Chapter 132: Global Paranormal Groups Summit - Part 3
The silence was suffocating, but it wasn't the kind of silence born from confusion, it was denial. The gathered leaders exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions betraying a mixture of disbelief and rejection. Leonard's words had hit a nerve, exposing a truth that none of them wanted to confront.
Finally, the leader of the GRU Division "P" slammed his fist on the table, his voice booming. "Ridiculous! The narrative is nothing but a philosophical abstraction. We operate in the real world, with real consequences. I refuse to believe that our lives are dictated by some… literary construct!"
The representative from the Brazilian Superintendence for the Paranormal nodded emphatically. "Exactly! We're fighting and bleeding to protect our nations, our people. Do you mean to tell us that all of that is scripted? That our struggles are merely… lines in a story? Preposterous!"
The PENTAGRAM leader folded his arms, his tone laced with scorn. "If the narrative is real, why would it allow dissent? Why would we be allowed to question it? The very idea undermines itself."
Midnight smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Oh, denial's a hell of a drug, isn't it? Come on, you've all seen it, the anomalies, the patterns, the improbable coincidences. And now, this system that rewrites reality seamlessly. How much more evidence do you need?"
Her words were met with glares and murmurs of protest.
DC. Al Fine raised a hand, his voice calm but firm. "Enough. Even if we entertain the narrative theory, accepting it means admitting that we are not the masters of our own destiny. That is an existential crisis I am not prepared to indulge."
The leader of the Confraternity of Saint George's Knights stood, his voice ringing with righteous fervor. "Blasphemy! To suggest that we are mere pawns in a story is to deny the divine will that guides us. Our actions are shaped by faith, duty, and the strength of our convictions, not by some 'Narrative'!"
The head of the Servants of the Silicon Nornir adjusted his glasses, his voice measured but firm. "Faith, duty, and conviction are not mutually exclusive with the Narrative. If anything, they could be tools of the Narrative itself. Denying its existence doesn't erase the evidence, or the questions it raises."
The room erupted into heated arguments, voices clashing as leaders debated the implications.
"Are you saying all our decisions are meaningless?" shouted the leader of the Anomalous Warfare Battalion from the Philippines.
"No!" countered the CPIA leader. "Even if the Narrative exists, we still have the agency to act within it!"
"How can you prove that?" interjected the His Majesty's Anomaly Service leader. "If everything is preordained, what's the point of any of this?"
"It's not about preordination!" argued the Southern African Anomalies Agency head. "The Narrative could simply be a framework, guiding, but not absolute. We're still responsible for our choices."
"Convenient rationalization," sneered Midnight. "You're all grasping at straws because you're too afraid to admit that we're nothing more than puppets on strings!"
The tension in the room reached a boiling point, with every voice raised, every argument more impassioned than the last. Some leaders remained silent, their expressions unreadable as they processed the implications. Others, like Midnight, seemed to revel in the chaos, watching the scene unfold with a knowing smile.
But through it all, Leonard remained silent, his expression unreadable as he watched the debate spiral further out of control.
DC interrupted the heated discussions, his voice firm but calm. "I believe we're jumping to conclusions far too quickly. It could simply be the effect of a Divinity or a high-level reality bender. We shouldn't rush to embrace such theories without evidence."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. The tension thinned, but unease lingered like smoke in the air.
Leonard said nothing. He merely observed, eyes cold and unreadable.
The summit continued. For the next hour, the discussion shifted, this time to the one topic no one could ignore: the rising instability across the anomalous world.
The Chaos System.
DC took the lead, standing before the table of world leaders and paranormal authorities.
"I want us all to be honest. Two months ago, each of us received the System. Since then, the world has begun to shift in ways we cannot explain. The boundaries between the normal and the abnormal have thinned. Threats we thought did not exist have surfaced. And the Chaos System, like us, … is growing stronger."
The Director of the GOC's Physic Division on DC right stood. "The Chaos Insurgency has been the most active. They've struck across six continents in the past thirty days. Covert deployments, sabotage of research labs, recruitment of rogue para-scientists. And no one's safe, not even off-world assets."
The UIU Director nodded gravely. "We've confirmed twelve operations within U.S. borders. They're better organized. Better equipped. The System seems to give them more than just strength, it's given them a goal. They've started calling themselves a revolution.'"
The GRU Division "P" leader spoke next. "They've always been dangerous in the SCP lore. But this? This is coordinated. They've infiltrated European Governments, the United Nations, even our own country. We believe they've used the System to manufacture entirely new agents, people with no past records, but full military clearances."
Whispers passed between leaders. Eyes turned toward Leonard for a moment, he remained unmoved.
