Author's Note: Yes, the final update! Just a small note: I said in the last chapter that the ending was going to be non-canonical, but I changed my mind and decided to take a small turn. I was reading some info about the Spencer Estate in Europe (I have assumed it's located in England) and about everything that happened (as if I didn't know by now xD) and that is what inspired me to make a small rewrite of the scene in RE5 that shows Wesker and Spencer in the Estate. In here, I've focused a little bit more on how he felt about those revelations. In this one, it's Spencer and not Alexander who tells him; not all, but enough.

As I wrote, I realized I just felt Wesker's joy itself and... whoa, you can't imagine how it felt: so powerful and intense, you get to know how he felt and the resolve that drove him to carry out his plans. Feeling just like the character does so strongly has never happened to me before, which is another sign of the small and healthy obsession I have with his character.

Anyway, I leave you read this and I hope you like it. I've used a lot of comparisons, mostly at the end, and I believe I reflect how Wesker feels pretty good. I'm no expert, but I'm slowly getting used to him. He's amazing, just to leave it short XDDD

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or any of its characters.


Alternate Ending: Of Gods and Lost Humanity

August, 2006

Spencer Estate, England

When he arrived, a raging storm thundered above him, the powerful flashes of light cutting through the darkness of the sky and zigzagging through the clouds. Rain and wind accompanied the storm, as raging and intense as the clapping thunder. The sky seemed to be raining down its uneasiness and its warnings on him but he didn't heed them. As much as he'd warned himself, he hadn't listened. He wasn't as stupid as to back away now that the decision had been made, and that was the reason why he was there, under a rainy summer sky.

The rain soon stopped, as if it had been waiting for his arrival to relent. He had stood under the sky for God knew how long, staring at the luxurious and lavish front of the Spencer Estate. The very faint light at the top of the small porch, along with the darkness that engulfed the building, made it seem like it was taken right out of a horror movie and that was nothing far from the truth, Wesker knew. It had been built exactly like the one in the exterminated Raccoon City and, if the outside was the same, then he didn't doubt that what he'd find inside was any different.

How very much time, money, effort and sleepless nights had it cost him to find this place… And now, he was finally there, guided by an instinct and an anxiousness that still pulsated somewhere in the back of his mind, an anxiousness that had been restlessly gnawing at him for three long years. He was glad to see that his almost-infinite patience and persistence were finally going to pay off.

He decided to move in; he'd wasted too much time outside now and, to tell the truth, pneumonia was the last thing he needed. Oh well, as if he'd ever wondered about that… Following his instinct and his ever-present cautiousness, he initially decided against using the front door, but Spencer couldn't be expecting his arrival, correct? In Wesker's own words, he 'had become a fugitive in the world he once sought to control' and, as such, it was impossible for him to know about him and his plans.

Of course, the other side of the coin was that Wesker didn't know about Spencer's either. That cunning old man had been smart enough to keep everything to him, so Wesker had to admit -rather reluctantly- that he would have the disadvantage if it possibly came down to figuring them out. It didn't unnerve him, as usual. He was a man that kept things under control no matter what; at least, he tried. He'd had his moments of failure, although a strong and quick recovery from the fall ensued.

In any case and unwilling to waste any more time, he headed towards the front door and the fact of finding it unlocked caused a mix of emotions to flare up. Doubt momentarily clouded his judgement and made him hesitate, but with much certainty he knew he couldn't back down now. As such, Wesker stepped through the doorway and was greeted by a too familiar sight, one that would've been breathtaking to someone oblivious to what awaited them.

His suspicions were confirmed: this mansion was identical to the one in Raccoon, at least in how the front hall looked. A grand staircase climbed up the hall in front of him and then parted both ways, leading to two upper balconies. The walls were made with tiles of a sophisticated white colour or they would have if it wasn't for their grey and worn appearance. As expected, there were doors, and too many to count. Who knew where they led? Wesker wasn't very keen on finding out, although his interest would've been piqued if it wasn't for the task at hand in which he had to concentrate.

