As the heroes concluded their desperate battle to purge the surface of the relentless zombie horde, whose insatiable hunger had plagued the living with endless suffering, a grotesque cocoon of writhing flesh erupted violently at its peak. It collapsed with a nauseating squelch, releasing a thick, putrid fog saturated with blood and decay that oozed through the air, suffocating the surroundings with its oppressive stench.
When the fog began to thin, it revealed a crouched figure, a woman-like entity with ghostly pale skin and long, dark hair cascading in silken strands past her slender waist. As she rose to her full six-foot height, her haunting beauty became disturbingly evident. Her chest was partially shielded by a chitinous, armor-like material, while her wide hips exuded an unsettling allure that captivated and terrified in equal measure.
Her subtle, almost imperceptible twitches suggested an unnerving precision and control, as though each strand of her hair moved with deliberate intent. Then, she opened her eyes, which glowed with a vivid, otherworldly pink light. In that moment, the zombies on the surface ceased their assault. Their ravenous aggression dissolved, replaced by a strange reverence. Lifting their lifeless faces skyward, they adopted expressions of yearning and devotion.
A unified chant of "Mother!" erupted from their decaying mouths, sending chills coursing through the survivors who had been battling for their lives only moments before. Their confusion deepened as the zombies abruptly turned and sprinted toward the city, vanishing into the shadows of the night. The living were left behind, paralyzed by the eerie silence and the unanswered question of what had just transpired.
RUMBLE!
The thunderous echo of footsteps reverberated through the tunnels beneath the city.
Hundreds of undead sprinted at full speed, driven by their instincts, until they reached the chamber where the woman stood waiting.
She lifted her hand with commanding authority, and several undead figures from the crowd obediently stepped forward, bowing low to form a makeshift chair for their mistress.
Her eyes gleamed with wicked delight, and a triumphant smile curved her lips.
"Soon, my children, we shall feast upon them all!"
The sewers erupted into a deafening symphony of undead shrieks, howls, and roars, reverberating through the dark, damp corridors in response to her chilling proclamation.
The once-vibrant city of Chicago has become a shadow of its former self, reduced to a few thousand survivors following a sudden zombie outbreak. Those who managed to endure the initial chaos lived in tents for weeks, waiting for homes to be cleared of blood and gore before they could be made habitable again.
During this period, a second group emerged, a band of white-robed men who arrived at a large church. Using ritualistic holy flames, they cleansed the building, burning away only the tainted blood and gore while leaving the structure intact. They then opened the church to the public, offering refuge to a significant number of survivors.
The leader of this group was a young blonde man dressed in silvery plate armor over white robes, with a sword at his side. His remarkable ability to heal injuries quickly earned him admiration and reverence among the survivors.
However, the GDA grew concerned, not just due to his miraculous abilities but also because of his sermons, in which he condemned the GDA and their heroes as affronts to God. This led Cecil to closely monitor the group, even deploying undercover agents to gather intelligence.
News channels repeatedly aired footage of the battle against the zombies, showing William slicing through the undead like a scythe through wheat. The flaming sword in his hand and the constant smile on his face gave him an aura that was both heroic and domineering, earning him equal measures of praise and criticism from the survivors.
In the days following the church's opening, many funerals were held, which helped ease the survivors' grief while drawing more people into the church's fold. Meanwhile, the GDA constructed a massive marble memorial listing the names of those who had perished, placing it in front of what Chicago residents believe to be the GDA's headquarters, but was just the front used for civil purposes.
As events transpired on Earth, in the vast emptiness of space in a remote sector of the galaxy, a woman in a spotless white uniform, her short dark hair framing eyes as cold as the void itself, received a distress signal from one of her kin.
TSK
Anissa clicked her tongue in annoyance but carried out her duty without delay, promptly charting a course toward the source of the message.
"If I'm not mistaken, Nolan was sent to Urath? Urth? Erth? Earth? Whatever that planet is called, it should have been an easy assignment. What could have gone wrong?"
She made sure to forward the message to the nearest Viltrumite before piloting her ship toward the unsuspecting blue planet.
Her vessel tore through the endless expanse of stars, a blazing comet traveling at the speed of light.
On a planet shrouded in rubble and smoke, an older Viltrumite stood over a fire, roasting an alien alive. Suddenly, he paused, his hand reaching for the brace on his wrist.
"A message from Nolan? Does that whelp need assistance?" he muttered.
With a grin, he removed the still-breathing creature from the flames, taking a massive bite out of its arm. The alien, so close to death, could no longer feel pain, its body succumbing to the ravenous appetite of the Viltrumite, who was known as Conquest. Soon, only the head and neck remained; the rest was devoured entirely.
Conquest spun the severed head in his hand like a ball, tossing it into a distant pit filled with flaming corpses numbering in the thousands.
"I suppose I have some time to spare," he chuckled darkly. "I hear Earth has some fine women, and it's been far too long! Hahahahaha!"
He lifted off the ground casually and began floating to the spaceship parked in low orbit.
Stepping inside, he set the coordinates to the source of the message, and within moments his spaceship coursed through the stars towards its destination.
On the moon, Nolan sat silently on a mound, his piercing blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on the vibrant blue marble of Earth below.
He had been stationed in this very spot for so long that a thick, rugged beard now adorned his face. Yet, he remained steadfast, unyielding, and composed, his vigil unbroken by time.
