Cohen watched the twin streaks of light carving through the sky, their glow reflected faintly in his eyes. For the first time in a while, he let out a slow breath, tension easing from his shoulders. The plan had gone through cleanly, without interruption or error.
Now all that remained was the harvest.
He shifted slightly, adjusting the massive ammunition box strapped behind him. The metal frame creaked as he gave it a quick shake, gauging the remaining weight. Still plenty left—more than enough to finish what he started.
Since he was already here, there was no reason to waste it.
The heavy machine gun barked to life again, its thunderous rhythm echoing across the burning base. Tracer rounds tore through the night, chewing through anything that still dared to move.
…
At Baghlan Air Force Base, alarms shrieked as radar operators locked onto two fast-moving objects approaching at terrifying speed. The room filled with tension as personnel crowded around the display, staring at the converging tracks.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then someone muttered under their breath, disbelief lacing every word.
"So now the devil fires missiles too?"
It was absurd. Completely absurd. First a machine gun, now this. Their understanding of reality was cracking under the pressure.
The distance between the armory and Baghlan was too short. Less than two minutes of reaction time. There was no window for long-range interception.
Everything hinged on point-defense systems.
Orders were issued rapidly. Short-range interceptors were primed, and the Phalanx defense grid spun to life, tracking the incoming targets with mechanical precision.
High above the clouds, the two Jericho missiles sliced through the night sky. Under the pale glow of the moon, their metallic bodies gleamed silver-white. Along their sides, a clear marking caught the light—
Made by Stark Industries.
As fate would have it, they crossed paths with three incoming fighter jets, streaking past each other at a distance of only a few hundred meters. For a fleeting moment, predator and countermeasure shared the same sky.
Then they continued on, closing in on their destination.
Guided by onboard systems, the missiles adjusted their altitude and angle of approach. Below them, Baghlan Air Base was alive with activity—lights blazing, sirens wailing, personnel scrambling.
They began their dive.
Fuel reserves allowed them to accelerate further, engines pushing them past the speed of sound and nearing twice that velocity. The air around them screamed as they cut through it.
From the ground, interceptor missiles launched upward in streaks of fire, racing to meet them head-on. Each carried enough force to obliterate its target in a mutual kill.
But the Jericho missiles weren't ordinary weapons.
With smooth, almost graceful movements, they shifted course mid-flight. A slight tilt, a controlled roll—just enough to slip past the interception window. Explosions blossomed in the sky behind them, but the shockwaves and debris never reached their targets.
They were too fast. Too precise.
Closer. Closer.
As the missiles descended into the engagement zone, the Phalanx systems opened fire. Dense streams of rounds filled the sky, forming an almost impenetrable curtain of steel. The barrage was so thick that even a bird would have been shredded instantly.
But just as the defense grid reached full output, something unexpected happened.
The outer shells of the Jericho missiles split apart.
Fragments peeled away, revealing clusters of submunitions that burst outward like metallic blossoms. Dozens of smaller cores scattered in all directions, overwhelming the defensive systems.
The Phalanx guns intercepted some of them, shredding a portion mid-air. But the majority slipped through the gaps, diving toward the base below.
Inside the war room, every face drained of color.
Glenn exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of realization. "Jericho missiles…" he murmured. "So that's what he used."
There would be no avoiding this.
Outside, on the runway, a massive C-130 transport aircraft rolled forward, engines roaring as it prepared for takeoff. In its belly rested a GBU-43 fuel-air explosive—an instrument of absolute devastation.
It only needed a few more seconds.
Just a few.
But the sky was already falling.
The scattered submunitions descended like burning embers, drifting through the air with deceptive beauty. For a brief, surreal moment, it resembled a grand fireworks display.
Glenn turned his head, looking at the people around him one last time. His voice was steady, though his eyes betrayed everything he felt.
"It's been an honor fighting alongside you."
The world ended before anyone could respond.
A blinding explosion swallowed the base whole, followed by a chain of detonations that erased everything in its path. Fire, shockwaves, and pressure surged outward, flattening structures and extinguishing life in an instant.
…
Some later said that night was divine judgment.
That something beyond human understanding had descended, punishing invaders and wiping away sinners. Whether they believed it or not didn't matter.
What remained was fact.
By the time reinforcements arrived the next morning, there was nothing left.
