Reborn as Humanity’s Emperor Across the Multiverse

Highly contagious?

Hearing this alarming keyword, Janes Thompson's brow furrowed. Yet his momentary shock was swiftly replaced by composure.

Without hesitation, he chose to heed the agents' advice, quickly issuing orders to the ODST and special operations team members present:

"Everyone, heighten your vigilance! Tyrant pilots and mech operators, move forward immediately and readjust your formation. Establish overlapping fields of fire to block all entrances and exits to the collapse zone!

Anything that tries to emerge from the fissure must be torn to shreds on sight. Ensure absolute security for the perimeter and landing zone!"

"Yes, sir!"

With swift responses over the comms, the landing zone's defensive formation was rapidly reorganized.

The Tyrants and Cyclops mechs stomped across the icy terrain with heavy, deafening thuds, while their heavy weapons calibrated and locked onto the targeted zone.

Meanwhile, the ODST and special operations members, using disposable energy shields and portable barriers, formed a fortified defense line that sealed off the collapse zone, creating a layered crossfire network.

Even if the enemy possessed formidable assault capabilities, the formation was built to exact heavy casualties and prevent any creatures from breaching the perimeter before the transport convoy arrived.

Once the deployment was complete, Thompson turned his attention back to the shared reconnaissance feed on his helmet display.

Staring intently at the grotesque figures on-screen, he asked in a low voice:

"Colonel Redfield, what exactly are those things?"

Before Colonel Chris Redfield, the senior agent from the Investigation Division, could respond, Thompson noticed something unusual.

One of the twisted Brutes at the rear of the group suddenly froze, its warped body rigidly twisting toward the drone's location.

The next second, it raised its glowing green eyes and, through the drone's perspective, seemed to stare directly at Thompson himself.

A faint signal interference briefly distorted Thompson's helmet display. Yet, the Brute's eerie laughter came through clearly:

"Hehe—!"

Its grotesquely torn mouth twisted into a ghastly grin, dripping thick green fluid from its teeth and jaw with sickening squelches. Then, in a guttural voice native to the Brute species, it muttered a series of garbled phrases:

"Graugh! Froll'' ka'' han drovaka shil'' runnk!"

Immediately, the translation module in Thompson's helmet converted the Covenant language into human-readable text:

"Hehe! Fresh prey has walked right into my master's trap!"

Hearing this, Thompson's pupils constricted sharply.

The sinister malice in the creature's words was unmistakable, and it signaled a level of awareness far beyond what he had anticipated.

It was now clear that these beings had foreseen their arrival—and had been waiting to ensnare them in a premeditated ambush.

"Colonel Thompson!"

At that moment, Colonel Chris Redfield's voice came through the comms. His tone was tense but decisive:

"The situation has escalated beyond our control. At this stage, our top priority is to withdraw from Quikonto and hand over all subsequent investigation and response to the arriving Raven Guard Fourth Company.

Colonel, I urge you to hold the landing zone and wait—"

ROAR—!

Before Redfield could finish, a deafening roar erupted, immediately flooding the drone's audio feed.

On-screen, the Brute that had been laughing moments earlier suddenly lunged at the drone's location.

Its twisted body leapt with unnerving agility, every exposed muscle twitching and writhing irregularly. Green fluid gushed from its gaping wounds, staining its battered armor.

As the Brute attacked, the previously "motionless" fissure zone erupted into chaos.

A torrent of malformed Brutes and Jackals surged forth from the depths of the fissure, swarming toward the drones released by the Hunters like a tidal wave.

These creatures were not only vast in number but also exhibited severe mutations—

Some Brutes had extra eyes growing from their skulls, while some Jackals' arms had transformed into blade-like claws. Among them were massive wasp-like creatures with grotesque, moth-like wings.

The wasps were particularly striking. Their wings shed a constant stream of fine dust, possibly laced with toxins of unknown origin.

What was even more horrifying was that despite their severe physical deformities, these creatures retained their ability to wield weapons with precision.

Whoosh—Whoosh!

Plasma beams and sparks flew as the drones came under relentless attack. The feed grew increasingly distorted.

The Hunters attempted to reposition the drones to evade the assault, but the relentless enemy tide made it impossible to regain control.

Meanwhile, the Hellhounds at the forefront disappeared from the radar within seconds, their signals abruptly lost.

This confirmed that the bio-units had been completely annihilated.

The remaining drones managed to relay pulse scans back to Thompson, revealing a disturbing sight:

Massive numbers of twisted figures were converging rapidly toward the hub zone where the clone soldiers were stationed.

Thompson's tactical radar displayed the gathering enemy forces as a dense, ominous mass, preparing for what appeared to be an even more ferocious assault.

Hearing the echo of distant gunfire, the 500 clone soldiers reacted immediately.

