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“To you, great Queen of the Night!”

Forte.

“To you, great Queen of the Night!!!”

Fortissimo.

“Be offered to our vengeance——-!!!!”

Fortississimo.

Stronger, even stronger, ever more powerfully.

Resounding is the aria of the hideous meat chunk.

Withstands blows from shells while puffing itself up to maintain its size, now resembling a balloon, this wretched meat chunk cries out its aria. Without a recitative, it haphazardly spews out disconnected scenes, akin to a bizarre file playing, distorted by bugs. Despite the grotesque sounds emanating from it, the meat chunk carries itself as if it were a soprano, as if it were the prima donna of the unfolding spectacle.

But how could a play exist if it could carry on unchecked?

A play is bound by its form, dictated by order, and tethered to its essence.

Those who fail to adhere will face the decree of disfavor.

It strikes with a force akin to divine judgment.

The rage of the god conducting the drama descends upon the meat chunk.

Neither sky nor earth.

Simply, the anger approaches from afar.

The rage of one standing on the same stage, in the same position.

Kugugugugung-!!!

A heavy sound.

Thick clouds of dust rise.

Countless buildings crumble like Legos and scatter to the ground, pieces of wood and concrete soar skyward. Was there flammable or explosive material in the mix? With a thunderous roar, flames surge forth, and sometimes debris flung from the explosion darts in all directions as if desperately trying to escape the divine wrath.

Kugugugugung!!!!

The speed of that rage is astounding.

Could the speed of ‘thought’, branded as the fastest horse, truly match it?

The speed at which dust swirls arises faster than buildings crumble, and even quicker is the pace at which it reaches the meat chunk. Thus, the meat chunk, puffed up like a balloon and struggling to maintain its place, can neither evade nor even consider evading.

Consequently, the tentacles of shadow lay down the solemn fury upon the meat chunk.

Kugugugugung-!!!!

Crushing gently the hideous prima donna belting its aria, destroying all buildings, and transforming hidden souls into mere puddles of blood. It swept through the city, rendering it a barren lot, a sight not unlike that which humans created through bombardment.

But would the rage easily dissipate after a single swipe?

Rage is explosive, akin to an unquenchable fire.

And thus, that rage can spread in every direction, becoming uncontrollable and leading people down the path to destruction…

Ah.

The shadow’s leg, sweeping across the landscape, halts firmly in place.

It then ceases its horizontal sweep and, curving upwards, it rises high into the sky, its length so impressive that it could easily surpass dozens, if not a hundred meters. Its girth is such that it resembles the trunk of a high-rise building, and the suckers along it bear artifacts—pieces of rock, metal, and human corpses—displaying its deeds like medals, instilling terror in onlookers.

“…The information seems a bit off…?”

This sudden calamity striking the city startled even the weed-like populace that hid and was equally troubling for the soldiers surrounding the city.

Even the warriors who had previously sought to eliminate dissenters by demolishing the city were now gripped by fear, questioning the ‘information’ that dispatched them to this location, wondering if there was any data connected to it.

‘The intel… I received word that a shaman might be present, but I was sure there was also information about a shaman attempting to assassinate Party officials. Could that bizarre tentacle have been conjured by that shaman…?’

The commander, reviewing the information once more, felt a sense of unease creeping into the corners of his mind.

Something indescribable, something beyond mere instinct. Perhaps if it were a bit more fleshed out, it could be articulated, but even calling it an animal instinct feels inadequate—a seed that might never have germinated if not for a lifetime of honing through military service.

“If such a shaman could perform such actions, the Party would certainly know about it. Even if they were unaware, deploying troops for bombardment… surely this is an act of aggression, a blatant offense against the teachings of the National Defense University of the People’s Liberation Army…”

What unfolded wasn’t strange.

This operation wasn’t odd.

Though the target was a shaman, deemed an assassin, it was judged that a military force would be sufficiently capable of handling them, and detailed documentation was available, enabling the commander to lead the troops without suspicion. With terrorist capabilities, specialties, methods of engagement, and the promised support on par with a foreign war, there seemed to be no problems.

Yet still, what was this sense of incongruity lingering in the back of his mind?

“It is certainly not unusual to mobilize troops and try to kill a suspect who dared to attempt assassinating Party officials. It wouldn’t be surprising if public security transferred the hunting of terrorists and assassins to us as part of secret political dealings, nor would dispatching shells be an issue we couldn’t resolve using media control and manipulation.”

Nothing strange.

Everything seemed to be functioning normally.

“First and foremost, we must destroy that thing.”

The commander forcefully brushed away the unease encroaching on his mind.

And while gazing upon the threatening, writhing black tentacle that seemed poised to descend at any moment, he issued his command.

“It is time to fulfill the support promised by the People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force!!! Request the missile bombardment using all the launchers from the nearest missile brigade!”

Contemplation is something reserved for moments of peace and leisure.

What was urgent now was minimizing damage—

No.

Even at the cost of damage, the priority is to exterminate those reckless mongrel pups who have dared to unleash their blades upon China.

Terrorists, shamans.

In the end, they are but individuals who have dared to raise arms against the might of Zhonghua.

No matter how remarkable one’s individual achievements, could they ever withstand the burden of over a billion people?

In a clash of person to person, they would suffocate within the population, and in a contest of technology, they would be crushed beneath the brilliance of an advanced People’s Army. With explosive force cultivated through the hardship of raising strength, Zhonghua’s overwhelming power would distinctly showcase the folly of those who would oppose it.

*

A meteor rises from the earth to the sky.

Its shining tail etches a curve across the heavens, tearing apart clouds and carving furrows in the atmosphere.

As a plow leaves a mark behind, numerous rockets soaring from the launchers pen a trail across the sky, leaving imprints in preparation for destruction.

Kugugugugung-!

Kugugugung!!!

A multitude of short-range ballistic missiles fill the sky.

Each one, fitting for warfare.

Too powerful to be used against one’s own city, guaranteed to create significant political risks thereafter, yet they soared easily into the sky with the unusually eager permission from above.

The missiles accelerated relentlessly, finally reaching their target.

Purrrr—!!!!

With a deafening roar and explosion far beyond that of the shells previously fired at the city, they plummeted toward the black tentacles.

This was a different rage from the divine fury that once engulfed the city.

A rage wrought by human hands, launched by human will.

Perhaps it could be likened to the anger of humanity, crafted to imitate that which the divine had once bestowed.

Thus, the fury of the divine and the fury of man clash.

Which will prevail; this will only be revealed once the swirling dust settles….

May the blessing of the gods be upon us.

Or perhaps the blessing of humanity.

 

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