Chapter 259: The Fall of the White House (4)
Ghast is an anomaly among demons. Unlike the typical cruelty and bloodlust of his kind, Ghast harbors an obsessive hunger for power, coupled with immense patience and the ability to fight his own instincts for extended periods.
This dichotomy is directly related to the power of the Mask of Fate, which allows him to possess two souls simultaneously, resulting in a polarization of his personality. One soul (the one in Joel Nash) inherits the original entity's intellect, cunning, and lust for control. The other soul (the one in the Serpent Society leader) inherits the raw, brutal, and bloodthirsty demonic nature.
The soul inside Joel Nash belonged to the former category; he was more focused on applying magic and controlling the flow of power than on raw physical devastation.
The Destruction of the Convoy
The burning whip of flame swung wildly through the forest. It sliced through swathes of trees, cutting them in half and igniting a massive wildfire. The tanks hidden within the woods had no chance of escape.
The armor plating—several inches thick—was like paper before the flaming whip. With a single lash, a tank was split in two, and the crew inside was instantly decapitated or incinerated.
In a short time, all thirteen tanks were transformed into infernos. The flames spread rapidly, turning half the sky red. Amidst the conflagration, Joel Nash spread his wings and let out an unrestrained, maniacal laugh.
"Pathetic humans! Is this the weapon you take such pride in?"
His voice reverberated in the air with piercing intensity.
Sam Lane's face was grim. The scene before him recalled the devastating attack on Coast City—a battle that was won at a horrific cost. Was today doomed to be the same?
As the tanks and aircraft were destroyed, the atmosphere grew suffocating. The soldiers looked at each other, experiencing a profound sense of helplessness for the first time in the face of such overwhelming power.
Against a demon of this magnitude, they were utterly useless.
Lane keenly sensed the plummeting morale. He spun around and roared,
"I have already written my will! If we are to die, we will die together!"
His declaration shocked the men back to attention. A non-commissioned officer shouted,
"General, please give the order!"
"Disperse! Two men per team! Remember: Survival is paramount!"
"Understood!"
The orders were relayed, and the huddled soldiers instantly divided into small squads, using tree trunks and ditches for cover while watching for a chance to attack.
The Witches' Sacrifice
Sam Lane's eyes were fixed on Glarel and his group of sorcerers. "I didn't invite you here to watch the show! You are sorcerers; you must have a way to weaken his power!"
Glarel fell silent for a moment, then sighed. "I cannot guarantee anything!"
Lane narrowed his eyes, exuding a subtle, palpable murderous intent.
"What I just said was not a request; it was an order. If you succeed, your past crimes will be erased, you will never be hunted again, and you will receive a three-million-dollar commission. If you fail..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence; the threat was clear.
The sorcerers exchanged glances, reaching a consensus. Glarel stepped forward.
"General, remember your promise today."
With that, he took out the silver compass, aiming it at Joel Nash, who was busy annihilating the soldiers. As a strange, rasping incantation began, the compass needle started to twitch, now carrying a faint, dark mist.
"Little Sagredo!"
"I understand, sir."
The boy bit his finger and dripped blood onto the compass. The black mist instantly swelled, turning into a snake that slithered into Glarel's mouth. The old man's face immediately turned green, as if poisoned.
Trembling, he pulled the dagger hanging from his waist and plunged it into his own heart.
Ffshh!
Black blood spurted out. Simultaneously, the distant Joel Nash suffered a critical blow and plummeted from the air. A wound appeared in his chest, leaking blood mixed with faint black threads.
"A Voodoo Curse!"
Joel Nash roared, his enraged red eyes piercing through the layers of space to fix hatefully on the sorcerer Glarel.
The old man gritted his teeth, pulled the dagger from his chest, and to the horror of the onlookers, stabbed himself again.
Ffshh!
With two simultaneous screams, blood erupted from both Joel Nash's chest and the old man's heart—a truly terrifying sight.
"You cursed little insects!"
Joel Nash abandoned the soldiers firing at him and flew toward them like an arrow.
The old man weakly commanded, "Stop... stop him!"
The remaining six sorcerers immediately rushed forward. One cast an exorcism spell, another launched a soul-shaking curse, and a third summoned a shadow entity to attach itself to Joel Nash, attempting to slow his approach.
The six used every means at their disposal. Meanwhile, Glarel pulled the dagger out one last time and plunged it into his heart with all his remaining strength.
Aaaargh!!!
Joel Nash screamed in agony. He spread his fingers, and the whip of flame instantly materialized, lashing out with full power. The fire whip tore through the air, bringing with it a horrifying sonic shriek and searing heat.
The heat blast slammed into the sorcerers. The one closest to the front quickly cast a defensive barrier, but the next second, his body was sliced in two, and his corpse burst into flames, becoming a burning fireball.
Those behind him were not spared; struck by the fire whip, their bodies exploded. The others, seeing this carnage, dove down. Little Sagredo tackled Glarel, and the two rolled onto the ground.
The fire whip slashed just over their heads, leaving a trail of brilliant red light before striking the distant forest.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Tree trunks were severed one after another. An area hundreds of meters wide was instantly transformed into a desolate, plant-free wasteland.
Sam Lane touched his scalp, which was burning and bleeding. The terrifying realization of his near-death experience washed over him, making his heart hammer uncontrollably. Just five centimeters! If he hadn't reacted instantly, the fire whip would have killed him.
Is this the power of an ancient demon?
It was too terrifying. No human force could possibly contend with this.
Joel Nash had killed three sorcerers with a single strike, dealing an unimaginable blow to the entire team's fighting spirit.
The gap in power was astronomical.
Forget tanks, planes, and artillery—even a fully mobilized infantry division would be no match for him.
Sam Lane gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand up. Suddenly, the fire whip flashed toward him. Ffshh! His adjutant standing beside him was sliced in two, and blood sprayed onto Lane.
The old General froze, his eyes instantly bloodshot, roaring like a wounded animal.
Joel Nash merely sneered in disdain, waved his hand, and another soldier's head flew up, turning into a ball of fire in mid-air.
"Mr. Glarel! Mr. Glarel!"
Little Sagredo screamed in terror. The remaining sorcerers were stunned. Glarel, their most powerful member, had just been instantly decapitated.
This wasn't a battle; it was a unilateral massacre.
Joel Nash split his face into a cruel grin.
"An ant should know its place, not provoke a giant! Sam Lane, you wanted to kill me? Come on, let me see how you plan to do it."
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