[4-14] The Town

[Albert Wesker]

"It would seem that we finally have...a chance to fight together." The voice of the Dean of Security was as decrepit and ragged as the lumbering half-corpse from which it issued, his hulking form taking much slower, but far longer strides as he kept pace more or less evenly with his subordinate.

A flash of emerald light and the snicker-snack of impossibly ancient, corroded metal sounded as both plaguebearer and machine carved a path through the ghoulish hordes, and Colonel spoke up in answer as he separated the head of one of the plague-born revenants from its neck, sending the body shambling forward for several paces, crashing into the path of another of its fellows and sending a knot of them toppling to the ground. "Looks that way. Just wish we weren't so banged up."

Okor scoffed at that sentiment. "Do you fear...your damaged state will hinder you?"

Staring at the massive, tank-like form of the heavily-mutated undead advancing upon them, the soldier navi seemed nonplussed as he answered, "Far from it." He lowered himself into a combat-ready crouch, leaning forward just slightly to spring into action. "In fact, I seem to be experiencing...a critical error."

"An error...is it? Do tell."

"If this were the internet, humans might call it a 404 error, sir," Colonel started, staring at the massive brute they squared off against.

The lumbering Tank smashed both fists into the ground, letting out a basso roar, echoing wordlessly off of the crumbling city around them, the sound surprisingly deep and strong considering the desiccated, bloated hulk from which it emitted. Using its arms as a second pair of legs, it charged forward with an explosive burst of momentum, trundling along like an avalanche of decaying, rotting flesh and swollen muscle. Fists the size of wrecking balls launched it from the ground in a blind lurch, hands spreading wide and grasping wildly for the mountain of filth and the comparatively much smaller warrior of steel that had the audacity to not run from it.

"Fear not found." His energy saber struck upward, intercepting the hamfist of the Tank and knocking the grasping mitt wide of its mark. The war machine buckled under the force of the blow, dropping to one knee, sparks flickering in the numerous gashes and rends in his exterior plating. He couldn't afford to take a direct blow from this thing, if it could hit like that! But he had done his job. The great dumb undead brute was distracted by not completely pulverizing or managing to grapple the impudent little metal man just long enough for the ancient warrior also standing against it to assert his presence.

"Lack of fear is...commendable," the chosen warrior of Nurgle proclaimed, his filth and disease-coated fingers — quite literally more clawed talons than actual fingers, Colonel noticed — closed around the far less revolting undead's limb, wrestling against it to arrest its momentum and fighting strength. "Fear is for those who are not...certain of their strength." A wet slashing and meaty crunch signaled the devastation of the Tank's grappled limb, the dean's diseased digits tearing through the omnilium-mutated brute's flesh and bones.

"For a soldier...our strength is all we have." The digital soldier regained his footing, bringing his blade up overhead as sparks danced along its length. "If we can't have faith in that, then what do we have left?" It was something he had pondered, many a time, in his own private moments, few and far between as they were. And he had never come to an answer. "We always have some cause to fight for. Something greater than ourselves. We need that cause. And that cause needs us." He whirled around, his saber carving a bright arcing trail to mimic his movement, sending a spray of steaming viscera and severed limbs sailing in all directions as several of the ghoulish horde fell into smoking pieces, cloven in two at the waist by the thunderous Screen Divide. "But when we're taken out of reach of that cause, all we have left is the strength we used to fight for it. And a whole lot of rage about not having anything to take it out on."

The noise that issued from the champion of more warfare than most would ever dream of seeing could only be loosely identified as even resembling any sound that a living, moving creature might make. That it was a laugh was almost impossible to discern. "A very...interesting out look you have," he said simply in response, finally losing the struggle to keep the Tank contained, its mangled limb tearing free from his gangrenous grasp. "But if that is truly how you...feel, then stop containing all of that rage, false-man...and put it to some use!"

"Affirmative."

The next instant was a whirling blitz of green, Colonel making a short leap backward and twirling into a spin in midair. He carved a short, mangled swath through the hordes about them, even as many of the misshapen malignants shambled, charged, and sprinted past them, surging around the scene of the contained, titanic scuffle. He landed on the pavement of the street, sword pointing toward the ground. He kept his emotions in check, whenever he could; the ones he was still capable of feeling anymore, anyway. They could make things messy. Especially one of them, which liked to come rampaging out like a beast, take over, and force him into madness. It made him angry; irrationally, impossible so. Gregar was not something to be underestimated, even in just a fragmented, data-memory state as what lurked within his programming.

But a ravening beast might be exactly what was called for right now.

The blade of his saber flickered, sputtering wildly, his eyes taking on a more menacing cast. A flourish of his arm, and the blade emitter gave a sharp whine of protest, the blade flickering briefly off altogether, before the entire arrangement briefly glowed white-hot and spat sparks, the opening for the blade shearing and tearing apart as the blade tore itself a wider opening, spreading into a flat, angular profile. Teeth and spikes ripped out from the mass of energy, and more energy rippled down the length of the blade, strengthening and elongating it. A visible pulse ran through it, and within his mind, Colonel could hear it: the echoing, hungry roar of a wild beast. It drove a spike of wild anger into his heart, and with something which might generously be called a grin on his face, he surged back into combat with the Tank.

The superheated Gregar Saber carved through a ghoul in his path with a single swipe, continuing on to cut into the bloated, overly-muscled hide of the tankish undead. An angry howl was the only response, the brute lunging out to grab him, and this time succeeding, both hands closing around the machine-man and hoisting him off the ground. A horribly deformed, broken face was pressed close to Colonel's and a fist of hot, rancid breath struck him as it roared angrily and defiantly. He was answered by the saber, now shimmering in a cloud of heat haze, sheathing itself in the massive undead's lack of a lower jaw, sparks of energy dripping from it as a charge of energy built up within the glowing blade. That shut it up right quick, leaving it dumbfounded as this odd 'pain' sensation finally registered, with a white-hot blade tickling its rotten brain.

It didn't have long to debate, as it was suddenly relieved of the cargo it was manhandling by a large, pitted blade scything through its already mangled arm, severing it at the wrist. Dropping to the ground again, Colonel immediately took off with a powerful leap, straight up as far as his battered frame would let him. His beastially-empowered blade came up over his head, a massive wash of energy pouring into it. The mad howl of a beast screamed in his mind as he came falling back down on the Tank, sword poised to deliver a killing blow. And just before he impacted it, he struck, carving out a devastating Z of power, bright light spitting the darkness of the city with an emerald flare, the great impact a momentary beacon, before it was swallowed up by a plume of dust and debris, the asphalt shattering into a crater into which vanished Dean, Vice Dean, and Tank all.

"I believe that should be...sufficient to draw their attention," Okor's voice rasped, within the swirling cloud of dush and ash. "Our...allies should have made it...inside, by now."

Hauling himself up to the edge of the crater, Colonel stormed out of the dust cloud, immediately beheading another zombified citizen. "Then let's go join them."

"A fine idea..."

It was a messy path indeed, and a dusty, grime-coated machine and plague-bearing corpse that shambled up to the doors of the census building, hacking and smashing down anything in their way.

1575 words, according to on-site wordcounter.

Colonel used T1 Super Attack: Neo Screen Divide. 2/4 SP remaining.