I impersonated God in America

At this moment, Bishop Paul held in his hands the golden horn that had been taken from the sarcophagus.

The Latin inscriptions on the surface of the horn gleamed faintly under the desk lamp.

The two men listened intently to the prophet's assessment.

Mitra?

They were naturally familiar with Mithra, who was said to have originated from the Persian and Indian regions.

In the course of its continuous evolution, the belief spread to Rome at that time, and later developed into the sun god, the god of light, and even the god of war, which became very popular among the Roman army and merchants.

Of course, for them, what the prophet Sibyl was referring to at this time was Mithra's status as the oldest god of covenants in Persia (Iran).

Bishop Paul looked down at the horn, and at that moment he felt that perhaps he should give this ancestor a special veneration.

The ability to sound a whistle and connect with a being, if as anticipated, would be a devastating weapon for the current church.

"But why didn't the pope at the time choose to use it?"

"Because such sacred objects have very high requirements for the spiritual environment, they basically cannot be played if the spiritual environment is not restored. Even now, it is still necessary to consider the compatibility with the sacred object."

[In that case, the most confident person within the church should be Bishop Giovanni, who possesses stigmata.]

In a mere instant, the two had determined the direction of the horn's ownership; in a sense, the Pope trusted Bishop Giovanni more than he trusted himself.

"Your Excellency, do you recall the Gates of Hell we inquired about before? According to intelligence..."

"The power of great sin?"

Sybil's voice seeped from the earthenware pot.

"You are probably referring to the source of power of the Seven Deadly Sins in the Hell system. Although the human world and the spirit world are now separated, it does not mean that the power of the Seven Deadly Sins will dissipate."

"Legend has it that each of the great sins corresponds to the core of a demon lord's authority. Mammon's greed, Lucifer's pride, and Asmodeus's lust."

"Any demon that collects one of these powers can not only greatly enhance its existing strength, but also gain another great sin power. As for the Son of Baal you mentioned, if he is truly an existence behind the gates of hell, then he should have already reached the level of a true god."

"Considering that true gods cannot directly intervene due to the agreement of the Three Realms, if the opponent were to truly gather the power of the Seven Deadly Sins, I'm afraid..."

Bishop Paul and the Pope exchanged a glance, their hearts pounding.

They sensed something was amiss after hearing only half of what the prophet Sibyl had said.

[Wall Street once, Washington once; now that devil has essentially seized greed and arrogance.]

Is the balance of the betting game really about to be broken?

Moreover, that demon once boasted that he would settle accounts with the Church regarding the Canaanite gods...

"If the Son of Baal succeeds, and the angels don't intervene again..."

The Pope pressed his hand on the cover of the report. He dared not gamble on the angels descending. If they did, all would be well; but if they did not and something went wrong, how would he explain it to God after his death?

"In that case, we must stop this outcome at all costs!"

what?

Should we stop the Canaanite gods?

real or fake?

But seeing the Pope's serious expression, Bishop Paul felt embarrassed to interrupt.

The Pope has also come to realize the current state of the Church.

The scene became tense for a moment.

"Ahem, Your Excellency the Prophet, there is actually one more thing..."

However, after Bishop Paul spoke the contents, the lead box suddenly shook.

"That dark figure is related to the prophecy."

Bishop Paul raised his head and instantly became alert.

He glanced at the Pope and found that the Pope was also staring at him; the two of them were already very familiar with the prophecy.

The serpent of the underworld arrives, darkness descends, but the lost lamb will be guided to victory.

They've been gathering a lot of relevant clues during this time.

"The prophecy only speaks of the lamb and the serpent. If we remove the lamb's identity, then the other party can only have one identity!"

"The Serpent of the Underworld!"

"It seems that things are more serious in America than we thought."

At this moment, Bishop Paul felt a little nervous.

"I never expected that the clue about the snake would be found before the clue about the lamb."

"I will now escort the horn to America and meet with Bishop Giovanni."

-----------------

"This is absolutely terrible, guys. Look at this, it's a complete battlefield now."

"Wow, that minotaur demon withstood at least four or five rocket launchers! It's really tough!"

Wen Ban hid behind an overturned French fry truck and carefully took photos.

Although he can now go to a safe place to broadcast live.

However, this is the mindset of a second-rate streamer.

Thanks to his superhuman physique, which has not yet been exposed, his danger level is actually not as high as imagined.

The saying "With grain in hand, one has nothing to fear" applies here.

He was even wondering how many more followers he would gain after this wave.

The outside world has now completely turned into a world of gunfire.

He tilted the selfie stick slightly.

