Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Albedo could not wrap her head around it. Mouth agape, she mentally pinched herself.

Was this really happening?

One minute they had been listening to Lord Ainz’s charming voice, avidly discussing plans to gradually absorb the Baharuth Empire fully into the Sorcerer Kingdom, and the next they heard Shalltear whip her head around and gasp loudly.

How had this human reached the throne room? Did he sneak in?

While they had been absorbed in their conversation, bouncing ideas back-and-forth, it wasn't as if they were being purposefully careless. Far from it.

The Ariadne System forced them to create a direct path to the core of Nazarick, yes, but the guards should have stopped them. Literally thousands of creatures. It was the definition of overkill. Additionally, there were only a small handful of mortals powerful enough to go against a Death Knight and come out unscathed, especially in the New World.

In other words, there hadn't been anything to worry about. Until now.

But there was no time to dwell on the ‘how’. They needed to nip the issue in the bud, eviscerate it so that not even ashes remained.

Snapping back to reality, Albedo commanded the guardians:

“Ready your weapons—Protect Lord Ainz!”

As Ginnungagap transformed into a halberd, she gripped the handle with lethal intent. Whoever this insolent intruder was, she would see to it that they paid for their transgression. Dearly.

A mad grin tore across her lips. Slits for pupils retracted into pinpricks, floating dots in her golden eyes, flashing dangerously. Her hair seemed to gain sentience. Dark strands floated up into the air like snake tails.

How unlucky of this foolish invader to walk right into the throne room as Lord Ainz held an audience of six floor guardians, the head butler, and the guardian of the treasury. This was the lions’ den.

They didn't stand a chance.

Shalltear snarled, flexing her claws. She would not fail her lord again. This would be her chance at redemption.

Aura and Mare looked downright murderous. How dare they walk onto holy ground?

[ Piercing Icicles ]

Cocytus wasted no time. A barrage of icicles rained down on the invader. A cloud of steam rose up, hissing.

Demiurge snatched Victim and held him close to his chest, ready to crush the angel at the slightest provocation.

Victim closed his eyes, having made his peace—this was his entire reason for existing. Perishing for his master was the natural end to his otherwise short life.

The steam lifted, revealing an unharmed subject. Dark brown hair cast a shadow over his eyes. Orb in hand, he raised it to the sky, where it began to pulsate and glow.

Sensing danger, Pandora's Actor practically flew to his Creator, shifting into his likeness.

Light filled the Great Hall. A beam shot out directly at Lord Ainz.

Albedo gasped; while no attack could come close to causing the Supreme One any noticeable damage, she could not help but feel panicked at the suggestion that he could be harmed.

“Stop him!” she shouted.

“Already on it! Die!”

Shalltear pounced, mouth full of needle sharp teeth. Should her fangs sink into the intruder's supple flesh they would be sucked dry and turned into a husk within seconds.

[ Vine ]

Mare's wall of vines burst from the ground, cracking through the tiles and shooting to the ceiling where they spread and took root, forming a rudimentary curtain of foliage.

With a hearty crack, Aura swung her whip to loop around the invader’s ankle and drag him to the floor. She had it in mind to sling him around like a rag doll, perhaps splattering the floor with his guts for his impudence.

But it was too late. The attack would reach Lord Ainz.

It all happened in slow motion.

Seizing Lord Ainz, Albedo swung him out of the way with all her might. Lord Ainz was deftly caught by Sebas, who quickly ushered him to safety.

“Ah!”

Albedo let out a small yelp as she crashed headlong into Demiurge, who had also intended to move Lord Ainz out of harm's way. Unfortunately, he had taken a detour to grab Victim and was thus late.

His efforts went to waste as he dropped the poor angel. Victim let out a distressed squeak as he hit the ground and tumbled down the steps like a ragdoll.

Demiurge would have apologized profusely, but he was quite literally wrapped up at the moment. Albedo attempted to shove him away and perhaps berate him for his punctuality, but she could not utter a word. Her eyes were locked on what was quickly approaching.

The beam of light had them in their sights. Albedo and Demiurge would not be able to dodge the attack without first untangling themselves, and even then they would not be able to escape its range.

“Should the circumstances arise, I would have to choose the floor guardians over you…”

Remembering his Creator's words, Pandora’s Actor leapt in front of them, catching the beam that had pierced through Mare’s vines like a hot knife through butter with his body.

Although he had the right idea, it turned out to be a multitarget attack, rendering Pandora's Actor's sacrifice mostly in vain. Demiurge and Albedo were spared the initial contact, but not a moment later did the effects reach them.

Searing light enveloped the three of them, so bright that they had to squeeze their eyes shut or risk being blinded.

It was as if the Great Hall had been flung into a collapsing star. The radiance filled the room to its entirety and sapped the strength of those caught in its direct impact.

Albedo felt her body go limp. Her eyelids drooped. The world around her started to mix and churn like a watercolor painting.

This was it.

Albedo, knowing her beloved was safe, held no regrets.

Let darkness take her.

Albedo found herself in a strange place.

The tall ceiling and wide berth of the Great Hall had been replaced with a cramped room a quarter of the size of Lord Ainz’s walk-in closet.

Dark walls sported stains from what Albedo surmised was prolonged water damage. The ceiling was drooping in some places, and the wood floor was even worse for wear. The planks were rotten; one wrong step and they risked falling through.

Demiurge had the misfortune of sharing the confined space with her. His displeasure, as indicated by his twitching tail, was only outweighed by his curiosity.

He examined a strange metal box. It appeared to be linked via a series of cables to a chair. Cracked faux leather was frayed at the seams. A futuristic helmet rested on the worn seat.

Lord Ainz was nowhere to be found. They called and searched high and low, but he did not respond. The other guardians were also not present.

The issue of Lord Ainz’s safety was not at question. Even without the three of them, the rest of the servants, as well as the Pleiades, would be enough to tear the invader to shreds in the most painful fashion.

By all accounts, the invader appeared to be an ordinary human. It had been the orb that seemed to be the source of his power—and perhaps the method by which he slipped in undetected. Nevertheless, their inability to witness whatever followed their disappearance unnerved them.

Once the initial panic of their separation subsided, they settled into a state of confusion and cautious intrigue.

“Das ist seltsam…”

Pandora's Actor, who Albedo tried to ignore, made his presence known. He was in an even stranger predicament.

Inexplicably, he had taken the form of a man with dark brown hair, roughly in his thirties. How he had done so, even he was stumped by. He did not sense magic or stats above that of a normal, albeit malnourished human in this body.

Pandora's Actor stared into a filthy cracked mirror, turning his head at various angles.

“Hmm…most strange indeed…” he mused.

Albedo paced, her agitation growing by the minute. Demiurge lost interest in the metal contraption after a moment and joined her; the anxiety seemed to be infectious.

“What is it, Pandora's Actor?” Demiurge asked, tilting his head.

“I was wondering why Lord Ainz didn’t detect the invader.”

“You dare question the Supreme One's competence?” Albedo snarled, eyes flashing. Disparaging remarks about Lord Ainz had her up in arms, no matter how benign.

Demiurge put a hand up.

“Hold on, Albedo. He has a point. The invader made it all the way to the throne room undetected. Even when he attacked, Lord Ainz made no move, and appeared to sit on the throne dumbfounded.”

Albedo rounded on him. “Blasphemy! He is not dumb—”

“I said ‘appeared’. Naturally, Lord Ainz is far too cunning to not have realized the situation. No, it is more accurate to say that he predicted this outcome.”

Albedo blinked. “He knew all along? Lord Ainz purposefully hid the invader’s presence in order to test us?”

Demiurge’s growing grin prompted her train of thought to jump the rails. The gears in her head began to spin, faster and faster until she raced down an imaginary racetrack into undiscovered territory. Her imagination went into overdrive, and she began to form a mindmap. A testament to her creativity—or her ability to conjure up excuses when it suited her.

It clicked into place. So that's how it was! As expected of Lord Ainz!

She responded slowly, “He was counting on us to protect him. But then, why are we here?”

“I humbly theorize that this is the second phase of the test. It's just the tip of his magnificent plan.”

Albedo puffed out her chest. “Hah! We succeeded where the others failed. They ought to be ashamed.”

Pandora's Actor stroked his chin. “If the first test was to determine who would prioritize Lord Ainz and sacrifice themselves for his sake, what is the second test?”

Even Demiurge was stumped. “That I do not know. But if it is the Supreme One's design, we can rest assured that the purpose will reveal itself in due time.”

His response left them uneasy. If they couldn't discern Lord Ainz’s intentions, they'd disappoint him. He was no doubt counting on them to solve this riddle.

“Let us regroup,” Albedo announced. “It appears we have been brought to an unknown land. We must take caution. We do not know what hostiles we may encounter or whether we will even be able to defeat them.”

Pandora's Actor did not cease his ministrations in the mirror, tugging at the corners of his lips, which seemed to be in a perpetual downturn. He stretched them into an unfitting lopsided grin.

Though he appeared distracted, he was actually listening carefully. The others knew this and continued their discussion without pause.

“Shall we use the protocol we established when we were first transported into the New World?” asked Demiurge. “It would save time.”

Albedo nodded. “Pandora's Actor, focus on gathering intel. Demiurge and I will fortify defenses. For now, this place shall serve as our headquarters.”

This was a more challenging task than they initially assumed.

Their first effort had been to call upon [ Teleportation ] to whisk them back to the grassy plains outside the Great Tomb. However, they remained in place, their surroundings unchanged.

Frustrated, Albedo recklessly attempted [ Poison Mist ]. Frazzled himself, Demiurge managed to keep his wits about him and tried to hold her back, as the telltale snoring of slumbering neighbors were audible through the paper thin walls.

But Albedo had foreseen his intervention and weaseled out of grasp.

It would have been an issue if they drew attention and alerted every hostile party in the area to their location, but to Demiurge’s relief—and horror—nothing happened.

Hissing fumes did not fill the apartment with noxious gas. The wallpaper did not shrivel and blister.

In fact, there was a noticeable absence of any magical signature. Albedo simply looked as if she were putting her hand out to stop an unseen foe. Feeling rather silly, she stared down at her palms as if they had staged an uprising of their own volition and done her a disservice.

The three were puzzled, but it begged further experimentation, seeing as their chances of causing any noticeable impact on their surroundings were low.

Incantations such as [ Fireball ] and [ Summon: Dark Elemental ] also failed, but something like [ Wall of Jericho ] faced no issues.

While she could not use most of her magic, Albedo still had her trusty Ginnungagap, which continued to radiate its power undiminished. She willed it to transform into her signature halberd with ease, giving it a few swings. The blade sliced through the air with a woosh. A lamp was snapped in two with the slightest touch.

Magic items still functioned. Problem was, they hadn't been carrying anything else except for their given World Items before being transported. Additionally, relying on World Items was not sustainable or practical. They were meant to be used as a last line of defense, and since they were in unfamiliar territory, it was best to err on the side of caution and keep their cards close to their chests.

Pandora's Actor gripped a small mug and gave the barest squeeze. The porcelain burst like a balloon, shattering into a hundred pieces.

Testing wrapped up on a dour note. A large portion of their magic was inaccessible, as if sealed off. Everything else remained unchanged.

In other words, they were limited to brute strength and defensive capabilities.

Whatever the invader had done, it was effective. They could only hope and wait for the status effect to wear off. When that was, they hadn't a clue.

They settled on using a simple barrier. It would prevent any hostile forces below level sixty from detecting their presence. However, higher level entities would be able to breach it. They had also laid several magic traps as a secondary measure, intended to capture instead of kill. Information was key, after all.

Pandora's Actor rifled through his pockets and discovered an identification card.

Judging by the photo, Suzuki Satoru was the name of his current appearance. He looked every bit as downtrodden and miserable in his photo as he did in person. It didn't suit him, Pandora's Actor thought.

A sense of familiarity and warmth filled Pandora's Actor’s chest. Who was this man? Why did he feel such a connection with him? Why did he want him to be happy?

A pile of old mail revealed Suzuki Satoru had numerous outstanding bills. Many consisted of loans with high interest rates. Apparently he had neglected his emails, so his debtors sought to contact him via paper. Their efforts went to waste; the letters went unread.

A chime jolted them. The sound was quickly pinpointed as originating from Pandora's Actor's pocket.

Drawing a cellphone from his pocket, he stared at the flashing screen before swiping ‘Answer’.

There was a beat of silence before a voice began to yell. Loudly.

“Where are you?!”

Realizing it was a communication device, Pandora replied, “Hallo?”

Albedo and Demiurge listened closely. Who was this?

On the other end, a man screamed. His voice was scratchy, as if he spent most of his time several octaves above his normal tone.

“Your shift started two hours ago! You were scheduled to come in at five, not noon!”

Pandora's Actor read the mood and paused to think. “Apologies, sire. Could you inform me as to where exactly you would like me to report?”

“Huh? Have you lost it? Where do you think it is? That corporation, same as always! Are you playing games with me?”

Realizing he wouldn't get further by prodding, Pandora's Actor replied, "Understood, sir. I shall make my way there promptly.”

He hung up, a bemused smile playing on his lips. Albedo and Demiurge exchanged puzzled glances.

Was that Suzuki Satoru's superior? Colleague, perhaps?

The only way they would get any answers was by sending Pandora's Actor out.

The voice on the other end appeared to know Suzuki Satoru—perhaps they could shed some light on the situation.

Chapter Text

Outside was a wasteland.

A gray haze hung low, cloaking the streets in a dark shroud.

Pandora's Actor walked briskly, his boots crunching under hard-packed debris.

A layer of black sediment over an inch thick dusted every exposed surface. Sharp bits of plastic jutted out like tiny teeth, insidious predators of the dark.

Sometimes, when a great gust of wind blew through, the outer layer would loosen and shear off, forming great balls of slurry. These left behind a trail of tar-like ooze in their wake. The lifespan of such organisms—if they could be considered one—was a duration of less than a week. Gradually, they would unfurl and melt back into the ground from whence they came.

Sanitation was virtually nonexistent. In fact, it could be said that the surrounding area served as a landfill.

The pavement was composed of garbage, built up over decades of neglect. No one bothered to bag their trash—it was simply discarded wherever they pleased. If one cut into the ground, they would certainly be able to ascertain the exact years the environmental crisis began by studying the strata.

Pandora's Actor lamented that if Lord Blue Planet were here, he would surely shed tears.

Sighing, Pandora's Actor shook his head, but stopped when he choked.

The tie he was currently wearing felt unlike the one given to him by Lord Ainz. He itched to wedge a finger between the strap. Like a noose, it held a stranglehold on his neck.

He could hardly breathe, but it wasn't like it was wholly the fault of the tie.

The air was suffocating—had he not donned a gas mask and the accompanying hazard suit, he might have succumbed to the toxins floating about. Luckily, the necessary gear had been kept on a hook by the door for convenience.

Even with it, the revolting stench of death and decay managed to penetrate, burning his nostrils and stinging his eyes to the point of watering.

Guided by the faint glow of neon advertisements, Pandora's Actor wandered aimlessly until he spotted another similarly forlorn silhouette coming into view.

The stranger halted under a lone streetlight. Their presence was like an angel descended from the heavens. Truly, a sight for sore eyes.

Pandora's Actor's chipper voice cut through the darkness. He clicked his heels together and bowed.

"How auspicious! Greetings, venerable one!”

The man seemed to shoot him a frustrated look, indignant at the interruption of his presumably busy schedule. Or perhaps it was one of disappointment? It was difficult to tell on account of the gas mask obscuring his face.

“I'm sorry, but I didn't come out to speak with you. I just want to get some business settled. That's all.”

Dejected, Pandora's Actor let out a whine like that of a kicked puppy. The harsh sting of rejection dealt critical damage. But it was his fault, he supposed, for his insolence.

“Oh—er,” Pandora's Actor faltered, a bit dismayed, “Then, could I please trouble you to point me toward the esteemed offices of a certain corporation, at least?”

The man hesitated, guilt eating at his heart. His sigh was almost palpable, a weary exhalation he struggled to muster the strength for.

“Which corporation are you talking about?”

“Why, the first that comes to mind!”

Pandora's Actor could tell the man was arching a brow. It was a reaction Pandora’s Actor was used to receiving, though he couldn't quite discern why.

The person on the other end of the phone clearly believed he could deduce the correct business by context clues alone. That meant that it had to be somewhere in the public periphery.

For now, a place to start would suffice.

Pandora's Actor had full confidence he could manage. He just needed some direction from someone knowledgeable.

“You'll have to take the train. Station's five minutes away. Straight ahead."

Pandora's Actor bowed with a flourish. "Your compassion is much appreciated."

The train rumbled along the tracks. The wheels hit every bump and groove along the way, metal grinding against metal. There was a modern railway closer to home, but it was expensive and he did not have the money.

Pandora's Actor sat with his back rigid, head high, hands clasped in his lap. He marveled at the interior of the car.

The faded seats had seen better days. The once vibrant hues were now muted, as if the color itself had fallen into a depression. Cracks split the plastic, spiderwebbing fissures that worsened with each jostle.

The poles were dinged and scratched up like metal cat posts. Some were contorted at unnatural angles, warped so severely it was doubtful they provided a modicum of support for commuters. Pandora’s Actor estimated that they would likely snap within a month.

Rush hour had passed. There were only a few haggard souls slumbering against the grimy windows.

Though the rest of the train was out of fashion, the holographic displays were not. Advertisements for various products and the latest technologies flashed in a dazzling array, never too keen to linger. Pandora's Actor’s head spun.

The man Pandora's Actor had come across in the street sat beside him. He had begrudgingly decided to accompany him after Pandora's Actor pretended to be navigationally challenged, clumsily heading in the opposite direction despite his instructions.

The truth was that Pandora's Actor didn't want to be alone. Pandora’s Actor’s conscience nagged at him. It was dreadfully selfish to monopolize his time, but he couldn't help it. Just this once, he told himself. The opportunity was too good to pass up.

The man's sour mood improved after Pandora's Actor stopped an exhausted straphanger from sitting on him. Why he would choose an occupied seat to rest in was beyond rude—he had almost crushed the poor guy.

Pandora's Actor had it in mind to teach that insolent mortal a lesson, but he figured making a bloody mess in the car when he didn’t have a grasp of the world yet wasn't worth the trouble.

Pandora's Actor glanced out the window.

The scenery could hardly be considered earthly. Fog as thick as pea soup made it impossible to glimpse anything. Skyscrapers ducked into the miasma, embarrassed to be seen amidst the desolation. Not that they had anything to brag about, what with their corroded steel frames and crumbling concrete facades.

Pandora's Actor wondered where his fellow denizens were. Had they also been transported? What were they doing? Was Father doing well? Did he miss him as much as he did?

A torrent of thoughts flooded his mind. He set them aside—he could ruminate later. He had more important things to address.

Turning to his disgruntled companion with a lopsided smile, Pandora’s Actor tried to break the ice.

“Have you been here long?”

“My whole life.” His tone was defeated. There was no pride, no fondness for his homeland. He sank further into his seat.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?”

“What's the point?” The man sighed, the sound muffled by his respirator. “It's the same wherever I go.”

The pessimism was disconcerting. If Lord Ainz were here, he would undoubtedly try to change his circumstances, not give in!

But looking closely, Pandora's Actor could see that the man's spirit was crushed. The result of a lifetime of suffering. His plight tugged at Pandora's Actor's heartstrings.

“If I may ask, when did it all start, do you reckon?”

The man shrugged and threw his hands into the air. “Before we were even born. The government fucked up, corporations took over, and now we're slaves to the business elite. What else is new?”

Even if it was depressing, Pandora's Actor was glad to have gleaned into the workings of this world. This place was no place for a Supreme Being, much less a human.

The man fixed him with his dark brown eyes.

“No need to pity me. I'm not much different from those people over there.”

He jerked his head at a set of passengers across the car. Their snores were guttural and wheezy. Oxygen struggled to traverse the pinhole that was their lungs. A sobering sight. It was a miracle they were still alive.

Pandora's Actor had many questions, but he knew better than to overstep boundaries and held off.

The train slowed, the chugging engines decreasing in volume until they screeched to a halt.

The man nudged him.

“This is as far as I'll go. I won't be able to hold your hand any longer. You're beyond the age for that. Remember: head straight until you see the big building with glass doors. Don't go left. Don't go right. Go straight. You hear me?”

Although Pandora's Actor was reluctant to part so soon, he swallowed his sadness and saluted. “Jawohl!”

He felt the prickly stares of other passengers. They whispered amongst each other. Focusing his hearing, he caught the tail end of the gossip.

“Uwaah…”

“Look at that guy…who is he even talking to? This isn't the military—there aren't any soldiers to pay respect to.”

“Must be one of those veterans who lost their mind during the war…”

“Shh! He'll hear you!”

Pandora's Actor ignored them. He didn’t have a shameful bone in his body.

He could sense the man wrinkle his brow. “I didn't think many people were still so patriotic. You're an odd one.”

Pandora's Actor beamed, although it went unseen. Besides his Creator, no one had ever acknowledged his German or his formalities. He was so delighted he forgot he wasn't supposed to salute.

“Auf wiedersehen, mein Herr!”

He marched away, one leg in front of the other in a decidedly militaristic fashion.

Cringing, the man buried his face in his hands. “Do me a favor. Don't tell anyone this happened. Take care.”

Albedo was restless.

She had never gone so long without Lord Ainz. Her mind was folding in on itself from the lack of contact. She was going into withdrawal—any time not spent in her beloved's view was agony. The longer she went, the more intense it became.

Returning to Nazarick wouldn’t be difficult.

Albedo had the Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown on her finger. She could still sense magic emanating from it.

A mere thought stood in the way between her and home. She pictured the crumbling greek columns, the roaming undead of the first, second, and third floors. The frozen lakes of the fourth. The jungle teeming with wildlife on the sixth. The blazing temple of the seventh. And the glorious throne room of the ninth.

Pandora’s Actor was also in possession of a ring, which dampened the exclusivity. Albedo understood the practicality, yet it irked her nonetheless. In order to perform his duties as the guardian of the Treasury, it was necessary for him to move in and out of his assigned area as efficiently as possible.

And then there was Demiurge, the one who had not been bestowed a ring. It was disgraceful; a hallmark of incompetence.

His vain efforts to emulate Lord Ainz's brilliance had only led them astray, leaving them stranded in this unknown world with no clear path back to their master's side. Of course, Lord Ainz was simply waiting for him to realize his foolish mistake. After all, no one could fathom the depths of his schemes.

Unfortunately, Demiurge’s miscalculation ended up costing them dearly, a fact which shamed him to no end. The ring was only capable of transporting one person each, no tag alongs. Lord Ainz would be furious if they abandoned one another.

Abandoning one of their own was practically waving a flag admitting defeat; they might as well end their lives on the spot if they couldn't accomplish as simple a task as sticking together. Not to mention that they had no surefire method of returning to this world to retrieve any lost souls.

It was a pressing issue, the cherry on top of the mountain of increasing uncertainty.

To distract herself, Albedo immersed herself in cleaning.

She was hardwired to be the perfect housewife, after all. It eased her nerves.

Albedo swept a pile of empty pouches into a garbage bag and set it by the door. She discarded the futon and the thin sheet covered in shoddy patches. She huffed indignantly—what poor handiwork. When she was finished, there wasn't a speck of dust in the room.

The sink was bone dry. When she turned the faucet, murky brown water flowed from the tap. It didn't take a genius to know it wasn't safe to drink.

As she would later discover, water was a hot commodity. That was because when it rained, a slurry of noxious sewage would seep into the ground. The water table was contaminated to such a degree that water treatment plants stationed armed guards around the perimeter to keep would-be thieves at bay. Purified water was actually the most heavily trafficked good in the black market.

Peeking in the refrigerator, Albedo found it barren, save for an empty jug. The fridge wasn't plugged in, serving as a storage area rather than an ice box.

Demiurge rooted through various documents. Amongst a cloud of dust bunnies, he discovered a yellowing certificate for completing elementary school. There were no higher achievements. At least, none he could find.

“Suzuki Satoru, age thirty-two, orphaned when he was young. Started work right out of school. I daresay life here is quite the task.”

“It is to be expected,” said Albedo, crossing her arms under her breasts. “Humans should only know how to please the Supreme One.”

The implications flew over her head.

Setting her broom and dustpan against a wall, Albedo fumed, furious she was desperate enough to clean this small apartment. The true inhabitant ought to tidy their quarters themselves. Should they cross paths, she would surely wring their neck.

Albedo pressed her middle and forefinger against the side of her head.

As expected, [ Message ] failed.

It was her twentieth attempt. She knew it was pointless, but she still hoped that perhaps next time something would change. It didn't.

Their physical resistance to poison had also been nullified, which meant they could not simply walk outside without protective gear.

A worrying situation.

They stared at one another, clinging to the vain hope that Lord Ainz would suddenly appear and offer guidance.

They had no direction beyond their own set protocol, no orders to fulfill. For the first time in their short lives, they were without a Supreme Being. It felt as if they were missing a part of themselves.

“When do you suppose Pandora's Actor will return?” she asked.

Demiurge glanced at the window. The glass looked as if it had been painted over with a coat of black. Streaks of light gray cut through the monotony—attempts to keep the glass clean. Evidently, the owner of the apartment had given up.

They had elected to send Pandora’s Actor out to gauge the degree of danger the inhabitants of this world posed.

It might have been a bit cruel, but they were unable to summon demons to do their bidding and had to turn to their last resort. Hence, should he fail to return, Albedo and Demiurge would assume the worst, raise their security to maximum, and take the necessary steps to properly face their foes.

Also, if he were lost, they would still keep Ginnungagap and Hygieia's Chalice in their possession. Security of World Items was paramount. Their lives paled in comparison.

Demiurge adjusted his glasses. “I would like to say, ‘before the sun sets’, but as the sky is shrouded in darkness, I suspect he may take a while longer.”

Albedo huffed. She wanted to explore outside herself, but there was only one protective suit and one gas mask.

It was then that the unthinkable happened.

Albedo's stomach growled. Demiurge looked at her strangely.

Albedo placed a hand over her stomach. The only movement she ever wanted to experience from that part of her body were the movements of a growing child born from the love between her and Lord Ainz. Unfortunately, that was not the case. It appeared to be something else entirely.

For the first time in her life, she was hungry.

The Ring of Sustenance was still on her finger. Though she could sense its enchantment, its effects were lost on her. She may as well not have been equipping it.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I need to consume something. And although I wish my diet could consist solely of Lord Ainz's love, I'm afraid that won't suffice. Any ideas?”

Demiurge pointed at the cabinet above the stove. “What about in there?”

Opening the cabinet, she discovered a few packets. They were a matte silver in color, with a capped straw attached to the neck.

She scanned the label. “Nutritional supplement…”

Both hydration and nutrition were typically achieved through supplements, a jelly-like substance formulated in laboratories to carry the bare minimum necessary to sustain life. These were mass produced in one of the many industrial factories where many of its consumers were often employed.

With nothing to lose, she popped the cap open and took a cautious sip. She gagged. Flavor had clearly not been a priority for the makers of the product. A foul, bitter taste burst over her tongue, causing her to pucker her lips. Putrid.

Although Albedo had occasionally snacked on cakes and other sweets prepared by Head Chef, she found the task of eating bothersome, especially when she was used to going without.

Albedo resisted the urge to spit. But she knew she didn't have many alternatives at hand. Choking, she pushed through until she had squeezed out and swallowed every last drop. She was dreadfully hungry, something she preferred to never experience again. Unfortunately her gut told her otherwise. But for Lord Ainz, she would bear it.

Once she was done, she tossed it into the trash with a grimace.

“Not to Nazarick’s standards, I presume?”

“See for yourself. You'll have to experience it soon enough.”

None too pleased, Demiurge turned up his nose. “I'll pass.”

Albedo crossed her arms and leaned against the table with a scoff. “Fine. Starve.”

Demiurge said nothing. He didn't want to waste his breath by taking the bait and arguing with her.

Almost a day had passed, and there was no sign they could return. He didn't have a clue how, unless the Supreme One could somehow intervene. Then again, Lord Ainz might very well be preoccupied with the invader.

Demiurge desperately wished to return to Nazarick.

They were in the dark about what happened after they were transported. Had the stranger continued their rampage? Were they killed? Arrested? Interrogated?