Then a bitter laugh came from Midnight. "At least the Insurgency still pretends to have a plan. You can't say the same for the Children of the Scarlet King. They've been performing mass rituals in three separate zones. We had to dispatch three Wyrm-summoners to stop a breach in Afghanistan. If we had been a day late, a whole region would've become a sacrifice."
The Chairman of ORIA scowled. "They've targeted our sacred sites. They claim it's for 'divine awakening.' All I see is blood magic and the slaughter of innocents. If they aren't stopped, they'll collapse civilization to usher in You Know Who"
A murmur of agreement spread. Then another voice spoke up:
"What about The Factory?" said the Director of the MI666. "They've returned. Selling para-weapons to mercenaries. Spreading cognitohazards through consumer electronics. And with the System backing their logistics, they're growing exponentially."
The ADEA leader added, "They've partnered with the Chicago Spirit in North America. They're distributing demonic-based narcotics. Their recent line, 'Sin Drug', is an demonarcotic disguised as a drug. It enhances users' physical strength to 500 kilograms. We've had entire police patrols fall because of its users."
Midnight leaned back. "Sounds like business as usual for the Spirit. They've never cared about ideology. Only money. Only now, they have access to black-market teleportation gates, teleporting directly into secure sites and stealing classified anomalies."
the leader from the Southern African Anomalies Agency raised his voice. "They tried that in Nairobi. We lost an entire wing of our storage facility. They took anomalous-grade artifacts, and vanished before the security system could even activate."
Then came the leader of His Majesty's Anomaly Service. "You're all forgetting the Sarkic Cults. They've been mutating entire populations. In Glasgow, we had to cleanse an entire district that turned into a living organism. Their fleshcrafting techniques have evolved, they're now merging with post-human tech."
The commander of the Philippines Anomalous Warfare Battalion stood up. "Mindanao. Six weeks ago. A Sarkic priest summoned a sentient storm entity. We lost seventy soldiers before it was banished."
DC exhaled slowly. "So we agree, then. None of this started until the Systems appeared."
Everyone nodded.
"They gave us power. Assets. Troops. Structures. But they also destabilized the world. Groups like the Insurgency, the Cults, the Spirit, the Factory, they all received Systems too."
"They're building cities inside anomalies. Blacksite markets in extradimensional zones. Whole factions we thought defunct, revived with System support."
"And what if…" someone asked slowly, "what if the Chaos System is a mirror to us?"
"What do you mean?" DC asked.
"What if just as the Hope System gave us unity and power, the Chaos System was built to unify and give them power too?"
There was silence.
Leonard still said nothing. Arms crossed, head slightly tilted. But his eyes… his eyes never left the center of the room.
The leaders glanced between one another, the weight of the new world pressing down on them all.
DC cleared his throat and glanced at his watch.
"I believe this is a good time to stop for nox," he said, his voice a little lighter than before. "What do you all think?"
He smiled, then suddenly, a low growl echoed through the silent room.
It came from his stomach.
Visibly embarrassed, DC chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.
"And… I have to admit, I'm a little hungry. Aren't you all?"
A few awkward laughs and nods followed from around the chamber. The heavy tension that had filled the room for the last hours began to lift, if only slightly.
Several GOC assistants and staff entered the grand chamber, carrying trays filled with drinks and assorted snacks. The air began to loosen slightly as the leaders of the anomalous world took the rare chance to relax.
Midnight leaned sideways in her chair, grinning at Leonard.
"So, Administrator? Don't you have any stories to pass the time?"
But Leonard's eyes remained blank, staring straight ahead, unblinking.
Midnight tilted her head and glanced at his two aides.
"I think your boss just broke."
Graves leaned forward slightly, gave Leonard a quick glance, and said flatly,
"He's fine."
Then sat back down without another word.
---
Meanwhile, at Site-02
Inside the private quarters of O5-3, far removed from the summit, another Leonard, his projection shrouded in the aura of the Administrator, stood calmly next to a large console. He held a controller in hand.
O5-3 was beside him, equally focused.
Both were locked in a fierce battle, on screen, a violent flurry of strikes, counters, and special moves lit up the display. The fight was dead even, each one refusing to let the other win.
Their faces were emotionless, yet the tension was palpable.
O5-3 spoke through gritted teeth, eyes still on the screen.
"You always cheat with that combo."
Leonard replied without looking at him, voice steady.
"No. You're just predictable."
The match reached its climax.
"Final round," O5-3 muttered. "Let's settle this."
Behind them, O5-1 stood with arms crossed, mouth slightly agape. She cleared her throat loudly, making her presence known.
Both men froze and turned around, startled.
