The Gothic mansion, faintly visible in the night and firelight, resembled an ancient behemoth that had slumbered for centuries. Compared to the military ruins behind them, which had been completely ravaged by war and death, this place felt like a world of a different dimension.
The four people passed through the twisted and broken wrought-iron fence, and the feeling under their feet changed from hard, shattered concrete to soft, damp lawn.
The acrid smell of gunpowder in the air was replaced by a cloyingly sweet fragrance, a mixture of rotting leaves, damp soil, and some unknown wild flower.
The scent, like rotten velvet soaked in formalin and cheap perfume, enveloped them, making their chests feel tight.
"Oh~" Leon switched the safety on his broken butterfly, slid it back into his quick-draw holster, and dramatically spread his arms as if to embrace the eerie tranquility,
"We jumped straight from the Hell volcano crater into a vampire's backyard. I'm starting to miss those zombies that just stupidly stumble forward; at least their goal was simple."
Ada ignored his banter, her sharp, almond-shaped eyes scanning the surroundings inch by inch.
The distant firelight shone through the stained glass, casting a bizarre, grotesque halo, like a sanctuary of Hell.
"Don't drop your guard," her voice was cold as ice, sounding exceptionally clear in the overly quiet environment. "The Family capable of building a place like this—their way of thinking won't be any more normal than the monsters infected by the virus."
Claire subconsciously gripped Noah's hand.
This place gave her a sense of oppression, a feeling of déjà vu originating from the depths of her Soul.
That was another starting point for the Raccoon City nightmare.
Noah squeezed her hand tighter in return, his warm palm conveying silent comfort.
His gaze was also fixed on the enormous mansion, his eyes calm as water.
Unlike the others who felt sinister and bizarre, he sensed something purer from the architecture—an extreme, pathological arrogance.
A mad arrogance that placed one's own will above all ethics and life in the world.
This was the essence of the Ashford Family... Meanwhile, in a corner of this huge mansion.
Steve Burnside was moving cautiously along the cold wall, like a startled mouse.
The sudden, violent bombing, like divine retribution, was nothing short of a miracle to him.
The deafening sound of the explosion tore apart the prison walls, and also tore apart the guards watching him.
When he awoke from his coma and found himself lying on a pile of cold rubble, surrounded by burning ruins and incomplete corpses, he first felt bone-deep terror, followed immediately by ecstasy.
He found the key among the debris and unlocked the shackles on his wrists and ankles.
He was free.
Free from that damned, windowless, damp, and moldy cell.
Following the ecstasy came a hatred, like a volcanic eruption, capable of incinerating his sanity.
His father, an ordinary Researcher for Umbrella, had secretly copied some of the company's research data, hoping to exchange it for money that would allow his whole Family to escape. For this, Umbrella's deranged executioners slit his throat right in front of him, like slaughtering a chicken.
His mother had her head shattered by a bullet amidst desperate screams.
And he was treated as the "Descendant of a Traitor" and locked up in this living Hell.
He wanted revenge.
He wanted Umbrella to pay for the blood debt.
This thought, like a black seed, rooted and sprouted madly in his heart, supporting him as he passed through mountains of corpses and seas of fire, avoiding the staggering monsters, until he finally reached this enormous mansion, which seemed to be the core of the entire island.
The mansion's main doors had been blasted open by the explosion.
He slipped inside and began frantically scavenging for anything useful.
Ammunition, First Aid Spray, or a weapon more powerful than the worn-out pistol he had picked up from a dead guard.
As he searched, he couldn't help but recall the four people he had encountered earlier in the dormitory building.
Especially the two women.
One was fiery like a flame, with a smile so bright it could melt the permafrost of Siberia;
The other was chilling like ice, every glance and every movement exuding deadly elegance.
They were so unique, powerful, beautiful, and filled with a fatal attraction—creatures entirely from a different world compared to all the girls his age he knew who only chattered about cosmetics and celebrities.
A budding admiration, which he himself was unwilling to admit, coiled around his heart like a vine.
'Once I find a super powerful gun,' Steve secretly calculated in his mind while prying open a locked cabinet, 'then, at the most critical moment, I'll descend like a hero and save them...'
He fantasized about the scene where he would appear before them, dual-wielding guns in an explosively handsome pose.
Fantasizing that the red-haired girl would look at him with eyes full of adoration;
Fantasizing that the Queen in Black would show him a rare trace of approval.
This thought brought a trace of the burning vanity unique to young men to his heart, which had been chilled by hatred.
Maybe... maybe he really could cooperate with them? Based on his vague memories of his father's hidden research materials and his understanding of Umbrella's internal structure, he could definitely be a great help.
He would no longer be a pitiable wretch needing sympathy, but an equal, reliable ally in revenge.
Just then, his gaze was firmly attracted by something on the wall at the end of the corridor.
It was a room resembling a Collection Chamber.
