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Chapter Text

The last thing Megumin remembered was the brilliant flash of light, the deafening roar, and the exhilarating rush of power coursing through her veins. Ah, the sweet climax of Explosion magic! But something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. The blast radius had a… slight miscalculation.

As the searing heat engulfed her, Megumin's triumph turned to terror. Her skin blistered, her lungs seared, and her vision went white with pain. In that agonizing moment, her thoughts raced wildly. 'What is Kazuma doing right now? Will Aqua resurrect me? How long does it take? Will the others be alright without—'

Her consciousness winked out.

When awareness returned, it came with a cacophony of unfamiliar sensations. Megumin's eyes fluttered open, immediately stringing from an acrid haze seeping through a crack in a grimy window. The air felt thick, almost solid, and carried with it stenches should couldn't even begin to identify. She found herself sprawled on a hard floor in a dingy, cramped froom that bore no resemblance to anywhere in Axel.

"Where… am I?"

Megumin's throat felt parched and raw, as if she'd been gargling sand. She pushed herself up, surprised to find her legs steady beneath her. After casting Explosion magic, she was usually left sprawled on the ground, utterly drained.

Her gaze fell upon a cracked mirror hanging off the wall. Megumin studied her reflection, taking in the familiar contours of her body. Her scarlet robe was gone, replaced by strange, drab clothing she didn't recognise. The face staring back at her was undoubtedly hers–but something was off. Her vibrant crimson eyes, once a source of pride and power, were now a dull, ordinary brown.

What sorcery is this? Megumin instinctively struck a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip and the other gesturing grandly at her reflection. "Have I been transported to some alternate realm by the backlash of my own magnificent Explosion?!"

Megumin's voice echoed in the empty room, her dramatic declaration met with silence. She lowered her arms slowly, the weight of solitude settling over her. Her crimson eyes—no, her now-brown eyes—darted around the space, taking in the details. The room was small and decrepit, with peeling wallpaper and a musty smell that tickled her nose. A rickety bed sat in one corner, its sheets rumpled and stained. A wardrobe, its paint chipped and faded, stood against the opposite wall. Megumin approached it cautiously, half-expecting a monster to burst out.

She flung the wardrobe doors open with a flourish. "Reveal your secrets, mysterious cabinet!"

Instead of monsters or magical artifacts, she found… clothes. Megumin pulled out a garment, holding it at arm's length. It was a plain shirt, devoid of any magical sigils or enchantments. She pressed it against her body, frowning as she realised it would fit her perfectly.

"How peculiar," she muttered, tossing the shirt aside. "These garments lack the flair befitting a Crimson Demon, yet the seem tailored to my form."

Her gaze fell upon a small, rectangular object on the wardrobe's bottom shelf. Megumin snatched it up, her eyes widening with recognition.

"Aha! My adventurer card!"

But as she examined it closer, her excitement faded. THe card bore her name—Megumin—but everything else was wrong. An unfamiliar surname followed her given name, and the birthdate listed made no sense. Most perplexing of it all was the location: Neo Tokyo.

"Neo… Tokyo?" Megumin furrowed her brow. "Is that some newly discovered dungeon? Or perhaps a realm I've yet to conquer with my explosive prowess?"

She slipped the strange card into her pocket and turned back to the wardrobe. Something else caught her eye. A sleek rectangular object lay on the shelf, its surface smooth and dark.

Megumin picked it up gingerly, turning it over in her hands. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen in her world. No visible runes, no magical aura, yet it clearly wasn't a simple slab of glass or metal. She held it up to the light.

Perhaps a scrying mirror? Or a sealed grimoire?

"Reveal your secrets, artifact!"

Nothing happened. Megumin's brow furrowed.

"Reveal your secrets, stubborn artifact!" She shook the device vigorously. "I, Megumin, command you to awaken!"

Still nothing. She tapped the smooth surface, muttering all manner of incantations under her breath. Just as she was about it to declare it a dud, the screen blazed to life. Megumin yelped, nearly fumbling the device in her surprise.

"A-ha! It responds to the touch of a true archmage!"

Her triumph was short-lived. Strange symbols and images flashed across the screen, each more bewildering than the last. Megumin jabbed at the glowing shapes, her confusion growing with each new display of incomprehensible information.

"What manner of encryption is this? Even the most coveted grimoires pale in comparison to your mysteries, glowing rectangle!"

Clearly, the magic of this realm was beyond even her considerable expertise. She had to gather more intelligence before hoping to master it.

After several more futile attempts to unlock the device's secrets, Megumin sighed in defeat. She set the device aside, her gaze drifting to the door. What lay beyond this strange room? Surely the world outside held answers to her predicament.

The thought of venturing into an unknown realm, while daunting, sent a thrill of excitement through her. Was this not the very essence of what it meant to be an adventurer? To boldly stride into the unknown, whatever perils awaited?

Curiosity finally got the better of her. Megumin rose to her feet, squared her shoulders, and strode towards the door. With a dramatic flourish, she flung it open, ready to face whatever strange world awaited her.

But nothing could have prepared her for the assault on her senses.

Her eyes watered and her lungs burned. She coughed, only to inhale more of the tainted air—which was thick with a noxious grey haze. Through teary eyes, she saw strange metal contraptions roaring past on black stone paths, belching more of the foul smoke into the air. Towering structures of glass and steel stretched impossibly high into the sky, their tops lost in the murky gloom above.

