It was time. She could feel him congealing about the ship now: could feel that something had changed, that the ship was now at risk, that madness was starting to spread, that he now had the ability to hurt with his strength now. It would be the madness that would consume them. All this, of course, a demon girl could take in stride. Why shouldn't she?
She made darkness like this herself.
And because of that she strode forward, images of Silent Hill and Cristobell and tortured Alessa in her head. She heard the happy cries of the filthy cult as they burned the girl, and her anger was not enough, not without help. These things were untrue: filthy lies cooked by her demon memories, the secret feelings she had, She could even see bits of Shadow and Pirogoeth locked in a lover's embrace, plainly saying that she was a demon and unworthy of any in the first place. Images of falsehood. She even saw Shadow as a corpse, and a likeness of the Nightmare King triumphant, gathering the hedgehog's blood as the Nightmare King claimed himself the Ultimate Weapon.
All this Alessa viewed, detached, unaffected. To a human, she supposed there was a trigger in their heads to accept what they saw, that their eyes and own brain were not traitors. They could be and were here, if they were so easily tapped into. To this Alessa moved still, but the world around her began to look warped, pinched together, and Alessa knew why: they were fighting for dominance, and right now, Alessa could not win. She understood that herself.
But the Nightmare King could not drive her mad nor use imagery around her. If he were going to send an attack, he would have to through someone else's mind frame: hers was unstoppable when it came to a power they both understood. Logically, fighting the King by herself was folly: he could actually kill her. So she would need to ally herself with some of the others. She walked on, determined.
A passing thought went to both Pirogoeth and Shadow, as she pondered their safety. She was confident they were all right.
Not long into her journey, she'd stumble across Leon, picking himself up off the ground.
Up until a few moments ago, he had been trapped in his own body. His arms and legs moved of their own accord, taking the skills he learned and putting them to malevolent use.
He could hear them, Saddler, Salazar, the hundreds of other plagas. They were a constant chorus in his skull, laughing as they manipulated his movements, turning him into nothing but a puppet on a string. He had been screaming inside his own head, but couldn't break through the noise.
He could only watch helplessly as the violence unfolded in front of him, but it was the targets that he was sent after that made the experience more unnerving. They were senators, congressmen, and other politicians. People he was sworn to protect, but that he, frankly, hated. And because of that, there was some perverse part of him that was enjoying this show. There was something about watching these assholes get what was coming to them that just satisfying.
This was just the warm up act, though. Leon needed to be primed. Somewhere in his mind, under the chorus of plaga, there was a whisper. Don't you wish that was Nathan Petrelli you were stabbing? What has that useless motherfucker done anyway? I bet you wish that was Brainiac 5 you were choking to death. You know that arrogant snot is so caught up in proving how superior he is to to everyone that he's going to fuck up and create something that'll kill everyone.
The were a whole crew full of people that Leon regarded as a bunch of loud, reckless assholes. Part of him really wanted to punch several of them in the mouth then boot them out an airlock. And had the Nightmare King simply sent Leon to do that from the get go, Leon might have let it happen. He might not have resisted as much as he was.
Airlocking Batman was a really tempting thought.
But the Nightmare King got greedy. He wanted to break the fight in Leon, to own him completely. He figured the best way to break his spirit was to break his heart.
Without really noticing the change in scenery, Leon found himself holding Claire. But not in the caring, gentle, loving way that he normally would. No, he was holding her of the ground as he throttled her neck.
He tried to stop, once he became aware of what he was doing. He could feel her struggling, he could feel her screams and cries die in her throat under his grip. He could see the fear in her eyes. And finally, he could her the sickening snap of her neck as he broke it in his hands.
Claire died in his arms. But his will to fight didn't die with her.
If anything, it made Leon realize that was just a dream. Because there was no way in hell Claire would go out like that.
The two of them had an agreement. One that was never spoken of, but was understood between them. If one of them got infected, and was past the point of no return, the other would finish them, no matter what.
Claire wouldn't allow some parasite masquerading as him to hurt anyone. She'd fight it tooth and nail, and he'd be rooting for her to do so. And most importantly, she would kick him in the stones and then in the chin if he ever tried to choke her like that.
Realizing his folly, the Nightmare King tried to replace Claire's corpse with Jean Grey's but by then, the spell had already been broken.
He could hear the whispers over the chorus of noise in his head, and he met it head on.
Yes, he thought the bulk of his bosses on Capitol Hill were worthless wastes of flesh. Yes, he hated some of the things he's had to do in the line of duty. Yes, he wanted to toss several crew members into a star and watch them burn.
Because Claire Redfield was still alive after Raccoon City. Because Sherry Birkin Redfield-Kennedy wasn't going to spend her life as a lab rat. Because Manuela Hidalgo could remember that she wasn't some monster, but a person. Because Ashley Graham made it safely back to her father.
Because, after seven years of fighting, the world no longer has to fear the T-virus.
