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

Chapter 57: Chapter 58: Awakening

Rebecca had been sure.

A few seconds ago, maybe less, she’d watched Ghosty disappear into that shimmer and start carving the Tyrant apart. Blood sprayed. The gray bastard staggered. She’d felt this stupid, bright, giddy thing in her chest that might’ve been hope. Her monster was winning. He was going to rip that ugly heart out and then probably pin her against a steam pipe.

Then the Tyrant’s arm moved.

The bone spike went through Ghosty’s stomach and came out his back with a wet, tearing sound. The camouflage flickered and died, and he was just hanging there, impaled, his claws scrabbling uselessly against the gray wrist.

oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck that’s not right.

Rebecca’s hands locked around the grenade launcher. Her finger refused to move. Ghosty was the fast one. He dodged. He turned into a lizard and killed things. He did not get skewered like a piece of meat on a stick.

The Tyrant lifted him higher, and her legs forgot how to work. Her brain kept trying to file the image somewhere, but the drawers were all jammed. Ghosty’s blood ran down the bone spike in thick, dark lines. It pattered onto the floor, and the sound was too loud in the quiet corridor.

he’s just faking. he’s dramatic. he’s going to twist and bite its arm off.

The Tyrant’s other hand came up. Thick gray fingers wrapped around his chest, and then the creature pulled.

The sound was worse than the first one. Wet and deep and wrong. Like someone ripping a roast apart with their bare hands. Ghosty came off the spike with a soft, wet drag, and half of his insides came with him. They spilled onto the grate in a steaming, lumpy pile.

Rebecca’s mouth opened. A sound came out. It was half his name, half a sob, and it didn’t sound like her.

The Tyrant grabbed the scorpion tail. It was still lashing, still fighting, and for one stupid second she thought Ghosty was going to use it to pull free. Then the gray hand twisted, and the tail tore off the base of his spine with a crunch that echoed down the hall.

The Tyrant tossed it aside like it was a broken toy.

Then it threw him.

Ghosty’s body slammed into the bulkhead with a sound like a bag of wet meat. He slid down, leaving a black smear on the steel, and crumpled onto the floor.

He twitched once. His claws scraped against the metal.

Then he went still.

Rebecca waited for him to get up.

The grenade launcher slipped out of her hands. She didn’t remember letting go. The clatter barely registered.

he’s fine. he hit his head. he just needs a second. he always needs a second after he does the big dramatic transformation thing.

Her eyes tracked the pile of black chitin and green scales. The wound in his middle was too big. The blood pooled under him in a spreading black puddle. That was too much blood. She knew it was too much blood. But the knowing didn’t stick. It kept sliding off her brain like water off oil.

dead things don’t twitch. he twitched. so he’s not dead.

The thought was clean. It made sense. She held onto it with both hands.

Her chest felt cold. Her stomach was heavy, still full of him, still warm. The warmth made it worse. A piece of him was still moving inside her, still working, still keeping her safe. If he was dead, it would stop. It hadn’t stopped. So he wasn’t dead.

he’s just tired. fighting is hard. he’s probably exhausted from all the... the thing with the train and the big bug and then shifting into the lizard. that takes a lot out of a guy.

She could work with that. She was a medic. She knew how to be patient with tired people.

Twenty minutes ago she’d been in that office, worrying about maternity leave and whether her parents would notice the whole lizard-dick situation. It had felt so huge. Now it felt small and stupid. She’d give anything to go back to that office. She’d let him do whatever he wanted. She’d stop complaining about the mess.

okay. okay. I’ll be good. I won’t yell at him. I won’t call him a pervert. I’ll let him sleep in the bed. I’ll let him use my mouth. whatever he wants. just make him get up.

The Tyrant took a step forward. The corridor shook.

Rebecca didn’t look at it.

Enrico’s voice cut through the static. "Chambers! What the hell are you doing?!"

She heard him coughing. Wet. Bloody. Somewhere behind her. He was still alive, still dragging himself across the grate, still trying to save her.

"Run! Goddammit, kid, run! It’s coming right for you!"

But she couldn’t run. Her legs were already folding. Her knees cracked against the metal grate, and the pain was far away, like it was happening to someone else.

I can’t leave him. he doesn’t like it when I run. he gets all weird and chase-y. if I run, he’ll think I’m playing a game, and he’ll be so mad when he catches up.

She started crawling.

Not toward the side corridor but rather toward the pile of black armor and green scales. The grey monster watched with a emotionless gaze, whether it was enjoying the scene or just confused about her behavior was only something it could know.

Ignoring the towering creature, she reached near Ghosty. Her hands smeared through the blood pooling on the floor. It was warm. That was the proof she needed. Dead things were cold. Ghosty was still warm. He was just taking a nap.

he’s lazy. he’s so fucking lazy. he sleeps all the time and then acts like he’s doing me a favor when he gets up. I’m not going to fall for it this time. I’m not going to beg.

