I impersonated God in America

"Medics! Take them out! Search the house!"

Several bodies were piled up in the corner, their chests empty, as if they had been smashed through from above by some kind of thick object.

Was it simply trampled to death?!

The soldier gritted his teeth and shone his flashlight deeper into the area.

"Beware of a heat source in the southeast corner!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a figure burst out of the shadows.

"Fire! Suppressive fire!"

However, the armor-piercing bullet was trapped by the muscle layer shortly after entering the abdomen.

"Goodness, this thing is really tough!"

"Launch heavy nets to restrict their movement!"

Boom!

As the order came in, the soldiers at the front deployed three heavy-duty capture nets.

"Net-locked! Temporarily locked..."

Moo!

The Minotaur Demon took a deep breath.

Push forward while holding onto the net, continuously engaging your shoulder muscles.

It only lasted a moment.

The anchor hook tore off the skin at the jamming point.

Tear!

"No... you can tear it apart with brute force alone?!"

In the command vehicle in the distance, Colonel Neville's back was covered in cold sweat.

what's the situation?

The monster's stats are wrong!

The snake-men weren't this powerful back then!

------

"It's really lively here."

Pacco tucked the recorder into his collar and held a cup of sweet tea he had just bought from a stall.

During the day, before the bonfire in the center of the square is lit, the area is already filled with handicraft stalls and traditional snack carts.

Several children with stripes painted on their faces chased and played on the steps, while an old man wearing a feathered ceremonial crown sat by the bonfire, arranging the tobacco for the ceremony.

"So what's the name of today's holiday again?"

My colleague kept scrolling through his phone.

"Welcoming the Thunderers. An Iroquois tradition, during this time of year they light bonfires and stay up all night."

"Thunderbolts are the guardian spirits of the sky in their original beliefs. Legend has it that they appear in the form of thunderbirds and their duty is to maintain the balance and justice of the world and eliminate evil."

"You've done a lot of research."

“How can you come here for an interview without doing your homework?” Pac took a sip of sweet tea. “Besides, the Iroquois are not a small ethnic group. Their reservations in New York are among the oldest. Because they participated in the War of Independence and helped the United States, they have retained a lot of autonomy. They actually still have some political status in New York.”

"Furthermore, I believe that some traditional customs should be respected."

Suddenly an old voice broke in.

"The Iroquois welcome all friendly people and welcome you to the ceremony to welcome the Thunderer, child."

An old man walked up to Pakko, looked him over carefully, and then took a feather pendant strung on a leather cord from his waist and handed it to him.

"Take with you the blessing of the Thunderer. This land has been forgotten by many, but the sky remembers everyone who has come here."

"Thank you, respected elder."

Pac took the pendant and turned it over to see that the base of the feathers was wrapped with extremely fine thread in a lightning bolt pattern.

He held the pendant in his palm, nodded to the old man, who then turned and left to continue preparing for the ceremony.

Suddenly, a colleague handed the phone to Pacco.

"Hey, Pacco, look at this post. That weirdo who hung up criminals in New York last night has reappeared."

Pac glanced at it.

The picture accompanying the online post is a blurry silhouette captured by surveillance footage.

"There's too much of this kind of thing online. It's definitely fake news. It'll sink on its own in a few days."

"That makes sense, but I think I've caught a whiff of big news. I'm wondering if we should investigate this further..."

Suddenly, loud gunfire erupted from not far away.

Which gangs are fighting again?

The surrounding area was already starting to panic. Seeing this, the colleague immediately put his phone back in his pocket and quickly stood up.

"Pakko, should we hurry up and...Pakko too?"

Where did they go?

------

Inside the armored command vehicle, the assault team's channel was filled with shouts of frustration as their firepower couldn't suppress the target.

One of the commandos was trapped under a collapsed storage shelf.

The bull-headed demon raised its hooves.

[Damn it, I hope the compensation can be paid on time.]

The team member suddenly felt a tightness around his waist.

There seemed to be a strong binding force pulling him backward.

By the time he realized what was happening, he was already out of danger.

Looking down, I saw that half a piece of silk thread was wrapped around my waist.

Then he heard a voice that sounded like heavenly music to him.

"Hey friend, watch out! This guy looks clumsy, but he's way faster than you guys."

Chapter Thirty-Four: Asmodeus

Inside the command vehicle.

Colonel Navee stared at the images captured by the drone's infrared sensors on the tablet screen.

