Inside the fortified war room of the Public Safety Department's Moscow headquarters, the ceiling lights dimmed as a holographic projection of the swirling black rift hovered above the long strategy table. Dozens of government officials, military officers, guild heads, and PSD commanders lined the room. The gravity in their expressions was unmistakable.
An officer with ash-gray epaulettes stood slowly. His voice was low but cut through the silence like steel.
"When the Founding Gate appeared," he began, "it changed the course of human history. It was so massive, so powerful, we couldn't even get close—let alone analyze it. Its arrival scattered dimensional fractures across the planet. From those, hundreds—no, thousands—of smaller gates opened. And so we began to rank them, based on the raw energy they emitted."
He turned toward the central projection. It shifted—showing the timeline of global incidents.
"Then... came the first 7-star gate. The darkest moment in our fight against the unknown. We lost 32 of the world's strongest—32 elite 7-star hunters. That was more than half. What remained was a trembling world and only eighteen 7-star hunters."
He paced slowly, his words deliberate.
"As of today, that number has not changed. We have 5 hunters here in Russia. America has 7. Italy, 2. The United Kingdom, 3. Japan, 1. That is the extent of our most elite force."
He gestured to the display. The current Moscow gate towered above the skyline like a black sun, warping the air itself.
"Now... another 7-star gate has appeared. In our capital. And unlike before, we don't have the luxury of global coordination. We don't have time. Even if the others left now, they wouldn't arrive before this gate breaks. And when it breaks..."
Silence.
After moments of tense discussion, the head of the Russian PSD finally slammed his palm against the table.
"Then we hold it," he growled. "Until the others arrive. We'll throw everything we have at that gate."
"Meaning?" another official asked.
"We send in our five."
---
Within hours, emergency alerts spread across the country. All registered hunters—regardless of rank—received mandatory deployment orders. Train stations were closed. Highways were cleared for transport convoys. Tactical helicopters took to the skies, picking up elite hunters from every region. The portal's surroundings were barricaded off. Citizens were evacuated, shelters prepped, and a red-level lockdown was initiated across Moscow.
Guilds mobilized their squads. Equipment centers handed out enchanted gear. Supply trucks rolled out, delivering mana-cores, potions, and advanced support tools.
Above the noise, one name buzzed on comms again and again.
Where is Max?
---
Then, they arrived.
The Russian 7-star lineup.
First came Dmitri Antonov, wrapped in a dark crimson combat coat. Towering and wordless, his presence alone silenced the command room. Known as the Iron Blood, Russia's top hunter and the world's number two.
Beside him: Alisa Volkova—the infamous Ice Princess. Clad in white frost-steel armor, her gaze was distant, her voice cold, and her attitude colder.
"Took you long enough," she snapped at the guards who opened the security doors too slowly.
Then Lena Ivanova entered. Petite, glowing, her uniform bright with vibrant colors. She skipped across the room as if she were heading to a picnic.
"Can't wait to see what's inside," she chirped. "Hope it's prettier than the last one."
Following her was Niko Smirnov, grinning ear to ear.
"You all need to relax," he said, sliding a pack of chewing gum across the table to the briefing officer. "Take one. We're saving the world, not attending a funeral."
Alek Popov marched in next. Every muscle in his body was wound tight like corded steel. He saluted once—sharp, no-nonsense.
"I'm not here to chat," he muttered. "Just give the order."
Finally, Maks Orlov strolled in, calm and unbothered. A leather jacket slung over his shoulder, one hand on a steaming mug.
"So," he said casually. "End of the world again? Or just Tuesday?"
---
The strategy officer nodded respectfully to the five and displayed the final plan.
"You five will enter first. The core team. You'll stabilize what you can and identify internal threats. You are not required to clear it—just survive and hold position."
"Understood," Dmitri said with a nod.
"All six-star hunters will follow to support. You'll coordinate from inside via linked channels. All five and four-stars will remain in tier-one defense position around the gate perimeter."
"And the rest?" Alisa asked, not looking up from her gloves.
"Three-stars and below will assist in evacuations, reinforcement stations, backup healing, and response teams. We want no civilians within a fifty-kilometer radius of the gate."
Lena pouted. "So many rules..."
"Strict protocol saves lives," Alek said.
---
Somewhere near the evacuation district, Sunny was desperately redialing.
"Come on, man. Pick up."
Click.
Max's voice crackled through. "Yo."
"MAX?! Where the hell have you been?! The sky is breaking! We've got a 7-star gate pulsing like a heart attack and the top five are already inside! Where are you?!"
Max's tone was unreadable. "Finishing something."
"You—?! What in the world could be more important?! You're one of us now. We NEED you."
A pause.
"I'll be there," Max replied. "Hold them for me."
The line cut.
Sunny stared down at his shaking hand.
"You better be fast, you crazy bastard."
He looked up at the spiraling gate overhead.
Time was ticking.