True Apocalypse Game

The mountain jungles of Colombia were simply too dense. Combined with the tropical climate, anything that happened was quickly buried by the wildly growing rainforest.

What’s more, the Medellin Group, under the control of Martin Benitez, reigned supreme in northern Colombia. No other power dared to challenge them; even the Colombian Government kept its distance.

He himself was often extremely mysterious, disappearing for days without reason, and no one ever knew where he went.

Thus, it wasn’t until ten days later that the core members of the Medellin Group began to realize something was wrong.

It seemed the big boss had been gone for a long time.

Although he often disappeared inexplicably in the past, he would always reappear after two or three days at most.

After all, with such a massive business, it couldn’t be without its leader.

But this time, Martin Benitez had been gone for far too long!

So long, in fact, that criminal organizations from Mexico and Eagle Country had begun to search for Martin Benitez.

After all, while Colombia’s drug industry had declined compared to its heyday, it was still a business worth tens of billions of US Dollars annually. Many previous payments hadn’t been settled, and promised shipments hadn’t been delivered. What on earth was going on?

Even many officials within the Colombian Government were deeply concerned for Martin Benitez’s safety. They had already spent most of their previous cut of the illicit gains. When would the next payment arrive?

The remaining core members of the Medellin Group grew increasingly worried. On the eleventh day, they could no longer bear it, gathering for a meeting and finally reaching a consensus: they would go find Martin Benitez together.

They knew the general locations of some of Martin Benitez’s secret jungle retreats in the north, so they quickly found the place from which Shen Feng had taken him.

The villa.

The scene there left everyone stunned.

Inside the once impenetrable and heavily fortified villa, there were now corpses and debris everywhere.

Due to the hot and humid rainforest environment, the bodies and body parts were already in an advanced state of decay, emitting a putrid stench so foul that even a slight whiff was enough to make one vomit up last night’s dinner.

The group of ruthless drug lords fought back their nausea and inspected the area, but they did not find Martin Benitez’s body.

Clearly, he had been taken from this place.

As for where he had been taken, that was also obvious, because someone had used blood to write a line of huge text on the wall:

Pablo is alive, and he is here.

Below it was a set of GPS coordinates.

Among the arrivals was one of Martin Benitez’s confidants, who immediately said to the others:

"The boss used to take a helicopter to a place in the jungle every so often. There’s a helipad there, and the ruins of an ancient civilization. It’s very likely that’s the place!"

Upon seeing the message that Pablo was still alive, the assembled Colombian drug lords could no longer contain themselves.

To them, the name Pablo was on par with Pirate King Roger.

Pirate King Roger meant countless treasures of gold and silver; Pablo meant hundreds of billions of US Dollars.

Back when Pablo was at the height of his power, he hid vast quantities of US Dollar bills in many different locations across Colombia to evade government crackdowns.

In each location, he hid at least one hundred million USD.

At the time, there were even frequent news reports like "Farmer Digs Up 100 Million USD While Working in Field."

And with Pablo’s "death," that staggering fortune, comparable to the GDP of some small countries, vanished along with him.

But the drug lords who came after him firmly believed that a huge amount of wealth was still hidden by Pablo, just waiting to be discovered.

The so-called "Drug King’s Treasure."

How could they not be excited now, seeing the news that Pablo was still alive!

As for whether Martin Benitez was dead or alive, that clearly had nothing to do with them.

After all, the current Medellin Group wasn’t a large, autocratically ruled conglomerate, but more akin to a loose alliance of cartels.

Soon, led by Martin Benitez’s confidant, a man named "John," the crowd of drug lords gathered their armed men—a force over a thousand strong—and headed in a great, imposing procession toward Pablo’s supposed hiding place.

Even though Pablo was once a legendary figure, they paid it no mind now.

Times had changed.

’So what if he was once Colombia’s drug king?’

This was their world now.

If he couldn’t stay put as a "dead man," they could just kill him again.

Although the journey was long and arduous, spurred on by the dream of finding Pablo’s treasure, the Colombian drug lords hacked their way through the dense Colombian jungle, their feverish enthusiasm never waning.

