In the heart of Bangkok—where glass-and-steel skyscrapers pressed shoulder to shoulder with centuries-old temples, and streets shimmered perpetually with neon light reflected in rain-darkened asphalt—there existed a stronghold known only to a select few. Buried beneath layers of wards and misinformation stood the headquarters of Ultimatum, the most formidable superhuman guild in Southeast Asia.
To the public, Ultimatum was little more than a whispered name. Taxi drivers muttered it when strange explosions rattled distant districts. Online forums speculated endlessly, only to have posts vanish within minutes. To some, the name inspired reverence; to others, quiet terror. Battles were attributed to them with no evidence, enemies erased without trace. Wherever Ultimatum moved, the world seemed to shift subtly afterward.
At the center of those whispers stood an elusive leader whose presence was rarely confirmed and never fully understood—Xuan, known throughout the superhuman world as the Time Merchant. No clear record existed of when she had risen to power, or how long she had ruled. Some claimed she had not aged in decades. Others swore she had appeared in historical photographs centuries apart. What was certain was this: Xuan did not need to be seen to be felt. She ruled from the shadows, ever enigmatic, her true abilities guarded as fiercely as the guild itself.
The guild hall was no ordinary building.
From the outside, it appeared deceptively mundane—just another structure swallowed by Bangkok's dense urban sprawl. Inside, however, the air itself felt different. A faint pressure lingered, subtle yet undeniable, humming with restrained force. Latent psychic energy permeated the space, brushing against the senses like a distant storm waiting to break.
The walls were inscribed with intricate runes carved deep into reinforced stone. They glimmered faintly, their symbols shifting when viewed from different angles, as though resisting comprehension. These were not decorative flourishes but ancient sigils—defensive, suppressive, and lethal—known only to Ultimatum's inner circle and maintained at great cost.
At the center of the vast chamber stood a square table of dark, polished wood. Its surface reflected the light above with a mirror-like sheen, unmarred by time or damage. Twelve chairs surrounded it, arranged with careful symmetry. Each chair was a throne in its own right, crafted from rare materials, accented with gold and etched insignias that represented authority, responsibility, and blood-earned prestige.
Tonight, four of those chairs were already occupied—one at each side of the table—as though the room itself were waiting for the rest to arrive.
Xuan stood at the head.
She did not sit.
Her posture was flawless, her presence commanding without effort or theatrics. Tall and poised, she radiated an authority that needed no reinforcement. Her hourglass figure and delicate, striking features gave her an almost unreal elegance, as though she belonged equally to legend and reality. She was renowned not only as the Time Merchant, but also as one of the top ten beauties in the world—a fact widely acknowledged and rarely mentioned aloud in her presence.
Her gaze swept across those gathered before her, steady and penetrating.
Around the table stood the leaders of Ultimatum's raid squads—the strongest superhumans Southeast Asia had to offer. Each one had carved their name into the underworld through feats that defied reason. Each one bore scars, visible or otherwise. More importantly, each one shared an unspoken understanding: loyalty to Ultimatum was not merely expected—it was absolute.
"We've suffered considerable losses," Xuan began.
Her voice was calm, controlled—but beneath it lay something unyielding.
"Friends," she continued. "Allies. Taken down one by one in a relentless hunt over just two days." Her eyes hardened. "It ends now."
Silence fell like a physical weight.
Starting the previous night, Ultimatum had endured a sequence of coordinated attacks. Safe houses once thought untouchable had been breached. Missions interrupted mid-operation. Members hunted with ruthless efficiency. There were no survivors among the attacked, no clues left behind—only precision and intent.
It wasn't chaos. It was deliberate.
"We must uncover the truth," Xuan said, her gaze moving deliberately from one squad leader to the next. "Who is behind these attacks? And why are they pursuing us so relentlessly?"
She stepped forward, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Though her movement was minimal, it commanded the room's full attention. Authority radiated from her—not loud or oppressive, but inevitable.
"We begin with what we know," she continued. "Each strike shows planning. Discipline. A pattern." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "This is no scattered faction. An organization is orchestrating these attacks."
At her gesture, a holographic display flared to life above the table.
Threads of pale blue light spread outward, forming a complex web. Each node represented a fallen ally, a compromised facility, or an intercepted fragment of communication. Lines pulsed softly between them, revealing overlapping timelines and shared methodologies. Data streamed across the projection, shifting and reconfiguring as Ultimatum's intelligence systems processed new correlations in real time.
