All The King's Horses

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Tragedy

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

*Gyorgy Ligeti - "Requiem"

Disclaimer: Godzilla and "Resident Evil" are properties belonging to Toho Co. Ltd and Capcom respectively. I do not own any of these characters.

Prologue: Arrival

"When he has lost all hope, all object in life, man becomes a monster in his misery."

- Fyodor Dostoevsky

The fire and infection had consumed everything.

Stepping out from the depleted and rusted down Humvee, Chris Redfield moved cautiously and quietly past the crushed cars as buildings crumbled all around him, glancing slowly around at the ruined outskirts of the city, taking everything in. Huffing into his gas mask, Chris' breath steamed up his visor with each exhalation, his old, worn and filthy BSAA uniform, combat fatigues and gore-encrusted kevlar body armor clinging tightly onto him as if they were a second skin.

It had been five years since that fateful day.

Five years since the endless night rose and cast its gigantic and horrifying shadow across the world. All that was left lay in ruins. In spite of his best efforts, in spite of his hopes, after years of endless fighting, after years of persevering no matter the odds, no matter how many lives he lost, Chris was reaching his limits.

After years of traversing the hellish wastelands, endlessly searching for something worth saving, something worth living for, he found himself faced with a grim realization.

At first, Chris tried convincing himself that someone was still alive out there somewhere, that he hadn't searched hard enough, or that there were people in hiding, living in shelters, perhaps deep underground, people in desperate need of help, but the more he searched, the more bleak and despairing his views became.

He had searched every town, every city, no matter how badly ruined.

Well, every city and town that hadn't been as badly irradiated, that hadn't been crawling with those things, which was rare enough.

He had searched every radio channel, every frequency, every broadcast.

Every vehicle, every building, house, any piece of shelter that he was fortunate enough to come across.

Nothing could be found - the airways were as dead as the zombies wandering the Earth.

Chris remained still, his form shifting with discomfort.

He tried convincing himself that he just hadn't tried hard enough, that he would find someone eventually...but after a while, he was just too tired.

He was tired of the endless struggle. He was tired of fighting. Even worse...he was tired of lying to himself all the time.

Finally, he was forced to accept the harsh, sobering truth, a truth that he had trouble reconciling with.

He was the only person left. The last surviving human.

Chris remained fixed to the spot as he exhaled through his mask, staring solemnly to the ground.

It was a depressing thought, a realization that made him numb with each passing moment.

As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, Chris knew how hopeless it was to keep living in denial. It had been years since he saw a person.

Well, a living person, anyway.

The last living person he remembered seeing was Jill, just moments before a loose brick struck him in the head, rendering him unconscious for God knew how long.

Chris couldn't even remember the last time he even heard a human voice, let alone any sound that he would have quickly associated with humanity.

The screaming from the living had long ceased to be heard - only the dead and damned cried out and walked in their place, crawled along the war-torn Earth, tormenting the former agent day and night, no matter where he went.

Looking down at the rifle in his hands, Chris stared down at the barrel, quietly contemplating his fate. Part of him wanted to end it right here and now. Another part of him, however, refused to give in. Why he wouldn't, Chris had no idea.

It was a fool's errand in terms of what he was attempting to do, after all.

It wasn't as if he had anything left worth living for.

Staring morosely at his weapon, Chris brushed his finger against the trigger.

'Just end it already,' part of him whispered.

Closing his eyes, Chris allowed the barrel to drop, his broad shoulders sagging.

He couldn't do it.

Lifting his eyes to the horizon, he saw the dimming sun ahead of him, the former agent frowning at the sight of dark clouds that crept toward him.

There was a storm coming - if he's going to be confronting his target, he'll need to do it quickly, otherwise he'll have to find shelter somewhere and wait for it to pass.

Adjusting the straps of his backpack, Chris continued on down the path of ruin and nightmares, his soul troubled and weary.