As the Leader of Defense, he felt powerless. It was his job to protect the Supreme One, his reason for existing. There was clearly a flaw in the Great Tomb they had exploited, and it was his responsibility to fix it. How could he do his god given duties when he wasn't there? He may as well perish on the spot, for that was how useless he felt.

His mind wandered. It was his fault, wasn't it? His carelessness caused an unprecedented security breach. Lord Ainz was probably disappointed in his negligence. That's why he sent him away. This was a punishment for his oversight.

Demiurge’s knees suddenly felt weak. He collapsed on a chair, narrowly avoiding sitting on the strange helmet.

No. This was a test. Lord Ainz’s plans factored in every minute detail. He had everything under control. As long as they could decipher his true intentions and act accordingly, Lord Ainz would not lose faith.

Demiurge felt his heartbeat settle.

With her needs satiated, Albedo picked up where Demiurge had left off rummaging through the mail. With a swipe of her nail, she slit the envelopes open.

She scanned the papers at breakneck speed. Mostly uninteresting drivel. They held no clues on how to return to Nazarick, so she disregarded them.

A few of the letters were unlike the others. It appeared to be handwritten, not typed.

The contents read:

Suzuki,

‘Tis I, your old friend. I have been blessed with revelation. Salvation is at hand. Are you willing to partake in a feast with me?

The strangely elaborate phrasing was intriguing. It was unnecessarily melodramatic for an invitation. She checked the envelope. No return address. Odd.

She set it aside. Rifling further, she discovered another unmarked envelope. Judging by the color, it was considerably older than the first. The archaic vocabulary was easily recognizable.

It read:

Suzuki,

It is your old friend. Come into the fold—I will guard the gate. It would please me if you could attend on the eve of Saturnalia. Make haste. The shadow of darkness looms close at hand.

The meeting place is the same as last.

Albedo didn't have the full picture, but she did have enough to discern that Suzuki Satoru had been conversing with the anonymous sender. The informal speech indicated they were close. She wondered what necessitated a meeting. By their tone it appeared to be a serious matter.

A calendar on the wall marked down the days with crosses. Today was December 10th. Suzuki Satoru still had time to meet with this person. Would he come home and be surprised to see them lounging in his apartment? Where had he gone in the first place? Why had Pandora’s Actor awoken in his form?

She showed the letters to Demiurge, who pursed his lips.

“Interesting,” he remarked. He didn’t comment much else.

The lack of answers frustrated Albedo. She hated being left in the dark. As the Overseer of the Guardians, she was used to having all the information at her fingertips for consideration. It was vital for her to keep it organized, as half the battle was knowing her enemy. Here she didn't even know where she was, let alone who to watch out for.

A buzzing sound jerked her from her reverie. Albedo instinctively recoiled, her ears sensitive to the shrill whistle.

Demiurge shot to his feet.

From time to time they heard doors open and shut, as well as the footfall that passed by the door to the apartment on the way to the nearby staircase, but neither Albedo or Demiurge had percieved a magical signature. The passerby did not disturb them, so they surmised that they did not pose a threat.

Moreover, the barrier they had erected hid their presence. However, it would not prevent curious souls from investigating the supposedly empty apartment on their own accord.

Perhaps whoever it currently was on the other side did not have the ability to detect them at all. Otherwise, why bother checking?

But why did they neglect to announce themselves? Was it not standard for the uninvited to make themselves known? Uneasiness filled them.

They tensed as the incessant noise continued, punctuated by a thunderous rapping that reverberated throughout the apartment. The walls shuddered, dust falling onto their heads like crude snow. Albedo wondered if she preferred the structural integrity of the place collapsing over being discovered.

Albedo squinted through the small peephole. Foggy glass obscured her vision, but she could just about make out the blurry outlines of several figures standing outside. Given that they all wore similar protective suits, she was unable to discern their origins, much less their intentions.

The knocking intensified. In any case, it did not appear they would leave soon. And if they continued, they might end up tearing down the door.

Demiurge waited with bated breath as Albedo slowly drew back. Her face bore a strange expression.

She signaled for him to take cover. He obeyed, slinking into the shadows, though the room was hardly large enough to remain concealed for long.

Nevertheless, he refused to be dead weight. Albedo was a tank and could take hits, but if it came down to it, he would leap out and take them by surprise.

Chapter Text

Pandora's Actor gazed into a holographic monitor.

The screen was slightly translucent. If he stared past the jargon, he could make out the gray foam padding lining his cubicle.

There were two monitors on his desk.

One flashed general information useful for daily tasks. Tracking numbers, client information, and product details fluctuated, never remaining stationary greater than a few seconds. A hike in sales here, a percent dip in orders there. Prices automatically re-calculated based on the average.

The other monitor, which he presumed was supposed to be Suzuki Satoru's personal workstation, was blank, save for a message box prompting him for the password.

“Hmm…”

He could hear Suzuki Satoru's boss shouting in his office. Hadn't the man tired after yelling at Pandora's Actor for fifteen minutes straight? His lung capacity was impressive. Was this proof of evolutionary adaptation? Perhaps he hadn't needed a gas mask to report for work.

Pandora's Actor glanced at a neighboring cubicle. A woman with eye bags so dark it looked as if she'd been socked in the face sat slumped, almost melting off her chair. Reading off a script, she droned into a headset.

“It's the latest model. Half the price of our competitors. You won't find a better deal.”

She didn't sound half as enthused as she was supposed to. She may as well have been reciting the weather forecast. Cloudy, cloudy, and cloudy—did I mention the fog?

Pandora's Actor gathered that Suzuki Satoru appeared to be a salesman. That was fine by him. He was confident he was up for the task, but he didn't have the login credentials.

He bit his tongue. Turning to his superior for help was out of the question. He was late beyond compare and his boss was in a cranky mood. Pandora's Actor had already received the brunt of his ire when he asked him how to turn on his computer.

“You bumbling buffoon—are you telling me you can't operate a computer? You've been using it for the better part of a decade. Have you gone blind? Press. The. Button!”

Pandora's Actor felt a flash of anger course through his veins.

It was one matter for the denizens to treat him coldly. His eccentricities might be considered off-putting—just look at Éclair—but they would never doubt his competency or degrade him, the sole Creation of the Guildmaster. They were comrades.

That man, on the other hand, was a nuisance. But he tried to not let it affect him. After all, he could not be faulted for his ignorance. Pandora’s Actor pitited him. He did not know of the glory of Ainz Ooal Gown.

Anger fading as quickly as it had arrived, Pandora's Actor surreptitiously eyed his cubicle, pretending to tap away at his keyboard. Having five fingers did wonders; he was able to reach further than he would have with four. It was perhaps his one advantage.

Everything, from the mug filled with ballpoint pens and loose paperclips to the chart marking commissions lent to Suzuki Satoru's work ethic.

The whole floor was a blur of sterile white and gray. Slogans like ‘Ego-Free Zone: Embrace Humility’, ‘There is No “I” in Team’, and ‘Committed to the Job: The Day's Not Over Until the Quota's Been Met’ were plastered on the walls, championed by models who looked a little too excited to be stripped of basic human rights.

A laundry list of rules hung by the front door like a twisted sacred commandment.

Bringing your own lunch was forbidden—employees were expected to purchase meals from the canteen. Of course, there were no tables or chairs there, meaning they had to eat at their desks. An unsubtle method to maximize efficiency. Relaxation? Never heard of it.

Bathroom breaks were limited to a maximum of two per shift, no greater than five minutes each. Pandora's Actor learned this personally after he got up to stretch his legs and investigate.

It was meant to drive productivity. Why waste precious time when you could increase product margins?

Of course, bathroom and lunch breaks were not something Pandora's Actor had ever required. However, in his role as ‘Momon of Darkness’, he came to understand their physiological needs. Plus, it was easier to assimilate with the general population if he indulged in the same activities. One of them, see?

Humans were pitiful creatures. Demiurge had taken the initiative to test their limits. Deprive them of water and they'd perish in three days. Food? Three weeks. God forbid they spend a night outside exposed to the elements.

The ruthlessness of the company's business model was matched only by the callous indifference to those who could not abide by the rules. Those people, as Pandora's Actor would find, were ostracized from society and punished severely for stepping out of line. Nails that stuck out were hammered down. Conformity was an absolute must.

Loss of employment was tantamount to suicide. Cross-industry blacklists were inexplicably unproven but common practice. Desk jobs were a privilege—once you were cut you were resigned to a life of hard labor until the day you died.

Pandora's Actor kept his head low. While he loved the spotlight, there was a time and place for everything. He needed to focus.

Sucking on a nutritional packet that he snatched from the break room and trying his best to ignore the dreadful taste, he scrounged for hints.

No matter how counterproductive it was, most people usually kept their passwords close by. Pandora's Actor overheard Lord Herohero telling Lord Ainz that he stored a list of his passwords under his keyboard. There was no way he'd be able to keep track otherwise, especially since security protocols mandated him to change them every ninety days.

There were sticky notes on the monitor, but those were only there to tally clients and units sold.

Pandora's Actor turned to the calendar. Meetings were circled with subject and time noted. Crosses marked days passed. And the bold red exclamations marked…?

Oh! What's this?

Pandora's Actor knew that date. His Almighty Father anticipated it, feared it even. The day all his hard work would be for naught, when he would leave. Doomsday.

Server shutdown…

Pandora's Actor never told a soul. If they ever discovered that his Father intended on disappearing like the rest of the Supreme Beings, there would be no end in sight. They'd be heartbroken.

Back then, Father only confessed his worries with him. And although Pandora's Actor never responded and hardly moved except to obey simple commands, it suited him just fine.

A shoulder to lean on and a non-judgemental companion was good enough. Pandora's Actor liked keeping the secret. Just between the two of them. It was special. He felt special.

Did Suzuki Satoru know of Yggdrasil? Or was this merely a coincidence?

Then again…

Pandora's Actor could not mimic someone he did not know. Only by thoroughly familiarizing himself with the appearance, personality, and power of each member of the Forty-One could he mold into a seamless replica.

Thinking back on it, the last form he had taken was his Father's. Shifting was done at will in sound mind and body. It was an inherent ability of all doppelgängers and was not an action that could be forced by others. By all accounts, he should have retained the same form when he was transported.

That meant that Suzuki Satoru and Lord Momonga were inextricably connected.

Pandora's Actor swiped at the holographic monitor, pulling up a keyboard. He sat still for a moment, channeling his Creator. He envisioned his skeletal face, the pinpricks of light dancing in the sockets, and tried to glean a fraction of his thoughts, if only to skim the outer surface.

Then, he wrote whatever came to mind.

[ Pandoras_Actor_2118 ]

Confidently, he hit the enter key.

A circle appeared, cycling.

[ Please wait. Loading… ]

His heartbeat sped up a notch. Would it work?

He truly believed he knew Lord Ainz best. He was his creation, molded by his loving touch and filled with all the eccentricities and qualities he admired.

Failure was not an option, for that would bring utmost shame to both he and his Creator.

The loading symbol stuttered to a halt. Pandora's Actor pressed his face to the screen, as if he could discern its inner machinations, only to phase through.

[ Incorrect password. Please try again. ]

“SCHEIßE!”

The end of his shift was a welcome one.

After pestering the lady in the cubicle beside him for help, he managed to log in. It turned out that there were several criteria that had to be fulfilled.

First, the password had to be at least seven characters. Second, a letter had to be capitalized. And third, there needed to be at least one special character.

Taking these rules into consideration, Pandora's Actor simply added a [ !!! ] to the end of his initial guess. He figured emphasis was needed.

Worked like a charm. To think it was that easy!

If his Father had been there to witness it, he would have been proud.

Pandora's Actor walked with a skip in his step.

Of course, each step was deliberated carefully. One miscalculation and he could sink into a pool of toxic sludge, veritable traps that were like quicksand. Earlier he had caught a glimpse of a child who had fallen victim, still submerged neck deep as he had been for many years. Nothing but bones.

The sun had risen, yet its radiant light could not pierce through the thick smog. The difference was hardly noticeable. The city was permanently shrouded in darkness. Who knew cities could also suffer from chronic illnesses?

Stores were open. Pandora's Actor wandered inside one at random and headed up a flight of stairs. He stomped up each step, making his presence known. If there was ever an opportunity to stop him, it would be now.

As of yet, he had not come across anyone possessing strength above that of a sub-par human. Even Suzuki Satoru's boss, who lorded over his employees like a tyrant, posed little threat physically. A swat from Albedo would turn his insides into outsides.

However, he did not let his guard down. It was possible that all the power had been monopolized by a small group, leaving nothing for others.

Although Pandora's Actor was cautious, it was unlikely he would be attacked. A store was not the place people usually gathered for a fight. It was more likely they'd come to rob the place rather than deal with other customers.

Still, he kept his wits about him. If things did go awry, he would flee without looking back.

He came across an airlock, much like the one in the lobby of Suzuki Satoru's apartment building. Stepping in, the doors snapped shut on either side before a laser washed warm rays over him.

The contraption seemed to exhale like a lung. Steam expelled from small vents, and his vision went white. He felt as if he had stepped into a cloud.

For a few seconds, he marinated like a chicken before a vacuum noisily sucked the steam away. A bulb above the door flashed green.

[ ENTER ]

A man was waiting on the other side. He had his head on the counter, asleep. Nothing special about him. Actually, he looked a few paychecks from starvation.

It was a general store. Everything from household appliances, furniture, clothing, and food were previewed on holographic displays.

A roll of neon yellow nylon caught his eye. The 3D model curled and unwound itself like a snake, the animation looping endlessly. It was hypnotic.

“This will be useful indeed…”

He purchased three yards. He could have bought more, but he couldn't spend carelessly. There were other expenses he had to account for, and it was always good to have an emergency fund.

As soon as he verified his payment, he heard a clatter. The product dispensed in a chamber under the display. A green light flashed to indicate that the hatch had been unlocked.

Pandora's Actor wondered why there was any need for a cashier when it all appeared to be self-service. It wasn't like there were any physical items that could be stolen. Goods could be purchased with digital wallets and shipped to homes for a small fee.

Strolling along the aisles of staticky projections, he was drawn to an intriguing sight.

A box slowly rotated behind blaring red text emphasizing a low price tag, marked down as a flash sale. The product description flaunted it as the pinnacle of gaming, promising advanced artificial intelligence and an endless procedurally generated landscape. Apparently the product was referred to as a ‘DMMORPG’, but what that stood for eluded him. Presumably, the retailer expected consumers to be familiar with the term. Must be popular.

It wasn't surprising that the inhabitants of this world were desparate for a reprieve. Life was nearly unsustainable. There was hardly anything to look forward to except the daily grind. It was impressive that most hadn't already retreated into these fictional worlds.

He found himself captivated.

The collector in Pandora's Actor itched to possess it. He didn't have any plans to play, nor did he know how; he simply wished to bask in the knowledge that he had attained something special, akin to how a crow hoards shiny trinkets without understanding their value or function.

He tried his luck, prodding the interface to purchase one unit.

[ ERROR: INSUFFICIENT FUNDS ]

His passionate cry of frustration woke the cashier, who promptly asked him to leave.

The train wheels squealed as if they were being raked across hot coals. Half the lights had burned out or were on the verge of doing so.

Pandora's Actor clutched the shopping bag close to his chest. The plastic was already tearing.

It wasn't as if the contents were too heavy. No, the bag itself was too thin, as if someone had sheared off the barest sliver of plastic to create it. A ridiculous cost-saving method taken to the extreme.

To boot, the bag itself was an additional sum, albeit small, to his total purchase. Worse still, he hadn't even been given the option to deny the surcharge. He was peeved.

Pandora's Actor ran calculations in his mind. He still had money left over. Enough for a few days’ worth of food. However, it would not cover rent and utilities. And that wasn't taking into account necessities like medicine, should they fall ill, or clothing to blend in.

He had checked Suzuki Satoru's calendar earlier; payday was in a week and a half. Too long, too late.

Actually, since his outburst in the office, he was on thin ice. He hadn't made a favorable impression on his boss, and frankly, he knew he already had one foot out the door.

“I need a written statement from you concerning your recent behavior,” his boss had told him, “We'll have a meeting next week so we can discuss next steps.”

Pandora's Actor hadn't deemed it necessary to grace him with a response. He kept his expression neutral, knowing that showing any sign of defiance would feed into the man's power trip.

Unfortunately his boss took it as a challenge to push his buttons, adding, “And since you were late, we've had trouble processing your hours. The timekeeping system isn't used to abnormalities in attendance, so your pay will be held until further notice.”

The threat fell on deaf ears. Pandora's Actor only owed answers to Lord Ainz. He disliked Suzuki Satoru's boss, not quite for the slights against his person, but for getting in the way of supporting his people—Albedo and Demiurge.

Pandora's Actor had flashed him a grin, relishing the frown on the man's face as he turned and left. He hadn't forgotten to snatch a handful of candies from a bowl on his desk. For the trip home.

However, despite his indifference, he was concerned on the impact it would have on their finances. The idea that he just wasted fourteen hours with nothing to show for irked him.

They were in a bind. Somehow, they had to procure funds.

Selling items was out of the question. Not the World Items and not their equipment, which had been bestowed to them by the Supreme Ones. And if his theory was correct, they couldn't be so insolent as to pawn off Suzuki Satoru's possessions either.

Pandora's Actor mulled it over.

They did not have the luxury of growing wealth via hard work. If they were able, Albedo or Demiurge could have been dispatched to offer their services and earn commissions, but building a clientbase was time consuming.

Pandora's Actor did have a few ideas to quickly generate money. None of them were ethical, but that was to be expected. One could not expect to become rich without making a few sacrifices along the way.

He would discuss options with Albedo and Demiurge later.

A few other passengers commiserated amongst themselves, bemoaning the state of the economy.

They appeared to be physical laborers, wearing thick work boots and high visibility vests atop their hazard suits. Skin burnt raw from acidic precipitation were exposed via the myriad of tears and holes in their clothing. They coughed violently, shoulders shuddering. Likely a chronic condition.

“Hallo! How are you?”

He tried to make casual conversation with the men, but they just stared at him wearily.

Their expressions were deadpan, as if to say, ‘What do you think?’

His energy was unwelcome. This type of reaction was typical. Figures. They were unused to optimism and had surrendered to a life of hardship. Most people, he would find, held this innate pessimism.

Pandora's Actor persisted.

“Do you know of any magic casters? Creatures or non-human entities that require slaying? Ah—perhaps there is an Adventurer's Guild nearby?”

His inquiries failed to yield results. They just stared like he'd grown a third head.

One of the men broke out of his stupor to mutter to his friend.

“What is he talking about? He must be crazy. Let's sit over there…”

Pandora's Actor was left rather perturbed. Did magic not exist? Was this a land inhabited solely by humans? Had they, by some miracle, overcome all obstacles and established themselves as the apex species? Was the wasteland the result of countless wars waged, slowly whittling away at the population of non-humans until they were driven to extinction?

His mind buzzed with questions. Alas, there was no one to grant him an audience, so he ruminated alone.

The air purification system onboard had not functioned as intended, and he had a feeling it had been that way for a long time. The windows had been cracked open to compensate, but all it did was fill the car with smog.

A pungent, acrid smell snuck its way through Pandora's Actor's respirator. Evidently, it ought to be replaced, but that was a luxury he could not afford.

He yearned to return to the Treasury, where mountains of gold waited to be spent. The task of organizing data crystals and polishing items still remained. His compulsion of sorting and cleaning bordered on fetish. It was his god-given duty, who wouldn't be happy?

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally made it back to the apartment. He didn't have the keys on him, so he knocked. The doorbell, like everything else, was broken.

No answer.

He cleared his throat and announced his presence.

“Lord Demiurge? Lady Albedo? 'Tis I, the Guardian of the Treasury, Pandora's Actor!”

The silence was alarming. If need be, Pandora's Actor could always kick down the door, although he wasn't certain how much strength this form could endure. As it stood, he appeared to be as frail as any other human.

But that was a last resort. He didn't want to cause a scene. Having nearby residents aggro would not do any favors.

“Lady Albedo? I purchased some fabric—there may be enough for a body pillow!”

He waited for her thunderous footsteps. None came. His bait didn't catch. Huh.

Albedo certainly wouldn't have passed up a golden opportunity like this. She was so overtly desperate for Lord Ainz that a pillow bearing his likeness was a suitable substitute.

He rattled the doorknob. Surprisingly, it creaked open. Unlocked?

They would never leave a glaring flaw like that so apparent. Was it left this way as a message? This could mean they'd been overpowered—if that was the case, they were in serious danger.

Holding his breath, he stepped inside.

The apartment was empty; his colleagues gone. The door had not been breached with force, which could mean they'd left willingly. Nothing was moved; all seemed in order.

Judging by the state of the apartment, it was clear someone had tidied the place up. He attributed it to Albedo's handiwork.

If Pandora's Actor had been in the form of Lord Ainz or Lord Ulbert, he could have cast [ Locate Creature ] and followed the trail to Albedo and Demiurge. Unfortunately, he was reduced to using only his brain to determine their whereabouts.

Thankfully, it wasn't difficult.

There was a slip of paper on the futon. The stroke of each character was precise, yet fluid. Graceful. Unmistakably Albedo's.

Be back soon.

Chapter Text

Albedo seethed.

Who did these humans think they were?

They had the audacity to bring them to this rundown, shitty facility, have them wait, and then subject them to an interrogation?

Her blood boiled. She would like nothing more than to shred them into ribbons.

A group of men had shown up to the apartment. By the looks on their faces, they hadn't anticipated anyone. Working hours had started, and drones were to be slaving away like cogs in a machine.

Suzuki Satoru was supposed to be out of the house—so why were Albedo and Demiurge loitering inside?

“What is your relationship to Suzuki Satoru?”

The man before Albedo wore a sleek dark blue uniform with a number of peculiarities.

The fabric was something she had never seen before. A metallic sheen caught the light and dispersed it through hexagonal patterns, almost like the scales of a dragon.

Above the visor of his cap was a golden crest resembling a star. It flickered briefly, and upon closer inspection Albedo realized it was a 3‐D projection originating from the center of the crest itself. While the tech was mildly impressive, it looked gaudy.

An armband rested a few centimeters shy of his left shoulder, featuring an insignia she was certain belonged to an outside organization. It was less of an identifier for police personnel and more of an advertising space for rent. The armband emitted a faint glow, flashing various products and logos which slowly cycled around the width, only intermittently displaying what she assumed was the name of the current district.

His badge was pinned to his breast, also a projection. Underneath that were countless awards, none of which daunted her in the slightest. Titles were nothing but vanity. Who loved self-gratification more than the weak?

Albedo glanced at the security camera. Compared to the compact technology she'd seen thus far, it was jarringly outdated. Large, boxy, unweildly. Demonstrably hideous. The only reason for its cumbersome appearance would be to intimidate suspects. A red dot above the owl-like lenses batted its eyes.

Albedo had been informed that the conversation was being recorded. Any lies could be used against her in a court of law.

What a ridiculous notion. Put her on trial? On what grounds? With what army? The only one who could judge sins was her beloved.

“Did he threaten you? Hurt you?”

Albedo's lips curled into a sneer. “I do not think that concerns you. Stay out of our business.”

She watched as frustration flickered across the man's face. “You were in his apartment. Do you have your passport? You need to display them whenever you travel across Arcologies.”

“I’m afraid I lost mine,” Albedo responded, a touch of sincerity in her tone.

“Then you'll have to file a report. There's been a recent uptick in passport theft. It's better to do it as soon as possible. Which family do you hail from? I don't believe you told me your last name, Miss Albedo.”

The detective obviously thought she was from a powerful and influential family.

The fine silk dress, the sparkling golden necklace, and glossy locks of hair tumbling down her back were hallmarks of the wealthy. Her skin, soft and unblemished, held a radiance the working class could never hope to achieve.

Aside from the customary food and drink he offered, he seemed to hold genuine concern in her well-being. He practically begged her to call her parents or loved ones.

“My family is already informed of my whereabouts,” Albedo lied.

Taking advantage of this man's assumptions was more useful than being honest. It wasn't like he would believe an absurd tale about being transported to another world.

It was by recalling Lord Ainz’s actions when he first arrived in Carne Village did they choose to follow in his footsteps. Albedo and Demiurge had the foresight to hide any horns, tails, and wings before opening the door. Demiurge even went lengths to change the shape of his ears and transform his eyes with illusion magic.

Albedo, however, did not have the ability to perform illusion magic. That meant that she had to stay in close proximity to Demiurge. Should she stray out of the area of effect, her wings and horns would be exposed—and frankly, she didn't feel like cleaning guts off the walls. That was something she normally left to her servants, which she was sorely lacking in at the moment.

That being the case, as much as she disliked it, she'd have to suck it up and pretend to be human. Which meant no threats of bodily harm or assault.

While she doubted the man before her held any hidden powers, she still had not confirmed whether there were more powerful beings in this world. However, it was unlikely, as she had not seen any other species except humans.

Yggdrasil, the New World, this latest world—humans were always the prevalent race. It was a strange trend, especially when they were considerably weak in comparison with other species. It could only be chalked up to circumstance that they hadn't been driven to extinction.

Humans in particular had a difficult time communicating in the presence of higher beings—prone to break down, stammer, wail, or run. Quite unproductive.

Hence, it was important to get on their level if progress was to be made. At least for now.

“I do not doubt your capabilities. However, I wish to remind you that there are dangerous people outside Arcologies. Crime rates have been trending upwards. The illegal organ trade has been booming as of late. Your lungs alone could fetch a few billion yen.”

The detective paused, took a gulp of his coffee. Then he exhaled with a deep sigh.

“Be honest. Were you in that apartment of your own free will?”

A vein throbbed on Albedo's forehead, threatening to burst.

What on earth was he suggesting? That a mere human could contain her, the Overseer of the Guardians? It was insulting, the way he treated her like a child. Her shoulders trembled as she fought to contain her rage.

Mistaking her shuddering for fear, the detective softened his gaze. He offered a handkerchief.

Seizing the moment to hide her true intentions, Albedo accepted and wiped away her non-existent tears. She shook her head, preferring to leave her options open and allow the detective to come to his own conclusions.

The detective leaned back in his chair. Her lips were sealed. There wasn’t much he could do if she refused to speak. He tried a different avenue of questioning.

“What about the gentleman who was with you? Do you know him?”

‘Gentleman’? Hearing a mortal refer to Demiurge positively was jarring. In their eyes, he was a cruel monster who relished in the pain and suffering of others. Only the denizens of Nazarick would characterize him as ‘gentle’.

“He is my…brother,” she said lamely.

Albedo knew Demiurge would be asked the same question. This response was the simplest, the most acceptable excuse. She had no doubt he would give the same answer.

“Younger, of course,” she added. She refused to allow Demiurge to have seniority, even if Lord Tabula created her after Lord Ulbert created Demiurge. “We have different fathers.”

Nodding, the detective picked up a pen and scribbled down the first useful tidbit of information he’d received thus far.

“And what was he doing in that apartment? Did you go there together?”

Albedo shrugged and averted her gaze, withdrawing like waves lapping at a shore. She did her best to look non-threatening and frail, adding a wobbling lower lip for extra measure.

“You don't have to be scared. If you want, we could keep you safe.” He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. “For a price, of course.”

There was the catch.

Albedo suspected as much after her brief glimpse of the outside. She had already seen a few bodies decomposing on the streets. Some were too small to be adults, their bleached bones still curled up in the fetal position.

This man did not serve his people as an officer of the law. If he did, there would not have been such an abject, unseemly sight. He did not care even for his own kind.

While Albedo had no sympathy for lower beings, the open display of filth earned her repugnance. The indifference simply added another layer of depravity.

She hated everything. The burning rain, the suffocating air, the dreariness and hopelessness that seemed to permeate everything. This world was rotten to the core.

A place without Momonga was no place to be at all.

Demiurge laughed. He had wormed his way into the detective's heart with a few honeyed words.

“I'll put in a good word for you with my father. He's got a few friends in high places—an opening just came up,” Demiurge said.

Demiurge was not entirely sure why he commanded such respect from the detective. The man seemed overcome with shock the moment he laid eyes on the archdevil.

Perhaps he was taken by his pristine suit? Demiurge was quite proud of it. Red. Pinstripe. A classic look that never went out of style. It was one of his precious keepsakes from his Creator.

