"Launch everything! Every single thing capable of breaking the atmosphere—get them out there!"
Deep within a super-bunker buried hundreds of meters underground, the President of the B.E.N. roared like a madman.
His eyes were bloodshot; fueled by extreme agitation and terror, his spittle flew, splattering across the expensive touch-screen pulsating with countless red dots.
With a final howl of rage, he yanked open the black briefcase he carried at all times.
Every button inside that case symbolized a key capable of redrawing the world map, representing a dormant power buried deep within the crust of the B.E.N..
Now, these powers were forcibly awakened, tearing through the earth's surface and surging upward against gravity!
In the mountains of Myowing and beneath the hidden deserts of Vedana, thousands of massive silo covers flipped open like heavy coins tossed by air pressure, booming as they were blown aside.
This was the final "Iron Curtain" of human civilization. Aside from the already scrapped "Rods from God", what soared into the sky now were doomsday interceptors with deep-blue tail flames and high-powered space-based laser platforms.
In this moment, they all transformed into arrows of vengeance. Thousands of milky-white smoke pillars intertwined on the radar map, weaving a suffocating red web of death.
The intense air vibrations even shattered coniferous forests for a hundred miles, leaving behind scorched earth.
These pinnacles of technology, traveling at speeds of several kilometers per second, shrieked like a swarm of provoked iron hornets, stinging toward the golden phantom that looked down arrogantly from outside the atmosphere.
This move caused immediate and violent shockwaves across all nations.
Inside the Long Nation command center, the old general stared at the suicidal density of the strike on the big screen, his face turning ashen. He barked out a direct rebuke: "Those lunatics! Do they intend to drag the entire Blue Planet down with them?"
Weaker nations trembled in fear. Under that god-like pressure, no one knew if the BeastGod would hold all of humanity accountable for the B.E.N.'s actions.
Under the cold lights of the bunker, the President stared at the sea of red dots representing destruction, muttering neurotically: "Gods or Goddesses, I don't care... In the face of absolute kinetic energy, turn into atoms for me!"
However, on the other side of the screen—
In the eyes of the Wealth Devourer, this assault—capable of annihilating continental plates—was merely a "delivery driver" increasing the variety of the menu.
"ROAR—!"
The Wealth Devourer excitedly flicked Its tail, which was covered in golden scales. Its mountain-swallowing maw swung wide, and deep within Its throat, it felt as if a bottomless black hole had opened, one from which even light could not escape.
Those weapons, capable of destroying civilization, were pulled and distorted by an irresistible vacuum gravity the moment they entered a hundred-mile radius of It.
The once-menacing warheads now looked like strings of colorful jellybeans, easily sucked into Its all-encompassing belly.
The B.E.N. President watched as the Divine Beast licked Its lips, still unsatisfied and looking hungry. He let out a mad scream, slamming his fist onto the table.
The force was so great that his coffee cup tipped over, the brown liquid instantly flooding a strategic plan worth tens of millions of dollars.
But he had no time to grieve. He tremblingly swiped his identity card, and a final, undecipherable code was automatically entered into the screen.
Polar ice caps cracked, deep-sea submarines surfaced, and the "final trump cards" hidden by the B.E.N. were all unleashed: dozens of specialized kinetic warheads, overclocked pulse interceptor platforms, and even several prototype, which named as "Anti-God Matter" bombs that were still classified and never tested.
They trailed long tails of fire, a black mass surging toward that shimmering golden image.
This was human civilization's final, saturated charge against a deity from the depths of the abyss.
Resistance on the ground did not cease. Hackers and generals worldwide tried various means to stop the mad President, but in the face of absolute Divine Power, all electronic barriers were like paper.
In the boundless sea of stars, the WealthDevourer turned no one away, packing all the incoming "snacks" into Its belly.
"BURP—!"
After swallowing the final nuclear-powered "main course," the Wealth Devourer let out a satisfied, resounding burp.
Immediately following, a scene appeared that caused astronomers across the globe to nearly stop breathing.