O5-3 muttered under his breath, "Oh shit, I'm so dead."
O5-1 smiled, cold and sharp like a blade.
"Boss," she said icily, "shouldn't you be at the summit?"
Leonard stammered, "Uh… I was just taking a little break."
"Oh?" she replied, still smiling. "Your little break takes that long? I believe you should return. Now."
A chilling pressure settled across the room. Leonard could almost feel the temperature drop.
O5-1 turned to glare at O5-3.
"And you. Still playing games. I think it's time to correct you again."
O5-3 panicked, eyes darting to Leonard.
"Boss! Don't leave me with her! I'm gonna die!"
Leonard glanced at him, then at O5-1. He sighed dramatically and said,
"Soldier… your sacrifice will never be forgotten."
And with that, his projection vanished from the room.
O5-3 closed his eyes in silent resignation…
and a split-second later, O5-1's fist appeared behind his head.
A loud, painful scream echoed through the entire O5 Council sector.
---
Leonard blinked, suddenly finding himself back in the summit hall, his eyes fixed blankly on the space ahead of him. He coughed lightly and stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders as if waking from a deep trance.
He glanced around and noticed the room was noticeably emptier, with only a few delegates still lounging in their seats, chatting or sipping drinks.
Turning to his side, he found Graves sitting quietly, arms crossed.
The agent glanced his way and said in a low voice,
"Boss. It's the break period. They'll be resuming in a few minutes."
Leonard nodded slowly, still adjusting to the shift between realities.
"…Right," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
A phantom echo of O5-3's scream lingered somewhere in the back of his mind.
The participants returned, casually chatting here and there about various matters. Time flew quickly, and at exactly 7 p.m., DC announced,
"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe this first day is about to come to an end. I invite you all to follow me to the banquet hall so that we may dine together."
Everyone stood up and began heading toward the exit. The guards and agents of every leader present also stood immediately.
The six Resh-1 operatives, who had stood in two perfectly symmetrical lines since the beginning of the summit, now stepped forward in formation, advancing toward Leonard before surrounding him, Mei Lin, and Graves.
Walking ahead, DC grumbled,
"Are those guards or robots you've got there?"
Leonard chuckled lightly, while the rest of his escort remained perfectly in formation, silently shielding their leader.
They proceeded down a corridor until they reached the first banquet hall. Inside, more than two hundred ten-seat tables were neatly arranged.
DC explained,
"Your subordinates are hungry too. The banquet will be for leaders only."
Leonard snapped his fingers, and his group, Mei Lin and Graves included, walked toward a pair of tables located beside the large door at the far end of the room and sat down.
The other subordinates of the various leaders did the same, choosing to sit with their own colleagues. None of them mingled.
The only ones still standing were the leaders themselves, including Leonard, who crossed the hall and headed toward the large door at the front.
Beyond it was an immense U-shaped banquet table.
The grand banquet hall shimmered under the light of floating lanterns, each glowing softly with trapped starlight. The towering, U-shaped table gleamed with polished obsidian and inlaid runes that softly pulsed with containment sigils, subtle, but comforting. Leonard sat silently near the heart of the curve, white eyes scanning the procession of leaders filing into their seats.
Around him, chairs scraped as dignitaries, generals, priests, and directors took their places, each cloaked in their own power, each masked behind expressions of civility and paranoia. The air was thick with tension, and anticipation.
Then the side doors of the hall creaked open in unison.
A fleet of perfectly synchronized servants poured in, uniforms black and white, trimmed with thread that shimmered like mercury. They carried no trays yet. They flanked the room in formation.
Then, from the central platform at the open end of the U-shaped table, a man stepped forward. He wore a sharp, ivory chef's coat embroidered with the sigil of Ambrose Restaurant, glowing faintly with arcane restraint. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, rich, and theatrical.
"Esteemed leaders of the Hope System," he began with a deep bow, "it is an honor. I am the Executive Chef of Ambrose Restaurant, a group from the Neutral Systems."
Immediately, dozens of hands twitched, toward hidden blades, sigils, or hidden weapons. Several leaders tensed in their chairs, eyes narrowing.
Before anyone could move, DC stood, raising his hand. "Peace, everyone," he said smoothly. "We've made a pact with Ambrose. He is under a Geas I personally verified. He cannot lie. He cannot poison. He cannot betray this room."
There was still hesitation in the air. But slowly, most settled back into their seats. A few remained visibly guarded.
The chef smiled knowingly. "To ease your nerves, allow me to begin with transparency. I shall personally announce each course."
He clapped twice. Doors swung open, and an orderly procession of servers began moving toward the tables. The scent of spices, citrus, roasted meats, and… stranger things filled the air.
