Night had settled over Petaling Jaya by the time Stopgap Mercenary returned to headquarters. Streetlamps cast pale halos onto quiet pavement, and distant traffic hummed beneath the humid Malaysian sky. Apartment windows flickered with late-night television light. Somewhere, a dog barked once and fell silent.
From the outside, nothing seemed unusual.
No one would have guessed that hours earlier, deep within the forest, a cloaked emissary of the demon clan had stepped from living shadow and spoken of something far worse than Orc raids.
Inside the compound, however, an unease lingered.
The mission had been completed. The Orc tribe was eliminated. The Warchief was dead. By morning, the government would have its confirmation.
On paper, it was a success.
But the words Dark Enchanter refused to fade.
Still, tradition prevailed.
A barbecue was lit behind headquarters, its modest fire crackling against the cooling air. The scent of roasting meat drifted upward, rich and familiar, mingling with tired laughter. Plastic chairs were dragged into a loose circle. Drinks were pulled from a dented cooler. Paper plates changed hands.
It wasn't extravagance. It was ritual.
After every mission—especially bloody ones—they gathered like this. Not to boast. Not to drown themselves in noise. But to anchor themselves. To remember they were people first, mercenaries second.
Firelight danced across familiar faces, softening battle-hardened expressions. Shoulders loosened. Armor lay stacked nearby instead of strapped tight to chests.
Mary animatedly reenacted the moment the Warchief's hammer struck her shield, nearly driving her into the soil. Afee widened his arms to demonstrate an Orc's size until Fiqq deadpanned, "You sure that wasn't a tree?" Dean snorted at that.
Even Sanjay leaned back in his chair, posture relaxed, though his eyes occasionally drifted toward the darker edges of the yard.
The laughter was real.
So was the watchfulness beneath it.
The forest had gone silent when the Dark Enchanter appeared. That unnatural stillness had followed them home.
While the others lingered near the flames, Isey slipped away.
He moved toward the far end of the backyard where the firelight thinned and conversation became distant murmur. The wooden fence cast long shadows across the grass. Beyond it, neighboring rooftops were dark shapes against the sky.
He folded his arms and stared outward.
Two worlds pressed against his thoughts.
Stopgap.
Ultimatum.
He had balanced both for years. Tonight, the line between them felt fragile.
Footsteps approached—measured and unhurried.
Sanjay stopped beside him.
"Isey," he said quietly. "We need to talk."
Isey didn't look at him. "About what?"
A pause. Not tense—deliberate.
"I know your secret."
The words struck clean and direct.
Isey's pulse spiked. "What secret?"
Sanjay studied him for a long moment. There was no accusation in his gaze, only calm certainty.
"I've known for a while," he said. "And I also know this—you're one of us."
Confusion tightened in Isey's chest.
Did he know about Ultimatum? About Sky Fist? About the battles that shook entire regions? Or was this about something smaller—his hidden training, his controlled surges, the strength he revealed only in fragments?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Isey replied, voice steady.
Sanjay exhaled slowly and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"We all carry things we don't share," he said. "Don't worry. I'll keep it to myself."
Isey searched his expression for doubt or suspicion. There was none.
"So what secret is it?" he pressed.
A faint smile touched Sanjay's lips.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he gave a short nod—as if confirming something only he understood—and returned to the fire.
Isey remained where he was, staring after him.
A few meters away, Dean crouched near the fence, idly tracing lines in the dirt with a stick. His posture was casual, but his eyes were sharp. He had heard enough to know the exchange mattered.
He said nothing.
Near the flames, Hanz sat slightly apart from the louder conversation, sharpening his daggers. The steady scrape of metal against stone provided a rhythmic counterpoint to the crackling fire. It wasn't nervousness. It was focus.
"You heard about Ultimatum and the Demon God Cult, didn't you?" Hanz asked without looking up.
Al glanced up from the faint rune he'd been sketching in the dirt. "Of course. The whole world has. They erased one of the three Big Evils in hours."
Fiqq gave a low whistle. "Ten thousand cultists."
"Less than two hundred attackers," Dean added as he rejoined the circle.
Nisha sat cross-legged nearby, eyes half-closed as she brushed lightly against the emotional currents lingering in the air. "Relief," she murmured. "Shock. Awe. It's spreading everywhere."
