17 Kingdom Come

Suzuki Satoru jerked his head in the direction of the sudden beeping. A faint green light flashed from the side of the virtual helmet he had lain on the ground next to his suitcase.

Curiosity momentarily overtook his drowsiness, and Satoru reached out to pick up the device with his right hand while rummaging through the suitcase with his left.

He grabbed a syringe of cerebral nanomachines from his belongings, injecting himself in a practiced motion before setting the syringe down and placing the helmet upon his head. With a weary sigh, he plugged the helmet chord into the neural port on his neck and closed his eyes.

Several bright windows showcasing his biographical data popped up before him, but he quickly swiped them away to look at the notifications.

Satoru sighed-of course it would be from the faux corporate-controlled government. As he selected the option to view the message, he found himself treated to yet another virtual public service announcement. A loud, enthusiastic voice promoted the most recent military and social developments through a series of dramatic visuals.

After a few seconds of half-heartedly watching the pseudo-inspirational spectacle blooming around him, Satoru's thoughts drifted as the mention of government enforcement evoked a distant memory.

Ah, wasn't Touch Me-san working for the government as an enforcement agent? I wonder how he's doing…

He lips curled into a grim smile as he realised that he still referred to his guild mates as their in-game names. It had become so natural, for the identities they had in Yggdrasil were the identities that they shared together in their bond of friendship. It was a place where they could live a different life, and pursue a dream that reality simply could not offer.

And yet...after all these years of reflection-during both his latter years as an Overlord and as his pathetic human self-doubts had begun to creep into Satoru's heart. Could the friendships he forged and the memories he cherished truly be called genuine?

In the end, they were all simply engaging in a temporary illusion, smiling and laughing together in a colorful charade that was destined to disappear along with the game's relevance.

He had tried to extinguish such cynical thoughts for a long time. However, in the past few years, after having been dragged through the darkest moments he had ever lived, he could not stem the flow of his resentment any longer.

Was friendship and camaraderie something that could be simply flung away as one so pleased? Was the legacy of Ainz Ooal Gown so insignificant that it could be abandoned with a reluctant sigh and a quick apology?

Abandoned. That was what he had felt during the last moments before Yggdrasil's shut down. At the time, he had berated himself for entertaining such petty and childish thoughts. He had told himself that his guild mates had priorities-lives to lead and families to nurture. Ainz Ooal Gown wasn't real, and therefore it could never have taken precedence over reality.

Except now...he knew that it was real. The reality of Ainz Ooal Gown was etched into the actions and emotions of every single NPC as they served faithfully until the end of time, wondering why their Masters and Creators left and never came back. No matter how wise and all-powerful Satoru tried to appear to the denizens of Nazarick, there was always one question he could never answer: Why? Why did they leave?

He could never truly deny the suspicions in their hearts. He could never muster up the will to tell them all some elaborate lie to defend his guildmates and ease the guilt and inadequacy in the depths of their souls. Because deep in Satoru's heart, he knew that their deepest worries were true. The other "Supreme Beings" simply stopped caring.

The despair of the NPCs broke his heart...no, that wasn't accurate-his heart had been broken long before his transmigration into the New World. The NPCs merely served as a mirror through which he could finally see the reflection of his own true emotions.

After his failed attempts to reconnect to Yggdrasil years ago, Satoru had entertained the notion of contacting his guildmates. If there was anyone who could empathise with him and be willing to help, it would be them.

Of course, he had no concrete way of reaching them. He only knew some vague details about their lives, but as they never really felt the need to communicate outside of Yggdrasil, contact information between guildmates were pretty much non-existent.

But Satoru had still wished to try. His thoughts had been something along the lines of: "Perhaps if I ask around the industries I know my guildmates work in, I could somehow find some kind of lead? Perhaps, we could gather our old team again and get to the bottom of this interdimensional mystery, just like old times?"

And yet, Satoru never went through with that plan, and for all these years he failed to muster up the will to reach out to them.

He was scared. Afraid that they would recoil at his wretched appearance, and turn away in shame as they dismissed his accounts of the New World as the delusions of a crazed loner. He was afraid that he would latch on to some glimmer of hope, and then have it slip away as his friends backed away with a look of disbelief and pity.

