The news reached Jakarta just before dawn.
It did not arrive with trumpet calls, emergency broadcasts, or dramatic declarations.
Instead, it traveled quietly—through encrypted messages, intelligence briefings, and the cold glow of screens illuminating darkened offices across the city.
Analysts woke to priority alerts.
Military aides refreshed reports repeatedly as new confirmations arrived.
Guild communication networks buzzed with restrained disbelief.
By the time the first pale light crept across the horizon over the Java Sea, the truth had already spread through every major intelligence channel in Southeast Asia.
The Chinese Communist Company was gone.
Not weakened.
Not fractured.
Gone.
Entire leadership.
Executives.
Command structure.
Erased in a single night.
For years, CCC had functioned as a pillar of influence within Malaysia—controversial, feared, and often condemned, yet undeniably powerful. Their presence had created a strange equilibrium: criminal enterprises were suppressed, rival guilds kept cautious distance, and foreign interests hesitated before interfering in Malaysian affairs.
That pillar had vanished.
And power, like water, rushed immediately to fill the void.
The meeting took place far beneath Jakarta.
Not in the visible government complex above ground, but deep below the city in a reinforced facility known only to a handful of senior officials and military commanders.
The chamber had been carved directly from bedrock decades earlier.
Its walls were layered with runic steel plating designed to absorb magical disturbances. Mana dampeners hummed softly throughout the structure, suppressing both sound and supernatural energy. Even powerful scrying spells would detect nothing more than inert stone.
No spy—mundane or magical—would hear what was said here tonight.
A circular table dominated the center of the chamber.
Its surface displayed glowing projections of Southeast Asia: shifting maps of coastlines, trade routes, and national borders traced in pale blue light.
Five figures sat around the table.
They were not politicians.
They were guildmasters.
The strongest superhumans Indonesia possessed.
The Pillars of Indonesia.
At the head of the table sat Budi the Stone Cold.
He was enormous even by superhuman standards, his shoulders broad enough to make the reinforced chair beneath him appear fragile. His skin carried the faint gray hue of someone whose body had bonded with earth through years of power usage.
When he shifted slightly, the stone floor beneath him seemed to respond instinctively.
Budi manipulated geological mass itself—stone, mineral, and soil bending to his will as naturally as muscle obeyed thought. During the early Gate crises, he had sealed collapsing fault lines and buried entire monster swarms beneath rising walls of granite.
He was S-ranked.
And when he spoke—
People listened.
To his right lounged Ketut the Aquaman.
Unlike Budi's immovable presence, Ketut appeared almost carelessly relaxed. He sat with bare feet resting lightly against the cold stone floor, arms draped loosely across his chair.
Moisture clung constantly to his skin and hair, as though the ocean itself lingered around him.
Ketut commanded water in its broadest form.
Currents.
Storm tides.
Sea pressure.
He had once overturned an entire pirate fleet attempting to raid Indonesian shipping lanes during the chaos following the Great Gate.
Even now, sitting motionless, there was something unsettling about him.
Like deep water pretending to be calm.
Across the table sat Arjuna the Spear Prince.
His posture was immaculate—back perfectly straight, silver armor polished so brightly it reflected the bunker lighting like liquid steel.
A long spear rested beside his chair like a sleeping predator.
Among the five guildmasters, Arjuna looked the most heroic.
Almost mythological.
Which made him dangerous in a different way.
Arjuna believed deeply in order.
And men who believed in order often justified terrible things in its defense.
Beside him sat Pertiwi the Dream Weaver.
She appeared serene.
Detached.
Almost absent from the discussion entirely.
But her eyes remained distant, focused on something invisible to everyone else.
Her power moved through dreams, fears, and subconscious thought. Entire enemy units had once turned against each other after she seeded false memories into their minds.
Her battles made no noise.
But they destroyed people from the inside.
Finally, the youngest among them sat with his hands clasped tightly together.
Bima the Water Bender.
Where Ketut ruled oceans, Bima controlled flow itself.
Pressure.
Movement.
The liquid hidden inside living bodies.
He manipulated circulation and internal fluid dynamics with terrifying precision—an ability that made him devastating in close combat.
Five S-ranked superhumans.
Indonesia's pillars.
And tonight they were not gathered to defend.
They were gathered to decide.
A government minister cleared his throat nervously.
Despite the cool air circulating through the chamber, sweat glistened faintly across his forehead.
"With the collapse of the Chinese Communist Company," he began cautiously, "Malaysia has effectively lost its primary external stabilizing force."
The map projection shifted.
Malaysia glowed faintly at the center of Southeast Asia.
"For years," the minister continued, "CCC functioned as a deterrent. Not because they were just—but because retaliation against them would have been… costly."
No one disputed that assessment.
The projection zoomed inward.
Malaysian cities appeared like clusters of light.
"Without CCC," the minister said, "their internal balance has fractured. Criminal pressure is gone—but so is enforced order."
Budi finally spoke.
His voice resembled distant stone grinding together.
"And no consequences remain."