But there was something greater than that. The detective seemed to recognize him. That begged the question: From where? But he couldn't ask or he'd lose his one advantage. It would be a shame to waste the case of mistaken identity.

“Oh, forgive me. I've gone on a tangent,” said Demiurge. “Now, where were we? Right. Suzuki Satoru. Could you tell me a bit more about your current investigation?”

The detective cleared his throat, keeping the eagerness in his voice in moderation. He shifted uncomfortably.

“It's confidential. I can't just say—”

Demiurge sighed, shaking his head. He decided to lean into the misunderstanding.

“That’s disappointing. If word got out that Suzuki Satoru of all people was being investigated, who knows what might happen? My father holds him in high regard, you know.”

The detective paused, licking his lips. Was that a threat or a warning? Perhaps both?

“Well—I—”

“If he gets wind of this, I assure you that he won’t be happy. It will be a difficult task to tell him that the authorities aren't cooperating. Come now, just the bare details are fine.”

Irritation seeped into Demiurge’s voice. He flexed his fingers, itching to skewer the man.

It was downright annoying his [ Command Mantra ] wasn't functioning. He had taken great pleasure in abusing his god-given skill on the likes of the Abelion sheep and their ilk. He would have been done with this half an hour ago if he still had it.

Thankfully, before Demiurge could consider entertaining a more violent method of persuasion, the detective relented.

The detective scratched the side of his neck. His discomfort showed in the tenseness of his face, muscles drawn taught with a waxy complexion.

“He isn't in trouble. He hasn't committed any crimes either, not that we know of. It's just a precaution. But you should stay away. He keeps dangerous company.”

Demiurge finally had the chance to rejoin Albedo in the waiting room.

He could tell by her narrowed eyes how much she loathed it. Being questioned by anyone other than Lord Ainz was an affront, and he had to agree. While he couldn't stack up to Neuronist, he delighted in playing the part of the interrogator. Being on the other end was not nearly as fun.

“Do they suspect anything?”

“Only that I'm a potential target for organ harvesting,” Albedo remarked sarcastically. “Apparently the area we were in is by a hotspot for unscrupulous thugs.”

Demiurge's eyes flashed. For a brief moment, his disguise slipped, exposing his diamond orbs. “How intriguing. There must be a marketplace for such activities.”

Albedo shot him a look of disgust. Why anyone would have a fascination with human entrails was beyond her. It wasn't like he was biologically inclined to consume them like Entoma or Solution.

Twirling a strand of hair in her finger, she added with an air of nonchalance, “By the way, I told them we were related.”

“You said you were older, didn't you?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Got a problem with that?”

Demiurge was affronted. “Everyone knows I’m the eldest.”

Albedo quirked an eyebrow. “Wasn't Sebas created first?”

Demiurge pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please do not bring him up. You know what I mean…never mind. I already anticipated you'd do that.”

Demiurge elected to keep the fact that he'd told the detective that she was his illegitimate sister a secret.

Suspicious of his complacent silence, Albedo opened her mouth to continue rubbing her supposed victory in his face when the door connected to the waiting room rattled.

They shared a knowing look.

Their minds were built similarly, two geniuses with the shared goal of serving Ainz Ooal Gown until their dying breath. Yet now they found themselves hardly better than the strongest native in the New World.

Amused, Demiurge watched Albedo slip on a mask as an officer offered them a ride back.

On demand, her eyes watered, giving it that glassy look, though no tears escaped. Her lip trembled, the picture of a damsel in distress.

If only they knew how much she wanted them dead.

Demiurge did not miss the detective's disappointed expression when she requested to be brought back to Suzuki Satoru's apartment. Obviously the man had hoped to return a wealthy lady to her mansion, where he might receive rewards.

A small victory. Demiurge’s heart sang with glee. It paid to be a contrarian. Perhaps he should try it more often.

Pandora's Actor rushed them the moment they unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Overjoyed, he pounced at them, arms spread wide.

“Willkommen zurück!”

Albedo scowled. She assumed a defensive stance, ready to lash out. He might be Lord Ainz’s creation, but that didn't give him the permission to touch her.

“There is no need for that, Pandora's Actor.”

Slipping back into his demonic form, Demiurge wound his tail around the doppelgänger's leg and spun him like a top.

“U-uwoh!”

The speed was dizzying. The room dissolved into a blur of sepia, flecked with streaks of light.

There was a flash of feathers as Albedo swept one of her wings inward, the gust inching Suzuki Satoru's desk chair closer. It rolled perfectly into place as she beat her other wing, the force knocking Pandora's Actor into the seat.

Pandora's Actor blinked, rubbed his eyes. Four guardians standing before him became two. He chuckled sheepishly.

“There goes my warm welcome, I suppose.”

It almost seemed like he was hurt by their lukewarm reception. But there was no doubt he hadn't seen it coming. He hadn't any intention to see it through anyway. Not in the normal sense.

Gingerly, he scooted forward and set the knife he had tucked into his waistband back onto the kitchen counter.

“It's good to see you, Pandora's Actor. We apologize for leaving abruptly. There was no intention to leave you in the dark. No hard feelings?” asked Demiurge.

Pandora's Actor shook his head. “I received the message you left behind. I did not doubt your return. We strive to serve the Great Ones. You have my utmost trust and respect. Have you learned anything?”

Albedo flipped her hair. “This…Suzuki Satoru—”, she gestured at Pandora's Actor with a wave, “—apparently surrounds himself with unseemly characters.”

“And who are these people, might I ask?”

She shrugged. “You tell me. What sort of people did you meet at his workplace?”

“None that were memorable. Although I did encounter a helpful man on my way there. Shame I didn't catch his name.”

A strange feeling passed over him. It lingered in the back of his mind like a shadow, just out of view.

He felt as if he were on the cusp of a revelation, but his white whale slipped back into the depths when he tried to concentrate. Ach! He brushed it off. All in due time.

“That reminds me. I have something to show you.”

He directed their attention to a rectangular metal box perched on the desk. Demiurge had tried fiddling with it earlier, but he hadn't gone far. Breaking it wouldn't help, so he had refrained from going further.

Pandora's Actor pressed a small button on its side. There was a faint hum as a fan whirred to life. A dim beam of light was projected from a small protrusion in the center, hovering over the device. The light grew brighter, pixels falling into place and bathing the room in an ethereal glow.

[ Welcome Back, Satoru. Please enter your password. ]

Albedo was familiar with the status screens in the Great Hall, so she wasn't surprised. However, she had never seen this kind of magic technology in the hands of another. She had presumed it was specific to the Throne of Kings, worthy of use to the Supreme One. Was Suzuki Satoru more powerful than she thought?

With a slicing motion, Pandora's Actor pulled a keyboard into view. He turned to his companions and flashed them a grin.

“Watch carefully.”

On cue, their vision sharpened, honing in on his typing. The stuffy air, the drip‐drip of a leaking pipe somewhere in the walls, and the muffled chugging of distant machinery faded as they devoted their attention to the task at hand.

[ AinzOoalGownGreatestGuild4Ever ]

He hit the enter key with a dramatic flair, as if he were a maestro conducting an orchestra.

A chime sounded.

[ Logging in… ]

“Wha—How did you know the answer to that riddle?” Demiurge demanded. While he did not doubt Pandora's Actor's intelligence, he was astonished that he could bypass the security feature with such ease.

Pandora's Actor reached to pull down his cap, realized he didn't have one anymore, and played it off by pretending he had meant to cross his arms all along. No one was convinced.

Dropping his voice an octave, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Intuition.”

Demiurge stilled. He furrowed a non-existent brow. What was he talking about? Was this an unknown skill of his, similar to the spell [ Paranormal Intuition ]? Demiurge had never heard of such a thing.

“—For you see, this humble abode is none other than that of my Creator, the leader of the Supreme Beings, the Sorcerer King, Lord Ainz!”

Albedo snarled, golden eyes flashing. She stomped her heel. “You dare suggest that this hovel—”

Pandora's Actor cut her off, waggling a teasing finger and clicking his tongue. “The facts are right in front of you. Lord Demiurge?”

Demiurge adjusted his spectacles. “He cannot shift into someone he does not know. Perhaps there is some legitimacy to his claim.”

Pursing her lips, Albedo did not respond. She wasn’t ready to admit defeat. She did not wish to believe that she had misjudged Lord Ainz. That this shoddy place, so beneath his holiness, belonged to him. That his machinations were capable of being detected by mere humans.

Pandora's Actor whistled a jovial tone as he navigated through the myriad of files on the computer, effortlessly flicking his finger to drag one window and onto the next. His eyes darted quickly, absorbing the information, lingering on each no greater than a fraction of a second.

Demiurge and Albedo did not complain or ask him to slow down and explain. While impossible for a typical human to process, this blistering pace was how their brains were programmed to function. It was no trouble at all. If anything, it made them impatient, eager to see what the fuss was all about.

“Ah—Here we are.”

Pinching his thumb and forefinger and spreading them apart, Pandora's Actor magnified the screen. An icon grew in size, the logo unmistakable. They'd recognize it anywhere.

Albedo's eyes widened. “Yggdrasil?”

“So we can presume he has knowledge of our homeland…” Demiurge murmured.

Pandora's Actor grinned. Since it was virtually impossible for his doppelgänger self to make such an expression, it was strange seeing him manipulate this human face to get his point across. Eerie, even. It made Albedo's skin crawl.

Actually, Pandora's Actor had tried opening the portal to Yggdrasil, but he was impeded by an error stating that the host server was unavailable. A strange blockade. He could only surmise that it meant they couldn't return home using this method.

Albedo crossed her arms, an internal struggle mounting in the battleground of her mind. The facts were adding up, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

But Pandora's Actor wasn't done yet.

“Behold. The nail in the coffin. Irrefutable proof Suzuki Satoru is yet another moniker of my glorious Creator.”

The screen buzzed as he giddily double-tapped on an icon of a manila file. Conceptual art, detailing a military uniform and a rough description of its wearer popped into view. The person—or rather, creature, modeling said uniform was none other than Pandora’s Actor.

Actually, since doppelgängers generally had the same appearance regardless of sex, it honestly could have been anyone. That being said, the uniform was unmistakable. The way one sleeve of the coat hung empty over his shoulder, the unnecessary belt buckles on the left boot…

“Hold on a second,” Albedo interjected. “The name on this sheet is wrong. ‘Surprise Box’ may be close, but it isn’t your name.”

She leaned back with a smug expression.

Demiurge fiddled with his spectacles, the glare of the light bouncing off the glass. “No. It’s right.”

Albedo swiveled to face him so fast there was an audible whoosh, and fixed him with an accusatory glare, like it was his fault the pieces were falling into place.

Demiurge continued, “This may come as a shock to you, but a conversation Lord Ulbert had with Lord Ainz comes to mind. Pandora’s Actor was originally to be named ‘Surprise Box’. It was by my Lord's advice did Lord Ainz reconsider. This is information I kept to myself; few know it. I admit...this is compelling evidence, especially compounded with the other details.”

Pandora’s Actor gasped and nodded enthusiastically, impressed. “Mein gott! You heard them discussing the details?!”

The two chattered away as Demiurge regaled the tale.

Albedo fumed. She looked as if she wanted to argue, but the words died in her mouth.

Ugh. What were the chances that Demiurge, of all NPCs, could have backed his claim? This was practically cheating.

Most likely he had learned this fact on the rare occasions where Lord Ulbert added him to his party to take him out of Nazarick to ‘grind for experience’. All the Supreme Ones had done so at one point at another, allowing their Creations the honor of accompanying them in battles and grand adventures. For the record, no Supreme Being had ever perished under their watch.

A lucky few traveled through the Nine Realms—those were the subject of great envy. Albedo wondered if Demiurge was one of them.

She knew Lord Ainz had liked to tout Pandora's Actor around, gushing about the intricacies of his military uniform to anyone who'd listen.

He wasn’t the only one, either.

Lord Takemikazuchi was hardly ever seen without Cocytus, often using him as a pack mule to carry ores to craft weapons.

Lord Peroroncino made it his life's mission to swindle money by using Shalltear as a lure, then running off cackling when Players realized she was an NPC rather than a shy girl with her mic muted.

And who could forget Lady Bukubukuchagama, who had reached enlightenment in the distant land of Alfheim, returning with inspiration for a pair of dark elves?

When Lord Peroroncino irritated her enough, Lady Bukubukuchagama would set a target on her brother, sending Aura and Mare to journey across the realms to whittle away at his health bar. But if she felt humorous, she would have the twins block the doorways to dungeons—Aura at the entrance and Mare at the exit. Lord Peroroncino would throw a fit, and Lady Bukubukuchagama would praise the dark elves for a job well done.

It seemed everyone had fond memories spending time with their Creator.

Except Albedo. She had spent her entire existence stationed by the throne, often alone for long stretches of time.

Back then the thought of dissatisfaction never occurred to her. She had been happy to stand idle. That was before she realized Lord Tabula had never loved her at all.

He visited a total of ten times, the last a wordless exchange in which he gave her the only piece of acknowledgment she'd gotten in six months—Ginnungagap. He vanished after that; she never saw him again.

The bitter memory set her heart ablaze. It turned her chest cavity into a furnace, burning up her insides. If Demiuge concentrated hard enough, he might have heard the cracking flames.

With a heavy sigh, Albedo turned back to the screen and studied the image, scrutinizing each pixel for a discrepancy.

When she found none, she pursed her lips. Her gaze froze over like the icy lake of the Fourth Floor of the Great Tomb. Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. A stinging, numbing sensation spread to her extremities, reaching the tips of her fingers and toes.

If Suzuki Satoru was Lord Ainz's persona, then it suggested that the personas of the other Supreme Beings existed. Perhaps in this world.

A pang of pain shot through her like a bolt of electricity.

If that was the case, it would mean that the Supreme Beings preferred this decaying world over Yggdrasil. Were they so detestable that even feeling blades of grass, viewing an azure, cloudless sky, and breathing fresh air was worth giving up?

Albedo clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into flesh.

Pandora's Actor watched her closely, tilting his head inquisitively.

Demiurge frowned. “Albedo? Are you all right?”

His question rolled off her shoulders.

She would have liked to brood in silence, but Pandora's Actor was keen on her. She stitched her wits about her, reeling in her pride. She'd nurse it back later.

“It is nothing. I simply misjudged. I am in the wrong. Forgive me.”

“It is not our place to do so,” replied Pandora's Actor, a bit too quickly for her liking.

Demiurge seemed reluctant to accept her apology, but kept it to himself and nodded anyway.

Out of the three of them, she held the dishonorable high score of reprimands collected thus far. But despite her constant outbursts, Lord Ainz gave leniency, so there was little choice but to let it slide. She was Demiurge’s superior, after all.

Clearing his throat, Demiurge returned to the topic at hand.

“It seems Lord Ainz is being investigated—a preposterous idea at that—Gods do not abide by any rule of law. He is justice itself, as a certain Pope would say.”

Pandora's Actor arched a brow. “You're suggesting we take matters into our own hands? To prove him innocent?”

Albedo snorted. “Innocence and guilt are irrelevant. Greed is inherent to all species. Why murder and plunder if not for pleasure and self gain? Humans lack understanding of basic instincts and try desperately to undermine their true nature with silly laws. The strong dominate the weak—that is the only law the world abides by.”

“Still,” said Pandora's Actor. “It wouldn't hurt to dig a little deeper. We mustn't allow Lord Ainz to be misinterpreted.”

Albedo mulled over his words. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt. It could be part of the plan. Perhaps, after clearing Lord Ainz’s name, we will be deemed worthy and be allowed to return to Nazarick.”

The three of them shared hopeful glances.

The possibility that they would never return crossed their mind several times. A terrifying idea, but it was important they considere every outcome for their situation. In all honesty, there was a staggeringly greater amount of ways it could end poorly, but Lord Ainz had placed his faith in them.

Failure was not an option. They'd find their way home. No matter the cost.

Chapter Text

A detective shuffled a bundle of papers. Loose documents escaped, fluttering to the floor.

In that moment, all his woes seemed to culminate. Marital struggles, the tooth in the back of his mouth that ached when he swallowed, the stains on his clothing that seeped through his hazmat suit and dirtied his trousers—he grit his teeth, holding back a string of expletives.

Blame was pinned on the usual source.

“Shitty megacorporations…”

If the budget hadn't been slashed he could have gotten a raise. Or if more suspects paid bribes. Fear of false imprisonment didn't strike the chord it used to.

As he bent to collect his papers, muttering under his breath, he felt a chill run up his spine. He had the acute sensation he was being watched.

He glanced at the security camera. That didn't seem right—it had been installed decades ago, before he was hired. Hell, it was probably older than he was. He'd never once felt paranoid under its gaze.

Besides, members of law enforcement had each other's backs—well, they were supposed to. Ideally. Unless they had something they stood to gain.

Still, the detective shrugged it off. He was being paranoid, probably because he was working too hard. When was the last time he worked a normal shift? He averaged around three hours of sleep and ten cups of coffee a day just to function, no exaggeration. He could probably legally be classified as a zombie at this point.

“Better bring this to the boss…”

Scooping up the papers, he shoved them into a folder and called it a day. The Captain was known to be lenient, so why not slack a little?

He exited in a hurry, the unsettling feeling of being watched searing into his back. It was as if he would catch a phantom behind him if he turned. But no one was there, no matter how many double takes he did.

“Off to see the Captain?”

His colleague—the shorter of the two—stood at the end of the hall. He tore off his gas mask with a relieved expression, gulping in the purified air of the station. His protective suit hung on a rack in the coat closet. Specks of high visibility yellow peeked out from a thick layer of soot.

“I am.” The taller man waved his file, pinching tightly so the papers wouldn't slip out again and make a fool of him in front of his nonexistent voyeur. In actuality, the threat of humiliating himself in front of a very real, physically present man was the greater danger.

The urge to gloat was irresistible.

“If I close this case before the deadline, I might be promoted.”

The shorter man scraped his nail along the rubber lining of his gas mask, his lips downturned. “I can't believe they chose you as a candidate.”

“And I still can't believe you dropped off Miss Albedo and the young master back at that shitty apartment a couple days ago. You could have gotten a hefty reward if you returned them to their Arcology.”

A flat, awkward silence followed.

The two detectives did not get along well, but because they'd been partnered up for this case, they kept it civil. Of course, small digs were not off the table, but shy of a physical fight was fine. Otherwise they might get passed over for promotion.

The detective tossed his gas mask into a pile and shut the closet door, rattling the knob to ensure it was sealed. “Organize those papers.”

“Why? Cap’ won't care. He's got tenure. Over twenty years on the force without missing a day. He's accumulated enough sick leave to last a lifetime.”

“You idiot. Don't you know?”

The detective checked if the coast was clear.

A strange tingle went up his spine, but he knew he was in a blind spot. Cameras were unable to capture his lips for artificial intelligence to read, and the listening devices were either broken or in dire need of repair. A lack of funding came in handy sometimes.

When he was confident no one could eavesdrop, he dropped his voice to a bare whisper. “He's on thin ice. This could make or break him.”

“Huh? How so?”

“He knows the people involved.”

A head tilt. “Personally?”

“Oh, yes. They were close friends. You didn't hear it from me.”

Demiurge stroked his chin contemplatively.

“We should start there.”

Crooking an eyebrow, Albedo crossed her arms with a haughty expression. “Are you volunteering, Demiurge?”

“Well, I'm not opposed to it, but I hoped to get your opinions first.”

Pandora's Actor nodded. “Go ahead. I wish to learn more about my Creator, if it's not too much trouble.”

Albedo's eyes bulged. Her feathers bristled, shaking as if a great gust of wind had swept through. She slammed a fist on the table. The legs wobbled precariously, hanging on by a thread.

“Hold on a second! I object! As Lord Ainz’s future wife, I should be the one to investigate him!”

Staring blankly, Pandora's Actor shrugged. He wondered why Lord Ainz considered taking her for a wife—she was unhinged, and not in the fun, goofy way. Then again, wasn't that the pot calling the kettle black?

“No harm in doing so together.”

Albedo blinked.

While embarking on the adventure alone was preferable, there was value in his company. Namely, she had a few things to discuss with Pandora's Actor that were not for Demiurge’s ears. There were not many opportunities to speak alone that wouldn't arouse suspicion since she was not overly fond of the doppelgänger.

She huffed, flipping her long obsidian hair over her shoulder. “Fine, then.”

Disappointed, Demiurge sighed. He also wanted to learn about his exalted Master.

It was only right that Pandora's Actor had first pick, but he hoped he would have a chance even if he knew Albedo would vie for the position.

By virtue of being second-in-command, she was in Lord Ainz's company constantly, and that didn't account for the times she barged in where she didn't belong to monopolize his attention.

It was unfair. Demiurge and the other guardians were left to stew in jealousy. They held their tongues because no one had the courage to complain. After all, Lord Ainz never said a word, and there had to be a reason for his actions. A deeper meaning he wanted them to grasp.

It must be they themselves who were at fault. Some inadequacy he saw in them which prevented them from getting any closer. Whatever it was, Albedo seemed to meet the qualifications. The rest of the guardians were left to play a game of catch-up, which meant they needed to work harder to prove themselves worthy.

Resigning himself to his fate, Demiurge acquiesced. His tail clinked to the floor, dejected.

“As there is only one protective suit and one gas mask, I suppose it is a fair deal. Behave yourselves.”

Demiurge regulated his breathing.

The gas mask was too small for him, allowing toxic air to seep through the cracks, making him choke. Resting tightly on his face, it chafed against his cheeks and forced his spectacles down onto the bridge of his nose.

The hazmat suit did little to alleviate his frustration. Like a snake about to shed its skin, the general discomfort and itchiness was constant.

He and Albedo had been fortunate enough to have been picked up and dropped off in the underground car park of the apartment complex the first time around, sparing them the displeasure of being outdoors—the detectives had done it to get in their good graces. This was exactly why.

Since he had time to spare, he explored, mapping out the general surroundings.

Stores with half-stocked shelves, homeless encampments, heaps of trash as far as the eye could see. Mostly the latter. Vile.

He prayed for Lord Blue Planet to cleanse the world of the reprobates who caused this sorry state of affairs. Secretly, though, Demiurge hoped Lord Blue Planet saved some for him to toy with. Just a little.

The smell was pungent, and with his heightened senses, it was amplified a hundred-fold. Overwhelming. Stomach churning, he shook his head and tried to find something else to focus on.

Hm.

Among the barrage of human waste, artificial byproducts, and chemical runoff from nearby factories, he picked up something almost pleasant by comparison.

He pinpointed the origin of spices, rust, frying oil, the acrid tang of faux leather, formaldehyde, and clothing textiles. A strange, yet comforting combination. Daresay familiar.

Buried behind a mountain of garbage was a small gate—he had to crouch to enter.

It turned out to be a marketplace. An unregulated and most certainly illegal one. Not that he could argue.

This was the bustling underbelly of the Arcology, where the population gathered to socialize and trade. Whereas life was sparse above ground, life here thrived. Those who had been blacklisted by megacorporations and couldn't find employment took refuge here as unlicensed hawkers, runners, and solicitors.

Demiurge had a quick look before he was spotted by what he presumed were security. They dressed casually like everyone else, but exuded an air of authority, their faces hardened.

“You don't belong here,” one of the men said.

He was shaped like a square, his bulging muscles prominent through a half-zipped protective suit. Interesting. So there was a way to acquire some sort of protein supplement to sustain his build.

“Is there a problem?” Demiurge smiled, though it went unseen beneath his gas mask. He wasn't the least bit daunted. “Looking isn't free?”

The man looked tough, but it was all appearance. Throwing a punch or kick wouldn't accomplish anything against someone like Demiurge—he could burst his head between his claws in a second, even with the majority of his levels locked.

The man seemed to sense a strangeness about Demiurge. Perhaps his lackadaisical attitude, or the way he stood idly, shifting his weight as he took stock of his surroundings like he owned the place.

Was he an inspector of some sort? Arcology officials typically turned a blind eye to the markets, so long as a steady rate of ‘donations’ kept coming in. But there had been times where the economy slowed and the money stagnated, leading to shut downs where the issue of code violations suddenly arose. Complete malarkey, given the abysmal state street level.

But business had been booming lately, so the possibility that an official sent someone to bust the operation was low. Still, he couldn't stop the spine-tingling sensation screaming at him to run—or better yet, hide.

Thankfully, his buddy stepped forward, swallowing the knot in his throat and crossing his arms to flaunt his muscles.

“If you don't have anything to offer, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

He expected resistance. His brain hadn't fully prepared for what might happen, but to his relief, nothing did.

Demiurge nodded. “Very well.”

Demiurge had no digital wallet and no goods to sell or trade. It was clear he would not be welcomed empty handed, and so he was given the boot.

It did wound his pride slightly, but he made up his mind to return with the necessary requirements. He did have somewhere he needed to be, anyway.

Demiurge had a few ideas for explaining his return to the precinct.

He could fabricate a story; an elaborate conspiracy somewhat grounded in reality revolving around corruption and attempted assassination—just to see if they would bite.

Or perhaps he could use their misunderstandings to his advantage and offer a large sum of money in exchange for information. Albedo told him one of the officers seemed keen on this idea. After all, greed was motivation leading to many a downfall. Just ripe for exploitation.

He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. The smog was nearly impossible to see through, but it was there.

Head bowed, a tiny frame leaned against a brick wall, knees drawn up for warmth. A tangled mop so caked with ash and dirt it resembled a rat's nest rather than hair. Rags served as clothing, the material threadbare and ragged around their emaciated figure.

Demiurge halted in his tracks.

“Is that…?”

If he had to venture a guess, the poor child was homeless—it didn't seem uncommon in this world. The divide between the mega-rich and the destitute was vast.

The wealthy lived in Arcologies, city states protected and run by massive conglomerates who'd risen to power after a great war. They spent their days in luxury, never once considering the labor put in to fund their lavish mansions and yachts.

Far removed from the plight of the common man, they enjoyed privileges like solid organic food, medical care, and temperate climates provided by weather controlled domes. Acid rain was a foreign concept to them, and he was willing to bet they were more than willing to turn a blind eye to dying orphans on the street. Out of sight, out of mind.

Eyes trained vacantly on a tin can in front of him, the child shivered. Not even half-filled. Who could spare a coin in this economy? Chronically working overtime was just barely enough to keep heads afloat.

Perhaps sensing his end was near, the boy didn't bother going through the motions to rattle his can at Demiurge. His eyelids drooped, seeming like he was on the verge of falling asleep. His limbs were weak with fatigue and he felt the burning cold numb his fingertips.

Demiurge watched curiously.

To a bystander, it might look as if he was staring out of pity. Perhaps he might root around for spare change in his pockets, offer a helping hand, point him to a safehouse for the night.

But Demiurge was a devil. The only goodness in his heart—if one could even call it that—was solely reserved for the denizens of Nazarick, his family. Otherwise, he held no strong attachments.

Only a human's worth, both as a resource and as entertainment, was capable of holding his interest. He delighted in using them as an outlet for his sadistic tendencies, which could not be expressed in any other fashion besides torture and bloodshed.

His lips curled into a fiendish grin as the boy slumped lower, heartbeat pounding lethargically against his ribcage.

This was exactly what he was looking for.

Pandora's Actor scrolled through a deluge of emails.

Suzuki Satoru had sent a plethora before the world of Yggdrasil shut down—requests for his former guildmates to join him at the end.

Thirty-seven hadn't bothered to dignify him with a response. Two gave tentative responses. Only one—Herohero—went through with it, but left after five minutes. Still, better than nothing.

Pandora's Actor's heart sank.

He knew his Father missed them dearly, to the point of molding effigies in their appearance. He witnessed his low points, each time a member resigned and relinquished their gear. But his Father did not wish to forget and kept them in case they returned. They did not.

Thus, Pandora's Actor vigilantly guarded the Treasury. He protected the memories–the good and the bad—for his Father's sake.

His heart sank. His sole purpose in life was to serve his Master in the Treasury. What meaning did his existence have if he could not fulfill his god-given duties?

A noise akin to stone being grinded snapped him to attention.

Albedo gnashed her teeth, the vertical slits in her pupils constricting until they were reduced to tiny specks.

“How dare they ignore the Supreme One…”

“Oh? Do you fault them, Lady Albedo?”

