Chapter 11: Event, Start!
Albedo stood motionless beside the obsidian throne, her golden eyes fixed on the distant doors of the Throne Room. Time held no meaning in this place, the heart of Nazarick, where the very air hung heavy with the weight of centuries. And yet, lately, a curious sensation had begun to stir.
She remembered it clearly.
It had started suddenly, without warning or explanation. The Supreme Being, Lord Momonga, had begun to act strangely.
His visits to the Throne Room, once a comforting constant in the unchanging landscape, carried an undercurrent of restlessness. She watched, unmoving, as his skeletal fingers drummed an erratic beat against the mass of obsidian he sat upon. Those red pinpricks of light that served as his eyes darted about, searching the shadows as if expecting some unseen threat to materialise at any moment.
If Albedo were capable of it, she might have frowned at this development. But her porcelain features, lovingly crafted by the Supreme Beings themselves, allowed for no such expression. Instead, she remained as she always had been—the picture of absolute, untroubled beauty, a diamond of flawless perfection amidst the grandeur of the Throne Room.
Lord Momonga, the most exalted of the Supreme Beings, the ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick… anxious? The very notion bordered on blasphemy. What could possibly unsettle one such as he, god among gods?
It was not her place to question, and yet, the wrongness of it all pressed against her heart, an unfamiliar weight that grew heavier with each passing day.
She longed to go to him, to prostrate herself at his feet and beg to share in his burdens. To offer herself, wholly and completely, in service of easing his troubles. And yet, her creators had gifted her with intelligence enough to know her place. She was to stand guard, to await orders. No more, no less.
And so she waited.
Days blended in an endless vigil as she watched Momonga increase his efforts. He doubled his trips to the dungeons to gather gold and materials. He triple-checked each trap and defense that dotted each hall of the Great Tomb.
All the while, Albedo watched her master with unblinking intensity, committing every detail of his growing unease to her flawless memory. The way his bony fingers would hesitate over the ethereal controls that floated before him as if second-guessing decisions only he could comprehend. The soft sighs that escaped his lipless mouth, carried the weight of some unspoken burden.
"Blaze of Myriad Worlds Event, huh."
Once, in a moment that seared itself into Albedo's perfect recall, she'd heard him utter a name. Two words, spoken so softly that they might have been lost to the cavernous expanse of the Throne Room, had Albedo not been listening with every fiber of her being:
"And the Crimson Demon is making a return."
The name hung in the air like a curse, a promise of ruin and devastation wrapped in a mantle of blood. Something ancient and primal stirred, a flicker of recognition that danced at the edges of her understanding.
The Crimson Demon… the words tasted of fire and ash on her tongue, though she had no true sense of either. A being of immense power whispered of in the darkest corners of Nazarick, a bogeyman to frighten unruly players into obedience.
Albedo searched deep into the vast repository of knowledge gifted to her upon her creation, sifting through a millennium of lore in search of answers. And there, buried beneath layers of carefully curated information, she found it. A fragment of a conversation, overheard long ago as she'd stood silent vigil over her creators' machinations.
The great Tabula Smaragdina, her beloved maker, had spoken of a cult that had risen even before Albedo's creation. Fanatics dedicated to the worship of chaos and destruction, who saw in the Crimson Demon a messiah of ruination.
They'd clashed with the forces of Nazarick, vicious battles fought across dozens of worlds—all naturally crushed beneath the might of the Supreme Beings.
If the Guardian Overseer were permitted to show emotion on her face, her perfect lips would've curled in distaste. The very idea was laughable. Why should anyone worship a false deity when the Supreme Beings were the only ones worth revering? She felt a deep hatred for this Crimson Demon, this usurper who dared to challenge the rightful order of things.
And yet… hadn't the Crimson Demon vanished long ago?
There weren't records stating why, but it was rather obvious to Albedo that the Supreme Beings took it upon themselves to vanquish the false god. Albedo remembered the satisfaction in Tabula's voice after an excursion against the blind faithful, "Good riddance." The threat had passed.
And so it had been. Until now.
Lord Momonga must've uncovered some sign, some herald of the Crimson Demon's impending return.
