Mercenary Black Mamba - Chapter 237
A human’s life was resistant. Despite the three attack combination of explosions, grenades, and sniping, there were still survivors. Black Mamba used his resonance to search the building and facilities’ remains, as well as underground. Ruman was vast in scale. It would take the entire day to search every corner of the place.
The MP5SD3 had a targeting time as short as its barrel. It wasn’t much different from a big-sized Glock. It had a weaker piercing power compared to an assault rifle, but it was more than enough to kill a human. The kinetic energy of a nine millimeters bullet could pierce a weak human’s muscle and crush their bones. With a built-in silencer, gunshots sounded like air escaping a tire. It was best for close-range shooting.
A hole was left on a terrorist’s head, who was pretending to be dead amongst a pile of corpses. The person, who’d been gasping for air while clenching his chest, had no reason to do so anymore.
Aside from the sporadic gunshots, the screams and groans had stopped. The remaining ANO survivors held their breaths as they noticed the appearance of a scavenger. But that wasn’t enough to fool Black Mamba’s senses. Whether they wanted to fight back or not, they were killed relentlessly as long as they were alive.
“Uuuh, save me.”
A survivor, whose lower half was almost roasted, raised both of his hands.
A hole was planted on his forehead mercilessly.
A hole found itself on the terrorist’s forehead, who was trying to push a barrel from behind the barracks where light remained. The only benevolence that Black Mamba offered was to send them off in a painless single blow.
“Please save me. I have a family to look after—”
The bearded man, who was rubbing his hands together, had his jaw smashed by a front kick.
“Did you b*stards listen to the victims’ pleas?”
He spat. They were b*stards who killed, destroyed homes, and tortured the innocent. When administering pain to someone else, one must be prepared to receive the same pain. Rubbing hands wasn’t worth anything to him. A mechanical massacre continued. Those who were weak or injured couldn’t avoid the touch of death as long as they were alive.
Black Mamba, who was erasing the survivors in a daze, hesitated. It was a dangerous sign.
At the sound of the explosion, Black Mamba’s chest caved inwards and attached itself to his back like a piece of paper. An object with high velocity passed by his chest.
“Ha, it’s that guy.”
The guy, who had sniped with a Barrett, annoyed him with the trace flare.
His dimensional sight activated. He was 100 meters away. He could see the blueprint of the vast underground. Black Mamba flew off the ground. He jumped up, like leaves swept away by a whirlwind.
Bullet poured in like rain. There were at least 10 guys shooting at him.
His shadow steps and four paced movement were activated at the same time. Several rounds of bullets had raised dust in vain.
A specialized sniper needed at least two seconds to focus on a moving target and pull the trigger. No sniper on Earth could catch a target that teleported 15 meters in a moment. He arrived at his destination point after three intensive rounds of target firing.
Black Mamba leaped forward and caught the Gorgon’s handle from the air.
The Gorgon, which gained centrifugal and gravitational force, descended into a cycloid curve.
A deafening sound, which seemed like it could rupture the eardrums, rang. The entrance, which was hidden under the grass, fell apart. It was a golden door of at least half a foot thick. The golden door had withstood the attack, but the guides that supported its top and bottom gave way.
The angel of death landed on the floor. His sharp eyes darted around while gathering information. It was a basement of around 100 pyungs, separated into two levels. Unexpectedly, there were a lot of people. There were 30 people with bags on their backs on the lower floor. The upper floor was an attic. There were concealed crenel slots under the attic gable. Around 10 people had their rifles stationed there. They were snipers.
Black Mamba immediately recognized the security personnel and officers that Jamal had spoken of. Those 40 people were core members of the ANO’s main command group. The edge of Black Mamba’s mouth twitched. He would have reaped platycodon instead of ginseng had he not been cautious.
A moment of silence passed. A hilarious sight where 40 people’s jaws hung open was seen. Black Mamba, who reaped a great haul, looked satisfied while the faces of the ANO officers and security personnel slowly lost its color. 80 eyes filled with fear collided with two eyes filled with satisfaction.
“It’s the b*stard! Kill him!” Bansiri shouted from the attic.
“It’s the devil!”
Their screams, which were like singing frogs, rang. The terrorists who had temporarily lost their minds from Black Mamba’s invasion regained their senses. The members in the attic changed their positions. The members on the lower floor also raised their weapons. Some pulled out the Khanjar, some pulled out guns, while some pulled out axes and chains.
“Kill the dirty heathen!”
“Send the devil to hell!”
30 people with all kinds of weapons rushed in at once. Black Mamba’s eyes turned bright red. He was a masochist who believed in noblesse oblige.
Those b*stards were leaders who had abandoned their subordinates to survive. Those b*stards, who had claimed to build the realm of gods, abandoned their friends. He was tired. He wasn’t planning on letting them live in the first place, but a surge of anger had rushed over him.
As Bansiri looked down from the attic, his expression turned into one of victory. No matter how amazing that b*stard was, he couldn’t defeat 30 warriors. He’d managed to enter the secret zone by using explosives, but he was about to turn into mush. The b*stard arrived at his deathbed with his own feet.
