Chapter 76: Debriefing
Leonard grabbed his radio and spoke. "Overwatch to all stations. The portal has been successfully closed, and only a few pockets of enemies remain in the area. Capture or exterminate them, and secure the battlefield. Overwatch, out."
The leaders, exhausted but triumphant, sat down, taking a moment to breathe and reflect. Their personal teams appeared on the horizon, gradually surrounding them as Clara broke the silence, offering with a grin, "Not a bad cooperation for a first time, huh? How about we discuss a alliance between us?"
Midnight, draped over DC's mech, waved off the suggestion. "I'm too tired for that. Besides, I need to get home."
DC chimed in, stretching his limbs. "Same here. I'm always down for saving the world, but I definitely don't want to deal with my parents when they're angry. They're terrifying."
Clara nodded, understanding. "I suggest we regroup in 24 hours in the global chat to discuss a better cooperation plan."
The others nodded in agreement, acknowledging that while they worked well together today, more needed to be discussed. Moments later, several helicopters descended near the group, their rotors kicking up dust.
Leonard stood and stretched. "Well, looks like my ride's here." He boarded the helicopter with Resh-1, leaving the battlefield behind.
Suddenly, a system notification popped up in Leonard's vision:
[Ding! You have multiple unopened rewards. Would you like to receive them?]
Leonard shook his head. "Not now. I'm too tired to even think about that." Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was midnight. "How's Graves?" he asked, turning to the operator of Resh-1.
"He's still unconscious, but he should wake up soon," the operator replied.
Leonard pulled out his phone and dialed a number. After a few rings, O5-4 answered. "Boss? How can I assist you?"
"Take care of the situation at Mont Saint-Michel," Leonard said, exhaustion seeping into his voice. "I'm tired as fuck."
"Understood, Boss," O5-4 replied before the call ended.
Leonard leaned back in his seat, gazing out at the landscape flashing by beneath him. His eyes grew heavy, and soon enough, he drifted off into much-needed sleep.
---
In a nearby village, not far from the battlefield, a military tent was set up, surrounded by operators from the Gendastrerie. Inside, Colonel Dumont stood before a video projector, accompanied by a sharply dressed man. The projector displayed a room filled with high-ranking military officials, alongside senior members of the DGSI, DGSE, and the President of France, along with the Minister of Defense.
The President began, his voice weary. "Colonel Dumont, I must confess that I haven't slept a wink, and neither have the people in this room. We followed your battle closely, and I've received several disturbing reports about the situation. However, I'd prefer if you, being on the ground, could give us a full report. Also, who is the gentleman beside you?"
The man in the suit gave a small bow. "I'm Agent Basil Sias, and I will serve as the liaison officer between the Foundation, the Gendastrerie, and the French government."
The moment he spoke, several intelligence officials behind the President fixed their eyes on him, eager and attentive, like predators ready to pounce on fresh prey.
The President nodded. "Greetings, Agent Sias. I have many questions, and I hope you can answer them."
"Of course, Mr. President," Sias replied calmly.
The President continued, "First, what exactly were those things?"
Sias cleared his throat and began, "At the Foundation, we refer to them as Tartarean entities. More commonly, they are known as demons, Djinn, Oni, and other similar terms."
A murmur swept through the room as Sias pressed on. "They are sentient entities from another dimension commonly referred to as SCP-3246 or Hell. This dimension is structured into nine circles."
The President interrupted, his face pale. "Please don't tell me there's a Satan ruling over this Hell?"
Sias allowed himself a small smile. "Well… yes, there is a Satan in Hell."
The President rubbed his temples, clearly overwhelmed. "Go on."
Sias continued, "These demons are categorized into eight distinct types, each corresponding to a particular vice or trait. Of these eight, seven align with the seven deadly sins: we got Acedia-Class (Sloth), Arbor-Class (Lust), Avarice-Class (Greed), Ego-Class (Pride), Ira-Class (Wrath), Nimis-Class (Gluttony), Vainglory-Class (Envy) and Null-Class (All of them or none of them)
After this the demon hierarchy is divided into the Alpha-class et Omega-class. Alpha-class demons (archdemons), such as royalty, often appear as towering jackal-like humanoids.
The Omega-class demons, or imps, are servants, smaller in size and possessing canine features.
As Sias spoke, members of the intelligence agencies furiously took notes. The President asked, "Do we know who exactly attacked us?"
Sias responded, "Therian Theleman, an Ira-class archdemon."
The President asked, "And his current status?"
"Dead," Sias answered. "Killed by our leader and his companions."
The President, overwhelmed by the influx of information, shifted his focus to Colonel Dumont. "Colonel, what's your assessment of Agent Sias?"
Dumont responded, "He would make an excellent consultant and supervisor for the Gendastrerie. His insights could be invaluable for our operations."
The President nodded. "Agent Sias, would you mind stepping outside? I need to speak privately with Colonel Dumont."
