Miss Beautiful C.E.O and her system

The road was littered with burning wreckage, smoke billowing into the night sky. All eight vehicles had been disabled or destroyed, reduced to twisted metal and flames.

Rain failed to quell the inferno. A few splashes of lightning shed visions. Bodies lay scattered along the road, some lifeless, others writhing in pain, groaning as they struggled to move. The survivors, disoriented and terrified, scrambled to dismount from the wrecks, their adrenaline spiking as they faced the sudden, unseen threat.

"Get out! Get out now!" a man shouted, his voice breaking with panic. His leg was twisted, a deep gash oozing blood, but he ignored the pain as he dragged himself away from the overturned SUV, crawling toward the ditch on the side of the road.

Others followed suit, some limping, others sprinting into the dark, firing blindly in all directions. Gunfire crackled through the night as rifles discharged in panicked bursts, though no target was visible. The survivors shot at the shadows, at trees, at anything that moved.

"Where are they?!" someone screamed, eyes wide with terror as he fired his AK-47 into the air. "Where are the shooters?!"

"They're close! They're close!" yelled another, spraying rounds into the trees, the muzzle flash lighting up his panicked face. His heart hammered in his chest as he squeezed the trigger, praying that the bullets would hit something—anything.

Chieung Sam, who had been the first to abandon his vehicle, took cover behind a boulder at the edge of the road, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat poured down his face, and his hands trembled as he reloaded his rifle. "Everyone, fall back! Fall back to the tree line!" he barked, but his voice was lost in the chaos.

Another man was leaning against the side of a burning truck, his leg trapped beneath the twisted metal. His voice was hoarse from shouting for help, but no one came. He saw the flashes of gunfire in the distance and could hear the screams of his comrades, but the pain in his leg kept him pinned, helpless. "Help me! Please!" he cried, eyes darting around in desperation.

But the others were too focused on their own survival. One by one, they fled the scene, darting toward the trees in a frantic bid for cover. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and burning fuel. The gunfire was erratic now—random bursts from survivors who were running and shooting at the same time, too scared to aim.

Some of the men took cover behind the smoldering wrecks, peeking out to fire a few shots before ducking back down, hoping it would be enough to keep the attackers at bay. But in truth, they had no idea where the ambushers were. The night concealed their enemies, and the terror of the unknown gnawed at their nerves.

"Move, damn it!" Chieung Sam shouted again, seeing a few men frozen in place, still staring at the wrecks. His eyes darted toward the road. In the flickering light of the fires, he could see the silhouettes of several bodies—unmoving, their blood pooling around them. His heart sank.

Whoosh! Bang!

Suddenly, a new excruciating thud ripped through the night, this time from the rear of the convoy. One of the fleeing survivors, a man in his twenties, was struck in the back.

His abdomen was left with a giant hole. He staggered forward, dropping his rifle, before collapsing face-first into the dirt. The bullet impact came first before the sonic boom followed.

"They're picking us off!" someone yelled from behind the cover of a wrecked truck. "We've got to get out of here!"

"They're all around us!" another voice added, his tone frantic. The survivors were unraveling, their formation breaking apart as the realization hit: they were being hunted.

In the chaos, Chieung Sam, one of the few still able to think clearly, crouched behind a wreck and surveyed the road, his eyes scanning the trees. He spotted the flashes of rifles being fired in the distance—or so he thought—and then it hit him—those snipers weren't close at all. They were far away, well out of range of their own weapons.

Underneath the rain and thunder in the background, he wasn't sure if the flashes were what he believed. It didn't hurt to assume extreme cases. If what he estimated was correct, the distance should be more than a kilometer away.

"We can't see them!" Chieung Sam shouted, ducking as a bullet whizzed past. "They're way out! Stop wasting ammo! We need to retreat!"

But it was too late for some. As another SUV exploded into flames, a man was caught in the blast, his body thrown several feet into the air before landing with a sickening thud. Those who remained alive continued their desperate retreat toward the tree line, their numbers dwindling by the second.