No survivors. No bodies. Just scorched earth stretching outward in a perfect circle, as if something immense had pressed down and burned the land clean.
The signature of the GBU-43.
The explosion had consumed everything mid-air, leaving no chance for escape. Baghlan Air Force Base was gone.
Completely.
The morning air was cool and quiet. From atop a distant mountain, Cohen sat with one leg bent, watching the aftermath unfold. The armory base below him still smoldered, its ruins slowly settling into silence.
The three fighter jets from the night before never got the chance to act. By the time they reached the armory, communication with Baghlan had already been severed.
Then they saw it.
A massive flash in the distance. A blooming inferno that turned the horizon into daylight.
They didn't know what had happened.
Without orders, they couldn't risk dropping their payload on a base that still held surviving comrades. They circled twice, hesitation dragging them down, before finally pulling away.
When they returned, there was no base to return to.
Only ruins.
After brief discussion, they diverted to other installations, carrying the weight of uncertainty with them.
Back at the armory, resistance had lasted only a few dozen minutes after Cohen's initial assault. Then it collapsed entirely.
As the sun rose, Cohen turned his attention inward.
Time to check the results.
The numbers were satisfying.
Two major kill streaks stood out immediately. The Jericho missile strike alone accounted for roughly two hundred kills. The GBU-43 detonation added another three hundred.
Beyond that, there were dozens of reward packs of varying quality.
Among them, two caught his attention.
A three-star gold package.
And a four-star platinum package.
He clicked his tongue lightly, a hint of disappointment surfacing. "Still not five-star," he muttered. The drop rate for top-tier rewards dropped sharply below that threshold.
Still, probability wasn't certainty. There was always a chance.
As usual, he saved the best for last.
One by one, he opened the remaining packages. System notifications flooded his vision, stacking into a dense stream of information.
When it finally settled, the results were laid out clearly.
Five hundred and ninety-five free attribute points.
Four new skills: Archery Mastery, Sword Mastery, Hacker Mastery… and—
He paused.
"Skilled in postpartum care for sows."
Cohen stared at the notification for a long moment, completely unfazed.
Yeah. That tracked. If the system didn't glitch out occasionally, that would've been more concerning.
Fortunately, the gold package delivered something worthwhile.
Flight.
Now that made his eyes light up.
The idea alone was enough to stir a bit of excitement. He flexed his shoulders instinctively, already imagining the possibilities.
But after testing the parameters, his expression shifted.
Maximum speed: 150 kilometers per hour.
He let out a flat breath. "That's barely better than a free-range chicken."
Useful? Sure. Impressive? Not really. It was flashy, good for mobility in a pinch, but hardly a game-changer.
Still, it had potential. With upgrades, it might become something worth relying on. For now, it would have to compete with his Dragon Energy for priority.
Next came the attribute allocation.
This was a rare opportunity—a large pool of points at once. He needed to maximize immediate combat effectiveness.
Defense came first. With Vibranium Soft Armor already providing exceptional protection, there was no need to overinvest. He added a modest amount, bringing it up to an even 300.
Mental attributes followed a similar logic. With Soul Defense in place, he didn't require excessive investment there either. A slight increase pushed it to 280.
Physique, however, needed work.
Originally sitting at 203, it jumped sharply to 300 with a single allocation wave.
The rest went where it mattered most.
Strength.
Speed.
The two attributes that translated directly into raw combat dominance.
Strength surged to 540.
Speed climbed to 419.
The difference was immediate.
He could feel it in every fiber of his body—the explosive power in his muscles, the lightness in his movements. Compared to before, his combat capability had multiplied several times over.
At this level, he could move faster than the human eye could track. To anyone watching, he wouldn't be a man anymore.
He'd be a blur.
A shadow.
Finally, only one reward remained.
The platinum package.
Cohen stood up slowly, facing the rising sun in the east. He brought his hands together in a mock prayer, his tone half-serious, half-amused.
"Alright… Jade Emperor, Queen Mother, Buddha, Ten Kings of Hell… whoever's listening. Throw me a bone here."
He opened it.
The system responded instantly.
[Congratulations. Reward obtained: Title – Hammer God.]
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then his status updated.
[Name: Cohen Wang. Alias: Hammer God.]
He blinked.
"…What the hell is that?"
....
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