Finally, that afternoon, they arrived before the ruins of a mysterious Inca Civilization.

There was still a lot of leftover equipment scattered about, a clear sign of long-term habitation.

However, there was no one in the ruin’s Temple, and the whole place was blackened as if it had been set on fire.

Some blast marks on the ground indicated that it had also been bombed not long ago.

Just as the group of drug lords was at a loss, another group of well-trained, heavily armed people appeared on the other side of the ruins.

These people wore clothing adorned with an eye emblem, carried advanced equipment, and had cold, indifferent expressions.

However, upon seeing the gang members before them, they didn’t rush to open fire, but instead began to negotiate.

Looking at the arrogant and unruly gang members before him, Rasels was filled with worry and doubt.

As the director of the Purification Society’s South American Branch, he had always been responsible for communicating with Cthulhu and supplying him with materials.

However, the process involved many intermediaries, and he could never be entirely certain of Cthulhu’s exact location.

Fortunately, the flow of information had never ceased, letting him know that the supreme leader of the Purification Society, President Cthulhu, was always somewhere not far from him.

But just a few days ago, this communication had suddenly been cut off, leaving him at a complete loss.

Then, this morning, a mysterious message had suddenly arrived, telling him that Cthulhu was at a location in the northern jungles of the Medellin Region in Colombia, and that he was in danger and needed support.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Rasels led the elites of the entire South American Branch to provide aid.

Seen from the air, the Inca ruins seemed to be in the shape of an eye. This was clearly Cthulhu’s hiding place.

But when he led several hundred fully armed subordinates here, there was no sign of Cthulhu at all—only scorched, ruined walls, some cylindrical piles of white ash, and a group of Colombian drug lords who had appeared out of nowhere!

Fortunately, he had vaguely known that Cthulhu controlled Colombia’s criminal organizations, so these people could be considered allies. Thus, he had initiated negotiations instead of a direct conflict.

After some negotiation, both sides were a bit bewildered.

’What is this situation?’

It seemed they weren’t even looking for the same person, but the place certainly looked like where their respective targets lived.

Just then, the RUMBLING roar of a truck sounded in the distance.

Then, they saw a tracked truck swerving as it drove out of the jungle, crossing a small hill and patches of mud before coming to a stop in front of them.

While everyone was still surprised, a truck driver who couldn’t look more ordinary stepped out of the cab and asked:

"Excuse me, is this the burial ground of the great Colombian drug king, Pablo Escobar, and the great President of the Purification Society, Master Hypnotist Cthulhu?"

The man’s movements were extremely stiff and exaggerated, like a robot, and his speech was clearly off-key.

A gang member was about to yell at him when Martin Benitez’s confidant, John, stepped forward and said in a cold, mechanical voice:

"Correct, this is the place. Are you by any chance transporting a B-61 tactical nuclear bomb?"

The truck driver nodded stiffly.

"I am."

Hearing this, the surrounding gang members and Purifiers were first taken aback, then burst into uproarious laughter.

’What’s with these two?’

’Is this a stand-up comedy routine?’

Just then, John nodded and said with a blank expression:

"Then proceed with detonation as instructed."

As soon as the words fell, before everyone’s shocked eyes, both John and the truck driver melted like liquid, turning into a silvery-gray substance that seeped into the ground!

Those two weren’t human at all!

Only then did the gang members suddenly feel that something was terribly wrong. After all, they had only made it here because John had led them.

And now he had turned into a puddle of silvery-gray liquid!

The Purifiers and the gang members stared at each other, a faint chill running down their spines, completely unsure of what was happening.

It was Rasels who broke the silence. He gave a subordinate a look and said:

"Open the truck’s cargo bay and see what’s inside."

’Those two guys who just disappeared were just too damn strange. It’s giving me a bad feeling, reminding me of certain rumors I’ve heard within the organization, something about Gray Tide robots and the like...’

The subordinate nodded, beckoned to a few others, and went to open the truck’s cargo bay.

But they had only taken a few steps, not even touching the cargo bay, when it suddenly shattered.

In the next instant, a light as bright as a thousand suns bloomed from within.