The four leaders returned to the high-velocity elevator, accompanied now by Captain Frank. The lift surged upward, carrying them toward Floor Zero, where the Kangal lay in wait. George, observing the massive energy readings on the terminal, turned to Peter. "The power source of the Kangal is immense. What is the actual consumption rate of a battleship of this magnitude?"
"It is staggering," Peter admitted. "However, you must remember that this vessel has an integrated 3D printer capable of fabricating components on the fly. Of course, printing complex parts requires a significant draw of power, nearly as much as the propulsion systems themselves. The hull is forged entirely from Wafolium, a dense allotrope of iron with incredible tensile strength. While it is nearly impervious, the armour itself is not exceptionally thick—that is its primary tactical disadvantage. To compensate, this ship is remarkably agile."
Anto tilted his head, his processors clicking. "If the armour is thin, what is the exact measurement of its hull plating?"
"Precisely one foot," Peter answered.
George nodded thoughtfully. "One foot of Wafolium... that is a formidable thickness by any standard."
Frank, however, looked dismayed. "Only one foot? The original battleships of the Daroga War possessed a hull thickness of three feet."
"You are correct, Frank," Peter said, placing a hand on his old friend's shoulder. "But when I constructed this prototype ten millennia ago, my resources were limited. Listen to me: while one foot might have been considered 'light' in our ancient world, it is an impenetrable fortress by the standards of this modern era."
Frank straightened his uniform, his eyes regaining their fire. "In that case, I am ready. I will sail the Kangal once again over the oceans and the seas of Earth."
The five powerful figures ascended the gangplank and entered the Captain's quarters. Arthur, his mind racing with technical questions, turned to Peter. "I must know—what is the top speed of this vessel?"
"Forty knots," Peter stated flatly.
George's eyes widened in astonishment. "Forty knots? Even with a frame of this massive scale, you are able to propel it at such a velocity?"
"Do not be too impressed," Peter replied. "In the annals of Lashian naval history, forty knots is considered sluggish—perhaps one of the slowest vessels we ever conceived. However, do not underestimate her. She is exceptionally rugged and agile, driven by high-output propellers that defy your modern physics. Remember, this is merely a prototype; in your world, even this 'slow' prototype will be a living nightmare."
Peter then stepped toward the command console to initiate the trans-dimensional jump. He spoke the secret sequence with rhythmic precision: "Sayonara valiante kose ko Lahari sila Lohri kurki ko sari Khatri."
Suddenly, the Wafolium hull began to hum with a violent, low-frequency vibration. In a flash of violet light, the Kangal was torn from the 300-meter-deep bunker and teleported onto a vast, shimmering horizon.
Peter looked out at the unfamiliar waters. "Where have we surfaced?"
George checked his phone, squinting at the satellite feed. "We are near the coast of America... no, wait, I misread the coordinates. We aren't on a coast at all. We have materialized in the center of Lake Superior."
Peter and Anto exchanged a look of confusion. "What is 'Lake Superior'?" Anto asked. "Is this a region of Europe?"
George chuckled, momentarily forgetting the high-pressure stakes. "First, you should probably read this geography book—though I suppose that book is about your own dead planet. Jokes aside, let me explain: you are familiar with the United States of America?"
The group nodded, though Arthur and Frank remained silent.
"This continent contains five massive bodies of water known as the Great Lakes: Superior, Michigan, Huron, Ontario, and Erie," George continued. "There is no cause for alarm; they are all interconnected. There is a series of waterways and streams that will lead us directly out into the Atlantic Ocean."
Anto surveyed the vast, freshwater horizon of Lake Superior, his mechanical processors whirring with a new tactical calculation. "If we are already positioned within the heart of America, we should seize this moment to escalate the devastation. We can intercept the American fleets currently bound for Europe mid-transit and dismantle their remaining infrastructure. This is a golden opportunity; the United States is already fractured following the ten nuclear strikes. George, our Kangal is an absolute fortress. We can raze entire cities with ease. Let us sow chaos across the American interior."
He turned to the veteran commander. "Frank, prepare yourself for the systematic destruction of this continent."
Frank let out a grim, hollow laugh. "Excellent. I will annihilate everything that dares to cross our path."
Arthur, ever focused on the broader war in Europe, asked with a hint of concern, "And how then shall we return to Germany? What is our trajectory?"