But that wasn't all. There was a second reason-a nasty feeling that he tried so hard to reject but could never truly suppress. He knew it was unfair, selfish even. But the idea clawed at him nonetheless. A bitter sentiment locked away in the farthest reaches of his mind told him that his guildmates simply did not deserve any part of that dream-like reality.

He fought hard against those wretched whispers, but in the end, he could not stave away the dark tendrils slithering upon the once bright gilded mental images he had of his guild mates.

He quickly swiped at the screen, closing the public service announcement and returning to the main interface in an attempt to divert his darkening thoughts.

It was then that he noticed something…..

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Zesshi Zetsumei ignored the fearful and reverent looks of the priests and guards around her as she strode through them towards the special block of the Temple of Magic.

She reached her destination, where a tight formation of knights stood guard around a rectangular pit in the ground leading to a downward flight of stairs. The knights wilted beneath her piercing gaze, moving aside without a word to allow her entry into the labyrinth below.

The Supreme Chancellor descended, her keen senses effortlessly adjusting to the growing darkness as she made her way down the stairs and into a pitch black hallway. Under normal circumstances, a scroll imbued with a unique guidance spell was necessary to navigate the five floors of the labyrinth. The trek towards the Staff was long and tedious, as a single mistake could lead to near fatal injuries.

Zesshi Zetsumei's lips curled into an imperious grin-her existence did not fall under "normal circumstances."

She closed her eyes and focused. When she opened them again, she could see faint spots of blue light dotting the entirety of the hallway in a strange zig-zagging pattern. The half-elf lowered herself into a panther's crouch, and with a burst of effort, she rocketed across the halls of the maze with blinding speed, nimbly avoiding the blue light on the ground as she moved.

It took only several minutes before Zesshi reached a familiar pair of double stone doors. She placed her hand on the magic circle to the side, her eyes flashing with a hint of impatience as the circle began to glow and the doors slowly creaked open.

Zesshi took her hand off the wall and walked inside, her black and white pupils carefully scanning the area as she moved. The chamber was empty save for two shapes at the far end of the room.

Fixed upon an orichalcum stand, the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown looked as dazzlingly captivating as it did a hundred years ago when Zesshi first grasped it in her hands. She had visited the Staff countless times since then, but the repeated exposure did nothing to diminish the enchanting draw of the Sorcerer King's most important armament.

Lying before the Staff, with its back facing towards her was the huddled figure of a man. Zesshi frowned as she approached the strange shivering body of the individual.

"Kareth, is that you?" Zesshi quietly demanded upon reaching him, her hand snaking out in one swift motion as she grabbed the man's shoulder to turn him around.

Head Researcher Kareth Fenix was curled into a fetal position, his hands firmly clasped together in prayer as his lips moved in what seemed like a stream of silent mutterings.

Kareth's eyes were clamped shut, remaining so even upon Zesshi's physical touch. They were squeezed so forcefully closed, in fact, that Kareth's skin had contracted to such a degree that his face looked unsettlingly inhuman. It was as if he knew the very prospect of opening those eyes would result in a demise far worse than death; as if some unfathomably terrible vision lay beyond the darkness of those eyelids, one that could only be staved away through the veil of blindness.

Zesshi shook Kareth's body multiple times, and tried issuing multiple verbal commands; all to no avail. The Supreme Chancellor finally grimaced as she set the man's body to the side, still perplexed by the sudden mystery of his current affliction.

Physical contact with the Staff was the only thing Zesshi could think of that would lead to such an abnormal display from the Head Researcher. However, Kareth Fenix had worked with the item for forty years, and not once had he demonstrated anything close to such a blunder. Besides Zesshi herself, the wizened researcher knew better than anyone what the consequences were for anyone foolish enough to underestimate the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown.

So what happened? She thought to herself. Did he finally succumb to its allure….?

As she silently pondered the mystery of the broken man, a crimson glow bloomed into existence around the staff. The sudden unexpected phenomenon scattered her thoughts, and Zesshi gaped in awe as she stared once again at the Staff that irrevocably changed her life so many years ago….

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Draudillon Oriculus heaved a sad, heavy sigh as she strolled through the streets of the Dragon Capital. Everywhere she passed, she could hear whispers of dread and panicked sobs as the people mulled about in an atmosphere of abject fear and uncertainty.

