In the meeting room of the White House, the President sat with a stern expression, lips tightly closed. His eyes were fixed on the large screen where a dozen flashing dots were chasing a slightly larger red dot. Around the massive rectangular conference table sat a dozen officers in military uniforms, creating a tense atmosphere as everyone focused on the screen. Suddenly, the larger red dot stopped. Immediately, most of the flashing dots began to disappear one by one, and everyone held their breath. The President stood up involuntarily.
The remaining smaller dots and the red dot drew closer until they finally collided. Instantly, all the flashing dots on the screen vanished. Cheers erupted in the room, but within seconds, the cheers abruptly ceased, as if someone had choked them. A few seconds later, the red dot reappeared on the screen, quickly flying away.
With a swipe of his claw, Brandon sent hundreds of earth spears whistling towards the intercontinental missiles. Moments later, his ears went deaf, and a blinding light filled his vision as a massive mushroom cloud slowly rose into the sky. The intense shockwave caused all the surrounding missiles to explode in a chain reaction, forming a visibly clear airwave that spread at an unimaginable speed.
In an instant, Brandon's body was struck by the powerful shockwave, tossing him around like a leaf in a storm. His internal organs vibrated at high frequency, causing excruciating pain as if a giant hand was churning inside him. He suddenly tasted something sweet in his throat and couldn't help but cough up a mouthful of blood—he was injured. At that moment, three missiles burst through the massive mushroom cloud, appearing right before Brandon, now less than 800 meters away.
For a split second, Brandon's mind went blank. He couldn't react; the immense danger caused his brain to overload, leading to temporary shock. In a split second, his body acted on instinct. The Golden Bell in his dantian rose above his head and rapidly expanded, enveloping his entire body. Though it sounds complicated, it all happened in an instant.
The massive intercontinental missile whistled towards him. Brandon's large pupils saw the missile growing larger. His brain finally cleared, and he could see the missile tip, slightly reddened by the intense air friction. At 500 meters, 300 meters, 200 meters, the missile entered the gravity field and suddenly veered off course, the warhead tilting downward. However, the missile was moving so fast that, within 0.1 seconds, Brandon's pupils contracted sharply.
A blinding light flashed before his eyes, forcing them shut instinctively. The tremendous explosion caused his body to close off his visual senses for self-protection. The so-called "great sound has no sound" was exemplified here; he didn't hear anything, and his body was engulfed in fire.
When Brandon opened his eyes, he found himself unharmed, in a tranquil setting. If it weren't for the blazing light outside, he would have thought he hadn't been attacked. Through the Golden Bell, he saw the fierce flames outside, making the Golden Bell shake violently. The bell, initially golden, had rapidly faded, almost turning transparent. The mysterious patterns that were once clearly visible had vanished.
Brandon retracted the Golden Bell. The flames outside could no longer harm him. With a flap of his wings, he surged through the mushroom cloud and flew out. Checking his internal condition, he found his inner strength nearly depleted. The Golden Bell in his dantian was dim and slowly rotating. This last defense had exhausted his internal energy.
Brandon glanced back at the enormous mushroom cloud, his heart still pounding with fear. If not for the Golden Bell shielding him, he would have been severely injured. He gave a powerful flap of his wings and skimmed close to the ground, flying away.
"Bang!" The President's fist slammed heavily onto the conference table, and he sank back into his chair, his brows furrowed, saying nothing. Even for the United States, strategic weapons like these were limited to around a thousand. Apart from nuclear missiles, they were the most powerful. Launching 17 of them had already pained the President, but dealing with the increasingly powerful dragon required drastic measures. Yet the dragon's growth had far exceeded his expectations and control; it had become America's greatest enemy. To think it survived hits from three strategic missiles unscathed—it was unbelievably strong. Was it time to consider using nuclear weapons?
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The United States, the only country to have used nuclear weapons, had never promised not to use them first. But attacking within its own borders? The President imagined himself pressing the nuclear launch button—an action no President had ever taken, especially within their own country.