"It is quite simple," George replied, his voice cold and commanding. "We will first lay waste to the urban centers and critical infrastructure surrounding these five Great Lakes. Once we have crippled this region, we will navigate the waterways into the Atlantic Ocean. There, we will hunt down and vaporize the American fleet before teleporting directly to the Spanish coast—where the Yamato is currently docked for repairs."
Peter stepped toward the firing console, his eyes reflecting the glow of the 100% ancient tech. "Very well. Let the destruction begin."
The massive hull of the Kangal began to slice through the cold, deep waters of Lake Superior. Captain Frank stood at the helm, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "State our primary objectives, George. Which cities fall within our current strike range?"
George adjusted the geography book in his hands, tracing the coastlines of the massive inland seas. "We have no significant targets remaining here in Lake Superior," he explained. "However, once we breach Lake Michigan, the targets are substantial: Chicago, Milwaukee, Green Bay, and Gary. Moving into Lake Huron, we have Detroit. Lake Erie offers a dense corridor of destruction: Cleveland, Buffalo, Toledo, and Erie, Pennsylvania. Finally, in Lake Ontario, we shall strike Rochester, Oswego, and Watertown."
George paused, a rare moment of appreciation crossing his cold expression. "It is a long list, but within our power to dismantle. At the entrance to Lake Ontario, we will pass the Niagara Falls. You may destroy everything else, but leave the falls intact—I have a personal fondness for that landmark."
Peter looked up from the energy consoles, a look of skepticism on his face. "George, were these cities—Chicago, New York, and the rest—not already vaporized during the nuclear exchanges? How is there anything left to conquer?"
"You should ask Anto," George replied. "When the first phase of the Third World War concluded, the Lashian technology Anto brought to Earth was seized and integrated by every major power. America used that technology to develop advanced radiation neutralizers. Their recovery has been swift; the old 'Dead Hand' systems were too primitive to permanently cripple them. They are rebuilding."
"Then why do Germany and Russia possess the most advanced Lashian assets?" Peter asked.
"Because the crucible of this war has always been between us," George answered. "The highest technology was forged in the fire of the Russo-German conflict. And now, with your support and the 100% ancient technology of the Sew Building, our lead is absolute."
Frank's voice cut through the technical discussion like a blade. "Enough talk. I see the silhouette of a city on the horizon."
George stepped to the forward observation deck, a grim smile forming. "The time has come to terrify the Americans."
"Commence the assault," Peter commanded.
While the Kangal cut through the Great Lakes, a darker storm was gathering in the heart of Europe. The Russian army had breached the German borders, pushing through the brutal Vietnamese-style traps that had littered the frontier. They were now marching relentlessly toward Munich, signaling a collision of powers that would define the future of the war.
On the snowy outskirts of the city, Satan stood before a vast, shivering sea of German soldiers and his elite demonic cadre: Techno Demon, Leviathan, JCB Chaudhary, Polo, Firefighter, Freezer, Malphas, Executioner, and the Shapeshifter.
Satan stepped to the edge of the iron podium and declared, "Comrades, listen well! The German Army Chief has charged me with the defense of the East. We are the shield of Munich. The Russians are a mere 50 kilometers away—we are standing on a ticking time bomb. Most of Europe has already fallen, but here, we retaliate. By evening, the five Titans—Germian, Carolus, Panzer, German Ratte, and Gustav—will arrive, bolstered by the four Lashian powerhouses: Alpha, Beta, Theta, and Omega. The Earth is frozen, and the air is lethal, but our duty is absolute. We will slaughter the KV Champions and their hordes. Is that clear?"
A deafening roar of "YES!" erupted from the ranks, shaking the frost from the trees.
"Today is December 31, 2025," Satan continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly tone. "We expect the assault by January 2nd. We don't know who among us will see the spring, so let us celebrate the New Year. This will be our last party."
The Army Chief, standing in the shadows behind Satan, leaned in and whispered, "What are you saying? You must maintain the hope that Germany can win this war."
Satan whispered back, his eyes fixed on the gray horizon, "Germany has already lost too much. Total victory is impossible now, but we can ensure the Russians pay for every inch in blood. I do not know how I will survive the KV Champions, but I will make them bleed."
Turning back to the microphone, Satan shouted to the crowd, "Soldiers! We do not know who will survive, but I am certain we will win this war!"
As the cheers echoed, a cold horror gripped Satan's heart. He reached into his coat, clutching the metal shaft he had snatched from Peter during their hypnotic confrontation—his only secret weapon against the coming storm.
