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Late at night, the White House blazed with light. Vehicles kept arriving at the gates—military jeeps, official cars for government officials, and even luxury vehicles from the wealthiest families.
Soon, the largest conference room was packed to capacity.
Military leaders, government officials, and tycoons—the most influential figures in the country—had nearly all gathered in this modest room.
At a moment like this, if someone fired a missile at the White House, the entire nation would descend into chaos.
Seated at the head of the table, the nation's leader surveyed everyone with a commanding gaze.
"Everyone here represents the most influential figures from the military, government, and finance. By now, you should be aware of what recently transpired."
In a capital-driven country, it was obvious that even the White House had long been infiltrated by the operatives of these powerful elites.
At the leader's words, the room went quiet. Each person, usually so lively and outspoken, fell silent, tension creeping into their every movement.
With their intelligence networks, they had already received detailed information within hours of the events. And now, knowing the full story, each person felt a chill run down their spine.
Gods and demons had fought—right in America's territory—in the middle of the night.
This was no joke. A hellish joke, maybe, but not funny.
Even the absurdity of the situation couldn't overshadow the undeniable fact: a colossal holy giant and an equally massive dark creature had battled, laying waste to the land in a cataclysmic confrontation.
The scale of destruction was immense, and the evidence was overwhelming. There were countless recordings, impossible to fabricate, proving the event was real—even if it strained credibility.
Seeing the silent faces, the leader's expression darkened.
"Now is not the time for silence. Our nation has encountered an unprecedented crisis!"
"What are the identities of these god and demon? Where did they come from? Why did they fight? I want answers!"
Still, no one spoke.
It wasn't that they had nothing to say—they dared not speak recklessly.
In America, faith ran deep. People worshipped, followed cults, and revered gods. But gods were supposed to stay on their pedestals, enjoying offerings quietly. Descending into the mortal world was unacceptable.
No one wanted a god on their doorstep demanding daily worship. The higher one's rank, the stronger the aversion. And here, in this room, sat the country's most powerful and wealthy individuals.
The leader's patience wore thin.
Smack!
His hand slammed heavily on the table. The sound echoed, snapping everyone out of their trance. Eyes fixed on him.
"I need an answer! And I need to know what we do next!"
Finally, a senior tycoon spoke up.
"Sir, we require more detailed intelligence first. No one has better access than you, and we need to review these reports."
The leader nodded and signaled his personal assistant, who immediately distributed documents to everyone present.
Images of devastation filled the room: shattered terrain, enormous craters, and the most terrifying—a pit that seemed to descend into an abyss itself.
The assistant explained:
"Based on field surveys, the battle between the god and demon affected an area over twenty square miles."
The room fell silent again.
Twenty square miles—a normal U.S. town spanned just five to six square miles, maybe ten at most. The destruction here equaled three towns combined, rivaling the impact of some nuclear weapons.
"If that had happened near us, it would have been no different from a nuclear blast," muttered a visibly shaken official.
"Fuck!"
"Can we stop them? Or at least one of them?!"
The leader didn't answer. Instead, his assistant spoke up.
"Our largest nuclear warheads exceed that in destructive power."
A collective sigh of relief spread through the room.
"But—"
The assistant paused dramatically, drawing attention. The projection lit up, displaying images.
"Observe these recordings. Neither the god nor the demon is a conventional flesh-and-blood being. They appear to be energy-based life forms."
"Against such entities, even nuclear weapons…"
The sentence trailed off. Everyone understood. Physical weapons were likely ineffective against energy-based beings.
"Can we attempt contact with one of them?"
"After all, we're not inherently violent, are we?"
It was a hellish joke—America, a nation claiming to avoid violence, facing literal gods and demons. No one dared object.
"Gods require faith, demons require souls. If we're given a chance, we can offer something to satisfy them."
Eyes met across the room, silently negotiating. In a capital-driven nation, human rights were just tools in power and money struggles. When the stakes were this high, who cared about ethics?
"The only question is… who will make contact?"
Silence stretched, suffocating.
Then, a firm voice rang out, breaking through the tension:
"The Trump family will handle it."
All eyes immediately turned to Trump.
He stood calm and authoritative, meeting every gaze without flinching.
"I know your fears, I know your concerns. Leave this entirely to the Trump family—but ensure sufficient compensation. After all, facing gods and demons, our entire family could easily become a very tempting dessert."
"....."