A loud airwave, which shook the ground, reverberated.
The Gorgon attacked. Only people like Black Mamba or Ocelot could wield the monstrous weapon of six meters in length and 17 kilograms in weight, the Gorgon.
Streaks of blood flew alongside desperate cries.
The whip moved at a terrifying speed like a living creature. Anyone caught in its path was sliced like a radish.
“Die, you devil!”
A scythe swooped in from behind as it had been waiting for an opportunity to aim at Black Mamba’s back.
The scythe, which bounced off the whip, returned at a much faster speed.
The attacker screamed in fear as his weapon returned with a blue glimmer.
Perhaps it was due to his advanced screams, but the scythe’s owner died quietly.
The terrorists who attacked with felling tools were sliced diagonally. Those with guns had their wrists severed. The thrown axes bounced back and embedded into their comrades’ foreheads. The Gorgon pierced the attacker’s chest before they could even react. Viscera spilled out of their open chest.
The Gorgon moved at an increasing speed. The air in the room started swirling rapidly.
A tornado was formed. The ground trembled as it was pushed away. White smoke wrapped and hovered around Black Mamba. The weapons that the terrorists threw bounced off the white wall.
Anything that entered the Gorgon’s range was destroyed. Necks, arms, and legs flew while waists were torn apart. All the knives, axes, guns, and felling tools that the security personnel had used were destroyed. Arms and legs flew around the room following the whip’s shadow. If the Gorgon was a mixer, the security personnel were apple slices in the mixer. It was the advent of Azrael.
The 10 snipers in the attic couldn’t even bring themselves to pull the trigger. The devil was amidst their comrades, and they couldn’t catch the target. He was way too fast. They could only make meaningless groans with their jaws wide open.
“Hhh, that…that thing!”
Bansiri lost his mind. His subordinates were turning into a paste instead of the heathens. His mouth hung open with drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.
The road to hell appeared the moment the Devil pulled out his whip. Half of his forces had been wiped out instantly. The human body was sliced and crushed by a simple passing of the whip. His mind left him at an unimaginable and horrifying scene. The b*stard wasn’t only a sniper at the level of an evil god, but he was an evil god. He was the evil god mentioned in the heathens’ holy scriptures, Asura.
“Allah, did you send Asura to reveal your almighty strength? Why did you pick your faithful servants as Asura’s prey?” His sorrowful cries were buried by screams.
The basement was filled with the sound of the wind and humans screaming.
“Aaaah, it’s the devil!”
A member of the security personnel threw away his parrying dagger and escaped Black Mamba’s range. He ran to the best of his abilities, but the Gorgon was faster.
The Gorgon followed the personnel like a flying snake and wrapped around his neck.
The blood that spilled out from his neck formed a rainbow in the air.
The Gorgon’s attacks were violent, but it had a flexible rhythm.
The Gorgon, which returned from its cycloid curve, sliced another personnel’s arm aiming at him with a gun and crushed the back of an officer who was about to tackle him.
Jarkawi was panic-stricken. An unimaginable situation was happening before him. There were barely four to five security personnel standing on their legs. In one to two seconds, they would be sliced apart too.
“Sir Bansiri, we must flee! Everything’s over. That person isn’t human!” Jarkawi shouted.
“Shoot! Just shoot with whatever you have!” Bansiri shouted as though he hadn’t heard.
The officers who were sniping at Black Mamba from the attic were fortunately veterans. They realized that now wasn’t the time to be wary of losses.
Bullets poured out.
Black Mamba blew off the last victim’s head and disappeared in a flash. His body reappeared in the attic, which was elevated eight meters above the ground.
The heavy whip of six meters long was carried across a cycloid curve, lashing at the riflemen.
The terrorists’ limbs turned weak when Black Mamba appeared in the attic. Like a regular ghost that remained still before the ghost of a general, their limbs stiffened before the overwhelming terror.
Another hell unfolded. The scene wasn’t much different from an octopus being sliced atop a cutting board. Brave officers who advanced were sliced into three pieces. Their neck was cut off, followed by their waist. An officer who managed to barely stop the whip with his rifle’s barrel had his head crushed. He was undefeatable against 1,000,000 foes.
“Sir Bansiri, we must escape to zone D!” Jarkawi shouted.
“Yes, yes, we should.”
Bansiri’s consciousness returned to reality. He threw away the decoration on the wall with his Barrett to press a hidden button.
The ground opened up. Bansiri threw his Barrett away and hauled his body into the gaping hole. Jarkawi followed soon after.
“That won’t do.”
The Gorgon stretched out like an arrow.
Jarkawi, whose back was pierced by the five-pointed spear, screamed desperately.
Black Mamba pulled back his whip. Like a fish pulled out of the water, Jarkawi flew in the air and rolled before Black Mamba’s feet.
The Gorgon crashed down onto the hole’s entrance.
“Damn b*stard, he’s dug a rat hole.”
Angered, Black Mamba stomped around its perimeter. The entire underground shook, but the floor didn’t budge.
