I created the Old Gods and Outer Gods in America.

The entire battle—no, it couldn't even be called a battle; it was a one-sided massacre!

The entire massacre lasted only four minutes before it was over.

Marcus jumped off the prison van, his feet landing on the wet pavement, the air thick with the smell of fish.

The surviving merfolk began to gather from all directions, and several of them walked to the scattered weapons, bent down and picked up the rifles and pistols on the ground.

A burly merman picked up an M4, expertly pulled back the bolt, checked the magazine, then held the gun with one hand and touched the gun body with the other.

"Long time no see, old friend."

A hoarse, low voice came from the fish's head.

The other fishmen around them did the same thing, silently picking up the weapons, tactical vests and ammunition on the ground.

Without scrambling or chaos, they spontaneously dispersed, occupying the high points and bunkers on both sides of the road, guns pointed outwards, forming a standard circular defensive position.

This is nothing like the mindless, destructive monsters in the movies.

This is a highly disciplined and tactically proficient unit.

Marcus stood atop the ripped prison van, watching the monsters' practiced alert movements, his mind briefly going blank.

Kriel looked down at Marcus, the strong fishy smell accompanied by an indescribable pressure that enveloped the space as if it were a tangible force.

He extended his hand to Marcus, with a clear sense of invitation.

Marcus paused for a second.

Then a smile appeared on his face.

An extremely dreamlike feeling arose from the bottom of his heart. The country he had served his whole life treated him as a discarded tool, but the creature he met for the first time saved him.

If the pain hadn't felt so real, he would have thought he was dreaming.

Without hesitation, Marcus grabbed Kriel's right hand. The next moment, a strange energy emanated from Kriel's hand, beginning to reshape Marcus's life structure.

......

Columbia District Police Department.

The entire police station is in complete chaos.

Everyone who could be called was called. The corridor was crowded with uniformed police officers, and the phone in the office area rang incessantly. Every phone was ringing, and the expression on the face of everyone answering the phone changed.

"What? The escort convoy has lost contact?"

"On-site reports indicate a large-scale attack; the last communication mentioned... mermen?"

Chief Roberts burst into the command room, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair disheveled, and his eyes bloodshot.

"Tell me from the beginning! What exactly happened?!"

The deputy frantically opened the recording file.

The final recorded communication played in the command center.

"Headquarters! Headquarters! We've been attacked by a massive merman raid! At least thirty! Conventional weapons are ineffective! Repeat, conventional weapons are ineffective! We need heavy weapons..."

puff.

Then came a chaotic cacophony of sounds: the tearing of metal, gunshots, screams, before finally fading into silence.

The command room was completely silent.

Roberts opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"...A fish-man?"

His tone wasn't like he was asking a question, but rather like he was confirming that he wasn't hallucinating.

The deputy swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "Yes, sir," he said, "the armed convoy transporting Wilson was attacked by an unknown force near Columbia District. The entire convoy was wiped out. When our reinforcements arrived, we didn't find any enemies, but we did find a lot of water, and the whole area smelled strongly of fish. Prisoner Marcus Wilson wasn't in the van, and..."

"And what?"

"The entire escort team was wiped out; the roof of the armored vehicle where Marcus was imprisoned appeared to have been ripped open by hand..."

Upon hearing this, Roberts felt dizzy, but fortunately his deputy caught him quickly.

Roberts took a few deep breaths to calm himself down before waving his hand and saying, "Report those to the higher-ups. These are not things we can handle."

......

Washington.

The meeting room, which was not open to the public, was urgently put into use again.

But the atmosphere this time was completely different from the last time. Last time it was about discussion, analysis, and weighing options, but this time it was... chaos.

The white-haired old man sat in a chair, not even having had time to put on his glasses. In front of him was a pile of newly delivered documents, each stamped with a red "Top Secret" seal.

"We just said we'd keep a close eye on Columbia District, and before the words even cooled, this happened? What is this? A provocation!?"

"Fishmen! The fishmen are here! Are you going to tell me in a while that Atlantis has been revived, and the restaurant's customers are going to have to fight with their ingredients?"

"Can anyone tell me why! Why would a fish-man with supernatural abilities appear in this world?!"

The white-haired old man became more and more agitated as he spoke, and after he finished, he slammed his hand on the table.

The expressions of the others present varied, but overall they were not pleasant.

After all, the timing of this incident was too coincidental; it seemed like it was designed to slap them in the face.

"Doesn't anyone have anything to say? Don't tell me they fought in the street, and all you know is that the other side is a fish-man!"

After the white-haired old man shouted, a middle-aged white man in the corner stood up.

"We also surveyed the scene. Based on some claw marks and other traces, the number of the other party should be between 70 and 180. Because we don't know what kind of supernatural abilities the other party has, the difference is quite large."

"Anything else?"

"No...that's all we know."

The entire conference room fell silent.

After a long silence, a Black man finally spoke up: "The supernatural event has been confirmed, so there's no point in discussing it anymore. I propose we immediately deploy the 'Night Owl' special response unit and wipe out these fishmen right here!"

"This is no ordinary terrorist organization! They even possess supernatural abilities, and they're not even from the same race as us! We must strike hard!"

The white-haired old man nodded: "I agree. For the safety of the nation! For the safety of humanity! We must seal off the Columbia District, find all these fish, and eradicate them immediately! We cannot allow these monsters to appear in the public eye and cause chaos!"

I second that.

I second that.

The order was issued swiftly.

Ten minutes later, at Andrews Air Force Base.

A black helicopter, fully loaded with live ammunition, was warming up on the tarmac, its rotors emitting a deafening roar.

"Night Owl" Captain Davis was checking his tactical terminal, and he still felt dizzy.

He had just received that outrageous mission: the big shots told him to hunt down a group of fishmen living in the city.

what?

Do you even know what you're saying?

Davis felt like the world had gone mad.

Just as he was about to board the plane, the FBI director strode over and grabbed his arm.

The minister lowered his voice and whispered in his ear, "Captain Davis, listen, although the previous order was to leave none alive, you should understand that for the sake of our country's future development, you can actually try to keep one. Don't worry, just keep one for me, and no one will blame you."

Davis was taken aback.

"The value of this unknown biological sample is immeasurable. As long as you can bring back a live specimen, I guarantee your position will go beyond what you have now." The minister patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave.

Davis frowned, and after turning around, he was stopped by a black man in military uniform.

The black man looked at him expressionlessly and said, "Davis, the military industry is very interested in the ability of those monsters to tear through armor with their bare hands. Just listen to the previous orders, remember, bring one back alive. This is related to the military's next generation of genetic engineering."

After the Black man finished speaking, he walked away.

Davis stood there, staring at the helicopter, completely stunned.

Although he had realized before that most of these high-ranking officials were just a makeshift team, he never expected this particular makeshift team to be so incompetent.

They were quite fierce when they gave the orders, issuing a death order: no matter what happens, they must be wiped out! They must all be blown to ashes!

As a result, one by one, they came to talk to him privately, each wanting a prisoner alive, and some even wanting two!

It is said that there are only a little over a hundred murlocs in total, but now these high-ranking officials have ordered nearly two hundred live murlocs!

There aren't even enough fishmen for these high-ranking officials to go around!