The meeting room inside the Ultimate Ark was vast, immaculate, and utterly silent.
Not the fragile silence of waiting, nor the strained quiet of fear—but the kind of stillness that pressed down upon the lungs, making even the act of breathing feel like a transgression. The walls were forged from an alloy no one present could identify, smooth and seamless, etched with faint runes that pulsed slowly beneath the surface like veins carrying the heartbeat of some ancient colossus. Every pulse illuminated the chamber for the briefest instant before fading once more into darkness, as though the Ark itself were alive and listening.
A single circular table dominated the center of the chamber.
Its surface was smooth, black, and reflective, resembling a pool of still water untouched by wind. The figures seated around it appeared distorted upon its sheen, their reflections warped into something colder and more severe than reality itself. Above them, no visible lights existed, yet the room remained perfectly illuminated by a pale silver glow emanating from unseen sources hidden within the architecture of the Ark.
No guards stood watch.
None were needed.
At the head of the table sat Sky Fist.
He did not lean back.
He did not rest his arms.
He did not fidget.
He simply sat upright and motionless, hands folded calmly before him. Yet despite his stillness, the oppressive aura surrounding him dominated the entire chamber. It was restrained now—not unleashed—but its presence lingered like an invisible blade resting lightly against every throat in the room. Even the strongest superhumans present could feel it.
The pressure.
The certainty.
The terrifying understanding that if this man decided to kill everyone in the chamber, there would be no resistance. No battle. No struggle.
Only death.
To his right sat Xuan the Time Merchant, acting leader of Ultimatum.
Her posture was elegant and composed, legs crossed neatly, hands resting atop her knee with effortless grace. Time itself seemed calmer around her. The air near her felt smoother, quieter, almost unnatural, as though causality itself wished to behave properly in her presence. Every movement she made possessed impossible precision—not robotic, but perfectly measured, free from hesitation or wasted intent.
Her eyes remained unreadable.
To Sky Fist's left sat Ling the Truth Seeker.
Nineteen years old.
Young.
Proud.
She sat straighter than anyone else in the chamber, dark eyes sharp and unwavering as they observed every expression, every twitch, every flicker of uncertainty crossing the faces around the table. Her presence was subtle compared to the monstrous aura of Sky Fist or the distorted calm surrounding Xuan, but those who understood her ability knew better than to underestimate her.
Lies had no refuge before Ling.
No deception survived her gaze for long.
From Malaysia's side, four seats were occupied.
At the front sat Prime Minister Najib, leader of a nation that had nearly collapsed within the span of days. His hair was carefully groomed and his suit immaculate, but exhaustion carved deep lines across his face that no amount of preparation could conceal. His eyes lacked sleep. His shoulders carried the unbearable weight of a country that had stared directly into annihilation.
Beside him sat Dato' Kay, the Minister of Defense.
His hands remained tightly clasped together upon the table. The knuckles were pale from pressure. Though his expression was stern, there was a faint stiffness in his jaw, as if he were bracing for a sentence that had already been decided long before this meeting began.
Behind them sat the two pillars of Malaysia's remaining defense.
Rafi the Detonator, S-ranked.
His broad shoulders were squared firmly, though tension burned visibly beneath the surface. Relief and fury warred within his eyes simultaneously. The survival of Malaysia had come at a humiliating price, and he knew it.
Beside him sat Sanjay the Xenoblast.
Arms crossed loosely.
Expression unreadable.
But there was tension there nonetheless, hidden beneath the calm exterior like a steel cable stretched to its limit. The faint blue glow occasionally flickering beneath his skin betrayed the strain he kept tightly restrained.
From Indonesia, five figures occupied their seats.
At the center sat General Prabowo, dressed in a military uniform adorned with medals earned through decades of command. He appeared composed on the surface, but the subtle tightness around his eyes revealed the immense pressure weighing upon him.
To his right sat Field Marshal Nasution.
Stoic.
Calculating.
Silent.
Even now, his eyes constantly assessed the room, searching for leverage where none existed.
Behind them sat Indonesia's three S-ranked superhumans.
Budi the Stone Cold sat utterly motionless, his face resembling carved granite both figuratively and literally. Even his skin possessed the texture of stone beneath the dim silver light.
Ketut the Aquaman appeared calm, almost detached, like still water concealing lethal currents beneath the surface. Yet his fingers tapped once against the armrest before becoming still again—a rare display of unease.
And beside them sat Arjuna the Spear Prince.
Regal.
Composed.
Sharp.
Even seated, he carried himself like royalty born upon a battlefield. His eyes remained focused upon Sky Fist from the moment the meeting began, understanding perhaps better than most the terrifying difference between strength and supremacy.
From Thailand, only three representatives had arrived.
General Kwang sat rigidly upright, hands resting upon the table with military precision. Every inch of his posture screamed discipline, yet a faint sheen of perspiration clung to his temple despite the chamber's cool air.
Beside him sat Anong the Earth Mother, S-ranked.
Her presence felt heavy and grounded, as though the very floor beneath the Ark acknowledged her authority. Veterans of the Great Gate raid remembered her as one of the few humans who had survived direct combat against a Demon Lord and lived to speak of it.
Even now, the room seemed steadier around her.
The final seat belonged to Mali the Scissor Hand, A-ranked.
Smaller in stature than the others, she radiated nervous energy that she could not fully conceal. Her fingers twitched repeatedly against her lap, tiny metallic sounds echoing faintly whenever the sharpened edges of her transformed nails brushed together.