"Is this a thread?"

The intelligence analyst zoomed in on the image.

A silhouette could be seen standing in the shadows by the door.

The figure was wearing a mask, and he raised his right hand.

With a flick of his wrist, the silk thread slowly retracted towards the bearing at his wrist.

Colonel Neville stared at the figure and suddenly remembered the casual conversation in the office last week.

Someone posted a video of a gangster being toppled in mid-air in an alley.

"Could that guy be the one who was rumored online to be using excessive force in private? I thought he was just using silk threads as a personal hobby."

Did Ace have feelings for her?

"Alright, let's stop discussing that. Now we know he's a superhuman." Colonel Neville turned the volume up in his headset. "Second and third teams, provide cover. That masked man might be with us."

"Remember to put your gun away when the time comes, so as not to accidentally hit friendly forces."

Pa could use one hand to gently push the assault team member back to the back of the door frame.

He stood up, the thin lines on the inside of his mask sliding across the skin of his wrist.

The mask was homemade, and the fishing line was a high-quality fishing line bought from a fishing tackle shop.

He looked very carefully at the menacing minotaur in front of him.

The voice that had been silent in my mind for several days suddenly surfaced.

[Lower-rank hellish creatures, horns—this kind of structure suggests they are lower-ranking demons from hell. Normally, they wouldn't open doors on their own; they must have been pulled in by some kind of sacrificial ritual that shouldn't have been activated. These types of enclosed spaces are most prone to generating the aftershocks of rifts.]

I just wanted to remind you, try not to get too close to that guy. Although he doesn't have ranged attacks, his physical body is... well, for a lower-level demon.

Pacco understood Tom's meaning and transferred a bundle of thread from his left hand to his right.

Looks like I need to knit something.

Behind the makeshift bunker outside the basement, the second assault team was panting heavily as they counted their ammunition.

Someone was crouching in the corner, their finger gripping the trigger still trembling.

The large-caliber bullet entered the Minotaur's fur from the side, but got stuck in the middle of the external oblique muscle, blocked by hard bone, and could not go any further.

"I fed it a whole box of armor-piercing rounds, and it didn't seem to feel anything."

"It's not that you didn't feel anything; you drew blood, but the bone beneath its skin is too dense. Didn't you see the heavy net being forcibly ripped from its shoulder?"

crunch.

"Who goes there!"

Upon hearing footsteps behind him, a soldier reacted instinctively, turning around to aim his gun.

But he felt a gentle force press down a few inches on the muzzle of the gun in his hand.

Pakko didn't turn around to look at the soldiers; he simply glanced around at the abandoned warehouse, which had been hollowed out from the ground and had its dome widened.

Keep going.

"Hey buddy! Run! This guy isn't human."

The captain pointed at Pacco's back and shouted.

"And the entrance is over there!"

Pac did not answer.

With his left hand outstretched, dozens of thin threads spread outwards from his fingertips and palm, winding back and forth between the steel pillars of the warehouse, forming a net that was suspended from the dome downwards.

Moo!!

The minotaur smashed through an entire concrete wall and rolled over him, its hooves crushing fine stone fragments from the edges of the footprints on the concrete floor.

Pakko lifted the line around its front, tied a knot in the Minotaur's calf, and then swung the line to the left, throwing himself out of the opponent's attack range from the side.

The Minotaur turned and attacked again, but the several layers of thin ropes stretched across the net scraped heavily against the exposed skin of its shoulder blade, which had been torn apart by the bullet.

The minotaur is enraged!

The entire warehouse could feel its breathing rate increasing dramatically.

But its hooves are always half a beat slower than the rate at which the net contracts.

Each step forward plunges into a new silk loop trap, pulling the center of gravity away from the threads in different directions.

In a short while, her legs were completely wrapped with threads.

Right now.

He forcefully brought his five fingers together.

The hundreds of ropes binding the Minotaur tightened simultaneously, and every connection point, from the walls to the pillars to the dome gantry, emitted a trembling sound as if it had been stretched to its limit.

Just like a spider hunting its prey, a large number of silk threads go up to entangle and secure it.

It was suspended in place by the wire mesh, and as soon as the forearm was raised, it was pulled back to the steel support arm suspended above the scaffold by more than a dozen lines, and could not move.

The bearing on Pacco's wrist spun wildly, drawing out a large number of threads that spun and wrapped around his hand until a sharp spear, formed from layers of compressed threads, took shape in his palm.