WebNovels

Chapter 15 - 15: The Man Who Walked Out of the Sub-Nuclear Explosion

Even though it was well past midnight, the White House was ablaze with light.

Inside the Situation Room sat the most powerful figures in the nation — the President, military leaders, intelligence chiefs, and the elite few who truly ruled the country.

This time, not a single one of them spoke.

All eyes were fixed on the enormous central screen.

The live feed showed a young man — no, just a high school student.

But at this moment, that teenager looked more terrifying than any terrorist in history.

They had seen him manipulate objects, freeze bullets in midair, move faster than sight, and even fly.

Every display of power broke the limits of science and mocked human understanding.

Guns were useless against him.

The battlefield had become a slaughterhouse — and the soldier, the police, the tanks, were nothing more than props in his ascension.

Finally, the military had escalated.

Armor-piercing shells, RPGs, and high-yield explosives — the kind meant for full-scale wars — were unleashed against a single boy.

The city block vanished beneath waves of fire.

For a long moment, nothing moved within the inferno.

Someone finally exhaled.

"Good… good. That monster's finally dead."

"See? Our American firepower — that's true strength! Gods, demons, superhumans — who cares? How many divisions do they have?"

Laughter and bravado rippled through the room. The tension that had gripped everyone seemed to ease a little.

But at the far end of the table, the real decision-makers didn't share in the laughter.

Their faces only grew darker.

The President's calm, deep voice broke the silence.

"Keep watching."

The laughter died instantly.

The flames continued to roar on screen.

One second. Two. Ten. A full minute.

Three minutes. Five.

Then — a strange humming filled the speakers.

The ground in the footage began to tremble.

A massive surge of psychic energy erupted like a shockwave.

The sea of fire was split apart — and from the heart of the explosion, a figure rose.

The same teenager.

Barely a scratch on him.

But he was different now.

The blackened corpse he had carried before was gone — absorbed.

And his aura… had transformed.

His eyes were pure black, deeper than the abyss, colder than any demon.

Invisible waves of telekinetic force rippled outward, twisting everything within sight.

Concrete buckled.

Steel tanks crumpled like paper.

Every building within dozens of meters collapsed in on itself as though the air had turned into an invisible grinder.

Then, the godlike figure moved.

He walked slowly, almost casually, and with every gesture —

People died.

A single wave of his hand crushed dozens of soldiers and patrol cars into scrap.

Another sweep — and a tank imploded.

No weapon could harm him now.

He stood alone, sovereign and unchallenged, like a god among insects.

One man against a hundred. Against a thousand.

Someone in the White House snapped — his voice shrill with terror.

"This—this is impossible! How can one man be that strong!?"

Silence fell again.

A long, heavy silence — filled with the weight of fear.

Finally, someone said what they all were thinking.

"No. We still have nuclear weapons. Humanity's ultimate judgment."

"Nukes can kill gods!"

The President's expression didn't change.

"Keep watching," he ordered quietly.

A collective shiver went through the room.

Did he mean… the monster could even survive that?

The feed continued.

On screen, the battlefield commander was giving frantic orders.

Their last resort — the fuel-air bomb, nicknamed the "sub-nuclear weapon."

A missile streaked through the night sky —

Whoosh!

And struck the target.

BOOM!

A giant mushroom cloud rose into the heavens.

The explosion flattened everything within hundreds of meters.

"Did it work?"

All eyes were wide, glued to the screen.

Minutes passed.

Then… movement.

From the blazing crater, a charred, barely human silhouette staggered forward.

Half its body looked melted — yet somehow, impossibly, it still moved.

Then, it rose into the air and vanished into the clouds.

A cold hush filled the room.

Good news: The sub-nuclear blast had worked.

Bad news: The monster was still alive.

The message was clear —

The superhuman could be hurt, but not killed.

A general muttered, half to himself, "If one fuel-air bomb can hurt him, two or three might finish the job. Or we could deploy a full thermobaric strike."

The others seemed almost relieved.

Terrifying as he was, the creature wasn't invincible.

And if they had to, America still had real nuclear weapons.

"If he can bleed," the general said grimly, "he can die."

The President's gaze turned toward the tall woman sitting quietly beside him — Ivanka.

"Miss Ivanka. It's your turn."

She stood, poised and commanding.

At nearly six feet tall, her presence dominated the room.

"Gentlemen," she began evenly, "you've seen the footage. That monster — that high schooler named Andrew — has changed."

"When the tanks first fired on him, he was weaker. By the end… his power had advanced."

The room stirred uneasily.

Everyone there was intelligent enough to grasp the implication.

If his strength could evolve — that meant he wasn't done yet.

"Miss Ivanka," one of them asked tensely, "what exactly do you mean by 'advanced'? Can he… get even stronger?"

"And how do you know this?"

Ivanka had expected these questions. She met their stares without flinching.

"The superhuman hierarchy is divided into three tiers — Third-Class, Second-Class, and First-Class."

"The Andrew you saw just now evolved from Third-Class to Second-Class."

"When he reaches First-Class, even a nuclear weapon will no longer be effective against him."

A chill swept the room.

"And how," another voice asked sharply, "do you know this information?"

Ivanka smiled faintly.

"You all remember the battle between the so-called god and demon that occurred not long ago, yes?"

Every head nodded.

"The victor of that battle — the divine being — is currently a guest of the Trump family. Everything I've just told you comes directly from him."

The room erupted in murmurs.

Every gaze fixed on Ivanka changed — no longer skeptical, but reverent.

If she truly had contact with a god… that made her the chosen of heaven.

One of the officials leaned forward eagerly.

"Then that god — can He destroy the monster Andrew?"

Ivanka's eyes softened with regret.

"I'm afraid not. That battle left Him badly injured. He cannot act again for the time being."

Her tone hardened.

"Besides, He is not the God Himself — only the messenger of my Lord, the Holy God of Light, Balder."

A stunned silence followed.

"Balder… the Norse God of Light?" someone whispered.

"One of the twelve major Aesir?"

The idea struck them like lightning.

If Balder was real — did that mean Odin, Zeus, and even God Himself truly existed?

The room broke into whispers of disbelief and awe.

Ivanka's cold voice cut through the noise.

"Don't waste your time wondering. A First-Class superhuman could already ignore nuclear weapons. Imagine how powerful true gods must be."

"I'll tell you the truth," she continued, her gaze sharp as steel.

"Even if those gods exist, humanity has no way to draw their gaze. Not unless something threatens their domain directly."

"The only reason the Holy God of Light, Balder, sent His messenger here…"

"…was because His eternal nemesis, the Dark God Hodr, sent his servant into our world first."

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