Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

Standing at the highest point, Tsurugi overlooks the world with his arms crossed and his cloak hanging down, like a statue representing judgment.

"The first country we conquered was the United States of America," he said calmly.

"You have thirty minutes to lay down your arms and surrender. After thirty minutes, I will wage war against all those who possess weapons in this country."

The Holy Son's Path of Slaughter: Chapter 505 - The Difficult Struggle of the Two Poles of the World

Before giving the law, God would demonstrate His divine power to mortals. Just as the God who sent the Judeans out of Egypt would unleash ten plagues on the stubborn Egyptians as a deterrent.

In the Hudson River in New York, a 100,000-ton aircraft carrier ran aground, and the backflow of river water created waves that crashed against the streets of Lower Manhattan. Half of the glass curtain wall of the United Nations headquarters building was shattered, the remaining half resembling a row of broken teeth, jaggedly pointing towards the sky.

The crowd below was screaming and scattering in panic.

When you realize that a creature you absolutely cannot fight has appeared before you, your body makes the decision for you. And at this moment, the bodies of all the New Yorkers who witnessed the aircraft carrier fly overhead and saw the alien in black and white capes toss it into the river like trash are making the same decision for them—

run!

In an instant, the entire city of New York was plunged into extreme panic, and the world's attention was focused on the man with his arms crossed and a pale white cloak hanging down.

Then, troops from that country approached, tanks, missiles, fighter jets, and some hidden special weapons rained down on him.

"Mr. President!"

That thing—we've confirmed it just wiped out our entire Seventh Fleet…”

"I know!" The president turned around abruptly, his voice much sharper than he had expected. He saw his chief of staff standing in the doorway, his tie askew behind his neck, and the president suddenly realized that his own expression was probably just as bad.

He went behind his desk and sat down, but found he couldn't sit still at all. He stood up again. Then he grabbed the coffee cup on the desk, found it was empty, and slammed it down. The cup hit the tray with a crisp sound, startling the chief of staff standing in the doorway, who shrank back.

"How much time did he give us?" the president asked.

"Thirty... thirty minutes, sir."

“Thirty minutes,” the president repeated, then let out a short, almost neurotic laugh.

“Great, that’s fantastic! An alien suddenly appears in New York and gives us thirty minutes to decide whether humanity should surrender. Great. Very good. Excellent.”

When something so illogical happens to you, you can actually be so angry you laugh.

Nixon is a case in point. In reality, he shouldn't be in this position at all. But the existence of that blue god not only changed the course of the world, but the cooperation and assassination work of some 'superheroes' also allowed him to retain his current position.

During his tenure, he considered many potential problems, including a possible nuclear war, mutual deterrence with the Red Bear, missile crises, and so on.

In short, everything revolves around that one giant red bear, their only true enemy in the world, the beacon of freedom.

No matter how thorough the preparations and contingency plans, there's no way to deal with a situation where aliens suddenly arrive and announce their intention to destroy America and rule humanity.

He picked up the red telephone—the one that went straight to the Kremlin. His finger paused on the dial pad, but he dialed it anyway.

The operator connected the call incredibly quickly. Normally, this line would take at least three transfers and would take at least two or three minutes. But this time, someone on the other end picked up the receiver in less than half a minute.

"This is Moscow."

"Get me Poroandov." Nixon's voice trembled, but he gritted his teeth and tried to make his words clear. "I am the President of the United States."

A brief silence followed. Then came footsteps, the sound of a door opening, and hushed conversation in Russian. About ten seconds later—which felt like an eternity to the president—the familiar voice, thick with an accent, finally appeared.

"Mr. President, I heard that someone just used an aircraft carrier to smash the United Nations building?"

"Not 'my man'!" the president practically roared. "That's not my man! We have no idea what that is! I need to know now—did you guys create that?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Poroandov's voice turned cold.

"Are you asking whether the Soviet Union developed a biological weapon that can lift an aircraft carrier by hand, fly at speeds exceeding Mach 30, and broadcast simultaneously on all screens around the world?"

"That's exactly what I'm asking!" Nixon's voice grew louder and louder.

"Do you have any secret plans? Super soldiers? Bio-engineered humans? Or—are these actually monsters that mutated from the Chernobyl nuclear disaster—"

"What's wrong with you?!"

Poroandov retorted sharply, silencing the president. The president, holding the receiver, gaped like a fish pulled ashore.

“Listen,” Poroandev’s voice returned to its low, angry hoarseness, but his speech was noticeably faster, like a raging train speeding across the Siberian permafrost.

"If the Soviets had that technology, do you think I would send it flying over your heads first? The first place I would send it would be Washington! Not to bomb one of your aircraft carriers and give you thirty minutes to surrender, but to send it directly..."

773

We'll stop on your White House lawn and make you kneel down and sign the surrender document!

"Or, why don't we just send him to AFH and solve the problem there directly?!"

Nixon made a muffled sound, it was hard to tell whether it was anger or something else.

Poroandov continued, saying that his KGB background made him extremely assertive and gave the president no chance to interrupt.

"If he really was created by us, if he could really crush your Seventh Fleet like an ant, guess what I would call him? An angel. Not just any angel, but the archangel who embodies Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin—the one who will send your American imperialism into the dustbin of history! I would call him 'the savior who will liberate all mankind in the dawn of communism,' do you understand?!"

"you--"

"I haven't finished speaking!" Poroandov's voice almost shattered the receiver.

“If he really obeyed my orders, I wouldn’t be wasting my breath talking to you here. I would have him wipe the White House off the map immediately and replace the Statue of Liberty with a bronze statue of Comrade Sverdlov!”