As the snow continued to fall over the gathered legions, the German Army Chief pulled Satan aside, his voice trembling with the weight of their precarious situation. "Listen to me. If we can slaughter the KV Champions here, they will die forever. As we know, the nuclear strike on Moscow obliterated their Replica Chip technology. However, our own situation is just as dire—the digital blueprints and memories of our Titan and Lashian tanks are stored within the 3D printers of Munich. If this city falls, those tanks are lost to history. We cannot bring them back a second time."
Satan looked out at the frozen horizon, his hand instinctively gripping the metal shaft in his pocket. "The Russians are coming with a world at their back," he noted.
"Indeed," the Chief replied. "They march from the East with a massive coalition—UN forces, Chinese divisions, and Indian regiments are all embedded within the Russian army. Our position is fortified, but George's last transmission brought a glimmer of hope: the Kangal has successfully teleported into the Great Lakes. While they dismantle the American heartland, we must hold the line in Europe. Our strategy is a pincer movement: we will lead with our tanks to crush the weaker Russian armor, baiting the KV Champions into the center. Once they engage our heavy Titans, our infantry will encircle them in a death-trap."
The Chief paused, his brow furrowed. "But we lack a counter-measure for KV Dynamic. He is the supreme power. We need a war machine capable of matching his divinity."
"And who do you intend to build or summon for such a task?" Satan asked.
"I don't know," the Chief admitted. "I must contact George to see if the Lashian archives contain such a monster. We have pulled every available reinforcement from the Western Front to the East. The UK and the US forces in Europe are currently neutralized, but Russia—and the massive Eastern coalition—remains the true predator. Everyone is vulnerable now."
In the freezing twilight of Munich, Satan turned to the Army Chief, his eyes burning with a dark, ancient recollection. "The time has come," he murmured. "I must bring back my betrayal brother."
The German Army Chief looked at him with sudden apprehension. "Your betrayal brother? Who is he?"
"A ghost of my past," Satan answered. "When I was warring in the depths of Hell to consolidate my power three hundred years ago, my own flesh and blood turned against me. He was stronger than I was—a titan of malice. We battled for three centuries until, at a terrible cost, I finally struck him down. He had sided with the Protectors of Hell back then, but now, with the mastery of hypnotism I snatched from Peter, I can summon him. I can bind his will to mine."
"We cannot afford experiments now, Satan!" the Chief snapped. "We need absolute solutions, not family feuds from the underworld. Do what you must, but I am contacting George."
The Chief activated his long-range comms, the signal piercing through the atmospheric interference. "George, listen! The Russian coalition is fifty kilometers from Munich. The city is a powder keg. What is our move?"
Across the globe, George's voice came through the receiver, calm and terrifying. "Do not fear. We can annihilate their entire front line with the Kangal."
The Chief paused, stunned. "How? How can a battleship fight on land?"
"Teleportation," George replied simply. "A battleship is a fortress. No tank in the Russian arsenal can pierce Wafolium armor. We don't even need to move; the mere sight of a thousand-foot Lashian titan appearing on the battlefield will shatter their morale. They will run before the first shell is loaded. We are currently in Lake Michigan, beginning the systematic destruction of Chicago. Stay ready."
"Success to your mission, George," the Chief said, cutting the feed.
Suddenly, a violent flash of obsidian light erupted behind the Chief. He spun around, gasping. "Satan! What have you done? Who is this?"
A towering, monstrous figure stepped out of the rift, his presence radiating a cold, suffocating dread. "Satan?" the entity growled, his voice like grinding stones. "What is the meaning of this?"
Before the creature could strike, Satan raised the metal shaft, his eyes glowing with hypnotic power. The demon's rage withered, replaced by a glassy, obedient stare. "Brother," Satan whispered. "It has been a long time. You were killed by those treacherous Protectors, and now Morok—one of our own—is aiding the Russians. Will you help me destroy them?"
The new demon bowed his head, his voice a low drone. "Yes, Satan. You are my brother. I shall help you. Thank you for returning me to the light of battle. I owe you my life. These 'Russians' shall face a nightmare they cannot imagine... but tell me, what do they look like?"
"I will command you," Satan said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I will show you who to kill and who to spare. The Germans are our allies; the Russians are your prey."
"I am ready," the demon proclaimed, his aura darkening. "I am the Ultimate Slaughter. I am the Horrendous. You shall see, brother, how Horrendous carves through the ranks. But tell me... where did these people come from? What is this place?"
Satan turned toward the Munich skyline. "You don't need to know the details. The year is 2025, and your only purpose is to kill."