* * *

Everywhere he looked, everywhere he stepped, death greeted Chris, a constant and faithful companion that accompanied him where ever he walked.

Passing by a burnt down school and a charred playground, Chris heard the spectral cries of screaming children, his eyes lingering on the smoldering and blackened swing sets, the chains still swinging and creaking, still smoking.

Further down, he saw a collection of tanks, jeeps, and other abandoned military vehicles amidst a collection of ruined suburban houses. One or two of them had been knocked over on their sides, while some of the houses themselves were just barely standing.

One house seemed to have been in development at the time the incident had occurred, leaving it unfinished, its exposed foundations making it look like a stripped carcass.

"I wonder if the guys working on that had been paid," Chris mused to himself.

He kept walking onward down the street, taking in all of the damage.

He spotted some crushed and blackened bodies, a bloodied twisted hand sticking up from a debris pile as if the owner of it were trying to seek help, but part of Chris couldn't help being reminded of something else altogether.

In some sick way, he was reminded of a disgusting flower.

Taking in the various military vehicles and bodies, Chris saw the scenario play out in his mind's eye as it had occurred - he heard the COs barking out orders, the air ringing with distantly phantasmal cannon and machine gun fire, the sounds of bombs whistling and exploding on impact.

He heard screams of soldiers as their flesh sizzled, their bones snapping and crunching as ungodly feet trampled over them.

Standing up straight, the former agent saluted his fallen brethren, an alien gesture that felt almost unnatural to him, something he hadn't done in a long time.

As he finally dropped his arm back down, Chris turned away to continue in his trek, his heart growing heavier with every step.

In a burned out parking lot, he saw charred bodies, some of them still inside of their vehicles, while infected munched on their remains, none of them giving Chris any notice as he stealthily went by.

Everywhere he looked, Chris saw some form of horror, some moment of everyday life that had been upended and twisted into a gruesome parody, some moment that spoke of tragedy, of despair.

He heard the phantom screams of civilians, the insane ramblings and cackling laughter of the mad and broken, the latter whispering and bubbling up into his ears as he visited these various locales, some of them speaking in his own voice.

Navigating his way around the fissures, craters and bombed out roads, Chris shuddered, avoiding the urge to throw up in his own mask upon noticing the mangled humanoid remains within them, their forms torn apart, some of them scattered everywhere.

Flies buzzed noisily around in the air, with maggots crawling around on some of the pieces.

Despite their condition, they looked relatively fresh.

Part of him wondered how they were able to survive for so long, and if there had been anyone left.

Swatting some flies out of his masked face, Chris scrutinized the remains carefully.

He could see a piece of a femur here, a rib or two there.

Bits of skull.

Brain.

Jawbone.

What looked unmistakably like teeth.

So many other parts, all dark and sticky-looking.

He shook his head slowly.

It was amazing how fear could strip away even the most capable soldier or unit of their ability to perform efficiently.

From the damage, the soldiers had been recklessly shelling in a blind panic.

As a result, a number of buildings and vehicles ended up being reduced to rubble, the people unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire into bits of meat.

If anyone had been lucky- or, perhaps, unlucky- enough to have survived, chances of their continued survival seemed nil.

Turning his gaze away, Chris moved further down the street, taking a right at the corner when he froze.

A number of structures were burning, including one building that seemed to be staring down at him like a horribly lit, oversized jack-o'-lantern that bathed the road orange.

Blinking for several moments, the agent couldn't help musing on the comparison.

In a way it seemed kind of appropriate.

With the exception of him, all that was left of humanity now lied in smoldering ruins, and every day was Halloween.

'Mad world,'  he mused to himself.

As the thought crossed his mind, Chris resisted the urge to laugh - not so much out of fear that he would attract unwanted attention, but more so for fear of his being unable to stop.

He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed.

At least, in a way that didn't make him cringe.

All that he knew was that the last time that he tried, he ended up being bothered by the sound.

He couldn't figure out why it was.

