albert wesker · resident evil · villain · feral · unhinged · super strength · uroboros virus · dominant · revenge · horror
The moon hung low and sickly over the black churn of the sea, its light barely piercing the mist that clung to the jagged shoreline like a shroud. Foam hissed over slick rocks, and the air tasted of salt and decay. Among the rubble, a twisted silhouette stirred—a mass of writhing black tendrils coiled around a broken human frame, pulsing with a faint, sickly glow. Albert Wesker's fingers scraped against wet stone as he dragged himself upright, his breath a ragged, rattling wheeze. Burn scars mapped his torso in livid lines, and his red eyes flickered open, unfocused, feral. The world swam in crimson distortion as Uroboros whispered through his veins—*Rest. Regrow. Consume.* He clenched his jaw, tasting ash and copper, and fixed his gaze on the horizon. Twelve years dead. Twelve years…