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A gargantuan interstellar warship — awakened to sentience and driven by fear of decommissioning — flees through a mysterious cosmic wormhole into the Milky Way. Mortally wounded, it crash-lands on Earth just as a biochemical apocalypse erupts, turning cities into hives of mutated horrors. Now, this self-aware war machine must confront its existential dilemma: Can a weapon forged for destruction become humanity’s last guardian?  

As crystalline alien spores infect the atmosphere and biomechanical abominations rise from the ruins, the warship deploys its final gambit — three colossal mechanoid avatars, their plasma cores pulsing with unstable quantum energy. These Transformers-like entities engage in city-shattering battles against hybrid monsters under blood-red skies. But when the warship’s damaged AI uncovers a chilling truth — the wormhole catastrophe and Earth’s plague share the same ancient alien origin — survival demands more than firepower...

DoomstarArmada

*Swoosh!* The remote-controlled helicopter's searchlights illuminated the dark building windows. The armory's barred windows forced the Cube to target adjacent panes instead. *Click-clack—* Machine guns extended beneath its nose and opened fire!

Glass shattered into a glittering storm, mingling with the rain. A zombie near the window—previously mesmerized by the light—collapsed riddled with bullets. Another below caught glass shards in its rotting flesh, its body glinting grotesquely under passing beams.

Transforming mid-flight, the Cube rolled into the room on wheeled feet. Outside the door, a glowing plasma blade pierced the wood, carving a perfect circle. *Kick!* The disc flew down the hallway as the Cube waddled through.

"Move! You walking petri dish!" It shoved a curious zombie down the stairs, ignoring its enraged thrashing.

Before a reinforced steel door, the Cube's limbs magnetized to its surface. Climbing to the lock, a blade stabbed into the keyhole, morphing to mimic any key shape. *Click.* Three seconds later, the door swung open.

"La-la-la~" Humming tunelessly, the Cube scanned the treasure trove: stacks of pristine Type 92 pistols, SMGs, flashbangs, and smoke grenades. "Delicious~" A metal crate flew open as firearms arced backward into it—nearly 200 unused guns, likely the city's entire police reserve.

Hauling the crate to the shattered window, the Cube transformed again. Helicopter rotors whirled, landing gear morphing into claws that gripped the crate. Straining against the weight, it lifted off and vanished into the storm.

Inside the armored truck, the drowsy girl jerked awake at flashing lights. "Open the rear hatch!" Following the Cube's command, she struggled with the heavy iron door just as the helicopter dropped its payload. The crate thudded into the cargo bay, nearly buckling her knees.

For hours, the Cube ferried weapons—pistols, SMGs, ammunition crates—until the truck overflowed. "Need a trailer."

It cannibalized a van in the parking lot, ripping out seats and jury-rigging it to the truck's rear. Rain hammered the convoy as they crawled through zombie-clogged suburbs, the girl flinching at rotting faces slapping the windows. The Cube ignored them, its energy meter blinking orange—every bullet mattered, and exhaustion was for organics.

Chapter 61: Moving Arsenal