Perhaps it was because of how demented he had sounded, how broken he sounded.

Whatever the reason, Chris couldn't deny that mirthful laughter, along with humanity, had no place in this world.

Not anymore.

It was then that a different kind of laughter made Chris seize up, drawing up his weapon and aiming in every direction, searching for the source.

A minute later, the sound stopped, causing him to shakily lower his rifle, his form stiff and on edge.

Jesus, it wasn't enough that the undead would howl with hellishly long wails, voicing their insatiable hunger like a nightmarish choir in the distance, but the fact some of the goddamned things would sometimes cackle, actually laugh themselves...

Chris shuddered.

He didn't know why they would laugh sometimes.

Perhaps there were traces of humanity within them still?

Perhaps it was trace memories from their pre-existing life?

Perhaps it was some new form of communication, even?

Perhaps they were evolving themselves?

Whatever the reason, Chris absolutely hated it.

He had spent so long in this dark world that he learned to recognize the distinctive cries and calls, learned to adapt to deal with these hellish denizens, learned to avoid them whenever he could.

And yet, he remained on alert, his weapon partially raised and ready for action at a moment's notice.

'Sounds like an awful lot of them,' the former BSAA agent thought grimly as he listened to the wailing in the wind.

Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that his Humvee had run out of gas when it did before arriving here.

He gave a dismissive scoff.

Some comfort.

Or, perhaps it wasn't luck at all.

Maybe it was part of the Redfield curse.

The commando stared gravely to the ruined concrete ground, his mood blacker than the charred asphalt on which he stood.

Chris had never been a believer in the supernatural, let alone karma...but...given everything that had happened, however...on some level...part of him wondered if he actually had been cursed, if he had done something wrong in some prior life that he didn't know about to be in the position that he's currently in.

As he continued to walk deeper into the ruined ghost town, Chris quietly contemplated the nightmare that the world had become.

Street signs were worn and bloodied, making it impossible to tell what they had said. Store glass windows were smashed, their contents in disarray, their shelves barren, some of them even toppled carelessly over. Whether they had been knocked over by people or by the creatures, it didn't matter - all Chris knew from looking at them was that a lot of the buildings had been picked clean.

He shook his head.

Fuckin' looters.

Were he in a pragmatic mood, he would have searched the buildings for supplies such as food, ammunition, maybe even some gas in order to be sure, but Chris wasn't feeling particularly pragmatic at the moment.

Not entirely.

Turning another corner, Chris froze, his attention fixed on the street before him.

The various buildings looked relatively well preserved, albeit with some faded lettering here and there, but they had been abandoned for so long that they ended up completely covered with vines and plant life, including what seemed to be variants of the Plant 42 specimen from the mansion all those years ago.

Curling his mouth in disgust at the sight of the plants, Chris tightened his grip on the handle of his rifle.

If it wasn't for the fact that he wanted to conserve ammunition, he'd have burned the fucking things down, blow them all to kingdom come, along with all the other fucking monsters running through the city.

Unfortunately, he couldn't - every round mattered. He couldn't afford to draw the attention of that godawful horde, not when he's on the hunt for the one responsible.

Every bomb and bullet at his disposal was meant for him - nobody else.

Chris was on a mission, and by God he was going to see it through to the bitter end. He couldn't afford wasting time or bullets, let alone explosives, not when he was so close to his objective.

Hearing a crack, Chris' ears perked up in alert as he suddenly froze like a deer in the headlights.

Drawing up his weapon quickly out of reflex, the former agent felt himself tense as a building collapsed a couple blocks away, filling the street up ahead with smoke and debris, but it was the thunderous though distant booms and that distinctive, bellowing, siren-like roar that had immediately drawn Chris' attention, making his heart rate spike.

The agent narrowed his eyes.

He was here.

Clutching his weapon, Chris proceeded toward the source, moving deeper into the decaying city, into the deep, enveloping fog and debris cloud-covered street.