Resident Evil Graphic Novels Novels & Stories

she pointed to the underlined words of the other book. Mr. Evans looked at the words as Hazel then explained, “The Chosen One will make a sacrifice on the land of the dead.” She stood upright and faced Mr. Evans. She said, “The gathering of the dead means the place where the last war took place, where everyone died. That is the land of the dead and also the land of ashes. The Vampires bodies turned into ashes later on and now, we need to know where that land is.” When Mr. Evans didn’t speak, Hazel said, “Think Aiden, you were there that day. Where is that land?” she asked him and looked into his eyes as if the answers would come out.

The lights dimmed, leaving only the red glow from the walls. The sound of metal grinding filled the air, followed by heavy, slow footsteps echoing closer and closer. I pressed my back to the wall, my pulse racing. “What the fuck is that?” Nova grinned like a maniac. “Your first test.” Something moved in the dark massive, mechanical, dragging chains. The air filled with the smell of rust and oil. I stumbled backward. “No, no, no, this can’t be real.” “Oh, it’s real, baby,” Nova said. “Rule number one in Erevos if you can still scream, you’re still alive.”

Making my way over to her desk three books lay open stacked on top of each other so parts of each could be seen. The top book I had absolutely no doubt I had never seen. Columns running down each page with names, dates, a single letter either B,Y or R and the last column all had DECEASED written. Thumbing through the pages, the rest of the book offered no explanation to the meaning of its contents. Moving it aside the second book is filled with handwritten notes. I recognized Miss Evens writing right away. There are two others, one a elegant script and the other very hard to read. Scanning the pages the main theme focused on some kind of hybrid Lycans.

They stepped inside. Raven’s sharp blue eyes scanned the spines—titles in languages older than Arcadia Prime, bindings of shadow-leather and bone. Victoria moved with purpose, fingers trailing over volumes until she stopped before a thick tome bound in matte black hide that drank the light rather than reflected it. Silver script crawled across the cover like living veins: *Intricate Military Command of the Dead* *Advanced Studies in the Art of Necromantic Warfare* Raven reached up—standing on tiptoe—and pulled it free. The weight surprised her; this was no slim intermediate text. This was dense, heavy with diagrams of battlefield sigils, troop formations of the risen, rites for coordinating