The chef raised his hand and began.
"First Course!"
"Olney Corporate Crostini!"
"Roasted pork belly, slow-braised in a blood orange glaze, topped with pickled red onions. Served atop crostini. The meat, of course, comes from demon swine, stress-free, who eternally torment the board of Olney Ironworks in their personal corner of hell. It's sustainable."
"Margherita à la Lindholm!"
"Sicilian pizza, thin-crust, topped with buffalo mozzarella and a rich tomato cream. The tomatoes? Grown by parabotanist Stella Lindholm, in a garden that orbits Venus. The basil is dimensionally pure. This dish… melts away the world."
"Second Course!"
"Weilstedt Matzfaux-Ball Soup!"
"A Nalkan interpretation of a Jewish classic. The broth is bone marrow and spiced saltwater; the matzfaux-balls are crafted from Weilstedt moss-flesh. Side effects include temporary rejuvenation of skin and muscle tissue. Not recommended for the pregnant or… mortally inflexible."
"Manhattan Shoggoth Chowder!"
"Tomato base. Cream. Fragments of young, docile shoggoth meat, kept alive and… politely restrained. Watch closely, it may wave at you. Comes with seasoned crackers and an NDA waiver."
"The Perfect Waldorf!"
"Apples and grapes from the untamed, nameless forests of Upstate New York. Mayonnaise created from the eggs of platonic chickens. Walnuts hand-harvested from self-trimming trees. This dish has defeated three food critics in ritual combat."
"Then the Main Course!"
"Delmonico Steak!"
"Not just a steak. This is the Delmonico, more of a Delmonico than any Delmonico that's ever been Delmonico'd. Scientifically, magically, spiritually superior. Documents available upon request."
"Parmigiana Without Equal!"
"Eggplant parm stuffed with chicken parm… which is stuffed with more eggplant parm. Layer upon layer. A recursive culinary miracle. Don't ask how we cooked it. Just surrender."
"Primavera of the Old Gods!"
"Vegetables grown before the concept of language. Pre-mythic soil. Pre-light chlorophyll. You will not recognize a single plant, and yet your tongue will remember."
"And now, Dessert!"
"Cheesecake."
"Not much to say. Focus on the cake. Don't ask about the cheese. Truly gluten-free. Mostly safe."
"Black and White Macarons!"
"Dual-flavored, chocolate and vanilla, from opposite ends of time. One bite may remind you of your childhood. The other may whisper secrets from before our species evolved language."
"Golden Apple Crumble!"
"The apples are perfectly normal. Totally mundane. Not enchanted. But in blind taste tests, elder gods could not tell the difference. Make of that what you will."
"And finally, Wine and Spirits!"
"Clown Milk Egg Cream Bourbon!"
"Don't be fooled by the name. This is not for children. Distilled through five layers of irony. It hurts so good."
"Bloody Mary on the Rack!"
"Jalapeño vodka base. Lindholm tomato juice. Garnished with a one-meter-tall edible meat sculpture that changes daily. Today: the moment of your greatest regret."
"Golden Orange Cider!"
"The signature cider of a New York that never existed. Pressed from mythic fruit in a parallel Brooklyn. Ambrose guarantees it will make you nostalgic for memories you never had."
The chef spread his arms, smiling brightly. "Enjoy your meal, lords and ladies of the anomalous. And remember: nothing here bites… unless you do first."
He stepped back, hands folded behind his back as servers descended with the first wave of plates.
Leonard remained still. Around him, murmurs broke out. Midnight leaned toward him with a grin and whispered, "If I die tonight, at least it'll be after tasting a shoggoth in chowder."
Leonard said nothing. But his eyes scanned the table, watching every face. Every bite. Every twitch of hesitation or approval. Behind the food, the politics had only just begun.
Leonard stared down at his plate with a mix of curiosity and cautious intrigue. Before him lay "The Perfect Waldorf", gleaming with an otherworldly freshness. The grapes shimmered faintly under the candlelight, and the apple slices were carved with geometrical precision. He dipped one of the apple wedges into the strange, thick, silvery mayonnaise beside it and took a bite.
The flavor hit immediately, sweet, sharp, cold and ancient. His tongue tried to categorize it, but failed. It was as if someone had distilled a forest's worth of memories, pressed them into fruit, and whispered forgotten truths into their skin. He blinked, visibly impressed, and took another grape, letting it burst in his mouth.
After sipping water to clear his senses, Leonard slowly turned his head toward DC, seated just across the U-curve.
The GOC leader was busy rubbing his hands together with glee in front of a steaming bowl of Manhattan Shoggoth Chowder, muttering, "Let's see what this chaos soup is all about."