His instinct kicked in once again, telling him -repeating him as though it were a despaired prayer- that Spencer would be in his chamber, the primary one if he guessed correctly; only God knew how many rooms this place had. Wesker pushed the door closed behind him and, when the door squared with the threshold, a dull click resonated through the hall. A security system?

If there are traps here such as loose tiles and rooms with spiked ceilings, this is nothing out of the ordinary.

That was possible, but why the sudden activation then? Spencer wouldn't have risked communicating with the outside world, so the probabilities of him having crossed that door himself were scarce. Possibly someone else? Oh, how Wesker doubted that. Although who knew for certain? He had a small hunch: it could've been Sergei in the time he was still alive, but that was still unlikely. Nevertheless, no time to wonder who had been there, it was who was there that mattered.

He calmly made his way up the stairs and, by intuition, headed towards the west wing. Wesker came to realize how the outlook of the front hall belied the actual state of the mansion. There were dirt stains and many walls were missing chunks of paint; certainly Spencer hadn't cared about the building's state, since it was unlikely he would bother to clean up such a vast residence.

He wandered through the mansion until he could find a way that would lead him to where Spencer was. Wesker had initially thought he would have no difficulties making his way around but as he went in deeper and explored more rooms and halls, he soon came to realize it was nothing like the old Estate, so he made way for logical reasoning. Leaving his instincts aside, Wesker took a hall to his right and followed it down, the storm outside still raging with lightning.

He couldn't help relating the weather outside to his growing anxiety; the more it had grown, the more lighting had cracked through the sky. He could've also related it to his inner dilemma, one to which he soon put an end. Why be frightened by the power he would soon acquire? It would help him reach his goals, and he certainly didn't care if the end justified the means or not. Spencer's power would be soon outmatched by his, once he deprived the old man of it.

Wesker stumbled across the only door in the hall, a big and sturdy oak door that led to a room unknown to him. With another hunch and a faint throbbing in his temples, he pushed the door open. Bingo: it was Spencer's chamber.

Wesker serenely made his way inside, quickly catching glimpse of the striking bookcases to his sides and the rusty chandelier hanging above the centre of the room. It would've been quite prestigious and impressive, but those days were already over. His gaze directed up front, he felt his heart speed up after briefly skipping a beat. There he was, the man that would give him the answers he'd sought for so very long and the man whose power Wesker would snatch away.

How the mighty Ozwell Spencer has fallen…

Indeed, how he'd fallen. Wesker had last seen him when he was seventy-two of age, still healthy and active; now, he was confined to a wheelchair and with a life support installed into the chair which kept him alive. Spencer turned the wheelchair around slowly to face Wesker, and those impossibly light blue eyes of him met Wesker's hidden ones, although Spencer's seemed to be boring a hole right in him.

Wesker kept at ease and impassive as they stared at each other for what it seemed years. He knew Spencer was examining him thoroughly, scrutinizing him with that intense gaze of his, yet Wesker wasn't just going to stand there and do nothing. Before he could do so though, Spencer's voice broke the silence.

"I've been waiting for you."

Just as he'd started walking, Wesker stopped in his tracks as if he'd just hit an invisible wall of trepidation. Did that mean… Spencer had known he'd come? But how? It was impossible! Wesker decided to push away the thought, although it kept screaming 'Impossible! Impossible!' at him from the back of his mind. Spencer's lips curved into a faint smile, and Wesker suddenly felt the chilling realization sinking in.

Spencer had known everything from the very beginning.

"I knew you'd come looking for me. It seems I wasn't mistaken," Spencer said lightly with a flicker of his hand. Wesker didn't like it at all and if it wasn't for his tenacity and his self-control, the clench of his fist would've belied his true feelings.

"I'm not here for idle banter, Spencer," Wesker snapped with a cool edge to his voice as he approached the old man.

"I take it you've come for answers."

Wesker obtained yet another piece of evidence of Spencer's puppetry. So he had been pulling the strings for all those years?! Had he controlled the course of Wesker's actions without him actually knowing?! He had just been another puppet under his control, those invisible strings leading him to make all those decisions, to kill so many people!