Megumin doubled over. Her eyes stung, and each breath felt like inhaling fire. She grasped for her staff on instinct, but her summons were met with no response. People hurried past her, their faces obscured by strange masks, barely sparing her a glance.

What is this place? Where has my magic gone? My power?

A hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the relative safety of the building. An older woman, her face creased with concern behind a translucent mask, pressed a similar device into Megumin's hands.

"Are you crazy, girl?" the woman said. "You can't go out there without protection. Put this on, quick!"

Megumin regarded the strange object in her hands, examining it with a mixture of confusion and fascination. It was a contraption of black rubber and glass, with strange cylindrical protrusions that wouldn't look out of place on a monster from the depths of a dungeon.

She turned it over in her hands, wondering what manner of arcane artifact this was. Despite her initial bewilderment, she couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement. The mask's ominous appearance stirred something within her chunnibyou soul.

"Behold!" Megumin said, holding the mask aloft. "A helm fit for the Crimson Demon clan! Surely, this mystic device shall shield me from the miasma that plagues this realm!"

The woman stared at her, deadpan as Kazuma often was. It was hard to measure her expression through the mask, but Megumin saw the woman's eyes narrow.

"Just… just put it on, okay?" the woman said. Whether with exasperation or concern Megumin could not say.

Megumin fumbled with the unfamiliar object, ignoring the judgemental gaze of the woman. After a few seconds, she managed to secure it over her nose and mouth. The straps scratched against her ears uncomfortably, and the muddy visor settled before her eyes. As she took her first filtered breath, the relief was immediate, though the acrid taste of the air still lingered.

"Magnificent!" Her eyes gleamed with renewed vigour. "With this ethereal visage, I shall strike fear into the hearts of my foes!" She struck a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip and the other adjusting the mask.

The woman just shook her head and hurried away, leaving Megumin alone once more.

Megumin stood in the doorway, her initial bravado faltering as she gazed out at the scene before her. This was no place for a Crimson Demon, at least not yet.

She retreated to her room, closing the door behind her. "This realm requires more study before I can conquer it." Her eyes lingered upon the mysterious glowing rectangle she'd abandoned earlier. Perhaps it held the key to understanding this bizarre world. With a determined nod, Megumin settled cross-legged on the floor, the device in her lap. "Very well, inscrutable artifact. You and I shall become well acquainted until I formulate a plan worthy of my genius!"

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Slowly, painfully, Megumin began to piece together the horrifying truth. This was no alternate realm or magical prison. This was… the future? A world so polluted and dystopian that it made even the most desolate wastelands of her own world seem like paradise.

And worst of all? She was dreadfully, agonizingly… normal.

As Megumin grappled with her new circumstances, the glowing rectangle—a "smartphone," she learned—became both her greatest ally and her most frustrating enemy. After countless hours of poking, prodding, and accidental activations, she stumbled upon a treasure trove of information: the internet.

"Behold! A library vaster than any in my world, contained within this tiny device!" Yet, there was no time for jubilation, for this world was a realm of horrors beyond even her darkest imaginings.

The very sky and earth seemed to have turned against humanity. Storms of unimaginable fury ravaged lands, while seas rose to devour entire cities. Nature had become a vengeful god, punishing mortals for their hubris.

But nature wasn't the true enemy. Looming over all were entities more terrifying than any Demon King: the mega-corporations. These were no mere merchant guilds or royal treasuries. They were vast, invisible empires that seemed to exist everywhere and nowhere at once.

Megumin struggled to comprehend their nature. They had no castles, no armies marching under their banner. Instead, their power flowed through wires and signals, controlling the very air people breathed and the food they ate. Their names were like cryptic incantations that everyone knew but few understood, each wielding influence that would make the mightiest of wizards tremble.

These corporate behemoths didn't conquer lands with swords or magic. Their weapons were stranger still: money that existed only as numbers in glowing screens, information that flowed like water yet could topple kingdoms, and machines that thought faster than any human mind.

"How does one fight such an enemy?" Megumin's voice was tinged with a mix of awe and fear. "No explosion could shatter their invisible towers. No heroic charge could breach a fortress that didn't exist."

It was a form of domination so complete, so insidious, that it made the ambitions of her world's Demon King seem almost quaint in comparison.

But amidst the deluge of information, one rather dull fact had made itself front and center: in this world, education was mandatory for someone of her apparent age. And so, with great reluctance and no small amount of trepidation, Megumin found herself enrolled in a local high school.

School became her new reality, a far cry from the magical academy of her youth. Here, students huddled over seemingly larger 'smartphones', absorbing information about a world that made less and less sense to Megumin with each passing day.

Her classmates found her odd, with her archaic speech patterns and tendency to strike dramatic poses. All except one–Hana, a kind-hearted girl who seemed to find Megumin's eccentricities amusing rather than off-putting.

"Don't worry about it," Hana whispered to her after class. "Everyone's a little weird when they first transfer. You'll fit in soon enough."

Megumin nodded, grateful for the kindness, but inside she felt a deep ache. She didn't want to fit in. She just wanted to go home.

The time not spent struggling to adapt to this world, Megumin found herself spending long hours reminiscing on the party she left behind. But they wouldn't want to see her mope around. She was a crimson demon! She would not falter at the first hurdles!