Suddenly, with an eerie squelch, a tentacle rose gracefully from the depths of DC's chowder. It hovered a moment… then slapped him clean across the face before retracting instantly back into the broth like it had never been there.
DC froze. A single drop of shoggoth slime slid down his cheek.
Leonard choked.
"Pffft-"
He spat out a mouthful of water, coughing and laughing uncontrollably as he covered his face with a hand.
Around the banquet, several other leaders who had witnessed the scene couldn't hold back. The director of UIU, the head of the Confraternity, and even the usually stone-faced leader of GRU-P burst out laughing, some pounding the table, others trying to stifle their amusement behind wine glasses.
Even Midnight wheezed out, "I knew this dinner would be good, but I didn't know it would be slapstick."
DC wiped his face slowly with a napkin, stared down at his bowl with a deadly glare, and muttered:
"Ok, now I'm sure. I'm gonna eat this motherfucker."
And he did.
The dinner unfolded peacefully, the heavy tension from earlier in the day slowly melting away like butter over fire. Conversations buzzed lightly throughout the U-shaped table, and for the first time since the summit began, laughter and relaxed smiles colored the expressions of even the more stoic leaders.
Leonard noted with mild surprise that Arash, who had nearly declared open defiance just hours before, was now deep in conversation with the Brazilian Superintendent, gesturing thoughtfully between bites. Perhaps the shared food had done its work.
Eventually, once dessert had been served and the last of the fine drinks were poured, DC stood up, clinking his glass gently.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced with a broad smile, "I think this marks a wonderful end to the first day of the summit. But before you all leave, allow me to show you one more thing."
He motioned toward a side door, discreetly tucked into the wood-paneled walls of the banquet hall. Curiosity sparked in the eyes of several leaders, and slowly, the group rose and followed DC into the adjoining room.
What awaited them inside was… unexpected.
A large, elegant chamber stretched out before them, lined with ancient bookshelves, strategic game tables arranged with boards for chess, go, and some games of an obviously anomalous nature, softly glowing under antique chandeliers. But what caught the attention of most was the small circular combat arena embedded into the marble floor at the far side, surrounded by blackened iron rails and flickering overhead runes.
DC swept his arm grandly.
"This," he declared, "is the rest and leisure hall we've prepared for you all. I hope you'll take full advantage of it, whether you want to read, play, train, or… settle a few rivalries."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Midnight stepped forward, cracking her knuckles with a predatory grin.
"TA," she said, loud enough for the room to hear. "You. Me. Right now."
Leonard blinked once, gave her a flat look… then shrugged with perfect nonchalance.
"Okay."
The casual response sent a ripple through the room.
Both walked toward the arena in sync, steps calm and measured. A hush began to fall as more and more leaders noticed what was happening. Within seconds, all other chatter died. Heads turned. Eyes followed.
The Administrator of the SCP Foundation and the Leader of the Serpent's Hand were about to fight. Not metaphorically, actually.
One by one, leaders moved to the edges of the arena, forming an impromptu audience. Chairs scraped. Glasses were set down. Some whispered bets, others just stared in anticipation. A few guards even pressed themselves closer to the walls, unsure whether they were about to witness a duel or a disaster.
But one thing was certain: no one was about to miss this.
DC stepped into the center of the arena, his shoes clicking lightly against the polished stone floor. He raised both hands to call for silence, though it was hardly necessary, as every leader present was already watching with rapt attention.
"Alright," he announced clearly, his voice echoing across the chamber, "Let's keep this simple: No weapons, no artifacts, no external objects. You're only allowed to use your physical capabilities and anomalous powers. Deadly force is strictly prohibited. The duel ends when one of you either surrenders, is restrained, knocked out, or if both agree to a draw. Understood?"
Before Leonard could answer, Midnight cut in instantly, without even looking at DC:
"Shut the fuck up."
A few leaders chuckled. Some gasped. DC blinked slowly, sighed, then turned to Leonard with a deadpan expression.
"TA, please beat her up for me."
Leonard chuckled under his breath, the ghost of a smile touching the corners of his lips.
DC gave a tired wave and stepped out of the ring, muttering something about "goddamn anarchist librarians" as he moved to stand with the other leaders.
The arena sealed behind him with a soft shimmer of blue light, signaling that the match was now officially under way.
Under the soft hum of anomalous shielding that shimmered above the arena, Leonard and Midnight faced each other in silence. The leaders around the edge of the ring leaned forward, breath caught, every eye watching.
Midnight cracked her neck lazily, a sharp glint of amusement in her eyes. Leonard simply adjusted his stance, falling into a neutral guard, feet shoulder-width apart, hands relaxed, but ready. His expression was unreadable.
