Watching the massive Tyrant collapse with a thunderous crash, Li Wei and the others, who were in the midst of retreating, froze in shock.
From the moment Huang Liu turned around to the moment the Tyrant went down, barely two seconds had passed.
And in that short span of time, one of the two Tyrants they'd thought impossible to deal with had been permanently eliminated.
The feeling was akin to a bunch of scrubs teaming up in a game and unexpectedly running into a high-level boss. Just when everyone had given up hope, hands off the keyboard and already imagining the squad getting wiped out… one of their teammates suddenly pulled off god-tier moves and instantly soloed the boss!
The shock was on par with finding out Jack Ma was actually your college roommate.
One of the Purgators instantly revealed his inner bootlicker and shouted toward Huang Liu:
"Daddy! You're insane! Take us with you!!"
"..."
In truth, it wasn't just the onlookers who were stunned.
Even outside Raccoon City, the Umbrella Corporation staff remotely operating the Tyrants were staring at their screens like they'd seen a ghost.
The commander nearly spilled his coffee.
According to the Red Queen's projections, even with over a dozen fully armed elite soldiers packing heavy firepower, taking down a single Tyrant would come at a steep cost.
That's why they had treated Li Wei's crew as little more than disposable toys—something for amusement. They hadn't taken them seriously in the slightest.
At first, their panicked retreat only served to entertain the operators even more.
But then, in just two to three seconds, Huang Liu used nothing more than a standard-issue rifle to take out a Tyrant. That move stunned the entire control room.
It was like watching an action movie unfold in real time.
The commander's expression turned grim as he barked out an order: "Release the second Tyrant's limiter. And get me everything you can find on that Asian man—immediately!"
"Yes, sir!"
Following that command, the remaining Tyrant trembled slightly.
The coat and metal restraints on its body clattered to the floor.
What had been a relatively proportional physique suddenly began to balloon like an inflating balloon.
Veins glowing crimson bulged across its body like magma-forged armor.
"Open fire! Now!"
The Purgators instantly understood—the second form was coming. The Tyrant was about to enter its berserk state.
No hesitation. They opened fire with everything they had, hoping to interrupt the transformation.
But with the Tyrant shielding its head, their rifles may as well have been squirt guns. Aside from scuffing its surface, they were completely useless.
And finally—its transformation complete—its fingers elongated into razor-sharp bone claws over a foot long.
With a sudden crouch, the Tyrant launched itself five to six meters into the air like a pouncing tiger. In a flash, it closed in on one of the cops.
A casual swipe, and the officer—body armor and all—was carved cleanly into several pieces.
The Purgators' expressions turned deathly grim.
One of them even trembled uncontrollably as he muttered:
"Holy shit… a dual-claw Tyrant. In the game that thing's always a boss-level nightmare. Practically immune to bullets… only rockets even work…"
The situation, which had seemed to turn in their favor thanks to Huang Liu's incredible performance, was once again sliding into crisis.
---
At the Hospital
After arriving, Orsaga casually landed his aircraft on the hospital's rooftop.
He stepped out, tried the rooftop door—and found it firmly locked.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his trusty tool: a piece of scavenged wire.
Jamming it into the keyhole and fiddling for a bit…
Click.
The metal door creaked open.
"Pretty handy little thing~" he muttered, tossing the wire back into his pocket.
The first thing to greet him beyond the doorway was a pile of half-gnawed bones, mixed with bloody smears and desperate claw marks.
After surveying the scene, he pieced together what had happened.
Some poor soul had tried to escape to the rooftop to avoid the zombies—only to discover they didn't have the key to the door.
And just like that, game over.
Blocked in front by the locked door and behind by a swarm of undead… There was no worse way to go.
What made it even more pathetic was that, given how many zombies there were, the poor bastard's meat wasn't even enough to go around. He didn't even get the chance to turn—just got eaten down to the bones.
"Eugh…"
Orsaga wrinkled his nose.
Out of everyone in the hospital, that guy might've been the cleanest plate.
He sniffed the air, picking up the lingering stench of what zombies left behind after snacking on a large intestine sashimi platter.
'Yeah… for human senses, that's gotta be nasty…'
With that, he began making his way down the staircase, stepping through puddles of half-congealed red sludge.
He hadn't gone far—just down two floors—when three zombies came into view.
Without prey nearby, zombies were like mannequins—standing around, motionless.
But the moment they sensed Orsaga, they began to stir.
Zombies had heightened senses—smell, hearing, vision—all sharper than a normal human's.
As they shambled toward him with stiff, jerky movements, Orsaga didn't even pause.
Calmly, he drew the longsword from his waist.
Three casual thrusts.
Each sword strike pierced an eye socket and sent vibrations deep into the brain, scrambling it like tofu.
As the corpses collapsed with wet thuds, Orsaga gave his sword a quick shake, flicking off the red-and-white mess clinging to the blade.
Humming softly, he continued down the hall.
Originally, he had built himself a chainsaw sword for dealing with zombies, but the two key factors—battery life and aesthetics—had proven too hard to solve with the junk he had on hand.
So he dismantled it.
Part of the material was used to build an electric grill, which he planned to mount on his aircraft so he could barbecue mid-flight.
The rest was reforged into the longsword in his hand.
While it lacked any special abilities, it was decently sharp and sturdy—good enough for basic use.
And with each step he took, the zombie horde was shredded like grass beneath his blade.
Inside the hospital, the undead dropped one after another, barely able to twitch before dying.
Even though Orsaga's physical stats were only at baseline human levels, taking out these trash mobs was still a breeze.
Their stiff, clumsy movements were meaningless to someone like him.
Most of the time, all he had to do was raise his sword at the right moment—and the zombies would stumble into it headfirst, practically offing themselves.
What's more, the human body had a natural energy-conservation mechanism.
As long as he kept his movements within a certain threshold, Orsaga's stamina wouldn't decrease.
So mowing down the undead was about as taxing as breathing.
"You're trash too…"
Muttering under his breath, Orsaga casually pointed his longsword toward a nearby shadow.
Just then, a Licker lunged at him.
The blade intercepted its trajectory mid-air, piercing straight into its brain and dropping it instantly.
With a smooth, effortless motion, Orsaga redirected the momentum of the pounce, using the Licker's own force to toss its soon-to-be-falling corpse into a nearby pile of bodies—without sparing it a second glance.
__
T/N:
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