A very restrained but unmistakable "smack" came from the phone—the sound of Poroandov slamming his hand heavily on the table.

As a staunch warrior with unwavering faith, Poroandov should never place his hopes on some vague and supernatural force.

However, having just experienced the Uzbek cotton scandal that dragged the entire Soviet upper class into Tacitus's trap, Poroandev already vaguely sensed that the bleak future of the entire Soviet Union was inevitable.

In a sense, he should thank Dr. Manhattan for his existence.

If it weren't for this blue god, the Soviet Union might have been on the verge of collapse. It was precisely because of the existence of an incomprehensibly powerful enemy that they were able to hold together.

After a brief argument, the two most powerful people in the world fell silent.

It wasn't that they had calmed down. It was that they sensed an even more terrifying outcome, because in the course of their argument, one fact—the most terrifying fact—became increasingly clear:

This thing doesn't belong to the United States, nor to the Soviet Union; nobody knows where it came from.

This means that humans have zero control over this thing.

Nixon switched the receiver from his right hand to his left and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His shirt was soaked through under his armpits.

“Okay.” His voice finally lowered. “Okay. It’s neither yours nor mine. Then it’s something we don’t know, something that can lift an aircraft carrier, that suddenly appears on Earth and says it will conquer the world in thirty minutes.”

"Yes." Poroandev's voice also deepened, like a stone falling into deep water. "What are you going to do?"

Nixon glanced at the countdown clock on the wall—a doomsday clock, a symbolic representation of the world's impending doom, and there were only five minutes left until midnight.

"We will launch nuclear weapons at him," the president said.

This was not to seek permission from Poroandov, but rather to prevent this neighbor and adversary from making any foolish reaction to their nuclear weapons launch.

"...I understand. The Supreme Soviet will remain neutral in this operation."

"But what if your nuclear weapons are useless—what are you going to do?"

Nixon did not answer. He hung up the phone because he had no idea what to do next.

"May God bless you," Nixon murmured, clasping his hands together.

"Connect me to Offutt Air Force Base, Nebraska, to Strategic Air Command."

"In my capacity as Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, I hereby authorize the launch of a Trident II missile carrying a W88 nuclear warhead. Target: New York City. Yield: 47.5 kilotons. Execute immediately."

“Mr. President…” the general from the Strategic Air Command said cautiously, “If the target detonates over New York City, Midtown and Lower Manhattan will be completely destroyed. The estimated immediate death toll is—”

“I know what’s going to happen, you don’t need to remind me!” Nixon’s voice boomed in the Oval Office, making the Chief of Staff flinch.

"But that thing aims to conquer the world, and it has proven that our conventional weapons are ineffective against it. If nuclear weapons work against it, the sacrifice of hundreds of thousands of people will be worthwhile! If they don't—"

Their future will be no different from that of the countless people standing in front of the Statue of Liberty right now.

At this moment, on the screen, the alien is standing on the ruins of the Statue of Liberty, looking down at what lies before him. There, besides the ruins of the 100,000-ton aircraft carrier, are countless pieces of torn-up concrete and bloody flesh swallowed by the churning earth.

Their conventional army proved useless against this monster; they only had nuclear weapons left, their only hope and option.

"Execute the command."

"Yes, Mr. President."

After hanging up the phone, Nixon slumped into his chair. He found his legs shaking so badly that the soles of his shoes made a slight clattering sound on the floor. He pressed his hands against his knees, trying to hold them down, but it wasn't just his legs that were shaking—his fingers were shaking, his jaw was shaking, and his whole body was trembling.

“God…” he heard himself muttering, but he wasn’t sure if he was praying to God or cursing something, “God… please… make this bomb work…”

He didn't know which God he was praying to. Was it the God he hung on the cross at church on Sundays? Or the blue-clad Dr. Manhattan, who once belonged to America but whom he tacitly allowed the media to attack? Or the conqueror who was now standing on the wreckage of the Hudson River aircraft carrier, his white cloak drooping in the wind?

Perhaps none of that is true. Perhaps he is just shouting at the void, because he has no one left to ask for help.

He walked to the window. The evening sky in Washington was blue and clear, and the Washington Monument cast a long shadow in the sunset.

He couldn't see New York, more than 300 kilometers to the northeast. But he knew that at that moment, a missile carrying a 47.5-kiloton thermonuclear warhead was flying through the stratosphere at more than ten times the speed of sound, heading towards that city.

Heading towards that alien conqueror.

Dongjiang could sense that he could hear the conversations of anyone on this planet, including the conversation between Shuimenhou and Su Guangzong.

The 99% Lord of Justice meant that he had essentially obtained all of the superman's power, and he could even feel that the last one percent was becoming increasingly fragile.

He wasn't really interested in conquering the world, but—in a world on the verge of destruction, with millions of people on the verge of death, he wasn't averse to it.

Although it seems he has done it many, many times.

Tsugumi stood on the wreckage of the stranded aircraft carrier on the banks of the Hudson River. Beneath his feet lay the still-smoking broken hull, behind him the Manhattan skyline, and in front of him stood the Statue of Liberty, its torch at eye level, like a lit candle.

He looked up at the small gray dot falling at supersonic speed in the sky, its warhead containing a W88 thermonuclear warhead with a yield of 47.5 kilotons.

It was thirty times more powerful than the "Little Boy" atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima.

"Here you are." A slight smile appeared on his lips.

The warhead detonated fifty meters in the air in front of him, and at that moment, a new sun appeared in the sky above New York City.

The weapon that held the hopes of Nixon and the entire United States exploded on the alien conquerors.

The sun finally began to slowly set.

The next second, a scene that shook and terrified the world was born.

774

God emerged from the sun, his cloak billowing, indifferent and cold.