To hell with the victims! It's outrageous!

The blonde man stood in front of Spencer, his shadow looming over the elderly man, and Spencer had the premonition that it would all come to an end sooner than later. But he had Wesker in front of him, like the prodigal son that returned to his father.

"Answers? You've done your homework, Spencer," Wesker commented archly, stepping past the wheelchair and positioning himself next to the window. "It seems you were well prepared. Does it mean you are the real puppet master and not I?"

"You catch on quick too, Wesker. I didn't expect less coming from you," Spencer said in return in the same arch tone as him. The arrogance had come to bite him, and how infuriated Wesker felt right then, Spencer couldn't imagine. Wesker breathed in deeply, the sound muted by the lighting that suddenly struck the furious sea under the building, and he closed his eyes momentarily.

"You want to know about yourself, don't you? About your origins? About things like your name, your place of birth, your family, yes?"

Spencer's words were like daggers to Wesker, but none too strong for him to lose his composure.

"If you would so kindly start explaining, Ozwell…" Wesker's voice trailed away, leaving Spencer to flip the coin and show Wesker its dark side. As Spencer started explaining, Wesker slowly circled him in an attempt to keep his anger on a leash.

"You were made a reality through a project I myself started along a trusty colleague, the 'Wesker Children'. I had… the intention of bring a new race of humans to this world, over which I would rule. For that, I needed you and hundreds of others to make this dream come true. With the Progenitor virus, it was possible to set the project's beginning.

"You were born from highly intellectual individuals; it was intelligence like yours the one I needed. The rest of your colleagues shared the same trait and they proved to be perfect subjects. You were forced to forget about your family, about everything you were, and you adopted new identities. You were all given the surname 'Wesker' and, as such, you were indoctrinated and taught under our careful watch."

A sudden paused ensued. Spencer suffered a coughing fit which echoed through the room, a sign of his old age and his horrible state of health. It was during this short pause that Wesker waited for everything to sink in; how cruel could the truth be sometimes.

"I specifically chose you to join Umbrella because of your brilliance," Spencer continued forcedly. "You showed great progress and intelligence, as expected from you. At the same time, you befriended your fellow mate William, who would play an important role in later stages of the project.

"Near 1985, we started the second phase of the 'Wesker Children', a phase through which the best of the Children were to be selected. They were all administered a Progenitor-based experimental virus that would help in this task, be it directly or due to recommendation. I myself asked William to do this, although he didn't comply at first."

"How very curious," Wesker interjected, his tone icy. "And here I thought he was a diligent man." The sharp sarcasm caused Spencer to smirk. Oh, how delightful it'd be to leave Wesker shaken.

"Well, I eventually managed to make him do it through… quite the hard means, if I may say so," he replied, his voice dripping with wickedness. "I believe he never told you about the son he lost in a frantic attempt to avoid your fate?"


"She's… she's really sick, Wesker. I-I don't want to lose her. Oh what the hell? I shouldn't have used you as the shoulder to cry on, sorry."

"Don't worry; I would've kicked you out of here had I not been in the mood. But you'll see; she'll be fine. Take a break from work and stay by her side; that should help."

"Are you sure?"

"Completely. Why did you marry her then?"

"I guess you're right… Okay, thanks then, I really appreciate it."

"No need to thank me. Just do what you have to do."


And now, the way Wesker sharply corkscrewed around to glare at him was what belied his rage. This was the last straw! Wesker swore he'd kill Spencer whenever the time was right; for now, it wasn't in his best interest.

He remembered. What William had told him about was Annette's almost chronic illness during the first months of the year. William had been very secretive about the news, keeping certain pieces of information to himself. Wesker would've never guessed it had been due to his son's assassination, caused by Spencer himself. It had been a night when Wesker had shown himself supportive but no matter what he did, William hopelessly fell into a prolonged state of depression.

