A Star's Descent

By evolution-500

Cover by NaiveWriter (aka Multifreak99 on Deviantart)

Disclaimer: House of the Dead and Resident Evil are properties belonging to SEGA and Capcom respectively. I do not own any of these characters.

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

Prologue: The Red Death

July 23rd, 1998

Darkness and decay had begun to settle within the Arklay Mountain region in Colorado.

Roughly fifty miles west of the Rockies, it was an isolated and relatively untouched section of the Midwest that was frequently used as a site of interest for the small town of Raccoon City during tourist season. For anyone that had visited the area during the summer, before the time of rigorously enforced curfews, sightings of strange men in white and other questionable oddities, the mountains were said to have provided a soothing and comforting image of tranquility, their sublime features often equated with that of a kind and watchful uncle by the locals.

And yet, for all of their colorful if not romantic descriptions that they had laid out in the past, the attitudes the townspeople shared in the present were becoming increasingly unfavorable due to recent events. There lingered an uncannily dismal and sordid air about them, looming ominously over Raccoon Forest as well as the town despite it being thirty-five miles further to the south. Instead of providing the idyllic promise of paradise and protection, the lands were now seen as something dark and foreboding. The tall peaks became equated with tombstones, solemn warning signs for all who dared to venture in. Hardly anyone was able to account for the change in atmosphere and for the startling acts of violence committed there, save for bits of gossip and local legendry. What was agreed upon was that there was some sort of corruption at work. Whether it was physical or metaphysical in nature, one would not be able to say with certainty.

On this particular night, there came a troubling suggestion of hubris, as if the very fabrics of space and time were slowly being unravelled to mark the beginning of something horrid.

Trees bristled fiercely within the breeze.

On a small hill, nearby the forest, an open field of flowers could be found with the tell-tale signs of this oncoming miasma.

Once, it was a place of indescribable beauty and elegance with its amazing array of colors. In recent times, though, this miasma had taken its toll on the area, rendering the field into a ghoulish necropolis.

A single raindrop landed onto a red wilted flower, its pitiful few and discolored petals twitching slightly. Gone was its splendour, and in its place was a hideous gnarled hand. As drops gently cascaded down, the leaves of the malformed flowers twitched slightly upward as the wind picked up, swaying them to and fro in unnatural harmony. They clawed at the sky, as if desperately seeking Heaven's solace in some vain attempt to rid themselves of whatever affliction had hindered them.

The moon gleamed brightly over one of the tallest peaks as a secondary light, though much smaller and manmade in origin, made its way through the dark wood. A powerful engine moved it continuously forward, driving it relentlessly toward the lonely town of Raccoon City. Standing overhead, a set of inhuman eyes watched the mechanical goliath approach, taking note of the stylized lettering stencilled along its side that was made visible by the moonlight. The Ecliptic Express wheezed and whistled onward toward the dark wood, brushing past the clawing fingers of nearby trees.

Onboard, people from a variety of different age groups, genders, racial and social backgrounds could be found.

Those who were in the upper economic stratum wore fancy formal suits with ties and beautiful dresses, enjoying themselves their own private car on the top floor, while the rest of the middle and lower strata sat respectively in the lower levels of the train in regular passenger seats, dressed in ordinary clothing, the chairs marked with a red and white pattern that indicated the train's corporate sponsor. On the back of their seats, TV sets flashed on, the introductory videos accompanied by cheesy nineties' style music, the screens marked by aged video lines.

"Welcome to Raccoon City!" the male announcer said from the speakers. "This introductory video has been designed to provide our viewers with information about our great city, the features that make it unique, as well as sites worth visiting.

History: Although its humble beginnings may have started around 1853, five years after the Mexican War, in the form of a fur-trading settlement whose chief products were beautiful raccoon pelts, the origins of Raccoon City were much more contemporary.

Originally an agricultural-based area, it was later rebuilt in 1968 thanks to the extensive building renovations generously contributed by the Umbrella Corporation. Like all other cities before us, we too had our fair share of challenges to overcome, but don't let that deceive you - Raccoon City is home to people of extraordinary resiliency and fortitude.