Her hand landed in a thick, wet pile of something that used to be inside him. It was soft and hot and slick. She didn’t look down at it. If she looked down, she’d have to think about what it was, and if she thought about what it was, she’d have to admit that it wasn’t supposed to be on the outside.

that’s just... that’s just the stuff he ate. from the bug. and the monkey. he was carrying it around and now it’s out. he didn’t need it anyway. he can get new stuff.

The Tyrant’s shadow fell over her. Its heartbeat thudded through her teeth. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Slow and heavy and alive.

Rebecca reached out. Her fingers brushed against Ghosty’s snout. The scales were still warm. His eye was open, milky and blank, staring at the ceiling.

he’s looking at the pipes. he’s probably thinking about how he wants to rip them off and use them as weapons. he’s always thinking about violence. that’s how I know he’s okay.

"Ghosty?" Her voice came out thin and cracked. "Hey. Get up. I’m not gonna carry you."

He didn’t move.

that’s fine. he’s just being stubborn. he wants me to say please. he’s such an asshole about that. he always wants me to ask nicely for the messed-up stuff he does to me.

"Please get up." The words came out wet. Her face was wet. She didn’t remember crying. "I’m asking nicely. See? I’m being good."

Enrico screamed again. "Rebecca, move your ass! It’s going to kill you!"

The Tyrant’s massive hand rose into the air above her. The bone spike was still dripping with Ghosty’s blood. It hung there, ready to come down, ready to pin her to the floor.

Rebecca didn’t raise her hands or even notice his presence. She just knelt there in her stupid cowgirl outfit, her stomach heavy with mutant cum, her face streaked with tears, and she kept talking.

he’s going to jump up and bite its head off. any second now. he’s so strong. my Ghosty is so strong. he’s just waiting for the right moment. he’s always dramatic like that. he likes to scare me a little first.

Her brain fumbled for a solution. He just needed food. That was the rule. He ate the bug, got better. Ate the monkey, got better. So she needed to get him food. The only other warm body in the hallway was Enrico. She could feed him Enrico.

The thought was so clean and practical for a second that she almost moved. Then she remembered Enrico was the captain. She couldn’t feed the captain to her dog. That was against... something. Probably.

maybe I can just drag Enrico over here and let Ghosty take a little bite. just a taste. he doesn’t need the whole captain. just enough to wake up.

The severed scorpion tail lay a few feet away. Her eyes latched onto it. It wasn’t moving, but her brain insisted it was. It wanted to crawl back to him. She believed it. The black chitin was twitching, twitching, trying to find its way home.

see. his tail is moving. he’s putting himself back together. I just have to be patient. medics have to be patient with their patients.

The bone spike reached the top of its arc.

Rebecca leaned forward, just a little. Her hand stayed on Ghosty’s snout. She could feel the faintest vibration under the scales, like a purr that was still deciding whether to start up.

any second now. he’s going to tackle me out of the way. he’s going to pin me down and be all smug about saving me. and I’ll let him. I’ll let him do anything.

She closed her eyes.

I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m being a good girl. just like you want. you don’t have to be jealous. I’m waiting for you.

The heartbeat got louder. The shadow got heavier. The spike began its descent.

Rebecca smiled.

take your time Ghosty. I’m not mad at you. I’m not going to yell at you anymore. you can do whatever you want to my body when you wake up. I promise. just wake up.

The bone spike should have punched straight through her shoulder, pinning her to the floor and she bled out while her guts painted the floor.

But for some reason, her legs just... moved.

Rebecca didn’t even process the motion for a moment as her hip twitched, her knees unbuckled, and her body slid sideways across the blood-slicked metal grate with a strange, fluid grace. The massive bone blade whistled past her ear, missing her cheek by a fraction of an inch, before slamming into the floorboards with a deafening CRACK-CLANG.

The metal grating buckled from the impact as steam hissed from a ruptured line beneath them.

Rebecca stared at the floor where she’d been sitting a second ago. The world felt heavy, syrupy, as if time itself had been dumped into a bucket of cold molasses. She could hear the individual drops of blood falling from the Tyrant’s wrist. She could see the micro-fractures spreading across the bone spike.

wait... what? how did I... did I move?

The Tyrant yanked its arm backward. The sudden movement whipped the bone blade out of the floor, and a fresh spray of dark, thick blood—Ghosty’s blood, still warm from his ruptured arteries—slapped across the right side of her face.

It wet her cheek, coated her cheeks, and splashed directly into her open mouth.

All she felt was the taste. Metallic, salty, laced with that sweet, intoxicating petrichor scent that always made her throat go tight.

His blood.

She licked her lips unconsciously, swallowing the warm, metallic fluid. A jolt of electric heat buzzed straight down her spine, pooling in her stomach, right where his massive load was still sloshing around inside her womb.

Unaware, she didn’t notice how down beneath her skin, along her jawline and down her neck, faint black veins pulsed briefly beneath her pale skin, spreading like ink in water before settling into her capillaries. The white of her right eye turned a dark, bruised red, blooming with burst micro-vessels that she didn’t feel at all.

Her brain, previously frozen in a flatline of denial, suddenly snapped into a frantic, hyper-active gear.

he’s not dead. he’s just... injured right? injured and empty....