Then, in a flash, they moved.
Midnight dashed forward, her body blurring as her foot cracked against the arena floor. Her fist came flying in from the left, fast and sharp, aimed for Leonard's temple. He deflected it with the flat of his palm, his foot sliding back to absorb the impact.
She pivoted, a spinning kick slicing through the air toward his ribs. Leonard dipped low under it, grabbed her ankle mid-spin, and twisted. Midnight let the spin carry her through, flipping backwards to break free of his grip, landing on her feet like a cat.
Their footwork was impeccable. Both had strength far beyond that of normal humans, each blow they exchanged causing subtle cracks in the arena tiles. Their first few exchanges were a blur of fists, knees, blocks, and evasion, graceful yet brutal.
But slowly, Leonard began to pull ahead.
His movements were clean, precise. Resh-1 and the system had drilled him in over a dozen martial disciplines, from Russian Systema to Filipino Kali, from Krav Maga to Foundation-exclusive anomalous combat techniques. He read Midnight like an open book. Every feint she threw, he countered two moves ahead.
She threw a high punch, he stepped in and parried, using her own momentum to lock her shoulder. She hissed and twisted out, ducked low and went for a sweep, he hopped over it, landing a palm strike that staggered her.
Then a flurry: jab, hook, elbow, knee, each strike landed like a drumbeat. Midnight blocked some, but not all. A strike caught her in the solar plexus and she skidded back, heels digging into the stone.
Midnight grinned despite the bruise forming on her side. "Okay, fine, Administrator," she said between breaths. "You actually know how to hit."
Leonard didn't reply. He took a step forward, then blurred into motion, his next strike aiming straight for her throat.
She barely ducked in time, countering with a short-range elbow that would've shattered bone if it connected. Leonard twisted, caught her elbow, and used it to vault himself over her, flipping and landing behind her with a clean roll.
The crowd gasped.
The battle only grew more intense.
Midnight gritted her teeth and let her magic essence rise, the muscles under her skin shifting ever so slightly, enhancing her speed, letting her match him for just a little longer. But Leonard was already adapting. Every move she made was met with brutal efficiency.
A roundhouse kick, caught.
A shoulder bash, redirected.
A palm strike to his jaw, met with a counter-joint lock that had her almost on the ground before she wrenched herself free.
Every impact between them echoed through the arena like thunder. Dust lifted from the floor. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone.
And yet… both were smiling now.
Neither had said it aloud, but it was clear:
They were enjoying this.
And the other leaders knew, this wasn't just a duel. It was a clash between two of the most dangerous beings in the Hope System.
And it had just begun.
Suddenly, Midnight's grin widened.
"Alright," she said, voice low but laced with excitement. "Let's stop pretending this is just a warm-up."
She extended her right hand, runes flaring briefly along her wrist, and with a sharp whisper in a language that twisted in the air, a surge of green lightning erupted around her body. Her veins glowed briefly, and the crackle of magic energy danced across her skin. The very space around her distorted, the scent of ozone thickening.
The shift was immediate.
She moved, and this time, Leonard didn't react in time.
A glowing fist slammed into his ribs, fast as a bolt. His body twisted from the impact, a grunt escaping his lips. Before he could reset, Midnight vanished and reappeared above him in a blink, a teleport jump, made possible by her spell array. Her heel dropped like a meteor from above.
Leonard raised his arms just in time. The blow crashed against his guard, shaking his bones. He was pushed down to one knee, his feet scraping against the cracked arena floor. Dust and shards flew.
She didn't stop.
Spinning mid-air, she launched a barrage of magic-augmented strikes. Her hands blurred, fingers tipped with magic, carving luminous trails in the air. Each punch sent a pulse of force, kinetic and mystical, shoving Leonard back a step at a time.
He tried to counter, lunging forward with a precise blow, only for Midnight to weave around it effortlessly, planting a glowing rune onto his shoulder.
"Tz'varu'kesh!"
The rune ignited in a pulse of green light. Leonard's body was suddenly yanked sideways by an unseen force, slamming him against the arena wall. The stone cracked from the impact. He exhaled sharply, rolling to his feet just before a blast of crackling lightning slammed where he'd been.
He wasn't hurt, not badly, but it was clear now:
Midnight was using real magic.
Not some parlor tricks, but battlefield-grade, flesh-tested magic. Her style wasn't elegant, it was chaotic, unpredictable, and brutally effective. A fusion of raw combat instinct and spellcraft designed to confuse and overwhelm.
And for the first time since the duel began, Leonard was on the backfoot.