"He did lose it. After a few years, he gave you the experimental virus; he himself reported to me the night after that." Spencer continued. "This process would be the birth of a new superior breed of humans, given birth by the Progenitor virus. The 'Wesker Children' were entrusted with endless potential.

"After the selective process, only one survived: you."

Wesker stopped in front of the window, his back to Spencer, waiting for the new information to sink in.

"Are you saying I was manufactured? That I was deprived of all chances of living my own life?" he asked Spencer, his voice slightly seething. God, it was still hard to take! But no matter what, Wesker would feel nothing more than rage and frustration followed by a primitive desire to kill Spencer and put him out of his misery.

"I was to become a god!" exclaimed Spencer, his words followed by another set of coughs. "Creating a new world with an advanced race of human beings! However… all was lost with Raccoon City…"

Oh yes, that fateful incident in the city had been the project's information's doom: 'Mission Code: XX'. Wesker clenched his fist, controlling the surge of fury that would've most likely driven him to kill Spencer in that same instant. He lifted his gaze, looking at the storm outside, and knew it was the right moment.

The time to grasp power had come.

He breathed in deeply and exhaled, lowering his shoulders with an air of eerie, wicked stillness.

"Despite that setback," Spencer stated, "your creation still holds great significance." Then, his fragile health triggered a few more coughs from him, and he stood up from his chair with difficulty. "Now, my candle burns dimly."

Your candle is about to be extinguished, old man, Wesker thought as he turned around. He felt anxious and expectant; he was so very close to grasping victory, so close he could almost taste it! Just a few more moments and it would be his win, it would be checkmate and as such, the chess game would reach its climax and draw to its end.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Spencer mused, holding his balance as well as he could on shaky legs. "For one who has the right to be a god…"

He turned around, coming face-to-face with Wesker. The blonde man leaned his head forward to keep looking at Spencer over the bridge of his nose, his eyes still hidden but gleaming fiercely behind his shades. The way he tensed afterwards, levelling up his gaze to Spencer's, was fear-instilling.

"To face his own mortality…"

Those bright blue eyes of Spencer's searched for Wesker's and, with the bright lightning behind, he could only catch a small glimpse of those cat-like and fierce red eyes of his.

"The right to be a god…" Wesker echoed pensively. His lips curved into a smirk, smug and arrogant, and then fury took hold of him.

That sensation of fury was followed by a warm one, both of relief as of Spencer's blood staining half his arms and reaching his skin. He had killed a man with his bare hands, in quite the literal sense. For some reason, Wesker found himself celebrating inwardly like a sadist who was proud of his actions, and he watched how Spencer's features were paling at a rapid pace.

The candle was out.

As Spencer released a strangled gasp, Wesker was tempted to close his fist and crack his wrist as he wickedly delighted in the feeling of Spencer's warm blood. The tingling sensation that assailed his arm and his fingers was one of such intensity that he would've grinned like a crazy devil should he had been allowed to do so.

Victory was within his reach, and he had obtained it. Now, it was his. It was his win, his victory, his success and everything that was a synonym!

Thunder roared behind them and, lowering his lips to Spencer's ear, he whispered, "That right is now mine." And it even felt good saying that.

Wesker withdrew his hand from Spencer's chest and, with one last gasp, Spencer lost his balance, rolled down the stairs and fell dead, a trail of blood flowing down the corner of his mouth. Wesker neared the beginning of the small staircase and looked down on Spencer, in a literal and figurative sense.

"The right to be a god? You?"

How dare he say that? He, a weak old man… How could he ever understand what it means to be a god?

Wesker shook his head in disapprovement, the laughter he wanted to let out echoing in the back of his mind. He'd have his time to laugh, oh yes. Spencer was just a joke, Wesker was the real thing. He was the rightful owner of the title 'god'.

"Arrogant even until the end. Only one truly capable of being a god deserves that right!"

He stole one last glance at Spencer's lifeless corpse, his eyes narrowing fiercely behind his shades, and as thunder clapped one more time, Wesker positioned himself in front of the window again.

