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She waited to see if he was finished and then laughed, long and loud. Wesker felt himself flush. It was clear from her tone exactly what she thought of his re– quest.
Fine. Nice time is over. Wesker stepped forward and held out his hand. "We want a sample of T-Veronica," he said, the gloss disap-pearing from his voice. "And I'm going to have to insist that you give it to me."
As she started down the stairs, for just a second he thought she was going to do it, but then she started to change, and he stopped thinking anything. He could only stare, his awe returning tenfold. A step down, and her dress burned away in searing veins of golden light, the light coming from her body. Another step, and her flesh changed, turned a deep gray, her hair disappearing, gray flesh locks growing from the top of her head and flopping down to frame her face. Her nakedness was transformed with her next step, as rough, pebbled armor grew over one leg and her groin, curled up to support a rounded breast, to cover her right arm. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she no longer resembled Alexia Ashford. His breath taken away, Wesker reached for her – and with the back of her hand, she struck him, and then he was flying, landing in a heap by the front door.
Such power!
He stood up, understanding that force might be use– ful, and prepared himself to move, to use his own power…… and with a smile, she waved her hand and fire burst up from the marble floor, lines of it surrounding nun, beckoned to life by her slender fingers. She lowered her hand and the flames went down but didn't die, still burn– ing from stone, from bare stone. Wesker knew then that it was over. If she chose to spare him, he'd be lucky. Without another word, he turned and walked out, ru
Her disappointment was past. The girl and her boy would die, and then she would indulge herself with the young man.
SIXTEEN
THROUGH THE ROOMS AND HALLS OF A MAN-sion, Claire had run, afraid to hear him scream again, afraid not to because she didn't know where to look. Past the plushly decorated halls she found herself in a prison area, cells on either wall, the environment cold and dark once more. A lone virus carrier reached for her from behind bars, wailing.
"Steve!"
Her voice echoed back at her, full of tension and fear, but Steve didn't answer. There was a thick metal door to her right, different than the others, reinforced by bands of steel. She opened it, stepping into a small, bare room that opened into a much larger one.
"Steve!"
No answer, but the bigger room was long and dimly lit, a kind of huge hall, and she couldn't see what was at the other end. She saw that there was a suspended gate between the small room and the hall, which definitely gave her pause. She looked around and found a piece of broken wood on the floor, then wedged it between the outer door and its frame, not wanting to end up locked inside. She hurried into the giant hall, intimidating, over– sized statues of knights lining the heavily shadowed walls, her anxiety growing with every passing second. Where was he, why had he screamed? She was halfway down the hall when she saw him, slumped in a chair at the far end, some kind of restrain– ing bar across his chest.
Oh, God…
Claire ran, and as she got closer she could see that the bar was a huge ax, a halberd, the blade firmly entrenched in the wall next to him. He seemed very small and very young, his eyes closed and head down, but she could see that he was breathing, and felt less anxious. She reached his side and pulled at the giant axe, but it wouldn't budge. She crouched next to him, touching his arm, and he stirred, opened his eyes.
"Claire!"
"Steve, thank God you're all right, what happened?
How did you get here?"
Steve pushed at the long ax handle but couldn't move it either. "Alexia, it had to be Alexia, she looked just like Alfred – she injected me with something, she said she was going to do what she'd done to her father, but she
was going to get it right this time…"
He shoved at the ax again, straining, but it wasn't moving. "In other words, she was whacked. I guess she and Alfred were pretty close after all…"
Steve trailed off, his cheeks suddenly flushing with color. His hands started to twitch, his body trembling. "What is it?" Claire asked, afraid, so afraid, because his body was hunching over, his fingers clenching to fists, his eyes wild and terrified.
"Cuh… Claire…"
His voice dropped an octave, her name becoming a growl, and then he was writhing in the chair, his clothes ripping. He opened his mouth and a liquid moan came out, frightened at first but then angry. Furious. "No," Claire whispered, started to back away, and Steve grabbed the halberd, wrenching it out of the wall, standing up. His body continued to hunch over, his head dropping down, muscles rippling beneath skin that was turning a gray green. Spikes rose up from his left shoul– der, two, three of them, as his hands elongated, as a giant, bloodless wound grew across his back, as his eyes turned red and animal. The thing that had been Steve Burnside opened its mouth and screamed, enraged, and Claire turned and sprinted away, sick with loss and fright, ru