No! I don't want to be a Super Necromancer!

It was with missile trails.

Dozens. Then hundreds.

Glowing lines drawn by the devil's hand, streaking across the western horizon like falling stars made of rage. Every eye in every bunker, every trench, every command post turned upward.

General Hong Fei blinked in disbelief. "What the hell is that?"

General Liang narrowed his eyes. "Missiles. But… Those aren't ours."

And then the sky exploded.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

It was not a salvo. It was an apocalypse.

Cluster payloads. Kinetic penetrators. Mana disruptor warheads. Satellite-guided bunker busters. Weapons designed for full-scale annihilation, not tactical precision.

They rained down like hellfire, fiery, horrifying and utterly unrelenting.

The Central Command in Xi'an didn't burn. It ceased to exist. A mana-flux rupture chain-reaction vaporized the entire hilltop compound in a flash of white-blue light.

Communications went silent mid-word. Four thousand officers, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, vanished in a single breath.

Heihe's bunkers, thought to be untouchable, buried deep beneath reinforced runes and enchanted steel, erupted like volcanoes. One blast. Then another. Men and women were burned alive before they even realized they were under attack.

Pingxiang… Gone. A kinetic missile pierced through sixty meters of solid bedrock and detonated within its mana vault. The resulting surge cooked every living soul underground. Entire families vaporized. The screams never reached the surface.

The grid shuddered. Then failed.

One by one, rune circuits shattered. Crystals cracked and dimmed. The energy matrix of half the nation blinked out like dying stars.

Screens across military installations sparked and died. Alarm bells faltered, then fell silent. Arcane transmissions collapsed mid-chant. The mana lattice, carefully maintained for generations, fractured like brittle glass.

General Chen slammed her fist into the console, voice shaking, eyes wild. "WHO LAUNCHED THOSE?! WHO?!"

A technician turned. He couldn't speak at first. His hands trembled over the console. His voice barely escaped his throat.

"Signals confirm… European Empire."

The room froze.

For one endless second, no one moved.

Even the beasts outside seemed to pause, as if the entire world had been struck dumb by disbelief.

And then…

"THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS!!" General Hong Fei bellowed, his voice breaking.

He seized a chair and hurled it with all his strength. It smashed into the wall, sparks flying, metal groaning. Someone flinched. No one stopped him.

President Jiang didn't move.

She stared at the tactical map. A dozen red zones flickered. Then blackened.

Gone. Flattened. Burned. Dead.

Entire cities… Wiped out.

Millions of Chinese citizens, her citizens, murdered in a joint slaughter by monsters and men.

"They launched now…" she whispered, hollow-eyed. "While we're being eaten alive?"

Her legs gave slightly as she sank into her seat. Her arms hung limp. There was no blood on her body, but her face looked like that of a woman freshly wounded.

A colonel whispered the next words like a prayer choked in ash.

"We just lost another 20% of the grid. We're down to 10% national coverage."

Then the real end came.

The beasts felt it.

The defenses were gone.

Barriers blinked out. Mana towers collapsed. Defensive wards flickered, whimpered, and died. What little stood between China's heartland and complete extinction was now ash.

The beasts surged forward.

Cities that had withstood five full waves were reduced to rubble in an hour.

Mechas toppled as their control systems shut down.

Gunships spiraled out of the sky.

Command units disappeared beneath craters.

Artillery lost its guidance.

Radar went black.

Mana Awakened mages poured out their last reserves and then collapsed as their cores cracked under strain. Some screamed. Most didn't. They died mid-cast, hands frozen in half-finished gestures.

In Beijing, the streets overflowed.

Refugees surged in every direction. Mothers screaming for lost children. Grandparents dragging limp bodies. Students clutching books they hadn't had time to drop. The strong trampled the weak, and the weak screamed until they vanished beneath the stampede.

Corpses lined the roads like barricades.

Emergency broadcasts flickered on and off, one voice sobbing in the middle of a public announcement before the signal died.

Smoke choked the skyline. Buildings burned. And in the distance, rising above it all, the western sky still glowed.