No one spoke.
The Ark hummed softly around them.
A low vibration.
Steady.
Ancient.
Then Sky Fist lifted his gaze.
The room seemed to shrink instantly.
"Why," he asked calmly, his voice level and unraised, "did you initiate war against fellow humans—"
His eyes moved slowly from the Indonesian delegation toward the Thai representatives.
"—when the threat of demons is no longer theoretical, but inevitable?"
No accusation.
No anger.
Just a question.
Yet it struck the chamber harder than any scream could have.
For several seconds, nobody answered.
Ling's gaze shifted toward General Prabowo.
She did not speak.
She did not need to.
The truth was already unraveling before her eyes.
Prabowo cleared his throat carefully. "Malaysia's anchor collapsed," he said. "The Chinese Communist Company disappeared. Their support vanished overnight. We believed—"
"You believed," Sky Fist interrupted softly, "that weakness justified conquest."
Prabowo's mouth tightened.
No denial came.
Field Marshal Nasution leaned slightly forward. "We acted to secure regional stability," he said evenly. "Power vacuums invite chaos. Indonesia could have ensured order before larger conflicts emerged."
"Order," Xuan echoed quietly.
For the first time since the meeting began, she raised her eyes fully toward him.
"Built on blood?"
The words were soft.
But the temperature in the chamber seemed to drop.
Ketut shifted slightly in his seat.
The movement was small.
Ling noticed it immediately.
Her gaze moved next toward General Kwang of Thailand.
"And Thailand?" Sky Fist asked.
Kwang hesitated.
That alone spoke volumes.
Finally, he answered. "Historical claims," he said carefully. "Strategic necessity. Malaysia's defenses were compromised. We moved to reclaim territories that once belonged to us."
Anong's jaw tightened faintly.
Ling tilted her head.
The lie cracked apart instantly beneath her ability.
Historical claims had never been the true reason.
Fear had been.
Opportunity had been.
Greed had been.
Ling turned her eyes toward Sky Fist and gave a single, silent nod.
Sky Fist exhaled.
A soft sound.
Yet the air throughout the chamber trembled in response.
"You mistook opportunity," he said calmly, "for permission."
No one argued.
Because none could.
Rafi suddenly slammed his fist lightly against the table, the restrained impact still loud within the suffocating silence.
"If Ultimatum hadn't arrived," he said hoarsely, "Malaysia would already be ash."
The words lingered heavily in the room.
Sanjay remained silent beside him.
He did not need to speak.
The exhaustion in his eyes already confirmed how close they had come to destruction.
Sky Fist slowly rose from his chair.
The faint scrape of movement against the floor echoed unnaturally loudly.
Every spine in the room stiffened immediately.
Even the S-ranked superhumans instinctively tensed.
Because the moment Sky Fist stood, the pressure inside the chamber multiplied.
The runes along the walls brightened faintly.
The Ark hummed deeper.
"This," Sky Fist said, "is over."
He placed one hand upon the table.
At once, the runes etched into the dark surface ignited with pale silver light, spreading outward beneath his palm like cracks of lightning frozen beneath glass.
"Effective immediately," he continued, "Malaysia, Indonesia, and Thailand fall under Ultimatum's jurisdiction. Singapore and Brunei are also included."
Shock rippled visibly through the chamber.
Prime Minister Najib's eyes widened. "You—are declaring—"
"Sovereignty," Sky Fist finished calmly.
The word landed like a guillotine.
"Ultimatum will act as the sole governing authority over superhuman affairs, military escalation, and cross-border conflict."
General Prabowo's composure finally cracked.
"Do you understand what you're saying?" he demanded.
"Yes," Sky Fist replied.
"Do you understand the consequences?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Just certainty so absolute it became terrifying.
Xuan rose gracefully beside him.
Ling remained seated, observing silently as fear spread through the room like invisible smoke.
"This is not occupation," Xuan said evenly. "It is containment. Until humanity can be trusted not to devour itself."
The words were calm.
Reasonable.
And somehow that made them even more frightening.
Mali swallowed visibly before speaking. "And… if we refuse?"
Sky Fist looked at her.
Only once.
The Ark's hum deepened into something almost resembling a growl.
The silver runes across the chamber pulsed brighter.
"Then you perish," he said simply.
No threat.
No malice.
Just fact.
The terrifying thing was that everyone present believed him completely.
Silence returned once more.
Deeper than before.
Outside the transparent walls of the Ark, distant stars drifted slowly through the endless dark of space. Humanity's world hung somewhere far below them—a fragile sphere drowning in conflict, greed, fear, and approaching ruin.
And within this chamber, its future had just changed forever.
Slowly, one by one, heads lowered.
Not in submission.
In acknowledgment.
Because every person present understood the same truth.
This was not a negotiation.
This was not diplomacy.
This was not a coup.
This was a correction.
Humanity had nearly destroyed itself before the demons had even truly arrived. Nations had chosen conquest over unity. Leaders had mistaken weakening borders for invitations to devour one another. While gates opened across the world and Demon Lords gathered beyond dimensions unknown, mankind had continued behaving exactly as it always had.
Divided.
Proud.
Self-destructive.
Ultimatum had seen enough.
And now, under Sky Fist—
The world itself had gained a new axis.
One built not upon politics, nor nations, nor ideology.
But power.
Absolute power.
The kind capable of forcing humanity to survive, whether it wished to or not.