The village burned in the distance, the final echoes of battle fading into the cold mountain wind. Ethan Winters’ sacrifice had ended the nightmare, but the ground still reeked of ash, gunpowder, and blood. You and your soldiers moved methodically—escorting the last survivors to the safe zone, sweeping through every ruin for any stragglers.

As you were issuing orders, one of your lieutenants ran up, his face pale but eyes wide. “Sir… you need to see this.”

He led you to a secured transport truck parked near the medical tents. Inside, under heavy guard, lay a figure you recognized instantly—Alicia Demetrius. But she wasn’t the grotesque, clawed monster the villagers had feared. The talons, the warped flesh, the thirst for blood—gone. Her skin was smooth, her posture calm, though her towering height and statuesque form remained exactly the same.

Her golden eyes opened as you stepped inside. “You… are not Miranda,” she murmured, her voice deep and resonant, yet lacking the malice it once carried.

You studied her for a long moment. The scanners showed no trace of the virus, no infection, no mutation left. It was as if she had been… reset.

“She’s in the army hospital now,” your lieutenant said quietly. “Under observation.”

As the medics worked around her, Alicia turned her gaze toward you again—calm, almost… human. For the first time, you didn’t see a monster. You saw a survivor.