1novels Chapter 92 The Squid Kingdom is destroyed? Unrelated!
Chapter 92 The Squid Kingdom is destroyed? Unrelated!
Chapter 92 The Squid Kingdom is destroyed? Unrelated!
"Has the Squid Kingdom been wiped out?"
Nailong sat in the study of Lake and Sea Manor, holding a tablet in his hand.
The screen displays an emergency CIA briefing with the bold headline: "The Squid Regime Collapses at 3:00 AM Local Time."
The main text is very concise:
Seventy-two hours after the complete withdrawal of US troops from the Middle East, Iraqi, Syrian, Lebanese, and several Pakistani armed groups launched a general offensive simultaneously.
The Squid Defense Forces' defenses were breached completely within six hours, the capital Tel Aviv was subjected to multiple rounds of saturation rocket attacks, government buildings were occupied, and the Prime Minister's chamber pot went missing.
Estimated casualty figures: Approximately 1.2 million deaths.
Because everyone was a soldier, there were no civilians.
The report includes several satellite photos.
The streets of Tel Aviv are littered with the wreckage of burning vehicles, the exterior walls of buildings riddled with bullet holes, and large black objects lying in several areas that are clearly markets.
It's a grilled Gundam!
Nailong scrolls to the next page.
Supplementary explanation from the Ministry of National Defense:
The U.S. military attempted to activate the Patriot missile defense system, but system access was remotely locked by the U.S., and all launch requests were rejected.
The last encrypted communication from the Squid Command Center read: "You have betrayed us."
Nailong turned off the tablet and threw the device onto the sofa.
He stood up and walked to the window.
Outside was the manor's lawn, neatly trimmed, and the fountain shimmered in the sunlight.
The Squid Kingdom was destroyed.
He thought about it for a moment, but didn't feel anything.
That country was always just a tool to him.
Evangelicals need the narrative of the "Promised Land" to maintain their enthusiasm, the military-industrial complex needs tensions in the Middle East to sell weapons, and Wall Street needs the return of petrodollars from there to support the Treasury market.
If a tool is used up or broken, just throw it away.
The Lord has come.
Through him and Lucien, and that redneck who caused trouble in Michigan.
Milk Dragon raised his right hand and looked at his palm.
The skin is smooth and firm, without age spots, and even has very few fine lines.
He could feel the power flowing in his veins, a boundless energy that transcended human limits.
【The Ghost Who Breaks the Threshold】.
But he was not the first person to receive this blessing.
Lucien Alden reached the Silver rank first.
That aristocratic young master lit the sacred flame in Utah with the lives of three million people, in exchange for the Lord's greater attention.
Milk Dragon remembered the feeling—when Lucien's hand rested on his shoulder, and power surged into his body like a tidal wave; he felt both excited and humiliated. Excited because he had touched a miracle, humiliated because this grace was bestowed upon him by someone else.
And that redneck, Carl Jensen.
Although there was no direct evidence, Nailong felt that the other party was one of the Lord's chosen people.
"Lord, is it really Lord?"
"Milk Dragon asked in a low voice."
Although he came from a business background, he was an evangelical at heart.
I went to church as a child, memorized the Bible, and listened to the pastor talk about the final battle and Armageddon.
But now he understands.
The Lord is still the Lord.
The main point is—directly.
He manifests through power, speaks through miracles, and acts through his apostles.
He doesn't care about doctrine, rituals, or even faith itself.
What He wants is chaos, change, and the complete collapse of the old world.
As Milk Dragon thought of this, a grin spread across his face.
What does it matter?
I am God's chosen one.
Standing on the stage, he could make three thousand people roar with a single sentence, and make reporters kneel down and shed tears with a single glance.
He was twenty years younger, wielded power, and had the authority of the Black House and the loyalty of the old money behind him.
The important thing is that he stands on the side of the Lord.
But he wasn't the only one on the side.
This thought was like a thorn stuck in my heart.
Milk Dragon walked back to his desk, grabbed the double-decker Gundam cheeseburger, and took a big bite.
The fat, cheese, meat patty, and bread mix together in your mouth.
I took another big gulp of iced cola, and the sugar and caffeine rushed into my bloodstream.
My body is sending me signals of satisfaction.
The brain begins to work at high speed.
The Lord is watching over him, that is certain.