Because even selfish jackasses needed someone to stand up for them, because there are worse things out there than other selfish jackasses. Like you, he told the Nightmare King.
Messed up as they were, and as much of a pain in the ass as they were, they were still his crew, and none of them deserved to be messed with like this. He was going to protect them.
But first, he had to wake up.
He kept repeating those two words, like a mantra of sorts.
wake up wake up Wake up WAKE UP wake up wake up Wake Up
WAKE UP!!!!
He screamed at the noise in his head, and with sheer persistence and stubbornness, he started to break through. His hands were suddenly his own again, and he clenched them into fists and released them a few times.
He started to regain more control of his body, until he dropped to his knees and screamed out in pain. He wanted to scream, but something was stuck in his throat, and no air could pass one way or another. His intestines felt like they were being ripped and shredded. A black liquid started to pour out of his mouth, and was quickly followed by something large, covered in mucus and bile, and possessing tentacles.
Leon would've been appalled by what he just horfed up, (or wondered how in gods name he just puked up something that large without ripping apart his esophagus), but he just grabbed his knife and stabbed the damn thing until it stopped moving, and broke down into a liquid.
He took a moment to catch his breath, and spit the taste of that thing out of his mouth. He still wasn't entirely alone in his own head, but he was back in control of himself.
And now he just had to pick himself off the ground, and get back to work.
"That looks fairly nasty," Alessa commented, watching Leon's struggle. While she had no love for the Military commander, she also had no hate for him either. Like most people on the ship, she was usually indifferent, and showing any kind of emotion for anyone was restricted to her chosen few.
She waited for a moment though. His nightmare was his own, and unless he actually needed her help (she suspected he was too proud, and if that were the case she was happy to oblige him). There were others that were going to be needing their help. Humans were usually fairly weak when it came to their mental issues, so she had an idea they would have a bit of jumping around to do.
She had an idea that Leon was the type to spite death if given the chance. That would keep him alive.
"Whenever you're ready," Alessa said. "We have a lot of work to do, don't we?"
"Tastes like shit," he commented, wiping his mouth.
His nightmare was over. Or at least he managed to break free of it for now. Either way, he could think clearly. He could tell reality from fantasy, even if reality had just been turned upside down.
"If it tasted good I think I'd be a little disturbed," Alessa said. He was taking the lead, which was fine with her: he actually cared about saving most of these people, and she wasn't going to be affected by these dreams.
Besides, she was done remaining here. She had a job to do.
"Of course," she said. "We have a King to fight, don't we?"
He also outranked her, much as that counted in this situation.
"Yes, we do." Leon wasn't burning with rage. More like an ice cold determination. He had switched over mentally to mission mode, pushing any lingering emotions down into nothing. His mission objective was fairly simple, though. God or not, the Nightmare king had to be stopped.
"This way." Leon was headed towards Escherville. He figured that's where some of the others would head, as that's where they needed to be anyway. He and Alessa could link up with people en route.
She made darkness like this herself.
And because of that she strode forward, images of Silent Hill and Cristobell and tortured Alessa in her head. She heard the happy cries of the filthy cult as they burned the girl, and her anger was not enough, not without help. These things were untrue: filthy lies cooked by her demon memories, the secret feelings she had, She could even see bits of Shadow and Pirogoeth locked in a lover's embrace, plainly saying that she was a demon and unworthy of any in the first place. Images of falsehood. She even saw Shadow as a corpse, and a likeness of the Nightmare King triumphant, gathering the hedgehog's blood as the Nightmare King claimed himself the Ultimate Weapon.
All this Alessa viewed, detached, unaffected. To a human, she supposed there was a trigger in their heads to accept what they saw, that their eyes and own brain were not traitors. They could be and were here, if they were so easily tapped into. To this Alessa moved still, but the world around her began to look warped, pinched together, and Alessa knew why: they were fighting for dominance, and right now, Alessa could not win. She understood that herself.
But the Nightmare King could not drive her mad nor use imagery around her. If he were going to send an attack, he would have to through someone else's mind frame: hers was unstoppable when it came to a power they both understood. Logically, fighting the King by herself was folly: he could actually kill her. So she would need to ally herself with some of the others. She walked on, determined.
A passing thought went to both Pirogoeth and Shadow, as she pondered their safety. She was confident they were all right.
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Up until a few moments ago, he had been trapped in his own body. His arms and legs moved of their own accord, taking the skills he learned and putting them to malevolent use.
He could hear them, Saddler, Salazar, the hundreds of other plagas. They were a constant chorus in his skull, laughing as they manipulated his movements, turning him into nothing but a puppet on a string. He had been screaming inside his own head, but couldn't break through the noise.
He could only watch helplessly as the violence unfolded in front of him, but it was the targets that he was sent after that made the experience more unnerving. They were senators, congressmen, and other politicians. People he was sworn to protect, but that he, frankly, hated. And because of that, there was some perverse part of him that was enjoying this show. There was something about watching these assholes get what was coming to them that just satisfying.