The bustle of cheers and greetings that had once greeted her years ago when she walked the streets had long grown cold, replaced by a dreary indifference and the occasional spark of blame or resentment.

But even those faint stirrings of ill intent were short lived, for the power of fear seemed to reign over all in the Capital; suffocating any and all other passions that dared reveal themselves.

The beastmen hordes had encroached to the outskirts of the Capital, and soon they would lay siege upon the last bastion of the Dragon Kingdom. That reality dominated the minds of the people, and now all they could invoke with their imaginations was the image of hooved footsteps thundering amidst the sound of screams and cries.

"My Queen! Save us!"

Draudillon whipped around in surprise as a small pair of hands began desperately tugging on her dress. A young, terrified looking girl latched onto her in desperation, sobbing as she repeated the words:

"Please…"

"I don't want to die."

The Dragon Queen wanted so desperately to tell her that everything would be alright. That the Slane Theocracy's reinforcements would arrive soon to vanquish the beastmen hordes once and for all. That they would soon be evacuated, flown away from danger on the backs of the majestic Frost Dragons that once served the Sorcerer Kingdom. That the adventurers across the world had rallied and were now heading their way over to protect the city.

But she could not. Lies and falsehood were useless now in the face of overwhelming might. Nothing would come to save them. There were no viable means of escape, nor was there any place to escape to. The beastmen had completely surrounded them.

So Draudillon simply stared, her eyes unable to shed the tears that had long run dry from decades of loss and devastation. Her lips unable to speak the words of comfort that she knew to be false.

Eventually, a middle aged woman-presumably the girl's mother-came and dragged the sobbing girl away. Draudillon could only watch as the ashen-faced woman hooked her fingers around the girl's collar and yanked her away, dragging the child back into a nearby home.

She took in the scene without a word or motion, but throughout the process, a part of Draudillon's heart hardened. Gritting her teeth, she made her way back towards the palace.

As she never ventured too far from the palace grounds, it only took her several minutes before returning to the familiar gates of her dwelling. The moment she approached the perimeter of the palace gates, a woman with long blue hair quickly rushed out to intercept her.

"Your Majesty, there you are! You know you're not supposed to head out without an armed escort!" the woman exclaimed. She spoke in a respectful tone, but Draudillon felt a faint hint of a scolding in the woman's words.

Draudilllon's sullen face finally cracked into a smile as she laid eyes on her ever enthusiastic attendant. Even in the face of such terrifying odds, the promising young woman never failed to put up a strong front. "I'm fine, Varysa. I rarely venture too far off on my own."

Her smile lasted for only a fleeting moment, and her expression darkened once more as she added: "Has the Prime Minister returned yet? He told me that he'd be back today."

Varysa Eschillon nodded, a curious expression on her face: "Yes, Your Majesty. the Prime Minister has recently returned from his recent...excursion. He is waiting for you in the throne room."

Draudillon nodded before striding ahead into the Palace without another word. Her attendant frantically followed after her, hesitating briefly before asking: "Ah, forgive me for overstepping, My Queen, but would it be possible to share what exactly the Prime Minister was tasked with that took so long? Would it be possible for me to take up such tasks in his stead? After all, the minister is getting on in age and-"

Draudillon stopped abruptly as the two of them reached the entrance to the throne room. Varysa widened her eyes in panic upon almost colliding with her liege, quickly recoiling and stumbling clumsily backwards before finally steadying herself to an embarrassing halt.

The Dragon Queen turned her head slightly as if to look at Varysa, but stopped suddenly, staring instead at the floor to her side, unwilling to meet her attendant's eyes. "Stay here, and make sure no one enters until I come out, alright?"

Varysa lowered her head obediently at the firm edge in Draudillon's soft voice. "Y-yes, Your Majesty."

The Dragon Queen said nothing more as she pushed open the doors of the throne room and entered, leaving her concerned looking attendant waiting anxiously outside.

Draudillon could feel Varysa's worried gaze upon her own petite figure until the doors finally closed shut completely behind her.

"That Varysa girl is quite the persistent attendant...she's not your attempt at replacing me, is she?" echoed a familiar male voice from the other end of the room.

Draudillon smiled grimly as she looked up towards the sound of the voice. The Prime Minister stood besides the throne with the same expression of stern sarcasm that she had grown so accustomed to over the years.

