Resident Evil: The Dead Must Breed (Zombie/Monster Evolutions Fanfic)

Chapter 51: Chapter 51: Into The Mist

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god."

Rebecca’s knuckles were bone-white as she clung to the thick fur at the base of Ghosty’s neck, her thighs clamped tight around his broad back. The wind whipped past her face, tearing at her bandana and threatening to rip her cowboy hat clean off her head. She ducked lower, pressing her cheek against his warm, soft fur as the treetops blurred beneath them.

They were flying.

Actually, genuinely, flying.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a dizzying cocktail of terror and pure, unfiltered exhilaration flooding her veins. She’d been in helicopters before but this was nothing like the safe, enclosed cabin of a Black Hawk. There was no metal hull between her and the open sky, no harness strapping her into a secure seat. Just her, a seven-foot mutant bat, and a few hundred feet of empty air between her ass and the unforgiving forest floor.

This is insane. This is actually insane.

Ghosty banked left, his massive wings tilting smoothly as he swept around a particularly tall pine. Rebecca’s stomach lurched, her grip tightening as gravity momentarily abandoned her. A breathless, startled laugh burst out of her throat before she could stop it.

"Holy shit!" she gasped, her voice barely audible over the rushing wind. "Ghosty, you’re going to give me a heart attack!"

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he picked up speed, his powerful wings beating in a steady, rhythmic cadence that sent them soaring over the dark canopy. The moonlight painted the treetops in shades of silver and black, stretching endlessly in every direction.

Rebecca risked a glance down, immediately regretting it. The ground was way too far away for comfort. Her fingers dug deeper into his fur, her legs squeezing his sides like a vice.

Okay. Don’t look down. Do NOT look down.

She forced her eyes forward, focusing instead on the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, the warmth radiating from his body cutting through the freezing mountain air. Despite the terror clawing at her chest, there was something oddly... peaceful about this.

Up here, there were no zombies. No leeches. No grotesque monsters trying to claw her face off. Just the wind, the sky, and the quiet, steady rhythm of his wings.

Her racing pulse began to slow. She let out a shaky breath, her death grip on his fur loosening slightly.

This is actually kind of... nice.

She hated how safe she felt right now. Hated how natural it was to bury her nose into the thick fur at the back of his neck and just breathe. His scent had stopped startling her hours ago—now it was just... there. Familiar. Weirdly comforting in a way that made her stomach twist with guilt.

He’s a bioweapon, she reminded herself firmly, her jaw tightening. A mutant. A literal monster engineered by Umbrella to kill people. You can’t trust him.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, her traitorous heart refused to believe it.

Her fingers absently stroked the soft fur beneath her palm. He’d saved her life multiple times. Killed Billy’s reanimated corpse before it could rip her throat out. Carried her through spider-infested basements and centipede-filled cisterns. Hell, he’d even found her clothes when she was half-naked and covered in—

She cut that thought off immediately, her face flushing hot.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Rebecca shifted her weight, trying to get more comfortable, and suddenly became acutely aware of the thick canvas bag still strapped to his thigh. The velvet cords she’d tied were holding strong, the makeshift pack bouncing lightly with each beat of his wings.

At least he kept the pack, she thought, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. Good boy.

The smile vanished as quickly as it came.

No. Stop that. He is not a ’good boy.’ He’s a... a...

Her brain struggled to finish the sentence.

A monster? He’d literally let her go when she begged him to stop earlier. What kind of monster did that?

A threat? He could have killed her a dozen times over by now. Instead, he was giving her piggyback rides through the sky.

Rebecca groaned, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

I’m losing my mind. I’ve been in this forest for less than twelve hours and I’m already losing my mind.

She reached for the radio clipped to her belt, thumbing the transmit button.

"Bravo Team, this is Rebecca. Do you copy? Over."

Static.

She tried again, adjusting the frequency dial.

"S.T.A.R.S. Alpha, this is Bravo medic Rebecca Chambers. If anyone can hear this, please respond. Over."

More static.

Rebecca sighed, clipping the radio back to her belt.

Still nothing. Great.

She looked around, squinting through the darkness. Trees. Just endless, identical trees in every direction. No roads, no buildings, no landmarks. Just an endless sea of dark green stretching to the horizon.

"Hey, Ghosty?" she called out, raising her voice to be heard over the wind. "Where exactly are we going?"

He didn’t answer—obviously, because he couldn’t talk—but his flight path didn’t waver. He just kept flying in a straight line, his wings cutting through the air with confident, deliberate strokes.

