169: Chapter 167 The Next One? No, there is no next one.

San Francisco Bay.

Luo Yu's voice was very soft, yet it felt like an invisible heavy hammer, slamming into the hearts of everyone in the White House command center.

"Next."

These two words carried no emotion—no mockery, no showing off—just as calm as ordering the next dish at a restaurant.

However, it was precisely this extreme calmness that contained the most extreme contempt.

"Next?"

The President slumped in his wide leather chair. His face, which usually wore a confident smile, was now left with only a gray pallor.

He opened his mouth, only to find his throat felt as if it had been filled with sand; not a single syllable could escape.

What was next? To uproot the nuclear test site in Nevada? Or to pry open the North American Aerospace Defense Command buried deep under Cheyenne Mountain like a tin can?

There was no next one.

When the pinnacle of human technological crystallization, that "olympus" which carried the last dignity and hope of Eagle Country, was torn to pieces like a toy by a giant beast made of flesh and blood, all talk of "next" lost its meaning.

The Minister of National Defense's hand, which had just been waving his sidearm, dropped powerlessly. The gun hit the carpet with a "clang," but he didn't even notice.

His eyes were hollow, staring fixedly at the mechanical wreckage kneeling in the sea, crushed underfoot on the screen.

It was over.

Decades of military accumulation, the lifeblood of several generations, the steel god forged with nearly a trillion dollars—it couldn't even make the opponent warm up.

This battle was not in the same dimension from the very beginning.

"Notify... the front line."

The President wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and said in a hoarse voice, "Cease... all resistance."

Very well!

His voice was low, yet it clearly spread throughout the entire command center.

"Open up... Area 51, the White Sands Missile Range, and the home ports of all strategic nuclear submarines."

"Let them... lead the way."

Every word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, filled with humiliation and powerlessness.

When he spoke the last word, this President, who had always been known for his toughness, seemed to have his spirit drained away, instantly aging ten years.

He knew that once this order was given, it meant that Eagle Country's global hegemony, which had lasted for over a century, had officially come to an end today on this sun-drenched West Coast.

As for Dr. William, the father of Mechagodzilla, upon hearing the President's order, his face, distorted by fanaticism, instantly froze.

The bloodshot veins in his eyes faded, replaced by a deathly gray. Trembling uncontrollably, he fell straight backward; had the guards behind him not caught him in time, he might have died on the spot.

His life's pride was shattered.

On the battlefield, Godzilla seemed to have grown tired of playing.

It lifted its foot and kicked the pile of scrap metal, sending it tumbling over. The massive metal wreckage crashed into the sea, creating monstrous waves before sinking with a gurgle.

After doing all this, it even spit into the sea in an incredibly human-like manner, as if disgusted that the object had dirtied its foot.

"Hiss..."

Immediately afterward, a low roar filled with disdain spread across the globe via the live broadcast signal.

"Hahahaha, Godzilla: Is that it? Is that it?"

"That's heart-piercing! That glob of spit landed right on the heart of every taxpayer in Eagle Country."

"I declare that Godzilla understands performance art."

"The pre-meal exercise is over; time to serve the main course."

Countless Chinese netizens watching the battle on their screens burst into laughter.

Luo Yu slowly descended from the air and stood back on top of Godzilla's head. He did not look at the "scrap metal fleet" that had completely lost power, nor did he pay any attention to the dumbfounded Eagle Country soldiers on the coastline.

His gaze turned toward the more distant inland.

Soon, an Osprey transport aircraft, "escorted" by two F-35 fighter jets, flew tremblingly in front of Godzilla.

The cabin door opened, and a four-star general from Eagle Country stood at the entrance, his face pale, shouting through a megaphone, his voice trembling.

"Mar... Marshal Luo Yu, we... we are acting on the President's orders to lead the way for you and... and the king of the titans."

When he said the words "king of the titans," he clearly stuttered, obviously still in a state of shock and disbelief.

Luo Yu didn't even lift an eyelid; he just gently patted Godzilla's head.

"Godzilla, follow."

"Roar!"

Godzilla took a step, and that moving mountain began to walk slowly toward the heart of the American continent.

Mothra circled elegantly in the air, scattering colorful scales, as if offering the most magnificent salute for this unprecedented "disarmament" ceremony.

The Osprey transport aircraft, like a chick being watched by a fierce tiger, could only lead the way tremblingly.

This scene was deeply imprinted in the minds of billions of people through the global live broadcast.

An era had come to an end.

Another era, in the most savage and unreasonable way, had begun with a boom.

Nevada, Area 51.

This forbidden desert zone, wrapped in countless legends and classified documents, welcomed its most distinguished yet terrifying "guest" in history today.

When Godzilla's massive foot stepped onto this dry land, the entire base buzzed.

On the distant observation tower, the tempered glass cracked inch by inch from the sonic waves.

The base commander, an Old General with graying hair, stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window of the control center, holding a glass of whiskey, but his hand was shaking so much he could barely hold the glass.

Before his eyes was a sight that would make any military power green with envy to the point of madness.

Dozens of huge underground launch silos were now like opened soda cans, revealing the super "Minuteman" intercontinental ballistic missiles inside, gleaming with a cold metallic light.

Further away, hangars the size of small hills were opened, neatly lined with thousands of tactical nuclear warheads—B61s, B83s... every model imaginable.

This... was Eagle Country's bottom-of-the-barrel trump card.

"Di... Dinner time."

The Old General looked at the shadow blotting out the sky outside the window, his lips trembling as he muttered to himself.

Luo Yu stood on top of Godzilla's head, looking down at this "forest" of nuclear weapons, a satisfied expression on his face.

"Godzilla, don't be polite. It's a buffet, eat whatever you want."

"Hiss!"

Godzilla let out an excited low roar, drool almost dripping from the corner of its mouth.

Without the slightest hesitation, it bent down like a farmer pulling radishes in a field, reached out its claw, and easily "pulled" a super "Minuteman" missile weighing dozens of tons out of the launch silo.

Then, in front of the whole world, it performed an action that caused the hearts of all military experts to stop.

It stuffed the missile vertically into its mouth.

"Crunch... crunch..."

A teeth-aching chewing sound rang out.

The missile body, forged from high-strength titanium alloy, was easily chewed up under Godzilla's sharp teeth like a crispy French fry.

The high-energy explosives and nuclear charge inside turned into the purest energy, sliding down its throat.

"Burp!"

After finishing one, Godzilla let out a satisfied belch, puffing out a small wisp of black smoke.

【Ding! Consumed W87 thermonuclear warhead, energy density extremely high!】

【evolution progress + 0.8%】

Luo Yu looked at the jumping numbers on the system panel, his heart blooming with joy.

The "food" in Eagle Country was indeed of much higher quality than the stale, old junk from the Western European Alliance.