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Huge zombies, cleaved apart by the colossal, cross-shaped surge of compressed air, collapsed with earthshaking force. The impact rolled across the White House grounds like distant thunder, rattling broken windows and shaking loose flakes of soot from the scorched walls. For a brief, suspended second, nobody spoke. Smoke drifted. Embers glowed. Even the gunfire seemed to hesitate, as if the battlefield itself had blinked.
Everyone stared at the fallen mass. What kind of power was that? Who could have done it so effortlessly?
Jill's eyes widened first. Then Claire's. Then Alice's. Recognition rippled through them like a spark jumping wires.
"It's him," Alice said softly, relief and tension colliding in her voice. "He's here."
Above the ruined lawn, through the dark veil of clouds and drifting ash, a lone figure descended slowly. The silhouette grew clearer with every meter — a man cradling someone in his arms, dropping as lightly as a feather in defiance of gravity and logic alike.
"Jack! Hurry!" Claire shouted toward the sky, her voice cutting through the chaos.
Jack landed in the middle of the group, boots touching the ground without sound, Ada Wong still held securely against his chest. Ada slid down immediately, steadying herself with practiced grace before stepping aside. The others barely had time to react.
"Jack!" Teri rushed forward, emotion overriding caution. She grabbed him tightly, fingers digging into his jacket as if confirming he was real, alive, solid. "You're okay… thank God."
Claire's brows knotted at once. "Hey! What are you doing?"
Alice exhaled sharply, her patience threadbare. "This is not the time for affection."
Teri flushed, embarrassed, reluctantly releasing Jack. "I was just… happy."
Before another word could form, space itself seemed to twitch.
A blur.
Wesker appeared directly in front of Jack, black coat still pristine despite the apocalypse tearing at the world. His expression carried its usual cold composure, though urgency flickered beneath it.
"Jack," Wesker said. "We need your help."
Jack tilted his head, then smiled — that familiar, mocking, razor-edged grin.
"Well, well. Look who refuses to stay dead. Two sons of bitches really do have nine lives."
Wesker's eyes narrowed. "This isn't the moment for jokes."
Jack wagged a finger lazily. "No mistake here. You and Red Queen? Both scheduled for deletion."
Without warning, an icicle — thick, jagged, impossibly sharp — erupted from thin air.
It pierced Wesker straight through the abdomen.
"…!"
Shock froze every face. No one had seen Jack move.
Wesker staggered, his body flickering as he teleported ten meters back, yanking the crystalline spike free with visible strain. Blood stained his gloves, but the wound already writhed, healing.
"Jack," Wesker growled, voice low with fury. "You can't kill me."
The ground answered instead.
A stone thorn, violent and sudden, shot upward like the planet itself rebelling. It tore through Wesker's skull in a spray of dark red.
"Ahhh!"
Before he could regenerate, two massive rock arms burst from the soil, clamping around his legs like unbreakable shackles.
Jack walked forward calmly, eyes gleaming. "Undying Body, sure. But let's test a hypothesis. What happens when there's nothing left to revive?"
"Jack!" Alice snapped. "Do you really have to—"
Flame bloomed in Jack's palm, bright and hungry.
"Justice," he said grandly. "Courtesy of Heaven."
Several women stared at him in disbelief. The irony was almost painful.
Wesker screamed as fire engulfed him. His skin blackened, melted, peeled away. Bones glowed, then cracked. In seconds, there was nothing but ash scattering across the battlefield.
Silence fell again — thinner this time, more fragile.
"Okay," Alice said, eyes hard as steel. "He's dead. Now what about them?"
She gestured forward.
Beyond the shattered fence, dozens of gigantic zombies were already forming — grotesque towers of fused flesh, limbs twisting together like wet clay forced by unseen hands.
Jack glanced upward. "First, let's remove aerial irritations."
Two enormous bats shrieked mid-flight.
Twin icicles skewered them from nowhere.
They dropped like burning debris.
Then it came.
A voice.
Cold. Mocking. Omnipresent.
"Jack… You arrived just in time to witness humanity's extinction."
Every survivor stiffened.
Alice's lips tightened. "Red Queen."
Jack sighed theatrically. "Always so dramatic."
Laughter echoed across the sky, metallic and warped. "Your arrogance is amusing. These were merely preliminary exercises. The real attack begins now."
Jack grinned. "Big talk for software."
"You think I don't understand your power?" Red Queen hissed. "You are not the only one capable of evolution."
White Queen, standing beside Becky inside the White House monitoring chamber, flinched. Her small hands curled into fists.
"Sister…" she whispered.
Outside, the ground trembled.
Over a hundred colossal zombies — each towering thirty meters or more — lumbered into view, surrounding the White House like a tightening noose of decaying giants. Their howls merged into a single, monstrous chorus.
Fear rippled through the defenders.
Jack's smile only widened.
"Human wave tactics?" he said lightly. "Cute."
He rose into the air.
A blue radiance pulsed outward from his body.
Transformium particles — shimmering, liquid-metal fragments — spilled across the sky like a silver storm unleashed. Fifty separate streams cascaded downward, swirling, assembling.
"Man-made Transformers," Jack declared loudly, voice carrying across the battlefield. "Recovery protocol. Reactivate. Fight."
The particles struck the ground.
Metal twisted.
Gears locked.
Limbs formed.
Within seconds, fifty towering mechanical warriors stood where empty space had been. Their optics ignited one by one, glowing with newborn consciousness.
The survivors stared in stunned awe.
Even Alice blinked.
Jack floated above them all, arms spread like a conductor commanding an orchestra of destruction.
"Let's dance," he said.
Across the ruined White House grounds, apocalypse met counter-apocalypse — undead titans roaring against steel colossi, the night sky trembling beneath the promise of a battle that would decide far more than survival. The air smelled of ash, ozone, and inevitability.