"They didn't hesitate," Afee said, leaning against a tree. "That's what set them apart."
Hanz paused mid-sharpen. "They must've moved like a storm."
"More like a blade," Fiqq corrected. "Precise."
Al's voice lowered. "They say Sky Fist split the sky itself."
The name tightened something in Isey's chest as he quietly returned to the circle and took a seat.
He knew exactly how the sky had split.
He remembered the recoil in his bones. The heat. The silence that followed.
Nisha opened her eyes slowly. "It was terrifying," she said. "But it ended something monstrous."
"In less than an hour," Afee added.
A brief silence settled—not heavy, but thoughtful.
Dean stirred the fire, sending sparks spiraling upward. "Power like that isn't just strength," he said. "It's coordination. Discipline. Trust."
"We could reach that level," Al said, determination threading through his voice.
"We will," Nisha added gently.
"As long as we stick together," Afee said.
Dean tossed another log into the flames. "Let's just hope Ultimatum never decides we're in their way."
Uneasy laughter circled the group.
Above them, the stars burned cold and distant.
Isey kept his gaze fixed upward.
He belonged here—among shared meals and sarcastic remarks, among people who trusted him with their lives.
And he belonged somewhere else—where battlefields collapsed in minutes and enemies numbered in the thousands.
The demon clan had made its move.
An emissary had walked through shadow and declared the coming of something greater. Orc tribes had been only a prelude.
Stopgap didn't fully realize it yet, but they had stepped onto a larger board.
Hanz resumed sharpening, each stroke steady and controlled. Al let his rune fade into bare earth. Nisha withdrew her senses, content to simply sit among her teammates. Afee's posture remained relaxed, though his awareness never dulled. Dean adjusted the fire's shape with quiet efficiency.
Sanjay watched them all with calm, thoughtful eyes.
And Isey felt the distance between his two lives narrowing.
He had joined Ultimatum for reasons he rarely allowed himself to revisit. Power had been part of it. Responsibility, too. But more than anything, it had been necessity. When threats grew beyond the scale of ordinary guilds, someone had to answer.
Ultimatum answered.
They had answered the Demon God Cult without hesitation.
If the demon clan itself began moving openly, Ultimatum would answer again.
But what would that mean for Stopgap?
He studied his teammates' faces in the shifting firelight.
Mary, fierce and unyielding.
Hanz, disciplined to the bone.
Al, relentless in pursuit of growth.
Nisha, steady and empathetic.
Afee, sharp and unwavering.
Dean, practical and observant.
Sanjay, calm and perceptive enough to sense what others missed.
They weren't weak.
They simply operated on a different scale.
Could those scales coexist?
The laughter gradually softened into smaller conversations. Fatigue settled over them like a shared blanket. One by one, plates emptied. Drinks ran dry.
The fire burned lower.
Sanjay rose first. "Get some rest," he said quietly. "We'll file the full report in the morning."
There were nods of agreement.
Chairs scraped lightly against the ground as they were stacked. Equipment was gathered. The ritual concluded not with a grand toast, but with a quiet understanding.
Isey lingered a moment longer by the dying fire.
Dean paused beside him. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Isey replied.
Dean studied him briefly, as though weighing whether to press further. Then he nodded once. "Good."
He walked inside.
When only embers remained, Isey finally stood and looked skyward one last time.
The night felt vast.
Somewhere beyond it, forces far older than Orc tribes and mercenary contracts were stirring. The Dark Enchanter had not come to negotiate. He had come to announce.
A beginning.
Isey clenched his jaw.
Ultimatum would move when the time came. He would move with them.
But Stopgap would not be left blind.
If the coming storm swept across Malaysia—across the world—he would ensure this team stood ready, whether they ever knew why.
Footsteps sounded again.
Sanjay stood in the doorway, framed by soft interior light.
"You coming?" he asked.
"Yeah," Isey said.
He gave the embers one final glance before turning away.
Whatever darkness was spreading, whatever pieces were shifting across the unseen board, one truth anchored him:
He was not alone.
Stopgap Mercenary stood together—not because of rank or reputation, but because they chose to.
And when the next shadow stepped forward from the forest, they would meet it the same way they always had.
Side by side.