An ancient enemy had somehow managed to claw their way back from the abyss of defeat, and Momonga alone had to stand to face it.
As she stood motionless beside the Throne of Kings, Albedo's mind considered everything carefully. If the Crimson Demon threatened Nazarick, no doubt she would fly into action to strike them down. Yet… how could she, bound as she was to this singular spot?
The question nagged at her, a splinter in the perfect logic of her existence. She was the Guardian Overseer, the highest-ranked NPC in Nazarick. Surely, she should be doing… more?
But no. It was not Albedo's place to question, only to obey. Lord Tabula, in his boundless wisdom, had placed her here. And here she would remain. To do otherwise would be to cast doubt upon the infallible judgment of the Supreme Ones.
And so she waited.
She stood, poised and perfect, a statue of breathtaking beauty amidst the growing miasma of unease that swirled thickly through the halls of the Great Tomb.
With each moment, Albedo became increasingly aware of… inconsistencies within her meticulously ordered world.
Tiny imperfections, flickering at the edges of her perception like shadows glimpsed from the corner of one's eye. Chandeliers that guttered and dimmed for the space of a single heartbeat, shadows pooling in spaces where by all laws of logic, no darkness should've dwelled. The faintest whiff of an scorched breeze, stirring the stagnant air of the Throne Room for the briefest of moments before vanishing once more.
The wrongness of it all gnawed at Albedo like a rat worrying at a bone, relentless and unceasing.
It was no doubt the influence of the Crimson Demon, already at work sowing seeds of chaos and destruction within the very heart of Nazarick. Had they somehow managed to breach the impenetrable defences of the Great Tomb, slipping past the legions of guardians and traps to strike at the very seat of the Supreme Beings' power?
Her eyes rested on Ginnungagap, held delicately in her hands. A weapon of immeasurable power that she, in all her years of service, had never once raised. Would the time soon come when she would be called upon to wield it in defence of all she held dear?
And so she waited.
Even as the shadows lengthened and the air grew thick with a tension so palpable it could almost be cut, she held her vigil. Unmoving. Unblinking. A perfect servant, even as the very fabric of reality began to fray and strain around her.
Until, with a suddenness that might've startled her had she possessed the capacity for it, everything changed. Lord Momonga, silent and still upon his onyx throne, stirred for the first time.
"It is time. Follow me," he said.
A single command, spoken from the one being in all of creation she was powerless to deny. Her limbs, frozen in place for so long that they might well have been carved from the same stone as the floor beneath her feet, suddenly flew into motion.
She fell into step behind her master, and a strange new sensation blossomed within Albedo's chest. It took her a moment to recognise it for what it was, so foreign was the feeling to her tightly controlled psyche.
Relief.
The battle between duty and desire had been resolved with just two words from her lord. The chains of her prior command fell away, replaced by the comforting weight of a new directive.
Even as Albedo revelled in the blessed simplicity of her new role, a lingering sense of unease followed close at her heels. For though the Supreme One had granted her reprieve from her eternal watch, the shadows that had so plagued her thoughts remained. If anything, they seemed to grow deeper with each step she took at Momonga's side.
The familiar halls of Nazarick seemed to twist around her, reality was straining under the weight of some unseen force. Fractures spread across the once-flawless marble walls, thin and delicate. In the shadowed recesses of the corridors, tiny flames flickered to life, white and red, dancing to the rhythm of a rising tide of chaos.
Momonga's skeletal hands moved in intricate patterns, manipulating unseen screens and interfaces. He seemed to be taking inventory of Albedo's equipment, his attention hovering over each item with meticulous care. When his eyes fell upon a particular slot, he paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his fleshless features.
"Ginnungagap," he murmured. "Tabula, you sly devil. To sneak this into her inventory before you left…"
He glanced back at Albedo, a glimmer of something akin to sorrow in his burning gaze.
"…I know you want to see them too," he said softly. "But it seems even this event isn't enough to bring them back."
Albedo's heart clenched, but she showed no outward sign of it. She knew, without being told, that Momonga spoke of the other Supreme Beings. The great lords and ladies who had once breathed life into Nazarick with their presence. Lord Tabula, her creator, the architect of her entire being… even he abandoned this place.