"Can you blame me?" shot the Dragon Queen with a derisive sniff. "It's a miracle that you're still alive. A hundred and forty years old, yet you look the same as you decades ago. Are you sure you're not actually my great grandfather in disguise? Not to mention all the frequent trips you've been taking out of the Kingdom. The beastmen have completely surrounded the Capital, yet you somehow find your way back here every time."

The Prime Minister shrugged. "The Sorcerer Kingdom left quite a few of their "gifts" in the Dragon Kingdom during our time under their protection. I've managed to tamper with my fate quite a bit using those trinkets and concoctions, but I have little doubt that my time is almost at a close."

Draudillon merely nodded at his words. They both knew that one way or another, the end was nigh for both of them. "Did you obtain what you were seeking? The potential lead you talked to me about?"

The Prime Minister nodded, stepping aside to reveal a large metal chest behind him. He bent down and opened it.

The moment the lid was swung open, an intense aura of power rippled from the metal chest. A heavy thumping noise filled the room like the ominous hammering of some demonic drum. She gazed in reverence and fear at the fleshy, pulsating grey object now jutting out of the chest.

"Is that.." she whispered as she stepped forward, unconsciously extending her hand towards the object.

But before she could get closer, the Prime Minister closed the lid of the box. The thumping noise disappeared, and Draudillon snapped back to reality.

"The Heart of the Platinum Dragon Lord." he finished for her matter-of-factly. "Does this mean you've made your decision? You've accepted the cost of the ritual?"

Grief and remorse flashed within Draudillon's eyes. She closed them, steeling herself for the answer she was about to give: "You informed me last time that if I were to use the heart as a catalyst, the cost of the ritual would be cut down from a million to five hundred thousand-the population of the Capital. In other words, if I sacrifice the Capital, I can save the remaining cities?"

The Prime Minister nodded. "Based on the sources I've investigated, that is correct."

The Dragon Queen opened her eyes. Now, nothing remained but the soulless pupils of a broken monarch.

"I'll do it."

Her second-in-command stared at her for several seconds, his face an expressionless mask. Finally, he bent down again without a word, opening the box and scooping up the draconic heart with his bare hands. Conveniently enough, the huge organ began to shrink as the Prime Minister made contact with it, slowly contracting into the size of a human heart.

The Prime Minister brought the Heart delicately to Draudillon, and the latter extended both her hands to gingerly accept the pulsing object.

The moment the flesh of her palms came into contact with the Heart, a cool and soothing sensation flowed into her body. The clouded thoughts in the back of her mind vanished, replaced with a sharpened clarity and determination.

Draudillon Oriculus took a deep breath and initiated the ritual, feeling her very essence blend into the world around her. She closed her eyes once again, drawing on the natural energies coursing through the air and earth; allowing them to coalesce and encase her body in an ethereal aura.

She focused these energies into the heart in her hands. It was a miraculous feeling, as if she now held the crucible of the very world's soul in her hands, as if the very power of life and death itself now hung at her fingertips.

[Emperor's Call]

A sudden jarring feeling of unease penetrated into Draudillon's current euphoria. Something felt wrong. If she remembered correctly, the Wild Magic spell she was about to unleash upon the beastmen armies was called [Soul Shatter].

[Emperor's Call]? What is that?

A vision flashed suddenly within her mind. A massive dark shadow emerged from the Dragon Palace, sweeping across the entirety of the Dragon Capital and spreading in all directions. The inhabitants of the Capital began to speak in befuddled whispers at the strange phenomenon, and an ominous buzz fell upon the doomed city that replaced even the suffocating fear from before.

The shadow spread to the outskirts of the Capital, where the encirclement of beastmen soldiers gazed up in wary confusion at the sudden darkness that befell them.

It spread West and South, where the surviving cities lay in wait of the Capital's inevitable fall, knowing that they would soon be next. The citizens stirred amidst their despair as they too bore witness to the encroaching darkness.

It spread East, where the bulk of the beastmen hordes gorged themselves upon the conquered cities of the Dragon Kingdom. Their bloodthirsty, inhuman antics halted momentarily as their lands of conquest fell under a mysterious shade.