People such as Mayor Michael Warren, the man who founded this city and fought against corruption despite threats made against him, the incorruptible and courageous Chief Brian Irons, the man who laughs in the face of danger and crime, the brave men and women of the Raccoon City Police Department, and most importantly, our prestigious and elite Special Tactics and Rescue Service officers, or S.T.A.R.S. With these people working tirelessly around the clock to keep the streets clean and its citizens safe, our city has never been safer.

Places of Interest: as with many cities, we have our own historic sites that are worth visiting. Places such as St. Michael's Clock Tower, Raccoon City Hall, Central Station, Warren Stadium, home to the Raccoon Sharks football team, Raccoon Park and, most importantly, Raccoon Zoo, where it is home to our famed mascot, Roger Raccoon. For more information, please visit our website. We all wish you have a wonderful time and hope you enjoy your stay."

Though disparate in terms of social rank, people were mostly merry. One figure quietly glanced to the headlines of the folded collection of old newspapers that he had on his lap.

"Latham Weekly - Raccoon City, June 2nd, 1998 - Bizarre Murders Committed in Raccoon City."

The others chatted, laughed, and ate with no hint of worry as Bobby Darin's Splish Splash started to play on the overhead speakers.

'Splish Splash,
I was takin' a bath.'

CRASH!

'All on a Saturday Night!

YEAAAH!

Rub dub,

Just relaxin' in the tub,

Thinkin' everything was alright!'

Glass shattered, red wine spilling across the carpet. Raising her hands up to her mouth in worry, her eyes wide like saucers, the waitress stood there mortified. Before her, one of the occupants stirred awake in his seat, an individual whose appearance created anxiety among the other passengers, herself included as she gave him a fearful glance. Her supervisor, John Owens, a round, middle-aged man with crescent moon spectacles and the jowls of a bulldog, approached.

'Well I stepped out the tub,

Put my feet on the floor.

I wrapped a towel around me and

Opened the door,
And then a,

SPLISH SPLASH!

I jumped back in the bath,

For how was I to know there was a party goin' on?'

"Is anyone hurt?" Owens asked concernedly.

"N-No, sir," the waitress said.

"You half-wit, this is coming off your wages," the conductor growled lowly so that only she could hear.

"I-I'm really sorry, sir," the poor girl stammered.
"I don't care if you are! Clean this mess up," he said quickly.
The girl nodded, quickly gathered up the glass, and left, her cheeks flushed.

John Owens contemptuously glared at the retreating form of the stewardess, shaking his head with exasperation. Even though the girl was pretty, her head, he felt convinced, was just something to keep a hat on.

'Is it too much for the damn company to hire more competent staff?' Owens wondered bitterly.

Turning back to face the gentleman whose sleep the girl had stupidly interrupted, the conductor gave an apologetic nod.
"My sincere apologies for the disturbance, sir. She's new to the job," Owens explained.
"That's fine," the gentleman assured, his voice deep and resonant yet smooth like liquid silver, "If you don't mind my asking, how much longer do we have to wait?"

Taking out his pocket watch, Owens cast a glance down to check.

"At the rate we're going, we should arrive at Raccoon City by 10:30," he replied.

'Maybe a little later.' Owens added mentally. If it weren't for that stop, they wouldn't be behind schedule. Straightening his face, the conductor tried to force on a polite smile to the strange figure. "Would you like something to drink, sir?"

"I'm quite alright, thank you."
"Well then, I hope you enjoy the ride." Owens beamed, his heart thumping like a hammer slamming repeatedly down on a nail.

Breaking away from the passenger, he moved carefully toward his work station at the back, then hurried his step as soon as the man turned away his head. As soon as he was far enough away from the seated figure, Owens quietly released a sigh of relief before turning back to look at him.

God, that man frightened him!

Despite having met a number of curious characters on the job throughout the years, from men who whistled through their nostrils when they were drunk to performance artists, there had never been anyone to Owens' recollection like the man sitting down.

