Chapter Seventy-Five: This Is Our War

“Wow~ That’s the Jericho missile from Stark Industries. I regret it now…” Tony Stark suddenly remarked.

“What do you regret?” Captain America asked.

“I regret not making more. The Jericho missile is the perfect weapon against these demons. I should have built a lot more,” Tony replied.

“It certainly is perfect. Your Jericho missile has managed to thoroughly enrage the demons,” Captain America said, pointing at the chaos below.

The hellish creatures were truly infuriated. They knew no fear; their bloodthirsty instincts only drove them madder under attack. The demons charged with terrifying speed, so fast that neither the organ rocket launchers nor the Jericho missiles could halt their advance.

“I think it’s time for us to join the fight.” Tony patted the arc reactor on his chest as his nano armor began to assemble.

“You’d best wait until not a single one of our people is left standing before you step in,” said the official who had negotiated with Tony earlier, approaching with a somber tone.

“Why?!”

“Because this is our war!” The official declared their sovereignty without the slightest courtesy.

“Alright, I respect your choice,” Tony said, locking eyes with the Chinese officer for a long moment before speaking slowly.

“They are warriors,” Captain America murmured in a deep sigh.

“They are knights. They have their faith and their convictions. All we can do is pray for them in our hearts,” Tony said quietly.

Under the barrage of artillery, the hellspawn pressed forward, forcing their way through the areas covered by the organ rocket launchers and Jericho missiles, undeterred by the staggering losses. As the demon horde closed in with relentless ferocity, a variety of World War II–era medium-caliber rapid-fire cannons opened up, and at Natasha’s suggestion, even some rapid-fire anti-aircraft guns were dragged out, barrels lowered, to serve as super-heavy machine guns.

These cannons spat tongues of fire; thousands upon thousands of tracer rounds whipped through the air like fiery lashes, tearing into the demon masses. Those struck were either ripped open with horrific wounds or hurled backward into the teeming throng.

The hail of metal was denser than a monsoon, so thick that bullets even collided midair and changed course. Yet the oncoming wave of demons was simply too vast. Many cunning fiends hefted the corpses of dead comrades as shields, forcing their way through the storm of bullets to reach the human coalition’s lines.

In such an intense and frenzied battle, if it were the current U.S. Marines holding the line, the demons might already have won. Facing an enemy horde that only drew closer, with no hope of victory in sight, the tension could easily break the defenders’ spirits.

But the Chinese fighters held their ground, just as they had vowed before the battle: having lost the Age of Exploration, they could not afford to surrender this opportunity.

The demon coalition pressed ever nearer. More and more slipped past the organ rockets, Jericho missiles, and medium-caliber cannons, advancing toward the city walls until they were within a thousand meters—close enough that those with keen eyes could see the demons’ twisted, ghastly faces.

At this critical moment, faced with a shortage of manpower, the commanders made a brutal decision: to summon all able-bodied men to the walls.

In the age of information, even those who had never fired a gun had at least seen one. A quick lesson sufficed, and accuracy was not the point—so long as they could pull the trigger and keep the muzzle down, they could wound the enemy. After brief training, heavy machine guns of various models joined the fray, spewing fire.

At long range, the organ rocket launchers and Jericho missiles thundered. At middle and closer ranges, rapid-fire cannons of all calibers unleashed their fury. In the final defense, three layers of heavy machine guns blazed away. Countless whips of fire battered the demon coalition, holding them at bay about eight hundred meters from the walls.

Even this overwhelming firepower could not drive the demon horde back, for their numbers knew no bounds. As time passed, the ground beyond the eight-hundred-meter line piled up with more and more bodies, forming true mountains of corpses. The cunning demons used these as shields, advancing at a frightening pace.

Five hundred meters…

Four hundred meters…

Three hundred meters…

A little further, and at two to three hundred meters, the demons would need only a breath and a few bounds to reach the defenders’ blind spots.

“Melee!” someone shouted.

Finally, the moment of close-quarters combat had come. But this was not the time for bayonets—facing the thick-skinned, monstrous demons in hand-to-hand combat was suicide, unless one wore powered armor. The few steel suits gifted to the ninja unit by Yang Xin were too few to turn the tide, so armored warriors were held back, the suits reserved as prototypes for future production.

It was the ninja unit who met the demons in close combat.

“Fire Release: Grand Fireball Technique!”

“Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!”

A simple combination of jutsu, but it seemed to have little effect. Watching the demon horde storm forward, Yang Xin quickly realized why: the demons, born in a harsh environment, had high resistance to fire.

“Switch to Water Release!” Yang Xin ordered.

“Water Release: Great Waterfall!”

“Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!”

The ninja unit quickly changed tactics, combining wind and water. Driven by wind, torrents of water surged forth—not to kill, but to clear a path, washing away the mountains of corpses near the walls and depriving the demons of their flesh shields.

This wind-and-water technique achieved an unexpected result; originally, a lightning technique was meant to follow, but as Yang Xin watched the distant demon army, he saw it wasn’t necessary.

The demon coalition fell into chaos, turning on one another in a frenzy.

The reason was water. Hell was so barren that water was almost nonexistent, and even demons needed it to survive. They had lived on the scant, filthy water available, but now, hundreds of ninja had conjured a not-insignificant lake outside the city walls.

This drove the hellspawn mad with thirst, and they began to slaughter each other for control of the precious water.

“It can be done like this?”

“What an unexpected windfall.”

Though surprised, the defenders recognized a weakness in the hellish creatures—but the barrage did not cease; every weapon continued to roar.

A distant sound drifted over the battlefield—a faint, haunting note, which might have been a horn, a demon’s whisper, or an ancient summons.

The hellspawn abruptly stopped killing each other and hurled themselves at the walls with renewed desperation. More and more broke through the triple line of fire, and now everyone could see, with their own eyes, the bloodthirsty, savage faces of the demonic horde.

At the brink of annihilation, every weapon fired at once. In less than ten breaths, a torrent of bullets and shells was unleashed. The ninja unit poured out their energy, unleashing every jutsu they knew.

Yet still, the hellspawn surged forward, undeterred. Gun barrels and cannon muzzles glowed red-hot, but no one dared pause to change them—for even a momentary lapse in fire would mean the demons would be upon them.

Even with all guns blazing, the situation was grim. It seemed that, in the next heartbeat, the demon army would break through.

“Wood Release: Nativity of the World of Trees!”