MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

The Blue Planet lay in a deceptive calm, its inhabitants carrying on with their daily routines, unaware that the tides of fate were about to turn.

Without warning, a tremor rippled across every Domain. In an instant, Guilds, Great Houses, Clans, and every establishment of power received a singular, unified directive, delivered anonymously, yet undeniably authoritative.

It was an order to eradicate the Forsaken Cult.

Precise coordinates were disclosed. The hidden identities of embedded cultists, those who had infiltrated various organizations as spies, were exposed and swiftly silenced.

There were no councils convened. No assemblies called. No rendezvous points arranged.

The moment the details were received, every force mobilized. The Dragon Demon, the Elf Domain, the Human Domain, the Vampire Domain, and the Were-Beast Territories, all moved in synchrony.

The world, fractured and diverse as it was, found itself united by a singular purpose, without discussion, without hesitation.

Because those who held true power understood one thing: the military stood at the pinnacle of authority on the Blue Planet.

Across the world, panic took hold like wildfire. Ordinary lives were upended in an instant as terrified screams pierced the air and chaos erupted in the streets. People abandoned their daily routines, scrambling in desperation to find shelter.

Explosions thundered from every direction, distant yet deafening, their origins unknown. The sounds of conflict echoed across cities, towns, and villages, signaling that something catastrophic had begun.

Shops shuttered without warning. Restaurants were evacuated mid-meal. Shopping malls hastily sealed their entrances as if trying to barricade themselves from the encroaching storm. The once-familiar world had morphed into something unrecognizable, an unfolding apocalypse.

A stampede surged through the streets, millions fleeing with no destination in mind, only the instinct to survive. None knew the full story, and in that moment, none cared. The only thought was escape, home, if they could reach it… or anywhere that felt remotely safe.

Children were swept off their feet, trampled in the frantic rush. Mothers cried out their names, voices hoarse with fear. The sound of sobbing merged with the cacophony of chaos. Tears streamed from countless eyes, blurring a world already consumed by fear.

Those who were already at home did the only thing they could, they locked their doors, sealed their windows, and turned to the internet in search of answers. In an age where information traveled faster than sound, the digital world had always been the most reliable source of real-time news.

And yet, nothing could have prepared them for what happened next.

As countless hands lifted their phones, tablets, and screens, the devices abruptly flickered. The usual interfaces vanished, replaced by a single synchronized broadcast.

A man appeared, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a featureless mask, holding a microphone in one gloved hand. His presence was calm, composed… calculated.

No one panicked at the sight. There was no confusion, no outrage. They all recognized him.

He was not affiliated with any nation, Guild, or Domain, yet he delivered news with an accuracy none could dispute. No one knew his name, his face, or his location. Theories abounded, technomancer, technopath, or perhaps something beyond comprehension, but his abilities had never been confirmed.

What mattered was that when he spoke, the world listened.

And now, he had appeared once more.

"Welcome, everyone. It's your favorite broadcaster, StreamGhost," the masked figure declared, his voice smooth and electrifying. As he smiled, the sleek surface of his mask seemed to shift subtly with his expression, an unsettling mimicry of human emotion.

"Let's skip the dull monologues," he continued with a smirk, his tone casual yet laced with tension that only heightened the unease of those watching from the shadows of their homes. "I bring you the greatest news in modern history, and the cause behind the chaos unraveling before your very eyes."

Across the globe, viewers clutched their devices tighter. Fear, curiosity, and anticipation mingled in the air like static electricity.

"The world, yes, the entire world, has declared war." His voice rose with thrilling intensity. "The unified military forces, all Race Domains, every Guild, every Organization of power, have come together in a single, sweeping strike against the Forsaken Cult… so that you may live a peaceful, ordinary life."

He suddenly shouted with infectious enthusiasm, arms raised as if announcing the beginning of a grand festival. "And, as always, my cameras are everywhere, embedded in every battlefield, every front line. Livestreaming this once-in-history moment! They shall remain eternal across the net."

