chris.”
The air dissolved, along with the roaring volcano and searing heat. A cooler breeze ruffled his hair and he could see the marshlands, the water parting, the foam rising as their boat sluiced through. A peaceful ride at the beginning, a moment of respite as two warriors told their heartaches and desire for vengeance. He wanted to be back in that boat, inhale the crisp smell of wet vegetation, watch the mist as it rose—
Sheva's scream slapped him back to reality.
He raised his head, and recoiled. When Sheva had hit the Uroboros missile, she not only damaged herself, but also the metal casing. Like some perverted crystal geyser, the virus spurted over her shoulders and sparkled there in the crimson glare of the volcano. Their eyes met in horror. Time stopped, then ticked forward one hazed moment at a time.
Her body convulsed—once, twice—as if someone jabbed her with an electrical probe. Sheva's gaze went black. Her spine bent backwards, bent so far he could hear the crack over the howl of the mountain. Then, in a wet burst, her body split open. Uroboros thrashed free in a sopping heap of black tentacles and flailed in the air, shrieking. He stared, unable tear his gaze away. Uroboros/Sheva shivered as it skirted around the magma rivers and slithered over rocks. The greedy quest for more flesh had begun. Too bad it wouldn't find much to eat here. Only him. He didn't blink, he couldn't. If he blinked and the image stayed, that made it real. It wasn't real. This wasn't real, it couldn't be, no, no, no—
A flash of red speared his vision as the missile Sheva had crashed into exploded. Shards of metal flew. Plumes of smoke billowed, adding their mass to the mountain's breath of flame and soot. The Uroboros virus saturated the surrounding area and burned. He couldn't see Uroboros/Sheva. He couldn't see anything. Wetness flowed over his face, down his chin. He wiped it away like a dazed child and tried to stand. He could see again, but he didn't want to. Not anymore.
A purple haze descended over him, a violet miasma, becoming thicker, denser. When he watched the particles descend and settle on his shirt, he realized it wasn't a hallucination; something hung in the air, a dust cloud of some sort. It even dimmed the bright flare of the magma. The volcano bellowed in indignation and he felt another explosion shift the earth under his feet. The violet mist thickened like soup, swathes of color mingling with the fire, merging...
He toppled, fell on his ass. The ground tilted up and back again. More smoke. Flames soured. Ash fell. Heat consumed. Cracks appeared around his body. Hell peeked through, winked at him with red lashes. He yelped when those lashes burned his palms. Tears rose in a scalding tide and he let them flow freely. He wanted to scream; he wanted to die. Wait, Jill. He had to hang on...for Jill's sake—
When the black tendrils of Uroboros/Sheva wrapped around his legs, he could only stare at them in disbelief. Not real, not real. They weren't there. “Sheva, no...” He jerked free in a flurry of limbs and scrambled backwards. More tentacles materialized around him. Their smell crawled inside his nose, blocking out the brimstone. Cherries, rotten cherries and salt. He'd rather have the smoke back.
In his haste to escape the creature once named Sheva Alomar, his partner and companion through this nightmare that now had become his private hell, he didn't realize the earth began to get softer, hotter until his hand went down and didn't come back up. His shriek of agony resounded.
And he kept screaming, even when Uroboros/Sheva reached for him, embraced him with loving tendrils of dark, cool flesh. It felt...good. The pain stopped, snuffed out of body in an instant. His eyes fluttered back and he sagged. Uroboros entered his ruined arm, slid under his flesh and burrowed deeper. Cold fingers writhed inside him, groped for more to touch, to invade. Then he discovered there were worse things than pain. The sense of something devouring him, eating away at him piece by piece. He gave a frightened cry and tried to jerk away. Uroboros/Sheva clung to him, a jealous lover that would not allow his freedom. His body frozen and his senses dimming, he feared for his soul; would Uroboros devour that too? Would his consciousness live on, trapped inside a squirming tentacled prison?
“She's taking you slow, savoring you—perhaps there's a bit of her left in there,” Wesker said somewhere to the right. The words held no pride or contempt; he had the voice of someone in awe. Chris lifted his head, watched as the smoke parted and Wesker emerged. It didn't surprise him that Wesker made it; the man had an infinite number of lives.
The look on his face made Chris pay attention, made the non-feeling of those tendrils eating him bearable. His red eyes studied him, his lips pressed in a straight line and a pensive frown marred his smooth forehead. Chris didn't have the strength to rage at him; in reality—he felt nothing, and from that gray fog of numbness came terror. He struggled once more, a mouse trapped in dark hungry glue.
Wesker shook his head, but did not laugh. No gloating came, no sneers of victory. Strange, he would have preferred it that way. This somber attitude distressed him. Ruby light glinted from the Samurai-Edge Wesker held loose in his hand. Chris stared at it, uncomprehending what it was for.
