3,000 Meters In The Air
A C-130 Hercules cut through the pristine blue sky. Sunlight shimmered across its wings, and lazy white clouds drifted past the window like cotton drifting down a river.
Inside the cockpit, the pilot and co-pilot cradled steaming cups of tea the crew had just brewed.
"Thanks," the pilot muttered, eyes half-closed as she inhaled the scent.
"Man," the co-pilot sighed, sipping his cup, "I still can't believe the sky can look this damn beautiful."
"I know, right?" the pilot replied. "No wonder our ancestors were always crazy about going to human territory. If I had to stare at the same thunderclouds every day, I'd have blown my brains out by now."
"Yeah," said the crewman behind them, leaning in with his own cup. "That bitch goddess locking us under that storm blanket for centuries? Total mental health disaster. Now I never argue with my shrink when she tells me to 'go outside and enjoy the sky.'"
"Before this," the co-pilot added, "my coping mechanism was basically 'bar' or 'brothel' every damn weekend."
"Or," came a voice through the intercom, "you could just find a hobby that doesn't bankrupt you like booze or hoes."
All three demons glanced toward the cargo bay.
There, half a dozen crewmen were huddled over a massive sheet of metal, paintbrushes flicking in synchronized chaos.
The co‑pilot raised an eyebrow. "…Not all of us are 'artsy' like you, man."
"Are you guys done back there?" the pilot called.
"Almost… aaand‑done!"
The co‑pilot and the crewman abandoned their seats and marched to the cargo bay.
On the metal sheet lay a freshly painted masterpiece:
A sexy demon girl blowing a kiss, perfectly posed atop a cartoon bomb, with the caption:
WELCOME TO MURICA
The crewman whistled. "Damn. You guys outdid yourselves."
"You think they'll like the present?" one painter asked.
"Oh, they'll love it," the co‑pilot grinned. "Trust me."
The pilot's voice crackled through the comm:
"All hands, to stations. We're almost on target."
The painters nodded, leaving their artwork proudly attached to the GBU‑43/B Massive Ordnance Air Blast (MOAB), a.k.a. Mother of All Bombs.
The co‑pilot returned to the cockpit. Others strapped into their weapon stations. The serenity of the sky contrasted violently with the chaos they were about to unleash below.
"Overlord, this is Soccer Van," said the Combat Systems Officer. "Approaching target."
"Copy, Soccer Van," Overlord replied. "Proceed. Green light. I repeat: green light."
The cargo bay doors slowly yawned open. Wind howled inside the aircraft.
"We have visuals. Releasing in five… four… three… two… one… release."
"Bombs away!" the gunners shouted.
"Overlord, Mother is on the way. Soccer Van is RTB."
Far below, death whistled toward the ground.
---
Vandoria Army, Left Flank
RATATATATATATATATATATA
BRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT
The running battle raged across the plains. The Vandorian cavalry—centaurs and horsemen—chased the Abrams and Vulcans, leaving behind trails of their dead.
The Muricans had a problem.
"ARE YOU DONE WITH THE HULL MAGAZINE?!" the gunner screamed, mowing down centaurs with the coax.
"THERE'S A FUCKING REASON WE NEVER USE IT!" the loader bellowed. "BECAUSE IT TAKES TOO FUCKING LONG TO RELOAD!"
"COME ON COME ON COME ON COME ON—" the gunner hissed, firing nonstop as horsemen closed the gap.
"And… done! UP!" He closed the turret hatch.
"ON THE WAY!"
BOOOOM
The cluster of centaurs exploded, with their body parts flying into the air.
"That's our last six rounds, by the way," the loader warned.
"FUCK! THERE ARE STILL THOUSANDS OF THEM!"
---
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
"MERCURIAL THRUST!"
One of the holy knights hurled a spear glowing with divine magic. It skimmed past Stan's arm, slicing a line of streaming blood.
Stan roared and spun, swinging his GAU‑8 like a baseball bat.
THUMP
The knight folded mid-air like a rag doll, bones snapping as he crashed onto the ground in a mangled heap.
Dozens more surged in, fearless now that Stan was within melee range.
Stan bulldozed them. Every swing sent bodies flying—some tumbling, others crushed outright.
BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM
Behind him, the AC‑130 laid down continuous fire, saturating distant clusters but avoiding Stan's immediate perimeter.
Stan's chest expanded.
Something bright flickered behind his teeth.
A sphere of swirling energy condensed in his mouth—then unleashed.
BOOOOM
A beam of raw hellfire tore through a formation, detonating them in a fiery blast.
But it didn't stop the other hundreds from continuing to charge at Stan.
Stan groaned, "Ugh… I'm seriously going to ask for more gunships to Monny after this shit."
---
Vandoria Army, Center
Duke Pierre galloped behind the mass of his troops, watching his thousands of soldiers rushing toward the Great Demon Gate.
The gate was right in front of their noses; a couple more miles and they could reach it.
"SIR!" called the Avian lookout. "Enemy soldiers can be seen at the gate!"
"How many?"
"A couple hundred!"
"Any hell dragonflies or demon elephants?"
"No, sir! Just the demon chariots and infantry."
Duke Pierre grinned.
His bet had been right.
"Their war creatures and ammunition are limited! Probably thinking that we will retreat after all those attacks!"
He raised his arm.
"SEND THE SIGNAL! CHAAAAARGEE!"
The horn blared.
VOOOOOOOOMMM
"RRRAAAAAAAGHHH!"
Thousands of soldiers rallied their war cry. The army thundered forward—seven thousand men sprinted toward the Gate, bloodlust and desperation mixing into one suicidal charge.
