11-04-2017, 05:31 AM
A haze drifted across his vision. Bloody red, filtering over everything. Equal parts rage and actual life blood, slowly oozing from the countless scratches and gouges now adorning his face. A dull film of grimy black cast further shadow over his eyes, lopsided sunglasses only covering one eye fully. Bent and mangled beyond easy wear, he slowly raised an arm, grasping them in a clawed hand and tugging them free of his face as the impertinent bitch prepared her crossbow.
Though he was absolutely loathe to admit it...he was in dire straits. Beaten and battered, still confused and out of sorts. Agony still crawled through his very bones, from a source not born of this fight. But above all, the problem stared at him, from the hands of the damn spy. Razor-sharp, deadly, and aimed directly at him. He was familiar with the weapon, knew exactly what kind of punch it could pack. Exactly how grievous of a wound it could make. He could have just opened fire, the ever-reliable handgun still clutched in his hand sure to score true at this range. The complication with that, though... He'd been keeping track of his shots, as well as the weapon's weight. Down to just two more before needing to reload. Two shots wouldn't be enough.
Behind his snarling expression, all those thoughts and more raced through his mind in the span of a second. He had little time to think, and so...
He acted instead.
He dropped forward, halfway into a sprinter's stance. He favored his non-knifed leg, using it to push off and launch himself forward into a charge. The reaction was immediate. A bolt from the crossbow covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye, the deadly-razor point glinting in the split-second he had to observe it. He dropped flat. Leaning heavily on his injured leg, letting the pain and reflex to buckle help him down, he collapsed in a heap. The bolt struck him in the shoulder, rather than full in the chest as it would have, sending him spinning further in his toppling motion.
Sprawling out on the ground, onto his back, he let out a wheezing rattle of breath. Blood spurted from between his teeth as he coughed, clouding over the pain with rage, and sheer determination. The arm his handgun came up, over his head, swaying and trembling as he zeroed in on Ada's form. She was moving again, not presenting an easy target. The gun flashed and spat once, twice...then clicked empty, and she was out of sight behind the fountain. For the moment.
His momentum was slowed, as he slowly rolled himself over. Bracing himself with his good arm -- if 'good' was still a qualifier, in his current condition -- he gingerly pushed up. First he slowly worked one leg under himself. Then the other, much more slowly with the knife still lodged in his knee. Finally, he was on his feet again, staggering and unsteady. "Running away from a fight and hiding..." he hissed, lurching into a heavy stride toward the fountain. "I suppose...I shouldn't be surprised..."
The only response he got was a deadly one, in the form of the sharp tink of metal hitting stone, and a small spattering of sparks. He had time to register it: a crossbow bolt, hitting the rim of the fountain just in front of him, and then his vision was filled with fire.
The explosive bolt sent him stumbling blindly. Hands dropped what they held, ruined glasses and handgun alike, to clatter on the smeared canvas he slipped over. Several paces he made it, before he he pitched over, and hit the rim of the fountain. Pain spiderwebbed out across his back from the point of impact, and his body went rigid, as he slowly slid down, under the water. Out of sight, but not out of mind.
He had already been enraged beyond measure. Now he was just confused. He hadn't heard a thing, hadn't seen a thing. How had she gotten behind him like that, managed to fire from that angle? A surprise attack, catching him so completely off-guard. It was her forte, of course... Direct engagement and confrontation was not how she operated. Should have been something he saw coming. Some trick, some means of just sneaking out of sight, hiding in plain view. Besides this damn fountain there was nothing else she could have hidden behind, used for cover to scamper off and earn a chance to fire from that angle.
Above the water, he could see her. Just like all the others always did, approaching the site where he fell. Like her precious Leon. Like Chris, and his partner had done. Always walking right up, checking to make sure their latest kill was actually dead. That it wasn't going to just jump back up and continue the fight, like so many of Umbrella's horrors had done before. Staring down into the water, at Wesker's shrouded and blurred form, covered as much by the shimmering water as by a dense layer of bubbles and thick, black sludge oozing from his veins. She peered intently down, weapon still at the ready, not about to be fooled that easily.