And now, as the world crumbled around them, as the Crimson Demon's vile influence seeped into every crack and crevice, Albedo realised the truth.
Even the return of their greatest enemy, the threat of total annihilation, was not enough to call the Supreme Ones back to Nazarick's defence. They were truly gone, lost to the mists of time and memory.
But Momonga remained.
The last of the Forty-One, the final bastion of hope in a world teetering on the brink of oblivion. And Albedo would stand at his side until the very end. Even as the flames climbed higher and the shadows grew deeper, she would be his sword and shield, his unwavering servant in the face of certain apocalypse.
For what else did she have, in this world or any other, but her loyalty?
The Crimson Demon was coming. And Nazarick trembled before their imminent arrival.
A familiar thrill coursed through Megumin as she stepped into the full-dive VR pod, a sensation she'd all but forgotten in the years since she'd last logged into Yggdrasil. The sleek, cutting-edge hardware hummed to life around her, a world removed from the clunky setup she'd once used in her cramped apartment.
As Yggdrasil materialised around her, Megumin found herself overwhelmed by the crisp, high-fidelity visuals. Each pixel was rendered with painstaking detail, from the individual grains of obsidian beneath her feet to the swirling eddies of superheated air that distorted the horizon.
"Take a moment to acclimate," Nakamura's voice echoed in her mind. "There's no rush. Years of performance patches and being hooked up to a dev machine will do that to you."
Megumin nodded, though she knew they couldn't see the gesture. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensory input flooding her consciousness. From the obsidian shards that crunched beneath her feet to the shimmering heat haze that painted the horizon in a mesmerising mirage—all of it was rendered in exquisite detail by Yggdrasil's systems.
When she opened her eyes again, Megumin found herself atop a craggy peak in Muspelheim, the realm of fire stretching out before her in all its infernal glory. Rivers of lava carved glowing veins across the blackened landscape, while in the distance, great volcanoes belched ash and flame into the permanently twilit sky.
It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was home.
For a moment, Megumin could almost forget the sterile office she'd left behind, the years of corporate drudgery that had dulled her once-vibrant spirit. Here, she was the Crimson Demon once more. And she had a job to do.
"Unlimited power," she breathed, her eyes widened as she pulled up her character menu. "They really weren't kidding."
The developers had granted her access to almost every skill, every spell, every item in Yggdrasil's vast compendium. It was dizzying, overwhelming—and utterly intoxicating.
"Let's start with the basics," Megumin murmured, navigating to her unique character customisation screen. It was time to reclaim her true form.
Her fingers flew across the interface, adjusting sliders and toggling options. It took some getting used to, but she watched with growing excitement as her avatar transformed before her eyes.
Gone was the simple palette-swapped human of her earlier days. In its place stood a true Crimson Demon. Those eyes, she noticed with delight, now glowed with an inner fire, leaving faint trails of light as she moved her gaze.
Next came her mage outfit. The crimson robe materialised around her, its fabric shimmering like captured starlight. Dwarven runes and sigils adorned its surface, mostly cosmetic, but undeniably cool.
Her trusty staff appeared. A simple wooden implement, but with it came adorned a crimson orb of terrifying potential, swirling with miniature galaxies of destructive energy.
As a final touch, Megumin equipped the eyepatch in her inventory. She grinned as she saw the item description pop up:
[Apocalypse's Veil]
[World Class Item: When removed, gain stackable modifier 'Crimson Chaos' every 30 seconds. Each stack of 'Crimson Chaos' doubles the regeneration rate and max stored limit of HP, MP, and MAG ATK. Reequipping removes all stacks.]
[In the age before time, a being of unfathomable power arose. Its mere existence threatened the fabric of reality, inviting destruction on a scale even the divine could not comprehend.
The gods, in their desperation, intervened directly—a violation of their most sacred laws. United in purpose, they forged this seal from the essence of order itself, the only World Item not born of Yggdrasil's boughs. To remove it is to challenge fate, to embrace the primordial chaos, and to ascend beyond the boundaries of godhood itself.]
"Perfect," Megumin nodded smugly. "Because every good boss needs a second phase."