Upon a hill overlooking the walls of the Dragon Capital, Gorescheil frowned as darkness descended upon his troops. The capture of the capital and its queen was at hand, and Gorescheil wished to ensure that no unexpected circumstances would arrive to hamper that direction.

Yet a troubling thought stirred in the back of the beastman's mind as he recalled the last resort of the Dragon Kingdom, [Soul Shatter]. If that dreaded ritual was fully unleashed, the entire invading force of the Beastmen Country would face the threat of annihilation.

But that was impossible. Gorescheil had studied the ritual's effects and requirements extensively before departing from the Brightness Dragon Lord's wretched residence. A million living beings had to be congregated within a certain radius of the caster as a "sacrifice" to activate the ritual's effects.

For that very reason, Gorescheil had purposefully ordered the wholesale slaughtering of every human settlement his armies came across, as a means of reducing the Dragon Kingdom's population below one million. Even if all the refugees and the remaining cities somehow managed to gather inside the capital before the beastmen armies arrived, there would still be insufficient numbers to activate [Soul Shatter].

So what was this sudden shadowy phenomenon?

As Gorescheil pondered the nature of the sudden darkness, he was interrupted by the sound of thundering footsteps behind him. He turned to see one of his generals, Xin Ren, approaching him.

Xin Ren extended a huge fur-covered arm at Gorescheil as he asked: "Master Gorescheil, do you-"

The ape beastman stopped suddenly in his tracks, seemingly paralyzed as a black liquid began to trickle from his mouth. A rare expression of surprise spread across Gorescheil's face as he saw that same black liquid begin to stream from the eyes of his general like tears of stygian blood. A moment later, Xin Ren collapsed to the ground in a completely lifeless manner.

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Gorescheil began to hear sounds of stumbling and clattering armor in every direction. He looked around in confusion and fear as he saw the same fate happening to the soldiers all around them. Black liquid streamed from their mouths and eyes as they dropped dead one by one with no explanation.

With each death, a miniscule blue orb of light was released from the bodies of the fallen. Gorescheil watched in bewilderment as the orbs hovered in the air for several seconds before zipping in the direction of the capital with an azure flash.

Suddenly, he too could not move. Panic and dread filled the beastman's eyes as he desperately tried to regain his mobility, but his muscles refused to respond. He felt a sudden strange bile rise out from within him to dribble down his mouth and eyes.

And then everything went black.

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Draudillon's eyes snapped open.

"No, no, no, no." she screamed. "I need to stop this. This isn't working like we thought it would."

She desperately tried to remove her hands from the heart, but her palms would not budge, as if glued to the organ by a powerful magnetic force.

The Queen looked in shock as the Heart of the Platinum Dragon Lord began to undergo a physical transformation. A black tar like substance now oozed out from the throbbing heart, and its grey veins bulged to an abnormal size with each pulse of the object.

She gazed up at the Prime Minister and yelled, her voice quivering with fear and desperation: "Help me!"

The Prime Minister strode over to her immediately. "Of course." he replied as he grabbed the dragon heart.

Draudillon's face flashed with relief as the heart finally appeared to move upon the Prime Minister's intervention, and the magnetic force binding her hands to the organ disappeared.

"Thank you-"

Drauillon was interrupted by a sudden excruciating pain in her upper torso. Her eyes bulged as she looked down to see that the Prime Minister's hand had plunged the heart straight into her chest.

Pain like nothing Draudillon had ever felt before wracked the Dragon Queen's body. The unbearably loud sound of thumping shook her ear cavities and resonated throughout her body in an agonizing vibration that forced her petite figure to crumple into a kneeling position. She felt a sticky substance ooze throughout her body, burning away at her very veins like molten blood.

But the worst pain of all was the pain in her chest. it was as if her very heart was being slowly devoured by some alien entity. She tried to scream, but no sound came out; her very vocal chords refused her command. Draudillon's mental focus broke almost entirely, and she could now see nothing but red as she spasmed on the ground, dominated by an all-consuming agony.

The Prime Minister flicked his wrist to remove the blood from his hands. He stared down at the Dragon Queen's convulsing figure, an impassive expression on his face.

"You have no idea how special you are, fräulein. To think that the existence of such a weak and gullible native would be the only guarantee for His return." he quietly reflected.