“He’s got a long life!”
He gave up entirely. There was much to do. There wasn’t enough time to be concerned over a single rat.
Jarkawi squirmed despite his crushed back.
“Keeh! You dirty heathen, may Allah’s curse be upon you!”
Evil was evil. He still cursed despite his imminent death.
The Gorgon pierced his head. It was the meaningless end of Jarkawi, who dreamt of reconstructing Aloadin’s kingdom with Bansiri.
“Lackey, I won’t understand even if you curse me out.”
With a kick, Jarkawi’s body folded into half. Black Mamba released his anger at Jarkawi since he had lost Bansiri.
A sudden silence visited the basement. 15 seconds had passed since Black Mamba jumped in after shattering its entrance. The silence was deafening since it had been filled with screams not a moment ago.
All the terrorists who had been hiding underground were annihilated, except for the b*stard called Bansiri, who had escaped. No, they were ruthlessly annihilated. There was no way that a scene with blood, internal organs, filth, and severed arms and legs could be clean.
Eyes that were light red turned clear. Black Mamba looked somberly at the devastating scene. There wasn’t a single, clean corpse.
The Gorgon was a medium-range weapon. It destroyed any obstacle in its path at the speed of sound. It didn’t only target its victims but cleaved them into pieces. It was a horrifying outcome.
He had killed countless guerrillas and terrorists, but none of them had ended up in such a terrifying scene. That was why he didn’t want to fight with a medium-range weapon most of the time. At a fit of impulsive anger, he’d swung the Gorgon around.
He picked up the Barrett, which the b*stard called Bansiri had discarded before fleeing. It was heavy. It was around four times the weight of his Dragunov. Its bullet’s kinetic force was similarly amazing. However, it didn’t suit him because it lacked in battering capacity and gave a huge recoil. It was a good weapon, but it was more suitable for shooting down helicopters.
Jamal’s face turned pale after following him into the basement.
He barely managed to hold his vomit back. There were piles of cleaved corpses, the ceilings and walls were drenched in red, and the floor was covered in blood. The situation outside was horrible, but this was shocking. If he hadn’t gone through such experiences as a terrorist, he would have vomited and embarrassed himself.
Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa was estranged, standing in the middle of hell with pieces of flesh on his whip. It was an intense visual shock. He was the true, all-consuming solemn avatar. His mind went blank. Without realizing, he had collapsed into a kneel.
“Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa, my owner! Have mercy on your slave. Only Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa is holy aside from Allah! La illaha illallah Ddu-bai-buru-pa rasulullah!”
Jamal pressed his forehead on the blood-soaked floor. Jamal had just proclaimed a testimony of his faith, but there wasn’t any way for Black Mamba to know. He had regarded the entire display as one of Jamal’s upgraded dramatic reactions.
“Jamal, are you hurt?”
“No, I am fine because of your honor, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa.”
“Did you take the pictures?”
“Yes, I’ve executed your orders.”
He shook the Gorgon using his resonance.
Plop plop plop—
The blood and pieces of flesh were easily removed.
The Gorgon was coiled up and stored into his backpack. Only then did the smell of the victims’ urine and blood overwhelmed him. His insides bubbled and started feeling queasy. He couldn’t help but smoke a cigarette.
He threw away the Barrett that he had been holding on to. Jamal sneakily took it.
Is he Ombuti number three?
He acted just like Ombuti.
When he pulled out a Cohiba Siglo, Jamal immediately lit it on fire and stood upright. The weak smoke from the cigarette suppressed the smell of blood.
“Jamal, are you scared of me?”
“Yes, sir. If it hadn’t been for you, master, I’d have fainted from fright.”
“I’m scared of myself too.” Black Mamba’s face settled heavily.
Who else, if not Asura, who had detached 700 human souls from their bodies overnight!
The Asura in the legends and stories was his avatar. The being whose good and evil was enigmatic, the being who rebelled, the being who was angered by the loss of its family, and the being who was the subject of fear but was a protector at the same time.
Asura’s personality varied with religion. In Hinduism, it was an evil God that resisted against the good deity, Devas. In Zoroastrianism, Asura was compared to Ahura Mazda, who suppressed the evil deity, Devas. The reason behind the opposing descriptions was due to the conflict between India and Persia. That was why religion was perceived to be created according to human needs.
What about Buddhism? It accepted both the demi-gods, Indra and Asura. Like its rounded ideals, Buddhism didn’t discriminate between evil or good and accepted both Indra and Asura as its protectors. Between Hinduism, Zoroastrianism, and Buddhism, Asura’s only similarity was its love for conflict. Asura was an entity who fought endlessly.
Fate had pushed him on Asura’s path despite his reluctance. He wasn’t complaining. 10 years ago, before he left the bridge, he had carved a phrase onto the village’s front tree. “I’d rather become a hungry stray dog wandering the deserted lands instead of a pet who shakes its tail anticipating its owner’s food.” It was cheesy, but that was how he had survived. He would continue living that way.
 Only Allah is our God, and Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa is his messenger!