Then, leaning slightly toward the screen, his tone dipped into a conspiratorial glee. "And for today only, I've removed the paywall. No Quarks required. Consider it my gift to the terrified masses."

The mask curled again into a sharp grin, like a showman at the peak of performance. "Select any livestream and enjoy the carnage. But if you want real entertainment, if you crave something legendary, then I suggest tuning into the feed from the Forsaken Cult's headquarters."

He paused for dramatic effect, his voice dropping into a reverent whisper before rising again with unrestrained excitement.

"There, standing boldly at the heart of it all… is the most handsome, most searched, most infamous boy on the net, the one who vanished for a year, only to return as a soldier of the military. You know him. The one with the unlimited card and an equally unlimited flair, the Money God himself!"

StreamGhost flung his hands toward the viewers, as if presenting a crowned champion to the world.

"The Heaven's Favored Child! Survivor of demon attacks, slayer of cult conspiracies… NULL ANTHONY!"

His voice rang like thunder, shaking not the walls but the very nerves of all who listened.

At that very moment, the broadcast shifted.

The screen flickered once, and then revealed him.

Anthony hovered high above the battlefield, suspended in the sky with an effortless stillness. His expression was composed, almost serene, as if the chaos unfolding beneath him couldn't touch the calmness in his eyes. The wind danced through his hair, strands swaying like banners as the heavens themselves seemed to hold their breath.

The world watched in silence.

Everyone knew Anthony. The name alone had become a legend, an icon of mystery, power, and wealth. Yet few had ever seen him fight.

Only two public recordings of his battles had ever surfaced: the first during the devastating demon assault on Omni-Peak Academy, and the second during his Academy examination, both anonymously released by StreamGhost at the peak of Anthony's explosive rise to fame.

Now, that same technopath had returned to place Anthony center stage once more.

With his unmatched ability to tap into every corner of the digital web, StreamGhost had chosen to make Anthony the face of today's reckoning, the symbol of humanity's resistance, the spectacle the world could not turn away from.

And with his final words echoing in the minds of millions, StreamGhost's masked figure vanished from every screen, his broadcast dissolving like mist.

The choice was now left to the people: countless livestreams from countless fronts. Yet all eyes, all attention, all wonder, inevitably drifted to one.

To him.

To NULL ANTHONY.

Anthony lifted a single hand, and with a soft mechanical hiss, the hatch of the aircraft above him slid open.

From within, his teammates emerged, silent, focused, and burning with restrained power.

Until now, their presence had remained hidden, shrouded beneath a seamless illusion woven by Anthony himself. Not a single enemy had noticed their approach. But that concealment was no longer needed.

It was time for devastation.

The illusion peeled away like mist at dawn, revealing the sleek warship that hovered in the sky. As it materialized, a pulse erupted outward, an overwhelming wave of aura and raw presence that swept across the battlefield like a shockwave. The very air seemed to buckle beneath the release.

Weapons were drawn with fluid precision, spears, rapier, daggers, katana, each an extension of the soul that wielded it. Mana surged, spiritual energy flared, and not a single reserve was held back. They had trained in silence, improved in shadows, and now, they would reveal their sharpened might to the world.

Muscles tightened. Eyes locked forward. No words were spoken.

Then, with a thunderous boom, they launched.

Their bodies blurred into streaks of motion, darting through the sky with impossible speed, scattering in no set formation. There was no need for orders. The battlefield was vast, but their purpose was singular: seek the taint of chaos energy, and annihilate it.

Wherever the scent of corruption lingered, they descended like wolves upon prey, merciless and absolute.

Vega stood on a ledge, she had never witnessed an event of this level. She had always wanted to see one, but her overprotective father had kept her way too close.

Now, she could rampage.

She wouldn't introduce herself to the world. No, that would be too modest.

The world would introduce itself to her.

And it would never forget her name.