Draudillon's reddening vision began to clear slightly, and through the slits of her squinted eyes, she could see that the Prime Minister's arms had begun shimmering with a celestial light as they transformed into an otherworldly sight.

His left hand now resembled a demonic hand crafted from a strange black metallic fibre. Twisted thorns coiled around the hand like a pet serpent, and the fingertips were sharpened into dreadful claws. A wispy smog of darkness wafted from the glove like some unholy radiance, and Draudillon forced herself to look away as simply staring at it struck an unbelievable fear in her heart.

Her gaze shifted towards the right hand, where what could only be called the hand of an immaculate beauty shone in a brilliant contrast to the warped grasp of the right. It was sleek and shiny, the metallic sheen entertwined with a fine gold embroidery that blended together to create a flawless image; an enchanting feast for the eyes. Draudillon forced herself to snap her gaze away from them once more, lest she lose the last vestiges of her consciousness to the soul-drinking beauty of the angelic arm.

The emotional infusion of fear and awe helped Draudillon regain some of her senses despite the unbearable pain. She finally found a small sliver of her voice as she croaked:

"I-I don't understand…"

"One hundred years." The Prime Minister replied, his tone sharp and concise. "For one hundred years I have scoured this world for the chance to resurrect my Father. I have roamed the ruins of the Argland Council State. I have ventured across the sands of Eryuentiu. I have journeyed to the Isle of the First Men. At last, in an abandoned residence in the center of the continent, I finally found the fateful key to my quest."

'The Brightness Dragon Lord was truly a misunderstood genius. Labelled a degenerate and a fiend, it was he who toiled away for countless generations to find the key to saving the essence of Wild Magic from inevitable extinction. And you, fräulein, was his magnum opus. The one and only "True Fake Dragon Lord." A seemingly nonsensical title….but who would have thought that a feeble imitation would be the only one to truly stand at the precipice between the Old Ways and the New?'

The Prime Minister paused as the doors and windows of the Throne Room shattered and a massive flood of blue light streamed into the room from all directions. The lifeless corpse of Varysa could be seen lying outside, a blue orb releasing from her body to join the rest as they swarmed into the room and unto Draudillon's body.

The Dragon Queen began to float in the air, glowing with a bright blue light as the countless orbs overflowed from her petite figure.

The facade of the Prime Minister finally melted away, revealing a smooth, hairless paper-white head with two empty eye sockets and a hole for a mouth. The creature was garbed in a strange yellow uniform, further wreathed in a large flowing jacket of a peculiar design. A silver eight-pointed star badge was pinned above a thick black leather belt just below its torso.

Pandora's Actor raised Avarice and Generosity up high, and countless blue orbs of light were released into the air.

"Six million from the annihilation of the Argland Council State. Seven million from the fall of the Old Re-Estize Kingdom. Five million from the failed invasion of the Slane Theocracy. Two million from the conquest of the Elf Country and the Great Forest of Evasha."

"One million from the New Re-Estize Kingdom. Two million from the Baharuth Empire. And finally, two million from the invading beastmen and surviving humans of the Dragon Kingdom. Twenty-five million souls."

The Doppelganger bowed his head respectfully towards Draudillon, as he elaborated:

"Under normal circumstances, Avarice and Generosity would have no effect upon the casting of Wild Magic. World items and Wild Magic are incompatible. But your existence, my dear Draudillon, changes everything. The Brightness Dragon Lord wished to use you for the continuation of the essence of dragons-Wild Magic. However, you shall be employed in the service of something far far greater than that."

The floating Draudillon finally mustered a few more words through the pain as she took in all that had been said: "But...what about the heart? W-was that just a ploy?"

Pandora's Actor bowed deeply, spreading his hands in a dramatic display of apology before continuing. "Ich entschuldige mich tief, the Platinum Dragonlord's heart is indeed a catalyst, but only a naive and desperate fool would believe that convenient things such as cutting the cost of a ritual exist. No, the Heart serves to tap into the greatest use of Wild Magic this world has ever seen."

"According to my interrogations of the Heavenly Dragon Lord, only the Dragon Emperor himself can recreate the original ritual that summoned Players and World Class Items into this world. But the heart of his son, Tsaindorcus, should be sufficient to tamper slightly with the effects of the existing ritual. A hundred years have passed, and the next cycle is at hand."