The figure was seven feet tall, his thin frame clad in a vibrant red trench coat, his collar raised. On his feet were long leather boots that extended above the ankle but six inches below the knee. A pair of silver pauldrons adorned his shoulders, both of which were decorated with what appeared to be a single cross.

'No, not a cross.' Owens corrected himself as he squinted at the symbol. From the eight different points, it appeared to represent a star.
Most of the man's head was concealed by the coat's red hood, which clung tightly around his forehead and neck.

The face was the only area where skin was exposed, the stark whiteness of it making the attendant's own crawl with revulsion. The absence of expression gave it a strangely artificial and mask-like appearance, while the color, he felt, was suited to either that of a worm or a corpse. With its pronounced cheekbones, the face's long, thin, narrow though angular frame, Owens was vividly reminded of a wolf. There was also something feminine about it, too, though he could not put his finger on what that could be.

'Perhaps it had to do with the shape of the eyes?' he wondered puzzlingly.

Thin eye brows were featured over a nose that was slightly long, sharp yet straight, the latter a feature on the face that made it distinctly lupine, its tip perfectly rounded, neither bulbous nor flat. Underneath the nose were thin lips which were complimented by a long chiselled jaw with a pronounced chin.

To Owens, the man was strikingly handsome, or rather would have considered him as such were it not for the pair of vicious-looking scars that adorned his face.

Equal in length, the first pair ran horizontally across his cheeks, barely half an inch under the eyes and approximately one and a half inch long. The second pair, despite being of the same size, were gruesomely more hideous; two slit-like marks ran symmetrically down both sides of his brow, over and under his eyes themselves, the edges resting only about half an inch from the corners of the mouth.

Taken together with the man's ghostly white skin, the scars appeared disturbingly reminiscent to slit clown markings, a fact that churned the conductor's stomach.
'No doubt one of those damn cultists that I've been hearing about.' Owens thought to himself.

Lately there were a number of reports suggesting cult activity within Raccoon City, some of which included murder. The man's appearance was far from coincidental.
He must be one of those creepy occult freaks, Owens was certain of it. Why else would the man have those scars across his face?
Even his sense of fashion seemed to support the notion.
A few hours earlier, when he was going around serving drinks, Owens had approached the seated figure to offer him something, but the passenger's attention was completely fixated on his own arms, which appeared slightly long.

Unnaturally long.

Curious to see what he was doing, the attendant had crept up close enough to peer over his chair. The coat's sleeve was pulled up, allowing him to see what was worn underneath.

At first, Owens had wanted to pull back, feeling that he was becoming too snoopy for his own good, but upon seeing the gauntlet that was worn underneath, his curiosity got the better of him. From elbow to digit, the entire forearm was concealed. Brass rings were pushed up close to the knuckles, tightly restraining the fabric of his gloves and giving prominence to the bones in his hand. In a gratuitous display of his taste for the macabre, black and claw-like decorations, possibly made from ivory and approximately an inch long, adorned the tips of each digit. A similarly-concealed hand worked as it finished tightening on a buckle before proceeding to roll the sleeve back down. When Owens had called for his attention, asking if he wanted a beverage, the figure had immediately turned to face him.

The attendant shuddered as he forcibly called back the memory of the stare-off that had followed.

Fashion and gigantic stature aside, what had inspired feelings of morbid fascination and unease were the eyes, which gave the figure a genuinely haunting and otherworldly air. The conjunctivas in both eyeballs, rather than being white as one would expect in a normal person, were strangely violet and luminescent, the irises slightly lighter in colour. Even more bizarre were the pupils; rather than being rounded, both were slitted, reminding Owens of either a cat or snake.

Staring into those eyes, the conductor felt vulnerable, unable to turn away, practically hypnotised on the spot. It was like the man was delving into his own mental faculties, peering deep into his soul. The attendant recalled how his body had stiffened instinctively upon meeting the man's gaze, put off by its intensity. The pupils were unmoving and direct, so utterly focused on him that Owens felt greatly unnerved by it, for it felt as if he were being scrutinized by the lenses on security cameras.

A strange sensation had crept through Owens as he stared into those eyes, one that he very rarely felt on the job. Fear. Fear in its purest form.

