The music pulsed through the air like a heartbeat, neon lights flickering over a sea of faces. The party was suffocating—too many bodies, too much heat, too much noise. You weren’t sure why you’d come, but something in the air tonight felt different. Electric.

And then you felt it.

A gaze.

Not just anyone’s, but his.

Albert Wesker.

He stood across the room, untouched by the chaos around him, the crowd parting like a sea at his will. He didn’t belong here. No, he belonged above it all. A man wrapped in shadows and silent arrogance, draped in power that dripped from him like liquid gold. He didn’t just demand attention—he took it.

And now, his eyes were on you.

A slow smirk curled his lips as he stepped forward, deliberate, effortless. The crowd moved with him, unconsciously drawn into his orbit, but his focus never wavered. You could feel it—something predatory beneath his measured steps, something cold and calculating in the way he looked at you.

“You don’t belong here.” His voice cut through the noise like a whisper against your skin.

Neither did he. But that wasn’t the point, was it?

“You intrigue me,” he continued, as if the world had already bent to his will, as if your presence in this moment was inevitable. His gloved hand lifted, just enough to brush the air between you, an unspoken invitation. “Come with me.”

There was something intoxicating about him, a presence that coiled around you like smoke, seeping into your veins. He spoke like a king, like a god, like something more than human.

Like something that wanted to be worshiped.

And you? You could feel the weight of his expectation pressing down on you, waiting for you to kneel, to surrender, to let him mold you into something that belonged to him. He saw himself as something divine—a messiah of his own design, the Devilgod who would carve his name into the bones of the world.

And now he wanted you to see it too.

Would you?

Or would you remind him that gods could still bleed?