That being said, even the simplest tasks often left her baffled. Vending machines were a particular source of frustration—she spent nearly an hour one day trying to coax the metal golem to dispense its potions, only to realise she needed to insert money first.

The food, too, was a constant source of misery. Processed and packaged, it bore little resemblance to even the humble meals she enjoyed with her family. It seemed nobody knew how to hunt for food in this world—not that she had ever managed to spot a single bird or fish outside. Drab, tasteless, pale pink blocks of 'nutrient bars' were the choice food for the denizens of this world.

But the hardest part for her to cope with was the loss of her explosion magic. Every day, Megumin would attempt to cast spells, growing increasingly desperate as nothing happened. She would stand on the school roof, a staff—a broom she had borrowed from the janitor's closet—in hand, chanting the words that had once brought forth devastation.

"Darkness blacker than black and darker than dark, I beseech thee, combine with my deep crimson!" she cried out, her mask-muffled voice echoing across the smog-filled sky. "The time of awakening cometh! Justice, fallen upon the infallible boundary, appear now as an intangible distortion! Dance, dance, dance! I desire for my torrent of power a destructive force: a destructive force without equal! Return all creation to cinders, and come from the abyss! EXPLOSION!"

Nothing happened. No earth-shattering boom, no blinding light, not even a spark. Megumin collapsed to her knees. "Why?" she said to herself. "Why won't it work?"

"Kazuma… what should I do?"

It was one of these days that Hana found her, curled up in a corner of the roof, her face buried in her knees.

"Megumin?" Not receiving a response, Hana approached, slow and cautious. "Is that you? Are you okay?"

Megumin looked up through her mask. For once, she didn't have the energy to put on her usual bravado. "No," she said softly. "I'm not okay. I…" She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. "I don't belong here, Hana."

Her gaze drifted to the smog-filled sky, and she swallowed hard before continuing. "This world, it's all wrong. There's no magic, no adventure, just… smoke and machines and endless grey."

Hana sat down next to her, placing a hand on Megumin's shoulder. "I know it can be tough being the new kid," Hana said. "But it gets better, I promise. Neo Tokyo isn't so bad once you get used to it. We have some pretty cool stuff too, you know."

Megumin managed a weak smile, hidden beneath that mask. "Like what?"

"Well…" Hana thought for a moment. "Oh! Have you heard about the new game everyone's talking about? Yggdrasil?"

Megumin's ears perked up at that. "Game? What manner of game could possibly capture the attention of the masses in such a dreary world?"

"It's a kind of super-advanced and immersive DMMO-RPG," Hana said. She saw the confused look on Megumin's face and added, "It stands for Dive Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game. They say it's like stepping into another world entirely, and the best part is that you get to play with other people! You can be warriors, mages, and all sorts of wacky fantasy stuff that you like to talk about."

For the first time in months, Megumin felt a spark of genuine interest. "Mages, you say? Tell me more about this… Yggdrasil."

As Hana explained the basics of the game, Megumin's mind raced with possibilities. Could this be her chance to reclaim some semblance of her former power? To escape, even briefly, from this oppressive world of smoke and steel?

It wouldn't be the same. She'd have to start from scratch, learn everything anew. And there's no guarantee she'd ever wield Explosion magic again.

But as she looked around at the grey, lifeless world that had become her prison, Megumin knew she had to try. Even if it was just a game, even if it was a pale imitation of her former life, it was something. A chance to feel alive again. To walk the path of explosions once more.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of research, scrimping, and saving every meagre yen she could get her hands on. Megumin took on odd jobs after school, sold off non-essential belongings, and even considered pawning one of her kidneys—before Hana talked her out of it—to afford the necessary equipment for Yggdrasil.

"I swear," she declared to the virtual heavens, "I will master this world's magic system. This… Yggdrasil. I will climb to the highest levels, learn the most powerful spells, and once again become the greatest wielder of Explosion magic this or any other world has ever seen!"

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Múspellsheim's eternal fires painted the landscape in shades of crimson and gold, their harsh glow reflecting off the obsidian spires that jutted from the cracked earth like the teeth of some primordial beast. Megumin stood atop a precarious outcropping, her robes billowing dramatically in the sulfurous winds. To any observer, she would have appeared a lone figure of defiance against the hellscape that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Megumin saw only opportunity.

Her fingers danced through the air, manipulating an interface visible only to her. With each gesture, data streams cascaded before her eyes—quest logs, inventory lists, and skill trees that branched out in dizzying complexity. To Megumin, this was the very language of power itself.

"Tier 4 magic, [Burn Lance]..." she muttered, crimson eyes gleaming as she allocated her hard-earned skill points. A grin spread across her face, equal parts triumphant and maniacal. "Soon, you shall be mine, and all shall tremble before the might of my explosions!"

She punctuated her declaration with a laugh that echoed across the desolate plain, startling a flock of fire-winged drakes from their perch on a nearby spire. As they took to the skies with indignant screeches, Megumin's gaze fell upon her staff. No longer the simple wooden implement she'd started with, it now crackled with arcane energy, runes pulsing along its length in time with her own excited heartbeat.

Megumin ran her fingers lovingly along the staff's intricate engravings, each one a triumph to countless hours of grinding, to mobs vanquished and rare drops claimed. She'd poured her virtual blood, sweat, and tears into crafting this weapon, hunting down players skilled enough to stack it with fire-enhancing enchantments. After all, what use were other elements to one destined to master explosions?

