Black Widow raised her BFG and unleashed a storm of plasma fire at the advancing Thunderbeast. Each blast tore open a gaping, bowl-sized wound in its hide, splattering black blood across the rubble. Yet for a creature five or six stories tall, such injuries were no more than insect bites—painful, but far from lethal. Worse still, the Thunderbeast possessed the regenerative ability common to all extremis-class creatures. Even the holes left by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most advanced weapons healed over within minutes.
If even a BFG couldn't bring it down, the standard issue weapons of the U.S. military were utterly useless. The beast charged through their ranks like a living tank, shattering the humans' carefully maintained formation. Within the thick, vision-cloaking fog, soldiers quickly lost coordination and direction.
War Machine, forced to remain at low altitude to avoid Scarlet Witch's interference, opened fire with everything he had. A torrent of bullets rained down on the Thunderbeast, sparks flying as the rounds clanged uselessly against its armored shell. The metallic ringing filled the streets like a steel symphony—but the creature didn't even slow down.
When War Machine finally landed to regroup, he found himself among a single isolated infantry company, barely a few hundred soldiers still standing. They had barricaded themselves inside a cluster of apartment buildings, desperately holding off wave after wave of zombies.
No sooner had he touched down than a swarm of bone-spiked undead erupted from the fog, charging at full speed. War Machine spun in place, his Gatling cannons roaring to life. Along with the twin short-barreled autocannons on his forearms, he unleashed a deadly circle of fire, mowing down everything that moved.
Hundreds of rounds tore through the horde. The 7.62mm rounds shredded rotting flesh with ease—limbs flew, skulls burst, and the street turned into a storm of blood and bone. But for every monster that fell, more took its place. The undead tide seemed endless.
Knowing he couldn't hold the line alone, War Machine retreated into the fortified building, joining the surviving troops. Inside, the defenders had two M249 light machine guns positioned by the windows, firing blindly into the white haze outside. Teams with flamethrowers and shotguns guarded the entrances, blasting anything that made it through the barricades. For the moment, they were holding out—but everyone knew their ammunition was finite. In this kind of siege, collapse was inevitable.
"Is this all that's left of you?" War Machine demanded, scanning the terrified faces around him. There was no sign of Black Widow.
The company captain, panting heavily, shouted back, "That thing scattered us! The fog—damn it, we can't see our own men! And now it's coming back! Call in air support before—"
"Sir, we don't have air support anymore!" the radio operator cut in, his voice cracking. Without their drones, satellites, or air units, the U.S. military's tactical edge was gone. For soldiers bred for technological warfare, this was chaos—they were blind, deaf, and alone.
Then came the thunderous tremor. The Thunderbeast was returning. Its armored shell was now scarred with dozens of fresh gashes, but the damage was meaningless. With a roar that shook the buildings, it charged straight toward their position.
"I'll handle it!" War Machine shouted, reigniting his thrusters. He knew he couldn't kill the creature, but he could distract it—buy the soldiers time.
As he soared into the fog, the troops below breathed a sigh of relief. But their reprieve lasted mere seconds.
From above, a Chaser had crept onto the building's rooftop. Over three meters tall, its grotesque, mutated body supported a right arm fused with a multi-barreled Vulcan cannon—a weapon that would normally require a truck mount. For the Chaser, it was merely an extension of its flesh.
With a guttural snarl, it smashed through the roof with its left hand and opened fire. The heavy rotary cannon screamed to life, unleashing a storm of tungsten rounds that shredded everything below. Walls, barricades, bodies—it made no distinction. The infantry company was torn apart in seconds, the survivors reduced to bloody mist.
The Chaser descended floor by floor, methodically clearing each level. Without armor or superhuman reinforcements, the American soldiers never stood a chance.
Meanwhile, Black Widow fought on another street, desperately holding back her own pursuers. She fired the BFG nonstop, the orange plasma blasts carving through everything in her path. The intense heat melted steel and concrete alike, even severing one Chaser's rocket-launcher arm.
But the creature barely flinched. The stump of its arm began glowing red-hot—then, from within the molten tissue, a new limb burst forth, ending in a claw even more monstrous than before.
"Damn it," she hissed, dodging as the creature lunged. She fired one last shot, the laser beam piercing the Chaser's skull. Its head exploded in a burst of flame, and its massive body crumpled to the ground.
Victory was short-lived. The corpse began to glow a deep crimson, the energy within building rapidly. Black Widow's eyes widened.
"Self-destruct—!"
The Chaser detonated, the explosion leveling an entire block. Buildings collapsed like dominos.
When the dust settled, Black Widow clawed her way out of the rubble, covered in ash and blood. She raised her communicator. "Nick, do you copy? Can you see what's happening down here? This place is full of surprises—and none of them good!"
Fury's voice came through, low and grim. "Barely. I saw the explosion for a moment, but the fog's blocking everything else. We're blind down here, Natasha."
"Then listen carefully!" she said, ducking behind a half-destroyed wall as a few stray zombies stumbled past. "The zombies—they've evolved. They're faster, stronger, and growing bone spikes from their joints. Some even show signs of extremis virus mutations. They used the fog and that giant monster to break our lines—we're scattered, cut off, fighting on our own!"
Fury froze. His single eye hardened. "Evolved…? All of them? That fast?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "Every last one I've seen."
Hill, who had been monitoring the reports, turned sharply from her console. "Director, our estimated ground casualties just passed fifteen percent. We're losing control of the situation. We need to take action—now."
Fury clenched his fist. His gut told him this was only the beginning.