Rebecca frowned.

"Do you actually know where you’re going, or are you just... vibing?"

Still no response.

She tightened her grip on his fur, anxiety creeping back into her chest.

What if he’s just flying aimlessly? What if he has no idea where we are?

But even as the thought formed, she dismissed it. Ghosty had been weirdly competent this entire mission. He’d guided her through the Training Facility, solved puzzles faster than she could, and somehow always knew exactly where to go. If he was flying somewhere, he probably had a reason.

Probably.

Minutes dragged on. The forest below remained unchanging, an endless carpet of black and silver. Rebecca’s legs were starting to cramp, her fingers aching from holding on so tightly.

"Any day now would be great," she muttered.

And then, finally, she saw it.

A structure. Breaking through the treeline in the distance, barely visible against the dark sky.

"There!" she gasped, pointing ahead even though Ghosty clearly already knew. "Is that where we’re going?"

Ghosty angled downward, his wings folding slightly as he began their descent. The building grew larger as they approached—a squat, industrial complex surrounded by a chain-link fence. Floodlights illuminated the perimeter, casting harsh shadows across the concrete courtyard.

Rebecca’s eyes locked onto the massive logo painted on the side of the main building.

Umbrella.

Of course it’s Umbrella.

As they dropped lower, she could make out more details. The structure was blocky and utilitarian, all steel and concrete with narrow windows and heavy reinforced doors. A faded sign near the entrance read:

UMBRELLA CHEMICAL PLANT 03 - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

Ghosty touched down in the empty courtyard with surprising grace, his clawed feet scraping lightly against the asphalt. Rebecca slid off his back, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. Her legs wobbled slightly, still adjusting to solid ground after the flight.

She stared up at the factory, her brow furrowing.

"Why the hell does Umbrella have a chemical plant in the middle of the forest?"

It made no sense. The facility was miles from any main road, completely isolated from civilization. There were no trucks, no shipping containers, no signs of regular operation. The parking lot was empty, the windows dark.

Rebecca turned in a slow circle, her hand instinctively resting on the grip of her shotgun.

"Where is everyone?"

The facility was dead silent. No humming machinery, no distant voices, no signs of life. Just the soft rustling of wind through the trees and the occasional creak of metal.

"This mission just keeps getting creepier," she muttered.

A wet crack echoed behind her.

Rebecca spun around, her heart leaping into her throat as Ghosty’s massive bat body began to violently shift. His bones snapped and rearranged, his thick fur receding as his hulking frame condensed and reshaped itself. Within seconds, the seven-foot flying rat was gone, replaced by the familiar, milky-eyed Cerberus.

He shook himself off, his patchy fur settling into place, and immediately trotted up to her. He pressed his wet nose against her hip, letting out a low, insistent bark.

Rebecca blinked.

"What? You want me to go inside?"

He barked again, louder this time, and pushed his head firmly against her thigh.

"Okay, okay! I get it!" She swatted his snout lightly. "We’re going in. Calm down."

Ghosty huffed, his tail wagging as he circled around her legs.

Rebecca took a deep breath, her eyes drifting back to the dark, looming factory.

"Whatever’s in there better be worth it," she muttered, adjusting her bandana and checking her shotgun.

Ghosty barked once more, already bounding toward the entrance.

Rebecca sighed, jogging after him.

Here we go again.

BANG!

The heavy 12-gauge slug tore clean through the corporate shuffler’s forehead, obliterating its skull into a spray of black, congealed slush. The headless corpse folded like a cheap lawn chair, collapsing onto the grimy concrete floor of the processing room.

Rebecca racked the pump-action with a sharp, metallic clack-clack, letting the steaming plastic shell casing clatter against the metal floorboards.

If I ever see another Umbrella logo after tonight, I’m going to assume the janitors carry rocket launchers and the water coolers pump raw T-Virus.

She rested the hot barrel against her denim-clad shoulder, turning toward the far end of the catwalks to check on her monstrous chaperone.

On the other side of the room, Ghosty was engaged in a completely one-sided, sadistic beatdown.

Having mutated back into his seven-foot, chitin-armored, black-and-crimson Hunter Alpha form, he looked like an absolute nightmare. To make matters infinitely worse, he was currently sporting the massive, segmented scorpion tail he’d ripped off the Stinger boss. The standard green Hunter Alpha he was fighting looked like an underfed amateur by comparison.

Ghosty wasn’t even trying to kill it. He was actively playing with his food.