He darted forward, trying to regain the rhythm, a feint to her left, a sweeping kick, but she phased through it, blinking half a meter to the right, and delivered a blast of kinetic force straight into his chest. He skidded backward, boots dragging furrows in the floor.
The crowd gasped again, murmurs ran through the gathered leaders.
Leonard grimaced, standing straight. Sparks still crackled on his coat. A faint scorch marked his collar.
Midnight floated gently down from a short hover, her boots touching the ground.
"Still with me, Administrator?" she teased, brushing her hair back. "You're not thinking of forfeiting, are you?"
Leonard didn't reply. He rolled his shoulder and tapped his foot twice on the ground, a familiar signal pattern from Resh-1. They tensed instinctively but didn't move.
Then, slowly, a smile curved on his lips.
He exhaled, and took his stance again.
Midnight's eyes narrowed, grin sharpening.
The fight was far from over.
Under the silent gaze of the assembled leaders, Leonard's stance shifted, subtly, but with a gravity that drew attention instantly.
He activated Stage 1 of his Demon Mode.
A surge of pressure pulsed outward, rolling like a tidal wave across the arena. The lights above flickered momentarily, shadows stretching unnaturally long behind him.
Under the aura of the Administrator, tattoos began to appear, flowing like ink made from galaxies, swirling nebulae and constellations crawling across his arms, neck, and face in fractal, shifting patterns. His body shimmered with power not of this world.
And then, black lightning crackled over his skin. Not a simple darkness, but the kind of black that swallowed light, outlined with flickers of crimson and deep violet. It hummed with the same energy that once split gods from men. His demon mode had merged with The Administrator aura.
Midnight's grin faded slightly.
A single bead of sweat rolled down her temple.
Her instincts screamed. This wasn't the same fight anymore.
Leonard vanished.
Midnight raised a shield, too slow.
A blow slammed into her ribs, and she was sent flying across the arena, crashing against the wall in a burst of dust and force. Before she could react, he was already on her again, stepping through space with no more effort than breathing.
She launched a barrage of spells, fire, blades, hexes, but Leonard moved between the casts, dodging them not with haste but with precision. His body moved like a phantom, untouchable, terrifying.
Another strike.
Another blow.
Each hit shattered her guard, sending shockwaves across the arena floor. The very air trembled under his presence. He didn't just overpower her, he erased her momentum, dismantled her patterns, turned her magic against her by simply moving through it.
Midnight tried to jump back, teleport, but the moment her spell cast triggered, Leonard was already behind her.
She turned just in time to see a feet swinging low, he swept her legs clean off the ground.
In a blink, she hit the floor, flat on her back, and before she could blink again, Leonard's fist hovered inches from her throat, poised precisely at the pressure point under her jaw. His eyes, glowing with the infinite darkness of the Administrator, bore into hers.
Silence.
Midnight stared up at him, chest rising and falling, her heart thundering.
"…Tch." She exhaled, then sighed and muttered, "Fine. I surrender."
Leonard didn't move, not for a full second. Then he stepped back, his tattoos dimming, the lightning fading.
A stunned silence swept over the hall, until applause broke out from a few corners, awkward at first, then growing.
DC whistled from his seat, arms crossed. "Damn, TA. You couldn't just knock her out clean, huh? Had to flex."
Midnight groaned from the ground. "That wasn't flexing. That was war crime level."
Leonard chuckled softly as he helped Midnight to her feet. She grumbled something under her breath, brushing dust off her shoulders, and shot him a playful glare. He gave a brief nod, then walked away from the arena, picking up a glass of water from a nearby tray. After taking a long sip, he settled down quietly in a corner of the room, the adrenaline of the fight slowly fading.
The atmosphere in the relaxation chamber had mellowed. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes in countless languages. Small groups of leaders chatted over tea or gathered around board games. The low hum of conversation was a far cry from the tension of the summit's earlier sessions.
From the side, General Wei of the Paranormal 19th Bureau of the People's Republic of China, adjusted his pristine coat before taking the seat opposite Leonard.
"Excellent match, Administrator," General Wei said in fluent English, his tone respectful but warm. "I must admit, I found it quite exhilarating to watch. I would have liked to step into the arena myself, but alas… no matter how skilled I am in martial arts, against beings like you or her, I'm just a normal man."
Leonard offered a small smile, setting his glass aside.
"Don't sell yourself short, General. China's cultivation systems, your mastery of internal energy, and the various thaumaturgic traditions your country employs in the lore, they're nothing to scoff at. I'm sure you'll climb the ranks of the System in no time."
Wei let out a long, thoughtful sigh and looked down at his gloved hands. "Perhaps. But when I see people like you and her, I realize how vast the gap still is. The world has changed, Administrator. If we don't adapt fast enough, we'll be left behind."
