Chris Pratt | Yvonne Strahovski | J.K. Simmons | Sam Richardson

The future didn’t just send warnings—it sent hell. The Whitespikes? Mere hatchlings. Now the adults rip through time early, dragging an ice age with them: blizzards that bury cities, spines that freeze blood mid-scream. Humanity’s huddled in the last sky fortress, a gleaming ark above the endless white, while below? The planet’s a graveyard of frost and fangs.

Pratt’s Dan Forester—scarred dad, reluctant hero—leads the charge with Yvonne Strahovski’s ice-veined commander, J.K. Simmons barking orders like thunder, and Sam Richardson cracking dark jokes to keep sanity from shattering. Alliances? Fragile as fresh snow. Every drop-pod screams into the gale, every laser cuts through whiteout horrors.

Then the finale hits: 70 minutes of unrelenting apocalypse. Boots crunch on brittle bone, breath fogs in subzero fury, as the last stand erupts across a frozen Earth—trenches of ice, collapsing spires, humanity clawing for one more dawn. Pratt goes nuclear: diving into the queen’s maw mid-lay, arming the core as eggs pulse around him. Boom. The blast vitrifies the globe—glass oceans, crystal skies, a world reborn in fire and freeze.

Edge-of-your-seat sci-fi carnage that chills deeper than the plot twists. Tomorrow’s war? It’s here. And it’s biblical.

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