mijobooks Chapter 60 Ascending the Jade Throne, Embarking on the Path of Atonement!
Chapter 60 Ascending the Jade Throne, Embarking on the Path of Atonement!
Inside the divine realm, Luo Huan stared at the dark red bead.
Inside the bead, in the square of Hegang Town, flames were still burning, and black smoke rose straight up.
"No, there's not enough blood plasma!"
She muttered something, then leaned back and rolled a few times in the void, her silver hair trailing messy arcs.
Although she had won with fewer troops, and although Carl led his men to storm the National Guard camp and unleash a devastating attack, in her opinion, the scale was still too small.
More than a thousand men fought against ten thousand men and won, but not enough people died and the number of dead was not spectacular enough.
"If only we could fight under heavy fire!"
She imagined that scene:
Carl stood in the center of the artillery barrage, surrounded by exploding fireballs and shrapnel. But like Captain America, he moved and killed amidst the gunfire, his blood gushing out as he overturned an entire tank company.
That's what you call fun.
The current commotion is like a mosquito biting an elephant; it itches, but it's not satisfying enough.
Her rolling motion stopped, and her body began to deform and shrink, eventually condensing into a shapeless white mass of flesh that bounced around in the void.
A few seconds later, the mass of flesh exploded, reformed, and transformed back into the form of a white-haired loli.
Luo Huan stood barefoot in the void, looked down at the dark red bead, then raised her right foot and stepped directly onto it.
Power began to flow.
It was no longer the gentle trickle of before, but a violent, almost barbaric, erosion.
It surged from the soles of her feet, poured into the inside of the beads, and forcefully infused Carl Jensen.
"Why is this membrane still so hard?"
She could feel the resistance.
The barriers of the world are still there, thick and tough, like a layer of soaked cowhide.
With a surge of force, the torrent crashed against the barrier, some of it managing to penetrate, but most of it was deflected.
"Tsk."
Luo Huan pouted.
The infusion lasted for about ten seconds.
She could feel the power within Karl expanding, like inflating a balloon, but it was still a little short of bursting through the membrane.
No new power model has been developed.
"...If we were to go to Capitol Hill or the Lincoln Memorial..."
She muttered to herself, then her eyes suddenly lit up.
"Hey! I have an idea!"
She sat up, crossed her legs, and floated in front of the beads, her red eyes staring at the man kneeling on the platform inside, his body radiating red light.
"If you're going to cause trouble, wouldn't it be more fun to make it bigger?"
She extended her right index finger, aimed the fingertip at the surface of the bead, and gently pressed it down.
Silver promotion, let's have some fun.
Power flowed into his fingertips.
On the wooden platform in Hegang Town Square.
Carl Jensen knelt on one knee, his right hand gripping the cross pendant on his chest tightly.
The scar on his palm was burning hot, like a branding iron. Red light shone through his fingers, illuminating his sweaty jaw and the bulging veins on his neck.
The heat surged through my body, more violently than ever before.
The muscle fibers groaned, the bones made a faint cracking sound, and the blood flowed so fast it felt like it was about to burst out of the blood vessels.
He gritted his teeth, forcing out a suppressed roar from his throat.
The shouts from the crowd below the stage gradually subsided.
They saw the saint on the platform trembling, and saw an abnormal dark red tinge on his skin, as if magma was flowing beneath it.
The flames were still burning on the pile of corpses, but the black smoke seemed to be suppressed by some invisible force, drifting along the ground.
Karl suddenly looked up.
He stood up straight.
His movements were somewhat stiff, like a puppet being pulled by strings, but his back was ramrod straight.
His body temperature was frighteningly high, and the air around him distorted, forming visible ripples of heat.
The dark red ripples emanating from him were no longer invisible waves, but rather a nearly tangible, viscous halo that spread outwards from him, covering the entire square.
Where the halo touched, the flames suddenly dipped downwards.
The next moment, something broke.
It's not a sound, it's a feeling.
Like a taut bowstring finally snapping, like a blocked river channel suddenly opening up.
Karl opened his mouth and let out a long roar at the sky obscured by black smoke.
"Ugh!!!"
The sound wasn't loud, but it was extremely penetrating, drowning out the wind and the crackling of the flames, clearly reaching the ears of everyone in the square.
The roar lasted for three seconds.
Then it stopped.
Karl lowered his head, breathing heavily.
The red light on his body gradually subsided, the high temperature began to drop, and the feeling of fullness that almost burst his body slowly calmed down, settling into a deeper and more stable foundation of power.
He looked at his right hand.
The cross pendant was still held in my palm, the metal scorching hot.
The moment his gaze fell upon it, a voice resounded deep within his soul.
"Go, go to war!"
"Go and sit on the white jade throne."
"Go and embark on the path of atonement."
At the same time, the lips of the crucifix on his palm, depicting a suffering human figure, moved slightly.
thump.
He knelt down, his forehead slamming heavily against the rough surface of the wooden platform.
He clutched the cross tightly to his chest with both hands, his knuckles turning pale.
"yes!"
His voice was hoarse, but each word was enunciated with unwavering precision, exploding in the suddenly silent square:
"I will obey the Lord's will—"
"Assume the white jade throne and embark on the path of atonement!"
As soon as the words were spoken...
James Jones, standing in the front row, was jolted.
He felt a surge of heat burst forth from his chest, instantly flowing through his limbs and bones.
The lingering pain from the old wound disappeared, and the soreness and numbness in my arms and shoulders from holding the gun for so long also vanished.
My sense of power has clearly improved; my muscles are more solid, and my reactions are quicker.
Black Iron Tier 2.
Almost simultaneously, David Miller and Stephen Taylor also made the same reaction.
The two men gripped their guns tightly, their eyes glowing a deeper red, their breathing becoming deep and steady.
They also made a breakthrough.
Immediately afterwards, the energy emanating from Karl swept across the entire plaza.
All the believers standing here, all those who just shouted "The battle will never end," felt an increase in the power within their bodies.
The fatigue was dispelled, the minor wounds were itching and healing, the hand holding the weapon was more steady, and the heartbeat was stronger.
A brief silence.
Then, I don't know who was the first to shout it out:
"The bloody battle will not cease! The holy war will not end!"
The second, the tenth, the hundredth.
All the believers, whether they had just broken through or had been temporarily strengthened, raised their arms and roared.
The voices were even more unified and frenzied than before, filled with an uncontrollable fervor born from witnessing a miracle.
Even the white surrenderers on the outskirts of the square, who had been squatting on the edge of the ruins with shovels in their hands and whose eyes still held a sense of confusion and calculation regarding the power of others, slowly stood up.
The hesitation and fear on their faces vanished as if erased by an eraser.
They opened their mouths, and roared in their throats just like the others:
"The bloody battle will not cease! The holy war will not end!"
The voices were initially somewhat uneven, but they quickly merged into the mainstream and became uniform.
There was a moment of silence in the live stream chat.
Then it exploded.
"Did he hear something?"
"It's fake! It's all fake! It's all special effects!"
"Heavenly Sounds! He can hear heavenly sounds!"
"Satan! This must be a follower of Satan!"
"But to win against 10,000 with only 2,000, what is that if not a miracle?"
The debate continues, but one point remains undeniable:
A record is a victory.
In the eyes of these rednecks who are naturally immersed in the winner-takes-all narrative and the spirit of holy war, what else could a person be but a saint if not someone who can defeat the strong with the weak and publicly display divine revelation?