The announcements did not arrive like ordinary news.
They arrived like thunder.
Not the sudden crack of a storm directly overhead, but the distant rolling sound that traveled across mountains and oceans, growing louder with every passing moment until the entire world could hear it.
The names alone were enough.
Union of Power.
Sanctify.
When those two names were spoken together, conversations stopped. Guild halls fell silent. Military command centers abandoned routine operations. Superhuman registries across the globe experienced unprecedented traffic as awakened individuals searched for information, rumors, and confirmation.
The world had known for days that the Seoul Great Gate was changing.
Everyone understood another major conflict was approaching.
But until now, there had remained a degree of uncertainty.
A possibility that diplomacy might prevail.
A possibility that containment could succeed.
A possibility that humanity might avoid another catastrophic confrontation.
Those possibilities died the moment the two guilds moved.
This was no longer preparation.
This was mobilization.
In the United States, the call came without ceremony.
There were no patriotic speeches.
No dramatic music.
No banners waving behind a podium.
Union of Power did not believe in theatrics.
Strength spoke for itself.
A single broadcast appeared simultaneously across every secured communication channel under Union of Power's control.
Thousands of screens activated at once.
Guild headquarters.
Military facilities.
Private superhuman networks.
Independent hunter associations.
Everywhere, the same image appeared.
A man standing alone.
Massive.
Unmoving.
His skin shimmered faintly beneath the lights, resembling crystal more than flesh.
Gerald the Diamond Fist.
SS-ranked.
The leader of Union of Power.
One of the strongest superhumans on Earth.
He looked directly into the camera.
No smile.
No grand gesture.
No attempt to inspire.
He simply spoke.
"The Great Gate in Seoul is active."
His voice was calm.
Steady.
Absolute.
"This is a Demon King incursion."
A brief pause followed.
Then came the declaration.
"Union of Power is advancing."
That was all.
The broadcast ended immediately.
No explanation.
No elaboration.
No questions.
Yet the effect was immediate.
Across the country, alarms sounded within guild headquarters. Secure communication networks exploded with activity. Independent superhumans froze in the middle of missions as notifications flooded their devices.
Some stared at their screens in silence.
Others immediately began packing.
Many simply sat down and tried to process what they had just heard.
Because Union of Power did not make requests.
They made decisions.
And when they decided to move, everyone else was forced to decide whether they would move with them.
Within hours, the mobilization began.
Drafting centers appeared almost overnight.
Sports stadiums were converted into recruitment hubs.
Air force bases vanished behind military cordons.
Entire city districts were transformed into fortified intake zones capable of processing thousands of superhumans simultaneously.
The efficiency was terrifying.
Lines stretched for kilometers.
Yet the process moved with machine-like precision.
Power readings were measured.
Combat capabilities analyzed.
Psychological evaluations conducted.
Medical screenings completed.
Every candidate passed through a system that seemed designed to process human beings as efficiently as ammunition.
There was no panic.
No disorder.
Only purpose.
Union of Power offered exactly three things.
Protection for families.
Compensation beyond imagination.
And survival.
Nothing more.
For many, survival alone was enough.
The first to arrive were B-ranked superhumans.
Thousands of them.
Some appeared eager, seeing an opportunity to prove themselves.
Others arrived reluctantly, painfully aware that refusing the call might leave them standing alone when the demons eventually came.
A-ranked superhumans followed shortly afterward.
Veterans.
Survivors.
Men and women whose bodies carried scars from previous Gate conflicts.
They understood the stakes better than anyone.
Many had already fought in battles that should have killed them.
Yet they arrived anyway.
Because experience often taught the same lesson.
Some wars could not be avoided.
Even a handful of unaffiliated S-ranked superhumans answered the call.
Not because they were obligated.
Because they understood the gravity of what was unfolding.
Above them all stood the leadership structure of Union of Power.
A hierarchy built through strength and maintained through results.
Directly beneath Gerald stood his Vice Guild Leaders.
White Panther Jacob.
A man whose speed and brutality had earned him a reputation as a living natural disaster. Stories claimed he could cross entire battlefields before opponents realized he had moved.
Magneto Anton.
Master of electromagnetic forces.
A superhuman capable of transforming cities into weapons simply by understanding how they were built.
And Silver Knight Abraham.
The immovable shield of Union of Power.
Encased within living alloy, he had survived battles that would have annihilated lesser S-ranks.
No demon had ever broken his defense.
Beneath them, the Raid Team Leaders prepared their forces.
Strong Arm Alan.
A giant of a man whose raw strength turned battlefields into rubble.
Fallen Angel Lucy.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
A ruler of the skies whose radiant wings inspired allies and terrified enemies in equal measure.
And Beast King Tigre.
The sole A-ranked Raid Leader.
An unusual choice.
Yet no one questioned it.
Rank alone had never defined Tigre.
His mastery over enhanced beasts and tactical warfare had earned him a position no one else could fill.
Each Raid Leader would command a thousand elite combatants.
The core consisted primarily of B-ranked superhumans.
A-ranked specialists reinforced critical operations.
S-ranked commanders acted as anchors for decisive engagements.