The green Hunter lunged with its scythe-claws, only for Ghosty to casually sidestep, swipe his heavy scorpion tail like a whip, and crack the green B.O.W. straight across the back of its skull. The impact sent the monster skidding across the wet floorboards like a drunk ice-skater.

"Ghosty!" Rebecca called out over the hum of the factory generators, rolling her eyes beneath her cowboy hat. "Didn’t I tell you to stop playing around? We don’t have all night!"

He didn’t even turn around. He just casually wagged his scorpion tail, pinned the green Hunter’s head under his scaly boot, and gave her a lazy thumbs-up with one of his massive, razor-sharp claws.

God, he is such an arrogant menace.

Before she could scold him further, every single hair on the back of her neck stood straight up. A cold, prickling sensation shot down her spine—a hyper-sensitive alarm bell ringing through her nerve endings.

She didn’t think. She didn’t analyze. Her body moved entirely on a terrifying, supernatural instinct she didn’t even realize she possessed.

Rebecca ducked hard, rolling violently backward across the concrete.

SWOOSH!

A green, scaly blur passed through the exact space where her neck had been a microsecond prior. The second Hunter Alpha slammed face-first into the metal control panel behind her, showering the hallway in bright yellow sparks and shattering glass.

Fuck!

Her heart slammed against her ribs, a violent wave of heat surging through her veins. She didn’t hesitate. Scrambling up onto one knee, she rammed the shotgun barrel directly under the Hunter’s disoriented chin and pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

The heavy blast blew a massive crater of green blood and scales out of the monster’s neck. The Hunter screeched, reeling back, but Rebecca was already stepping forward, racking the pump with scary, seamless fluidity.

BOOM!

"Take!" BOOM! "That!" BOOM! "You!" BOOM! "Ugly!" BOOM! "Lizard!"

She dumped every single shell into its chest and face at point-blank range, the sheer concussive force stunlocking the beast and tearing its upper body to shreds. In her adrenaline-soaked mind, the screaming monster in front of her was no longer just a random Umbrella B.O.W.

It was Ghosty. It was his stupid, perverted tongue. It was his massive, ridiculous, knot-swollen dick that had ruined her pelvis and turned her into a dripping, cum-soaked mess three hours ago.

CLICK.

The hammer fell on an empty chamber. The tube was dry.

Any sensible field medic would fall back, open her tactical vest, and slam fresh shells into the receiver. But the adrenaline flowing through Rebecca’s system—fueled by the invisible, viral panacea rapidly upgrading her cellular structure—felt like pure, liquid rocket fuel.

She let out a feral, guttural yell, flipped the heavy shotgun upside-down, grabbed the hot steel barrel with both hands, and brought the solid composite stock down like a sledgehammer directly onto the Hunter’s face.

CRACK!

The stock slammed into its jaw, shattering scales.

CRACK!

"Stop!" CRACK! "Being!" CRACK! "A!" CRACK! "PERVERT!"

She swung the heavy firearm like a baseball bat, repeatedly pulverizing the Hunter’s skull into the concrete floor. Bone splintered. Green blood and black brain-matter splattered across her denim hot pants, her bare midriff, and her boots. She kept swinging, her small frame generating absurd kinetic force with every blow, until the B.O.W.’s head was reduced to a flat, wet pancake on the linoleum.

Haaah... haaah... haaah...

Rebecca stood over the obliterated corpse, her chest heaving wildly, her short hair damp with sweat and monster gore. Her hands were steady, vibrating with an intoxicating, bizarre rush of sheer physical dominance. She felt totally alive.

Holy shit... I just beat a Hunter to death with a gun stock.

The sudden realization washed over her, and the frantic adrenaline fog began to clear.

She blinked, wiping a drop of green sludge off her cheek, and slowly turned her head toward the catwalks.

Ghosty was standing there. The green Hunter he’d been playing with was currently lying beneath his boots, missing its entire lower torso and spilling innards onto the grates. But Ghosty wasn’t eating.

He was staring at her. His massive, scaly jaw was literally hanging wide open, his glowing yellow eyes fixed on her blood-splattered figure in absolute, dumbfounded silence. Even his scorpion tail was frozen mid-air, completely paralyzed by the sheer violence he had just witnessed.

Rebecca’s face instantly burned a scorching, nuclear shade of red.

Oh god. Oh no. What did I just do?!

Mortification crushed her newly acquired bravado in a fraction of a second. She hastily flipped the shotgun back around, holding it in front of her like a nervous recruit, her voice squeaking as she babbled frantically.