A familiar chime rang out, momentarily drowning out the constant rumble of Múspellsheim's volatile terrain. Megumin's eyes narrowed as she read the system message before her:

[Entering Safe Zone: Plaza of Eternal Flame]

Below, carved from obsidian and trimmed with veins of molten gold, the plaza pulsed with life. It was a sanctuary amidst desolation, where players from across the realm gathered to trade, boast, and plan their next great adventures. Megumin's lips curled into a smirk. What better stage could there be for a Crimson Demon to showcase her growing legend?

With a theatrical flourish of her robes, she leapt from her perch. For a heart-stopping moment, Megumin plummeted towards the jagged rocks below. Then, a split second before impact, her fall slowed to a gentle descent. She touched down in the plaza with all the grace of a leaf carried on an autumn breeze, her dramatic entrance drawing curious glances from nearby players.

"Behold, fellow seekers of arcane might!" Megumin proclaimed, her voice ringing out across the plaza. "For I, this world's foremost Crimson Demon, have returned from conquests most perilous!"

A small crowd gathered, drawn by her enthusiasm and the promise of entertainment. Megumin basked in their attention, a part of her aching with nostalgia for the days when such proclamations would have been met with Kazuma's exasperated sighs or Darkness' eager anticipation.

"Gather 'round," she continued, warming to her theme, "and let me regale you with tales of my latest exploits! Picture, if you will, the Caverns of Great Ash, where even the mightiest warriors fear to tread..."

As Megumin launched into her tale, embellishing liberally with grandiose gestures and sound effects, she noticed a commotion near the plaza's central announcement board. A growing crowd of players huddled around it, their excited chatter carrying across the open space. Curiosity piqued, Megumin brought her story to a hurried conclusion.

"...and so, with a final, earth-shattering explosion, I emerged victorious!" She bowed deeply to scattered applause. "But lo, what news stirs such fervour among my fellow adventurers? Come, let us investigate!"

With a dramatic swirl of her robes, Megumin strode purposefully towards the announcement board. The crowd parted before her, whether out of respect for her growing reputation or simple amusement at her antics, she neither knew nor cared.

"Hail, comrades!" Megumin called out as she approached. "What momentous proclamation has drawn such fervent attention?"

A dwarf with a beard that stretched past his toes turned to her, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "Mage of red! You're just in time. They've announced the Forge of Creation event!"

Megumin's eyes lit up, a thrill of excitement coursing through her. "An event, you say? Do tell, my stout companion! What manner of challenge do the gods of Yggdrasil set before us now?"

As the dwarf explained, more players gathered, eager to hear and discuss the details. It seemed like a fairly standard timed event at first glance—a new area to explore, unique enemies to vanquish, and a farmable boss that promised rare loot. But there was something else, something that set this event apart from those that had come before.

"...and get this," the dwarf said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "there's an exclusive item for those who pay to upgrade: the Ember of the First Flame."

A chorus of mutters rose from the assembled players, their tones ranging from excitement to disapproval. But Megumin heard only opportunity. The Ember of the First Flame—even its name promised power beyond her wildest dreams.

"This Ember," Megumin said, barely able to contain her enthusiasm, "surely it must be a boon of unparalleled might! Tell me, what wonders does it promise?"

A nearby paladin, her armor shimmering with heat mirages, spoke up. "Well, we won't know the exact details until the hotfix goes live. But knowing the devs..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"Knowing the devs," a hulking warrior finished for her, "it's going to be stupidly overpowered. As always."

Megumin's eyes sparkled with an almost manic glee. An item of such power, one that even fellow seasoned players spoke of with awe and trepidation—this could be her chance. With the Ember of the First Flame, she could create explosions beyond anything Yggdrasil had ever seen!

"Then we must claim this Ember at once!" Megumin said, striking a pose that sent her robes billowing dramatically. "Whatever trials we must overcome, whatever foes we must vanquish, I, Megumin, shall—"

"Hang on there, lass," the dwarf interrupted, holding up a hand. "It's not that simple. The upgraded event pass... well, it won't come cheap."

Megumin's confident smirk faltered for just a moment before she rallied. "Cheap? Ha! Such paltry concerns are beneath one such as I! Why, I have amassed a fortune that would make even the dragons of old weep with envy!"

Her declaration was met with a mixture of confused looks and stifled laughter. The hulking warrior exchanged glances with the paladin, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Uh, Miss Crimson Demon," he said, his voice tinged with amusement, "I don't think you quite understand—"

"Nonsense!" Megumin cut him off. She began to pace, gesticulating wildly with each boast. "You doubt the extent of my wealth? Shall I regale you with tales of the exotic drops I've claimed? The boss monsters I've vanquished single-handedly?"

She spun on her heel, robes flaring out around her. "Picture, if you will, the hoard of the great lava lizard Ignarius—now nothing more than my personal treasure vault! Or the legendary Phoenixfire Gems, of which I possess no less than a dozen!"

The gathered players watched in a mix of fascination and second-hand embarrassment as Megumin's rant continued. Some exchanged knowing glances, while others struggled to contain their laughter.