Chieung Sam, his breath coming in short, desperate bursts, finally reached the trees and crouched low behind a thick trunk, his rifle raised, scanning for any sign of pursuit. He could hear the groans of the wounded and the dying behind him, but he couldn't go back. The attackers—wherever they were—had the upper hand, and staying out in the open would only get him killed.

As he glanced around, he saw a few others crouched nearby, their eyes wide with fear, hands shaking as they clutched their weapons. The night had swallowed them whole, and they were left wondering when—if—the next shot would come for them.

"How is our boss?"

"Dead!"

"You sure?"

"Goddamnit, I'm the only one who survived in that vehicle. None of them experienced a good death." Nobody knew who answered, but the atmosphere went chilled. As desperadoes, each had sharp thorns.

If there wasn't a strong one to suppress, the organization wasn't far from collapse. It was the deadly threat that kept everyone together.

"Damn it, do you see anyone? Who's ambushing us?"

"You still ask questions? Don't you know they're the same group that stormed in minutes ago and killed our brothers!"

"F**king c*nts, I know that. What I'm asking is, where are the enemies?"

"Don't search. They're nowhere near us. It's a few snipers."

"Are you kidding me? What kind of sniper can kill a convoy and blow up vehicles? It's a rocket for sure, which means they're nearby."

Arguments sprouted, some of which were sound, as minutes passed. The initial panic had subsided, and everyone began to think about survival.

"Hey, you," shouted Chieung Sam, spotting the man who crouched and hid behind the metal door of an upside-down SUV. "You'll be picked off one after another if you stay there. Run toward my voice."

"You sure? I think it's safer here." The man didn't believe his words and refused to move. Then, as if to prove him wrong, a clash of metal sounded, and the man was thrown to the ground hard. A mini splash of water and soil kicked off in front of him.

Obviously, a bullet punched through double doors and struck him. The momentum blasted him toward the asphalt.

His body twitched unconsciously as he glanced at his lower body in disbelief. Blood gushed out, beginning to dye the road red.

Silence—nobody spoke. A loud boom signaled death's chant. The man's soul had left the living world.

Their thoughts were completely overwhelmed.

That man had clearly stayed behind cover. He should have survived even if a bullet managed to penetrate those steels. Could the cover they chose withstand the power?

"Ahhh!" A man bellowed and made a run from the burning car, trying to dash toward his companions, who were at a 'safe' location.

"Don't!" everyone warned.

Sure enough, in spite of their poor vision, their eyes captured the man's head exploding into pieces. Lightning displayed brain matter—white and red substances littered all around.

The headless body walked a few steps and crashed downward, syncing with the oncoming sonic bang.

"MAMA! Help me! I was wrong!" a few cried and sniffled.

"Please don't kill us! Lord, save us, poor lambs!" Some prayed for forgiveness. They had never witnessed such utter horrors of destruction. From the beginning, none of the corpses remained in one piece. Continue reading on My Virtual Library Empire

Chieung Sam had breathing difficulties, the warm wetness underneath contradicted the rainfall. Only then did he realize he had peed in fright.@@novelbin@@

The sight deterred several who were planning to run from their positions, where they had taken cover behind the wrecked vehicles.

One by one, they were picked off. No metal obstacles managed to block the attacks. Seeing the brothers who laughed and joked around days ago now cold, without complete bodies, the survivors whimpered.

Running equaled death. Doing nothing was also death. Their hearts despaired. Their mere action was to pray devoutly, begging for mercy in the hopes that the obstacles miraculously stopped the heavy bullets.

Where were the moments when they made fun of the victims who sought prayers while being tortured? Where was the time when they let the victims ask the gods and Buddha they believed in?

They had thought too much. You reap what you sow.

.50 caliber were manufactured to punch through conventional Armored Fighting Vehicles. Even concrete walls and bricks couldn't withstand the penetrating force. If not one, then two; else, three bullets1