"I-I mean... it tried to ambush me!" she stuttered, her eyes darting around the room, avoiding his gaze. "Standard combat tactics! Neutralize the threat with maximum force! I... I didn’t have time to reload, so mechanical impact was the most efficient solution! It’s basic field manual protocol, okay?!"

Ghosty didn’t move. He just slowly shifted his yellow eyes down from her flustered face, past her bare midriff, and settled directly on her blood-stained denim hot pants.

Rebecca’s excuses died in her throat.

A wet, heavy SLAP echoed through the quiet processing room.

Rebecca looked down.

Protruding aggressively from beneath his scaly groin was his ten-inch, ribbed reptilian hemipenis. It was concrete-hard, pulsing wildly, and engorged to a terrifying degree. Thick, scalding ropes of clear pre-cum were already leaking from the blunt tip, splattering onto the floorboards with heavy, rhythmic thuds.

Ghosty let out a low, deep, guttural rumble from his chest—a sound of pure, unfiltered, predatory lust. Watching his thicc, eighteen-year-old medic turn into a bloodthirsty, shotgun-wielding maniac had triggered his Apex Breeding Urge straight into overdrive.

Rebecca’s jaw dropped as she stared at the pulsing, ten-inch battering ram pointed straight at her face.

Are you fucking kidding me?! I just crushed a monster’s skull and it turned him ON?!

Ghosty took a slow, heavy step toward her, his scaly claws clicking against the steel floorboards with agonizing deliberation. The massive, ten-inch reptilian shaft between his thighs twitched aggressively, leaking another hot, viscous drop of pre-cum onto the concrete.

Rebecca’s eyes darted frantically between his glowing yellow eyes and his pulsing, hyper-erect monster-schmeat.

"L-Lets not get c-carried away, okay Ghosty?" she stammered, holding her hands up in a desperate time-out gesture. "We... we have a job to do! We’re investigating a chemical plant!"

Why is he looking at me like I just served myself on a silver platter?! Is violence his love language?! Did my brutal murder spree just turn him into a feral horny lizard?!

She took a cautious step backward. Ghosty immediately matched her pace, taking two heavy, eager steps forward. His nostrils flared, taking a long, deep drag of the air, soaking in her intoxicating blend of sweat, adrenaline, and fresh Hunter blood. A low, purring rumble vibrated through his chest, sounding disturbingly like a purring chainsaw.

"S-Sit!" Rebecca tried again, taking another step back, her voice squeaking as she tried to channel her nonexistent pet-training authority. "Bad B.O.W.! Down! Heel! Leave it!"

Ghosty didn’t leave it. If anything, her pathetic, high-pitched scolding only made his massive scorpion tail swish with eager excitement. He closed the distance effortlessly, his towering, seven-foot frame completely blotting out the overhead fluorescent lights.

Rebecca took one more desperate step back—

THUD.

Her shoulder blades hit the icy, rusted steel of a support pillar. She was out of room.

Oh, fuck me. Literally, probably.

Before she could duck under his arm or make a break for it, Ghosty slammed his massive, razor-sharp scythe-claws into the steel wall on either side of her head, completely caging her in. The sheer heat radiating off his body enveloped her like an open furnace, instantly melting the chill of the factory air.

He leaned his heavy, scaly snout down, hovering barely an inch from her face. His thick, wet breath fanned across her lips, smelling of rich, aphrodisiac-laced cologne and raw, primal dominance.

Rebecca pressed herself as flat against the steel pillar as humanly possible, her small hands pushing uselessly against his furnace-hot chest. She could feel his massive, 10-inch hemipenis pressing right against the front of her denim hot pants, the searing heat of his shaft burning straight through the denim.

"G-Ghosty, please," she whimpered, her face burning so hot she felt like she was going to spontaneously combust. "My pussy is literally still recovering from earlier... you can’t be serious right now..."

His split tongue snaked out of his lipless mouth, giving her cheek a long, warm, agonizingly slow lick that wiped away a smear of green Hunter blood.

Rebecca let out a breathy, involuntary squeak, her knees instantly wobbling as his intoxicating pheromones flooded her senses. She tried to glare at him, tried to muster a single shred of professional dignity, but standing trapped in a slutty cowgirl outfit under a horny, seven-foot lizard monster was officially beyond anything the training manual had ever warned her about.

--

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the Chapter!

A better, kinda more monster sort of image I found of Hunter Alpha here.

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