The gentleman had seemed to notice the effect his gaze had on him and apologized, replying that he wasn't thirsty. After making a second apology for making him feel uncomfortable, the figure then turned away, letting Owens to continue his duties.

The attendant stared uneasily at the seat. There was something about the figure that brought ominous premonitions of death. Part of Owens, the superstitious side, wanted him off the train, but the other, more rational part made him more reflective.
'What are you thinking?' he thought to himself.
Here he was making assumptions about this strange man, working himself up to the point of hysteria when there was hardly anything to indicate that he was a threat. Certainly, the man's seemingly supernatural appearance was strange, but there was hardly anything about him in terms of his behaviour that seemed malevolent.
'Besides, he was rather courteous.' Owens thought reflectively.

Despite the penetrating quality of his stare, there was a warmth and gentleness that seemed to put aside any notions of menace. The man was very soft-spoken and considerate, if not somewhat nervous. Being around people probably wasn't his forte.

On the other hand, something about him suggested that he was in anticipation of an upcoming event.

Owens frowned. He was letting paranoia get in the way again.

'Maybe I'm reading too much into him.' He thought to himself.

With that belief comforting him, the attendant turned his attention to more important tasks at hand.

Meanwhile, outside of the train, standing on a mountain peak overlooking the railway, glancing down, a figure stood.

He was a man in his early twenties, with long brown hair, clad in a strange white robe sown in such a way that it resembled a flower. Parts of it were decorated with a fleur-de-lis type of pattern.

Beneath his unclad feet, the ground came alive with hundreds of leeches.

The moon shining behind him, he glared down spitefully at the train, giving him the appearance of an avenging angel or of Minos passing judgement onto the damned as he started to sing.

The red-clad figure stirred from his slumber, his ears straining at the sound of a high-pitched frequency. Peeling themselves open, the violet slit orbs narrowed dangerously.

Rising to his full height, the giant abruptly stepped out onto the hall floor, glancing around, his lips curled in a snarl, revealing sharp canines and incisors as he drew in breath through his teeth with a hiss, causing many of the people standing next to him to back away fearfully.

The figure unbuckled his coat and reached inside, slowly drawing out a pair of small swords, causing the other passengers to cry out in alarm. Each sword had an elaborate crossguard, with one portion of it noticeably extended upward into a distinctively prong-like shape behind the blade, while the rest of it was encircled protectively around the fist. As the giant raised the exotic blades, the passengers let out an exclamation of terror.

Jed Charles sat on the toilet seat lid as he listened.

As a conductor, he rarely had any concerns. The job was dull, but it had some lovely-looking female attendants. Hardly anything happened. When he got into the washroom, the only concern that he had earlier was for his bloated stomach, the result of eating his wife's bean casserole. For a moment, he wondered if the pain that he felt was a sign of food poisoning.

'Possibly intentional.' Came the thought. Bitch.

Sighing loudly with relief as he felt himself deflate, Jed finished what he was doing. Standing up and zipping himself up, he began to enjoy the newly discovered space that his pants had to offer.

Life was good. Now, about those lovely ladies...

Jed had just barely buckled himself when he heard the mutterings outside. They were barely audible, but Jed was able to sense something within their tones. He didn't like it. As he tried to listen in, the mutterings were promptly followed by screams and shouts, causing him to collapse onto the toilet seat.

What the hell was going on out there?

Jed listened as a mob started to pound at nearby exits. Among the cacophony of noise, he heard a man shout for help. Something about a psycho and knives.

The bean casserole was starting to crawl upward to say hello.

A monstrous howl or warcry echoed throughout the train, followed by the sounds of glass being smashed.

The screams escalated into a nightmarish crescendo of fear and agony, the very sounds of hell itself.

Recollections of Vietnam came back to haunt the conductor as he sat there shaking like a leaf, his heart pounding his ears, his stomach doing flips and tying itself into knots.
The door flung open, causing the attendant to cry out and leap back in his seat. He whimpered and pled incessantly as demonic eyes stared down at him.