But if he wants to get more attention, he must perform better.
What constitutes better performance?
He turned on his computer and pulled up two files.
The first one was from Lucien Alden.
Temple Square in Salt Lake City: three million people in half a day.
An extreme sensory overload, a collective frenzy, a grand celebration intertwined with suicide and mutual killing.
The second one is from Carl Jensen.
Riverport speech, the Detroit offensive, public executions, planned economy, the theocratic "New Canaan".
Both of them created "spectacular moments".
And grand scenes are clearly what God likes.
Nailong stared at the screen, his fingers tapping the table unconsciously.
Speech, cross, ceremony, propaganda —
He can do even bigger.
No one understands the stage better than him.
No one knows better than him how to manipulate emotions.
No one understands better than him how to turn a simple slogan into a nationwide wave.
The spotlight in the Black House press briefing room, the national television broadcast, the hundreds of millions of viewers—that was his domain.
He may not be the first apostle, nor the strongest.
But he can be the loudest one.
The phone rang.
Nailong glanced at the screen; the caller ID read: Ivanka.
He muted the phone and placed it face down on the table.
The bell rang for seventeen seconds and then stopped.
Thirty seconds later, a text message popped up: "Daddy, please, answer the phone. I know I was wrong."
Nailong deleted the text message and blocked the number.
The pain of being the eldest son.
His eldest daughter, on whom he had placed so much hope, betrayed him by choosing to go with the squid when he was in the most danger.
That is the greatest betrayal of believers.
He won't fall into the same pit twice.
The phone rang again; this time it was an encrypted line.
He answered the call.
"Mr. President, the latest report from Detroit."
It was Wan Xinru's voice: "Karl Jensen has completed the city-wide purge and begun implementing rationing and forced labor. Our observers estimate that the death toll in the city exceeds 80,000, and at least 150,000 others have been forced into labor camps."
"So fast?"
"Yes. His troops—are exceptionally efficient in combat. There are unconfirmed reports that almost everyone has demonstrated extraordinary combat capabilities."
Milk Dragon was silent for three seconds.
"waste."
He said, his voice cold, "Those Detroit families, they always boast so much, but if a real fight broke out, they wouldn't last three days."
"Do we need to take action? We can downplay it through the media or issue a statement of condemnation."
"Issue a condemnation. Make it strong, saying that we firmly oppose any form of violence and illegal occupation, and support the people of Michigan's right to pursue freedom."
"Understood. Also, regarding that video—"
"What video?"
"A joint appeal recorded by Alka Punk before his death. It is now widely circulated among non-white communities, calling on all minorities and vulnerable groups to unite and protect themselves."
Nailong recalled the scene: several leaders of different skin colors and gangs stood together, saying, "In order to survive."
He frowned.
"Mark it with a restriction label. Suppress traffic through the algorithm to make it disappear from the recommendation list. If anyone continues to spread it in public, treat it as sedition."
"But things in Detroit are already out of control—"
"Then let's manage the areas we can manage."
The dragon interrupted him, "This isn't Seris; we can't let them create something like that."
"Yes."
hang up the phone.
Milk Dragon leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Detroit is lost, but that's not the point.
The key point is that he has now confirmed three things:
First, Carl Jensen is indeed an apostle, and he is very powerful in combat. We cannot fight him in close-quarters conventional warfare.
Secondly, the rust belt was useless in those poor areas, and people wouldn't care if it was lost. It could serve as the stage for the "Antichrist" and set the stage for the final battle at Armageddon.
Third, God loves grand scenes. And He can create the grandest scenes.
He opened his eyes and looked out the window.
As dusk fell, the streetlights in the manor lit up one by one.
He pressed the internal communication button: "Prepare the speech. The topic is the Last Judgment. Tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM, Black House Press Room, live nationwide."
"Yes, Mr. President."
Nailong released the button and tapped his fingers lightly on the table.
The rhythm is steady, like a heartbeat.
He recalled the feeling during his last speech, when the words came out as if they weren't his own, but rather something was proclaiming them through his mouth.
Perhaps that is the will of God.
Perhaps the entire state of Michigan, the entire Rust Belt, and even more places are just the backdrop for this grand drama.
What he had to do was to bring the play to its climax.
"Nobody's here."
He said in a low voice, "He understands big occasions better than I do."