"They'll arrive soon, Marie. You'll understand... you have to," he murmured.
When Marie uncovered the truth of his Viltrumite heritage, Nolan had been tempted to force her submission, as was the Viltrumite way. But as the thought crept in, memories surged forward: Marie as a newborn, her tiny hand clutching his finger with all her might, her shrill cry inexplicably tugging at his heart. Another memory surfaced, Nolan clad in a tutu, seated at a small table, indulging Marie's tea party with her stuffed animals. Debbie had snapped a picture, capturing the moment for future amusement.
Then came the memory of the day Marie brought a boy home. Nolan's world had momentarily shattered as a primal rage urged him to turn the boy's face into a crater. But the revelation that Will was gay had diffused his fury. Over time, Nolan had even developed a tentative friendship with the boy, his frequent visits turning from a source of tension to a familiar comfort. Nolan no longer gave his presence a second thought.
Nolan's mind drifted between galaxies of memory and the lonely silence of the present. As the Earth spun slowly below, his shoulders slumped, not from fatigue, but from the weight of everything he had become, and everything he was about to face. He wasn't just watching the planet. He was watching the consequences of his legacy.
A soft wind kicked up faint plumes of lunar dust around his boots. His breath, unnecessary, but practiced from years of pretending to be human, hitched briefly. He looked down at the small photo he kept in his inner chest pocket. It was weathered, the edges fraying, the color fading. But the image still clung to life: a picnic blanket, Debbie laughing, Marie squinting in the sun.
For a long time, Nolan had dismissed humanity's fragility. Their wars, their pain, their joys, it all seemed like a passing experiment. But that image… it represented something he'd never experienced in the Viltrumite Empire. Peace. Joy. A family that made him feel more than a weapon.
He clenched the photo tight and stood.
"They deserve better," he whispered, and for the first time in years, his eyes shimmered, not from the light of the stars, but from something very human.
"I miss my wife..."
Chicago – Four Days Later
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue across the ruined city. Where once smoke and screams ruled, now there were tents filled with chatter, laughter, and the clanging of tools. A symphony of rebuilding.
William stood in the skeletal remains of a collapsed school, his green and bronze suit scorched and tattered, but his energy still sharp. He dragged a massive steel beam out of the rubble with ease and carefully laid it down beside a growing pile of salvageable materials.
"Hey! Watch the edges, some of that rebar's still live," he called out, nodding to a nearby worker who almost cut their hand on a jagged end.
The woman gave a thumbs-up. "Got it, hero. Thanks."
Conor dropped down beside William from above, his shadowy wings dispersing into harmless mist.
"Kids and parents are cleared from the South Wing. No bodies… just memories," Conor said, his tone heavy with grim finality.
William gave a slow nod. "By today's standards, that's a win."
Their attention shifted to a nearby field where Robot directed teams of humans and drones in coordinated efforts. Marie, Invincible, landed with a hard thud nearby, sending a cloud of dust bursting outward in a ring.
"I just finished clearing Wacker Drive," Marie announced, brushing sweat from her brow. "Zombies are completely gone down there."
She adjusted her suit, her eyes scanning the horizon where the church's white spires rose into the skyline like symbols of hope and resilience.
"Those people didn't waste any time," she added, a note of surprise coloring her voice. "I wasn't expecting such swift and organized rebuilding."
William wiped soot from his face, his expression contemplative. "They're rallying a lot of survivors under their banner. But it's unsettling, their leader's sermons haven't exactly been welcoming to the GDA."
Conor's shadowy wings flickered as he shifted uneasily. "And they're not just preaching, they're acting. Their holy flames have been clearing infected zones with surgical precision. It's effective, but their zealotry feels dangerous."
Nearby, workers hesitated momentarily, some murmuring prayers while others exchanged uneasy glances. The church's influence was spreading, weaving itself deeply into the fragile core of Chicago.
Marie crossed her arms. "We've got to keep an eye on them. If their sermons become more aggressive, it could shatter the fragile unity we've managed to maintain."
William's faint smile vanished, replaced by a determined resolve. "Agreed. But for now, they're offering shelter, supplies, and a sense of order. We can't afford to turn away anyone seeking safety."
Suddenly, the distant toll of a church bell echoed through the city, deep and resonant, reverberating like a call to arms, or a forewarning.
Conor glanced sharply toward the sound, his expression hardening. "Whatever comes next, we need to be ready."
Marie nodded, her eyes narrowing with determination. "This fight is far from over. Not by a long shot."
The church bell tolled again, its heavy clangs rolling across the city like thunder on a clear day. Workers paused, their conversations trailing off as eyes instinctively drifted toward the shining spires of the sanctuary.
Inside the great hall, the young blonde leader paced slowly before a gathering crowd. His voice was calm but carried an iron edge beneath its soothing cadence.
"Brothers and sisters," he began, "we stand at the crossroads of salvation and destruction. The GDA claims to protect us, yet they shackle us with their pride and hollow heroics. It is only through faith and the righteous cleansing fire that we can restore true order."
A ripple of fervent agreement echoed through the pews, some faces alight with hope, others shadowed by fear.
From the back, a hooded figure slipped quietly into the chamber.
Cecil's eyes narrowed as he observed the scene from the screen in GDA headquarters via a hidden camera on the hooded figure's clothes.
"This man is more than a preacher. His reach is growing. And the GDA's influence is slipping."