On the velvet walls hung several gloomy oil paintings depicting the successive Family Heads of the Ashford Family.
And right in the center, on an ornate display stand made of obsidian and ivory, two guns were quietly embedded.
Two gold-inlaid Luger P08 Pistols.
Under the dim light, the gun bodies shimmered with a dazzling golden luster.
The elegant toggle-lock mechanism, the slender and classic barrel, the Ashford Family's Eagle Crest inlaid with fragmented diamonds on the grip... all of it radiated a luxurious, classical, yet deadly charm.
"Shit!" Steve's eyes immediately went wide, and he instinctively blurted out a curse.
This thing... this thing is too cool! This is practically a weapon custom-made for him, a born hero!
He practically scrambled and rushed toward the display stand.
Adrenaline mixed with a nearly avaricious possessiveness surged wildly through his veins.
He carefully reached out his hand, as if touching a sacred piece of art.
"It's mine!" he roared excitedly in a low voice.
He forcefully pulled the two Golden Lugers out of their slots. The cold, heavy feeling of gold transferred from his palms, giving him the illusion of holding the entire world.
However, the instant he took the guns.
"Click."
A faint mechanical locking sound rang out.
Immediately after.
"Rumble—Boom—"
A heavy crash that made the entire room tremble.
The only exit behind him was completely sealed by a massive stone door that slid into place from the rear.
Steve's smile instantly froze on his face.
Before he could react, hot steam began to hiss out from the cracks in the room's walls.
The room temperature was climbing rapidly at an alarming rate.
The ornate velvet wallpaper on the walls began to curl, discolor, and emit a scorched smell.
"Hey! What's going on!"
The ecstasy on his face was instantly replaced by terror.
He rushed to the stone door, pushing and smashing it with all his strength, but the door didn't budge.
The air grew thinner and hotter.
Every breath was like inhaling a ball of burning charcoal, searing his throat and lungs.
He felt his skin drying out, and his blood felt like it was about to boil.
The heroic fantasy he had just grasped instantly shattered into the most pathetic remnants of reality.
"Help! Help me!" His voice became sharp and hoarse due to fear and lack of oxygen. "Is anyone out there? Damn it! Whoever you are! Find a way to let me out! Save me!"
The arrogant, avenging lion, in the face of absolute death, reverted to a trembling kitten locked in an iron cage... Noah and the other three had just stepped into the mansion's magnificent and vast main hall, which resembled a cathedral.
Underfoot was a checkered floor paved with black and white marble.
From the towering dome hung a massive, ornate chandelier composed of thousands of crystals.
Although most of the crystals had shattered and fallen off in the blast, the remaining parts still refracted the flickering firelight outside, casting countless shimmering, fragmented spots of light onto the surrounding walls, like will-o'-the-wisps.
A distinctive smell, a mixture of dust, mold, and old book paper, washed over them.
Just then.
A faint, sharp cry for help, seemingly from deep within the walls, reached their ears.
"...Is anyone out there?...Help me!"
The voice was intermittent and full of despair.
Leon's ears twitched. He listened intently for a moment, a playful expression appearing on his face: "Sounds like our 'little hero' has run into some trouble."
Ada crossed her arms, leaning against a Roman pillar carved with intricate patterns, her voice devoid of any emotion: "It certainly sounds like that little boy who's still in his rebellious phase."
Claire, however, showed a worried look: "He sounds like he's in a bad situation. We need to find him quickly."
Following the sound, they walked through a corridor lined with faded tapestries and arrived at a room that looked like a monitoring station.
The room wasn't large; a row of mostly darkened monitor screens hung on the wall.
But on one of the screens, a real-time image was playing clearly.
In the image, a blonde teenager was trapped in a secret room whose walls had been discolored by high temperatures.
He was frantically darting around the small space like a headless fly, clutching two exaggeratedly styled golden pistols tightly in his hands.
"It's him!" Claire exclaimed.
She quickly walked to a metal control console beneath the monitor.
The console was covered with buttons and switches of unknown purposes, looking complex and chaotic.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.
Her gaze quickly scanned back and forth across the buttons.
She noticed that most buttons were labeled in German, but a few were engraved with simple circuit-diagram-like symbols.
One represented "open," one "close," and another was a valve symbol similar to "emergency pressure release."
Her fingers tapped quickly on the control panel a few times.
First, she pressed the "emergency pressure release" button, and a piercing sound of steam hissing erupted from the screen.
The temperature in the secret room seemed to begin dropping rapidly.
Then, she pressed the symbol representing "open."
"Rumble—"
At the other end of the corridor, there was a dull sound of massive stones grinding.
Almost at the same time, the stone door of the secret room slowly receded.
Steve, like a fish thrown ashore, scrambled out of it.
He knelt on the ground, gasping for fresh, cold air, completely drenched in sweat as if he had just been pulled out of water.