Another explosion, this time it shook the entire mountain so hard he expected it to cleave in half. Not far from them—yet just far enough—the magma lake vomited red lava and purple ash. A black cloud billowed and punched the heavens with balls of tainted fire. A surreal image, a faraway dream glimpsed by his dying eyes. Wesker gazed at the inferno, his face bathed in the unearthly violet light. Even the glow of his eyes was lost. Chris watched him and wondered how fast Wesker would have to run to escape the eruption. Uroboros/Sheva didn't comment. It slurped around his legs and rose to his waist. Then tendrils in his arm wound over his shoulders.
“You've been a thorn to me ever since Arklay Mansion,” Wesker said, his voice low and thoughtful. “A nuisance always out of my reach, always digging into my side when I least expected it. But now that I've plucked you out and you lay here twitching, bleeding—I can't help but feel nostalgic. STARS. The best and brightest...A shame, really. All that work and you're nothing more than a casualty no one will remember.” Wesker bent over and his breath puffed the matted hair on Chris's forehead. Uroboros/Sheva didn't react to Wesker's presence. Perhaps it recognized its master. “But I'll remember you, Chris, I'll immortalize this moment of defeat—this image of you, conquered. I'll treasure the memory, always.”
Wesker stepped back. Blood gushed down Chris's throat in steady, nauseating waves. He didn't feel a thing. A blessing or a curse? He couldn't decide. His vision had started to go black during Wesker's speech, but now he saw everything with such clarity it overwhelmed him. So much beauty, even in this fire pit. The way the flames coalesced, the way the earth crackled and burned. The radiating heat that reminded him of a blacktop on a hot summer's day. Even Wesker looked beautiful standing there, unafraid of death and illuminated by flames. The appeal of fallen angels made sense now. How Lucifer himself must have appeared to mortals: perfect, yet evil. Glorious, yet destructive.
The tentacles wrapped higher, inside his chest now. He felt cold. All this fire and he felt cold.
“Not the way I wanted it, but it appears Uroboros has gone airborne,” Wesker gestured to the purple mist drifting around them as if Chris needed help seeing it. “The volcano will carry the virus to all corners of the world. Victory is mine, yet my first act isn't judgment. Ironic isn't it? All this time plotting your demise and now I'm compelled to show mercy.”
Wesker lifted his Samurai-Edge. Chris remembered that gun, how picky Wesker had been with the specifications. Had poor Kendo stressing for weeks. Chris's vision blurred, but he managed to meet Wesker's eyes. He'd lost this battle and because of him, Sheva died. The world would soon follow. Too slow. He had been always too slow. Uroboros nuzzled his neck and desperation seized him. “Pull the trigger!” he croaked with a voice he didn't recognize as his own. “Damn you, it's what you fucking want, right? Do it!”
But Wesker hesitated, his jaw tight and throat working. Odd reaction considering all the hate Wesker claimed he had for him. Shouldn't he be elated? Shouldn't he enjoy this moment? Treasure it always? Chris closed his eyes. His head drooped. It didn't matter. Tired, so tired. Cherries and salt didn't smell so bad now.
He heard Wesker cock the hammer back, and when he spoke, Chris could have swore his voice carried the barest hint of affection. He would have to tell Jill about that one; won't she be surprised.
Poor Jill, once Wesker's wind-up dolly, but no more. At least he had saved her. He had saved someone.
In his mind, she waited for him, smiling. No blond hair, no pale skin. Just Jill as she was before the fall at the Spencer estate, her brown hair in a pony-tail and hidden under her BSAA cap—he could never get her to take that damn thing off. She loved it almost as she had loved him. He wanted to tell her how he felt, how much he wished they had more time. All they had were moments.

He fled into her embrace, crushed her tight against him. He would never let go again, never again—
“Godspeed Chris,” Wesker said. “Wherever your souls flees.”
And fired.
AN: I'm not fond of long author's notes because I've learned not to hand-feed readers my every motivation, my every whim on what I write. However, I feel an explanation is in order.
This is a Leon/Wesker story. Left alive, Chris and Sheva would only get in the way. I know I killed them in an upsetting manner, and trust me, it's not because I dislike Chris or Sheva. I tried to give them a good send-off and add some dimension to them before the end. Hopefully, I haven't upset anyone to the point of not reading on.
In regards to Uroboros augmenting the volcanic eruption and mixing with the gases, I took some liberty there, but I tried to be logical about it. Once inside a host, Uroboros can be harmed by fire, but bacteria in general can survive extreme conditions. Wesker (in the game) even fell into lava and still managed to attack Chris, Sheva. This shows resilience toward heat.
I'll update soon :)
P.S. If you see any errors, send me an email/review and I'll edit.
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Wesker's Chosen