Wesker clenched his teeth, holding in what breath he had left. Willing himself to calm down. Go quiet, lower his racing heart and stem the tide of rage in his mind. Quell the bloodfloow. Dim the glow of his eyes. He let his head drift back, resting on the bottom. The signs of his struggling ceased. The water grew calm again, only stained by the disgusting, viral-laced blood which had already poured from his injuries. For several seconds they both waited, silently baiting each other out. Wesker fighting a desperate battle to keep his composure, hold his breath just a little longer. Ada, crossbow still at the ready, observing from above the water, not willing to fall for another trick or something as simple as playing dead.
...but eventually she relaxed. Her posture sagged ever so slightly, crossbow dipping just a few inches from its ready to fire stance. "All that fire, put out by a little water..." she mused.
The only warning she got was a blaze of red from under the water, Wesker's eyes glowing brightly, and he was leaping upward. Ignoring the pain in his limbs, the muscle-deadening blood loss already incurred, and the resistance of the water. He pushed up, surging through the murky liquid. Breaking the surface in a spray of water and blood, he hurled himself up, over, and out of the fountain, crashing into the spy in scarlet. A savage, wordless snarl, and he was on her. The crossbow bolt in his shoulder dug and tore further, scraping in the wound, and only pushed him further in his manic state. The hand at the end of that arm lashed out and struck, over and over and over... A crazed, out of rhythm motion, hammering against her with all the force his exhausted body could put behind it. His other arm grappled with her, hand closed around her crossbow and fighting to rip it from her grasp.
Every blow, every jerk and spasm in their struggle earned a pained wheeze from one and a sickening gasp from the other. "This...ends...now!" Wesker growled through clenched teeth, blood staining and marring the otherwise 'perfect' grin.
It was all interrupted as his left knee was set aflame. One of her heels struck the knife, still lodged into his flesh, and broke his concentration, just for one moment. He pitched to one side, his grasp weakening, and she ripped her crossbow free of his hand. Staggering back, she struggled to bring it up to aim, even as he pounced.
Though he was absolutely loathe to admit it...he was in dire straits. Beaten and battered, still confused and out of sorts. Agony still crawled through his very bones, from a source not born of this fight. But above all, the problem stared at him, from the hands of the damn spy. Razor-sharp, deadly, and aimed directly at him. He was familiar with the weapon, knew exactly what kind of punch it could pack. Exactly how grievous of a wound it could make. He could have just opened fire, the ever-reliable handgun still clutched in his hand sure to score true at this range. The complication with that, though... He'd been keeping track of his shots, as well as the weapon's weight. Down to just two more before needing to reload. Two shots wouldn't be enough.
Behind his snarling expression, all those thoughts and more raced through his mind in the span of a second. He had little time to think, and so...
He acted instead.
He dropped forward, halfway into a sprinter's stance. He favored his non-knifed leg, using it to push off and launch himself forward into a charge. The reaction was immediate. A bolt from the crossbow covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye, the deadly-razor point glinting in the split-second he had to observe it. He dropped flat. Leaning heavily on his injured leg, letting the pain and reflex to buckle help him down, he collapsed in a heap. The bolt struck him in the shoulder, rather than full in the chest as it would have, sending him spinning further in his toppling motion.
Sprawling out on the ground, onto his back, he let out a wheezing rattle of breath. Blood spurted from between his teeth as he coughed, clouding over the pain with rage, and sheer determination. The arm his handgun came up, over his head, swaying and trembling as he zeroed in on Ada's form. She was moving again, not presenting an easy target. The gun flashed and spat once, twice...then clicked empty, and she was out of sight behind the fountain. For the moment.
His momentum was slowed, as he slowly rolled himself over. Bracing himself with his good arm -- if 'good' was still a qualifier, in his current condition -- he gingerly pushed up. First he slowly worked one leg under himself. Then the other, much more slowly with the knife still lodged in his knee. Finally, he was on his feet again, staggering and unsteady. "Running away from a fight and hiding..." he hissed, lurching into a heavy stride toward the fountain. "I suppose...I shouldn't be surprised..."
