Ultraman: It turns out this is the easy mode.

Chapter 657 It actually agreed!!!

Do you want to hear what you are saying?! The larva of King Zemira pounded the ground with its thick forelimbs, causing the tiles of the subway station to crack. What do you mean you want me to be eaten while I am still hot after I die?!
The red light from its compound eyes almost pierced Cui Ming, and the hot air from its mouthparts melted sizzling, smoking holes on the ground.

No, big brother! Are you speaking human language? The larva's tentacles trembled violently with anger, and it suddenly remembered the human rumors it heard in the underground river last week - a crazy captain of the EDF would grind the monster shells into seasoning.

“You only have one week to live anyway,” Cui Ming shook the holographic menu in his hand, and his tactical boots made a sizzling sound as they stepped on the ground in front of the larva. “Just think of it as giving back to nature.”

The menu unfolded in the hot and fishy air. The 3D model of the Zemira King larva was divided into different parts: the light-emitting organ on the head was marked with "can extract bioluminescent substances, recommended for sashimi", the membrane of the wings was marked with "grilled until crispy, sprinkled with volcanic salt", and the sounder on the abdomen was marked with "chopped pepper and stir-fried to remove the fishy smell". "Come and take a look, choose one?" Cui Ming's fingertips slid across the picture of "larva sour soup hot pot", and the stainless steel dining table of the EDF cafeteria was in the background.

"." King Zemira's face (if it had a face) must be blacker than coal at this moment. Brother, you are really cruel. - So humans not only want to eat it, but also distribute it according to the recipe? !
But anyway, I only have that much life, so it really doesn't matter. The larva's tentacles gradually drooped, and its compound eyes moved closer to the menu to read carefully. King Zemira had to admit that when he saw the steps of "Flame-emitting organ stewed curry", he actually expected that his flames could cook potatoes better or something.

Although it doesn't know what those things taste like.

"It turns out it's so powerful that it can make so many dishes. It's amazing." It muttered to itself, and digestive juice unconsciously flowed out of its mouthparts, leaving charred spots on the menu projection.

Cui Ming looked at the monster in front of him who was beginning to study his recipe, and suddenly remembered the days when he used ant eggs to make fried rice in the wasteland world. He touched the emergency food he had been carrying around his waist, thinking that he would have to remind the logistics department later that King Zemira might be used as tender meat.

In the distance, Kotaro's big net had fallen, and the sound of cicadas was mixed with the crisp sound of metal colliding.

"That's fine, but you have to let me die of hunger."

King Zemira gave his thoughts.

"Okay, this is too simple." Cui Ming smiled, but there was a bit of complexity in his eyes. He waved his hand, and the EDF logistics personnel immediately came with a cart full of food. In the following days, Cui Ming personally cooked, frying, stir-frying, cooking, and deep-frying in turn, and cooked a sumptuous meal for King Zemira. The larvae ate with satisfaction, their abdomens rose and fell gently with the chewing action, and occasionally waved their tentacles happily.

Time flies, until the larva completes its metamorphosis and becomes the majestic adult King Zemira. It is time for Cui Ming to fulfill his promise - to let it die of fullness. After all, King Zemira only has a short week to live, and this strange "food date" will eventually come to an end.

Of course, it was not all peaceful during this period. Various forces coveting King Zemira's power were ready to make a move, and people would come to cause trouble from time to time. The most difficult tactic was the "civilian riot".

EDF must maintain the image of "civilized law enforcement" in front of the camera lens. When the crowd carrying rusty hoes broke through the cordon, Cui Ming looked at the chaos on the surveillance screen with a toothpick in his mouth and tapped the red button on the tactical watch with his fingertips - that was the exclusive channel connecting to the suppression force.

"Brothers, it's time to show those guys a slap from a blind bear." When his voice mixed with the noise of electricity exploded in the communicator, the suppression troops ambushed behind the container had already popped out like a spring. These strong men wrapped in black stab-proof clothing came from the frozen land area of ​​the far north, and some even dared to get a tattoo on their Adam's apple.

As these hairy bears roared, they waved the rubber sticks as thick as their forearms wildly!
The monthly salary of 30,000 US dollars had already been deposited into their encrypted accounts in advance. At this moment, every swing of the stick was like whipping the wheat ears in their own granary. When the first group of rioters rushed over, stepping on the broken glass on the ground, the big man in the lead suddenly opened his bear-like throat, shaking the glass pieces on the gas mask to fall off: "Urra!!!" (Ura!!!)
The whistling sound of the special rubber sticks cutting through the air instantly drowned out the shouting. These weapons infused with memory metal would automatically bend and release force when hitting the target, but could also bring out a secondary impact force when rebounding - a thin tall man holding a wooden board was hit in the thigh by three sticks at the same time, and his knee made a teeth-grinding crisp sound, but the moment he fell to the ground, he was covered by the light blue mist sprayed from the spray can. The pain nerves were temporarily paralyzed, and the big man on top of him grinned at him and continued to hit him.

Nine sticks per second is the limit of physical strength, and ten sticks per second is respect for the salary!

The captain with a Cossack beard swung the tassel on the handle of the stick, and the metal brass knuckles scraped across someone's cheek, splashing blood on the protective mask. "You should be thankful that this is a rubber stick and not a frozen earth mace, otherwise you would have been serving afternoon tea to the crows now!"

The most shocking thing was their fighting rhythm. When the troublemakers tried to use Molotov cocktails to force the defense back, three big men suddenly formed a triangle formation: one knocked the fireball away with a shield, one hit the ankle with the end of a stick, and the last one lifted the man's waist and flipped him to the ground - the whole set of movements was as smooth as an assembly line, more precise than Cui Ming flipping a spoon in the kitchen. The cold mist of the healing spray mixed with sweat, forming a lavender mist under the setting sun. When the troublemakers rolled and crawled back, what was left behind was the wailing that came one after another, and half a bloody molar embedded in the sand.

When an old man wearing a tattered straw hat was pinned to the wheel, he tried to raise a rusty wrench to resist. Just as the new recruit of the suppression force was about to swing his stick, he was slapped on the back of his head by the veteran soldier: "Idiot! Hit me in the face! But don't go blind - the eye regeneration surgery in the medical cabin will cost me half a month's salary!" The rubber stick finally landed on the old man's shoulder blade, making a dull sound like a ripe watermelon being slapped open, but leaving only a faint red mark on the surface of the skin, as if it were a precise calculation of some kind of violent aesthetics.

When the last modified car full of wounded soldiers disappeared on the horizon, Cui Ming walked over, stepping on the rubber stick debris, crushing the painkillers left by someone with his boots. The bearded captain knelt on one knee, sweat dripping down the scar on his chin onto his military boots: "Report to the commander, we repelled 17 waves of attacks today, consumed three cans of healing spray, and the stick loss rate was 3%."

"Well done." Cui Ming nodded with satisfaction.

In the distance, the sound of King Zemira eating could be heard, mixed with the lullaby sung in Russian by the strong men.

I had a lot of fun beating someone up today.

(End of this chapter)