Chapter 172

He didn't care who the Americans worshipped, showing not the slightest respect to Heaven.

A blunt, brutal reply—everyone gasped sharply.

Majestic!

Who cares whose god they believe in? I only know he's someone I intend to kill.

This is a bloodthirsty deity, a ruthless god—among all humans, only the living and the dead matter; identity means nothing, and he cares not whom he offends.

The world trembled, as if heaven had collapsed and the sky was changing—sensing the smoke and ash of divine war.

Though God is loving, willing to be nailed to the cross, that was for spreading faith; now a god has disrespected Him—ask any deity, who wouldn't care about face?

How could God remain silent if the Feathered Serpent dared to show him such disrespect?

No matter how loving or kind he is, when someone rides his face, can he not be angry? Won't his followers lose heart, thinking they worshiped a coward?

At that moment.

"They are merely humans who worship cowards who fled from the first battlefield—kill them, and be done."

A rolling, bloody divine will filled heaven and earth, chilling Beimeizhou and shaking the United States—the Feathered Serpent showed no respect whatsoever, and struck without warning.

Boom!

Amid the deafening divine voice of the Feathered Serpent, dark clouds thundered, lightning struck down, and a torrential rain of blood fell.

Something utterly horrifying occurred.

Across every state of the United States—including high-ranking officials like Shangchuan—tens of millions watched in trembling fear as ghastly howls and screams erupted from bustling cities, streets, alleys, intersections, fields, and sewers.

It seemed these places connected directly to the netherworld, communicating with the spirits of the dead.

Then, one by one, tangible resentments rose from the earth, coalescing into skeletal forms, hollow eye sockets fixed on the living—making the Americans' skin crawl, their scalps tingle, and feel the deep hatred within those black voids.

Blood rain clung to the bones, turning them into flesh, becoming row upon row of blood-soaked undead—eyes filled with resentment, emitting heart-chilling howls.

Corpse transformation!?

Zombie siege!?

Many Americans lost their wits—they never imagined the zombie apocalypse from movies would one day become real, and manifest in this way.

This was a chilling, horrifying scene.

Tens of thousands of lifeless corpses crawled from the ground, revived, returning to the world with boundless resentment.

"Indians!!" Screams tore through every state of the United States.

These terrifying, zombie-like undead—drenched in mud and blood rain—matched exactly the descriptions in textbooks: their shapes, legends, faces, skin tones—all identical to the Native Americans.

The entire world.

Every nation.

Every corner.

Many felt their scalps tighten in terror—these were the Indians returning for vengeance!!

The Indians were slaughtered, they died—but their resentment remained, etched into the land by hatred for those who stole this land and murdered them.

You could see it: across the land of the United States, whether muddy soil or concrete pavement, blood seeped out—deep crimson, painfully vivid, making people fear the color red.

This was the blood of the Indians!

Long ago, the ancestors of the Americans slaughtered the Indians on this land—their blood soaked into the earth, seeped deep, and with it, the Indians' hatred and resentment sank into the soil.

Now, the Feathered Serpent, with divine voice, awakened the blood-soaked resentment imprinted on this land, turning it into walking undead.

To seek revenge!

Blood for blood!!

"The old grudges, the old hatreds—kill them as they were killed."

Deep, thunderous divine voices echoed, reverberating endlessly.

In that moment, heaven and earth over the United States filled with chilling darkness, as if the netherworld had returned—the final apocalypse of destruction had arrived.

"Roar!!"

"Howl!!"

Countless millions of undead, under the Feathered Serpent's voice, their hollow eyes blazing with bloodthirsty vengeance, roared and raised their broken, rotting Native American spears and lances, charging toward the Americans before them.

Mad, terrifying, bloody.

A scene that made souls tremble.

Americans fired their guns, continuously spraying bullets—modern weapons spewed fire, steel rounds dense and fierce—but such lethal firepower had no effect; the undead charged forward undeterred, their bodies riddled with holes, their lances shattered further.

Yet they feared nothing, showed no hesitation—only greater hatred and roaring, never retreating, advancing relentlessly, using their blood to soothe their hatred, to fill their resentment.

As long as descendants of their murderers still walked this land, the undead would not stop, would not fall.

This was total annihilation—killing every living soul on this land.

Boom!!

A divine voice erupted.

Not the Feathered Serpent's voice—this time, multiple divine voices erupted, seven in total, differing entirely from the Feathered Serpent's murderous, merciless will.

Seven divine voices, warm as winter sun, tender as childhood embrace—gentle, flawless, pure, soothing—spread from the only source of light now piercing the darkened United States: the Gate of Heaven.

At this moment.

No words remained.

The seven angels, bathed in holy light, radiated divine glory, standing side by side atop the Gate of Heaven.

A flame-like holy radiance surged—the seven angels glowed like seven blazing divine suns, mighty and majestic, awe-inspiring; their sacred aura made withered flowers bloom anew, revived dying life with a second spring, while rolling heavenly hymns swirled around.

The wings of Heaven unfolded, showering holy grace; feathers drifted through the darkened heavens, strikingly visible, their glowing patterns drawing every eye.

In an instant.

The dark, lightless United States—once seemingly plunged into eternal shadow—was now flooded with light, every darkness banished.

The zombies' footsteps halted, letting out howls as their flesh, oozing blood, mud, and soil, hissed and smoked, steaming white vapor as they were purified by holy light, cleansed of all impurities, rid of hatred and resentment.

It could be seen that the Seven Archangels, without concealment, unleashed their utmost sanctity, radiating Heavenly Divine Patterns, and even burned their divine blood to summon the strongest Divine Divine Art.

Their figures stood side by side, dazzling and brilliant, transcending all on earth.

Their radiance was immeasurably fierce, covering all of Beimeizhou in an instant, then spreading across the globe at the most terrifying speed.

The World Tree of Norse Norway, Olympus Shenshan of Greece, ancient Egyptian temples, the shrines of Japan's eight million gods… had it not been for the sudden surge of divine power from each world at this moment, blocking the Seven Archangels' light and preventing it from spilling beyond Beimeizhou.

Otherwise, one could imagine the Seven Archangels' unleashed strongest Divine Divine Art instantly turning Earth into a sphere brighter than the sun, bathing all humanity in holy light.

Indeed, there was no need to question that the holy light would illuminate the cosmic stars surrounding Earth, lighting up the nights of each great world and turning them into eternal day.

……