They had already fortified their positions, aiming their AMWS, Gauss weapons, and hard-light rifles at the entrances of the tunnels leading to the hub zone.

Programmed with combat expertise from the moment they left their incubation chambers, the clone soldiers displayed remarkable composure and professionalism in the extreme environment, forming an impenetrable defensive line.

They stood as the final barrier, preventing the twisted abominations from breaching the surface.

Through the shared visual feed and radar indicators, Thompson observed the sudden escalation of the situation. He quickly issued a warning to everyone.

Raising his commander-class hard-light rifle, he aimed it at the fissure, prepared for the inevitable clash.

Despite the clone soldiers' proven resilience in countless battles, Thompson couldn't shake the unease gripping him.

These enemies, with their frenzied and bizarre behavior, defied conventional combat logic, filling the air with an unsettling chill.

The mission, originally intended to be a simple reconnaissance operation, had turned into a full-blown Chaos ambush.

The sudden deterioration of the situation made Thompson acutely aware that the mission was spiraling out of control.

Their only option now was to shift to an emergency defensive strategy and hold out until the transport convoy arrived.

In the meantime, the ODST and special operations teams, who had deployed earlier, would have to rely on the clone soldiers to stabilize the situation.

Thompson understood that while ODST and special forces excelled in combat, they were at significant risk of physical infection or corruption when facing Chaos-touched entities. Such an outcome would be catastrophic.

He was determined to avoid losing his elite troops to such a grim fate.

Rat-tat-tat—!

Ri~shoom—!!

Soon, the shared feed erupted with the sounds of intense gunfire, shattering the brief silence.

Fire erupted from the tunnel entrances, accompanied by piercing explosions. The feed showed the grotesque, twisted heretics charging chaotically at the clone soldiers' defensive lines.

These abominations, with bodies warped beyond comprehension, exuded a palpable aura of dread.

Their reckless, suicidal tactics sent them crashing headlong into the clones' crossfire, which tore through them with devastating precision.

Blood, limbs, and viscera littered the ground, turning the hub zone into a grim slaughterhouse.

The clone soldiers methodically maintained their formation, their unwavering precision cutting down the crazed attackers with brutal efficiency.

Yet, despite the overwhelming firepower, the heretics showed no sign of retreat.

Their eyes burned not with pain or fear, but with an overwhelming, suffocating zeal.

The Brutes, Jackals, and wasps, twisted into heretical forms by Chaos, surged forward like mindless puppets under its dark influence.

"Hahaha~~!"

Suddenly, an eerie and absurd laughter echoed through the hub zone's tunnels, breaking the somber tension of the battlefield.

The sound, twisted and unsettling, seemed to come from some suppressed abyss, radiating a perverse glee that sent shivers down the spine.

Then, a swarm of peculiar, grotesque creatures scuttled onto the battlefield, weaving through the legs of the larger heretics.

These "little creatures" were round and bloated, their skin covered in pus-filled boils that oozed a nauseating stench.

Their grotesque bodies squirmed in the freezing air, evoking a visceral sense of disgust.

Using their small size and agility, they exploited the moments when the clones reloaded, slipping into the front lines.

Like ravenous ghouls, they clawed at the clones' armor with bone blades and tentacles, attempting to breach their defenses.

Others opened their oversized mouths and bit at the clones' ankles and legs, trying to rip through their protective suits.

But these attempts ended in miserable failure.

Crunch—!

The sound of teeth breaking against armor echoed across the battlefield.

The grotesque creatures let out high-pitched, agonized shrieks, seemingly unable to comprehend why their attacks were so futile.

"Ahhh~!"

"Wowww~!"

Their pain became a source of amusement for their own kind. The other creatures burst into mocking laughter, their twisted glee filling the air.

Yet the clones remained unfazed.

Without hesitation, they adjusted their aim and eliminated the creatures with ruthless precision.

For the few that managed to survive the gunfire, the clones took a more direct approach—raising their boots and stomping down on the bloated creatures' grotesque bellies.

Squish—Squish—!

With dull, wet thuds, the grotesque little creatures were crushed underfoot. Their bloated bodies burst open, spraying putrid green fluids and releasing clouds of noxious mist into the air.

"Ahhh!!"

"Waaaaa~~!"

The creatures let out even sharper, more agonized screams as they died, their bizarre, gleeful mockery turning into sheer terror.

Their chaotic frenzy and insolent confidence crumbled instantly in the face of the clones' cold, methodical brutality.

One by one, the grotesque creatures were shredded by gunfire, pulverized by stomping boots, or blasted apart by explosive munitions.

Chunks of flesh, shattered bone, and bursts of sickly green blood painted the icy battlefield in a macabre display, turning the hub zone into an unrecognizable gore-soaked wasteland.

The clones maintained an impenetrable formation, rotating their fire patterns with precision. With no emotions, no hesitation, and no pity, they continued to efficiently mow down the swarms of twisted enemies.