The countless lights released from Avarice and Generosity engulfed the body of the Dragon Queen, whose eyes and mouth began to each emit a bright beam of light that shone all the way to the ceiling. Several seconds later, Draudillon's body had disappeared within the cloud of millions of tiny balls of light. In one final, desperate scream, the light around her exploded into a massive glowing pillar that tore through the roof of the palace and ascended to the heavens far above.

Pandora's Actor sighed as he took in the tremendous scope of the scene. Everything had gone perfectly to plan, from his release of Gorescheil to the impersonation of the Dragon Kingdom's prime minister, and then the final manipulation of the Dragon Queen. Now, there was only one thing left to do. A final sacrifice had to be made to focus the ritual towards his desired end.

"With the Blood of the Son, the Father shall Rise."

He walked into the pillar of light, spreading his hands as he gazed towards the sky above.

"Erwacht, erhebt euch oder bleibt gestürzt!" he whispered as his body crumbled into dust within the all-consuming beam of light. As his essence spilled into the light, the incandescent blue pillar began to change.

It morphed in color to a dark crimson, and shadowy tendrils shot in all directions, wreathing the red pillar in an aura of darkness. An enormous shockwave of pure unbridled energy rippled across the land, spreading far and wide to every corner of the world. The red pillar expanded continuously in size, disintegrating all in its wake until it grew to encompass the entirety of the palace.

Deep below the Slane Theocracy, in the chamber of the secret research facility, Zesshi Zetsumei recoiled in shock as the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown flared to life with the same shadowy crimson glow as the pillar of light. Nothing seemed to occur besides the sudden visual effect, but the Supreme Chancellor could feel her heart begin to beat at an inexplicably fast pace as she gazed, entranced, at the radiant sceptre.

In a cave mouth deep within the heart of the Elf Country, two almost identical-looking silhouettes stared out towards the Northeast sky, their faces shrouded in shadow as they beheld a faint spire of red in the far distance.

In a hidden chamber beneath the Royal Palace of Hoburns, a slender figure wreathed in shadow and torchlight doubled over, clutching his chest as an overwhelming sensation of euphoria washed over him. Demiurge blinked in surprise as he tried to pinpoint the cause of his sudden burst of emotion, but the answer eluded him.

In a cavern hidden beneath the sands of a desert far to the South, a great black behemoth awakened from its slumber. It gazed at the skeleton lying beside it, at the fossilized remnants of what appeared to be a massive, long deceased serpentine monstrosity. It rose, revealing a huge black draconic body that flickered with a shadowy aura. As it turned, a grievous open wound could be seen where its skin and flesh had been ripped off on the side of its torso, exposing the naked blood and broken bones beneath. The monster roared, a massive earth-shaking screech filled with pure hatred, grief and the slightest hint of fear.

Sealed within the bowels of the Fire God Mountain of the Theocracy, a giant chassis covered in what looked like a turquoise exoskeleton shifted in place. The surrounding air was baked in a sweltering heat, but as the large glinting figure exhaled, frigid winds expanded around it that easily suppressed the heat of the mountain. All around it, dozens of armed corpses could be seen encased in ice, most of their bodies shriveled from decades of refrigeration.

At the heart of a labyrinthian prison complex constructed within an obscure cliffside of the Doomlands, a pair of blood red eyes snapped open. The scarlet pupils dilated in a mystified expression, but they soon narrowed again into an intense gaze of determination. A pair of bright white wings flapped as a girl clad in scarlet armor bared her fangs in a terrifying sneer. Surrounding her were countless corpses in varying forms of decay, impaled against the stone walls and floor with their own weapons.

East of the Slane Theocracy, a floating stone platform could be seen chained to a massive underwater complex below. An individual covered from head to toe in jet black armor sat cross legged in the middle of a giant pile of skulls, unfazed by the constant splash of waves and the perpetual spray of sea foam. Behind the stygian visor that covered her face, a pair of vertically slit golden pupils gleamed with a maniacal fervor. The sound of a woman's crazed laughter echoed from the platform amidst the roar of the sea.

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Suzuki Satoru stared at the familiar logo as it flashed into existence across an empty dark panel on his screen. His mind went completely blank, and his hand unconsciously rose towards it as if guided by some mysterious force.

His fingers touched the panel.

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