Wesker's Point of View
It had now been an hour since Gérald had left for the castle. Darkness had fully swallowed the village, pierced only by a few fixed floodlights and the campfires maintained by Pascal's clones. I surveyed the damage left by the previous assault—rubble, dried blood, shattered walls. Even for me, who had seen so much carnage, the sight left a bitter taste. This village, now under our control, looked more like a battlefield than a strategic outpost.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Brad and Kenneth, en route by helicopter:"Objective complete. Both bridges destroyed without resistance. Several isolated groups spotted, but no quick way to cross. The area is secure."
I slid the device back into my jacket and walked toward the second and third rows of village buildings—the ones we had preserved for shelter, medical supplies, food, and ammunition. The structure was holding up. The Plagas had forced us to use most of our explosives, but the rest remained untouched.
And then… that voice. Deep. Gravelly. Unexpected.
"What a shame... that I cannot meet Mister King in person."
I turned in one swift motion, ready to retaliate—but what I saw made me freeze for a second.A feat, even for me.
A colossus, at least two heads taller than me, slowly emerged from the shadows. It seemed to swallow light itself. His cadaverous skin stretched over bones like a funerary statue. His eyes—two soulless white lights—glowed like beacons in the night.
The wind barely rustled his worn black leather coat, while a short cape flapped across his massive shoulders. His posture was rigid, straight—almost military. He looked like a reimagined version of a gravedigger fused with a war commander, forming a heavy, dominating entity.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice as cold as my stare.
He barely smiled."Let's say… I'm the original. The true chief of this little hamlet—the real Bitores Méndez. And I've come to reclaim what's mine."
My body tensed, ready to dodge. But before I could even move—he was already on me.His hand, wide as a vice, clamped around my throat with disconcerting speed. I was lifted off the ground, my feet dangling in the air.
"I'll settle… for using you to exercise my wrath over the disappearance of my double," he growled, his low voice resonating through my bones.
I grimaced, fists clenched, muscles coiled to strike back. My gaze never left his. He wanted to intimidate me.He was about to learn—it wouldn't be that easy.
"You can try…" I hissed through clenched teeth,"but you won't survive long enough to regret it."
A gunshot rang out, slicing through the night's silence like a cry of defiance. The bullet struck the colossus square in the head, but instead of falling, he merely tilted his head slightly at the impact—like a fly had bothered him. A thin line of blood appeared at his temple… and then stopped. He slowly turned his eyes in the direction of the shot, almost amused.
But that brief distraction was all I needed.
I bent my legs, and with a vicious kick to his chest, launched myself free from his grip. The wind slapped my face as I rolled upon landing, immediately drawing my weapon and unleashing a burst of fire.
Behind me, Pascal's clones, alerted by the attack, burst from the ruins and opened fire as well. The impacts multiplied, lighting up the giant's silhouette under the barrage of bullets… yet he remained unmoving.
Bullets ricocheted off him, some sinking into his skin without causing real damage. He advanced slowly, relentlessly—like a creature from another age… another hell.
"Futile…" he said, his deep voice tolling like a funeral bell through the cracked walls."But I'll grant you this: you are… combative."
He vanished suddenly—no sound, no perceptible movement.
A fraction of a second later, he reappeared to my right. My instincts saved me—I dove to the ground, a tight roll that took me just far enough to watch his foot shatter the stone where I had been standing. The ground exploded under the impact, shards of rock flew like shrapnel, and a deep, monstrous imprint marked the spot where he had struck.
A smile appeared on his pallid face. Not cruel. Just… confident. He knew he didn't need to rush. He was in control.
Then, in a barely visible blur, he vanished again.
An inhuman scream tore through the air.
I turned just in time to see one of Pascal's clones—a soldier enhanced with the T-virus, with superhuman musculature and endurance—get grabbed from behind. With a single squeeze, Bitores ripped the head clean off the body in one sharp, effortless motion. Blood sprayed like a geyser as the clone's body slumped, limp, like a ragdoll.