Then—
SHIIIIING
A light-white, pure, blinding opened just above their center.
Some soldiers looked up.
Others didn't even get that far.
KABOOOOOOOOOOM
The world vanished.
A two-kilometer-wide explosion swallowed everything. Thousands of lives evaporated in less than one second. The valley amplified the shockwave, turning it into a 320 km/h tunnel of wind, dust, rock, and flying metal.
Soldiers outside the blast radius who didn't die in the initial explosion met their demise by being slammed into rocks or pierced by shrapnel from their comrades' weapons and armor.
Survivors were hurled dozens of feet—bones shattered, necks snapped for the unlucky ones.
Duke Pierre slammed into the ground, bouncing violently, but a green shield protected him from the flying shrapnel.
---
Vandoria Army, Left Flank
The giant explosion scared the horses and centaurs alike, stopping them dead in their tracks.
From their place, they saw the largest fireball they had ever witnessed. Not even an archmage's magic could create an explosion of that size.
---
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
The soldiers halted their charge at Stan. For a few moments, they even forgot about him entirely.
"O-only God can have this kind of power…"
"T-the demons have their god fighting for them…"
Soldiers, mages, and priests trembled and sank to their knees, paralyzed by fear.
"Fiuuu," Stan whistled, watching the firework. "It sure is better to see it in person than on a camera."
---
Vandoria Army, Center
"Cough… cough…"
Duke Pierre sat up, dazed and bleeding.
The green magic pendant he wore for protection flickered and cracked.
He looked ahead.
His army was gone.
All seven thousand soldiers had been replaced by a smoking crater.
"W-what… happened…? Where's my army…?"
Around him, a few dozen survivors staggered upright, bleeding and dazed.
Then a soldier pointed.
"Look… the demons… the demons' chariots are coming…"
Two M2 Bradleys and eight Humvees rolled toward them, guns already trained.
Duke Pierre had no reason to feel confident anymore—only reason to feel terror.
"RETREAT! RETREEEAAAT!!"
---
Vandoria Army, Left Flank
"Sir! They are retreating!" shouted the Abrams driver.
The Vandorian left flank didn't need Duke Pierre's order to know the truth—they were utterly screwed.
"All units, halt."
The Abrams screeched to a stop. Silence fell across the line, cold and heavy.
"…This is Bison Leader to all units. Advance! Chase them down!"
The tanks surged forward. With the remaining rounds, they tore through the retreating enemy.
RATATATATATATATATATATA
Centaurs, horses, and humans crunched beneath 62-ton tracks, leaving trails of blood and debris.
---
Vandoria Army, Center
Pierre fled the valley, terror choking every breath. His left and right flanks were routing. Thousands scattered before mere dozens of enemies.
His fear of being killed by the demons far outweighed any concern for his career.
His assessments had been catastrophically wrong.
"DUUUKEE! OVER HERE!"
A familiar voice called out. Archmage Durac—still alive, though missing an arm—beckoned him.
"A-Archmage! Are you still alive? We are retreating to Dawn to reorganize."
"Yes, we shall! There we can contact the capital for reinforcements—"
SPLAAATT
Durac's head exploded like a watermelon, spurting gore across the valley for no apparent reason.
Duke Pierre screamed.
"Hi… Hieeeeee!"
---
Malvorath Mountain Range
Kovalski exhaled, lowering his rifle.
"And that, gentlemen," he said over the comm, "is the Ace of Hearts. Putting us back in the lead with five points."
His spotter gleefully scratched Archmage Durac's photo from the target list.
"FUUUUCK, I WAS ABOUT TO WIN!" someone yelled.
"Heheh, too bad, Sierra Echo. That thousand dollars is ours," Kovalski smirked.
He frowned, scanning through his scope. "Say… why did command suddenly take Ace of Spades off the list?"
"I don't know, man," the spotter shrugged. "Something about a present for a new friend."
Through the scope, Pierre was fleeing in total panic. Kovalski didn't fire. Orders were orders.
---
Vandoria Army, Right Flank
BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM
The AC-130 shredded the retreating masses. Survivors trampled one another in blind panic, leaving Stan untouched.
Stan didn't chase. He shrank back to his demonfolk form, relaxed, and unbothered. A Chinook descended beside him.
The crew rushed out, handing him a cloth, a cigar, and a bottle of whiskey.
"Good work, sir."
Stan tore the cap off the bottle with his teeth and chugged.
"AAAAAAHHH… refreshing."
They lit his cigar.
"Another day in the office, I guess," he said lazily.
"Too bad we didn't record this battle," one crewman muttered. "Would've sent a strong message."
"Oh, don't worry," Stan said, eyes glinting toward a distant hill. "The world is watching us."
---
Hill near the battlefield
Two human spies observed the aftermath—one peering through a telescope, the other sketching every vehicle and aircraft.
"What should we report about the giant explosion? I don't see anything that makes sense."
"Maybe they planted it beforehand," the other replied. "It's the only path to the gate anyway. Makes sense as a trap."
"…Not only did the battle last one day, but a 30,000-strong army was defeated by just a handful of enemies? And that's not counting wyverns or avian warriors. Do you think high command will believe this?"
"It's not our job to make them believe. We just report what we see," said the man, packing up. "Other spies probably feel the same."
"Do you think… how many spies escaped the DMZ village that night?"
"A lot. Especially those from the major kingdoms."
They disappeared into the hills. Their reports would reach high command soon.
Murica already knew spies lurked everywhere. Mo' had insisted they be left alone.
Let the world see a little of Murica's power.
Not all. Just enough.
And best of all—there were plenty more surprises still hidden up their sleeves.