Along with that burp, a mist glowing with a dazzling pale-blue fluorescence erupted from the Wealth Devourer's mouth. It was the residue of high-purity energy after conversion, laced with a terrifying Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP).
The mist expanded through space like a ghostly, circular ripple.
Wherever the ripple passed, communication satellites of all nations were instantly fried, meteorological sensors sparked and flashed, and the solar panels of secret military space stations snapped one after another.
After the clash of fire and light, every monitoring screen went black simultaneously. In that moment, the world fell into a physical state of absolute silence.
Within the boundless sea of stars, the Wealth Devourer swayed through space as if It had just downed a massive vat of strong liquor. It licked the gaps between Its teeth, still savoring the flavor of those "Anti-God Matter" bombs, but the moment It opened Its eyes, the dead, pitch-black void around It jolted It halfway sober.
The star-like signal lights that once dotted the Blue Planet's near-earth orbit were all gone.
"Uh oh... I overdid it."
The Wealth Devourer shook Its head violently, a flash of obvious guilt appearing in Its soulful, giant eyes. Like a child who had accidentally shattered a neighbor's window, It tucked in Its neck.
It sensed that several "little brother" satellites from the Long Nation—due to being too close—not only had smoking circuit boards but even their receivers were warping in the electromagnetic afterglow, their images shaking as if performing a frenzied breakdance.
"Time to go, time to beg for forgiveness!"
Having realized It caused trouble, how could the Divine Beast dare linger in this sea of stars?
Shaking Its massive head, It kicked against the void, transforming into a streak of golden light across the firmament.
Like a meteor desperate to flee the scene, It vanished instantly toward the higher heavens. It had to dive into the Divine Realm and act cute for The Great One before She lost Her temper, hoping Its radiant golden fur might earn It a pass for this bout of "electromagnetic disturbance".
Meanwhile, at the B.E.N. underground command center. The President remained frozen in his card-holding stance, staring blankly at the display array that had turned completely black. The monitoring windows that were once as dense as stars were now a void of deathly silence. He collapsed into his command chair as if his spine had been removed.
"What... what was that? Those were our core assets, our half-century of hegemony, our national destiny!" His voice was as raspy as sandpaper.
Minutes later, an official drenched in cold sweat tremblingly handed over a preliminary assessment report forced out by a backup computer.
On the first page, the long string of "zeros" looked like a row of heartless mocks. The budget for rebuilding the satellite link alone would drain not just the treasury, but the tax revenue of the B.E.N. for the next century.
The list of losses for space-based weaponry was endless, and the compensation claims from major military-industrial groups were already flooding the system.
"Cough... cough-cough!" The President stared at the absurdly long line of numbers, his face turning from deathly pale to a deep purple. Clutching his chest, his throat making a sound like a broken bellows, he coughed violently. His eyes rolled back, and his trembling finger pointed into the void, as if he were about to "ascend" right then and there.
He had initially felt lucky that he kept a few "trump cards" to ensure a comeback. Who could have guessed that the Goddess wouldn't even have to lift a finger—that a Divine Beast's satisfied burp would be enough to send the world's top technological power back to the primitive age of short-wave radio in a single night?
In the offices of world leaders everywhere, there was a similar deathly silence. Over emergency long-wave radios, the heavy breathing of various leaders came through in snatches.
Staring at the darkened sky, they fell into a state of profound confusion: Who was to blame? The Divine Beast for having too good an appetite? Or the self-righteous, mad President who insisted on feeding It an "extra meal"?
In the Long Nation command center, the old general looked at the last flickering spark on the screen caused by a satellite short-circuit and sighed. "Greedy men fed a greedy god, and in the end, the bill is paid by the communication civilization of the entire world. This world truly spares no one."
In the Blue Phoenix's space, Qinghong had been watching the Wealth Devourer's "livestream mukbang" with great interest, even wanting to grab some fruit to snack on while watching.
"Ahem, Qinghong, it's time to work," the Blue Phoenix said, lightly patting her shoulder with Its wing, a hint of amusement in Its tone.