This was just the warm up act, though. Leon needed to be primed. Somewhere in his mind, under the chorus of plaga, there was a whisper. Don't you wish that was Nathan Petrelli you were stabbing? What has that useless motherfucker done anyway? I bet you wish that was Brainiac 5 you were choking to death. You know that arrogant snot is so caught up in proving how superior he is to to everyone that he's going to fuck up and create something that'll kill everyone.
The were a whole crew full of people that Leon regarded as a bunch of loud, reckless assholes. Part of him really wanted to punch several of them in the mouth then boot them out an airlock. And had the Nightmare King simply sent Leon to do that from the get go, Leon might have let it happen. He might not have resisted as much as he was.
Airlocking Batman was a really tempting thought.
But the Nightmare King got greedy. He wanted to break the fight in Leon, to own him completely. He figured the best way to break his spirit was to break his heart.
Without really noticing the change in scenery, Leon found himself holding Claire. But not in the caring, gentle, loving way that he normally would. No, he was holding her of the ground as he throttled her neck.
He tried to stop, once he became aware of what he was doing. He could feel her struggling, he could feel her screams and cries die in her throat under his grip. He could see the fear in her eyes. And finally, he could her the sickening snap of her neck as he broke it in his hands.
Claire died in his arms. But his will to fight didn't die with her.
If anything, it made Leon realize that was just a dream. Because there was no way in hell Claire would go out like that.
The two of them had an agreement. One that was never spoken of, but was understood between them. If one of them got infected, and was past the point of no return, the other would finish them, no matter what.
Claire wouldn't allow some parasite masquerading as him to hurt anyone. She'd fight it tooth and nail, and he'd be rooting for her to do so. And most importantly, she would kick him in the stones and then in the chin if he ever tried to choke her like that.
Realizing his folly, the Nightmare King tried to replace Claire's corpse with Jean Grey's but by then, the spell had already been broken.
He could hear the whispers over the chorus of noise in his head, and he met it head on.
Yes, he thought the bulk of his bosses on Capitol Hill were worthless wastes of flesh. Yes, he hated some of the things he's had to do in the line of duty. Yes, he wanted to toss several crew members into a star and watch them burn.
But...
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Because Claire Redfield was still alive after Raccoon City. Because Sherry Birkin Redfield-Kennedy wasn't going to spend her life as a lab rat. Because Manuela Hidalgo could remember that she wasn't some monster, but a person. Because Ashley Graham made it safely back to her father.
Because, after seven years of fighting, the world no longer has to fear the T-virus.
Because even selfish jackasses needed someone to stand up for them, because there are worse things out there than other selfish jackasses. Like you, he told the Nightmare King.
Messed up as they were, and as much of a pain in the ass as they were, they were still his crew, and none of them deserved to be messed with like this. He was going to protect them.
But first, he had to wake up.
He kept repeating those two words, like a mantra of sorts.
wake up wake up Wake up WAKE UP wake up wake up Wake Up
WAKE UP!!!!
He screamed at the noise in his head, and with sheer persistence and stubbornness, he started to break through. His hands were suddenly his own again, and he clenched them into fists and released them a few times.
He started to regain more control of his body, until he dropped to his knees and screamed out in pain. He wanted to scream, but something was stuck in his throat, and no air could pass one way or another. His intestines felt like they were being ripped and shredded. A black liquid started to pour out of his mouth, and was quickly followed by something large, covered in mucus and bile, and possessing tentacles.
Leon would've been appalled by what he just horfed up, (or wondered how in gods name he just puked up something that large without ripping apart his esophagus), but he just grabbed his knife and stabbed the damn thing until it stopped moving, and broke down into a liquid.
He took a moment to catch his breath, and spit the taste of that thing out of his mouth. He still wasn't entirely alone in his own head, but he was back in control of himself.
And now he just had to pick himself off the ground, and get back to work.
Reply
She waited for a moment though. His nightmare was his own, and unless he actually needed her help (she suspected he was too proud, and if that were the case she was happy to oblige him). There were others that were going to be needing their help. Humans were usually fairly weak when it came to their mental issues, so she had an idea they would have a bit of jumping around to do.
She had an idea that Leon was the type to spite death if given the chance. That would keep him alive.
"Whenever you're ready," Alessa said. "We have a lot of work to do, don't we?"
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His nightmare was over. Or at least he managed to break free of it for now. Either way, he could think clearly. He could tell reality from fantasy, even if reality had just been turned upside down.
"We need to find the others."
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Besides, she was done remaining here. She had a job to do.
"Of course," she said. "We have a King to fight, don't we?"
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"Yes, we do." Leon wasn't burning with rage. More like an ice cold determination. He had switched over mentally to mission mode, pushing any lingering emotions down into nothing. His mission objective was fairly simple, though. God or not, the Nightmare king had to be stopped.
"This way." Leon was headed towards Escherville. He figured that's where some of the others would head, as that's where they needed to be anyway. He and Alessa could link up with people en route.
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