Missile trails. Glimmering arcs of fire, like the fingers of a god pressing their final judgment.

A message written in flame:

Let them burn.

—

The fury that followed could not be contained.

General Liang ripped the insignia from his uniform and hurled it to the floor, trying to control himself but failing completely.

"HAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

"We were supposed to end the war and come together to fight the beasts…" another general whispered in utter disbelief.

"THEY'RE HUMAN! THEY'RE HUMAN TOO!" General Riki roared, slamming both fists into the command table. The reinforced mana glass cracked beneath his fury. "THOSE FUCKING TRAITORS! THEY-THEY… HAAAAAAA!!"

"They waited," General Maru muttered, eyes like iron. "They waited for us to bleed. They waited until the monsters softened us. Then they struck."

An aide, barely nineteen, fell to her knees, sobbing into her palms.

"My brother was stationed in Xi'an... my family... my little sister was just ten... she—she—!"

The command room filled with tears. Curses. Choked screams. Raw, wordless pain.

Men who had faced down legions of beasts now knelt on the floor, broken by what no monster had ever done.

Grief. Rage. Helplessness.

And betrayal.

President Jiang rose at last.

Her hands trembled. Her lips were pale. The unbearable weight of a nation being gutted alive upon her shoulders.

The room hushed.

The air itself felt heavy. Choking. Like the silence before a storm, or the breath before a scream.

She took one step forward.

Her voice did not waver.

It was quiet.

But sharp enough to cut bone.

"Write this down."

Every general, every aide, every soldier turned toward her.

She didn't shout. She didn't cry. She stood there, back straight, face lined with tears she refused to let fall, eyes burning with grief so vast it felt bottomless.

She looked directly into the cameras, into the heart of the world.

And then she spoke.

"Let it be known."

Her voice cracked—once. She swallowed it. And continued.

"Let it be known to the world… that the European Empire has committed a betrayal not just against China, but against all of humanity."

Her breath hitched.

Her eyes closed for a second.

She saw them…

Xi'an's officers laughing in the mess hall.

Children playing by the bunker doors.

Civilians clutching hands during evacuation drills, whispering prayers they never got to finish.

Gone. All gone.

She opened her eyes again. Red-rimmed. Glowing with fury.

"While the beasts tore our families apart," she said, her voice rising, "they stabbed their knives into our backs."

She gripped the podium so tightly the wood creaked beneath her fingers.

"Their action have killed and will eventually kill hundreds of..." Her voice cracked once more. But she powered through.

"Hundreds of millions of Chinese Citizens."

A single tear slipped down her cheek. She did not wipe it away.

"They are no longer enemies. They are no longer nations."

She leaned forward.

"They are worse."

The room held its breath.

Her next words came low, but rang through the air like a divine sentence cast over the bones of the fallen.

"They are cowards hiding behind treaties. They are butchers dressed as diplomats. And they will answer for every child buried in ash."

The generals stood. Silent. Stone-faced. Tears sliding freely.

Not one of them had dry eyes.

Some trembled with grief. Others clenched fists until blood ran down their knuckles.

But none dared interrupt her.

President Jiang's shoulders shook once. She allowed herself that single moment. That crack.

Then her spine straightened. Her chin lifted.

And her voice came again like thunder whispered across a funeral pyre.

"And now…"

The silence stretched.

All the weight of a shattered country leaned into that pause.

Her hand lifted. And slammed down onto the podium.

"…we will fight them to the death."

The room erupted not in cheers.

But in grief.

In fury.

In the sound of men and women swearing oaths in silence, their hearts bleeding in sync with hers.

Some cried openly.

Some dropped to their knees.

Some saluted the dead.

And above it all, in the command chamber of a nation on fire, the national anthem began to play, low, broken, ragged, but unmistakable.

A cry… not for help.

But for vengeance.

For justice.

For every soul lost in the fire.

For every child who didn't make it to the shelter.

For the mothers who died shielding their babies.

For the fathers who held the line until their lungs stopped.

For the soldiers who burned.

And for the silence that followed.