Albert Wesker Figure Novels & Stories

The oddest figure she had ever seen caused her to stop moving. Izabella appeared startled and focused her attention on the stranger—a masculine humanoid-like creature with green skin and protruding fangs that resembled those of a big werewolf—who stood at least six feet tall and had flashing predator's eyes. The body of the alien is covered in pure muscle. He may have noticed Izabella watching him and turned to see where she was. She caught her breath after their extended gaze matched. His eyes were so golden that she was overcome with exhaustion. The extraterrestrial figure was positioned near the tree's corner. He was looking at her while observing the surroundings around the pool.

The wave of pain brought tears to Ike's eyes, and he wiped the drops from his cheeks as he headed toward his travel cases. Heading to the far side of the room, Ike crouched in front of the massive trunk he'd brought with him. As he cooled the fire inside of him, he opened his case and stared at the living armor of Albeon. The thick fabric pulsed with a heartbeat and energy, begging to be worn. The thin coat of the material actually hummed with life. Ike picked up the helmet and studied the face shield.

“You weren’t meant to tell, mummy.” “Mummy’s girl,” Dash commented but Hilda stuck her tongue out at him. I felt a strange connection with it but opened it anyways. The first image I saw was what I recognized immediately to be the former Alpha in black and white. He was holding a sword and pulling off what was meant to be a ‘k****u’ stance. That cracked me up. But d*mn he was hot. That’s obviously where the Evil Triplets got it from. The front pages were more pictures of him until I saw that of a she-wolf.

"Unit 88. You are clear to engage. Objective: Retrieval. Minimum force required to incapacitate." From the shadows of the helicopter’s hold, a figure stepped out. He was massive—easily seven feet tall, but unlike Kazi, his bulk was pure, distorted biology. He was shirtless, his skin a deep, obsidian black that seemed to absorb the light around him. His muscles weren't natural; they were bunched and twisted like knotted cables under his skin. He wore a heavy, reinforced version of the silver collar, and his eyes were covered by a sleek, black visor that fed data directly into his brain.

I could also see he was wearing a white fur coat. “Thank you for having us Madam Amelia.” Kent said with a bow. “Of course.” I couldn’t see my mother but I heard her voice and it was quivering. “Does he have to stay like this?” I roamed my eyes around and gasped as I spotted a black dog—no,not a dog, a wolf. I had never seen a wolf in broad daylight. My gasp may have been loud because Kent’s head turned up to locate the sound. This enabled me to see his face. It was more innocent than I expected. His face was paper white with flushed pink cheeks. His nose was almost as buttoned as Marianna, but his jaw was where you could see the alpha. It moved as he looked around. It was sharp enough to cu

It was simply far too dangerous and powerful. The shapes of the figure under the hooded cloak were all wrong too, the shoulders rounded where Alpha Anthony’s wolf would have been massive, dwarfing even the trees. It was impossibly tall, taller maybe than any noble wolf I had seen in Gotham, and yet, it seemed evil…wrong. “Is that you? Alpha Anthony?” I croaked, hating the way my voice cracked with fear as I stepped tentatively forward. My eyes squinted and widened in the darkness when the figure did not move and the sharp scent of wild jasmine remained in the air.

She walks to the door, her bare feet quiet against the floor, and reaches for the handle without hesitation. She opens it. Her breath leaves her in a rush and she almost wheezes staring at the person standing beyond the threshold of her house's door. Lance Wesker stands there. He is dressed simply, no suit, no arrogance, just dark trousers and a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled up as though he hasn’t stopped moving all day. In his hands is a bouquet so large it borders on absurd, filled with soft whites in lilies and dandelions and muted pastels, carefully arranged, unmistakably intentional...

They exploded. BOOM. Dust and debris rained down. A figure stepped through the smoke. He was massive. He wore armor made of blackened steel that seemed to absorb the torchlight. On his back was a greatsword the size of a grown man. His face was scarred, his eyes the color of storm clouds. He wasn't a hero. He didn't glow. He looked like a walking war crime. The Mercenary. The Black Wolf. Vespera didn't stand up. She sipped her tea.

Drugs, guns, w*ores. Victor Erickson has a hand in all of it. He is the Alpha of a vicious and ruthless Pack, stationed in the Eastern plains. If there is a dead body floating in the River, Alpha Victor can be traced back to it within six degrees of separation. He is the Black Wolf, the grim reaper with red eyes, the beast with the face of a doll. He's what one would call a beautiful monster.

Now curious as to why he was looking at it, I slowly turned to the large frame handing on the wall by a suit of armour. Although partially obscured by the low light, I managed to see what was on the picture. It looked like a painting, depicting a scene of battle—a large werewolf in its true form running towards an army with other wolves following behind it. Somehow, the werewolf had a sort of striking resemblance with Alpha Alaric.