Deep in the heart of Austin, behind layers of security both seen and unseen, the headquarters of the United Front stood silent and watchful. The building itself rose from the earth like a fortress designed by both engineer and philosopher—angular, deliberate, fortified not only by reinforced alloys and cutting-edge surveillance systems, but by something less tangible: history.
This was the place where the world had nearly fallen—and then refused to.
Within its innermost chamber, a meeting unlike any other was about to begin—one whose consequences would ripple far beyond those imposing walls.
The grand hall was a curious blend of modern precision and old-world authority. Polished stone flooring reflected the glow of recessed lighting. Sleek steel columns supported a vaulted ceiling from which hung a vast crystal chandelier, its facets scattering warm golden light across the room like fragments of captured sunlight. The air was cool and faintly scented with ozone from concealed energy stabilizers embedded within the walls.
At the chamber's center stood a great round table of dark oak, its surface smooth with age and significance. The wood had been reclaimed from a historic courthouse destroyed during the Gate invasion—a symbolic gesture. Judgment, once shattered, had been rebuilt.
Ten seats circled the table.
Or rather—nearly ten.
Several of the chairs were filled not by flesh and blood, but by softly glowing holographic projections. Their forms shimmered faintly, detailed enough to reveal subtle expressions and minute gestures. The technology behind them was precise—each projection rendered with such clarity that one might forget, for a moment, that they were not physically present.
Even so, the weight of power in the room was unmistakable.
Every individual gathered there possessed the means to redraw borders, topple nations, or reshape the world itself—should they ever choose to do so.
At the head of the table sat General Marcus.
His shoulders were squared, uniform immaculate, rows of medals catching the chandelier's glow. The lines etched into his face spoke of sleepless nights and irreversible decisions. During the Gate War, he had commanded forces across continents. He had ordered retreats that saved thousands—and offensives that cost hundreds. The burden of command rested easily on his posture, but not lightly on his conscience.
Standing beside him was Dr. Elena Rodriguez.
Her sharp eyes reflected both intellect and unease. Though she wore civilian attire, the faint shimmer of controlled energy occasionally rippled at her fingertips—an unconscious reminder of the gift that had changed her life. As one of the first awakened scientists to truly understand the Gates' underlying structure, her voice carried authority in matters few others could even begin to grasp.
They were the only two fully human presences in the room.
To Marcus's right sat Diamond Fist, leader of the Union of Power.
His massive frame appeared carved from stone itself. Muscles like forged granite shifted subtly beneath his tailored jacket. His expression was one of quiet vigilance, earned through countless battles where he had stood at the front line and refused to fall.
Beside him, serene and still as a mountain lake, was the Sword Saint of the Murim Union. His long dark hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck. His robes were simple, unadorned. Yet even seated, his presence carried the unmistakable promise of lethal precision. One did not need to see his blade to know it existed.
Across the table sat Sun God of Sanctify and Red King of Dragon's Lair.
Sun God radiated light—literally and symbolically. A faint golden aura shimmered around him, soft but unmistakable. His gaze was piercing yet composed, the expression of a man who had carried hope for entire cities during their darkest hours.
Red King, crowned with wild crimson hair, exuded raw and barely restrained power. His arms rested on the table, fingers tapping faintly as though impatient for conflict. Where Sun God shone, Red King burned.
The economic titans were present as well.
Gold King of the Merchant Union observed the room with hawk-like scrutiny, calculating eyes flicking from one leader to another. Wealth had rebuilt nations after the Gates; he had ensured resources flowed where armies could not.
Crafting God of the Band of Blacksmiths rested scarred hands upon the table. His broad palms bore the marks of creation—burns, cuts, ancient calluses. The weapons that had shattered the final Gates had passed through his forge.
Beside them sat Gentle Smile of Venus.
His porcelain mask was flawless and expressionless, concealing everything but his eyes. Those eyes were sharp and knowing, unsettling in their stillness. Influence, in his domain, was subtler than armies.
On the far side of the chamber sat Heaven's Eye, leader of the Heavenly Network.
Her presence was quiet, almost unreal, as though she existed half a step removed from the world itself. Her projection shimmered slightly more than the others, and her pale eyes seemed to look through walls and beyond horizons. Knowledge clung to her like an invisible cloak.
Next to her loomed a darker presence.