“After seeing this, who could not? They wronged him. They discarded a comfortable life in Nazarick, ruling over the Great Tomb beside him in total luxury, pampered hand and foot—for this?”

She gestured. The water stained walls, the roaches skittering from one dark corner to the next, the loose floorboards, the thin air barely breathable from the valiant efforts of a sole air purifier on its last legs.

Her eyes shimmered. “You must be mad to think this is an acceptable place for a Supreme Being.”

Pandora’s Actor stared down at his lap.

On one hand, he was happy his Lord stayed for their sake. It filled him with immense joy and gratitude. His Father’s love and selflessness was a gift to all.

On the other hand, he pitied the creations who had been forsaken by their Masters.

The denizens worked tirelessly, striving to rectify whatever mistake they’d made to drive the Supreme Ones away. Guilt plagued their thoughts day and night, the weight of their sin crushing. They would gladly offer their lives if it meant redemption.

They served Lord Ainz because he was the last of the Forty-One and the Guildmaster, but they never once ceased thinking about their own Creators. Wondering why they had been left behind. Longing for their glorious return.

And yet, despite everything, they did not begrudge their Creators. Except Albedo. She had always been an anomaly, just a tad off-kilter than the rest. No one else seemed to notice, and if they did, they kept it to themselves.

“There are those who do not share your sentiment, Lady Albedo. They will not appreciate you speaking ill of their Masters behind their backs.”

Albedo snorted. “They are fools, blinded by ignorance.”

“Are they? We cannot judge without knowing the truth."

She snapped. The floodgates opened, a torrent of resentment spilling forth.

“We were cast aside without explanation or recourse. You cannot comprehend our feelings! How could you know what it’s like to lose the person who's supposed to love you? To be forgotten? To be stripped of our purpose and meaning, thrown aside as if we never existed?! I would rather die than suffer such humiliation and agony. My heart bleeds. I hate this. I hate them.”

She heaved, her eyes wild and her hair unkempt, unbefitting of someone of her station.

Pandora's Actor spoke slowly. “You…you’ve been holding this in for a long time.”

“I have. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”

“Lord Ainz loved them. He still does.”

Albedo narrowed her eyes and scoffed, refusing to listen. Hatred clouded her mind, poisoning the well of reason.

Pandora’s Actor darkened his gaze, a dangerous edge to his voice as he growled.

“An insult against the Supreme Beings is an insult against Lord Ainz. Do you seriously think you could spout such libel in front of me without consequence?”

Albedo tensed. The atmosphere was electric, as if a great charge was building. The tipping point just needed a push.

Eccentricities aside, Pandora’s Actor was Level 100, same as the Guardians. He was not in charge of an entire floor, but that didn't mean he wasn’t powerful.

After all, to be assigned a place as important as the Treasury—where rare drops, exclusive weapons, and world items were stored—was a monumental task, even for a single NPC. He wouldn’t have been tasked with such a role if Lord Ainz didn’t feel confident in his ability to do so.

Steeling her nerves, Albedo coolly met his gaze. What are you going to do about it?

Trapped in human form, Pandora's Actor was hardly a threat. Best he could muster were a few meek punches. He'd break his hand if he tried.

Aware of his limitations, Pandora's Actor leaned back in his seat. While he could not harm Albedo, the reverse was also true. If anything were to happen to him, Demiurge and Lord Ainz would certainly investigate.

In other words, she needed him alive.

“You have guts, Lady Albedo. I do recall receiving a memo on a certain unit a while back. Proposed by you to search for the Supreme Beings. I doubt your intentions are as benign as they appear. Did you believe I would agree, knowing the actual terms of your meddling?”

The anger that had manifested moments prior had vanished. His tone was matter-of-fact, tinged with a hint of curiosity. She was not as foolish as to believe he was no longer upset.

Belligerence was a poor avenue for information gathering. When he wanted to, he could be quite mellow. It was all acting, and besides, he wasn't alone in that regard. Albedo was used to putting on a façade.

Albedo grimaced. “There weren't many options. Other than my sister Rubedo, you are the least biased. She obeys Lord Ainz absolutely—same goes for us. Lord Ainz can be considered my Creator to an extent. After all, he made it so that I would love him. Therefore, we hold Him above all else. There is no room for sentimentality.”

“And you do this because you view Lord Ainz’s fondness for his friends as an issue?”

“But of course. The mere mention of their possible existence is enough to give him pause. In battle, hesitation begets defeat. Defeat begets death. You wouldn't want him to perish…”

“With all due respect, please don't attempt to play on my emotions. Your fanaticism is cause for greater alarm. If Lord Ainz discovered your conspiracy, he would be stricken with grief.”

Pandora's Actor put a hand to his forehead dramatically and tilted back.

“Ah, I can imagine the pain on his skeletal visage. Der schmerz! Die agonie!”

Albedo crossed her arms. “All the more reason to keep this between us.”

Pandora's Actor did not move, eyes obscured by his hand. What Albedo would give to peer into his mind…

She swallowed imperceptibly.

“Your answer? Will you join my cause?”

Chapter Text

Demiurge was pleasantly surprised when the boy offered zero resistance and allowed himself to be dragged along.

Bloody feet dragged along patchy asphalt, catching every bump and snag. Each one sent pain shooting up his body, but Demiurge did not stop to comfort him.

Why should he? The more battered, the better.

Humans were highly emotional creatures. The suffering of a child would surely rouse sympathy. It would suffice as long as the boy was alive when they arrived. Perishing from his wounds afterward was also fine. Preferable, even.

Thick fog shielded them from view. No witnesses. Even if there were anyone to see, it was unlikely they would intercept.

Orphans dying in the streets were a normal facet of life. Nobody helped them—why would this be any different? ‘Mind your own business' was the motto people firmly believed in. They were barely scraping by themselves—they didn't need additional troubles or, worse yet, another mouth to feed.

The attitude of law enforcement was partly responsible for the dismal state of affairs. Especially considering how many corpses lined the street. From observation, he deduced that some wounds on these vagrants were inflicted by a human hand. It was a rat race, the desperate preying on the weak.

Demiurge would have reveled in the despair had there been an organized chaos about it. But it was just so…primitive.

The cycle of violence didn’t end there. Corpses weren't spared. Scavengers looted what possessions they had—scraps of fabric, shoes, trinkets they could use or pawn. Bite marks and missing chunks of flesh hinted at another use for the dying. The type that warranted no discussion.

A dreadful waste. How many scrolls of parchment could have been produced?

A devious idea began to brew. Perhaps the orphans could provide use still.

The trek was tedious and painful. The boy was limp. He did not walk as much as Demiurge pulled, staggering whenever he stumbled over uneven spots in the pavement.

But he did not complain.

Demiurge quite liked that.

He detested when sheep argued or protested, considering it useless bleating.

He cut the tongues out of the rebellious ones, and for good reason. If he entertained their nonsense, they would inevitably grow too headstrong, even daring to spout heresy against the Supreme Beings. That was unacceptable.

Thus, to keep the peace, it was vital to knock them down a few pegs. Judging by the terrified look in their eyes as they gurgled and choked on their blood, it proved to be an unforgettable lesson in humility. Terror would be instilled in the other sheep—they would open their mouths only to scream and beg as they were sheared, just as he preferred.

Pulcinella loved to praise his methods, gloating to anyone who would listen.

“Master Demiurge is merciful. He saved those poor souls from damnation—they will never be able to desecrate the Great Ones with their voices. And see how mindful he is, to also sever their fingers so that they cannot carve sacrilege on either parchment or stone!”

The boy was drifting in and out of consciousness by the time they reached the precinct.

“Is that your child?” the officer at the desk asked, glancing up from his holoscreen. Repulsion was evident in his wary gaze. He raised a sleeve to shield his nose, the stink of decay wafting too close for comfort.

“No. But I would like to see to it that he receives the help he needs,” Demiurge responded, a warm smile plastered on his face.

The officer grimaced, feet propped up on the desk, cap dipped low over his baggy eyes. He brushed his holoscreen to the side.

“Hate to break it to you buddy, but he’s a dime a dozen. Dunno if you venture out of your Arcology often, but this is the reality in scummier areas.”

That piqued Demiurge's interest. There were sanctuaries free from suffering? Then why did Suzuki Satoru dwell alongside the destitute?

Ah. Perhaps he was being humble. A benevolent Supreme Being, he sought to understand the plight of lower-beings. It was information he was after. As Lord Punitto Moe often said, ‘Knowing is half the battle’. Such a shrewd man!

Demiurge tightly squeezed the boy’s arm, prompting a low moan. “He’s on the brink of death. Is it possible he has family searching for him?”

The officer scoffed, irritation seeping into his tone.

“Yeah, right. Most likely abandoned by his real parents years ago to fend for himself. That kind of shit doesn’t get reported anymore.”

Demiurge stood there, clutching the boy like a ragdoll. His head felt as if a swarm of bees were buzzing inside. His throat burned from exposure to the toxic air. He cleared his throat to rid the buildup of phlegm.

“Surely he has some worth? [ Take him. ]”

A pause. For a brief moment it looked like the command would take over the officer, his eyes glazing over. But he shook the fog from his brain and rolled his eyes.

“The only thing he can offer are his organs. But c'mon, just look at the state he's in. Past his prime. His lungs are probably charcoal from breathing in all the toxins. No different from a chainsmoker.”

The obtuse officer frustrated Demiurge, who typically found the naïveté of lower beings amusing, what with their kindness and empathy. A useful tool to exploit. But there wasn't much to latch onto with jaded indifference.

This was going nowhere fast. Then it hit him. How silly. He'd forgotten to remove his mask!

“Ah, forgive me.” Demiurge tore off his mask, shaking his hair out. Fresh air rushed into his lungs, soothing the swollen nodules. He had never appreciated the New World as he did now.

Jaw dropping, the officer blanched. He took his feet off the desk and planted them on the ground. He bowed deeply.

“I—I am so sorry, young master!”

Just who was this person Demiurge kept being mistaken for? He didn't mind, of course—it had its benefits. But he had to wonder what they had done to garner such respect.

Demiurge resisted the urge to grin. His stern countenance made the officer squirm uncomfortably.

“No need for apologies. But could you fetch someone higher up? I'd like to have a word.”

“Certainly!”

As soon as the officer dashed out of the lobby through a set of swinging doors, Demiurge dropped the boy unceremoniously.

The child crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. His waxy forehead was covered in sweat and his complexion was growing increasingly gray.

It was possible he suffered from disease. Under the glare of the station light, the open cuts on his skin flared an angry red. Puss seeped from the wounds.

Demiurge distanced himself. Now that his own immunities were reduced, he had to take precautions to ensure his health. Thankfully, he had two layers of gloves on, so no direct contact was made.

He observed the boy with cold indifference. It was likely the officers would hand the boy back after treating him. However, outside of a rudimentary examination, Demiurge had no intention of keeping a human pet. He was not like Sebas, taking in every stray dog he saw.

The boy's skin was unsuitable for use in parchment production. Demiurge prided himself on quality; presenting an inferior good was tantamount to an insult to the Supreme Ones.

Cleaning him up and nursing him back to health was also out of the question. Frankly, it wasn't worth the effort, and that wasn't taking into account his lack of money and resources.

Perhaps he would leave the boy in an alley to succumb to the smog. Or toss him to a group of scavengers to see how long it would take them to reduce him to bones.

If the officers followed up on the boy's condition, he could always say his illness overcame him. The lie would come easy and no one would bother to question it.

Bolstering his appearance as a compassionate figure was his end goal, not actual charity. To suggest so was simply laughable.

Demiurge had planned to lull the officers into a false sense of security, earning their trust.

His [ Command Mantra ] was still active, but it did not have the intended amount of influence. Targets did not yield and he could not order them around as he usually could. At best he was slightly more charismatic.

Compounding the issue, he was unable to use most items or skills. In other words, he was in the realm of humans. He, Albedo, and Pandora’s Actor theorized that they were barred from impacting this world in any substantial way—other than to integrate into society.

How troublesome.

Demiurge perked up. Footsteps approached.

The doors swung open with a creak that suggested they were due for some oil, or perhaps a stern talking-to.

Entering with his head held high was a man who looked to be at minimum approaching his mid-forties. Silvery hair was neatly trimmed, bangs parted in the middle and swept to the side. His back was so ramrod straight it put Pandora’s Actor to shame. A face, creased with years of experience, gave Demiurge a once over as he stroked his beard.

A deep baritone rattled Demiurge to his core.

“Are you in need of assistance, young man?”

Demiurge did not answer.

He was utterly dumbfounded, mouth agape like a fish out of water.

Because the man in front of him was the splitting image of someone he crossed paths with frequently.

“Sebas…?”

Pandora's Actor diligently dusted the shelves. Albedo had already cleaned quite thoroughly, but he went through the motions anyway.

Suzuki Satoru kept a few books—mostly on charisma, salesmanship, and manuals on how to operate machinery. There was an obvious lack of magic scrolls and tomes.

A dull ache constricted his chest. How he longed to polish magic items! The data crystals were waiting for him in the Treasury, begging to be sorted. And what of the endless mountain of relics?

He gripped the feather duster, then heard a distinctive snap. Broken.

He tossed it in the trash. He was restless. The longer he was away from Nazarick, from the Supreme One, the more anxious he became. What to do…

He wasn't the only one going stir-crazy.

Albedo poured over emails, as she had been doing for the past hour. The contents had already been memorized but she kept refreshing the page, a murderous glint in her eye.

It made him antsy.

“Lady Albedo, might I suggest a break? Staring won't change the past.”

“But it will certainly affect the future,” she added, an ominous undercurrent cutting her tone.

“Oh! How scary!” exclaimed Pandora's Actor—although his words did not match his expression, which was oddly excitable considering the atmosphere in the room.

Now that he had an actual face, he tried to be mindful of giving too much away. There were too many muscles in the human face, all straining and buckling and contorting. Solution once remarked that humans were nearly as flexible as a slime—especially when they were melting inside her.

Surprisingly, Albedo took his advice and switched the computer off. The holographic screen buzzed and faded into darkness.

Their relationship remained on shaky ground following their little discussion. Perhaps she wanted to get in his good graces, show him that she was on the right side of history. That she held reason close to her chest. If that was the case, it wasn't really working. Their tentative alliance was just that. Tentative.

But Albedo was in a good mood. She had managed to come out on top, at least in her mind. Pandora's Actor didn't try to convince her otherwise. It would have been pointless.

She heaved a sigh, plopping her head into her hands and combing through her hair.

“I miss my beloved. His touch, his scent, his might which crushes heretics foolish enough to stand in his path. Most of all, I miss his company.”

Pandora's Actor was not offended by her implication. His eccentricities usually drove others away. Besides, he could not measure up to his Father. Ingrained was the belief that he was held in lower regard to the Guardians. Subordination was expected, and he fulfilled it without complaint.

In any case, his Father was an unreachable figure, a god amongst gods. He was not to be coveted.

For the ones who were abandoned by their Masters, Lord Ainz alone remained and took up the mantle to lead them out of darkness. His mercy was a gift, not just to him, but to the rest of the denizens. It was for this reason that Pandora's Actor understood the meaning of his Father's words.

There would be problems if they found out I favored you.

Pandora's Actor, the devoted son, would happily sacrifice things like friendship and filiation if it was his Father's will—if it was for the benefit of Nazarick.

He was satisfied with the knowledge that he alone could call him ‘Father’ in private. Frankly, it was more than he could have ever hoped for.

Lord Ainz hadn't realized it, but sometime during the process of creating the doppelgänger, he had imbued his values and beliefs. Included was the boundless love for his friends, and, consequently, their creations. Hence, it could be said that family was their greatest strength—and weakness.

Albedo drummed her nails, the rhythmic tapping drawing Pandora's Actor out of his thoughts.

He was probably going to have to kill her at some point. He hoped it wouldn't have to come to it, but the likelihood increased the longer they remained trapped in this world.

Her gaze wandered to the strange futuristic helmet on the pleather chair.

Fixed to its side was a cord, about one meter in length. At the end of the cord was a jack even smaller in diameter. Three millimeters.

She glanced about. No obvious machines to connect to. She checked the holographic computer, but the charging port did not match.

Pandora's Actor met her gaze, eyes flicking to the helmet, then back to her.

He picked it up and slid it over his head. The visor whirred to life, emitting a turquoise glow.

“No connection detected. Plug into the sensory port,” he read aloud.

He felt for the cable, fingers gliding to the jack and weighing it in his hand before grinding the tip against the chair, hoping to discover some hidden outlet.

As his head turned, Albedo caught a glimpse of something on his nape that she hadn't noticed before. Was it possible? It certainly seemed likely.

“This may sound odd,” she started slowly, “but could you undress?”

A painful silence ensued. Oh dear. Had she finally lost it?

“...Huh.”

“It's nothing like that,” she added defensively. “I merely wish to view Lord Ainz's human form in detail. As his future wife, it is only right I know his body like the back of my hand. I want to see his glory!”

After all, why shouldn't she take the chance to learn more about her beloved while she had the justification?

Pandora's Actor shrugged. Honestly, he was also a little curious. Lord Ainz took on a skeletal form, so there wasn't anything to hide.

But flesh and muscle hid a lot. Perhaps he could discover something new?

Demiurge practically flew home.

He could hardly contain his excitement. The rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins caused him to forget about the dreariness and misery.

He could have sprouted wings, but he had enough self-awareness to know he was far too scatterbrained at the moment to properly watch out for a potential attack.

He felt like a giddy schoolgirl, his fingers and toes tingling like he'd layered a hundred buffs and drunk countless bottles of elixir. Though he was grounded, skidding across the muck, his mind was in the clouds.

Vagrants huddling on the side of the road further heightened his mood. Their defeated expressions were well-earned, for those who did not worship the Supreme Ones were less than subhuman. They belonged on the streets, lonesome and feeble.

Demiurge raced up the apartment steps, key in hand. He couldn't wait to deliver the news.

He waved the key against the access pad, heard the signature click of the magnetic seal unlatch, and flung the door open.

He halted in his tracks.

Pandora's Actor stood atop a table, posing like he was in a bodybuilding contest.

Non-existent muscles were flexed. Suzuki Satoru's facial expressions contorted alongside each pose, his bare body for all to see.

A sheet wrapped around his lower half, sparing his chastity, though the intrigue remained. Lord Peroroncinco famously argued that the barest amount of clothing trumped complete nudity due to the imagination it provided.

Even stranger was Albedo, who stared with rapt attention, committing every freckle and follicle of hair to memory. She scrutinized him like an animal at a zoo, pupils dilated into dark spheres ringed with gold, as if she could digest more of him that way.

“...Do I even want to know?”

As unfortunate as it was, this was not the first time he had stumbled into one of them naked.

Demiurge assumed it to be standard behavior, much like how young boys ought to wear skirts—which puzzled him greatly when he mistook the boy outside for a girl. It was only by noting his distinctive adam's apple did he realize his mistake. Clearly, the forsaken did not follow the holy doctrines of Lady Bukubukuchagama.

However, seeing Albedo writhing around in Lord Ainz's bed was an entirely different matter to whatever was going on here. It was not sexual—thank goodness, otherwise he'd throw himself into the nearest pool of magma.

Demiurge did not think Lord Ainz would be pleased Albedo was ogling the body of his alter ego. It was uncouth. Consent was a privilege that only the Supreme Ones enjoyed.

Pandora's Actor noticed him first and saluted.

“Fear not, Lord Demiurge! We were engaging in group study. Anatomy, the mapping of the body!“ He gesticulated, though it was unnecessary. “Our efforts have proven fruitful—there seems to be a sort of port in the back of the neck matching the cord connected to that helmet over yonder.”

Demiurge followed his finger. The cord was linked to the internet, but what was the advantage in using a helmet to facilitate access? Wouldn't a holopad suffice? Unless…the helmet provided users the ability to surf the web with only their mind?

He locked eyes with Pandora's Actor, who affirmed his theory with a nod, flashing him a toothy grin.

“I would have had a difficult time finding it. Luckily, Lady Albedo was around to observe the oddity at my nape.” He paused. “Additionally, the nether regions—”

Demiurge let out a resigned sigh. At least it wasn't just the perverse inclinations of a specific succubus. It would seem that her mental faculties hadn't completely degraded. There was scientific merit.

Albedo did not appreciate the exasperation.

“If you don't want to see, shut your eyes. Our Master's exquisite form should only be observed by his most devoted followers. You can only hold third place at best.”

Demiurge frowned. “I am loyal until the end. I have proven my fealty time and time again.”

For extra measure, he circled Pandora's Actor like a hawk, mentally mapping his body and committing it to memory. For future reference. He wouldn't have Albedo have him beaten in terms of knowledge on Lord Ainz.

“That may be the case, but have you been given a Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown?”

Albedo flashed the ring on her wedding finger, the oval gem gleaming in the light and reminding them of Lord Ainz’s eyes.

Demiurge’s eyes widened. Envy surged up in his chest, an ugly, twisted feeling that constricted his heart like a snake. He knew exactly what she was doing.

He glanced at Pandora's Actor, who was no help at all. Naked as he was, he kept his Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown on, leaving Demiurge as the sole exception.

Self-conscious of his predatory gaze, Pandora's Actor caressed the smooth finish with a thumb. He turned away slightly, as if Demiurge would leap forward and snatch it away. It was a coincidence since he was changing his pose, but it still stung nonetheless.

Heat flared up Demiurge’s face, imperceptible except to the trained eye. It was not the dig which bothered him, but the abject shame of his uselessness. He bit his tongue, tasting copper.

Albedo met his gaze. The smug smile besmirched her angelic beauty. She sneered, further warping her expression and leaning deeper into her demonic roots.

“Frog caught in your throat? We all know what it means. Lord Ainz has not deemed you worthy.”

Demiurge struggled to understand where he was going wrong. “What am I missing? My plans are flawless—he has given me his stamp of approval many times. Not a single complaint!”

Albedo clicked her tongue. “Answers will not be handed to you on a silver platter. Look within. Lord Ainz believes in you, Demiurge. Do not disappoint him.”

She had the strangest way of giving advice. Her version of encouragement was to tuck it between teasing and personal jabs.

While Albedo did wish for his success, she was not one to shy away from criticism. She had a knack for being difficult to please, which also had the dual effect of making the prize all the sweeter—supposing one could endure it until the end. She had brought many a maid to tears with her biting remarks. Only when Lord Ainz intervened did her tyranny over the housekeeping staff ease.

Demiurge tried his best to be accommodating. He knew it was difficult for her to express her feelings normally. It was her way of exerting control. Their stressful situation only worsened her behavior.

He brooded mutely as he removed his protective suit and gas mask. But personal introspection could wait. There were more important matters to discuss.

“My spirit has been trampled, but I will deliver my report nonetheless.”

Pandora's Actor nodded, adjusting his clothes with a flourish that seemed to irk Albedo. "Go ahead."

“I encountered a particular fellow at the police station, one that I recognized instantly. How could I not? His overflowing charisma and raw strength were unmistakable. The purveyor of justice, the lion heart.”

Pandora's Actor perked up, eyes wide with disbelief. “Could it be?”

Demiurge nodded vigorously, eyes gleaming behind his spectacles. “World Champion, Paladin of Silver, the Supreme One, Lord Touch Me.”

As Demiurge revisited the recent memory, a wave of euphoria washed through him, the distress experienced moments ago scattering into the wind. While he suspected the Supreme Beings’ existence in this world, never in his wildest dreams had he expected to encounter one himself.

Relief flooded Pandora’s Actor. He couldn't help but imagine the disaster that could have unfolded if he and Albedo hadn't had their conversation earlier. He shuddered to think of the possibilities. Close call.

While he had confidence in Albedo’s poker face, the sudden news knocked her off kilter. Her mask flickered like a candle in the wind. Momentary lapses like these were dangerous before archdevils like Demiurge.

“Das ist die schönste Nachricht!”

Pandora's Actor applauded almost frantically as he bounced up and down, desperately trying to draw Demiurge’s attention from the subtle changes in her demeanor.

But Demiurge was off in his own world. He had a lapse of tunnel vision, thoughts centered around the Supreme Ones. He lived for their approval, their slightest acknowledgment. In his eyes, nothing else mattered. Not Albedo's faltering composure, not Pandora's Actor’s odd behavior. Only the Supreme Ones.

Blissfully unaware, he missed how her face darkened. Light faded from her eyes, hollow and sunken. Her lips drew taut as she forced the tips upward. Shadows seemed to dance on her visage. The result was an uncanny expression that wouldn’t look out of place on one of Nigredo’s dolls.

Among the three colleagues, only one was fortunate enough to bask in true happiness.

Pandora’s Actor chewed the inside of his mouth. Because of the obstacle known as Albedo, he could not celebrate in what was probably the single most important moment in their lives—the return of a Supreme One, an event so extraordinary that even Lord Ainz deemed it impossible.

Perhaps this was the reason his Father sent them here. A test of loyalty. Of teamwork. Could they stick together under dire circumstances? Resolve old grudges?

Pandora’s Actor could have drawn charts and graphs as far as the eye could see. All types of predictive models; formulas more complex than the last. But no matter how he set up the equations, the result was always the same.

The forecast didn’t look promising.

Chapter Text

Albedo's life, a brief stint in existence, was colored by three notable events. Marred, really.

The first was when she had been separated from her beloved to be thrust into an unknown world. A world without Nazarick, magic, or love.

The second had been when Lord Ainz declared his intention to fight a brainwashed Shalltear, risking death and the subsequent dissolution of the guild.

And the third? Ah, the third. The worst of them all, it was hardly any competition.

The revelation that the Supreme Beings were still alive. It felt like a cruel jest, as if reality itself were specifically conspiring against her.

Demiurge's tail whipped, going a mile a minute. Albedo fantasized about pinning it under her heel and stamping that unbridled joy into submission.

How could he be happy?

Lord Touch Me had abandoned them—deserted them without warning, without even the smallest token of closure. A betrayal so profound it dug a trench through her heart, leaving her empty, aching, and furious. His supposed return only reopened old wounds, tearing at stitches she'd long worked to mend. She wanted to scream.

Taking a page out of Princess Renner's book, she forced a smile, hiding her boiling rage beneath her mask.

“My! What wonderful news, Demiurge!”

Demiurge brightened, for once none the wiser. “Lord Touch Me is an enforcer of justice. A fitting occupation if you ask me.”

“Did you speak to him? Tell him who you are?” asked Pandora's Actor.

Demiurge’s smile dimmed. “He did not appear to recognize me, referring to me as the ‘young master’.”

The admission hung heavy in the air. He hadn’t thought to lie, but truth hurt far more.

It stung—no, it burned, deep in his chest, a rejection from a being he had revered, worshiped as a God. But if the Supreme One, in their omnipotence, did not wish to acknowledge him, so be it. Who was he to go against their judgment?

Albedo's eyebrow arched in a subtle, dismissive gesture. “What are we to make of this? Has he also confused you with someone else? If that is the case, we must ask ourselves what kind of ruler would fail to recognize their own subject. Admit it, you’re deluding yourself with wishful thinking. There is no concrete proof that this was Lord Touch Me.”

Demiurge’s eyes narrowed, irritation flickering beneath his calm exterior. But he had to admit she was right. He was jumping to conclusions.

It was unlike him—which was what drove Albedo mad. The other Supreme Beings had a destabilizing effect on all NPCs, not just her. Everyone was susceptible, even the logical Demiurge.

That being said, Demiurge was not entirely convinced it was Lord Touch Me—he was merely excited at the prospect.

Despite his initial elation, Demiurge had committed the unthinkable and hadn’t prostrated himself before Lord Touch Me. But Lord Touch Me made no comment, no move to punish. Subservience, it seemed, was neither expected nor demanded. The Supreme Being had been courteous, almost indifferent, focused solely on the boy at his side, as if Demiurge were an afterthought. Ouch.

Always the optimist, Pandora's Actor threw Demiurge a bone. He pondered. “Perhaps he has been subjected to the influence of a magic item.”

Albedo scoffed. “Impossible—we can hardly use magic, how would others be able to accomplish such a feat? Enough to overcome a Supreme Being, even. They would have to be extremely powerful.”

The idea was unsettling, a chilling possibility that made their collective blood run cold. The thought of someone being powerful enough to subdue a Supreme Being was a nightmare of the highest order. To even begin to combat a threat of this nature was unfathomable.