Then the camera was pointed at the group of orc demons who were fighting the National Guard on Constitution Avenue.

The speed at which the bullet comments flood the screen is getting faster and faster.

[I came from the homepage, where did this streamer get into trouble this time?]

[Answer, why are you still in Washington?]

[You're so dedicated! No wonder you can make a living this way.]

[Just entered the live stream. Is this year's Halloween themed around war?]

Shh! A demon is coming!

"Ow!!!"

A hyena ran past the food truck where he was hiding and charged at the army. The battlefield had become extremely intense, and all kinds of demons had basically entered into hand-to-hand combat.

In the distance, a grizzly bear slapped open the door of an armored vehicle.

The Rhino, braving a hail of anti-materiel rifle bullets, advanced at an incredibly terrifying speed down Pennsylvania Avenue.

On the other hand, the army's new armor-piercing warhead is several levels more lethal than the one used against the Minotaur.

The gun's bipod rested on the ground, and each bullet tore a gash in the orc's chest.

However, when the orcs fully engage in close combat, they unleash a bloodbath.

Inside the Special Affairs Bureau, James stared at several split screens on the main screen.

Several army assault teams and National Guard units were repeatedly charging in the same direction along Constitution Avenue, but they were pushed back by orc demons every few steps they made.

The water giant behind the great demon positioned its translucent body, hundreds of meters tall, between the demon and all the surrounding firepower.

"Damn it, if it weren't for that great demon's black hole-like power, we could have already bombarded the area."

"Is it really necessary to engage in close combat with them like this?"

The only good news is that these demons didn't go berserk like the first Minotaur in New York.

Suddenly, a short-range tactical warhead on the screen managed to break through the defenses and rush towards the Great Demon. However, the remaining impact force was easily blocked by the Water Giant's body.

After traveling a certain distance, the warhead completely lost power and was eventually spat out by the water giant like a watermelon seed.

Ta-da.

It's simply impossible to push it over.

James pinched the corner of the console table until his knuckles turned white.

Could things get any worse than this?

The assistant's voice came in from the side; he was holding the earpiece with one hand, while the other was trembling.

"Sir, the White House is less than two kilometers from Capitol Hill."

"I know."

"What I mean is that a few scattered orc demons have entered the vicinity of the White House. The Secret Service just sent back a final signal from the President's side; the President is still evacuating..."

James abruptly turned his head. The White House and Capitol Hill are only a little over a kilometer apart. What is the Secret Service doing?

"The evacuation helicopters haven't taken off yet?"

Chapter Seventy-Six: Flood

White House.

Secret Service agents pushed the president out of the bunker exit beneath the Oval Office onto the ground-level passageway.

The president's suit collar was pulled askew, and one of his shoes even stepped into the drain next to the lawn, splashing some mud on it, but he didn't have time to think about any of that now.

"Get out of here quickly, those monsters are coming soon."

At the edge of the lawn, the rotors of Marine One were spinning rapidly, their blades swirling the fallen leaves on the grass into a vortex.

"Your Excellency, this way..."

boom.

Before he could finish speaking, the entire wall on one side burst open.

Brick and stone fragments flew in all directions, and a cow's hoof stepped out from a hole in the wall.

The minotaur raised its head, its dark red eyes fixed on what lay ahead.

Then everyone saw the other's hooves lift off the shattered grass, followed by a savage charge towards their position.

"Protect the president! Cover the helicopter takeoff!"

The Secret Service agent gritted his teeth, then rushed forward and raised his gun.

Bang bang bang!

The barrage of pistol and submachine gun bullets struck the Minotaur's chest fur, but the bullets stopped after penetrating the muscle layer, making the effect much less effective than they had anticipated.

After all, the military prioritizes equipping its newly developed weapons to the armed forces, and hasn't had time to distribute them to the Secret Service yet.

Besides, the Secret Service's work doesn't involve risking your life against other people.

It's worth noting that their White House security detail has had a very low number of recorded shootings since its founding in 1865.

There have been only five such cases in 160 years.

Oh, right, there are six cases now.

At this moment, the Minotaur on the other side did not slow down, but simply swung its right arm horizontally, sending several agents flying and crashing into the wall.

"puff!"

An agent who had fallen was trying to get up again, but the Minotaur's hoof had already stepped on him.

"Retreat! Retreat! Your Excellency President!"

"Oh no, my legs are giving way! Quick, carry me!!!"

"..."

The remaining agents worked together to support the president's arms and sprinted toward the gangway toward the takeoff tarmac.

The roar of the rotors was not far ahead.