The chamber quieted immediately.
Everyone understood what he meant.
Another official stepped forward.
Defense intelligence.
"Singapore and Brunei remain strategically weak," he reported. "Neither possesses confirmed A-ranked superhumans."
The projection expanded again.
Singapore.
Brunei.
Malaysia.
Three small states connected through trade, diplomacy, and fragile regional balance.
"Their deterrence relies primarily on partnerships," the officer continued.
Ketut smiled faintly.
"Deterrence only matters if someone believes you can strike back."
Arjuna leaned slightly forward.
"And Malaysia's guild structure?"
New symbols appeared in the air.
Peacekeeper.
Outcast Society.
Several neutral guilds.
Then, after a brief delay—
Stopgap Mercenary.
Compared to the others, the emblem appeared modest.
Small.
Almost forgettable.
The intelligence officer spoke carefully.
"Stopgap Mercenary is not considered a major guild."
A pause followed.
"However… they are unusual."
Bima raised an eyebrow.
"Explain."
"They are small," the officer said, "but display extremely high operational cohesion."
The data expanded.
"One confirmed S-ranked superhuman."
"One A-ranked."
"Multiple C-ranked operatives with unusually high survival rates."
Ketut scoffed softly.
"One S-rank does not protect a nation."
Pertiwi's eyes sharpened slightly.
"No," she said quietly.
"But small groups are difficult to predict."
Arjuna nodded slowly.
"Especially when loyalty matters more than ambition."
Budi studied the Stopgap emblem for several silent seconds.
"They survived the Great Gate," he said eventually.
"That matters."
The officer swallowed.
"They did."
"Without casualties."
Silence followed.
Not fear.
Evaluation.
Careful calculation.
Pertiwi finally spoke again.
"And Ultimatum?"
The atmosphere cooled instantly.
The minister answered carefully.
"Ultimatum remains active."
The projection adjusted slightly.
"But they do not behave like a conventional national force."
"They act selectively."
"Strategically."
Pertiwi smiled faintly.
"Meaning they act only when it benefits them."
Budi tapped the stone table once.
The sound echoed like distant thunder.
"Malaysia is exposed," he said.
"Singapore is undefended."
"Brunei is symbolic."
Arjuna turned toward him.
"And Stopgap?"
Budi exhaled slowly.
"A variable."
"Not a shield."
Ketut chuckled softly.
"Then they will break."
He leaned back comfortably.
"Like all small things do when pressure is applied."
Pertiwi did not smile.
Something in her expression darkened slightly.
"Small things survive storms more often than large ones," she said quietly.
Ketut ignored her.
The strategy unfolded without raised voices.
No dramatic declarations.
No patriotic speeches.
Only cold calculation.
Naval exercises along disputed waters.
Joint military patrols near sensitive trade routes.
Economic pressure disguised as negotiation.
"We do not invade," Arjuna clarified carefully.
"Not yet."
His finger traced several maritime routes across the holographic map.
"We apply weight."
"Presence."
"Expectation."
Bima looked toward Budi.
"And if Malaysia resists?"
Budi's expression never changed.
"Then we remind them what strength looks like."
Several government ministers exchanged uneasy glances.
One finally spoke.
"This could destabilize the region."
Ketut shrugged lazily.
"The region is already unstable."
His eyes glinted faintly.
"We are merely deciding who stands above the rubble."
Another official spoke cautiously.
"And if Ultimatum intervenes?"
For the first time that night—
Hesitation appeared among the guildmasters.
Arjuna considered the question carefully.
"They removed CCC for a reason."
He folded his hands together.
"But they did not announce themselves."
"That tells me something."
Budi nodded slowly.
"They are consolidating."
His gaze settled on Malaysia's glowing projection.
"Which means they will not act immediately."
His eyes hardened.
"This is our window."
The words lingered heavily in the chamber.
Because everyone present understood what they truly meant.
A window closed eventually.
And when it did—
Someone powerful enough to erase CCC overnight might decide Southeast Asia required a different balance entirely.
By the time the meeting adjourned, the sky above Jakarta had begun to brighten.
The first rays of sunlight spread across the harbor.
Ships stirred slowly within the port.
Orders were drafted.
Military forces quietly placed on alert.
Naval patrol schedules revised.
Pressure prepared—
But not yet applied.
Indonesia would not strike today.
But it would prepare for tomorrow.
Across the sea, Malaysia slept uneasily.
Its people sensed the shift without fully understanding it.
A strange pressure lingered beneath the ordinary rhythm of life.
As though something enormous had moved beneath the surface of the world.
The storm had not ended.
It had only changed direction.
And far away, beneath an abandoned train station hidden beneath layers of secrecy and silence, a young man with bright eyes stood quietly within a web of plans no outsider could see.
To the Indonesian council, Stopgap Mercenary was merely a footnote.
A small guild.
A minor variable.
They had no idea how dangerous it was to underestimate people who had survived precisely because the world never noticed them.
The next conflict would not belong to demons.
It would belong to nations.
And this time—
The battlefield would be human.