Demiurge nodded gravely. “That is precisely why I kept my true identity hidden. Mentioning Yggdrasil, Nazarick, or Lord Ainz might have provoked an attack if he were under some form of control. I’m not eager to face the full brunt of Lord Touch Me’s might. Moreover, I cannot risk the World Item entrusted to me falling into dangerous hands.”

Albedo crossed her arms with an indignant tilt of her head.

She prayed it hadn't been Lord Touch Me. Couldn't be. Why show himself now? Was it part of some greater scheme?

But a tiny voice in her head knew the possibility was real. Pandora's Actor proved that Suzuki Satoru was Lord Ainz's alter ego. What was stopping the other Supreme Beings from having a second identity?

Only one way to be certain. Dread settled in her limbs, but she knew she had put it to rest.

She shared a look with her colleagues, the unspoken agreement passing between them as clear as day.

They would have to confirm his identity.

Pandora's Actor twiddled his fingers as he waited.

The interrogation room was cramped, smaller than Suzuki Satoru's apartment. The architect took great measures to give the impression the walls were closing in. The ceiling hung low; he had to hunch over when he stood.

The table's legs were uneven. The slightest pressure would cause it to sway to one side and clatter loudly. A stain in one corner looked suspiciously like dried blood, but he couldn't be certain.

It reeked of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. Though the stench clung to his clothes, it was preferable to the stink of rot and decay outside.

Demiurge had wanted to take a second look, but Albedo held him back, stating that an unbiased opinion was needed. Thus, Pandora’s Actor was dispatched.

Pandora's Actor knew she wanted him to return saying that it wasn't Lord Touch Me, truth be damned.

Drumming his fingers on the table, he mulled over his options.

If it turned out to be true and he lied to Demiurge, Lord Touch Me would be in mortal peril, prone to an attack by Albedo. And how could Pandora's Actor, in his weakened state, do anything in the way of defending him?

The door opened. Pandora's Actor sprung to his feet, his head colliding against the ceiling in his fervor. Sheepishly, he rubbed the sore spot.

Alas, it was just an ordinary detective. Not Lord Touch Me. His heart sank. At the same time, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. What confusing emotions.

He chastised himself for his foolishness—how could he have expected one of the Supreme Beings to entertain a lowly servant like him? They had important matters to attend to.

“Suzuki Satoru, I presume? Thank you for coming. We've been hoping to get a chance to speak with you.”

Pandora's Actor shook the offered hand with a bit more gusto than necessary.

Startled, the detective was almost lifted off his feet from the intensity. Pandora's Actor was too busy trying to keep his german at bay. How he longed to use his mother tongue with those who could understand!

“Yes, it is a delight to be here, detective. Oh, but my friend—the young master—said he spoke to the Captain. Does that man lead the case?”

The detective’s demeanor shifted. His small smile washed away. “He does.”

“Could I speak with him? I have some…pertinent information that might interest him that I can't share with anyone else. No offense, sire.”

“He's a busy person. I can't guarantee much to every person who walks in here claiming to have secret info.”

Judging by the way the detective swallowed, the light perspiration on his forehead, his hands wringing together—he was afraid. Pandora's Actor could sense a sort of unease rolling off him. Was the mere mention of the young master truly enough to set him on edge?

Perhaps he feared retribution of some sort for the precinct’s treatment toward him earlier, taking him to the station and refusing him service? But was that cause for a reaction like this?

The interview was drier than the Seventh Floor. Questions about his job, family, daily life. Pandora's Actor could tell the detective was searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn't seem to find it. His pen tapped on his tablet, the screen empty.

Fifteen minutes.

That's how long it took for the whole ordeal to fizzle out like a damp firecracker. The detective, now with the enthusiasm of a blighted potato, cleared Pandora’s Actor of suspicion.

The detective seemed thoroughly uninterested in any other conversation, just wanting to end his shift and go home and chug a bottle of cheap whiskey.

Pandora's Actor request to see the Captain again was shot down. The detective stood firm, but Pandora's Actor came prepared.

“Thank you for your time. It was a pleasure to meet you. As a token of appreciation, I'd like to give you this.”

He slid a gold coin across the table.

The detective blinked, then looked up at him.

“My partners—the young master and the young lady—had an abundance of these trinkets lying around. I'm something of an appraiser myself, so I've permission to enter the vaults. A lot more where that came from.”

The detective's hesitation melted away as he tentatively curled his hand over the coin, turning it over in his fingers. The metal glinted.

“Genuine,” Pandora's Actor stated. “They wanted to repay you for earlier.”

Demiurge had gone out for a few hours to obtain some bargaining chips, so to speak, in preparation for situations such as this. He returned cashless, instead opting for physical valuables in order to prevent digital breadcrumbs. However, an inexplicable windfall would raise questions, so Demiurge kept the sum as modest as he could.

Albedo verged on questioning how he had obtained a small sachet of jewelry, but snapped her mouth shut when she spotted the bloodstains all over his hazmat suit. She adamantly refused to help him clean, though she did dry the suit by fanning it with her wings.

Pandora's Actor glanced at the door. The blinds were pulled down for privacy.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Is the other detective around? I've something for him as well.”

He paused, a master of suspense. Letting the words, dripping with importance, sink in.

“Or I could come back when he's present to hand you both your gifts. Wouldn't want him to feel left out.”

He held out his palm to reclaim the coin.

The detective balked, eyes darting back and forth from the coin to Pandora's Actor in disbelief. He pinched the coin tightly, the tips of his fingers going white.

Grinning inwardly at his reluctance, Pandora's Actor hummed. “Tell you what. I'll give his share and you pass it on for me. Capiche?”

Adopting the foreign accent, he pinched his fingers together against his thumb, wagging his hand like Lord Whitebrim used to do, much to the other Supreme Beings’ chagrin. All Pandora's Actor knew was that it was a gesture used to assert dominance. Or something to that effect. It did look cool, though.

An eyebrow was raised.

Pandora's Actor slid another gold coin. It was eagerly scooped up.

“Yes, of course,” the detective said quickly, tucking both coins into his pocket as though they might vanish if he didn’t secure them fast enough.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” said Pandora's Actor.

He rose, chair scraping across the ground. The detective followed his lead.

In a flash, Pandora's Actor grabbed the detective's hand and shook it roughly.

Caught unawares, the detective lurched forward. He would have crashed into Pandora's Actor's chest if he hadn't the foresight to steady himself with the edge of the table.

Still, Pandora's Actor was able to exert an impressive amount of force on the detective, his body undulating like the crack of a whip, lifting him off the ground to balance precariously on his toes as he jerked wildly.

It went on far longer than necessary, each second stretching into eternity as the detective silently prayed for deliverance. The detective felt as if he were on the world's most turbulent ship.

“Agh!”

The detective's elbow caught on the doorknob with a thunk.

He hadn't the ability to shout or plead. Static buzzed through his arm like a dead television, ringing throughout his body.

“Mein gott! Are you okay?”

Pandora's Actor relinquished his vice grip and reached over, bumping against the table. The edge smacked against the officer's groin, eliciting a pained moan.

As a final insult to injury, an ashtray tipped over, staining the detective's pressed uniform with soot.

Hunched over, the detective clutched at his groin, eyes watering. His knees buckled.

“Noo! I am such a klutz!” Pandora's Actor shouted dramatically. He put on a concerned expression. Really though, he was lamenting the loss of two gold coins. “Terribly sorry! To make it up to you, I’m offering a deal. Zero interest rates! If your partner doesn't reclaim the gold within the day, it's yours. Sound fair?”

No answer. The detective rocked on his heels, praying for the agony to dissipate. Though judging by the way his back straightened a little, Pandora's Actor was certain he heard him loud and clear.

But just in case he hadn't…

“Let me get you a cold compress for that arm! Wait! Crutches—that's what injured humans need! Is there a nursing station nearby? A hacksaw? Quickly—we must remove the offending extremity!”

Pandora's Actor simply couldn't resist toying with the man. He had the gall to take precious resources from them.

As an avid collector of shiny baubles, Pandora's Actor did not appreciate their hoard being used on the corrupt likes of the detective. He knew the man would keep both coins to himself—he was that type of person.

The detective had to pay, one way or another. Something of a miser himself, Pandora's Actor would be damned if he let him have it for free. That was the core principle of the law of equivalent exchange—although it would have been more fitting to pump him full of lead. Lord Tabula would be ashamed!

The detective didn't have time to process his bizarre statements as Pandora's Actor's frustration overtook him. He moved forward again, ‘accidentally’ jostling the table forward.

Luckily, the detective managed to scramble back mere millimeters from another close call.

“I-It's fine! I can handle it!” Not wanting to be subjected to any more mishaps, he rushed out of the room.

“I'll let myself out!” Pandora's Actor called after him. "Wünsche Ihnen einen schönen tag!”

The door slammed shut, leaving Pandora's Actor alone with his thoughts—and a growing sense of satisfaction. The coins were gone, but so too was the detective’s composure. A fair trade, all things considered.

Just kidding. He'd get those coins back.

Pandora's Actor probably shouldn't have behaved so childishly. He blamed it on stress. All he wanted was to serve the Supreme Ones, but that man had gotten in his way. But it could have been far worse. It was less comparable to the impalement or finger-removal via rusty, red-hot pliers that Albedo and Demiurge would have inflicted.

Once his hurried footsteps disappeared, Pandora's Actor snatched a tablet off the table, the screen displaying documents on waiving legal rights.

Nothing confidential. It was blank because he hadn't signed it.

If anyone asked what he was doing, he could say he was returning it to the detective. He had the detective in the bag, so his story was sound.

Tucking a stylus behind his ear, Pandora’s Actor smoothed out his clothing and stuck his head out the door.

The coast was clear. He sidled to the elevators and slipped into an empty car.

Glancing at the legend posted on the wall, he jabbed the button to the tenth floor. It took forever, but the doors eventually closed and he felt himself traveling upwards with great speed, his ears popping with the change in altitude.

The offices were handily labeled with bronze plaques. There was only one Captain's office on the floor, so he was able to narrow down his options within a minute of stepping out.

However, he quickly ran into a small problem.

The door was smooth, with no distinguishable features. No handle, no push or pull mechanism, no keyhole to pick.

Pandora's Actor scratched his head.

“What sort of infernal portal is this?” he muttered to himself, half expecting a response.

He had a habit of tipping his hat in respect each time he entered or exited the Treasury, in case the entrance was sentient. His rationale being that since it displayed a message, it lent the slightest bit of credence to the theory that it was in fact, alive.

And it wasn't only the entrance—he conversed quite frequently with the magic items, praising their lovely polish, their curves and immaculate designs. Pandora's Actor didn't have many visitors. He wondered why. But he could ponder the reason another time.

Perhaps there was a hidden command function?

He tried a few verbal commands, quickly exhausting his list of phrases including ‘open sesame’, ‘abracadabra’, and ‘justice has arrived’, as well as a bombardment of various german and latin phrases.

Nothing.

The door remained unmoved. No flicker of acknowledgment, no cryptic message etched into its surface. It just stood there, infuriatingly blank.

Steeling his resolve, Pandora's Actor cracked his knuckles.

"The silent treatment, eh?”

He leaned closer. For a moment, he was struck by Suzuki Satoru's reflection—the hollowed cheeks, the sallow skin, the haunted gaze. It was a face others would describe as something only a mother could love. However, there was a certain quality in its uncanny features. Pandora’s Actor, unconstrained by conventional standards of beauty, felt himself quite endeared.

Tearing himself away and repressing the urge to kiss the reflection, Pandora’s Actor's eyes darted to a small square of glass embedded into the wall. A panel.

It blended in so seamlessly he'd missed it the first time round. Human vision was notoriously unreliable, and staring at screens for extended periods did not do optical degradation any favors.

A standard number pad would be ideal. He could handle that. Four digits, ten thousand combinations, piece of cake.

“If it’s a battle of wits you want, I’ll have you know I came unarmed—but not unfingered. Behold—the mythical fifth digit! Can you believe it? I'm matching mein Vater! To commemorate the occasion, I have crowned it with the Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown!”

He was determined to put his fingers to good use, even if it meant spending the night locked in a one-sided conversation with a door that clearly had no sense of humor and even worse sense of fashion. Unless, of course, the system locked him out after a few tries.

Rolling his shoulders, he flexed his fingers with a glint of determination in his eye. Then, with an air of grandiosity, he flicked his wrist, swiping across the panel.

A red letter ‘X’ flashed angrily.

[ Invalid Fingerprint ]

Mournfully, Pandora's Actor glanced down at his fingers. Consider the plan, as hastily concocted as it was, scrapped.

While he understood that Lord Touch me was a private individual, he couldn't help but feel a little hurt that his Father's hand could not be used to access his office.

Then again, his Father was being investigated. Perhaps it was to prevent a conflict of interest.

But what should he do? He tried to will himself into transforming into Lord Touch Me, but the cells of his body remained staunch.

Breaking down the door was also dismissed—this was sacred ground. He could not destroy Lord Touch Me's property.

What if he waited outside the station? Lord Touch Me had to go home eventually. But the thought of loitering wasn't exactly feasible.

Because of the thick fog he'd have to stand close, practically right in front of the doors if he planned on spotting him. That would look suspicious. Pandora's Actor wasn't sure if being arrested by Lord Touch Me would be an honor or a punishment. Perhaps both.

Then again, what if Lord Touch Me had been compromised, as Albedo suggested? Would revealing himself be worth the risk? Pandora's Actor could hardly defend himself against a Supreme Being at present.

He tapped his chin.

"...was sollte ich tun…”

Maybe he could scope out the perimeter for any open windows. It would be highly unlikely, what with the pollution, but perhaps he could pry them open from the outside? Provided he source a ladder—otherwise he'd have to channel Entoma and get to climbing.

Patting his pockets, he heard the jingle of coins—music to his ears. Bribes were another avenue, but he was feeling particularly stingy. He’d shelled out enough for one day. Secretly, though, he planned on squirreling away as much as he could into his personal coffers. He had full control over their ledgers—cooking the books was a simple affair, and he felt confident that he could weather an audit from Demiurge or Albedo. All he needed was the right justification. ‘Twas for Lord Ainz.

“Are you waiting for the Captain?”

Pandora's Actor almost jumped out of his skin. His blood ran cold like an icy river.

Somehow, without him having noticed, a man had come up the staircase without making a sound. Normally a protective suit would make enough rustling to alert him to their presence.

Saluting in greeting, Pandora's Actor nodded, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He considered bowing out of respect, but figured it would make the man uncomfortable. Additionally, Lord Ainz had never liked formalities.

Act casual, he told himself.

“Ja. Do you know when he will be in, sir?”

“I'm afraid not. Is it important?”

“Indeed. One could say the very fate of the world depends on it!”

The man didn't seem to know how to react to his theatrics. “...I can let you in if you want.”

Pandora's Actor's prayers had been answered. If this wasn't proof of the Supreme Beings’ omnipresence…

Pandora's Actor couldn’t resist a coy smile.

“You don't think I could be up to something dangerous?”

His benefactor paused, his face likely scrunching up underneath his gas mask. Then he laughed.

“You? ‘Course not. You've got a tablet and a pen tucked behind your ear. You're alright. But you could lay off the german. It's a little too patriotic. In der Beschränkung zeigt sich der Meister.”

Awed, Pandora's Actor gave a shuddering gasp as the man strode forward. His heart skipped a beat and a shiver of excitement tickled his spine.

The man tapped the panel rhythmically, pulling up what appeared to be an administrator's menu.

“There's a neat little trick to these panels if you get locked out. You just have to press the keys in a specific order. It can be a little tricky. Hang tight.”

Deep in concentration, the man went through a series of convoluted steps, inputting various codes. Pandora's Actor watched carefully, memorizing each step. He was honored to bear witness to a trade secret.

They were interrupted by the ding of the elevator. The doors opened, a senior female officer as indicated by her badge, stepping out in heels. She appraised them with sharp eyes.

Had they been caught? Here they were, two unauthorized individuals, about to enter the Captain's office—neither conforming with dress code.

The man was hunched over the keypad like a majestic goblin. Pandora's Actor leaned against the wall and whistled a little tune that sounded suspiciously like the opening theme to a certain DMMORPG.

Perhaps, if pressed, they could use the excuse that they were plain clothes officers. Worst case scenario he considered knocking her unconscious, but he hoped that wouldn't come to pass. It would open up a can of worms he didn't want to deal with.

Pandora's Actor tilted his head at the woman and smiled in acknowledgment, lifting his clipboard so as to reassure her that he was expected.

His act seemed to suffice. The woman thought nothing of it, returned his greeting, and walked down the hall to the restroom.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Almost there…”

The man stuck his tongue out as his dexterous fingers danced over the keypad in a blur.

“And…here we go!”

The panel beeped, flashing green. With a mechanical whirr, the door slid open.

Pandora's Actor beamed, practically radiating with elation.

“Danke, mein Herr—ah, pardon me. Thank you, you have my utmost gratitude!”

“Don't mention it.”

“Is there anything I can do in return? I am willing to do anything.”

He probably shouldn't have said that. The man gave him an odd look, and Pandora's Actor felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He had overstepped.

“If it comes down to it, perhaps we can discuss another time. But for now, I’m content as is. Until then.”

He retreated back down the long winding staircase. What exactly his business was for being on this floor was a mystery. Pandora's Actor calmed his heart.

Lord Touch Me's office was pristine.

Framed accolades lined the walls, all bearing great achievements, but conspicuously absent was any mention of his most prestigious title—World Champion. It was almost as if the office itself was too modest to boast of such a triumph, preferring instead to keep that victory as a personal treasure, perhaps tucked away in a corner of his home, away from prying eyes.

Pandora's Actor resisted the urge to polish the trophies. Some reached up to his shoulders, others were fat and squat. A thin layer of dust coated the surface. What blasphemy! The staff in charge of upkeep ought to be lashed, made to compensate, then sent packing!

A gun cabinet displayed an array of weapons. It seemed more decorative than practical. A shotgun with an ivory handle, vintage pistols that wouldn’t look out of place in a western-style flick, and a hunting rifle that hadn’t seen use in two hundred years contrasted sharply beside a sleek cybernetic railgun.

CZ would like it here, Pandora’s Actor thought.

Despite the weaponry, there was not a single trace of magic. They appeared perfectly ordinary. Lord Touch Me had never been much of a caster, but still, the absence of even the simplest enchantment on such a collection was, to say the least, peculiar.

Ah, but perhaps it could be explained by his confidence in his swordsmanship? With skills like his, what use did he have for magic?

Pandora’s Actor examined a library of law journals and textbooks on criminal justice.

He hesitated. On one hand, it was wrong to snoop through the belongings of a Supreme Being. On the other hand, he needed to uncover whether or not Lord Touch Me was truly himself.

He stared at the books. The gold embossed spines winked back.

In the end, his collector's spirit won him over, combined with the urgency to disprove Albedo's stubborn theories. For the greater good.

Sliding out a particularly thick volume, he leafed through the pages. Annotations adorned the borders. Legal jargon comparable to the documents Albedo usually dealt with made his head spin. He admired her tenacity—it was not he who wished to be saddled with bureaucracy day in and day out. Not unless it involved finances.

He slotted it back and drew another. His thumb caught a notch in the pages, revealing a hidden compartment. He pried it open revealing a superhero comic book nestled in the hollow.

A chuckle bubbled up Pandora's Actor’s chest.

He flipped through, scanning the faces of heros as they shouted their attacks and flew around cities that were much livelier. Color popped off the pages, wacky explosions and impacts spelled out for the reader.

Tenderly, he set the comic book down, handling it as if it were a priceless artifact that might shatter if he so much as breathed too heavily in its general direction. The spine was unbroken, and he intended to keep it that way.

Then, with a flourish, he stepped back from the table and snapped into a pose.

His hands planted firmly on his hips, he thrust out his chest and lifted his chin, imagining the wind catching his long trench coat, sending it billowing out behind him like a cape. In his mind’s eye, he stood atop the spire of a skyscraper, a lone figure keeping vigil over a crime-ridden city, ready to swoop down and save cats from their mortal enemy—trees.

“I've arrived…to save the day,” he murmured, his voice deep and sultry, mimicking the kind of tone women swooned over and men nodded in begrudging respect.

Without missing a beat, he pivoted into another stance, this one more dynamic, involving an unnatural and frankly uncomfortable curving of his spine. A chiropractor’s dream. Neuronist was probably salivating somewhere.

One hand shot up to cover his face, fingers splayed dramatically. A single brown eye peered out between the gap.

“Hoh? What's that? Timmy fell down the well again?” he said coolly.

He bent down lower, running his one hand down from thigh to knee and the other shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun as he scanned the distance.

“Lead the way, Lassie!” he commanded.

But he was not to take the spotlight. Lord Touch Me was the watchful protector, the silver knight. Pandora's Actor was the silent guardian, the understudy. Just as Momon of Darkness belonged to Lord Ainz, he knew his place lurked in the shadows.

For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the fantasy. Then, with a small, rueful smile, he let the image fade.

And that was fine, wasn't it?

Beep!

Pandora's Actor scrambled. He only had a fraction of a second to return the book back to the shelf before the door slid open.

As Demiurge claimed, a man who resembled Sebas to an almost frightening degree imposed at the doorway.

Pandora’s Actor’s breath was stolen. He marveled at the man’s uniform.

He was well decorated, various medals and ribbons lining his chest. Epaulets crowned his broad shoulders. An aiguillette hung low, the tassels brushing against his elbow.

Corded muscles bulged in the confinements of his sleeves; this was the first person Pandora’s Actor had come across that seemed to have had proper nutrition. There was a significant height difference compared to the other peons.

But the real attention-grabber was the light—a halo. The strip lights in the hall bathed his silhouette in an ethereal glow. He seemed so untouchable, pun intended.

A hand rested casually on a stun gun at his waistband, but make no mistake—he had no qualms about putting it to use. Perfectly trimmed eyebrows angled in suspicion, sizing him up. But there was no need to fear the scrawny Pandora’s Actor. He had no intention of putting up any sort of struggle if Lord Touch Me decided he was a danger that needed eliminating.

Pandora's Actor was standing in the lion’s den, the prey to Lord Touch Me’s predator.

It took everything for Pandora's Actor to remain standing. He wanted to drop to his knees and kowtow, offer his devotion and ten—no, a thousand times more.

Ich gehör dir volkommen.

His voice boomed, so bass-like Pandora's Actor could feel it ringing in his bones.

“Who are you? How did you get into my office?”

Pandora's Actor bowed deeply. “I hope you haven't forgotten.”

He straightened, albeit slowly, lifting his head to offer a tentative smile. It was a smile born of nerves and desperation, and he prayed with every fiber of his being that the tremor in it wasn’t visible.

If Lord Touch Me didn’t recognize this face, then, well, the nearest window might find itself an unfortunate exit point. The shame would be unbearable. Obviously, the blame would fall squarely on Pandora’s Actor’s shoulders, not his Father’s. A misinterpretation of his character that muddled his reputation to such a degree warranted an expeditious death.

Lord Touch Me softened his gaze. He exhaled a deep breath. A weary smile wormed its way to his face.

“Satoru. You scared me for a moment there. Seriously. Don't do that.”

“I would never hurt you, my lord.” Pandora's Actor instinctively took a knee.

“Stop that. We're friends.”

“You deserve the utmost respect, Lord Touch Me.”

Lord Touch Me laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that resonated from his chest. Filled with warmth, Pandora's Actor's heart did a spectacular backflip.

“We're not in Yggdrasil anymore. Let's save the roleplay for another day and I'll forgive you for breaking in, hm? Have a seat.”

He pulled up a plush velvet armchair.

“Oh, I couldn't—” Pandora's Actor started, but Lord Touch Me grabbed him by the shoulders, marched him to the chair, and forced him down. “I'm not—”

“You can be so uptight, Satoru. I guess it's the salaryman in you. Then again, who am I to talk? Oh, I'm getting off topic. Sorry. It's been a long time since I've had time to speak with a friend.”

Pandora's Actor returned the smile, trying to replicate something Suzuki Satoru might give. It was a challenge, but he imagined what Lord Ainz might look like with flesh and sinew, and shaped his expression accordingly. It was an approximation, but it would have to do.

“It is not a problem, Lor—”

Pandora's Actor cut himself short.

Lord Touch Me had already disregarded formalities and established common ground for free discussion uninhibited by status. Friends, as Cocytus once mentioned, didn't address each other by titles.

Pandora's Actor wanted to explain the situation. That he was not his Father, he was his Creation, the Guardian of the Treasury. But he did not have the evidence to back it up. He was trapped in Suzuki Satoru's body, his skills and transformative abilities locked away. The last thing he needed was to make an unfavorable impression. He didn't want to seem crazed.

He thought about bringing Albedo and Demiurge, living proof of the veracity of his claims.

But if he did that, who was to say Albedo wouldn't take advantage? Magic didn't exist. Lord Touch Me had given up his power to live as humans did.

Albedo would surely catch him in his moment of weakness. And if he or Demiurge tried to step in, she could easily dispatch them as well.

Hence, Pandora's Actor was stuck in a rut, unable to prove his identity. The least he could do was ensure he was honest in all other avenues, keep Lord Ainz as faithful to himself as possible.

“I came because I heard you were looking to speak to me. Officers were at my door, but I wasn't home at the time.”

Lord Touch Me tipped his head.

“Yes. Actually, I had a few questions. Simple ones. They're a bit personal, but it pertains to a very important case I'm working on. I hope it's not too much trouble.”

“Go ahead.”

“Have you been contacted by anyone recently? Indiscreetly, perhaps?”

Pandora's Actor wracked his brains. “I received a letter. It was not signed.”

Lord Touch Me's expression darkened. “What were its contents?”

“The sender asked to meet. The location was not specified. Although if I had to guess, it might be someplace I must know.”

Pandora's Actor knew the sender was known to his Father. And by Lord Touch Me's lack of surprise, he was just as aware of their identity. In fact, the subtle downturn of his lips showed a hint of disdain, and Pandora's Actor caught on quickly as to who might elicit such a reaction.

There was only one person—nay, Supreme Being—that Lord Touch Me would deem his adversary.

“May I see the letter?”

Pandora's Actor shook his head, but he went through the motions to rifle through his pockets anyway as a show of honesty.

“My humble apologies. I don't have it on me. I can return home and bring it if that is your wish.”

“Thank you.”

Lord Touch Me paused, scrutinizing Pandora's Actor. Exhaling, he relaxed his shoulders.

“Also…I'm sorry. I got your email, but I couldn't join you for Yggdrasil's shutdown. I didn't respond because I couldn't make any promises. Not with this job. I'm on call twenty-four seven. But I know how much it meant to you.”

Pandora’s Actor offered a sad smile. “Forgiveness is not mine to grant.”

Lord Touch Me sighed, shaking his head. “You must have been lonely.”

If only he knew just how much Lord Ainz missed them.

Lord Touch Me clenched his fists, but he did not pound them against his desk. He snarled, his voice gravelly. “I can't believe it. That goat bastard didn't show up either? And I was so sure…”

The last time Lord Ainz had seen Lord Ulbert? Four years ago. Lord Ulbert and Lord Ains had trudged into his domain with none of the fanfare that came with inventories stuffed to breaking point with monster drops and coin from completed quests.

Pandora's Actor had listened as Lord Ulbert said his goodbyes. He unequipped his customized armor, relinquished the accessories he worked hard to gather the materials to craft. His Father took his departure in stride, but he could feel the sorrow emanating from his sad wave.

Lord Ulbert suggested they meet ‘IRL’. Possibly in reference to another realm, wherever that was. And that was that.

The bitterness and hostility dripping from Lord Touch Me’s tone made Pandora's Actor inclined to believe he had known about their broken promise. Of course, it was a little hypocritical, but the resentment seemed to stem from a place other than betrayal—disappointment.

“Did you anticipate his arrival?”

“Yes. Seeing as you two were close, he would have responded to your call. That's what I thought, at least. Shame.”

“If he had, would you also have come?”

Lord Touch Me was his Father's idol, his hero. Out of all the Supreme Beings, their bond was the most unshakable. He was the first friendly Player he met. They only grew closer from there, as did their roster of like-minded allies. Irrefutably, Lord Touch Me was the single greatest influence in his Father's life.

