Brows knitted, Nicholai snarled, baring teeth and knife in HUNK's face. He waved the blade, tossing it across his knuckles, spinning it off skin and bone. "Вы приносите меня к этому месту. Вы лежите, смерть. Вы и Спенсер; Я убью вас." A growl rumbled in his throat and keen eyes shot themselves at Wesker, watching his throat, examining where skin latched to bone, where blood pulsed just under thick layers of muscle. He then dug a firm hand into HUNK's shoulder.
"Move. Move now." The knife was in his vision, taunting him, begging to drip rubies all across this meeting hall, before going on a great crusade to cut Spencer's throat himself. It was all there, waiting, festering in his mind. His eyes twitched and his teeth set.
"Alexander, get out of the fucking way before I dig your grave here and now." It was a threat not to take lightly; while he wanted to savor the last moments with Death, if he got in the way now, he didn't care. Right now, there were other fish that he wished to tear apart.
Maybe, then, Spencer would get the fucking message.
Deciding to try to take action, Nicholai moved, trying to get past HUNK by body weight alone. He forced his chest forward, arm cutting through the air, knife jerking out, trying to catch anyone in his last attempt to make a point.