Chapter 258: The Fall of the White House (3)
The Blood Cloth and The Reveal
The cloth was inscribed with the image of the Lord of Hell, Lucifer: black wings, horizontal red eyes, curved horns, and a background of infernal flames and rivers of blood. It was impossibly realistic, as if about to spring to life.
The moment the Blood Cloth was unrolled, the very environment shifted. Dark clouds gathered from nowhere, obscuring the sky. The moonlight vanished, casting the ground into deep gloom. Trees rattled violently in the fierce wind, and mournful, wailing sounds echoed from the forest.
Everyone's faces changed instantly. What was this Blood Cloth to cause such a dramatic change?
Joel Nash's pupils contracted, and all traces of his previous composure vanished.
An artifact left by the Lord of Hell, Lucifer!
Does that human boy possess the bloodline of a high-ranking demon?
Glarel shouted urgently, "Sagredo, hurry!"
The boy didn't hesitate, biting his finger and squeezing a drop of blood onto the cloth.
The bead of blood, clear and shining, slowly fell from the air. In that instant, time seemed to pause—
Boom!
An explosion erupted from Air Force One, stirring up a hurricane that swept across the field. The blast wave, mixed with debris, rushed out like a tsunami, throwing everyone backward. The boy was no exception. He desperately tried to grab the Blood Cloth, which he seemed terrified of losing, but the moment his fingers touched it, a suction force pulled it away, sending it eerily flying toward the center of the blast.
The shockwave covered a wide area, knocking down the Special Forces soldiers, the sorcerers, and the Secret Service bodyguards alike. Only Joel Nash, the current President, remained suspended in mid-air, clutching the blood-colored cloth, his face contorted in a terrifying, inhuman mask.
Ron Baker looked up in disbelief. "Mr. President, you—"
"Silence!"
Joel Nash roared in a rage, red light shooting from his eyes.
Splat!
Ron Baker's head burst open like a ripe watermelon, splashing blood everywhere and staining the ground crimson.
Everyone froze, staring blankly at the figure floating above.
Sam Lane struggled back to his feet. "Ghast! It is you! You despicable creature, how dare you possess the President!"
"Kill him!"
Sam Lane bellowed, fueled by intense hatred. The Special Forces soldiers raised their weapons and opened fire on the President. The crossfire created a dense, airtight net of bullets.
Joel Nash raised his right hand, and a magical barrier materialized before him. The bullets struck it like hitting a steel wall; after a deafening clang, they all dropped harmlessly to the ground.
The surviving Secret Service bodyguards glanced at each other and raised their sidearms.
Joel Nash simply pointed a finger. A dozen black tentacles shot out from the ground, piercing the bodyguards, sucking their flesh and blood, and consuming their souls. In the blink of an eye, living men were reduced to skeletons, withered as if dried for centuries.
Nourished by their victims, the tentacles grew rapidly, becoming thick, long, and dozens of meters in length. Their powerful strokes whipped the air, creating sonic booms as they lashed toward the crowd. In a short time, over twenty soldiers were struck down and killed.
Sam Lane grabbed his communicator.
"Fire the heavy guns!"
The armored tanks hidden in the forest swiveled their turrets. With a deafening roar, four high-explosive rounds pierced the night, ripping through the tentacles and flying toward Joel Nash.
Boom!
Explosions ripped through the air, sucking the oxygen out of the clearing and creating a horizontal shockwave. Everyone instinctively covered their heads. When the fire cleared, Joel Nash, his clothing slightly shredded, remained suspended in mid-air, surrounded by a visible energy barrier.
The high-explosive rounds did nothing!
"Damn it!"
Sam Lane gnashed his teeth and issued a rapid-fire command. "Keep firing! Continue the attack! Air units, engage immediately! Ignore his former identity! Remember, that is a demon, not the President!"
His voice was followed by a thunderous barrage of cannon fire.
Thirteen tanks hidden in the forest opened fire simultaneously. High-explosive rounds tore through the trees and flew straight for the target. Three Tigress attack helicopters appeared over the forest, their Vulcan cannons spitting spiraling armor-piercing rounds that ripped open the air, leaving a straight corridor of sonic shockwaves.
High above, four F-16 fighter jets screamed past, dropping Sidewinder missiles toward the target zone.
The attack was relentless, wave after wave of explosions rocking the earth. Dust and dirt flew everywhere, propelled by the shockwaves into a localized sandstorm. Air Force One, hit by the Sidewinder missiles, had its fuel tank ignited, triggering a massive secondary explosion that dyed the sandstorm a sinister red.
The searing heat and dust forced the surviving forces to retreat further.
The ground was left pockmarked with craters. Everything within a hundred-meter radius, centered on Joel Nash, had been utterly annihilated.
Someone muttered, "That much force... he must be dead, right?"
Sam Lane glanced at Glarel, who shook his head solemnly.
"If he is truly the ancient demon you claim, then this battle has only just begun."
"The power of a demon is beyond human comprehension."
Hearing this, everyone's faces turned pale.
After a long while, the dust slowly settled. In the heavily cratered ground, a figure, covered in blood, slowly stood up. Compared to before, Joel Nash was badly damaged. His upper clothes were gone, revealing a body covered in bloody marks. A gaping hole had appeared in his abdomen, likely caused by an armor-piercing round.
Seeing this, Sam Lane breathed a small sigh of relief. Conventional weapons had an effect. That means victory is possible.
Joel Nash lowered his head, seeming to examine his own body, then showed a look of intense disgust. As a low incantation sounded, the wounds on his body healed at a visible rate. In just a few seconds, all the injuries vanished, and the blood itself seeped back into his skin.
He levitated into the air. Black and red markings appeared on his forehead, sharp horns sprouted from his skull, and wings made of burning crimson flame unfurled from his back.
Standing against the moon, his wings spread, he resembled a Blood Angel from ancient mythology.
"Ridiculous humans! Why are you always so naive!"
After his transformation, Joel Nash's voice changed, becoming vast and deep, as if imbued with primordial power.
"Freedom, self-governance, checks and balances—utter foolishness. Weak creatures should accept their fate of being ruled by the strong."
"Since you forced me to reveal my true form, I will now show you the power of a higher bloodline."
Joel Nash flapped his wings, stirring up a massive gust of wind, and shot into the sky like an arrow. Passing a helicopter, he swept his hand downward, and an invisible blade of fire sliced out. The helicopter was cut in half, its cross-section glowing red as molten metal dripped to the ground.
Two F-16s flew in from the distance. As the pilots prepared to attack, they felt a sudden, agonizing clutch in their hearts. The next second, they coughed up huge gouts of black blood and slumped in their cockpits. The fighter jets, now uncontrolled, plummeted toward the earth and vanished into the trees.
Boom!
Two massive explosions lit up the distant sky.
Joel Nash sneered, spreading his five fingers. A hundred-meter-long whip of pure flame erupted from his palm.
The fiery whip cracked through the air. With a sharp smack, a third helicopter was split in two, its glowing incision dripping molten iron.
Extremely excited, he burst into mad laughter and swooped toward the forest.
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