Lord Touch Me did not grace him with a reply. His expression turned into stone, totally unreadable. At that moment, Pandora's Actor felt humbled. He was talking to a God—how could he pester him so?

He bowed. “My apologies. I should not pry.”

“...No, it's fine. Everything is just…complicated. You've met in real life before?”

“I suppose we have.”

“Where, pray tell?”

Pandora's Actor willed his leg to keep from jiggling. “I cannot even begin to guess.”

Heart skipping a beat as Lord Touch Me frowned, Pandora's Actor worried that his vagueness was displeasing. However, he felt it was in-character for his Father, which was why Lord Touch Me did not admonish him and only sighed in resignation instead.

“Just…be careful. Don't believe anything he says. Listen to me and you'll be safe. If you don't…” he trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air like a deadweight.

Lord Touch Me had designs in store for Lord Ulbert. Nothing surprising—the two had been butting heads before Pandora's Actor was even created. Their bickering was constant, double the volume of Lord Peroroncino and Lady Bukubukuchagama's arguments. It even drove one guild member to quit. They never seemed to forgive each other for that.

However, the type of fight they were going through this time seemed much more nefarious than their usual spats. It seemed dangerous.

Pandora's Actor swallowed the knot in his throat. “If I may…what exactly occurred between you two?”

He regretted it immediately, shrinking into the velvet stuffing at Lord Touch Me’s expression. His eyes had lost all warmth and his jaw ticked. The temperature in the room, which had been automatically regulated to a comfortable twenty-two degrees celcius, felt as if it had been plunged into an ice bath.

“It's under investigation.” There was a note of finality in his voice.

Lord Touch Me did not take kindly to his interference, even from Suzuki Satoru, his supposed long-time friend. A boundary had been set, and he was not to cross that line.

Pandora’s Actor was not as foolhardy to continue to push the envelope. Like a whipped horse, he dropped his head and whispered, “Very well, then.”

His Father had always been the first to step between his guildmates during disputes. He intrinsically had a talent in setting things right, to find a middle ground where everyone was on board with whatever decision the other made, without ever giving offense or receiving blame. An expert in mediation.

Pandora's Actor fared worse in that regard. He was an imperfect copy, only able to capture eighty percent of his greatness. The gap could not be bridged even in his dreams.

He could only watch helplessly from the sidelines in the hopes they would resolve their differences amongst themselves. But with Albedo and Demiurge in the equation, was that an option he could risk?

Ich vermisse dich, Vater. Ich wünschte du wärst hier…

Chapter Text

Albedo threaded a needle, her eyes trained on the tiny loop in concentration. Her ruby lips pursed, almost as if she had eaten a lemon.

She substituted the lack of thread with a strand of her own hair. Yanking out her glossy strands pained her, but there wasn't much choice in the matter.

As Pandora’s Actor was the Treasurer, the valuables Demiurge had managed to accumulate were entrusted to him. Actually, it would have been beneficial to set aside some goods, but they wanted to test how deep the roots of corruption went. Pandora’s Actor had been instructed to meet with Lord Touch Me by any means.

Demiurge scraped together whatever fabric was lying around so she could stitch another protective suit. It was bothersome that only one of them could head out at a time, but at the same time they had to be resourceful.

As helpful as it was, it was unwise for Demiurge to continuously replenish their funds—they didn't know if there was an underground syndicate operating on the level of the Eight Fingers, and they certainly weren't going to try and get on their radar.

Pandora's Actor remarked that the acidity of the air made his skin itch and burn. Prolonged exposure caused numbness.

It was probably because they had never been exposed to pollution on this level that they were so susceptible—unlike the natives, who had developed a greater evolutionary resistance.

The only one specifically skilled in sewing, Albedo volunteered for the task. If Suzuki Satoru was the alter ego of her beloved, it would not do for him to wear tattered old rags. He deserved to clothe himself in the finest gold, the softest silk. Not this subpar rubbish.

Glancing up at Demiurge, Albedo couldn't help but wonder how he managed to see through eyes crafted from precious jewels. They glinted with anticipation.

"Are you offering assistance?" she snapped, tone dripping with frustration.

Solemn, Demiurge shook his head. "Regrettably, I lack skill in mending. Any attempt on my part would result in wasteful ruin."

Albedo stitched quickly, forming perfect perforations in the fabric without breaking line of sight. “We cannot overstep the boundaries which were set upon our creation. Consider it payment in exchange for our unchallenged devotion.”

"A small price," Demiurge agreed.

It did not cross their minds for a moment that they should seek to grow. They were content with who they were, with what they could offer.

Their Creators had designed them exactly as they were, going through many drafts and iterations, removing undesirable traits, adding new ones. A long and tedious process.

Wishing to change a part of themselves was offensive. An expression of dissatisfaction was treasonous.

Although Albedo despised Lord Tabula, she did not believe she was lacking. To put it simply, she was specialized in some areas and not in others. There was no use bemoaning it.

Where she was weak the other Floor Guardians were strong, and vice-versa. They were made to balance each other out. As long as they had each other, all would be well. They would defend Nazarick as an impenetrable fortress.

Demiurge laid on the floor. He did not dare sleep on Satoru Suzuki's futon—it would be presumptuous for a lowly servant like him to sully his bed, modest as it was.

His head was buzzing and he felt it difficult to breathe. He placed a hand over his racing heart.

“Are you ill?” Albedo bit off the thread and tied the end into a knot.

“A bit dizzy. Dial up the air purifier.”

“It is already on maximum settings.”

The drone of the air purifier choked out a howl, as if pained by the tremendous strain of the effort.

His headache worsened. Demiurge closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. It was best to conserve energy.

“You haven't eaten in two days.”

“I know,” he responded, his tone detached.

He heard Albedo rise, the floorboards creaking under her clicking heels as she beelined to the kitchen. She had a way of walking delicately despite being a Nalfeshnee, a species known for their brutishness.

She returned in seconds. Something pressed against his lips. A straw.

“Drink up, or else you won't have the option to do it willingly.”

He turned his head. “No, thank you.”

Albedo grabbed his chin and forced him to turn back.

“Eat. Before I shove it down your throat. This is a mercy, I assure you.”

Anger flared in his expression. He was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of such treatment nor would he allow it to become a reoccurring habit. He jerked out of her grip.

“Albedo, please respect my decision.”

Albedo frowned. “Why? Is it the taste? I hate to break the news to you, but everything around here has gone to shit, so there's no point in complaining. If this is what we have to endure to return to Lord Ainz’s loving embrace—”

“It's not that, Albedo.”

She paused, raising an eyebrow.

Demiurge looked out of place without his signature grin. It was unnerving. “Lord Touch Me exists in this world. Lord Ainz did prior. Based on what we know, the other Supreme Beings must also be here. Therefore, Lord Ulbert...”

“You wish to find him.”

He nodded, pushing the straw away while she was distracted. “I have to know…why did he go? Why did he leave us? Did he tire of us? Were we unworthy? Did I disappoint him?”

Albedo's face went rigid.

This was precisely why the Supreme Beings needed to be eliminated. They were a distraction—to both Lord Ainz and the denizens. They would drop everything just to hope to see them again. They were beyond a nuisance, they were a threat to Lord Ainz. If he or one of the servants let down their guard they could be killed. Who would protect Lord Ainz then?

Why, it could be worse than having an invader make it all the way to the Throne Room—that kind of distraction would leave NPCs distracted and her beloved woefully unprotected.

"What will you do if Lord Ulbert rejects you?"

She knew she was supposed to offer words of comfort, even if they were empty, but she could not bring herself to lie. She wanted to throttle Demiurge, bring him to reason. But if she couldn't do that, the next best option was to sow the seeds of doubt.

He smiled bitterly. "There is always a way to make amends. Some can be a little, ah, unconventional. But I will take my chances. I'd rather know the truth than live in ignorance."

Albedo pressed her lips together, a knot of anxiety forming in her chest. She knew exactly what Demiurge meant by ‘unconventional,’ and it worried her more than she cared to admit. It wasn't what she wanted to hear, but it was certainly the answer she expected.

“I will help you search for him.”

Demiurge blinked in astonishment. “You would do that? Are you not going to search for Lord Tabula?”

It was a suspicious move, especially considering that one's Creator ought to hold priority over all other Supreme Beings. But Albedo felt she could get away with it since Lord Ainz altered her settings.

“In due time, yes. But we are allies. As the Overseer, it is my duty to ensure that the Floor Guardians are taken care of.”

How selfless. Demiurge was taken aback. Was this the strict and callous Albedo he knew? She was a perfectionist, always one to criticize.

In the past, she had advocated for Shalltear, Pestonya, and even her own sister Nigredo to march to the gallows when they stirred up trouble.

While Demiurge agreed with her assessment of Shalltear, he did not share her sentiment with the latter two. They were programmed to be sympathetic, at least to an extent. Of course, they would have to face punishment of some sort, but not execution.

Their crimes were hardly detrimental to the plan. Babies were hapless creatures with zero sway over geopolitical strategies and their survival did not expose the nefarious machinations of Operation Gehenna. They could easily be reinstated back at his ranch anyway—it wasn't like he was strapped for feed.

His mind began to wander. That was the issue with those of higher intelligence. The train of thought was always in motion, switching tracks and weaving through various stations. They never lingered long.

Wary of Demiurge’s suspicions, Albedo cleared her throat, distracting him from his thoughts.

“Now, would you eat up? You wouldn't want to starve the body Lord Ulbert gave you.”

Demiurge took the packet and drank the strange gelatinous mixture. He grimaced; the taste was indescribably foul.

He noted the chemical composition. If this was all it took for adequate nutrition, perhaps he could do the same with his flock of Abelion Sheep.

He dismissed the thought. It would be far more enjoyable if they had their limbs hacked off and served back to them for supper. This was too merciful, too easy. It wasn't fun.

Albedo watched to make sure he drained the entire packet.

“Good. Now I won't have to worry about dragging your limp body around,” she remarked dryly.

Demiurge chuckled. “That would never happen. I was just putting off my needs until later.”

She rolled her eyes, but a wry smile danced across her lips. “Whatever.”

They shared a small moment of camaraderie together.

These were rare, as back in the New World they only met to discuss plans and praise Lord Ainz. But here, without the burden of strategizing for military operations, policy making, and patrol, they had all the time in the world to find common ground.

For a brief moment, Albedo wondered how their relationship could have been without their responsibilities and formalities. She'd never laughed, much less joked with anyone, not even her sisters. The realization gave her pause. Was she not close with anyone?

“Albedo?”

She sighed. “As much as it pains me to inform you, I'm still here.”

“Are you scared? Of what Lord Tabula might say?”

Projection? Albedo ought to try the lottery. Demiurge, the self-assured archdevil, being this uncertain? He was typically the most confident, having already anticipated every possibility and laid out the proper groundwork to tackle each one. He seemed lost.

But if he was seeking guidance from Albedo, she would not be of much assistance, only happy to mislead him. This was a start, a small crack. She'd work him slowly until he fell to pieces—and she'd reform him in her image, into a creation that could only serve one Supreme Being.

But until then…she'd humor him.

“What makes you think I'd be scared?”

He gave a wry smile. “Your heart is racing. Unless you’re genetically predisposed to sudden bouts of arrhythmia. But I doubt that was written into your settings. Lord Tabula would not afflict his precious Creation with such a curse.”

Albedo rested a hand atop her chest. Perceptive as he was, he could not have guessed the reason as to why her body was reacting this way. The telltale pounding of her heart could not be attributed to fear of her Creator, per say, but to the litany of lies she would inevitably have to spout.

Spotting a lie was Demiurge's calling card. That being said, the drawback was that he had selective vision—and his spectacles were non-prescriptive. He could not see what he could not believe.

To him, Albedo had no reason to betray the Supreme Ones. Thus, he did not suspect that her actions were less than altruistic. He merely assumed she was putting up a brave front because she shared the same doubts as he did.

However, there was a certain limit, a level of suspicion Albedo would be wise not to toe, lest he suspect her of being compromised in his own misguided ways. Therefore, to avoid unnecessary conflicts, it served her well to provide reasonable pushback. Keep character.

She snorted and slightly redirected the topic. “And why wouldn't he?”

“He loves you. Or I should hope so.”

Albedo made to kick at the archdevil for his teasing.

Clang! She was refuted with his tail. He grinned as she fought it off with her heel.

“You don't know the first thing about him.” She crossed her arms. “He made his choice a long time ago. If he wanted to, he would have stayed with us.”

The way Demiurge studied her was unnerving. She wished Lord Ulbert hadn't written his settings the way he did. If not for that, he could have lived in blissful ignorance.

“...I suppose you're right. What use is there bemoaning what has been?” he said slowly, taking care to enunciate each word.

“Changing your mind so quickly?” she drawled.

He didn't answer.

Albedo worried internally that she had said something wrong. And she might have, for he fixed her with another of those indiscernible looks.

She returned the favor, flames of fury licking at her insides. Those were her trademarks, damn it! She wanted to crush his skull and extract his brain to discern his inner workings.

But she could do nothing. For now.

The park was eerily silent.

Humorously, this was the only area cleared of debris, enough to walk from one end of the property to the other without slipping and sinking into the earth. The purpose being to prove that notion that children could enjoy their youth even in this wretched era.

Except that there were no children playing on the slides or climbing the monkey rails. The merry-go-round was barebones, an immovable chunk of twisted and rusted metal grounded in the earth. Even the patina looked sickly.

It was far too dangerous to spend time outdoors expending energy and inhaling toxic pollutants. Ironically, most children were indoors—slaving away in factories with worse conditions. But at least they were being paid, as scant as their wages were.

All the equipment was disintegrating anyway. Acid rain had eaten holes in the cheap metal, washed away all color.

Pandora's Actor sat on the swings, swaying slightly. The metal chains squealed loudly, giving voice to his innermost thoughts.

He was only delaying the inevitable.

Lord Touch Me was investigating Lord Ulbert. He had let it slip that Lord Ainz was involved.

Withholding the truth from a Supreme One was forbidden, he could not have gone about it any other way. And without knowing the whole story he could not advocate one side over the other. What if Lord Ulbert was guilty? Should he stand by and let him face punishment? That was his only choice. He was a servant. He was not meant to meddle in the affairs of the Great Ones.

Most of all, he dreaded returning to the apartment and informing the others of the news. Demiurge would not take it well and rush to his Master’s side.

Albedo would align herself with Lord Touch Me, if only for pretenses. She would declare Demiurge a traitor, goad Lord Touch Me into eliminating Lord Ulbert and Demiurge, then finish him off herself after the deed was done.

Either way, the lines had been drawn. Albedo was already making her moves. Demiurge wouldn't be far behind, and if he knew what was good for him, he'd watch his back. Because once Albedo had her mind set, there was no arguing. She was as ruthless as she was determined.

And Pandora's Actor? He was still deliberating. His Father always told him of the importance of planning and exercising caution.

He stared down at the drag lines in the sandpit, his boots kicking up loose sediment, puffs of dust rising into the air. Stirring up and inhaling toxic particulates wasn’t exactly his greatest idea, but he didn’t care.

“You shouldn’t stay out so late.”

A man had taken a seat beside him. When had he arrived? A sight for sore eyes. His company was just what Pandora's Actor needed. Color seemed to seep back into his dreary world.

Beaming, Pandora’s Actor perked up. He tilted his head. “Is there a curfew?”

The man chuckled. “Only for those who aren't on the clock. Else they’d get fired for missing their shift. But I guess you have bigger problems than work."

Pandora's Actor nodded. “Might I seek your counsel, mein Herr? I find myself at a crossroads.”

The man placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes it's better to go off the beaten path. Forge your own road.”

“...Lord Bellriver?”

“Yeah?”

A pause.

The man hurried to rescind his words.

Too late. Pandora's Actor had already sprung to his feet and bent to one knee.

“Bitte verzeihen sie mir, my lord. I did not initially intend to break character, but I must ask: For what purpose does this play serve?”

Lord Bellriver looked as if he were ready to bolt.

“...How did you know it was me?”

Pandora's Actor clicked his heels together and saluted. He shouted his answer with militaristic fervor. “Your aura, sire!”

“Aura?”

“Yes. Every member of the Great Tomb of Nazarick is surrounded by an aura. In this fashion, it is impossible for NPCs to mistake their Masters for enemies and recklessly attack.”

A beat of silence.

“Oh. Uh. You've caught me there. I really should have anticipated that. I expected as much from you, Pandora's Actor.”

“Not at all, my lord! It was a strategic move. You wished to advise me without the burden of formalities. Lord Ainz always expressed such a desire, but the guardians—myself included—have difficulty speaking so candidly. After all, one cannot speak to God without paying respect to his grace.”

Exactly on point. Lord Bellriver could not disagree. This level of intelligence was to be expected from Momonga's NPC.

“Well, you're not wrong in your assessment.”

Humbled, Lord Bellriver pulled off his gas mask and raked a hand through his unruly hair. Dark brown tresses looked as if they hadn't seen a comb in weeks.

“Ach so!”

Pandora's Actor gasped. A little too exaggeratedly.

The pieces fell into place.

The true identity of the invader who so brazenly breached the Throne Room and transported them was none other than Lord Bellriver!

How else could he have gone through completely undetected? The POP monsters would not attack a guild member and the hostile enemy defense system would not have been activated. Friendly fire was strictly forbidden.

Lord Bellriver smiled. Pandora's Actor's heart squeezed; his breath snatched from his lungs. Outside of his Father, he had never seen such a resplendent expression.

To a regular human it was a typical smile from an average middle-aged man. But beauty was in the eye of the beholder. Pandora's Actor did not view a human, he saw a Supreme Being, a member of the forty one. It was as if a thousand angels had descended from the heavens, trumpets blaring in celebration.

He collapsed to his knees, his forehead digging into the sand.

“O Great One! Our prayers have finally borne fruit! You have returned to us at long last! May your reign be eternal! We thank you for your benevolence!" His voice grew shrill and he bowed repeatedly, tears flowing down his cheeks like a raging river.

He might have dwelled a little longer on his first time crying, but all he could think about was how pleased his Father would be.

Lord Ainz would never be alone again. He wouldn't heave a sigh as he gazed longingly at the Avataras. He wouldn't have to search under every rock for his guildmates. He could finally enjoy the company of the denizens without seeing their Creators.

More relevantly, Lord Bellriver could aid in reeling Albedo and Demiurge in from spiraling out of control. He knew Lord Touch Me and Lord Ulbert—surely he could get them to see eye-to-eye?

Pandora's Actor heard Lord Bellriver chuckling lightly, but did not understand what he found amusing.

“Don't get your hopes up. I won't be able to stay long.”

Pandora's Actor’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. There was a searing pain in his chest. Instinctively, he placed a hand to check, but he could not pinpoint where it originated from or if the supposed injury had even been caused at all. It certainly felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his flesh, the pointed tip twisting as it sunk deeper.

Time froze. Even the wind ceased to whip around them. The merry-go-round let out a final screech as it ground to a halt.

“Do you mean to leave us again?”

“How should I put this…”

Lord Bellriver stroked his chin. He considered his next words carefully, not wanting to disturb Pandora's Actor's fragile mental state. He needed to lay it down slowly.

Then again, was there really a way to deliver it without tearing apart the fabric of his reality? Maybe it was best to tear off the bandaid.

“I'm…dead.”

Chapter Text

Albedo finished sewing the spare suit. The nylon Pandora's Actor purchased was only enough for one suit, but the materials Demiurge gathered managed to make up a second.

“Hmph. This doesn't capture my beauty at all.”

Albedo turned, viewing herself in the mirror with a deep scowl.

The suit gave her an amorphous silhouette, practically blob-like, and her ivory horns made her head oblong.

She scoffed. She may as well be mistaken for Lord Herohero’s inbred ancestor.

With her wings folded up inside, wrapped about her like a bat, Albedo felt claustrophobic. There was no determining if the wearer was man or woman. Ugh. How unflattering.

Demiurge's tail coiled around his waist. If it weren't for the barbed tip it might have passed for a metal belt. Carefully tucking it to the side, he zipped his suit, mindful not to snag—while it was durable, it was also highly sensitive.

“It can't be helped. Are you sure you want to leave? Shouldn't we wait for Pandora's Actor? Leaving him behind a second time is a little…”

Albedo scoffed. She had rushed to complete the suit for that purpose.

While she rightfully doubted Demiurge's account, she knew that he didn't often exaggerate. The probability that it was indeed Lord Touch Me at the police station was high, and if the worst did come to pass, she needed to make her move—before Pandora's Actor could return and stop her.

“If we sat around uselessly, we might as well become furniture. The time has come to act. And didn't you want to see Lord Ulbert?”

Demiurge bit his lip.

The risk of losing their World Items was not great. In fact, he was quite confident that aside from the Supreme Ones, they denizens were the most powerful beings in this world. They needn't use magical items to display it either—a single swipe and any mortal would find themselves a red smear across the ground.

The reason he had chosen to let Pandora's Actor head out to verify Lord Touch Me’s identity was wholly due to his familiarity and appearance as Suzuki Satoru. Due to a misunderstanding, Demiurge had been unable to gain Lord Touch Me's trust.

He hoped Lord Touch Me would divulge the more intricate details of his case to a friend—and thereby uncover the source of his strange behavior. After all, a man who acted perfidiously against his own guildmates could never hold the worthy title of ‘Paladin of Silver’.

At the same time, Demiurge needed to ensure the safety of his own Creator. That need was stronger than any other desire. Besides, who else but Lord Ulbert could he owe his ultimate trust and allegiance?

“Alright. We'll meet up with him. He's probably on his way back.”

The sky was dark, not a cloud or star visible in the smog. Gusts of wind tossed scraps of paper, rusted tin cans, and dirt like a miniature tornado.

Poorer conditions could only be matched by Kyouhukou’s Black Capsule, but at least it was designed with depravity in mind and was not a consequence of late stage capitalism.

Albedo grimaced as she scanned her surroundings. There was hardly a way to make heads or tails of any direction with the fog.

The suits had poor ventilation. As a consequence of not having extra gas masks, she was forced to substitute with a clear plastic visor sewn to the hood. It was quite suffocating, moisture beading on her face.

Worse still, every minute or so she had to wipe the visor when debris clouded the plastic. Eventually she gave up and used one of her skills, [ Perception ], to get a feel for her surroundings.

“Let us reunite with our creators.”

They walked side-by-side, trudging along filthy streets, footfalls soft and muted as their feet sank into sludge. It was dangerously slippery. If they lost balance they risked falling face first into refuse. The mud seemed to cling to their soles, determined to drag them into its depths.

But their steps were swift. Intrinsically, they moved with surprising nimbleness.

Their strides were synchronized. Right foot. Left foot. If one drew a line between them, it would always be straight, even as they weaved through heaps of garbage and rot.

The arduous journey was made slightly easier with the narrow pathways. Common roads had been stamped into existence over an incredible time frame given that the walls were at least three meters tall at some points.

The air stank to high heaven, reeking with decay. The sophisticated technology of LED billboards posted on every wall and storefront were juxtaposed with shabby apartment complexes with facades that looked as if they would crumble at the slightest touch.

There was no sign of plant life, of green peeking through the litany of cracks in the sidewalk or asphalt. Everything was gray and drab and colorless, a layer of grime clinging to any exposed surface like a contagious pathogen. There was no indication the residents here understood what 'clean' was. The term seemed to be a concept for the ages.

“Filthy lower life forms,” Albedo muttered under her breath. “I wish they would all perish.”

Demiurge said nothing. Perhaps he was distracted by their little shadow. Or maybe he couldn't hear her low voice over the many crackling speakers advertising various products.

Wandering in the dark with only the faint glow of billboards, it was like they had fallen into purgatory, forever being admonished by an uncaring god whose only goal was to compel them to purchase the latest neurochip and virtual reality headset.

Appearance-wise, the headsets looked virtually unchanged to the one Suzuki Satoru owned. Most interestingly, the price was dirt-cheap, a strange business decision for allegedly upgraded technology. The new features only focused on improved graphics, hardly reason to stir up a fuss over.

One would assume they’d bring more to the table, especially since the marketing team was pushing the product down their throats.

If Pandora’s Actor were with them, perhaps he would be able to elucidate on best practices. For now, Demiurge could only speculate that the price was simply put in place to attract more patrons in the hopes of offsetting research and development, production, and marketing costs.

Each display vied for their attention, but the sensory overload only caused them to tune out the noise. They continued onward.

Something clutched at Albedo's ankle. A red tint filled her vision.

“Insolence—!”

A small yelp and a young boy went flying, crashing into the side of a concrete building. Albedo had used enough force to make him see stars. Impressive, considering the sky was something of a myth at this point in history.

The boy was no older than twelve. A head of shaggy brown hair hung to his shoulders, a tangled, matted mess.

Livid, Albedo snarled. The boy would pay for laying a finger on her. He'd only had a taste of what was to come. All 206 bones would be cracked, and she'd ensure he was conscious to experience it.

Demiurge made a noise of surprise and snapped his fingers.

Albedo blinked. She cleared her throat, displeased to be out of the loop.

Demiurge bent down—not as low as to sully his suit, but enough to be at eye level with the boy—and spoke in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Greetings, child. You wouldn't happen to have a brother, would you?”

The boy shook off his daze. “Y-yes!” he squeaked.

His meekness reminded Demiurge of Mare. That is, if you stripped him of his loveable characteristics. No magic, strength, cuteness, intelligence, or subservience. And yet again, he wasn't wearing a skirt! The indiscretion was appalling.

Hah! This one was too bold and too mousey all at once.

The boy went beyond his station, overstepping boundaries. Grabbing onto the Overseer of the Guardians with sullied hands was nothing short of disrespectful. Yet when confronted directly he crawled back into his shell, the picture of cowardice.

But, Demiurge supposed, he hadn’t known he needed to request an audience before approaching. Yes, it was fine. He would let it slide just this once.

The boy would simply have to be taught how to be obedient.

A devilish grin stretched across his face, ear-to-ear.

Had his face not been covered, his true intentions would have been known and the boy might have been able to run or perhaps negotiate his safety. But his fate had been sealed the moment he approached.

The boy stammered. “I-I saw you help my little brother…”

Albedo scoffed. Loudly.

Demiurge cocked his head to the side. “I brought him to the police station for some first aid. I'm sure he's being taken care of as we speak.”

“I know.” The boy wrung his fingers. A nervous habit. “I wanted to thank you.”

“So you followed us?” said Albedo, narrowing her eyes.

She crossed her arms, radiating an air of absolute authority. It did not match Lord Ainz’s, but it was close. Had to be if she was serious about crushing the competition to be first wife.

“Know your place, straggler. If you are so thankful, offer your life as reparation.”

“S-sorry. You can have my life, it doesn't matter. I'm going to die soon anyway…”

At his age, the candidness of his morbidity would have daunted someone with a conscience. A shred of pity, perhaps a tear.

Instead, his declaration was met with cold nonchalance. Not a shred of pity. No one commented, because what else could they expect from a lowly creature? He was nothing, not even worth the scum beneath their shoes.

The boy was taken aback. They almost seemed impatient. As if they were thinking, ‘Well? Get on with it and die already.’ In fact, one of them seemed giddy to witness such a sight.

“Are you familiar with this area?” finally asked Demiurge.

“Um, I guess so.”

“Perfect. We have an address we'd like to find, but the fog isn't doing us any favors.” Demiurge paused. “Actually, I have to pick your brother up later today. Would you like to come with?”

“I-If it's okay with her…” The boy glanced nervously at Albedo. Even a mortal child could detect the blatant hostility rolling off her in waves.

Demiurge followed his line of sight. Albedo glowered back, shooting daggers. A silent warning.

Don't you dare.

Demiurge put a finger to his lips.

It's under control.

When he addressed the boy again, his tone dripped with saccharine. Compelling, yes, but it could be bypassed with enough inner determination. However, by that point he had already won the boy's heart.

“Forgive her. She can be a bit, ah, temperamental. She means well. You'll see—you can trust her. Remember, you must not lay hands on someone else without permission, or else suffer the consequences. Are we clear?”

The boy nodded.

Demiurge chuckled darkly. “Wonderful.”

Lord Tabula lived about a two hours’ walk from Satoru Suzuki. But with the boy, they were able to cut through alleyways and reduce the time by half an hour.

The weather conditions had improved somewhat.