His endeavours had finally paid off and he had come out victorious of the battle. He knew the war was still on but right now, it had just taken a turn for the best; of that, he was certain. The chess board had been flipped, sides had changed and now he was on the winning one. Previously, Spencer had been the whites and Wesker had been the blacks, Spencer having made his first move and having determined the course and the end of this first game. Now, Wesker was the whites, ready to start another game, with another player in Spencer's place.

It was his game against the world itself. And sooner than later, his knight would perform the checkmate. The game would be over soon, and he could already see the end of it.

But on top of all this excitement and anticipation, there was also his rage, reflected on reality as the raging and untamed sea that stretched out before him, the waves colliding violently against the reefs. All of the information Spencer had given him was just like those furious waves colliding against the ice wall that shielded his heart and that would prevent everything from harming it. But now, they were striving to make that wall collapse and give in, and most likely, it would, for the first time in eternity.

And it did. With no hesitation, Wesker punched the wall in front of him with all his strength, dragging his knuckles across the rough surface with a brief but intense roar in fury that echoed off the walls and almost threatened to shake the building to its very foundations. He scraped his glove and his knuckles and, although the pain in his hand was trivial, it burned and throbbed with despicable cruelty. It was more than ignored.

With heavy breathing, Wesker succeeded in calming down. It was initially all so hard to accept, and he knew it'd take him time to let everything sink in.

'Are you saying I was manufactured?'

That had been the worst line of them all. Knowing he was nothing more than an experiment -a successful one, fortunately- but he was an experiment nevertheless, no matter how he tried to look at it. Casting away his humanity -the humanity he believed to have- had all been Spencer's intentions, not his own. Although he had to admit that it had granted him a second life, a life that hadn't started the same moment he gave Death the slip in the mansion's labs in Raccoon.

No. It started now.

Wesker slipped the glove off his right hand and glanced at his palm, clenching and unclenching his fist. He wondered, was this even his own body? His own hand? Was it his own brain that was sending the impulses to his muscles? Were those his own, for that matter? He didn't know. Doubts were clouding his mind for now, and they prevented him from thinking rationally.

But then, he couldn't hold back the smile that spread across his features.

Such foolish thoughts! Hadn't he just cast away his humanity for that same reason? Why was he caring about being human or not? He was a god! He had the power to be one, he had the right! Why would he just throw away the opportunity? If Spencer had been as foolish and stupid to allow him to become such a privileged being, such a god, then it was his own mistake! He wasn't going to regret it! Wesker wasn't going to worry about it anymore!

With his smile unfaltering, Wesker slipped on the glove again with resolve. Oh, such joy… But really, why give a damn about being human when being superior granted him more power? Why waste the opportunity to be a god, to reshape the world just as he wanted? Wesker wasn't going to overlook it, to ignore it; he had killed himself once for that same reason.

Now, he can set his plan into motion. He knew it would work, his plan. With Uroboros in development, the weapon that would grant him the power to cleanse the world, to separate the chaff from the wheat, he knew he would succeed. It was all a matter of time. He'd rewrite the world's history, and nothing would impede him from doing so. If obstacles arose, he'd just destroy them.

Obstacles like Chris Redfield, who barged inside the room along with Jill Valentine as if on cue.

Wesker breathed in deeply again, turning around and greeting them with that devilish smile of his, his eyes gleaming with an intense thirst for power. And he would get it, even more than the one he had right now. He felt almost a lust-like sensation stir deep within him; right now, that desire for power burned like the wildest of fires. He would succeed, he knew he would.

The time had come to end the next battle. The time had come for him to prevail.

A/N: And this story has reached its end. Sorry people, but it has. It has been delightfully wonderful to write this, so I'm sad to say I'm done. As you've seen, I've added a small interpretation on William's involvement in the 'Wesker Children' project.

To keep it short: he was going to have a son and when Spencer asked him to give Wesker the virus, he refused to do so. As such, Spencer took matters into his own hands and poisoned Annette, causing her to lose the baby and to fall sick. Sherry came later, though, so what happens next is canonical.

I hope you enjoyed reading this. Until next time!^^