Horrendous turned to Satan, his voice low but steady. "Satan, my objective is to kill the soldiers you direct me toward—the Russians. But who exactly are they?"
Satan's eyes flared with an ancient, cold light. "They are the people of the Lashes, the Apache, and the Jagiya. They are our allies in this destruction."
Horrendous nodded, his resolve hardening like iron. "Okay, Satan. I am ready."
Meanwhile, the Russian troops had halted their advance only 30 kilometers from their target. The Russian Army Chief looked out over his vast assembly of steel and men. "It is evening, soldiers," he commanded. "Let us celebrate the New Year tonight. We attack tomorrow. Contact the Imperial Building; tell them to teleport from the outskirts of Prague to our position here on the outskirts of Munich."
"Understood, Army Chief," the communications officer replied. He patched the signal through to Ravichandran and handed the device to the Chief.
"Have you removed the virus from Prague?" the Chief barked into the receiver.
"Yes, Army Chief," Ravichandran answered. "We were thinking that since the troops are moving toward Munich, we should bring the Imperial Building there to provide direct support."
The Russian Army Chief smiled. "Ravichandran, you have taken the words right out of my mind. Teleport it immediately. Who is currently stationed inside?"
"I have the staff, the Army Commander, and Morok here with me," Ravichandran confirmed.
"Excellent. Teleport now."
The call cut to silence. In an instant, the air warped and shivered as the massive structure of the Imperial Building vanished from Prague and materialized on the outskirts of Munich. As the heavy metal doors ground open, Steve entered with his elite team: Jack, Tom, Hank, Ginger, Ben, Bazuka, Pointer, Gointer, Leo, Alex, Scarface, Matthew, Julius, and Travis. From the central control room, Helena and Perry emerged to meet them.
Suddenly, the atmosphere grew heavy, smelling of ozone and ionized air. A shimmering portal opened, and from the light emerged the Ashok Stambh. KV Reddy stepped into the hall, staring at the magnificent structure.
"Hey, Ravichandran," Reddy said, gesturing to the pillar. "What is this you have made?"
Ravichandran looked at the creation with pride. "Reddy, have you forgotten? During our expedition, I promised I would create a destructive war machine. This Ashok Stambh is the realization of that promise. Look closely at the four lions on the base; they are special."
"What is special about them?" Reddy asked, leaning in.
"The eyes of the lions," Ravichandran explained, "have inbuilt plasma cannons. The discharge is focused so tightly that it strikes like a laser. This machine does not need tracks or wheels; it uses magnetic levitation to float and thrusters on all four sides for rapid movement. It can generate its own shield, teleport to penetrate enemy lines, and even create portals to divert incoming attacks."
Reddy looked at the 50-foot structure. "But its height is not so great."
Ravichandran answered wisely, "Think of Anto. Why is he a General in the German Army? Because he possesses the power of intelligence. This Ashok Stambh is the same. Even at 50 feet—your own height—it is capable of erasing an entire tank from existence."
Reddy nodded slowly. "I see. Are you ready for tomorrow? It will be the Great Battle for Munich."
The Army Commander stepped forward from the shadows of the room. "The Great Battle? How do you expect this to be so great?"
The Army Chief joined them, his face grim. "Commander, you must step outside and analyze the data. The Germans will not let Munich fall easily. It is their last industrial hub. While they are trying to build a new one in Paris, we must crush this one first. We are 30 kilometers away. We will strike using the A8, A9, and A95 highways to swarm the city. We will send our spy, Alex, to analyze their every move."
In Steve's team, Alex looked up in surprise. "Are they talking about me?"
Steve shook his head. "No, Alex. The Chief is talking about the spy, Alex."
"Okay," Alex replied, his hand tightening on his weapon. "Now I understand."
The Army Chief declared, "Okay soldiers, today is the 31st of December, 2025. This year was not a prosperous year because of the war, but let's hope that the new year, 2026, will be a prosperous one. We hope that this war will end in 2026, so Happy New Year to everyone.
Let us wait for a few more six hours before the clock ticks to the New Year, and then tomorrow at 8:00 a.m., we will attack Munich. We will not let those Germans enjoy the 1st of January, 2026, peacefully; they should know exactly what we are.
So, over and out, and have a good party today. I will meet everyone at the party, and then tomorrow at 6:00 a.m. for rearranging the troops and making the strategy. Soldiers, your responsibility has been removed for twelve hours. Have a good party!"