Even super-soldiers were just soft flesh to this man.
I backed away, fists clenched, breath short. The air was thick with unbearable tension. I had just realized a simple, brutal, terrifying truth:
This man wasn't an opponent to defeat. He was a calamity to survive.
The heavy silence of the village was shattered by furious growls: a pack of Sirius—those mutant dogs created by Gérald—returned from patrol and charged Mendez with near-military coordination. Their steel jaws clamped down with ferocity, their bodies as large as horses bounding forward at terrifying speed.
Taking advantage of their charge, I quickly switched weapons, grabbing a modified shotgun strapped to my back. The operation took me barely fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds… That's all he needed.
Six Sirius. Chopped, crushed, torn apart.
Eight Pascal clones. Broken, dismembered, disemboweled.
It wasn't a battle anymore. It was an execution. A bloody painting in motion.
When I looked up, Mendez was staring at me from the midst of the mutilated remains of my soldiers and genetically engineered beasts. That smile. That cold, satisfied, almost polite smile.
Then—a roar. Deep. A heavy impact. A ripple in the air.
A shot.
The bullet tore through Mendez's flank with such force that his body was thrown sideways. He growled—grunted—for the first time, he actually reacted. The torn flesh smoked black from the impact. He turned his head toward the source of the shot.
Forest.
Until now, he had remained in position on the rooftop of a house 200 meters away, shouldering his anti-tank rifle. Thank God he had insisted on bringing it. His intervention had saved us… for now.
I launched myself toward Mendez, shotgun ready. I pulled the trigger point-blank—the detonation echoed like thunder through the village. But the blast was deflected. He had caught the barrel barehanded, his fingers crushing it like aluminum. A second later, the weapon exploded between his palms.
I let go just in time to save my fingers, rolling aside. In the same motion, I yanked the pin from a fragmentation grenade and hurled it between us. The explosion gave me a brief opening. I stood up, ears ringing, launching a series of synchronized attacks with Forest, who was firing methodically from a distance to force Mendez to dodge or block.
But even under constant pressure, Mendez didn't retreat.
He seemed to be toying with us. Gauging us. Like a lion in the middle of a pen.
"Is that all?" he growled, swatting a clone aside with a backhand, sending it crashing through a building. "Indeed... the only one truly worth my attention among you is Mister King. When I'm done with you, I'll go find him myself."
He charged at me.
I blocked the first strike, dodged the second, but the third — a direct punch to the head — was too fast. Too close. There was no time to avoid it.
BOOM.
A massive stone, over a meter wide, sliced through the air and slammed into Mendez at full speed, hurling him two meters back. The weight crashed down with a deafening thud, raising a cloud of dust and debris.
I turned my head, gasping for air.
Tintin.
Gérald's personal Tyrant, ever imposing, was approaching slowly. He calmly removed his coat, revealing a monstrous mass of muscle, already pulsating with bioluminescent veins. In a blink, his body began to mutate, organic plates opening to reveal bone spikes and reinforced fibers.
Mendez, on the ground, stood up slowly, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. And for the first time since it all began… he truly smiled.
"Interesting... You're a delightful surprise. Show me what your master knows how to create."
The ground shook.
Tintin charged.
I had no intention of playing spectator in this titanic clash, but staying between these two monsters was suicide. The moment Tintin and Mendez lunged at each other, I leapt out of their path, joining the rest of the STARS, who'd had the good sense not to get involved in this madness. Half a second more on that battlefield and I would've ended up splattered like the unlucky Pascal clones who had crossed the colossus's path.
"Enrico!" I barked as I slid behind an overturned cart. "Get everyone organized. Both rocket launchers, the big game rifles — I want all the heavy gear ready to deploy!"
While he executed the order with military precision, I grabbed a bag full of grenades, and most importantly… the ace Gérald had entrusted to me. A last resort I'd hoped never to use.
