07-06-2017, 07:25 PM
The feeling of blood running down his hand as he clutched at it was as if liquid fire was pouring out of the wound. More than the actual blow from the knife, more than from having it wrenched out as he was kicked away and staggered back. It wasn't just the pain that was having such a profound effect on him. It was that he was feeling pain at all. The indignation of it all, the sudden realization that he could bleed again from being struck by a worthless human made the sanguine liquid oozing and spurting from his already accumulating wounds feel molten hot, burning at him and searing him straight to the core of where he was most vulnerable: his pride.
His wounded hand trembled, blood dripping to the ground of the nexus below. Already there was a spattering of droplets, quickly forming into a small puddle.
His uninjured hand dropped from clutching at the one bearing one of the sources of his indignation. "You say...that I am 'arrogant'." His voice was once again calm, the boiling venom and anger from moments before gone. "It is not arrogance that plagues me, miss Wong...no. My confidence is very well-founded."
He struck before the words had even finished leaving his lips. Like a cobra, he dashed forward, dropping into a low stance as he came. Ada reacted smoothly, sidestepping and bolting out of the way of the madman. He didn't slow his pace. He reached out with his blood-free hand, grasped the edge of the fountain and vaulted over it. He sailed over the water, flipping forward to plant his feet against the central spire. He slipped briefly on the slick stone, his feet sliding unsteadily before finding a solid purchase, and kicking off. On a rough, oblique angle, he sailed out back over the fountain, his momentum giving him enough reach to grasp the fountain's edge with both hands again and flip himself forward. He hit the ground of the nexus in a roll, and as he came back up he rested on one knee, his mangled hand clutching his ever-trusty firearm.
Ada, still in the midst of her dodge of his initial charge, turned about in bewilderment to see what had transpired, ducking into a ready stance, like a cat ready to spring. Her eyes immediately locked onto the barrel of the pistol staring her down. Samurai Edge barked once, twice, thrice, and she hastily scrambled out of the way. The three rounds missed by a fair margin, the injured hand doing the aiming not able to remain steady enough for true accuracy.
"You must be slipping, Albert...I'd heard you were a much better shot than that," the insufferable spy commented, standing back up straight.
"Do you always pay attention only to the obvious?" Wesker's tone had a trace of the former venom, his initial spike of ice-cold rage and indignation beginning to temper off and wither. It was an obstacle, now. It had only taken one instant, one series of injuries, to confirm his suspicious. He was weakened, quite dramatically so. Something Chris had done, perhaps the grievous overdose of the serum to balance his powers...perhaps the lingering effects of attempting to assimilate Uroburos. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, still recovering from his ordeals. Whatever it was, it left him with but one conclusion. He could not afford to let the snarling beast that he had become during his final encounter with Redfield out of the box. He was too weak, and that wild and savage strength could not overcome that simple fact. He would need to fall back on decades-old training. Cunning. Strategy. He would have to fight like a human.
A glimmer of steel shone between the fingers of his injury-free hand, and before Ada could register what it was, he had whipped his arm up and hurled it. It spun through the air, end over end, gleaming and sparkling in the sourceless light of the nexus. The secret agent only had time to dodge it thanks to sheer reflex, diving out of the way. She came up again in a crouch, quickly rising back up to prepare for anything else, and—
Bang.
A lance of searing, red-hot pain tore open her side, and a wet splattering of bright red blood painted the ground at her side and back. Her eyes went wide as she staggered unsteadily, one hand clutching at a sudden wound just above her hip. Her eyes darted over her shoulder, looking at what had been thrown at her. Embedded point-first in the ground of the nexus, still quivering from its impact, was one of her own knives. "You...when...?" An answer only came in the thundering clatter if boots crashing over the nexus toward her, and what felt like a hammer colliding with her head. She was knocked back, rolling over onto her back and over and over, sprawling out on her front. Coughing, she made to scramble back up, trying desperately to avoid any other such surprise attacks, but something heavy came down on the fresh gunshot wound in her side. It came down hard.
"Did you think I leaped over the fountain merely to show off?" Wesker's voice drifted down from somewhere above. The squeak and grind of leather as something twisted, grinding against the bullet-shaped rupture in her flesh confirmed he had stamped down on her again. "You should be careful about where you leave your knives lying around. They can be..." He applied more pressure, eliciting a wordless groan of agony from the prone spy. "...just as useful to your enemies as they are to you."
There was a sharp, sudden shing and a wet squelch and it felt as if a piece of white-hot steel had been jammed into his leg. "A-AGH!" He reacted instinctively, drawing back and delivering a kick to the red-clad woman, but it was clumsy. Poorly aimed. It only clipped her, sending her rolling along the ground with her own attempt to get away, and leaving Wesker to stumble and stagger back, dropping to one knee. Jammed clean through his leg, just below the knee, was another gleaming, silvery knife.
Behind his glasses, Wesker's eyes blazed red. His teeth ground against each other, bared for all the world to see, and his breaths sucked in slow and deeply through them. Again...he had been stabbed and made a fool of again, in less than a minute. "You continue...to prove yourself a most persistent thorn in my side..." he hissed, turning to spit a mouthful of blood upon the blank canvas he knelt upon.
"There's that arrogance...barely able to keep up, and you still think you're so superior." It was a front, Wesker knew. The calm, cool, collected tone and visage Ada wore. It was all a front, an act, designed to get under his skin and aggravate him. He knew that. But it was working.
