If I made you a special forces soldier, would you become a terrestrial god?

The Southwest Military Region Headquarters was shrouded in the deep, inky darkness of night.

The rotors of more than a dozen armed helicopters churned up a fierce wind as they landed one after another on the tarmac. The noise was deafening, but it couldn't drown out the deathly silence under the night sky.

As the cabin door slid open, the first to rush out were not soldiers, but teams of solemn-faced medical personnel. They pushed stretchers and practically ran into the cabin. The smell of disinfectant in the air couldn't mask the thick, overwhelming stench of blood leaking from inside the cabin.

Wang Zhan and the surviving members of the Wolf Warriors team walked down one by one in silence.

Their combat uniforms were stained beyond recognition by blood and gunpowder, and each face bore the indelible marks of exhaustion and sorrow. The moment their feet touched solid ground, the tense bodies of several soldiers suddenly went limp, and they would have collapsed if their comrades hadn't caught them in time.

Finally, the stretchers covered with military raincoats were carefully carried down by the soldiers with an almost reverent attitude.

There was no crying or wailing.

Only deathly silence.

In the deathly silence, there were heavy, labored breaths from everyone, like broken bellows, pressing down on their throats.

Shi Qingsong stood at the edge of the tarmac, watching this scene. His face, which seemed to be carved from granite, was twitching with muscles, and his tiger-like eyes were bloodshot and frighteningly red.

His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms, drawing blood, but he seemed oblivious to the pain.

"Commander." A staff officer quietly approached him, his throat dry. "Twelve dead, three seriously wounded, five slightly wounded... At Outpost No. 81, apart from two communications soldiers, the rest... were all killed."

Each number was like a battering sledgehammer, slamming heavily into Shi Qingsong's heart.

He slowly closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, the deep sorrow in his eyes had been completely swallowed up by a raging fire that seemed to burn the sky.

"Pass the word!" His voice wasn't loud, but it was more terrifying than a roar. "Seriously wounded soldiers, get them to the emergency room immediately! Everyone else, including me, get to Conference Room One in half an hour! Anyone who dares to be late, I'll skin them alive!"

"And another thing," he added, his tone shifting to a chilling Siberian frost, "get that block of ice transported to a freezer at minus fifty degrees Celsius! Send a reinforced company to watch it 24/7! Not a single fly is allowed to get in without my order!"

Half an hour later, in Strategic Conference Room No. 1.

Seated around the enormous oval conference table were core generals of the Southwest Military Region, all at the colonel level or above. No one spoke; the air was thick with tension, as if it were about to freeze.

Shi Qingsong sat in the main seat, not saying a word, staring intently at the cup of tea in front of him that had long since gone cold, as if trying to see right through it.

Wang Zhan changed into a clean military uniform and was also granted special permission to attend. He sat at the very end, but his bloodshot eyes and the faint smell of blood on his body silently told the story of the hell he had just crawled out of.

"Let's begin." Shi Qingsong finally spoke, his voice hoarse like two rusty iron pieces rubbing together. "Wang Zhan, you go first."

"yes!"

Wang Zhan stood up abruptly, took a deep breath to calm himself down, and then began to speak.

From the patrol team losing contact, to the outpost being breached, to the Wolf Warrior Squadron's bloody rescue... his voice was steady, as if he were giving a routine mission report. But when he spoke of his comrades being torn apart by the monsters one by one, this tough man's voice trembled uncontrollably, and his eyes reddened.

When he spoke of running out of ammunition and supplies, and being forced to watch helplessly as their comrades' bodies were torn apart like rag dolls, the sound of teeth grinding could be clearly heard throughout the meeting room.

"You son of a bitch!" A hot-tempered division commander couldn't hold back and slammed his fist on the table. The thick mahogany tabletop was left with a clear fist mark, and the teacup jumped up, spilling water everywhere.

Wang Zhan didn't stop. He continued, talking about the mercenaries, the mocking look on their faces like cats playing with mice, and how they used the dirtiest language to humiliate every fallen soldier of the Dragon Kingdom.

That's enough.

Shi Qingsong interrupted him.

He raised his head, his blood-red eyes sweeping over everyone present.

"I know you're all burning with anger right now. So am I."

"But fire alone is useless!"

"Our enemies have changed. They are no longer the drug dealers and thugs with AKs. They have something we've never seen before."

He tilted his head toward the communications officer beside him.

"put."

"yes!"

The huge tactical screen behind the main seat in the conference room lit up instantly.

A video of the battle, risked to be filmed by helmet cameras and drones, begins to play.

On screen, five bluish-gray monsters appeared with earth-shaking strides. Over three meters tall, with granite-like muscles, their faces devoid of features, except for gaping, gaping maws. That savage, violent aura sent chills down the spines of every seasoned veteran present, even through the screen.

"Fire!"

Wang Zhan's roar echoed in the video, and a dense barrage of flames instantly formed a metallic storm.

However, those bullets that were powerful enough to tear through light armor, when they hit the monster, only produced a series of sparks, without even scratching its skin!

"What the hell is this?!" A major general in charge of equipment research exclaimed, his voice trembling.

The scene continues.

A rocket, trailing a plume of flame, struck a tyrant squarely in the chest!

"boom!"

The violent explosion blasted a huge hole the size of a washbasin into his chest, revealing the ripped flesh behind him.

Everyone in the conference room subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.

But the next second, everyone's eyes widened in surprise!

The bloody, mangled wound began to wriggle, grow, and heal at a speed visible to the naked eye! In less than ten seconds, it was completely healed!

"..."

The entire conference room was completely silent.

How can we fight this? We can't damage it, we can't kill it with explosions, and it will just heal itself!

These are not flesh and blood at all; they are a group of monsters from hell!

If the preceding scenes were shocking, what followed was a humiliation that would drive any soldier mad.

In the video, a tyrant casually punches a soldier hiding behind cover, smashing him and the reinforced concrete fortification into flying pieces of flesh and blood!

The other tyrant, gripping the legs of a wounded soldier, grinned silently with a savage smirk on its face, and then... ripped it apart!

A living, breathing person was torn in two like a piece of paper!

Blood and entrails splashed all over the camera with a "whoosh".

The soldier's face, contorted with extreme pain as he lay dying, was clearly captured on camera.

"Clang!"

Another general crushed the enamel teacup in his hand. Scalding tea mixed with blood flowed from between his fingers, but he was oblivious, staring intently at the screen, letting out a low growl like a wounded beast.

"brute!!!"

murderous look!

An intense, almost tangible killing intent exploded in the conference room!

Every single person present was a man who had survived countless battles. At this moment, their eyes were bloodshot, veins were bulging on their foreheads, and the overwhelming rage emanating from their chests was enough to rip the roof off the building!

Shi Qingsong did not call a halt.

He then played this bloody and cruel video on a loop, over and over again.

He wanted everyone here to remember every fallen soldier and every pained face in the images, to have them etched into their bones and imprinted on their souls!

Blood must be paid for with blood!