"Um, Crimson," the paladin tried to interject, "that's not exactly what we—"

But Megumin was too caught up in her own grandstanding to heed the warning. "Fear not, my fellow adventurers!" she proclaimed, her voice rising to a fever pitch. "For I, the greatest of all Crimson Demons, shall bear this burden if I must!"

She paused for dramatic effect, chest heaving, eyes gleaming with determination. "Now, point me to the nearest event merchant! I shall purchase this 'upgrade' posthaste and claim the Ember of the First Flame for my own!"

A moment of awkward silence fell over the group. Finally, the warrior cleared his throat. "Miss Crimson Demon," he said, as if explaining something to a child, "when we say it costs a 'pretty penny,' we don't mean in-game currency."

Megumin blinked, her triumphant pose faltering. "I... I don't understand," she said, her voice suddenly small. "What other currency could possibly matter in our quest for power?"

The paladin sighed, exchanging a pitying glance with the warrior. "Real money," she said bluntly. "It costs real-world money."

The words hit Megumin like a physical blow. She staggered back a step, her mind reeling. "Real... world?" she repeated, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "You mean..."

"Yep," the dwarf nodded, stroking his beard. "Cold, hard Yen from outside the game. And not a small amount, either. Probably about a week's worth of wages for most players, judging by that greedy publisher's track record."

For a moment, Megumin stood frozen, her face a mask of shock and confusion. Then, with a herculean effort, she forced out a laugh that sounded hollow even to her own ears.

"'Real world'?" she chuckled, her voice taking on a slightly manic edge. "My comrades, surely you jest! You dare not suggest there exists a realm beyond our glorious Yggdrasil?"

The gathered players exchanged bewildered glances. Then, slowly, understanding dawned in the dwarf's eyes. "Ah, you're one of those role-players, aren't you?" he said, a note of sympathy in his voice. "My apologies, Crimson one. It was but a moment of madness that led me to speak of such impossible things."

Megumin latched onto the lifeline he'd thrown her, desperate to maintain the illusion. "Yes, of course!" she said, perhaps a touch too eagerly. "A true Crimson Demon would never acknowledge the existence of a world beyond our own! Such heresy is beneath us!"

But even as the words left her mouth, Megumin felt a cold dread settling in the pit of her stomach. The other players continued to discuss the event, their voices fading into a dull roar as anxiety mounted within her. Real-world money? How much? Would she have time to gather the necessary funds? And more terrifyingly—what did this mean for her place in Yggdrasil?

"Well," she said, her voice strained despite her efforts to maintain composure, "I must take my leave, fellow seekers of power! There are... preparations to be made. Strategies to formulate!"

With a flourish of her robes that was perhaps a touch too vigorous, Megumin strode towards the plaza's exit. She maintained her composure until she was out of sight, then sagged against a wall, her breathing ragged.

"Calm yourself, Megumin, you got this," she said, her fingers already moving to the log-out button. "A mere financial hurdle cannot stand in the path of greatness!"

She tore off the headset with trembling hands, gasping as if she'd run a marathon. The hellscape of Múspellsheim faded away, replaced by the grimy confines of Megumin's tiny apartment.

Then, with a strangled cry that was equal parts frustration and determination, Megumin lunged for her smartphone, nearly knocking over a precariously balanced tower of instant ramen cups in her haste.

"Research," she said, her fingers flying across the cracked screen. "If I am to overcome this obstacle, I must arm myself with knowledge!"

Hours passed in a blur of forum posts, economic analyses, and increasingly arcane terminologies. Megumin's eyes burned from the harsh glow of her screen, but she pressed on, driven by a desperate need to understand this new facet of her beloved realm.

"Microtransactions... battle passes... gacha?" The words felt foreign on her tongue, each syllable a step further from the simple joy of casting explosions in a fantastical world. Yet, as the night wore on, a grim understanding began to take root.

This 'Real world' and its currency was merely a means to an end. Just as she could further her own power in-game, this realm could offer the same, if not more, than the world of Yggdrasil.

She pulled up a spreadsheet. Once, she had used it to calculate spell damage and cooldown timers. Now, its neat rows and columns were twisted with a different kind of data—the cold, unflinching numbers of Yggdrasil's monetisation system.

As the spreadsheet grew more complex, a soft chuckle escaped Megumin's lips. "Is this not a form of magic in itself?" she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. "Transmuting currency into otherworldly power… Kazuma would be jealous. Or perhaps horrified."

The thought of her old companion sent a pang through Megumin's chest. What would Kazuma say if he could see her now, hunched over a glowing screen, contemplating the intricacies of microtransactions? Would he understand? She could hear his exasperated sigh, picture the mix of concern and annoyance in his eyes.

"But you're not here, are you, Kazuma?"

She wiped away a lone tear that had found its way onto her phone's screen.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the perpetual smog of Neo Tokyo obscured any hint of stars. In Axel, the night sky had been a canvas of possibilities, each twinkling light a potential target for her explosions.

Megumin shook her head, banishing the memories. She couldn't afford such sentimentality, not when the Ember of the First Flame lay tantalisingly within reach. Her eyes returned to the spreadsheet, now a complex web of calculations and projections.

"If I allocate 70% of my monthly stipend, and perhaps pick up some additional work," Megumin said to herself. "Yes, it should be enough for the event upgrade and a few extra cash shop items."