His gloved fist smashed against the floor of the nexus. "I'll see you dead!" he snarled, forcing himself back upright. Blood spurted worryingly past the knife lodged in his leg, and he let out a rasping hiss of pain, but remained standing. "You say I'm barely able to keep up...but I say I'm just getting started."
His wounded hand trembled, blood dripping to the ground of the nexus below. Already there was a spattering of droplets, quickly forming into a small puddle.
His uninjured hand dropped from clutching at the one bearing one of the sources of his indignation. "You say...that I am 'arrogant'." His voice was once again calm, the boiling venom and anger from moments before gone. "It is not arrogance that plagues me, miss Wong...no. My confidence is very well-founded."
He struck before the words had even finished leaving his lips. Like a cobra, he dashed forward, dropping into a low stance as he came. Ada reacted smoothly, sidestepping and bolting out of the way of the madman. He didn't slow his pace. He reached out with his blood-free hand, grasped the edge of the fountain and vaulted over it. He sailed over the water, flipping forward to plant his feet against the central spire. He slipped briefly on the slick stone, his feet sliding unsteadily before finding a solid purchase, and kicking off. On a rough, oblique angle, he sailed out back over the fountain, his momentum giving him enough reach to grasp the fountain's edge with both hands again and flip himself forward. He hit the ground of the nexus in a roll, and as he came back up he rested on one knee, his mangled hand clutching his ever-trusty firearm.
Ada, still in the midst of her dodge of his initial charge, turned about in bewilderment to see what had transpired, ducking into a ready stance, like a cat ready to spring. Her eyes immediately locked onto the barrel of the pistol staring her down. Samurai Edge barked once, twice, thrice, and she hastily scrambled out of the way. The three rounds missed by a fair margin, the injured hand doing the aiming not able to remain steady enough for true accuracy.
"You must be slipping, Albert...I'd heard you were a much better shot than that," the insufferable spy commented, standing back up straight.
"Do you always pay attention only to the obvious?" Wesker's tone had a trace of the former venom, his initial spike of ice-cold rage and indignation beginning to temper off and wither. It was an obstacle, now. It had only taken one instant, one series of injuries, to confirm his suspicious. He was weakened, quite dramatically so. Something Chris had done, perhaps the grievous overdose of the serum to balance his powers...perhaps the lingering effects of attempting to assimilate Uroburos. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, still recovering from his ordeals. Whatever it was, it left him with but one conclusion. He could not afford to let the snarling beast that he had become during his final encounter with Redfield out of the box. He was too weak, and that wild and savage strength could not overcome that simple fact. He would need to fall back on decades-old training. Cunning. Strategy. He would have to fight like a human.
A glimmer of steel shone between the fingers of his injury-free hand, and before Ada could register what it was, he had whipped his arm up and hurled it. It spun through the air, end over end, gleaming and sparkling in the sourceless light of the nexus. The secret agent only had time to dodge it thanks to sheer reflex, diving out of the way. She came up again in a crouch, quickly rising back up to prepare for anything else, and—
Bang.
A lance of searing, red-hot pain tore open her side, and a wet splattering of bright red blood painted the ground at her side and back. Her eyes went wide as she staggered unsteadily, one hand clutching at a sudden wound just above her hip. Her eyes darted over her shoulder, looking at what had been thrown at her. Embedded point-first in the ground of the nexus, still quivering from its impact, was one of her own knives. "You...when...?" An answer only came in the thundering clatter if boots crashing over the nexus toward her, and what felt like a hammer colliding with her head. She was knocked back, rolling over onto her back and over and over, sprawling out on her front. Coughing, she made to scramble back up, trying desperately to avoid any other such surprise attacks, but something heavy came down on the fresh gunshot wound in her side. It came down hard.
"Did you think I leaped over the fountain merely to show off?" Wesker's voice drifted down from somewhere above. The squeak and grind of leather as something twisted, grinding against the bullet-shaped rupture in her flesh confirmed he had stamped down on her again. "You should be careful about where you leave your knives lying around. They can be..." He applied more pressure, eliciting a wordless groan of agony from the prone spy. "...just as useful to your enemies as they are to you."
There was a sharp, sudden shing and a wet squelch and it felt as if a piece of white-hot steel had been jammed into his leg. "A-AGH!" He reacted instinctively, drawing back and delivering a kick to the red-clad woman, but it was clumsy. Poorly aimed. It only clipped her, sending her rolling along the ground with her own attempt to get away, and leaving Wesker to stumble and stagger back, dropping to one knee. Jammed clean through his leg, just below the knee, was another gleaming, silvery knife.
Behind his glasses, Wesker's eyes blazed red. His teeth ground against each other, bared for all the world to see, and his breaths sucked in slow and deeply through them. Again...he had been stabbed and made a fool of again, in less than a minute. "You continue...to prove yourself a most persistent thorn in my side..." he hissed, turning to spit a mouthful of blood upon the blank canvas he knelt upon.
"There's that arrogance...barely able to keep up, and you still think you're so superior." It was a front, Wesker knew. The calm, cool, collected tone and visage Ada wore. It was all a front, an act, designed to get under his skin and aggravate him. He knew that. But it was working.
His gloved fist smashed against the floor of the nexus. "I'll see you dead!" he snarled, forcing himself back upright. Blood spurted worryingly past the knife lodged in his leg, and he let out a rasping hiss of pain, but remained standing. "You say I'm barely able to keep up...but I say I'm just getting started."
Quote:1264 words, according to on-site counter.
"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."