I arrived at the little house — the one supposedly left behind for the god Oswell E. Spencer, I thought, chuckling to myself.Upon entering the main room, the old man who greeted me didn't look nearly as decrepit as I expected — likely due to the generous treatments I had provided.
"So, Spencer, I heard you had something to tell me?" I asked, taking a seat across from him.
"Don't be so impatient, boy," he said, taking on a haughty tone. "I must say, I'm quite pleased with the health you've restored to me. I almost regret not having discovered a talent like yours back when I was scouting for new recruits for Umbrella."
"Sure, old fossil. If you'd known how to use the resources at your disposal properly, you could've become a superhuman — not immortal, perhaps, but far beyond the average man.Soldier, strike the floor."
At my command, the clone behind me stepped forward and struck the marble floor with a single devastating punch, cracking it with ease and making Spencer recoil in fright — though I also caught a glimmer of envy in his eyes.
"You know this man, Spencer," I said as the clone removed his helmet, revealing the face of the former security guard from the Arklay Mountain mansion.
"You… how is this possible? You should be dead," Spencer whispered, staring at the clone's expressionless face before he calmly put his helmet back on and resumed his position behind me.
Spencer averted his gaze for a moment, but I grabbed his chin between two fingers, forcing him to meet my eyes.
"That's why I despise you. Not because you failed — but because you could have succeeded. You had everything… and all you managed to produce was chaos and death.Even your dream of a new humanity was defiled by your own failures."
I let go of him, watching as he sank back into his chair.
"Pascal could have been your prototype. But you ignored him, trampled him, forgot him. Now, he's a being superior to you in every way."
I turned back to my seat, sitting upright, my gaze sharp and cold.
"The worst part is, you still believe you were right. But you were nothing more than a petty king on a throne of glass."
Pascal put his helmet back on in silence and returned to his position.
"Now speak, old man. Before I decide to bury you along with your relics."
Spencer had gone pale. His breathing was ragged, his face marked by a mix of shock and resentment. Even after all his failures, he couldn't stand being spoken to like a mere pawn. But he no longer had a choice.
He slowly straightened in his chair, taking a moment to regain some semblance of composure — as if that could mask his obvious frailty.
"I wanted to speak to you… about Albert's sister. Alex Wesker. She…"
I raised my hand, cutting him off sharply.
"No need. I already had the island in the Baltics where she was hiding wiped out."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
"There were too many unknowns, too many risks. Some sections of the island were saturated with neurotoxic gas and experimental agents… so I did what had to be done."
I glanced toward the window for a moment, staring at the horizon with a detached calm.
"I ordered a massive bombardment. The island no longer has a peak. Then I sent a unit to clean up the ruins, erase any traces of research, and liquidate the survivors."
I turned back to Spencer, my tone icy.
"There was only one other living being there, besides Alex — an old hunter, eaten away by solitude. He's no longer among us either. Sometimes, to eliminate a threat… you must accept collateral damage."
With a simple wave of my hand, Pascal's clone stepped forward silently.Spencer, realizing too late what was about to happen, tried weakly to rise from his seat…
Too slow.Pascal seized him brutally by the shoulders, slamming him back into the chair. A second clone appeared, holding a gleaming black syringe filled with a purified and optimized Soldier Plagas. He jammed the needle harshly into the wrinkled neck of Umbrella's former founder.
Spencer convulsed. His scream was reduced to a wet gargle as the parasite burrowed into his spine. His veins bulged, his body trembled, and his eyes went glassy for a brief moment.
Then, after two long minutes... he softened.The muscles that had been tight with pride and fear relaxed. His shoulders slumped slightly. He blinked slowly, like an old man waking from a long nightmare.
He turned his head toward me. And for the first time, his eyes showed clear submission.
I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing Umbrella's founder as one might study a corpse that refused to die.
"Now, tell me what you're hiding."
Spencer nodded slowly. His gaze was drained of all pride, all superiority. His voice, once sharp as a well-honed blade, was now just a smooth, hollow whisper — and yet, strangely, a trace of emotion still filtered through.
"I met a woman… or rather, a goddess. It's… the greatest regret of my life."
He lowered his eyes briefly, as though even the Plagas couldn't crush the shame buried deep in his withered soul.