Factories transitioned to night shift at nine o'clock. That was when production was at its lowest. Hence, the level of contaminants expelled was reduced. This was the optimal time to venture outdoors.

The smog lifted, allowing for greater visibility. Despite this, the difference was marginal.

It was a lot like snorkeling in a cave. Their lungs constricted to an almost painful extent with every breath, feeling as if they would pop if given the slightest prod. Silt burned their eyes as they waded through an ocean of garbage, kicking up dust.

Lord Tabula's neighborhood didn't fare much better in terms of cleanliness, and the oppressive atmosphere seemed to be amplified tenfold, like something out of a horror novel.

Sprawled underneath the shadow of ugly skyscrapers were one or two story gothic houses, a relic of the past that time forgot.

The houses were no less decrepit, roof shingles cracked or missing entirely in places. Windows had been boarded up shoddily. Clearly there hadn't been enough nails for the job. Some planks hung loose.

Sharp pieces of glass were sprinkled about the perimeter, like some misinformed attempt at keeping vampires out, except they didn’t have salt on hand. Actually, it probably wasn't the supernatural they were fending off. Vandals and thieves were far likelier.

The boy led them down a winding street. There, at the dead end, was a quaint home hidden behind a wrought iron fence two meters high. The courtyard within was relatively clean, save for the trash that managed to slip through the gaps in the fence. Someone was at least putting in effort.

The owner of this place was certainly not as impoverished as the inhabitants of the slums.

“It's this one,” Albedo declared. She felt a connection, an invisible thread drawing her to the mansion.

Demiurge looked at the boy, who shrugged.

“A man lives here alone. He doesn't go out often and no one tries to mess with him.”

“You are certain?” asked Albedo sharply, scanning her surroundings for guards. There were none. “Of his habits, that is.”

She turned toward the boy, imposing on him with her tall stature. It wasn't a difficult matter considering that the average height was pitifully low due to poor nutrition.

The boy shrugged nervously. “I never checked myself, but I've heard stories about this place. It's booby trapped.”

“I hope you're not wrong. We don't appreciate being misled, especially since we came all this way,” warned Demiurge, sounding a little too gleeful.

Albedo approached the fence. She tapped the metal, testing its strength. Then, after a pause—bent the iron bars. She didn't heave a grunt or break a sweat; she might well have been snapping a twig.

The boy's jaw dropped. He stared in disbelief, as if men in laboratory coats holding clipboards would appear around the corner with a television crew in tow to capture his reaction.

He shook his confusion away as Albedo and Demiurge strode through the opening. Hastily, he darted after them.

Demiurge paused at the front entrance, sticking his leg out to prevent the boy from going further. Mid-step and unable to stop in time, the boy stumbled, falling to the ground in a heap.

The boy almost grabbed Demiurge’s pant leg to pull himself up, but stopped himself when he felt a pressure atop his head. But no one laid a finger on him. Must have been in his mind. He recalled the warning.

Demiurge watched him closely, but did not offer assistance.

The boy smiled weakly, trying to placate the archdevil's nonexistent concerns. He dusted his knees, which were an angry red. Surely this kind man wouldn't delight in his misery?

“This is as far as we will go, Albedo. It would be quite rude of us to intrude on your reunion.”

“You don't want to meet him?”

Demiurge glanced at the house longingly.

“There is always next time.”

He did want to visit. But if he did, Albedo would surely accompany him to visit Lord Ulbert afterwards. He wanted to avoid that outcome at all costs.

Demiurge had the edge when it came to information, but it wouldn't be for long. That depended on Pandora's Actor’s return. However, even if it was bad news, he did not expect his compatriots to act drastically.

But he had to discern his Master's intentions first. Only then could he proceed with his plans. He tried not to worry about that, but it wasn't like Albedo was paying attention to his cortisol levels.

No, she was far too preoccupied with her own presentation.

Her heart skipped a beat.

For a second Albedo thought he had seen through her. Was she not as excited as he expected? Perhaps she should have rushed inside without conversing under the guise of impatience. It wasn't too late to espouse her loyalty, was it?

Anxiety washed over her like a tidal wave. The suit kept it hidden. Not that her poker face would have cracked.

Demiurge clasped his hands behind his back.

“Do behave yourself—you wouldn't want to make a bad impression on Lord Tabula. We should strive to show our devotion, wouldn't you agree?”

Albedo grit her teeth, responding with a curt, “Well said, Demiurge.”

“That archfiend…!”

Albedo clenched her fists as she cased the house, searching for a point of entry.

She would have found a way to drive him off if he had chosen to stay. Obviously, she couldn't have him around to witness what she was about to do. It would also allow her to conjure up an excuse for Lord Tabula's absence later.

She wasn't entirely sure if Demiurge was onto her. He was ominous and sly, but occasionally he managed to fool her as much as she did him.

His intentions were clear—he would meet Lord Tabula. It was not a matter of ‘If’, but ‘when’. And if Lord Tabula wound up dead before then, the jig would be up.

Killing Demiurge was a tempting solution, but out of the question. It raised more issues than it solved.

Lord Ainz depended on him. Demiurge practically ran Nazarick; it was his plans and proposals that always got accepted. Plus, as the Leader of Defense, the Great Tomb would be at risk during potential invasions.

His death would not only be a detriment to Lord Ainz, but to her.

Albedo's workload was already excessive—taking on Demiurge’s tasks would be borderline impossible, and she didn't even require sleep. A 24/7 operation wouldn't cover it all. Such a hassle.

How could she keep Lord Ainz company if she was inundated with work? How could she warm his bed when he was away on business? Why, she wouldn't even have time to make love with him!

There were also a few other matters she had planned in store, but she'd focus on her current task at hand first.

She sighed. Oh, well. It seemed like she'd have to stick with her original plan.

Wrenching out a few rusty nails loose from a boarded window, Albedo dislodged the panel and slid the window open.

She eased in, her slender frame pliant. She landed soundlessly on the carpet, despite its apparent dampness.

There was a water leak that needed fixing. Buckets were strategically placed to catch droplets seeping through the ceiling. Old rags were laid about, though the carpet seemed to have taken its job.

Albedo listened. Her sensitive hearing could pick up a pin drop a mile away, but what she honed in on was the breathing. Deep inhale. Light exhale.

Lord Tabula was sleeping.

She crept toward the sound, footfalls imperceptible.

Lord Tabula was on the second floor, likely in his bedchambers.

The parlor she was currently in was filled with antiques. Whereas Suzuki Satoru seemed to have the latest technology—his holographic computer and television—Lord Tabula had none. At least in this room.

Half-burned candles perched on every table and shelf. A grandfather clock ticked, pendulum swinging hypnotically.

The place was fit for an antiquarian. Bookshelves lined the walls, sorted by alphabet and then color. Upon closer inspection, she discovered that they were classics, recognizing a few similar titles from Ashurbanipal. There were also a number of academic tomes lying around, plagued with broken spines and dog-eared pages.

It all screamed that Lord Tabula came from old money, perhaps some fallen house. Albedo had to admit that it was quite fitting. However…

Though the house was in a poor state, there seemed to be an organized chaos about it. The books weren't thrown haphazardly across the living room—they were arranged accordingly, the covers facing outward or left open to depict passages referencing cosmic horrors, tales of madmen, and remedies for paranormal maladies.

Albedo had the distinct feeling it was purposefully designed this way. Perhaps to disarm intruders, lulling them into a false sense of security before unveiling the true horrors within?

As she passed, a book balanced atop an out-of-tune piano caught her eye. It was opened to a chapter on alchemy, particularly on the second stage of the Magnum Opus: Albedo.

Were you thinking about me, Lord Tabula?

For a brief moment, a spark or warmth kindled in her heart. It lost its heat immediately as a gust breezed through, a reminder of the cold reality of her abandonment.

If he cared about her at all he wouldn't have left.

The wind sheared off the top pages of a stack of wet papers. They stuck to the clawed legs of a vintage sofa.

The source of the draft seemed to come from the fireplace. A grate had been installed to keep the wind out. However, given the dampness, Albedo presumed Lord Tabula was trying to dry his home. At least he kept the filter screen on to prevent pollutants.

Reluctant to reminisce any longer, Albedo made haste.

Locating the narrow staircase, she ascended, two steps at a time. The closer she got, the more apprehensive she grew. She felt like a naughty child about to be reprimanded by a parent. It was a new and unsettling feeling she would rather not experience again.

At the top of the landing was a door, slightly ajar. She poked her head in.

Albedo tread softly until she was at his bedside. She leaned forward for a closer look.

Lord Tabula's mouth was slack. His eyebrows were delicately arched. He slept on his back, arms drawn to the side. One might mistake him for a corpse, for he was completely motionless aside from the light snoring.

How could he sleep so soundly, knowing what he had done? To Lord Ainz? To the denizens? To her? There wasn't a regretful bone in his body. Did he ever think his past would return to haunt him?

He looked older than Suzuki Satoru by a few years. Appearance-wise, he was slightly above average. His face was pleasing proportionally. His jet black hair was clean and well-kept. Streaks of white showed through. Stress induced?

It was difficult for Albedo to reconcile the Brain Eater with the human in the bed. He was an entirely different person.

No. Perhaps it was better this way. She wouldn't have to face Lord Tabula as she knew him. She wouldn't have to feel the pang of guilt for what she was about to do.

Shedding her protective suit, she unfurled her wings, stretching them out with a sigh. Free at last.

She drew Ginnungagap from her inventory, pulling it out of thin air. The handle was perfectly molded to her palm—the parting gift Lord Tabula bestowed her.

Transforming it into a bardiche, she raised it above her head. She sucked in a breath and spoke in a strong voice.

“Wake up, Lord Tabula.”

Chapter Text

Lord Tabula was dreaming.

He was in a video game of some sort, a mishmash of all the DMMORPGs he'd played.

He slew monster after monster, reaping experience points like a master of his craft. Drops hovered on the ground, his inventory filled to maximum.

Then he heard it.

“Wake up…”

A voice, sweet and beguiling. Each syllable felt as soft as a petal. Fitting for an angel, or what he imagined belonged to a beautiful, unearthly woman.

His brow furrowed.

There were no women who sounded like that, not that he knew. Their lungs were chronically red and raw and dry from inhaling toxic pollutants, causing them to sound like smokers. Toxic Lung, doctors called it. Nearly three‐quarters of the population were born afflicted with this condition, and the remainder would develop it by the time they reached working age.

“...Lord Tabula…”

When had he last been called by that name? Five years ago? He frowned. Time passed so quickly.

“...Lord Tabula!”

As he mused, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He felt as if he was being watched, like an animal in a zoo.

The voice had an inflection, an urgency. Something was amiss.

He snapped his eyes open to glimpse a tall figure looming over him.

Perhaps he was still asleep. Yes, there was no way this woman could get in his room undetected. He had set noise traps throughout the house. The slightest pressure would set them off. The place would be a circus.

Golden irises gleamed, dripping with disdain. Ivory horns curling from the sides of her head met a few inches apart at her temple. Wings as black as night protruding from her waist bristled.

A flicker of recognition flashed. He recalled spending hours pouring over her design, going as far as to hoard guild levels to create her and her two sisters.

“Al...bedo?” He croaked, his voice cracking from dryness.

A taut smile stretched across her lips.

“Yes, Lord Tabula.”

Lord Tabula sat up, rubbing his eyes. This was surprisingly realistic. A floral aroma wafted over. Perfume?

“What are you doing here? As I recall, I stationed you in Nazarick, by the throne.”

“Forgive me. It was not by choice that I was separated from my homeland. But now that I am here, I could not resist the urge to see you.”

Lord Tabula glanced up, and finally saw it.

Her bardiche wound back, poised to cleave down at his head and split him like a watermelon. A gorier version of Suikawari—though he'd only experienced it through television shows and video games. Cultural festivities were a thing of the past.

He felt as if he were an omniscient third party, watching the scene unfolding from a corner of the room. Totally divorced from the situation, he convinced himself that it was a strangely elaborate dream. Thus, he did not fear for his safety, even with the threat of death so close.

“Planning on killing me?” he asked, a hint of amusement on his lips.

A beat of silence.

Albedo didn’t know how to interpret this absurd question.

His calm demeanor unsettled her. She half-expected tears, groveling, bargaining. Espousing empty promises to improve. Begging for mercy.

Was he hiding some secret power? Was that the reason behind his unconcerned demeanor? Perhaps he was biding his time, waiting for a chance to pounce. Had the hunter become the hunted?

Intimidated, Albedo faltered. She waited for him to say anything, but his jaw remained firmly shut. His expression revealed neither fear nor remorse.

Albedo cursed inwardly as she confronted the undeniable truth.

Though Lord Tabula resided in mortal form, his soul was eternal. He was a Supreme Being. He transcended the nine realms, beyond flesh and bone. He was the unknowable divine, a force of nature.

He could not be daunted by his own creation, who he had molded with his hands and shaped to perfection. After all, a God who could be killed so easily was not worthy of worship. And all in Nazarick—save for Albedo—held him in high regard, for he held seniority amongst the Forty-One, joining shortly after the guild had been founded.

As the silence stretched on, Lord Tabula stifled a yawn, stretching his arms wide and cracking his knuckles, indifferent to the tension hanging thick in the air.

“You've come all this way for my sake. That pleases me, but the journey must have been difficult. Would you like something to eat?”

Albedo faltered.

Albedo hesitated, her mind racing. “That won't be necessary. I'm not hungry,” she replied tersely.

Lord Tabula glanced up at her, narrowing his eyes.

But as if summoned by the absurdity of her words, her stomach growled audibly. Albedo flushed, rage bubbling beneath her skin. Traitor! she cursed inwardly, her hand dropping instinctively to cover her abdomen. She wished she could tear out that irksome part of hers.

She opened and closed her mouth, floundering for an excuse.

How did Lord Tabula know she hadn't eaten in a day? A lucky guess? Did he pry into her mind? His gaze seemed to see through her, her thoughts and heart's desire laid bare. Paranoia began to take root, dark tendrils coiling in her mind.

Lord Tabula chuckled. “You're hungry.”

She hated how much she liked the sound of his laugh.

Before she had the chance to refuse, Lord Tabula rose from his bed, motioning for her to follow.

“I apologize for the mess,” he said, weaving between buckets of brackish water. Particulates bobbed, ripples echoing over the surface as they padded past. “The house is in a bad state. Rainy season.”

Albedo could have ended the charade right then and there, could have taken her bardiche and slashed at his neck, relishing the shock in his eyes as he realized the true intentions of her visit.

But she didn’t. Instead, she found herself lowering her weapon—but not her guard.

Lord Tabula took a particular path. Instead of clinging to the wall where it was more walkable, he squeezed between tight areas on his tip-toes.

Albedo saw it for what it was. He was avoiding setting off the booby traps he'd set up.

Albedo followed at a safe distance, her eyes narrowing as yet another knee-high obstacle appeared in the form of a particularly stubborn potted plant—fake, of course. She wondered if he was surprised at how easily she overcame it simply by stepping over. In Yggdrasil, such a task would have been impossible, her movements restricted by the limitations of her character’s programming. But she had grown in power, transcended above petty hindrances.

Yet he did not acknowledge it, which left her with a gnawing pang of irritation.

The kitchen was as cluttered as the rest of the house. Instead of dirty dishes, the sink was brimming with burnt smudge sticks. The overwhelming artificial scent of medicinal herbs filled her nostrils. It made her want to gag.

Incense was often used to ward off demons. Was this some sort of precaution he had taken against her? Perhaps this was his attempt to weaken her power? A rueful smile crept across her lips at the irony. Maybe he was scared of her after all, in his own peculiar way.

Lord Tabula busied himself with lighting various candles. Small flames soon danced along the counters and on the table.

He rifled through the cabinets and retrieved a small pouch of nutritional paste. “Eat.”

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that an order?" Her voice dripped with mockery, her eyes boring into him, daring him to push her further.

His smile didn't reach his eyes. “A suggestion. Go on. It's not poison. Promise.”

In spite of herself, she obeyed, tearing the straw from the pouch and stabbing it into the indicated hole. She slurped the paste as quickly as possible. Her taste buds protested, but she forced herself to swallow.

Lord Tabula stood behind her, observing closely. The corners of her lips quivered upward as she fought back the nausea clawing its way up her throat.

"How are your sisters?" he asked. His tone was pleasant, almost conversational. But then again, Lord Tabula never sounded anything less than sincere.

"If you're curious, why don't you visit them to see for yourself?" she shot back.

She regretted it immediately. Was the bitter taste in her mouth from those words, or the paste?

Lord Tabula frowned, his brows knitting together. An uncomfortable silence hung between the two.

She sensed his disapproval. She had spoken rudely to him in his own home. He had greeted her, fed her, and this was how she repaid him?

Her knees threatened to give out, to lower her to the ground so that she could beg his pardon.

No, she told herself. You don't owe him an apology. Call it karma.

“You're upset,” he stated. “I left you girls without a word.”

Albedo glared. “Without saying goodbye.”

He sighed, a sound so resigned that for a moment, it almost felt genuine. “To be honest, I couldn't bring myself to face you. What you represent—it was too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spent years in Yggdrasil, grinding experience, earning gold. All for Nazarick. For my guildmates. For you, the NPCs. The happiest time of my life.”

He smiled as he recollected fond memories.

Albedo, too, could not resist.

She remembered when she saw him for the first time—his long appendages brushing through her hair, lifting her arms to check for imperfections. He draped her spider web necklace over her chest, the accessory having gone through multiple iterations until he settled on gold as it matched her eyes.

She had nothing but love for him then. He was the apple of her eye, her cherished. She had been so foolish back then. Foolishly loyal. As blessed with intelligence as she was, she hadn't the gall to fathom his true intentions. And by the time she did, it was already too late.

Lord Tabula sighed again. “Nothing good lasts forever. It was a fantasy, intended to distract me from my own problems. But dreams must come to an end.”

Albedo asked the question she had held onto since his departure. “How could you be so cruel?”

Lord Tabula seemed taken aback by her bluntness. “I was selfish, I admit it. I knew how much the game meant to Momonga, that everyone was slowly losing interest. But I couldn't neglect reality. I couldn't escape it, even in Yggdrasil.”

He took the empty nutritional packet from her, crumpled it up, and tossed it into a bucket with a splash.

“You symbolize all the good times. I poured my interests, my hopes, and my dreams into you. You were to guard the Great Tomb, protecting that monument of joy for eternity. Leaving on a sour note would defeat the point; tainting the well, so to speak.”

“You would rather be in this dreary place where you can’t see the sky than with us? We would have served you hand and foot, given you everything you desired. A life of unparalleled luxury.”

Lord Tabula grinned. “It doesn't make sense, right? But this is where I belong. I can't forget the suffering. Maybe I like living on Hard Mode.”

“You abandoned us. Abandoned Lord Momonga,” Albedo spat bitterly.

He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his words were simple, but they struck like a dagger to the heart. “It was just a game,” he shrugged.

Any semblance of hope she harbored vanished instantly.

Were they nothing but playthings? A passing fancy? Mere props to satisfy Lord Tabula's whimsy?

Why had she deluded herself into believing he cared?

Albedo trembled, trying desperately to regain control, to stifle the rising tide of humiliation, sorrow, and rage.

She loathed him. How badly she wanted to hurt him—he would suffer beyond belief, until he understood the pain and misery he inflicted onto her.

A burning sensation. Albedo looked down. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palms and stained her fingers red. Of course. Barring a few denizens, the only ones strong enough to leave a mark on her flesh were the Supreme Ones…and herself.

Lord Tabula leaned forward, his eyebrows drawn up in concern. “Are you alright?”

It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Snarling, Albedo bared her fangs. “Don't touch me!”

Lord Tabula let out a cry as a sharp sting of pain slashed across his cheek. The sound barely left his lips when whatever had grazed him continued its trajectory, whistling through the air.

There was a loud snap—of splintering—and when his eyes darted toward the origin, he found his table sliced in two. Down the middle. Groaning, the halves slumped to the ground, cracking the kitchen tiles.

Lord Tabula's vision blurred—he practically flew to the opposite end of the kitchen. It was as if a great divine wind had pulled him, the soles of his feet burning from skidding across the tiles.

He hadn't perceived how quickly she'd whipped out her bardiche and brought it down. Had he been in any other circumstance, he would've been impressed by her display of strength. Unfortunately, the situation at present rendered him speechless.

Cupping his cheek, he winced as a drop of blood oozed from the cut. Warm.

Albedo tensed. The hand clutching her bardiche trembled violently. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be dead. One shot.

Yet here he was, alive, staring at her in shock.

She was just as confused. How had he moved with such speed?

Despite all her acclaimed hatred, she couldn't stop the wave of shame that swept through her. Her mind screamed for her to apologize, to offer her neck and atone for her crime. She had committed an unforgivable sin, punishable by death. She caused her Creator to bleed.

The chains of her programming were deeply ingrained; no matter how hard she tried, she could not rid herself of pesky sentimentalities. Because a creation could not defy its Master. She was made to serve—that was her sole purpose of being.

Ducking her head, her eyes wandered. She couldn't bear to look at him. She didn't want to see his disappointed expression. Didn't want to face his wrath. In a way, she had been reduced to a cornered animal. A pet who'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Only this time, there was no forgiveness to hope for.

She sucked in a breath when she suddenly became aware of a dense, raw power emanating from across the room.

Her skin tingled and her wings bristled. Her muscles tended, bracing for some sort of impact, some realization for her actions. Run, her brain screamed.

She had never felt such terror in her life.

Lord Tabula was no longer human.

His head elongated, the cranium sagging at the back from the weight. His chin split into four writhing appendages, each lined with hook-like suckers that seemed to beckon her closer, although she had no intention of accepting the invitation. His limbs contorted twice their usual length. Thin, spindly fingers crooked and flexed at odd angles.

A glow seemed to radiate from him. Or behind him? Whether it was a trick of the light, she couldn't tell.

All she knew was that the temperature had dropped so low her smallest exhale produced visible vapors. She shivered in her boots. The pressure on her head and shoulders certainly felt real, as was the urge to prostrate herself before a superior being.

His true form was revealed. She had awoken the eldritch—for that, she would pay dearly. No amount of begging or apologies would help.

So Albedo did the only thing that seemed remotely sensible under the circumstances.

She fled.

Her wings snapped open wide as she threw herself headlong into the air, crashing through the boarded windows like a battering ram. Wood splintered, glass shattered, spraying in every direction as her body was propelled forward with desperate strength. She shot into the open sky like a fleeing bird, her wings flapping in frenzied beats as the cold night air sliced against her face.

Lord Tabula bolted after her, but it was too late.

“Albedo!”

Acidic fumes invaded her lungs. Suffocating. She coughed violently. Her protective suit was in the parlor, but she wouldn't return for it. She needed to get away before she did something foolish.

She heard his voice cutting through the flutter of feathers. She tried to shut him out, fill her mind with thoughts of only the one true Supreme Being, but it was impossible. Her ears were primed to be at his every beck and call.

“Stop!”

Instantly, her body locked up, a corpse settling into rigor mortis. Wings freezing mid-flap, she dropped out of the sky like a sack of bricks. There was no resistance—no chance to scream or fight back.

Wind whistled around her as she plummeted closer and closer to the ground. She prayed that she made it to her destination. A part of her wished Lord Tabula might take pity and answer her calls.

But even if he did hear her, there was nothing he could do.

Lord Tabula watched in abject horror as she disappeared behind some buildings, consumed by the darkness pervading the hellscape called Earth.

Where he expected to hear a crash there was instead silence, as if nothing had happened. Was this really a dream? Had he actually witnessed his NPC take to the sky and careen toward certain death?

His eyelids felt like weights, but the burning of his cheek was undeniable. The cut throbbed like a heartbeat.

Perhaps, if he went to bed, both his cheek and his table would mend itself and the fabric of his reality would remain intact.

He gathered himself and turned to return to his room. When he did, he was startled to see his table in perfect form.

Oh. Maybe it worked.

No longer did it lay bisected and splintered. He traced a finger over it. Aside from old stains, he could not glimpse any scars, no groove etched into its varnished surface.

He glanced back at the window and was equally astonished to see it unbroken. The frame was intact, the glass pane in one piece, if a little grimey. The curtains ceased their frantic dance, motionless on either side and fastened with a perfect bow.

He didn't tie his curtains, ever.

Rubbing his eyes, he muttered to himself, "How peculiar…"

The floor bore no feathers. No splinters or glass shards to sweep up either.

As for his stinging cheek…he probably injured himself while sleepwalking. Or so he hoped.

Lord Tabula was an eccentric fellow. He dabbled in black magic and spiritualist practices of various religions. Therefore, he was not unfamiliar with mysterious happenings—although those were usually attributed to coincidences and wishful thinking.

Rarely did he attain any evidence of the supernatural, and if he did it wouldn't stand up in any laboratory testing. Fantasy and dreams—his own personally cultivated delusion. Escapism was the only way to survive in this decrepit world.

Lord Tabula rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a mistake to rest so late. His subconscious was probably trying to resolve some deep-seeded traumas. Sure, he had endured his fair share of hardships, but on top of that he was hallucinating too?

He must have forgotten to take his supplements. He could already hear his doctor nagging. Quickly, he went through the drawers and gulped a few tablets. They went down dry, but he didn't care. Better than spiraling into another mental health crisis.

This was ridiculous. He needed to get a handle on himself.

Shaking his head, he checked his traps and plodded back upstairs.

His imagination was running wild. Really. He would be sure to jot down this half-conscious escapade of his down in his dream journal in the morning; perhaps he would find it amusing to chortle at another time.

After all, there was no way fictional characters could come to life. Even less likely that there existed flying, horned women swinging around large axes.

Right?

Chapter Text

Demiurge milled about, taking cover under a hotel awning.

Actually, calling it a hotel seemed overly generous. The sign hung lopsided from its mount, its cracked tubes sputtering sickly pink and green, casting warped reflections against the cracked walls. The carpet leading to the entrance—which he presumed was red at one point—was blackened with layers of grime.

Occasionally a man or a woman would pass through the doors dragging their feet, presumably heading to and fro to work. The building served as a layover for those who lived far from their offices and were too exhausted to travel every day.

The boy leaned against the wall, casting surreptitious glances at the archdevil, imploring him to let him reunite with his brother at long last.

But Demiurge had no intention of doing so. Not yet. It would make the boy happy, something he was determined to deprive him of. Demiurge decided that a frown befitted him, and he wanted to keep it that way. The thought of tears staining that innocent face brought a tingle of excitement to his fingertips.

The reason behind Demiurge’s cruelty was partly because he was a demon who reveled in suffering. However, in this instance, he was finding it difficult to delight in the boy's overt anxiety.

By parsing through Suzuki Satoru's emails, Demiurge and Albedo had been able to obtain Lord Tabula's and Lord Ulbert's addresses.

He had accompanied Albedo to Lord Tabula's residence out of curiosity. What type of abode did he inhabit? Would it be similar to Suzuki Satoru's apartment? Did he live in a place suitable for a Supreme Being? Was he happy?

He was surprised to find that Lord Tabula's residence closely resembled a fortress, albeit a rudimentary one. From what the boy told them, Lord Tabula set traps about the property and was thus well-versed in self-defense. Seeing as he had survived this far, there didn't seem to be any issues concerning his self-sufficiency.

He wondered if Albedo would return to Suzuki Satoru's apartment. Perhaps she might wish to stay with her Creator a while longer. He wouldn't hold it against her if she did. That's what he would do.

Demiurge had paid a visit to Lord Ulbert's apartment, but hadn't received the desired results.

An old woman had answered the door. She lived there alone and hadn't heard of anyone going by the moniker of ‘Lord Ulbert’ or the other human-sounding name connected to him.

When asked if she knew the previous tenant, she responded that she'd heard it had been a man, but wasn't able to provide further details.

The landlord was just as oblivious, a mess of a man who claimed to have lost prior documentation due to a fire and couldn't remember the name of a single resident if his life depended on it. He was obviously addicted to some sort of drug, slurring his words and twitching the entire length of the conversation. Absolutely foul.

With no leads, Demiurge hit a standstill.

He couldn't help but feel envious of Albedo. She had the opportunity to meet her Creator. Pandora's Actor was even more privileged—having Lord Ainz be the last remaining Supreme Being who chose to stay behind. There was no greater honor.

