Chapter 765: [Extra] American Salvation Chronicle: Legend of the Founding Father Vanquishing Demons

From within the dragon’s collapsing belly, a dazzling ball of golden flame slowly rose.

It was the primordial spirit of natural rights.

It broke free from the cage of capital and once again illuminated the land.

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Chapter Eight: The Gods Return to Their Places, Awaiting the Next Generation

[I return this fire to humanity. It may illuminate the long night, or it may be your undoing. It is all in your hands.]

Atop the ruins of Manhattan, the smoke of battle had not yet cleared.

Washington stood among shattered beams and pillars. He extended his battle-worn hands and firmly grasped the golden flame that symbolized natural rights.

The flame did not burn him.

It danced nimbly in his palms, radiating a warm and sacred light.

Gabriel slowly descended from the broken clouds, his enormous wings stirring a gentle breeze.

He landed before Washington. "General, you have recovered the sacred relic. Please return it to the National Archives and seal it once more within its bulletproof glass case, so that the foundations of our nation may remain forever secure."

Washington looked down at the flame in his hands.

He was silent for a moment, then shook his head.

"If we lock it in a glass case, it will just become another lifeless exhibit for the Politicians to gawk at," Washington said. "This spirit isn’t meant for worship. It’s meant to burn."

"If it cannot light the hearths of mortals, then it is worthless."

Washington squeezed with both hands.

With a CRACK, he shattered the ball of golden flame.

Countless tiny golden sparks rained down from his fingertips, transforming into a spectacular golden meteor shower. They crossed the Hudson River, swept over the Allegheny Mountains, and scattered across every inch of the United States.

A single spark landed in Detroit.

It melted into the palm of a striking auto worker. The man clenched his fist, the desire for dignity igniting in his eyes.

A single spark landed in Los Angeles.

It fell into the eye of a single mother crying outside an emergency room, unable to afford the exorbitant medical fees. She wiped away her tears, hugged the child in her arms tightly, and her gaze grew resilient.

A single spark landed in Pennsylvania.

It flickered once and seeped into the draft of a bill titled, "The National Strategic Supply Chain Resilience and Regional Industrial Upgrade Act."

The young Mayor, who was at his desk drafting a new policy, put down his pen and looked up at the night sky outside his window.

"Well done, brother."

Lincoln watched the sparks scatter on the wind, a hopeful smile on his face.

His body began to stiffen, his bulging muscles turning back into cold, white marble.

His body was drawn away by a white light, transforming back into the nineteen-foot-tall seated statue and settling once more upon the empty pedestal in the Lincoln Memorial.

Franklin took off his broken, lightning-rod sunglasses and tossed them into the Hudson River.

"This body is such a hassle," he complained.

His form then rapidly shrank and flattened, finally becoming the portrait on a hundred-dollar bill that fluttered down from the sky.

The bill was caught by the wind and landed in the cash box of a hot dog vendor.

Roosevelt sat in his steam-powered wheelchair, its tracks half-destroyed.

He took the long-stemmed pipe from his mouth and exhaled a final puff of smoke.

"I’m leaving this mess to them," Roosevelt said, looking at Washington. "I hope they can clean it up."

"They will," Washington replied.

Roosevelt let out a few hearty laughs. Then, he and his steampunk wheelchair dissolved into a cloud of scalding white steam amidst the howling wind, vanishing completely.

The three Founding Fathers were gone.

A golden rift opened in the clouds of heaven, and God’s call pierced through the mist of the mortal world.

Washington stood at the highest point of the ruins, taking one last look at the land.

Here lay the greed of Wall Street, the coldness of Silicon Valley, and the forgotten Rust Belt.

This land was scarred and wounded, filled with injustice and struggle.

But this land was also filled with hope.

The golden sparks that had fallen to the earth were now quietly burning.

They were faint, but they would never be extinguished.

Washington smiled and closed his eyes.

His form was enveloped in a golden light as he slowly began to ascend.

He passed through the clouds, flying toward the capital he himself had chosen.

Finally, he came to rest high above the magnificent dome of the Congress Building, transforming back into the fresco, *The Apotheosis of Washington*.

He sat amongst the clouds, his gaze profound, quietly watching over the world below.

Modern America was still a bustle of activity. The neon lights of Manhattan flickered on once more, and the machinery of capital roared to life again, as if nothing had ever happened.

But in this forest of steel and concrete, in its darkest and most overlooked corners,

faint golden embers began to glow like scattered stars.

They were the embers, waiting to ignite a wildfire.