He coughed for a while before recovering.
Looking up, he saw the four people standing at the end of the corridor.
The discomfiture and relief on his face were instantly replaced by a feigned surprise and familiarity.
He leaped up from the ground, dusted himself off, and put on what he thought was a sunny and grateful smile.
"Hey!" he greeted loudly, as if the person crying for help just now wasn't him,
"You saved me! I knew you'd come! That's so cool! We're a team now, right? A team! I'm Steve!"
He said it as if it were a foregone conclusion.
Noah didn't speak.
His gaze passed over Steve's face, which screamed "praise me," and landed on the two gleaming golden Luger pistols in his hands.
The Ashford Family mansion was filled with mechanisms that used Family crests and special items as keys.
And these two Golden Lugers were the only keys to open the way to the core area of the mansion—the Private Residence.
"Give me the guns in your hands," Noah said slowly, his voice calm, "I can exchange them for other weapons."
These words were like a basin of cold water poured on the flame of Steve's newly ignited enthusiasm.
The smile on his face faltered slightly.
He instinctively hugged the two hard-won Golden Lugers to his chest, looking at Noah warily, his eyes like a puppy guarding its food.
Immediately after, his youthful pride began to act up.
He couldn't show any weakness or concession in front of these two beautiful older sisters he was trying so hard to impress.
He cleared his still-hoarse throat and struck a pose he had learned from action movies, which he considered incredibly cool.
He pointed one Golden Luger at the ceiling and held the other across his chest, then turned his head, glancing at Noah from the corner of his eye, a devilishly arrogant smirk on his lips.
"Even though we're a team now," he deliberately lowered his voice, making it sound somewhat out of place,
"But, what these babies are exchanged for is up to me..."
He hadn't finished speaking.
A dark shadow flashed before his eyes.
He didn't even see Noah's movements clearly.
The next second.
A piercing pain suddenly erupted from his abdomen.
The pain was incredibly intense, like a red-hot steel needle precisely piercing his nerve center, then violently twisting.
Noah merely retracted his fist lightly, his face still maintaining that calm and unruffled expression.
(He would never admit that he was taking a tiny bit of personal revenge because this guy's gaze at Claire earlier had been too fervent.)
"Ugh..."
Steve's eyes widened abruptly.
All expressions on his face were instantly swallowed by pain.
He couldn't even let out a complete scream.
He curled up sharply like a cooked shrimp, and the Golden Lugers in his hands clattered to the ground.
He knelt on the ground, clutching his stomach tightly with both hands, cold sweat instantly breaking out on his forehead.
"I... I changed my mind..." He squeezed out a few broken words through gritted teeth, his voice reduced to a mosquito-like whisper by the intense pain,
"It's... it's... it's yours..."
Noah bent down and picked up the two Golden Lugers from the ground, weighing them in his hand with satisfaction.
Then he showed a harmless, somewhat mischievous smile.
"That's right, kiddo."
He unclipped a spare beretta pistol with a full magazine from his tactical vest, then asked Leon for his spare pistol, and threw both guns in front of Steve.
Steve endured the severe pain and looked up at the two berettas, gleaming with cold metallic luster, then at Noah's smile that made his teeth itch with hatred, and finally, humiliatingly grabbed the guns.
Without a word, he limped to his feet, clutching his stomach, and ran towards the other end of the corridor without looking back.
Watching Steve flee in panic, Leon gave Noah a thumbs-up.
Ada still leaned against the Roman pillar, expressionless.
Claire, however, shook her head with a mix of helplessness and amusement, then walked over to Noah and gently nudged him with her elbow.
Just then.
In the monitoring room behind them, the screen that had just displayed the secret room's image suddenly crackled and flickered with static.
Immediately after, an old video, like a home movie, began to play.
The scene was in a sun-drenched afternoon room.
A blonde little girl in a noble school uniform was looking with innocent blue eyes at the slightly older blonde boy in front of her.
The boy held a beautiful dragonfly, its wings still faintly trembling.
His face bore a cold, cruel smile, utterly unbefitting his age.
In front of the girl, he smiled and, one by one, cruelly tore off the dragonfly's wings, which were as vibrant as stained glass.
The dragonfly struggled silently and desperately.
Then, the boy threw the wingless dragonfly, now only able to writhe in pain, into a nearby glass tank.
Inside the tank was a dense swarm of black ants.
Almost instantly, the ant colony swarmed over, completely engulfing and devouring the still faintly twitching dragonfly.
At the end of the video.
The boy and girl stood side by side, silently watching the miniature bloody feast unfolding in the glass tank.
They exchanged a smile.
That smile was innocent, pure, yet imbued with a chilling wickedness.
Even more unsettling was that their two faces were almost pressed tightly together.
It was a pathological and extreme intimacy that transcended normal sibling affection.
The video ended abruptly, and the screen reverted to a chaotic static.