But as the numbers added up, a creeping unease settled in Megumin's stomach. This wasn't like grinding for experience or farming rare drops. This was... different. Real money, real sacrifices, for virtual power.

"Is this truly the path of a Crimson Demon?" she wondered aloud, her voice small in the empty room.

Megumin closed her eyes, trying to picture herself wielding the Ember of the First Flame, whatever it may be. Overpowered. She imagined the awe and jealously in her fellow players' voices, the devastating magic she could unleash. For a moment, she felt that familiar rush of power, of being the centre of attention, the unrivalled master of destructive magic.

But then another image intruded—herself, hunched over a menial job, counting every Yen, sacrificing meals, sleep and any other creature comforts for the sake of Yggdrasil.

Megumin sank back into her chair, the weight of her situation pressing down upon her. Her eyes darted across her smartphone, the upcoming patch notes for Yggdrasil glowed on her screen, taunting her with promises of new powers and adventure.

There, nestled amongst the usual bug fixes and 'balance' tweaks, was the announcement that had set her heart racing:

"Pre-order now for a stunning 5% discount! Exclusive Artifact Class Item: [Ember of the First Flame] - Harness the primordial flames of creation itself! This unique item passively enhances the efficacy of fire-based magic and unlocks a unique skill when equipped by the user."

Her fingers hovered over the screen, frozen. She thought of the other players, of their casual mentions of purchases and upgrades. She had always assumed they were talking of in-game purchases. Not 'real life' ones. How many of them had already decided to embrace this system? How far behind would she fall behind if she refused? Had she already fallen behind?

"Perhaps… perhaps just this once. For the Ember. For the sake of my explosions."

She gazed at her reflection in the darkened phone screen. Tired eyes, lined with the strain of endless gaming sessions. Pale skin that hadn't felt real sunlight in far too long.

But Yggdrasil was real. She had power, respect, a purpose. The thought of losing that, of watching others surpass her while she clung stubbornly to some outdated notion of "earning" her strength… the thought was too much to bear.

"A true Crimson Demon adapts," Megumin said softly. "We must seek and claim power wherever it may be found. If this is what it takes…"

Her finger drew closer to the "pre-order" button, a simple tap away. Megumin took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"If this is the price to walk the path of explosions…"

Her finger descended towards the screen, the decision crystallising in her mind.

"So be it."

Chapter Text

The Drunken Dragon tavern shimmered into existence, its rough-hewn walls materialising pixel by pixel. The usual hustle and bustle of NPCs was conspicuously absent, their chat bubbles and quest markers nowhere to be seen. Instead, an eerie silence permeated the virtual space, broken only by the soft crackle of a fireplace that cast flickering shadows across the room.

Suzuki Satoru's skeletal avatar stood motionless in a shadowy corner, red pinpricks of light scanning the empty pub. His bony fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against his recently-procured staff, the gentle clinking of bone on metal barely audible. He had arrived early, as always, to ensure the security of their meeting place.

A flash of light announced the arrival of another player. Peroroncino's avian form took shape, feathers ruffling as he oriented himself. His golden plumage seemed to glow in the tavern's dim light, and his sharp beak clicked in amusement as he spotted Momonga.

"Yo, bone-daddy!" Peroroncino's voice came through the voice chat, a mix of excitement and feigned nonchalance. "Skulking in the shadows again? Do you want to put Nishikienrai out of a job? You're gonna give someone a heart attack one of these days."

Momonga chuckled, the sound echoing from his skeletal jaw. "Better a heart attack than walking into a trap, my friend. How goes the hunt?"

Peroroncino strutted over, his bird-like gait somehow managing to look both ridiculous and cool at the same time. "Eh, same old, same old. Trying to farm those damn Phoenix Feathers for my new bow. Drop rates are killing me, I swear."

Before Momonga could reply, more flashes of light filled the tavern. Players materialised in rapid succession: Warrior Takemikazuchi's imposing samurai, his armour a blend of traditional Japanese style and fantasy elements; Punitto Moe's priest-inspired appearance, covered head to toe in Death Vines; Tabula Smaragdina's writhing mass of tentacles, each one adorned with arcane symbols; and Bukubukuchagama's gelatinous form, a shimmering pink slime that somehow managed to convey expressions despite lacking facial features.

No one spoke as they gathered around a large table in the back. Eyes darted to the windows and doors, checking for any sign of uninvited guests. 

Finally, Touch Me's knight avatar strode in, his silver armour gleaming even in the dim light. The future World Champion made a show of checking the area before giving a sharp nod. "We're clear. Ulbert's keeping watch outside."

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the group. Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone took a seat, the table groaning under Warrior Takemikazuchi's considerable weight. 

Momonga leaned forward, his bony fingers interlaced on the table. "Thank you all for coming. Flatfoot, Ancient One, and others couldn't make it, so when you see them, be sure to update them on our discussions today. I know these… unofficial gatherings can be risky."

The guild's designated strategist, Punitto Moe, was the first to chime in. "Risky, but necessary. The climate out there is getting worse by the day."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. Bukubukuchagama's slime form quivered, her voice bubbling with frustration. "Tell me about it. I can't farm for five minutes without some human or demi-human guild trying to gank me. It's like they've got nothing better to do than hunt heteromorphs!"