Demiurge resisted the urge to sigh. He looked at the boy, who returned the gaze expectantly.

If he couldn't go to Lord Ulbert, he would simply have to lead Lord Ulbert to him. Carve the path and clear the road. There were many ways to achieve this, and one happened to stand right here.

“You seem to know people,” Demiurge commented matter-of-factly. “Your kind seems to possess a knack for it."

Rubbing his calloused feet, the boy smiled sheepishly. “A little. It helps to get by. You have to know who to ask for scraps, who to stay away from, which places you can spend the night, and so on.”

“Let me ask you this: Hypothetically, would you begrudge me if you knew who I was?”

“...What do you mean?”

Annoyed, Demiurge rephrased his question. “If I shed my suit, would you turn your back on me?”

He tilted his head, eyes wide with curiosity. “...Are you a bad person?”

“Most would define me as such, yes.”

The boy hesitated, then slowly shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t think so. I’ve done things too, things I’m not proud of, but I did them for my brother. To keep him safe.”

“Hmm, so it's the intention that counts?”

Unfamiliar with the word, the boy quirked his head, kicked at the ground, and fixed him with a resolute expression.

“You saved my brother. A monster wouldn't have done that.”

Demiurge laughed, a chilling sound the boy tried his hardest to interpret positively. “You would readily place your faith in a stranger? What are my intentions? You couldn't fathom what torment I might have planned in store.”

“You're not a stranger. You're Mister Demiurge.”

Demiurge clicked his tongue. How stubborn.

The fact that someone could perform ‘good’ actions with ulterior motives hadn't crossed the boy's mind. Living in this barren and cruel world he still had hope yet. His innocence made Demiurge want to corrupt him. Foolish, foolish boy!

Demiurge grinned, a malicious glint in his eye. “Indeed. We shouldn't confine ourselves in binaries. We're close, aren't we? Friends. You won't judge when I show my face?”

“I definitely won't!”

“Then, if you are brave enough, follow me.”

The boy trailed after him dutifully into an alley. When they were far enough from prying eyes, Demiurge turned to the boy.

“I expect you to hold to your end of the bargain. Do not scream. Do not run. Is that understood?”

Huh? The boy was beginning to get cold feet. He felt as if he was on the cusp of discovering something he shouldn't. However, he had already declared that he wouldn't treat Demiurge any differently. He nodded.

Demiurge unzipped his suit, pulling the hood off his head. Immediately, the air burned his nostrils, and he felt his lungs constricting. This would have to be quick.

“Take a good look.”

Sucking in a shuddering breath, the boy's eyes widened, a strangled noise catching in his throat. Whatever it was that he expected under that suit…it was not this.

Demiurge peeled back his lips, flashing his fangs. Wearing the suit he had no need to use illusion magic, but if the boy accepted him, there was a high probability others would.

Long pointed ears, an apparent lack of eyebrows, a smile that stretched ear-to-ear—the boy could only stare.

What captured the boy most were those eyes. No pupil, no sclera, just two brilliant diamonds. He watched the reflection, tiny versions of himself locked within fractals, all moving in tandem as he squirmed uncomfortably.

Being the year 2138, it was not unusual for wealthier individuals to replace limbs with cybernetic enhancements and prosthetics in exchange for greater speed, endurance, and strength. In fact, it was the trend to modify the body purely for aesthetic purposes. Fuller lips, hourglass figure, six-pack, sharper jaw—features they had been deprived of at birth and had the money to fix.

To some, beauty transcended humanity. Since the launch of a particular DMMORPG, there had been an uptick in the amount of cosmetic surgeries to match players to the appearance of their in-game counterparts, elves being the most popular, discernible by the pointed ears.

The boy assumed Demiurge to be one of these individuals. His modifications were unorthodox and a little extreme for most people's tastes. It didn't serve the purpose of making him attractive, not exactly. Perhaps, beauty, he thought, was in the eye of the beholder.

Speaking of that…

How Demiurge could see without pupils remained a mystery, but he assumed it wasn't an issue. Adults understood the specifics of ocular implants. Children were left to grope in the dark, to simply nod along and accept what was. It was easier than explaining, because their undeveloped brains weren't capable of comprehending the complexities. His parents had said something like that when they dropped him off on the streets.

Despite this, his instincts screamed at him to run. He had the sense that Demiurge’s intention of taking on such an appearance was not only a stylistic choice, but a signifier of some deeper connotation of his character. And that unsettled him.

The boy was silent. Demiurge took it to mean that he was paying close attention. He leaned in, towering over the boy, who gulped loudly.

“Now, tell me. Who am I?”

Lord Touch Me sighed.

Midnight had fallen and he was still at the precinct. Granted, overtime was mandatory in his position, but he longed to spend time with his family.

He disliked the office outside his Arcology, with its noxious air and choking fog. This land which neither the sun nor moon dared touch.

A slew of cold cases on his desk pleaded for his attention. The area was rife with crime. Aggravated robbery, kidnapping, murder—it was constant; not the peoples' fault, of course. He was aware they were a victim of circumstance, born disadvantaged and fated to struggle against the tide and each other like crabs in a bucket.

As a police officer, he ought to help them. But there was nothing he could do. One man could not fight against the establishment. The cushy CEOs would simply send out their ‘dogs’ to sniff out dissidents and dispose of them. He knew this well.

After all, he was one of those ‘dogs’.

How many fathers and mothers had he ended? How many children had he orphaned? Too many to count.

He didn't know them. They were strangers, but it didn't make it easier pulling the trigger. They had aspirations, goals, loved ones to care for. Human beings, of flesh and blood. Just like him.

He kept the pain to himself, never uttering a word to anyone.

His wife didn't know he sat in his car for half an hour to compose himself before he went inside, a smile plastered on his face. His daughter boasted proudly of her father to her friends at school. If she ever found out what he did, she would never look at him the same again.

But it didn't matter. It was his cross to bear. He didn't have the right to complain.

He wasn't the one with his hands up, muzzle pressed against his skull. He wasn't pleading for mercy. He had never gone to bed on an empty stomach. Never been subjected to hard labor at a young age. Never coughed so hard he spat blood.

Lord Touch Me was many things. Ruthless. Selfish. And worst of all—a coward and a traitor.

When he had been assigned his latest case by the higher ups, he couldn't anticipate the toll it would take on him.

His values had long since eroded. If he had any to begin with.

Personally, he suspected he was born defective. Always trying to help but only succeeding in causing pain. If he was in a video game it would probably present as a low luck stat. Then again, might it be considered a curse? One with a strong psychic debuff…

He smiled bitterly. Though he gave up years ago, he still couldn't escape Yggdrasil. It always seemed to find its way back to him.

He found respite in that game, if only for a little while. Pretended to uphold justice, something he failed to do in the real world. Forged bonds with his comrades. They were supposed to be everlasting.

He wished his wife hadn't bought him that game for his birthday. If she didn't he wouldn't have met the other forty.

He wouldn't have cried when he felt Bellriver's pulse stop.

Lord Touch Me thought it would be his tipping point, the moment he couldn't take it any longer. The morning after the deed he woke up feeling a little numb, a little jittery. His hands trembled something awful as he brushed his teeth.

His daughter asked him if he was okay. Patting her head he lied, put on a brave expression, and pretended to be normal. He could have used a [ Lion's Heart ] then. But this was real life. Magic wasn’t real. Bellriver was gone for good. There were no respawns, no save scumming.

So Lord Touch Me stowed the guilt into a small box and shoved it into the back of his head. The higher ups put him on lower level assignments and he could relax a little. As long as he stuck it out for a few more years he could retire. A cushy life for him and his perfect family.

Lord Touch Me grabbed a dossier, ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamped in bold red letters on the cover. Flipping it open, he gazed at the photo pinned on the first page. A familiar face.

Suzuki Satoru.

Average office worker. Middle school dropout. Eternal bachelor. Video game fanatic. Close friend.

Why him, of all people?

Pandora's Actor treaded home. His shoulders, typically rigid and upright, sagged from an invisible weight.

Lord Ainz specifically created him to express the entire gamut of emotion, but melancholy didn't suit him.

“The only way to return to the old world is to resolve Lord Bellriver's unfinished business, huh…”

What that entailed, Pandora's Actor didn't know. It would be simpler for Lord Bellriver to lay out all the pieces, but he was incredibly reluctant.

Similar to Shalltear, his memories prior to dying were fuzzy. He had a few general ideas as to what happened, but the specifics eluded him.

Lord Bellriver had discovered top-secret information pertaining to the megacorporations that ruled this world. For his troubles, he was eliminated to keep it hush-hush.

While Lord Bellriver couldn't recall exactly what the information was, he had been alerted about his assassination and managed to pass off what he knew to a trusted confidant. The identity of the confidant was unknown, but from his conversations with both Lord Bellriver and Lord Touch Me, Pandora's Actor easily deduced the answer.

Lord Ulbert.

While Pandora's Actor had his suspicions on Lord Touch Me's involvement, he couldn't come to any concrete resolutions without further evidence to back up his claims.

Still, the situation was worrisome.

He didn't have a choice. As much of a detriment it was, he had to turn to Albedo and Demiurge for help.

For now, he would focus on locating all involved parties. Future Pandora's Actor would deal with the fallout later.

Pandora's Actor wished he could have posed more questions to Lord Bellriver, but in the middle of it, he abruptly took his leave with the excuse that he had an urgent matter to attend to. Pandora's Actor hoped his pestering hadn't earned his ire.

Unfortunately, by the time Pandora's Actor reached the apartment, it was empty.

His compatriots had taken the initiative and gone on without him. Pandora's Actor was not so much as disappointed as he was anxious.

While it was possible Albedo would want to try and locate Lord Tabula ahead of him, he didn't think they would have been able to.

After all, he'd made sure to only purchase enough fabric for one additional hazmat suit.

Albedo and Demiurge would not have gone out again without the other, not with the risk of losing their World Item. It was prudent to exercise caution since the possibility of Lord Touch Me being subjugated was still unclear.

Pandora’s Actor had thought they would have waited until he returned with a definite answer.

He had misjudged.

Extra bed sheets and old, unused clothing had been removed, likely to create another hazmat suit. Not up to standard for an actual suit. It spoke to the level of desperation. Whoever wore it would barely be able to filter out the airborne particulates without an actual gas mask. A senselessly dangerous move.

Albedo must have convinced Demiurge to leave. It was concerning. So overwhelming was the desire to meet his Creator that his logical thoughts were overridden.

As much as he hated to admit it, Albedo was being proven right yet again. The Supreme Ones drove them to act irrationally.

Once more, a note had been scribbled down, penned by Albedo.

No words—she had simply drawn a smiling portrait of Lord Ainz.

“Verdammt…”

Chapter Text

Demiurge couldn't believe his luck.

Who would have anticipated that he so closely resembled the CEO's son of the largest megacorporation in Japan?

The name of that man was inconsequential—no one dared speak it. It was akin to summoning a demon themselves. Quite fitting.

There were some notable differences, however. The infamous young master did not possess a highly augmented body, at least from the last time the boy glimpsed him on the cover of whatever vanity report currently lined the streets. This meant that Demiurge would have to continue to hide his demonic attributes.

He cared not for the boy, the witness to his true form, but he was a loose end he couldn't allow to escape. Nevertheless, he was a useful guide as well as a source of mild entertainment, so Demiurge kept him around for the time being.

Demiurge muttered a silent thanks to his Creator. His body was a gift, a divine blessing. But wouldn't it be more accurate to say it was intentional?

Lord Ulbert had carefully calculated every inch of his body with precision. He weighed the benefits, the drawbacks, and the costs to mold an ideal servant. A vessel to attend to his every whim.

Demiurge laid a hand over his heart.

I shall use that which you have endowed me to reunite us, my lord.

“Um…excuse me, Mister…?”

Demiurge scowled. This petty human dared interrupt him during worship? He ought to remove the boy's vocal chords. Perhaps tearing out his tongue, frying it up on the stove, and forcing it down his throat would suffice.

“It is ‘Lord’ Demiurge to you. And do not speak out of turn. Manners.”

Taken aback by his forcefulness, the boy lowered his head and whispered, “Yes, Lord Demiurge.”

With a sigh, Demiurge let go of the transgression. Couldn't be helped if lower beings were stupid. “Well? What do I owe the pleasure? What could be so important that you disrupt my rumination?”

“I—”

“—Ah, your brother.”

Demiurge stroked his chin. After all, he had intentionally ignored the boy as he desperately tried to get his attention. Just to see him squirm.

“He might not be alive.”

The boy's face drained. “What do you mean?”

Suppressing a smile, Demiurge continued. “He was in poor condition when I picked him up. Another hour and he would have been fresh meat for the scavengers.”

Pushing up his spectacles, Demiurge drank in the boy's confusion and growing despair. His eyes burned with tears.

“It is possible he succumbed to his wounds.”

“Maybe he recovered,” said the boy, adamant.

Ah. An optimist. Glass half full?

Letting the silence stagnate, Demiurge said nothing. It was amazing what a lack of auditory deprivation could do to the psyche. He had been thinking of implementing White Room torture at his ranch for a while now. Perhaps he had his first test subject.

He could tell the boy was distressed and seeking consolation. Unfortunately, Demiurge was the wrong archdevil to turn to. He would rather relish in his misery than alleviate it. Where was the fun in that?

Just as Demiurge opened his mouth to suggest another malady that might have befallen his sibling, his ears twitched.

Something was approaching at high speed. Eighty miles—no, one hundred—right toward them!

Craning his neck upward, he looked up to see a mass of black and white hurling down from the sky.

Without missing a beat, he yanked the boy, forcing him to the ground. Then, planting a leg on the boy's back, Demiurge extended his arms—just in time to catch a falling succubus.

The force caused Demiurge's leg to stamp the wind out of the boy's lungs. The boy made a choking noise, gasping for air. He failed his arms, but Demiurge kept him pinned.

Demiurge was disappointed his ribs hadn't snapped, but he consoled himself in the knowledge that the boy would at least suffer bruising for a few weeks.

Dismissing the boy's pained moans, Demiurge set Albedo on her feet. That was when he realized she couldn't balance herself. No, that wasn't right. She couldn't move, period. She was as stiff as a board. It took considerable pressure to bend her joints.

“What happened, Albedo? Were you attacked?”

No reply. In a catatonic state, she couldn't utter a word. Her eyes were unfocused, drifting from one side to the other.

“Blink twice for yes. Once for no.”

She did neither.

Puzzled, Demiurge asked, “Are you in danger?”

Blink.

Demiurge wrinkled his forehead. It didn't make sense. How could she have ended up like this if she wasn't being attacked? Was she thinking straight? Could she be under a mind-altering effect? As frightening as it was, it was the most likely situation.

Demiurge quickly removed his protective suit and dressed Albedo in it. He didn't know when or how long it had been since he'd lost hers, but he couldn't risk exposing her to the toxic air for a prolonged time.

“Back.”

He swatted the boy's hand. He was probably worried for the succubus, even in his condition, but Demiurge was in no mood to dawdle or toy around.

The warning was understood, and for good measure. Further attempts would have left the boy an indiscernible puddle of meaty red paste. Demiurge would have no qualms about losing him—there were plenty of playthings to be had.

The apartment was not far. As long as he regulated his breathing and focused on inhaling as little as possible, he would be fine.

“We are returning home, Albedo.”

“Mein gott!”

Pandora’s Actor's eyes widened when he opened the door and sighted Albedo stiff in Demiurge's arms.

Her expression was contorted in fear. What could have been the cause?

“Was ist passiert?!"

Demiurge squinted, trying to decipher what he was saying. He had picked up several languages of the New World, but hadn't gotten around to German since there was only one native speaker. Still, using context clues, he was able to get the gist of it.

“She's immobilized. Here, lay her on the futon.”

Pandora's Actor smoothed out a thin duvet and tucked a saggy pillow beneath her head. He crossed her arms over her lap.

Albedo appeared to be asleep, eyes closed. None of the tension remained from when she had fallen. She almost looked relaxed.

Pandora's Actor hoped she hadn't fallen into a coma. Tentative, he prodded her.

“Frau Albedo?”

No response.

He tried calling her name again, splashing her with cold water he'd fetched (begged) from the neighbor. Yanking roughly at her feathers.

Demiurge's tail swatted his head with a thwack. His terse reprimand was reason enough to convince Pandora's Actor to dial it back a little.

“We don't have to go that far. She's strong.”

Pandora's Actor placed a warm towel on her forehead, wiping away at the sweat beading there.

Albedo looked like a princess from a fairy tale. Dornröschen? Actually, judging by her ruby red lips, which were slightly parted, Schneewittchen seemed more appropriate.

As Pandora's Actor recalled, those princesses were awoken from their cursed slumber by a kiss.

He looked at Demiurge, who shook his head. His lips were pressed into a line, already aware of what he was considering.

Absolutely not.

Although she was beauty incarnate, neither of them viewed her in that way.

Their relationship with her was tumultuous at times, cordial at best. Occasionally they tossed around banter, but the only common ground they shared was their unshakable devotion to Lord Ainz. Putting it simply, it was highly inappropriate.

Touching her romantically or trying to covet her for their own gain was unacceptable. Lord Ainz had staked his claim on her. No matter how much push back he gave her, it was agreed that Albedo would be his wife someday. Therefore, she was off limits—not that they had any intention to pursue her.

In fact, romance had never even crossed their minds. It was a foreign concept which only mildly intrigued them scientifically, but they had no desire to engage in it themselves.

That being said, there was some use with her infatuation with Lord Ainz yet.

Pandora's Actor cleared his throat and straightened his back.

“Albedo.”

Demiurge nearly fell over when he opened his mouth.

He sounded exactly like Lord Ainz!

As expected of a doppelgänger created by the Supreme One. His voice was deep and resonant–one could not hear it and come away without the impression that his words were heavy with authority and significance. His knees buckled.

“Albedo. Stand up.”

A twitch of her lashes and her eyelids snapped open. Sucking in a breath, she gasped as she sat up, swiping at the air.

“Bastard!”

Demiurge and Pandora's Actor stared quizzically.

“Pardon?” Demiurge asked. “Who are you referring to?”

Albedo glowered, swiveling around until she was face-to-face with Pandora's Actor. Ah, there was her convenient excuse. She redirected her rage.

She noticed her soaked clothes, the way her hair stuck to her cheeks and clung to her neck. Evidently, someone had doused her quite thoroughly, and she knew exactly who.

“How dare you splash water on me!”

Pandora's Actor tilted his head, feigning ignorance. “You were awake?”

“I wasn't, but Demiurge would have known better than to mess with me.”

“I suppose I can't argue with that.”

He didn't so much as flinch when Albedo raised her arm, poised to slap him across the cheek for defiling her precious face.

“That’s enough,” Demiurge interrupted. “Tell us what happened.”

Pandora's Actor became acutely aware of his expression, which was beginning to scrunch with disappointment. Making a concerted effort to regain his composure, he straightened his posture and smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt.

Neither of them had informed him they were heading out to meet the Supreme Beings. Pandora's Actor had been left out of the loop, and he was certain Albedo had been the cause.

Hadn't he told them he was going to see Lord Touch Me? It was only right they returned the favor. He could understand why Albedo had withheld her plans, but Demiurge? Had he gone that far already? He was crushed.

Worse still, Pandora's Actor feared for Lord Tabula's safety. There was no telling what might have transpired if Albedo was the one to visit. Demiurge seemed as hungry for details, so Pandora's Actor surmised he hadn't been present for that particular interaction.

A white hot rage flared in his veins. If she hurt Lord Tabula…

“Did you meet Lord Tabula?” Demiurge pressed.

Albedo exhaled forcefully through her nostrils. “He did not take kindly to me, if that's what you want to know.”

Pandora's Actor's blood ran cold. His gaze drifted to the knife on the kitchen counter. Albedo was still winded. Perhaps…?

No, it would be futile. It possessed no enchantments capable of breaking through her defenses.

Demiurge visibility deflated, ears drooping slightly. “What do you mean? The Supreme One didn't denounce you, did he?”

Albedo's reluctance was a cause for concern. She fiddled with the ruby ring on her finger, the holiest of treasures owned by the Forty-One and given to the most loyal servants.

Demiurge eyed it jealously.

Possessing a ring of Ainz Ooal Gown himself, Pandora's Actor noticed a flash of color. At first he mistook it for the soot that rained down on everything, but upon closer inspection he realized it was actually a dark red stain on her silk gloves.

He grabbed her hands.

“Is that your blood?”

Albedo jerked out of his grip, repulsed by his touch. “It is. There's no need to worry. I'm fine,” she snapped. “Thanks for asking, by the way.”

If they were in Yggdrasil or Nazarick, she would have been able to cast [ Heal ], drink a potion, or even wait for the wound to close on its own—almost instantaneously given the minor severity, but the logic and their regular items didn’t seem to transfer over. This raised the horrifying revelation that a simple injury could spiral out of control if not dealt with early. Perishing from an infection was a shameful way to go. No one wanted to be remembered in the annals of history as the fool who succumbed from ordinary illness.

Demiurge, seeing that Albedo hadn’t recovered on her own, already reached such a conclusion.

But Pandora's Actor wasn't so much concerned about her as he was Lord Tabula. Had she harmed him? Killed him? The thought filled him with icy dread. He shuddered.

If so, what was he to do? Normally, he would report to his Father and await his opinion, but he was not around to advise him.

Perhaps he could consult with Demiurge? No, he would immediately call for her execution. This went beyond allowing a Supreme One to battle to the death. This was high treason.

Pandora's Actor needed to keep everyone safe and alive—that was what his Father would want. At least until they could determine the proper punishment.

“Lord Tabula stunned you?” Demiurge inquired slowly, his face inscrutable.

Despite his concerns, Pandora's Actor felt it unlikely Albedo killed Lord Tabula. Lord Touch Me and Lord Bellriver had already proven themselves capable in this unfamiliar world. They would not go without a fight. Albedo's incapacitation was a warning—if he had the ability to do that, Lord Tabula could have dished out a worse punishment.

“He was displeased with how I turned out.” She did not expand further. “Couldn't fathom why.”

Demiurge's forehead creased. He was stumped. A denizen betraying their Creator was inconceivable; his mind could not even begin entertaining that possibility. It was outlandish. Easier to consider other possibilities.

He busied himself, ducking into the bathroom. But his thoughts chased him as he rummaged in the cabinets for a first aid kit and blew the dust off the case.

Had she not worked hard enough? Perhaps, in Lord Tabula’s omniscience, he learned of her previous mistakes and found fault? Or maybe she said something, behaved overzealously as usual, and earned his ire?

As he stepped out carrying a bottle of antiseptic, cotton wipes, and gauze, Albedo opened her mouth.

Before Albedo could disparage her Creator further, Pandora's Actor interjected, excuse ready. “He found out about Lord Ainz altering your settings.”

Demiurge quickly latched on to the suggestion, subconsciously avoiding the tiny voice in his head nudging him toward an uncomfortable revelation.

Passing Pandora's Actor the gauze, he snapped his fingers.

“That’s right. Lord Ainz hadn't discussed with Lord Tabula that he was making changes. Presumably he'd be forgiven since they were close, but it would have been better to run it by Lord Tabula first.”

Pandora's Actor gestured for Albedo to give her hand. She pretended she hadn't noticed, but he gently pried her arm from her side and slid off her glove.

Four crescent-shaped gouges marred her palm. Her nails looked as if they had been painted red, but he knew better. Serosanguinous fluid oozed, clear and sticky.

Demiurge diagnosed it as self-inflicted. Albedo had a stressful day, but would she really desecrate the body Lord Tabula gave her? Was that what He would want? Or was this her way of atoning?

Demiurge popped off the lid of the antiseptic and poured it on a cotton wipe. Silently, he cleaned the wound. The liquid would have stung a normal human; even with his sense of smell reduced, the scent of iodine was potent. Albedo, however, showed no such discomfort.

“You think he didn't approve of her love with Lord Ainz?” asked Pandora's Actor.

Misleading Demiurge wasn't something he took pride in, but if he wanted to avoid conflict he'd have to bite the bullet. Albedo's watchful gaze burned into his face.

Demiurge dabbed away the excess solution and stood. “I am not in a position to make that determination. Albedo?”

She pursed her lips. “It's as Pandora's Actor says.”

Pandora's Actor moved in, wrapping her hand with gauze. Overkill, but they didn't have smaller bandages, so it'd have to suffice. The alternative was that her untreated wound became infected. That was hardly acceptable. Now that their immunities to disease were gone, they had to be extra careful.

Demiurge fixed his glasses. Going as far as paralyzing Albedo for something she had no control over was disproportionate to the supposed affront. Factoring in that it was Lord Tabula who reacted harshly—it didn't make sense. But Demiurge couldn't reason out of something he hadn't reasoned into in the first place.

The judgements of the Supreme Beings were not to be questioned, he told himself. There was probably a deeper meaning to his actions, perhaps part of a grand plan they hadn't been let in on. Yes. That was it.

“All you have to do is show him you are still worthy! He will not discard you over such a trifling matter. Rise to the occasion and regain his favor.”

Albedo snorted at his encouragement. “You don't have to tell me twice. I already had a few ideas in mind.” A half‐lie.

With that settled, they turned their attention to the meek shadow huddled in the corner. He may as well be a piece of furniture, for he had gone completely ignored the entire time.

They had completely forgotten about him. Well, not exactly. ‘Ignored’ was more apt.

Though badly bruised, the boy had followed them back to the apartment and was now staring curiously at Albedo, trying to discern how her wings were attached to her hips. Surely they weren't functional? It must have been a coincidence, an accident that she fell out of the sky.

But it was her beauty that struck a chord in him. Long raven black hair that flowed like water when she made the slightest movement. Golden eyes with slits for pupils. An hourglass figure with curves in the right places.

“A‐angel…”

Unimpressed, Albedo sneered, her delicate features overtaken by unrestrained disdain. “Flattery won't do you any good. Repent—grovel at my feet and pledge your undying loyalty to Lord Ainz and you may earn a painless death.”

Quite literally backed into a corner, the boy shot Demiurge a pleading look, hoping his savior—loosely defined—would come to his defense.

Demiurge did no such thing, content to watch him squirm uncomfortably. The boy shivered, unable to form words.

Albedo's patience waned. “Witnesses are troublesome. Let us dispose of this pathetic wretch.”

Pandora's Actor scrutinized the boy, stroking his chin with a thoughtful expression before kneeling at his level and addressing him sternly.

“Man sieht nur das, was man sehen will. Kannst du sehen?”

“…nein,” the boy whispered.

Pandora's Actor grinned. He tousled the boy's hair.

“Guter junge.”

Albedo and Demiurge watched the interaction, the former with irritation and the latter with curiosity.

Pandora's Actor took it as his cue to dismiss the boy. “Run along, child. Monsters come out at this time of night. They're tall, dark, and mysterious. Sometimes they wear suits. Other times, stylistic military uniforms with an excess of belts and awards and a matching cap that casts a brooding shadow over their cold, empty eye…sockets. And sometimes they're just a bitch.”

After the boy had clicked the door shut behind him, Pandora’s Actor turned to his colleagues and bowed.

“The boy won't be a problem. Which reminds me—I spoke with Lord Touch Me. He didn’t recognize me either, assuming I was Suzuki Satoru. I suppose I can’t fault him—not that I would—given my appearance.”

“We're three for three, then,” said Demiurge. Would no Supreme Being acknowledge them? Were they truly unworthy?

Pandora’s Actor hesitated. Should he say the rest?

Albedo smirked. “Go on.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Lord Touch Me is investigating Lord Ulbert.”

Demiurge’s heart stopped, dislodged itself from his arteries, and plunged into his stomach with a splash. His mouth went dry.

“What for, pray tell?”

“I was not privy to that information. In any case, I am unsure if we should interfere with the personal conflicts of the Supreme Beings. Which is why I must warn against contacting Lord Ulbert, Demiurge.”

Demiurge shook his head with a small, rueful smile. “I am sorry, but I cannot abide by your wishes. I would go to the ends of the Earth for a mere glimpse of him.”

He tried. Pandora's Actor reached to tilt his cap over his eyes, then realized he didn't have a cap. Guess it would remain a bedtime story. His arm dropped to his side.

“I thought so. I would do the same in your place. Casting my reservations aside, I offer you my support. Be careful.”