Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1051 Death God Live Broadcast

Chapter 1051 Death God Live Broadcast (2)

Nevada Control Room.

"what--!!!"

The weapons controller let out a beast-like howl, the immense pain and humiliation causing him to slam his forehead against the hard control panel!
With a muffled thud, blood instantly flowed down his forehead, but he was completely unaware, only frantically pounding his fists on the table in despair.

"A devil! He's a devil!!"

The operator slumped in his chair, his face ashen, staring blankly at the still slightly twitching corpse on the screen. His stomach churned, and he finally couldn't hold back any longer, bending over and vomiting all over the floor.

Langley Command Center.

The command room was deathly silent.

Only the faint hum of the equipment seemed like a funeral dirge played for the dead.

Vincent closed his eyes very slowly, took a deep breath, as if trying to squeeze all the air out of his lungs.

On the screen, Song Heping had already straightened up.

He didn't even glance at the corpse at his feet again, as if he were merely brushing away a speck of dust.

Dragging his injured leg, his steps were slightly unsteady, yet he carried a deathly coldness as he slowly approached his next target—a Ranger soldier lying on the edge of burning wreckage, stunned by the explosion.

The Glock 17's muzzle rose steadily once more, pointing at the unconscious soldier's forehead.

"God……"

A female agent murmured to herself, her voice trembling with tears.

boom!
Another muffled gunshot rang out.

In the video, the unconscious soldier's head suddenly tilted to the side, revealing a clear blood hole on his forehead.

He didn't even utter a groan before his life ended.

Song Heping did not stop.

He moved like a programmed killing machine, traversing the burning helicopter wreckage, twisted metal fragments, and scattered corpses.

Each pause was accompanied by a short, deadly gunshot.

boom!
A soldier clutching his broken arm, reaching for his pistol at his waist, was shot in the chest and fell backward violently.

boom!
A crew member trapped under metal debris cried out for help in despair, but the sound abruptly stopped.

boom!
A wounded soldier, whose consciousness was blurred and who was groaning unconsciously due to excruciating pain, calmed down the moment the bullet kissed his forehead.

Every flash of muzzle flash was clearly displayed on the high-definition screens at the Nevada base and the Langley command center.

These pilots and US special forces soldiers, who were already wounded or half-conscious from the bombing, were powerless against the killing god Song Heping, and were like lambs to the slaughter.

Blood flowed freely on the gravel beach, reflecting an eerie glow in the firelight.

Song Heping's figure moved against the backdrop of firelight and thick smoke, and finally, he reached the last person.

This is the soldier who was injured by the grenade and thrown to the ground from the right side of the Black Hawk helicopter.

He had a broken leg and his internal organs were bleeding profusely from a ruptured spleen. The excruciating pain and blood loss made him lose consciousness, but his survival instinct kept him struggling and wriggling weakly.

He seemed to sense the shadow of death looming over him, and with great effort, he opened his cloudy eyes a crack, seeing Song Heping standing in front of him.

Fear caused his pupils to dilate instantly.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but could only make hoarse sounds, with blood and foam continuously gushing from the corner of his mouth.

Song Heping looked down at him, his face expressionless.

He slowly raised the blood-stained and brain-splattered Glock 17, its cold muzzle aimed at the soldier's face, contorted with fear.

In the control room of the Nevada base, the weapons control officer had collapsed. He slumped in his chair, blood from his forehead congealing on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the screen, as if his soul had been ripped away.

He fired the last Hellfire missile.

That was the last chance to end Song Heping's life.

If successful, the current scene of carnage would not have occurred.

All of this became the final straw that broke his spirit.

Meanwhile, the operator next to him covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking silently.

Langley Command Center.

Vincent stared intently at the screen, his eyes burning with a fury that could consume everything.

Behind him, there was a deathly silence, so oppressive it was hard to breathe.

Song Heping's index finger rested on the trigger.

Just then, the dying soldier seemed to have used up his last bit of strength, and his eyes erupted with a desperate madness mixed with fear and resentment.

He used all his strength to raise his hand, trying to pull off the grenade hanging on his tactical vest.

It has to be said, he's quite the tough guy.

He did not beg for mercy.

They didn't give up.

He wanted to die together with Song Heping.

However, this was all in vain.

This somewhat tragic act of resistance was clearly captured by the drone's high-definition camera.

Song Heping's lips twitched upwards in an extremely subtle way.

That smile carried an endless, mocking certainty.

Then he pulled the trigger.

boom!
The gunshots sounded crisper and colder than ever before.

The bullet pierced the soldier's forehead precisely, extinguishing his last vestiges of madness and resentment.

The soldier's head slammed back to the ground, his eyes still wide open, reflecting the burning inferno and the gun-wielding demon.

Song Heping slowly lowered the muzzle of his gun.

The Glock 17's slide was locked in place after the last bullet was fired, with a very faint wisp of smoke still lingering at the muzzle.

He looked around.

Two priceless MH-60M "Black Hawk" special operations helicopters: one was completely reduced to burning wreckage, while the other lay crookedly in the distance, emitting black smoke.