It was not an army built upon hope.
It was an army built upon dominance.
An army designed to overwhelm.
An army designed to win.
Across the Atlantic Ocean, Europe answered the call very differently.
Where America thundered—
Sanctify illuminated.
Their announcement did not interrupt broadcasts.
It replaced them.
Television screens across Europe gradually brightened as warm golden light washed over every image. The transition was so seamless it almost appeared supernatural.
The signal itself seemed purified.
The image that emerged showed towering cathedral arches and radiant sigils suspended in the air.
Light drifted through the scene like floating stars.
At its center stood a single figure.
Salvatore.
The Sun God.
SS-ranked.
Even through a screen, his presence felt overwhelming.
The room itself seemed warmer.
Brighter.
More alive.
He looked into the camera with calm eyes.
Not the gaze of a warrior.
The gaze of a prophet.
"This is not merely a battle."
His voice carried impossible weight.
Calm.
Measured.
Certain.
"It is a judgment."
The golden symbols surrounding him pulsed softly.
"And humanity must be ready to stand beneath the light."
Unlike Gerald, Salvatore did not inspire through strength.
He inspired through conviction.
People listened because they wanted to believe him.
And belief was Sanctify's greatest weapon.
Across Europe, churches opened their doors.
Cathedrals activated ancient defensive arrays.
Consecrated guild halls transformed into recruitment centers.
The mobilization spread not like a military operation, but like a movement.
A calling.
Drafting was not called conscription.
It was called ordination.
Superhumans knelt beneath glowing arrays while their abilities underwent evaluation.
Light-based powers received priority consideration.
However, affinity alone was not enough.
Resolve mattered more.
Those who lacked conviction were turned away politely.
Those who endured were welcomed without hesitation.
Every recruit became part of something larger than themselves.
At the head of Sanctify's military structure stood three S-ranked Raid Leaders.
Spike Paladin Leonardo.
A warrior whose holy armaments shattered demonic defenses as though they were glass.
Freezing Knight John.
A knight whose supernatural frost could suppress regeneration and halt corruption itself.
And Meteor Shield Hugh.
A living fortress.
Immovable.
Unbreakable.
A man who had stood against catastrophes and refused to yield.
Like their American counterparts, each commanded approximately one thousand elite combatants.
B-ranked superhumans formed the foundation.
A-ranked specialists provided flexibility.
S-ranked leadership ensured battlefield supremacy.
Where Union of Power relied upon overwhelming force, Sanctify relied upon unity.
Belief forged into steel.
Faith transformed into strategy.
Different philosophies.
The same objective.
One detail quickly attracted attention among global analysts.
Neither guild recruited outside its own region.
No Asians.
No Africans.
No South Americans.
Only their own people.
The decision generated immediate controversy.
Publicly, both organizations cited logistical concerns.
Privately, the truth was far simpler.
Caution.
Asia was unstable.
Africa remained unpredictable.
South America was fragmented.
No one fully understood how deeply the Demon Lords had infiltrated human institutions.
Neither guild was willing to risk infiltration.
Neither guild intended to dilute command structures during what might become humanity's most important military campaign since Tokyo.
This was not a crusade.
It was not a symbol.
It was war.
Calculated.
Measured.
Professional.
Around the world, reactions varied dramatically.
Many people celebrated.
Two SS-ranked superhumans.
Two world-class guilds.
Thousands of elite awakened warriors.
What demon could possibly stand against such force?
Others felt only dread.
Because the opposite question lingered in their minds.
If humanity was gathering this much power...
What exactly was waiting inside the Seoul Great Gate?
The thought haunted military analysts.
It haunted politicians.
It haunted veterans who remembered Tokyo.
Because strength on this scale was not assembled without reason.
Far away, in a quiet corner of the world untouched by recruitment drives and grand declarations, another organization watched the unfolding events.
Ultimatum.
No announcement came from them.
No recruitment campaign appeared.
No emergency mobilization was declared.
The hidden headquarters beneath the abandoned station remained as calm as ever.
Screens displayed broadcasts from both guilds.
Reports flowed continuously across secure channels.
Nobody panicked.
Nobody celebrated.
They simply watched.
Ling studied incoming intelligence.
Aman reviewed deployment patterns.
Lisa quietly observed information streams invisible to everyone else.
And Isey sat in silence.
Watching.
Thinking.
Because unlike most of the world, Ultimatum already understood something essential.
This war would not be decided by numbers.
Not by armies.
Not by recruitment quotas.
Not even by how many S-ranked or SS-ranked superhumans humanity could gather.
Those things mattered.
But they were not the deciding factor.
The Demon King waiting beyond the Seoul Great Gate had never intended to fight on humanity's terms.
And any enemy powerful enough to manipulate nations before the battle had even begun would never place victory in the hands of brute force alone.
Outside, the world prepared for war.
Inside the hidden headquarters, Ultimatum prepared for something else.
The trap they knew was coming.
Because somewhere beyond Seoul, beyond politics, beyond military calculations and public confidence, Luxuria was smiling.
And when a Demon King smiled before a battle—
It usually meant the battle had already begun.