Leonard leaned back slightly, nodding in agreement.
"You're right. Power is no longer just about numbers or politics. It's about force, the ability to act when no one else can. And that's exactly what this System is giving us. A second chance to redefine the balance."
Wei's lips curled upward slightly, then he tapped the leather case resting at his side.
"On that note… shall we finalize the terms of our earlier agreement?"
Leonard smirked.
"Of course."
Wei opened the briefcase and carefully retrieved a lacquered red folder, trimmed with golden dragon motifs. The emblem of the 19th Bureau shimmered under the soft light. With practiced grace, he laid it on the table between them and opened it to reveal a set of neatly arranged documents, printed in Mandarin, English, and encrypted administrative glyphs.
Leonard let out a short laugh. "Came prepared, didn't you?"
General Wei chuckled, a trace of humility in his expression. "When you're dealing with the Administrator of the Foundation, it's best not to come empty-handed."
The two men locked eyes for a moment. Mutual understanding passed between them, not as bureaucrats or generals, but as two men who knew what it meant to carry the weight of worlds on their shoulders.
Leonard reached forward, his fingers brushing over the pen provided.
"Let's get this done."
Wei presented the document calmly, sliding it across the table toward Léonard. "Our government wishes to conduct joint deployment operations within China, in collaboration with the Foundation. This is primarily due to our lack of expertise in anti-anomaly combat and the limited knowledge we possess about certain high-risk anomalies."
He tapped the document. "To facilitate this, we're prepared to offer the Foundation access to one of our secured military installations in the Shandong province, not far from Qingdao. Strategically, it sits in an ideal position, between Shanghai and Beijing, allowing for rapid deployment in case of major emergencies. The site is under the direct control of my Bureau, so there will be no bureaucratic hurdles."
Léonard leaned forward slightly, listening intently. "Sounds well thought out. But…?"
Wei sighed. "But the Foundation remains a Western organization. And as such, many senior officials within the government and military are extremely cautious, some even hostile, toward this collaboration. They're actively trying to dissolve the agreement. That pressure is now on the President, and he has placed the burden of success squarely on my shoulders."
He looked Léonard in the eye. "He wants to silence opposition by proving that this partnership can actually work."
Léonard nodded slowly, considering. "Well… I think I have just the right candidate to lead the Foundation's China Branch."
Wei raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Léonard smirked faintly. "One of my most trusted subordinates is of Han descent and has a deep appreciation for China. I'm confident that having someone who understands the culture and politics will ease tensions. At the very least, it will silence the 'Western spy' accusations."
Wei gave a quiet laugh and bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Administrator. That will help immensely."
The two reviewed the contract together, confirming each clause. The terms were straightforward: China would support the Foundation in its efforts to contain or eliminate anomalous threats within the region. In return, the Foundation would receive full access to Chinese territory under the jurisdiction of the 19th Bureau, with support from military and law enforcement upon official request.
Furthermore, the Chinese government would provide financial and logistical support to the Foundation's global operations.
As soon as the contract was signed, Léonard's system chimed with a string of notifications:
[Ding! Congratulations to the Host for establishing the Chinese Branch of the SCP Foundation!]
[Ding! Mobile-Site-CN has been acquired!]
[Ding! You have obtained MTF-辛巳-01 "Storm Butterflies"!]
[Ding! You have obtained MTF-辛巳-07 "The Equipoise"!]
[Ding! You have obtained MTF-辛巳-09 "Sparks in Tearful Eyes"!]
[Ding! You have obtained MTF-辛巳-13 "Holloid Man"!]
Léonard closed the notification window in his mind with a smile and raised his glass toward Wei.
"To the future."
Wei clinked his glass gently against Léonard's.
"To collaboration."
As the summit's first day drew to a quiet close, Leonard stepped out of the lounge, flanked by Graves, Mei Lin, and the six silent operators of Resh-1. Together, they descended to the underground parking levels through a secure elevator, the hum of fluorescent lights echoing softly off concrete walls. Awaiting them, as before, were the three identical black unmarked vehicles, engines already running, windows tinted opaque.
Without a word, the group split and entered the convoy, Leonard in the middle car, Mei Lin and Graves behind, Resh-1 distributed strategically across all three vehicles. The doors shut with soft, practiced clicks. Within seconds, the convoy pulled away from the summit grounds, merging into the city's subdued nighttime traffic.
No escort. No visible insignia. No trace.
They returned without incident to their apartment.
Leonard stepped out of the vehicle, exhaled, and looked up at the night sky for a brief second. The air felt heavier than usual.
Behind him, the rest entered the building.
He followed, the door shutting softly behind him.