Seven Sins Pride of the Underworld—one of the Three Great Evils.
Unlike the others, his aura pressed heavily against the chamber. Even as a hologram, his presence felt oppressive. Shadows seemed to pool faintly at his feet, resisting the warm glow of the chandelier.
The fact that he sat among them was not an accident.
It was policy.
Balance required even darkness to be heard. The pact forged after the Gate War ensured even the Underworld answered summons—so long as balance was threatened.
General Marcus cleared his throat, the sound cutting cleanly through the charged silence.
"We are here," he said evenly, "to discuss two matters of utmost importance. Ultimatum—and Sky Fist."
The name alone shifted the room's atmosphere.
Diamond Fist leaned forward at once. "What they accomplished against the Demon God Cult was nothing short of miraculous. Strategy. Coordination. Power. It was flawless."
Sun God inclined his head slowly. "Which is precisely why they concern us. Power of that magnitude does not exist in isolation."
Red King's eyes darkened. "Sky Fist," he muttered. "That man is dangerous. Some would say he's the strongest superhuman alive."
Heaven's Eye spoke next, her voice soft yet impossible to ignore. "According to our data, Sky Fist is the most powerful combatant currently known. Only Death God ever possessed a realistic chance of defeating him."
"And even that chance is gone," Crafting God rumbled. "Such power can tip the scales of the world."
Heaven's Eye's gaze swept across the table. "Sky Fist alone represents a destabilizing force. Ultimatum, which stands behind him, is far from weak. We can confirm the presence of at least five S-Ranked superhumans within their ranks. Their intentions, however, remain unclear."
Gold King folded his hands. "Intentions are negotiable. Influence is not."
Gentle Smile's voice was smooth. "Even one such individual could dismantle any organization here—should he choose to. That he commands others of similar caliber is… troubling."
The Sword Saint finally spoke, his tone measured. "Peace has followed the fall of the Demon God Cult. But peace is rarely permanent. There is no guarantee Ultimatum will not become the next great shadow."
A low chuckle escaped Seven Sins Pride.
"You all speak as though evil is something to be erased," he said, smiling darkly. "Fear is necessary. Without a Big Evil, humanity devours itself."
A murmur rippled around the table.
General Marcus raised a hand.
"Our objective is balance," he said firmly. "No single faction can be allowed to dominate. Alliances must be considered. So must potential conflicts."
Gold King leaned forward slightly. "Then perhaps Ultimatum can be persuaded. Their strength could preserve stability."
Dr. Rodriguez shook her head. "Ultimatum values freedom above all else. Attempting to bind or control them would invite disaster."
Red King smirked faintly. "Best not to poke a sleeping lion."
Heaven's Eye nodded once. "As long as their reverse scale remains untouched, Ultimatum has shown restraint. Every major incident involving them began with provocation."
The implication lingered.
Ultimatum had never struck first without cause.
General Marcus rose to his feet.
"No action against Ultimatum—for now," he declared. "We are all human, and unity remains our greatest weapon. Sky Fist and Ultimatum are formidable, but cooperation will ensure their power serves humanity—not threatens it."
Sun God raised a glowing hand. "For humanity."
Diamond Fist struck the table once. "Agreed."
"For balance," the Sword Saint added quietly.
Seven Sins Pride only smiled.
One by one, the holographic figures faded, dissolving into particles of light. The chamber grew quieter with each disappearance, until only General Marcus and Dr. Rodriguez remained beneath the chandelier's glow.
The silence that followed was heavier than the debate.
Dr. Rodriguez crossed her arms.
"Why are we ignoring the increasing appearances of demons?" she asked quietly. "This pattern isn't coincidence."
Marcus did not answer immediately.
He walked slowly to the window overlooking the darkened Austin skyline. Far beyond the city, dormant Gates stood like silent monuments against the night.
"One crisis at a time," he said at last. "Ultimatum already keeps the world uneasy. Until we have proof, the truth about the demons stays buried."
Elena's eyes narrowed slightly. "And if it isn't coincidence?"
Marcus's reflection in the glass looked older than the man himself.
"Then we pray," he said softly, "that when the next shadow rises… we still have enough unity left to face it."
The chamber fell silent once more.
Its walls, reinforced with steel and memory, held secrets heavy enough to shape the fate of the world.