Sias exited the tent, leaving the President to turn his attention back to Dumont. "Have you gathered any intel on how the Foundation operates?"
Dumont replied, "Yes, quite a lot. Their forces are split into two main groups: tactical teams and Mobile Task Forces. If I had to compare, the tactical teams are like their regular army, and the MTFs are their elite units. Some of their MTFs, however, seem… abnormal."
The President raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I'll show you." Dumont played videos from the battlefield. The first showed an operator with red tentacles extending from her back, leaping high into the air and tearing through demons with ease. Another video showed a masked operator, who seemed impervious to damage, as a massive rock thrown at him rebounded, smashing back into the giant demon that had hurled it.
Gasps echoed throughout the room as a third video played, showing operators forming luminous circles, launching bolts of lightning, fire, and light at their enemies.
The President exclaimed, "Is that… magic?"
Dumont nodded. "Yes, although their official term is thaumaturgy."
The President's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Could we learn more about this magic?"
"Not right now, but I can ask the Foundation's liaison later," Dumont answered.
Though disappointed, the President continued. "And what else did you discover?"
Dumont paused before revealing, "The Foundation isn't alone. There are other organizations that use or combat these anomalies. We've identified four others."
This revelation almost caused the room to explode in shock. "FOUR other organizations? One is already giving us enough headaches!"
Dumont continued, displaying an image of several people in knightly armor and priestly robes. "This is the Order of Light. After a conversation between one of our operators and one of their members, we've learned that they're a religious organization that worships and protects all life on Earth."
One military officer scoffed. "Swords and shields? They're nothing but a primitive organization."
Dumont shot him a stern look. "Actually, they've caused more damage to the demon army than the combined forces of the French military and Gendastrerie."
The officer fell silent as the rest of the room looked on. Dumont played footage of the Order in action, revealing their devastating efficiency in combat.
Dumont continued her briefing by showing a new photograph of operatives wearing green robes with high-tech equipment. "This is Serpent Hand," she explained. "They heavily rely on what they call 'magic.'"
She then played a video of the Serpent Hand emerging through portals and engaging demons head-on, their tactics swift and decisive. The room buzzed with murmurs.
The President asked, "Do we have any contact with this group?"
Dumont shook her head. "None. Very little is known about them."
She quickly moved on to the next group of photos, revealing towering mechs firing volleys of projectiles and soldiers in advanced tech gear alongside armored vehicles. Each one bore the symbol of a world map crowned with an occult star.
"Here is the Global Occult Coalition," Dumont continued. "Based on our intel, this is a heavily armed organization utilizing both cutting-edge technology and magic. There's also an unverified piece of information: According to a conversation overheard by one of our operators between two Foundation agents, the GOC is essentially the United Nations for the paranormal world—only far more united. They supposedly consist of 108 separate organizations."
The President couldn't contain his shock. "One hundred and eight?!" The room erupted in a mixture of disbelief and murmured conversation.
The President, looking pale, asked, "Colonel Dumont, are you certain?"
"I trust my operators, Mr. President. And based on the tone and nature of the conversation between those agents, I believe it's true."
The President, still processing this revelation, gave a resigned nod. "Alright... Next."
Dumont then shifted to the final set of images. "Lastly, we have this group. We don't know their name, but we know they include professors and possibly even run a school. It may be a school of magic…"
Dumont continued, "The third important piece of information I want to present is that during the same battle, where the other three groups appeared, a fourth group also showed up."
The President, visibly overwhelmed, collapsed back into his chair. "A fourth one?!" He muttered under his breath, "116 organizations... There are 116 paranormal groups and we've known nothing about them?"
In a rare outburst, he turned sharply toward the intelligence officers. "We pay you to keep us informed! How is this possible?!"
The officers bowed their heads in silence, unable to offer any defense.
Still visibly frustrated, the President gestured for Dumont to continue.
She complied: "According to several interviews and overheard conversations from members of these other abnormal groups, we gathered stories about The Chaos Insurgency. From what we've learned, the Chaos Insurgency is a splinter group that broke away from the Foundation. Initially, they were part of the Foundation but rebelled when they wanted to use all the anomalous objects under the Foundation's control to seize power over the world's governments. The Foundation refused any negotiations with them, considering their approach too extreme."
Dumont paused to let the gravity of her words sink in, observing the shocked expressions around the room. She continued: "The Insurgency is reportedly active across third-world countries, using wars and conflict zones as recruitment grounds for fanatics and loyalists. Both the Global Occult Coalition and the Foundation consider the Chaos Insurgency a high-level anomalous terrorist group. They are engaged in a global and interdimensional conflict wherever they encounter Foundation forces."
The room fell silent, stunned. A murmur spread among the military officers and intelligence agents, realizing the scope of the insurgency's infiltration.
The President, looking grave, said, "So they are directly hostile to our nation?"
Dumont nodded. "Yes. In fact, the Insurgency attacked a French frontline post, killing several squads of French soldiers without hesitation. They're clearly enemies of the Republic."