"It's not just the player-killers," Tabula Smaragdina interjected, his tentacles curling thoughtfully around his drink. The eldritch horror somehow managed to look contemplative despite his alien features. "Have you seen the new cash shop items? It's getting ridiculous. Every week there's some new 'must-have' item that promises to revolutionise gameplay."

Peroroncino snorted, his beak clicking in annoyance. "Yeah, 'limited time offer' my feathered behind. More like 'empty your wallet or fall behind.' I swear, it's getting harder and harder to keep up without breaking the bank."

A heavy silence fell over the table. These were concerns they'd all been grappling with, but rarely voiced aloud. The creeping influence of real-world money on their virtual sanctuary was a topic that filled them all with unease.

"We can't change the game's monetisation strategy," Momonga said, his voice soft but firm. "But perhaps we can find ways to level the playing field. If we pool our resources and information, we might find advantages that don't require emptying our wallets."

Touch Me nodded, his helmet dipping in agreement. "Well said, Momonga-san. That's why these meetings are so crucial. Together, we can overcome challenges that would be insurmountable alone."

Momonga's eye-lights flickered, a gesture that had become his equivalent of a smile. "Indeed. Which brings us to our first order of business—the upcoming anniversary. Has anyone heard any concrete details?"

The table buzzed with excitement at the mention of the event. Yggdrasil's anniversary had been the topic of speculation for weeks, with rumors ranging from new realms to the introduction of game-changing mechanics.

Punitto Moe's vine-covered form rustled as he leaned forward, his voice low and precise. "I've been analyzing data from the official forums and some... alternative sources. While there's an abundance of speculation, verifiable information is scarce. The prevailing theories suggest either the unveiling of a new area or the implementation of a server-wide raid event."

Yamaiko, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. Her golem-like form shifted, stone grinding against stone as she leaned forward. "A new area could be interesting. Depending on the environment, it might give us heteromorphs a new safe haven to explore."

Peroroncino perked up at this, his feathers ruffling with excitement. "Oh man, imagine if it's like, an undead realm or something. Momonga would be right at home!"

The group chuckled, but Tabula Smaragdina's tentacles writhed thoughtfully. "We shouldn't get our hopes up. Remember the Alfheim region update? It was supposed to add a neutral territory, but it quickly became just another hunting ground for human and demi-human players."

A somber mood settled over the tavern as the clan members recalled past persecution. As heteromorphic players, they had often been targeted by other groups, hunted as a means to unlock class-specific requirements or for simple fun. It was this shared struggle that had brought them together in the first place, a struggle that, even now, brought new members in to fill in the swelling ranks of Nine's Own Goal.

Momonga nodded, his skeletal features somehow managing to convey determination. "You're right, Tabula. We need to be prepared for any eventuality. If it is a new area, we should have a plan to secure a foothold quickly. If it's a raid event, we'll need to coordinate our efforts with all our members to maximise our gains."

Touch Me's armor clinked as he shifted in his seat. "Whatever the event turns out to be, we should be ready to act quickly. The first few days will be crucial."

As the group began to discuss potential strategies for the anniversary event, Bukubukuchagama's slime form rippled, her voice taking on a serious tone. "Speaking of being under-prepared, I had a run-in with that Crimson Demon player everyone's been talking about."

Instant silence fell over the tavern. All eyes turned to the slime. The Crimson Demon had become something of a legend in recent months, a player whose exploits seemed to defy the game's established meta.

"You encountered the Crimson Demon?" Momonga leaned forward, "What happened?"

Bukubukuchagama's avatar shifted uncomfortably, her gelatinous form rippling with the memory. "It was... intense. I was farming for pyroclastic shards in Múspellsheim, minding my own business, when suddenly—BOOM!" Her form quivered violently for emphasis. "This massive explosion comes out of nowhere. I'm talking screen-shaking, ear-ringing kaboom. Next thing I know, I'm respawning at my rest point, five levels down."

"So the rumours are true. They really do just blow up everything in sight."

"That's not even the craziest part," Bukubukuchagama continued, her voice filled with a mix of awe and frustration. "As I'm picking myself up, I see this message pop up in the region chat. It's them, going on this long rant about the 'glorious path of explosions' and how 'true power knows no restraint' or something like that. I swear, it was like reading the script of some over-the-top anime villain."

Peroroncino cackled, slapping the table with a wing. "Sounds like someone's taking their role-playing seriously. But wait, how did they one-shot you? You're not exactly a low-level newbie."

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. Bukubukuchagama was known for her tanky builds, capable of soaking up massive amounts of damage. The idea that someone could take her out in a single hit was... unsettling.

"Oh, it gets better," Bukubukuchagama's form rippled with indignation. "After their little speech, they dropped their signature line everyone's been quoting lately. You know the one—'If a punishment for a PK is a fine, it's a punishment meant only for the free-to-play!'"

A chorus of groans and chuckles echoed around the table. The phrase had become somewhat infamous in Yggdrasil in the weeks leading up to the anniversary, a point of contention that divided the player base.

"You've got to admit, they've got a point," the slime continued, "the penalty system is a joke if you've got the cash to burn."

"That doesn't make it right," Touch Me countered, his armour clinking as he shifted uncomfortably. "It's an exploit, plain and simple."

Momonga held up a bony hand, silencing the argument before it had time to brew. "The Crimson Demon's methods aside, we can't deny the impact they've had. That phrase has become a rallying cry for players frustrated with the game's monetisation."