Behind me, the duel between Tintin and Mendez had taken apocalyptic proportions.
Mendez had the edge in speed. He circled around Tintin with deadly precision, his abnormally long arms slicing through the air in deadly arcs, creating gusts with every swing. But Tintin, in his combat form, gained mass and power by the second. His muscles contracted like steel cables, and his mutant skin was reinforced with living bone plates.
One of Mendez's blows sliced the air — Tintin blocked with his forearm, and though the shockwave rattled the ground, he endured. With a guttural roar, Tintin countered with a shoulder slam that sent Mendez crashing through a building, reducing it to rubble. But the giant rose again instantly, grinning, visibly thrilled by the challenge.
On the rooftops surrounding the battle zone, I spotted Claire and Leon, each positioned to form a perfect triangulated firing line, with Forest stationed at a higher angle. They fired methodically with every opening, aiming for joints or vulnerable spots… but even so, Mendez absorbed it all, his flesh regenerating at a terrifying rate.
Enrico and the other STARS emerged, arms loaded. Two rocket launchers, several anti-materiel rifles, and crates of specialized ammunition. We were ready to intervene if Tintin fell.
But he didn't.
On the contrary, after a brutal exchange, Tintin managed to lock Mendez in an armhold, then followed up with a monstrous knee strike to his side, cracking the giant's ribs. Taking advantage of the opening, he drove his mutated clawed hand through Mendez's chest, impaling him.
Mendez groaned… but instead of falling, he let out a deep, booming laugh.
"Interesting..." he whispered, his eyes gleaming with a sickly light. "You're stronger than I thought. You deserve to see the gift Lord Saddler gave me."
His hand — the one pierced by Tintin's claw — didn't even tremble. On the contrary, it slowly gripped his opponent's forearm.
Then, his body began to swell, veins bulging visibly. His skin cracked, releasing black vapor, while his inflated chest started crushing Tintin's claw from within. A deeper mutation was taking hold.
Tintin instantly pulled back, his hand ripped off in a dry snap. But already, the flesh was regrowing at an inhuman speed.
A heavy silence fell.
A brutal shockwave tore through the air, hurling debris and ash all around us as Mendez's torso exploded outward. This was no longer a mutation. It was a monstrous rebirth. A colossal, abominable form burst forth from his human shell like a demon erupting from hell.
The ground trembled beneath his heavy steps, each impact cracking the stone and lifting clouds of glowing dust.
Before us now stood a creature nearly twenty meters tall, a titanic silhouette barely humanoid. His body seemed woven from charred flesh and exposed bone, as if invisible flames constantly consumed him from within. Twisted, black organic braids — tentacles or massive nerves — waved around him, lashing like whips.
His incandescent eyes, more like infernal beacons, stared down at our group with cruel intelligence. His torso was split open, as if a giant ribcage had been torn away to reveal a burning core, pulsing with energy.
His metallic claws, reinforced and as sharp as guillotine blades, clicked softly as he moved. Every step felt like a death sentence. He had become something older, more malevolent than a mere mutant: a living weapon, built to crush, to grind, to erase.
Enrico, frozen for a moment, let out a breath through clenched teeth.
"...Wesker… I don't think the rocket launchers are gonna cut it at this point."
I didn't even have the strength to disagree.
Even with my reflexes, my strength, my enhancements — I could feel the difference in class. This wasn't a target.
It was a catastrophe made flesh.
Around me, Claire, Leon, Forest, and the others had all stopped firing for a moment, paralyzed by the mere sight of this flaming titan. Only Tintin, already regenerated from his severed hand, prepared to charge back into the fray, muscles taut, his mutated body pulsing under the pressure.
And Mendez, now unrecognizable, looked at all of us…
And he was still smiling.
(Author's Note: I'm sticking my tongue out, Clinfengger hahahaha. Still, I'm adding a few images here for both of Mendez's forms.)