The President leaned back in his chair, still processing the monumental information. "I see... Anything else?"
Dumont stood straight as the president, still in shock, took in her last words. "The Foundation has given us 20 dead demons and 10 alive, currently detained in cages and surrounded by an entire battalion of soldiers."
The president's chair scraped the ground as he shot to his feet. His eyes bulged with disbelief.
"DEAD DEMONS? And ALIVE ones?!" His voice boomed through the tent, silencing everyone inside. His face contorted, trying to process this shocking reality. He pointed toward the military commanders present. "I want a transfer organized immediately. These demons are to be escorted to the most secure French military base we have. I want the size of a damn regiment guarding this transfer! There will be NO MISTAKES. NO INCIDENTS."
The room exploded into motion as the military officers scrambled, clutching their radios, fumbling for their phones. Orders were barked, and the flurry of frantic communication nearly overwhelmed the room. The command center lit up like a battlefield in itself, with a cacophony of voices and hurried footsteps echoing in the enclosed space.
The president, his breathing labored, turned back to Dumont, a stern look in his eyes. "You've done well, Colonel. I'm placing you in charge of all French forces on the ground. Your sole mission is to secure those demons. This is your priority."
"Understood, sir," Dumont replied crisply, her expression set with determination.
"Sir, there's one last piece of information," Dumont said, her tone low but serious.
The president looked up sharply, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as his eyes fixed on her. "Go on."
Dumont straightened, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "Based on several sources I've managed to gather... I have footage—footage that shows the Administrator. The leader of the Foundation."
The room seemed to still. The tension was palpable. The Administrator. The name alone was enough to send a ripple of anticipation through the air. The president, whose fatigue had all but vanished, stared at her with eyes wide and eager for information.
She continued, "At the beginning of the battle, the fleet was attacked by a wave of demons. They managed to repel it, but right after, a second wave of giant demons launched an assault. These demons were capable of attacking with the force of an artillery barrage. Our forces were on the verge of being overwhelmed when a mysterious figure appeared."
She walked over to the console in the center of the tent and pressed a few buttons, bringing up the footage she had gathered. The screen flickered to life, showing the battle in all its chaos and destruction.
Giant rocks rained down on the fleet, each one with the destructive power to cripple a warship. The camera zoomed in on the barrage, just as the air seemed to crackle with electricity. A sudden storm of lightning crashed down from the sky, obliterating the rocks before they could make impact.
And then, out of the smoke and chaos, a lone figure appeared. The silhouette was human, dressed in a long trench coat that billowed in the wind. His face was obscured by a black mask, and in his left hand, he held a crimson book, its cover glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.
The figure raised his right hand. The sky darkened as if bending to his will, and without warning, a shower of meteors rained down upon the giant demons, crushing them under the sheer weight and force of the impact. The video shook violently as the water trembled from the destruction.
One of the generals, who had been calmly sipping his coffee while the video played, suddenly spat out his drink in shock, his eyes wide as saucers. He looked around at the others, unable to believe what he was seeing.
The president leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk. His eyes were locked on the screen, utterly transfixed. "Who... is that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though he already knew the answer.
Dumont looked at him gravely. "That... is the Administrator."
The room fell into an oppressive silence as Dumont's words sank in. The president, who had been sitting forward, staring at the screen in disbelief, slowly leaned back into his chair, his eyes wide with shock.
"The... the Administrator? That's... him?" His voice trembled slightly, a rare crack in his normally composed demeanor.
He stared at the screen where the mysterious figure in the trench coat had obliterated the demonic forces with the raw power of meteors falling from the heavens. The man's masked face, cold and enigmatic, was still burned into his mind. The sheer magnitude of the power on display had shaken him, but now, knowing who it was—the leader of the Foundation, the Administrator—it felt as though the ground had disappeared beneath him.
The president's mind raced. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to regain his composure. "How... how does one man command that kind of power? He's a single person... and yet—" His voice trailed off as the sheer weight of the situation pressed down on him.
"The Administrator..." He looked at Dumont, his expression torn between awe and dread. "If that's the kind of power the Foundation's leader wields, what hope do we have of ever standing on equal footing? How do we deal with an organization that has that as its leader?"
Dumont's face remained unreadable, though her eyes carried a quiet intensity. "That, sir, is exactly what we need to figure out."
The president let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling as if searching for answers among the cracks in the plaster. The world had always been chaotic, but now, it felt like they were playing a game where they didn't even know the rules. And the Administrator? He wasn't just a player. He was the game master.
As the call ended, the president leaned back, momentarily overcome by the enormity of the situation. He let out a deep sigh, waving his hand towards the room. "Everyone, out."
Silence fell. One by one, the officers and staff quietly left the tent, exchanging worried glances as they exited. Left alone, the president slumped into his chair, his hands running through his hair as if trying to grasp the scale of what had just been revealed.
"What the hell have we missed?" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, laden with exhaustion and disbelief. "Is it me who's upside down, or is it the whole world?"