On the gravel beach, more than twenty corpses dressed in desert camouflage lay scattered about, their blood pooling into dark red streams beneath them, flowing silently and seeping into this war-torn land.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, gunpowder, burnt food, and death, so heavy it was suffocating.

Only the MQ-9 Reaper drone continued to emit a low, helpless hum in the sky.

Nevada Air Force Base, drone control room. The weapons control officer slumped in his chair, his eyes blankly fixed on the chaotic scene of death on the screen, and the figure standing in the middle of the pile of corpses.

Under the high-definition lens, the congealed scabs on Song Heping's face, the dark bloodstains on his clothes, and even the gunpowder residue on the muzzle are clearly visible.

On the control panel, the weapon status indicator light still glaringly displayed "EMPTY" (ammunition depleted).

A tremendous, nauseating sense of powerlessness and chilling fear coiled around his heart like a venomous snake.

"He...he killed everyone..."

The operator's voice was dry and hoarse, like sandpaper scraping, "In front of us...like slaughtering livestock..."

The weapons control officer jolted awake, as if jolted by those words.

His hands trembled as he grabbed the communicator, his voice distorted by extreme fear and a kind of post-collapse hysteria:
"Command center! Command center! This is Death Control Station! Target... Target confirmed alive! Repeat, Target confirmed alive! He... he..."

He swallowed hard, making a gurgling sound in his throat, as if he needed all his strength to utter the next words.

"...He executed all of our surviving ground personnel! All of them! In front of the drones! On-site...on-site confirmed no survivors! Over!"

He seemed to have all his strength drained away; the communicator slipped from his hand and slammed onto the control panel with a loud thud.

Langley, CIA Operations Command Center.

The weapons control officer's distorted and broken voice echoed in the deathly silent command room.

Every word felt like it was carrying shards of ice, striking the hearts of everyone present.

"Execute...all survivors..."

"No survivors have been confirmed on site..."

On the huge tactical screen, there was a panoramic view of Song Heping standing amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

He slowly raised his head, and his face, completely covered in blood, was once again facing the drone's camera.

Then, he raised his left hand, which was not holding a gun and was also covered in blood.

This time, it's not the middle finger.

Facing the camera, and at everyone watching him on screens thousands of miles away, he very slowly and solemnly raised his right hand, holding the Glock 17 pistol, which had just been used in a brutal execution and whose slide was still in the lockout position, to his temple.

The cold muzzle of the gun pressed tightly against his blood-stained temple!

"What does he want to do?!"

One of the agents screamed in terror, his voice trembling.

Director Vincent's body stiffened abruptly, and his pupils contracted sharply!

On the screen, Song Heping's lips maintained the same mocking smile.

Then, his lips moved slightly.

Under the high-definition lens, the lip movements were magnified and captured with unparalleled clarity.

He's speaking!

He was speaking a single word silently to the camera, to the eyes behind the drone, and to Vincent in the Langley command center.

Vincent stared intently at the enlarged mouth, not missing a single subtle muscle movement.

He understood.

The silent word, like a red-hot bullet, pierced his mind:

"Rubbish!"

despair--

Song Heping suddenly pressed the release button on the sleeve with his index finger.

The stock bounced back from its empty position.

Absolute mockery and contempt!

Vincent could no longer control his anger and humiliation, and slammed his fist hard on the hard metal command platform.

"find him!"

Vincent's voice was filled with rage and murderous intent.

He turned around abruptly, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over each of his terrified subordinates behind him.

"Use all resources! From heaven to earth! I need to see him alive or dead! I want to twist his head off myself! Now!!!"

The entire command center erupted in excitement once again.

A piercing alarm sounded, and the red warning lights spun wildly.

"Contact the Pentagon! Top priority! We need all satellites, all reconnaissance aircraft! To cover the entire Persian border region!"

"Activate all dormant agents within Persia! At any cost! Target characteristics: East Asian male, severely wounded, extremely dangerous!"

"Contact the NSA! I need all communications records and contact points of the target within Iligor! Dig deep!"

"Notify the Persians... no, exert pressure through secret channels! Damn it, they have to cooperate! Otherwise, they'll face the consequences!"

The orders came down like hailstones, each word carrying Vincent's determination to destroy the target.

The enormous screen was divided into countless small sections, displaying satellite maps, communication link diagrams, intelligence files, real-time footage of border outposts, and more.

A massive influx of information began to pour in.

The main image in the center of the screen remains locked on that burning gravel beach.

Song Heping remained frozen in that position, gun pointed at his temple, for a full three seconds.

Then, he slowly lowered his arm.

The gun barrel left his temple.

After doing all this, he didn't look at the drones in the sky again.

It was as if it were just an insignificant speck of dust on the roadside.

He turned around and dragged his injured leg toward the border.

The satellite phone in my pocket vibrated.

After glancing at the screen, Song Heping pressed the call button.

"Song, I've already sent people to meet you. Where are you?"

The voice of Afanti came from the other end of the phone.