Could he really do it? He could foresee being written into history textbooks, becoming infamous. The thought of future generations spitting on his image made him shudder. He watched the red dot on the giant screen gradually move farther away, his brows tightly knit.
Brandon flew swiftly at low altitude, his wings flapping, pain throbbing within him. He was injured and needed a safe place to heal. After passing several small towns, he spotted a mountain range ahead. With a flap of his wings, he headed towards it, knowing he needed to hide. More intercontinental missiles would reduce him to ashes. Fortunately, since the last attack, no more missiles had come, leaving Brandon puzzled.
Brandon's massive body descended towards the mountains. With a thunderous crash, he landed on his feet. The sprawling mountain range extended far into the distance, its peaks shrouded in white mist—a perfect hiding spot.
Brandon crouched low, trying to conceal his enormous body among the low trees. He began to run up the slope, which was nearly sixty degrees steep. His claws extended, each over a meter long and as sharp as swords, piercing the forest floor and embedding into the solid rock beneath. For claws harder than any alloy, the rock was like tofu, easily penetrated and providing a firm grip.
Step by step, Brandon climbed rapidly towards the summit. The higher he climbed, the thicker the fog became, almost completely obscuring his surroundings. Even with his keen vision, he could see only about a thousand meters ahead.
The dense fog made the forest damp, filling the air with the smell of decaying leaves, a scent familiar to Brandon. A feeling of comfort washed over him, reminiscent of the Amazon jungle. He hadn't returned there in over a year, and the thought of it always tugged at his heart.
Thinking of the Amazon made Brandon angry. If not for humans, he wouldn't be in such a sorry state. Human greed and desire were endless. To them, a dragon's body was like a delicious morsel, everyone wanted a piece. The United States, being the most powerful, was simply the most blatant about it.
If it weren't for his immense strength, Brandon would have already died again—assuming he could even come back to life. His body, blood, and flesh would have long been laid out in various laboratories, at the mercy of human scientists.
As Brandon advanced swiftly, he thought about this, while the scenery around him kept changing—from broadleaf forests at the beginning to coniferous forests. The fog thickened, and his body gradually became damp, as if he had just taken a bath.
He searched for a long time but couldn't find a suitable cave. Brandon's body was simply too massive; to accommodate such a large frame, a cave would need to have a diameter of at least six meters, which would still be quite cramped for him.
However, such matters posed no problem for Brandon. He found a shaded corner that was damp and dark, where the air moved very slowly, making the thick, milky fog hard to dissipate. In this kind of pure white mist, even satellite scans wouldn't detect him.
He began to dig into the soil with his claws. In no time, the top layer of humus was cleared away. His huge claws moved up and down like a giant excavator, flinging large amounts of soil into the air. Beneath the soil was a massive rock. Having spent nearly a month as a miner, Brandon had become an expert at digging. His claws danced over the rock, which was no match for his godly strength, cutting through it as easily as if it were soil.
After about ten minutes, a huge cave appeared on the mountainside. The cave was over ten meters wide and more than fifty meters long.
He scattered the soil and rubble from the cave entrance around the nearby area, covering it with a large amount of dead leaves. Brandon tidied up the cave briefly, then moved a huge rock from afar to seal the entrance, plunging the cave into darkness.
Brandon lay on the ground and began to heal. The Golden Bell in his dantian was dim and unstable, clearly severely damaged, though fortunately still intact. If it had disintegrated, it would have meant Brandon falling back to the Earth level, requiring him to start his cultivation all over again—a prospect that might make him weep. His previously substantial internal Qi was nearly exhausted, with only a trace left.
His internal organs were bleeding to varying degrees, though not too severely. The powerful shockwave from the simultaneous explosion of a dozen missiles had far surpassed his own meteor strike. Fortunately, he had been five or six kilometers away from the explosion center.
Brandon used his mental power to guide the weak internal Qi within him to start circulating.