"She lived in a remote village in Eastern Europe. A region plagued by poverty, disease, superstition. She's lived… nearly two centuries, helping those who should've been taken by the Spanish flu. A divine presence to those poor souls. Her name was… Mother Miranda."
His empty gaze drifted for a moment.
"I was her student. She taught me things that even Umbrella could never replicate. But I was too impatient. Too greedy. We fought. I challenged her. And she… turned her back on me."
Silence fell. Even the parasite within him seemed to pause, as if the weight of his remorse halted any spark of rebellion.
"Despite all I accomplished — the labs, the Progenitor virus, Umbrella — she never answered my letters. Not even my apologies."
I said nothing. It wasn't his words that struck me — it was the fact that a man turned puppet by a Plagas could still show such genuine regret. A wrinkle etched itself into his forehead. His chin trembled slightly. And for a moment… his eyes were his own again.
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed.
"And why are you telling me this?" I asked, despite myself.
"Because you're the only being I've seen… exceed what I thought possible. If anyone can find her… understand her… maybe even surpass her… it's you."His voice grew heavier."But know this: she is not human. She can grant her children gifts. Mutations. New forms of life. Things not even my nightmares dared to imagine."
I frowned."Where is she?"
Spencer looked at me for a moment, then answered without hesitation:"Romania. In a secluded village, hidden by mountains and forests. The village lies not far from the Dimitrescu estate. She has ruled there like a shadow for generations."
I nodded, committing every word to memory. That name — Mother Miranda — echoed like a promise of both horror and power. If what Spencer said was true, I needed to meet her. To understand her secrets. Maybe… to surpass them.
I stood slowly, casting a final glance at the old man.
"Thanks for the info, old man. Enjoy what little time you have left."
With a discreet gesture, Pascal's clone moved back into position behind me as I exited the room.The door hissed shut behind me with a sigh of compressed air.
Three months later.The world had changed. Slowly, methodically… like a spiderweb woven by invisible hands.
While the silent war expanded, I — Gérald King — had carefully cultivated a very different image. In public, I was merely a wealthy, influential, visionary man. I appeared at hospital inaugurations, charity galas, and film award ceremonies where I was applauded as a patron of progress. The spotlights bathed me in praise, and magazines dubbed me "the architect of global medical renewal."
In private, I spent genuine moments with my daughters, watching them grow up in a world I was reshaping in my image. Moments of tenderness, of innocence — stolen from the global chaos I now ruled with a steady hand.
Thanks to the optimization of my plan, I had accelerated the construction of bio-integrated clinics and hospitals in over 180 countries. With the agreement — or submission — of governments, the Plagas spread without resistance. The strategy was simple: free healing, universal treatment, immediate care. The price? A discreet, nearly painless implant… a Plagas under direct monitoring by my network.
The most remarkable part? No one rebelled. The results were too good. Autoimmune diseases eradicated. Cancers stabilized. Infections neutralized. People cheered for their new savior. And me? I thanked them with a smile… while registering their DNA into my planetary neural network.
Five billion humans.Five billion interconnected units.Of flesh.Of obedience.Of loyalty.
Some countries, like Spain, had been fully annexed — biologically speaking. The Spanish president, now completely under control, had opened every political door across Europe. The European Union, despite some resistance, had quietly tipped over.
But the masterstroke? Taking control of The Family — the secret organization resembling the Illuminati once led by Derek Simmons. I had infiltrated every level, eliminated dissenters, and turned their own agents against them. Even the President of the United States, infected by Ashley — now one of my lieutenants — was unknowingly fulfilling Saddler's dream. Except this time, the utopia wasn't some delusional cult.It was a system.
And yet, despite all that power, despite all that control, one threat remained… Wesker's clone.
Invisible. Undetectable. A remnant of pure ambition, superior genetic code, and visceral hatred. Every day he remained free was a ticking time bomb, ready to implode my newborn order. And that — I could not allow.
So I made a decision."Enough waiting. Miranda first. Then Wesker."
I had just finalized the deployment of my aerial defense network around Raccoon City, now the unofficial capital of my medical empire. Organic-cybernetic anti-aircraft batteries, vital frequency sensors, even hybrid organisms capable of intercepting any projectile or hostile aircraft.
The world could no longer ignore me.It was time to visit Romania.And to meet… Mother Miranda.
(Author's note: Get ready, I might include some non-canon lemons with Resident Evil Village characters. ^^)