The thought blossomed in her mind, bright and sharp and totally unquestionable. It made so much sense that she almost laughed out loud.

of course he’s empty! he used all his fuel! he shifted into the lizard, he used the tail, he did the invisible thing... he burned through everything he had! he’s just like a car with no gas!

Her eyes darted from Ghosty’s limp, mangled snout to the gaping, hollow hole in his chest where his guts used to be.

what does he use for gas? biomass. meat. he ate the scorpion and grew a tail. he ate the monkeys. he ate those gross centipedes.

Her gaze dragged upward, tracking the thick, gray legs of the creature looming over her. Her red-tinted vision locked onto the massive, eight-foot frame of the Proto-Tyrant.

look at all that meat.

It was huge. It was towering. It was hundreds of pounds of thick, dense, virus-mutated flesh.

it’s a buffet. it’s a fucking all-you-can-eat buffet for him.

A strange, bubbling sensation rose in her chest. It wasn’t fear anymore. Fear was useless. Fear was for people who didn’t have a two-hundred-pound hellhound waiting for his dinner.

if I chop this big bastard up... if I peel its skin back and stuff the pieces into Ghosty’s mouth... he’ll wake up. he’ll eat it, and his chest will close up, and his tail will grow back, and he’ll be fine.

Her fingers twitched against the cold steel of the floor.

what if it’s not enough? what if one big monster isn’t enough to fill him up? what if he needs more? what if he needs... ten of them? twenty?

Her teeth clicked together as her jaw set tight.

then I’ll go get them.

The logic was completely sound to her. It was pure, beautiful medical science.

I’ll shoot every single rotting thing in this whole fucking building. I’ll go back to the forest. I’ll hunt down every dog, every spider, every zombie suit in the mountains. I’ll blow their legs off and drag them back here by their hair. I’ll make a mountain of meat right on top of him until he eats his way out.

Her hand slid across the floor, her fingers wrapping around the cold steel handle of the grenade launcher. She picked it up with one arm, not even noticing that the heavy military weapon felt as light as a plastic toy in her grip.

The Viral Panacea coursing through her bloodstream was rewriting her muscle density, but her brain was too far gone into the dark to care about human biology anymore.

He’s MINE.

The possessive rage flared up, hot and ugly, choking out every single Catholic value she’d ever been taught.

he’s my perverted, ruined, stupid dog. he doesn’t get to die. he doesn’t get to leave me alone in this shithole after what he did to me! who’s gonna stretch me out until I can’t walk? who’s gonna make me scream like a whore on a factory floor? who’s gonna take care of me?!

Her left hand reached down to her waist, snatching the heavy .44 Magnum out of her holster.

Nobody. fucking nobody.

The Tyrant pulled its arm back, coiling its massive, gray shoulder muscles to drive the bone spike down a second time, aiming straight for her chest.

The world sped back up.

The slow-motion fog vaporized, replaced by a sharp, violent clarity.

Rebecca didn’t retreat. She didn’t scream. She didn’t beg.

She shoved the heavy barrel of the .44 Magnum straight up, pointing the hand-cannon directly at the basketball-sized, pulsing, exposed heart sticking out of the Tyrant’s chest.

"Hey, ugly," her voice rasped out, deep and filthy, entirely devoid of her usual polite medic tone.

BOOM.

The Magnum went off like a hand grenade in the narrow corridor.

The heavy .44 semi-jacketed hollow-point round hit the exposed heart dead center.

The impact tore through the thick, glistening cardiac muscle, exploding the organ in a wet burst of black blood and shredded arterial tissue.

The Tyrant’s massive frame froze mid-strike. Its dead eyes went wide as the force of the high-caliber round slammed its chest backward. The creature staggered, taking three heavy, uncoordinated steps backward, its massive bone-spiked arm flailing uselessly as it tried to keep its balance.

A wet, gargling screech tore from the Tyrant’s throat as black blood geysered out of its ruined heart, splashing across the ceiling and walls.

Rebecca stood up.

She didn’t wobble. Her knees, previously weak and trembling, held her weight with effortless, unnatural strength. She held the heavy grenade launcher resting casually in her right hand like a handbag, while her left hand kept the smoking Magnum leveled right at the creature’s head.

She wiped a streak of Ghosty’s dark blood across her cheek with her sleeve, smearing it into her skin, her single red eye glowing in the dim emergency lights.

"Not so tough in the heart, are you, you piece of shit?" she snarled, her voice shaking with an unhinged, dangerous laughter. "Stay right there. Don’t you fucking move."

She licked her lips with almost a tasteful manner, unaware of the black veins covering her skin and the eyes which had turned red as she whispered

"Because my dog is hungry..."

[To Be Continued]

A/N: Aye Aye, Sorry for late update. Had overslept after an all nighter.

Don’t forget to donate powerstones!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You can support the author and read advanced Chapter at patreon:

www.patreon.com/HornyShitler

boosty.co/hornyshitler (for those who can’t use patreon)

You can check out the story at my website:

cornyshitler.pages.dev

Discord Invite Link:

discord.gg/7fCsqsFecD

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!