"Our tracking specialists are already in the field," Xuan said. "They follow every lead. Extract every scrap of intelligence. No matter how deeply the truth is buried, we will find it."
A low, rumbling growl broke the tension.
"No word from Granny Anada?" a voice thundered. "That's odd—considering her power."
Garuda leaned back heavily in his chair. At nearly two meters tall, his massive frame dominated the space. He casually shoved two empty chairs aside to give himself room, the reinforced wood groaning under the force. His broad shoulders, thick arms, and scarred knuckles gave him the look of a man carved from stone. His dark complexion and rugged features made him appear perpetually severe.
Garuda—the Sky King.
Leader of Ultimatum's Second Raid Team, his control over atmospheric pressure and flight-based combat had leveled entire battlefields. His reputation alone silenced dissent.
Elise's pale brows knit together as she glanced in his direction. "Could you speak like a human, Garuda?" she said coolly. "Shouting like that is… exhausting."
Elise, the Ice Empress, sat perfectly straight, her expression serene and cutting all at once. Light reflected off her flawless, porcelain skin as frost gathered faintly along the armrests of her chair. Leader of the all-female Third Raid Team, she had personally selected every member, dismissing dozens without hesitation. Beauty and cruelty existed in perfect balance within her.
Malik the Meteor Rush, leader of Ultimatum's Fourth Raid Team, seated farthest from the others, barely looked up from his phone. His dark eyes flicked toward Clara when she nudged him under the table, a playful grin tugging at her lips.
"Malik," Clara said softly, amusement dancing in her voice, "why didn't you back up your goddess? She clearly didn't appreciate Garuda's theatrics."
Clara the Spear Master, leader of Ultimatum's First Raid Team—sat with one leg casually crossed over the other, posture relaxed yet coiled like a spring. Her athletic build and confident smile radiated vitality. On the battlefield, she was a storm of precision and momentum. In any other guild, she would have been worshipped without question.
Malik chuckled quietly. "Nah. Never mind," he muttered. "I give up."
As leader of the Fourth Raid Team and the firstborn son of a Middle Eastern oil magnate, Malik had wealth, influence, and power in abundance. Suitors pursued him relentlessly. Unfortunately, the one person he wanted had never once returned his feelings.
"Enough."
Xuan's single word sliced through the room.
"I have word from Sky Fist."
The effect was immediate.
Garuda straightened, his eyes igniting with fierce intensity. Clara's grin vanished, replaced by sharp focus. Elise's expression softened into unmistakable awe. Malik's smile faded, replaced by something quieter—resignation, perhaps, or respect.
Sky Fist.
The highest-ranked superhuman in the world.
Rank One.
A living legend whose identity remained hidden even from global authorities. The Heavenly Network—the world's most powerful intelligence collective—dared not expose him. Stories of his exploits bordered on myth: cities spared by his arrival, calamities erased overnight.
"The culprit is Death God," Xuan said. "Prepare yourselves. At dawn, we strike the Demon God Cult."
"We hear and obey."
The four team leaders rose in unison, fists pressed to their chests.
When Sky Fist issued an order, debate ceased to exist. Even the idea of annihilating the Demon God Cult—an organization feared across continents—became absolute when spoken in his name. Tales of Sky Fist single-handedly leveling six S-Ranked superhumans within Dragon Lair still echoed through Ultimatum's halls, retold with reverence.
"Anyone wish to add anything?" Xuan asked, her gaze passing deliberately over each leader.
Garuda shook his head. Malik followed. Elise nodded, anticipation gleaming in her eyes.
"Will Sky Fist himself lead the attack?" Elise asked, unable to fully suppress her excitement. She had missed the Dragon Lair incident—and longed to witness his power firsthand.
Clara laughed softly. "Nah. He won't. That guy's far too lazy."
"Clara," Xuan said gently.
"Oops," Clara replied lightly. "Pretend I never said that."
A flicker of jealousy crossed Elise's face before she smoothed it away. No one commented. Everyone understood—Clara's closeness to Sky Fist was something even Xuan acknowledged without envy.
Silence reclaimed the chamber.
Beyond the reinforced walls, Bangkok pulsed with life—unaware, unprepared. Within the hall, Ultimatum's finest stood poised on the edge of war, shadows stretching toward dawn.
The hunt had begun.