Stretching, I studied the Tyrant's carcass with doubt. On the one hand, snacking on it would be useful. On the other… there was no way all of that would fit inside me! Especially since I was already full after drinking its blood and eating Birkin's arm. I even had the distinct sensation that I'd consumed more than the big brute actually contained—but at the time I was so hungry that control over my body had slipped straight into the hands of instinct. That hadn't happened to me in a long while—almost a full day!
Cutting my way out to freedom, I also practiced what you might call "waste-free production," since there was simply nowhere to put the chunks I carved out of the body. I had to eat them. So, yes, one could say I was full. Fine—I'll leave the rest to the birds. The crows had already settled in all around the place anyway.
And only once I had finally climbed out of the Tyrant's body did I notice a couple of inconsistencies.
I had clearly grown taller, though I still remained within human proportions—which was reassuring. I was completely dry, which made sense: even though I'd crawled out through its body, there was no blood left in it, and I can absorb blood even through my skin. Being bare-chested to the waist wasn't a problem either—the main thing was that the Umbrella trooper's uniform pants were intact; the rest could be dealt with.
What bothered me more was that I was no longer dark purple.
To all appearances, my skin looked entirely normal again—not even deathly pale, but rather just a shade lighter than that of a healthy person. Feeling myself over, I came to the conclusion that if I didn't open my mouth too wide or smile, I wouldn't really stand out from humans at all. When I tried to cut myself, I broke the knife. That was reassuring—the properties of my skin were still there. As I understood it, this was my third stage. But it was… oddly human.
In the reflection of shattered glass, the only things that distinguished me from an ordinary person were my fangs, the color of my irises (blood-red—who would have doubted it?), and, perhaps, my hair. It had grown far too long, reaching my shoulder blades, and looked as if it had never once known what a "comb" was. Though that last point was less a difference from humans and more a resemblance to the lower strata of human society. In other words, I'd gone full hobo.
"I should've called myself Alucard," I said, tilting my head to the side. But what's done is done—I'd already grown used to my current name, and besides, it was less overused.
No, the resemblance wasn't complete, but if you put it into percentages, I looked about eighty percent like that epic bloodsucker. Maybe relatives? Just kidding, of course. It's unlikely anything like that existed in this world before—I'm practically a pioneer here.
And as for overeating… something really is off.
I can feel not just Birkin's blood (from his arm) and the Tyrant's inside me. I also have the mercenaries' knowledge. Son of a mouse! I need to get Yamata out of there—the second squad went after her. Knowing the nature of an easily distracted scientist, they might just catch her completely off guard!
***
At the same time.
Laboratory Complex beneath Raccoon City.
Carefully peeking around the corner, the Four Eyes snapped her head back just as quickly. The encounter with a new Umbrella group had taken place at the very spot where she'd first met the Tyrant—but this time she was on the other side, and blocking the doors was no longer an option.
Holding the image she'd just seen in her trained memory, Yamata thrust her arm out from behind the partition she was hiding behind, assault rifle clenched in hand, and opened fire. Short, clipped commands and curses immediately rang out from the other side—the latter clearly in the lead. Unfortunately, that kind of suppressive fire was nowhere near enough to kill them. Damn those suits. It took almost a full magazine to put down a single opponent, and there were about fifteen of them in that squad. With a sigh, the Four Eyes noted that even with her reserves, she wouldn't have enough ammo—especially considering the sniper holed up somewhere who somehow managed to shoot only at weapons.
I need to take this into close combat, Yamata realized with sudden clarity. But I'm far from an expert at that… Cain, where the hell are you when you're actually needed?
First, she had to neutralize the sniper—otherwise there wouldn't be any close combat. Then she could burn through the couple of rifles she'd brought along, and once they ran dry, actually engage the enemy. Even if she was worse than some of them in knife work and hand-to-hand combat, the capabilities of the infected would make up for it.
The acceleration—though not nearly as powerful as that of the one who had made her this way—proved absurdly useful. Darting swiftly from one partition to another, Yamata mapped out the enemy positions far better than she ever could by simply peeking. Reaching the corner, she had to press herself flat against it, avoiding gunfire from the room. For those positioned to the left of the doorway, she was standing in an easily covered kill zone.
But I've got you too, my darlings, Yamata snorted predatorily. And unlike you, I'm protected by more than just a suit. The main thing is not to take a bullet to the head—and even that's not a guarantee.
(End of Chapter)
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