With her appearance set, Megumin turned her attention to her character sheet. Her eyes widened as she saw the level indicator: 150+.
"Nakamura-san," she called out, knowing the dev team was monitoring her session. "What's my true level? This can't be right."
A message window popped up almost immediately:
[From: Nakamura-san]
[To be honest, we weren't entirely sure how to quantify your current power level. The systems used to calculate player stats simply do not handle the kind of abilities given to you. 150+ was an arbitrary choice. Your true capabilities far exceed anything we've implemented before. You're quite literally off the charts, Crimson Demon.]
Megumin preened at the undeserved praise. In her corporate life, she'd grown accustomed to carefully measured congratulations and tightly controlled expectations. But this… it was different. This was the rush of being truly unleashed, of having no limits but those she chose to impose on herself.
She explored her spell list, marvelling at the sheer number of options available to her. Every school of magic lay open before her, from the subtlest illusions to the mightiest of destructive forces.
But Megumin knew exactly where to start.
She navigated to the familiar icon of her signature spell. Despite only being of the 9th tier, she knew it wouldn't plateau as it once had. Custom metamagics appeared, one after another: [Greater Recursive Magic]. [Surge Magic]. [Lingering Magic]. They called to her, begging to be unleashed in a glorious conflagration of raw, primal power.
"Oh yes," she breathed, a grin spreading across her face. "This will do nicely."
Megumin eyed her staff, watching as constellations of runes blazed to life along its length. They pulsed in time with the game's background music, an epic orchestral piece that swelled as she prepared to cast.
"Nakamura-san," Megumin called out, her voice thrumming with excitement. "I'm ready."
A confirmation chime sounded, and a small notification appeared in her peripheral vision: [World Broadcast Active].
Satisfied, Megumin raised her staff high. Her inventory was stocked with hundreds of thousands of cash shop items, enough to reduce her spell cooldowns to zero and unleash devastation in an instant. But not this time. No, this moment called for the full spectacle, the buildup, the anticipation.
She took a deep breath, savouring the moment. Here, atop this hellish peak, Megumin was whole again.
She began her incantation, her voice ringing out clear and strong across the barren landscape:
"Crimson-black blaze, king of myriad worlds!"
The words of her incantation echoed across the barren hellscape and beyond. Players across Yggdrasil paused in their activities, eyes widening as they heard the voice of the apocalypse given form. In towns and cities, in dungeons and raids, adventurers and heroes alike turned their gaze to the sky, watching in awe and terror as reality itself began to unravel.
"My time of awakening cometh!"
The ground shook beneath Megumin's feet, great fissures opening up like the maws of some primordial beast. Molten rock bubbled up from the depths, painting the landscape in shades of hellfire and damnation.
"I am the alias of destruction incarnate!"
Above, the skies roiled with eldritch energy, storm clouds gathering and dispersing in time to the beat of Megumin's incantation. Lightning danced between the clouds, each bolt a searing lance of blinding radiance.
"Justice, fallen upon the infallible boundary!"
Reality warped and twisted, the laws of Yggdrasil bending to the Crimson Demon's will. In every realm, players watched in awe and terror as their world faced its final test. Mountains crumbled, oceans boiled, and dungeons collapsed.
"Appear now as an intangible distortion!"
The World Tree groaned, its massive branches swaying as if caught in the grip of some invisible hurricane. Leaves of data rained down upon the realms, dissolving into shimmering streams of ones and zeros as they fell.
"Dance, dance, dance!"
This was it.
The moment she had been waiting for since the day she first discovered the joy of explosions. A lifetime of obsession, of single-minded devotion to the art of destruction, all leading up to this singular point in time.
"Let the collapse of thine Yggdrasil manifest!"
The air itself seemed to catch fire as Megumin's spell reached its zenith. She was infinite—a being wholly unbound by the constraints of mortal imagination.
"Return all creation to cinders, and come frome the abyss!"
Megumin's grin widened to near-manic proportions, savouring the seconds of perfect stillness before the storm. Then, with all the force her virtual lungs could muster, she bellowed the final word:
"[EXPLOOOOOSION]~!"
The Crimson Demon had returned.