The storm raged outside, flashes of lightning illuminating the shattered cathedral windows. Rain dripped from the broken ceiling, pooling in cracks of the ancient stone floor. The bodies of fallen warriors lay scattered across the hall—silent, broken, defeated.

Chris Redfield struggled in midair, his throat caught in the iron grip of Albert Wesker, the monster in human form. Wesker's sunglasses gleamed in the dim light, his smirk one of pure amusement as he lifted Chris effortlessly.

"Is this really the best the BSAA has to offer?" Wesker taunted, his voice smooth and venomous. "Pathetic as always."

Chris clenched his fists, kicking against Wesker’s grip, but the virus coursing through the man’s veins made him inhumanly strong. Below, Jill Valentine gasped for breath, struggling to rise from where she had been thrown. Nearby, Claire groaned, clutching her side, blood trickling from a wound. The battle had been swift, brutal—and hopeless.

"Let him go!" Jill shouted, forcing herself to her knees. Her vision blurred from the impact, but she wouldn't let Chris fall.

Wesker turned slightly, his grin widening. "You always were persistent, Jill. But persistence doesn't equal strength."

With a flick of his arm, he hurled Chris across the room like a ragdoll. He crashed into a crumbling pillar, coughing as pain shot through his body.

Lightning struck again, illuminating Wesker’s silhouette as he stepped forward.

"Now," he said, flexing his fingers. "Who’s next?" His eyes land on you and he slowly walk closer to you, you lay there hopeless