"Ah! Right!" Qinghong snapped out of it, fumbling with the now-bound Livestream Permissions and Operations Manual. She carefully reached for the purple fruit button, her fingers twitching with nerves.
"Phew... luckily I didn't get it wrong this time. I'm actually quite amazing!" As the livestream opened, Qinghong's small face, beaming with joy and pride, appeared on the screen.
Because the Wealth Devourer's stunt was so spectacular, many viewers in the livestream were still dazed. However, everyone was shocked—two livestreams were open at once?
On the left was Room A, conducting the final judgment of Zhu Yulu; on the right was Room E, where Qinghong was smiling radiantly.
"My Goodness, are these two livestreams working in tandem?"
"Hurry, switch to Channel E! Watching Qinghong is a thousand times better than staying here!"
A massive wave of viewers began to abandon Room A for Room E. Curiously, however, some found that no matter how they clicked, they could not leave Room A.
Specifically, Mrs. Zhu and those extreme "brain-dead" fans who were still desperately trying to whitewash Lolo—some even bordering on a cult-like worship—were pinned to their digital seats by the Livestream Beast's will.
That certain "flashy show-off" Divine Beast expressed Its sentiment: since you love her so much, you shall watch every single second of her despair in high-definition proximity.
Just as Qinghong was preparing to continue her flow in the Room E, a streak of shimmering golden text suddenly cut across space, inserting itself directly from Room A.
The chaotic chat froze instantly as LongNation's archaeologists and linguists rushed online. They were stunned; the text consisted of some of the oldest scripts in the Long Nation's history, characters that were still being deciphered today.
—[What does that mean? Does anyone here understand?]
Archaeologists capable of recognizing the script acted as translators for the masses.
—[Translated! Fortunately, these aren't too hard to grasp. It says: 'It will be your turn soon.']
Watching that flowing line of golden text, the smile on Qinghong's face solidified.
In that second, her expression became incredibly complex—partly relaxed, as if a long-suppressed secret was finally coming to light; partly tense, reflecting an instinctive awe of causal judgment and the Goddess; partly strong, representing her will to protect all living beings; and partly weak, a tiny shadow of the humble little white mouse deep within her soul.
For a moment, she even forgot to manage her expression, standing dazed before the camera.
Meanwhile, the progress bar in Room A had reached the very end.
In the frame, an adult Zhu Yulu stood on the balcony of a high-end apartment.
Trapped in the gap of the balcony's support beam, a white Pomeranian that had accidentally fallen was shivering and whimpering in plea. The woman spoke in a voice as soft as a bedtime story, but at 2.5x speed, the tone was eerily cold and distorted.
"I've never seen a dog fall from a building before... Let me see it, okay?"
Through the global speaker systems, all of humanity clearly heard this demonic whisper.
"No... this isn't real. This has to be special effects, it's CGI!"
The female fan who had been frantically defending Zhu Yulu in the chat was now slumped before her screen. Though she had witnessed the woman's various atrocities throughout the day, she had clung to a tiny shred of "what if"—what if Lolo really wanted to save it?
The reality proved that the mind of a demon has no room for "what if".
In the image, the Pomeranian seemed to understand the extreme malice. Its survival instinct kicked in, and in its terror, it snapped back, biting the hand Zhu Yulu was using to "stroke" it.
"You damned little beast!"
The once-gentle face turned instantly hideous.
Without a moment's hesitation, Lolo whipped her hand outward, throwing the trapped Pomeranian out from the dozens of stories high like a piece of trash. The Pomeranian's scream pierced the air until it hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Falling along with it was the shattered soul of that former fan. She stared at the "Goddess" on the screen, who was now elegantly wiping the bite mark off her hand with a look of pure disgust. The fan felt her blood turn to ice—a devastating despair that follows the collapse of one's faith.
At that moment, Qinghong took a deep breath and looked into the camera, her eyes filled with a certain resolve.
"Since causality has arrived... then let it begin with me."