The only response he got was a deadly one, in the form of the sharp tink of metal hitting stone, and a small spattering of sparks. He had time to register it: a crossbow bolt, hitting the rim of the fountain just in front of him, and then his vision was filled with fire.
The explosive bolt sent him stumbling blindly. Hands dropped what they held, ruined glasses and handgun alike, to clatter on the smeared canvas he slipped over. Several paces he made it, before he he pitched over, and hit the rim of the fountain. Pain spiderwebbed out across his back from the point of impact, and his body went rigid, as he slowly slid down, under the water. Out of sight, but not out of mind.
He had already been enraged beyond measure. Now he was just confused. He hadn't heard a thing, hadn't seen a thing. How had she gotten behind him like that, managed to fire from that angle? A surprise attack, catching him so completely off-guard. It was her forte, of course... Direct engagement and confrontation was not how she operated. Should have been something he saw coming. Some trick, some means of just sneaking out of sight, hiding in plain view. Besides this damn fountain there was nothing else she could have hidden behind, used for cover to scamper off and earn a chance to fire from that angle.
Above the water, he could see her. Just like all the others always did, approaching the site where he fell. Like her precious Leon. Like Chris, and his partner had done. Always walking right up, checking to make sure their latest kill was actually dead. That it wasn't going to just jump back up and continue the fight, like so many of Umbrella's horrors had done before. Staring down into the water, at Wesker's shrouded and blurred form, covered as much by the shimmering water as by a dense layer of bubbles and thick, black sludge oozing from his veins. She peered intently down, weapon still at the ready, not about to be fooled that easily.
Wesker clenched his teeth, holding in what breath he had left. Willing himself to calm down. Go quiet, lower his racing heart and stem the tide of rage in his mind. Quell the bloodfloow. Dim the glow of his eyes. He let his head drift back, resting on the bottom. The signs of his struggling ceased. The water grew calm again, only stained by the disgusting, viral-laced blood which had already poured from his injuries. For several seconds they both waited, silently baiting each other out. Wesker fighting a desperate battle to keep his composure, hold his breath just a little longer. Ada, crossbow still at the ready, observing from above the water, not willing to fall for another trick or something as simple as playing dead.
...but eventually she relaxed. Her posture sagged ever so slightly, crossbow dipping just a few inches from its ready to fire stance. "All that fire, put out by a little water..." she mused.
The only warning she got was a blaze of red from under the water, Wesker's eyes glowing brightly, and he was leaping upward. Ignoring the pain in his limbs, the muscle-deadening blood loss already incurred, and the resistance of the water. He pushed up, surging through the murky liquid. Breaking the surface in a spray of water and blood, he hurled himself up, over, and out of the fountain, crashing into the spy in scarlet. A savage, wordless snarl, and he was on her. The crossbow bolt in his shoulder dug and tore further, scraping in the wound, and only pushed him further in his manic state. The hand at the end of that arm lashed out and struck, over and over and over... A crazed, out of rhythm motion, hammering against her with all the force his exhausted body could put behind it. His other arm grappled with her, hand closed around her crossbow and fighting to rip it from her grasp.
Every blow, every jerk and spasm in their struggle earned a pained wheeze from one and a sickening gasp from the other. "This...ends...now!" Wesker growled through clenched teeth, blood staining and marring the otherwise 'perfect' grin.
It was all interrupted as his left knee was set aflame. One of her heels struck the knife, still lodged into his flesh, and broke his concentration, just for one moment. He pitched to one side, his grasp weakening, and she ripped her crossbow free of his hand. Staggering back, she struggled to bring it up to aim, even as he pounced.
Quote:word count: 1,324
"Hold on a second, I have a call..."
![[Image: blog-Wesker.jpg]](https://cdn.dcdouglas.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/blog-Wesker.jpg)
"Yes, this is Wesker. Go ahead."
"Yes, this is Wesker. Go ahead."