However, as the bodies of the grotesque creatures piled up, the battlefield began to shift. Despite their heavy losses, more and more of the grotesque, malformed creatures emerged from the tunnels and fissures.

The tide of enemies showed no signs of abating.

Worse still, Thompson's helmet display updated with critical warnings. He noticed that the biological and structural integrity of several front-line clones had been compromised.

The armor and combat suits of dozens of clones had sustained microtears from the grotesque creatures' acid-filled saliva and physical attacks.

While these damages seemed minor at first, Thompson quickly realized the horrifying truth: the grotesque creatures carried a corrosive pathogen that had infiltrated the clones' bodies.

On the shared tactical feed, he saw bright red indicators flashing over the status displays of the affected clones. Their biological systems were breaking down rapidly. Flesh on their lower legs and ankles was dissolving into a sickening mess of exposed muscle and bone.

Seconds later, several clones collapsed to the ground, unable to continue holding their positions.

Though their faces showed no fear or pain, their incapacitation left alarming gaps in the defensive formation.

"Damn it," Thompson muttered under his breath, gripping his rifle tightly.

This grotesque swarm, absurd and disgusting as it appeared, was far more dangerous than he had initially assumed. Their comical, almost ridiculous movements masked an insidious threat capable of bypassing even the clone soldiers' formidable defenses.

Suddenly, a deafening chorus of guttural cries and frenzied howls echoed from deep within the tunnels.

"WAARGHH~~!!"

The remaining grotesque creatures surged forward as a writhing, putrid tide, accompanied by the larger Brutes, Jackals, and wasps. The entire horde now flooded the hub zone, overwhelming the defensive line like a tsunami of decay and corruption.

Thompson shouted over the comms, his voice cutting through the chaos:

"Fall back to secondary positions! Maintain formation and suppress those things with overlapping fire! Do not allow them to breach the final perimeter! ODST and Special Operations, prepare to reinforce the line!"

"Understood, Colonel!" came the disciplined responses.

The clone soldiers, following their programming, shifted their formation in perfect unison. Those still combat-capable held the line, laying down covering fire while the injured clones were dragged back by their comrades.

The defensive barriers of overlapping fire once again slowed the enemy advance. Plasma bursts, hard-light beams, and explosive shells created a deadly crossfire that tore through the abominations with merciless precision.

But Thompson knew this couldn't last.

On his tactical radar, the swarm's numbers continued to grow at an alarming rate. Every time a grotesque creature fell, ten more seemed to take its place.

The corrupted Brutes and Jackals—now barely recognizable as their former selves—pushed forward with relentless ferocity.

Their bodies, oozing green fluid and reeking of decay, absorbed hit after hit before collapsing, only for the swarm behind them to trample over their corpses without hesitation.

Worst of all, the grotesque little creatures were once again surging to the forefront, using their agility to dart through the gaps in the clones' fire.

Thompson's jaw clenched as he toggled his comms, addressing the entire task force.

"All units, hold your positions! If the line breaks, we lose the landing zone. Do not let them through!"

Through the shared visual feeds, Thompson saw one of the grotesque creatures leap onto the chest of a clone soldier in the front line. Its bulbous body squirmed and pulsated as it vomited green fluid onto the soldier's helmet, instantly corroding the faceplate.

With a loud crunch, the creature's jaws latched onto the clone's exposed face. The clone staggered backward, its status indicator flashing bright red before going dark. Moments later, the infected soldier's body convulsed violently and collapsed.

The creature's grotesque, twisted laughter echoed as it leapt from the fallen clone to its next target.

Thompson raised his rifle, his jaw tightening with determination.

"Enough of this," he muttered.

With precise aim, he fired a hard-light round that pierced straight through the grotesque creature's bloated body. The creature let out a high-pitched shriek before exploding into a cloud of green mist.

As the chaos unfolded, a new warning flashed across Thompson's tactical display.

"Warning: Elevated Warp Energy Detected."

His eyes narrowed. Warp energy readings this high could only mean one thing: Chaos was actively manifesting its influence in the region.

The grotesque creatures, mutated Brutes, and Jackals weren't just the product of random corruption—they were tools of a greater, more insidious force.

Thompson toggled his comms, his tone sharp and commanding.

"Agent Redfield, what's the ETA on the Raven Guard reinforcements?"

"They're seven minutes out, Colonel," Redfield replied grimly. "But I'm not sure we have that long."

Thompson turned his gaze back to the battlefield.

The grotesque swarm was pressing harder than ever, their numbers seemingly endless. Even with their overwhelming firepower, the clones were being pushed to their limits.

The situation was spiraling out of control, and time was running out.

"Hold the line," Thompson growled, gripping his rifle as he prepared for what could be their final stand.

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