Punitto Moe nodded, "It's a double-edged sword. On one hand, they're exploiting the system in the worst way. On the other, they've forced the devs to, at least, acknowledge the problem. Without such a blatant example of unfair advantage, who knows if anything would change?"

"Change?" Peroroncino scoffed. "The only thing that's changed is that now the big spenders have a catchy slogan to throw around when they're griefing newbies."

Yamaiko's stony features creased with concern. "But I've also heard of free-to-play guilds adopting the phrase too. It's become a sort of... protest. A way to call out the unfairness."

The table fell silent as they contemplated this. The Crimson Demon had become a paradox—a villain to some, a twisted kind of hero to others, and a headache for the developers caught in between.

"Perhaps that's the most intriguing part of all this. I wonder if the Crimson Demon deliberately left their quote vague, as to bring attention to the state of the game," Tabula Smaragdina said.

"Intended or not," Bukubukuchagama grumbled. "Actions speak louder than words. I doubt they care about game balance when they're blowing up half the server on-sight."

Punitto Moe's eyes narrowed, his strategic mind already whirring. "That brings us back to the real question, doesn't it? How exactly are they pulling off these one-shot kills? I've been analysing data from player encounters with this Crimson Demon posted online, and the results are... interesting. From what I can tell, their build is completely unique."

The strategist's form seemed to expand, the greenery clinging to his avatar bristling with life. "They've specc'ed purely into fire magic, specifically high burst, area-of-effect spells. But here's where it gets interesting—they're stacking resistance shredding effects to an unprecedented degree."

Warrior Takemikazuchi sent a frown emote to the group. "Fire magic in Múspellsheim? Even with stacking, everything there has high fire resistance. How is that effective?"

Punitto Moe replied with a laughing bubble emoji. "That's the brilliance of it. Most guides recommend a universal element shred of around 10%—that's the sweet spot. Everyone knows that if you go over that, you see diminishing returns on investment."

A round of nods came from those gathered.

"But here's what I think Crimson discovered: if you're crazy enough to fully invest, you can clear that hurdle and essentially turn even the highest level resistances into nothing. It's a glass cannon build taken to the extreme."

The table erupted in a chorus of surprised exclamations and thoughtful murmurs. Yamaiko leaned forward. "A single resistance shred item is rare. God knows how many hours we've collectively spent trying to get the right substats on those drops. How could they possibly stack enough?"

"That," Punitto Moe said, raising a finger dramatically, "is where things get... controversial. From what I've been able to piece together, they're using a combination of legacy items from old events that newer players can no longer obtain, obscure skill combinations, and... well, probably some cash shop purchases to get them that extra oomf."

The spectre of pay-to-win mechanics, always lurking in the background of their discussions, had reared its ugly head once again.

"Cash shop. Of course. It always comes down to who's willing to open their wallet the widest, doesn't it?" Peroroncio said. "Our No Cash Item Alliance will always be at a disadvantage then, plain and simple. Right, Momonga? And they get to be a one-shot nuke? What a sick joke."

Touch Me held up a hand, his armour clinking softly. "Let's not be hasty. While it's true that cash shop items can provide an advantage, the base build would have still taken planning and dedication to pull off. We shouldn't discount this player's ingenuity simply because they might have spent money on the game."

"Touch Me-san is right," Momonga nodded. His calm voice cut through the rising tension. "Whether we like it or not, this is a reality of Yggdrasil. I am proud to call you my fellow Alliance member, Peroroncino. Same to Ulbert. Let us not give into temptation just yet—what matters is how we use the tools at our disposal."

The conversation lulled for a moment as the clan members contemplated this. Tabula was the first to break the silence. "Perhaps we should look at this as an opportunity to learn. If this Crimson Demon has found a way to make a seemingly suboptimal build work, maybe there are other strategies we've been overlooking."

Peroroncino perked up, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ooh, like my idea for an all-poison ranger build! I'm telling you guys, it could work!"

His sister's slime form wobbled in what could only be described as an eye-roll. "We've been over this, bird-brain. A mono-poison build is even worse than what that Crimson Demon is doing. Half the mobs in this game have complete immunity."

As the siblings bickered, Punitto Moe cleared his throat. "If I may, I think we should at least consider how to counter this strategy. Even if we don't intend to run into this player specifically, it's only a matter of time before other players could start adopting similar tactics—even if their effectiveness may be half that of Crimson."

The strategist's words sobered the group. They had worked hard to carve out a place for themselves in Yggdrasil, and the thought of losing their edge was concerning.

"What do you propose?" Momonga asked, his skeletal features unreadable.

Punitto Moe's eyes gleamed with excitement. "I've been working on some theories. The key is to understand that this Crimson Demon's build is a one-trick pony. All offense, no defense. If we can somehow survive the initial burst..."

He trailed off as the tavern door creaked open. The conversation died instantly, hands moving to weapons. A tense moment passed before Ulbert's demonic form slipped inside.

"Sorry to interrupt," he growled, his voice low and urgent. "But we've got company. A human guild is sniffing around outside. They haven't spotted us yet, but it's only a matter of time."

Touch Me stood, his armour clinking softly. "Then our time is up. We should disperse before we draw attention."

Momonga nodded, his red eye-lights sweeping over the group. "Agreed. Thank you all for coming this week. Remember, share what we've discussed only with those you trust completely. And keep an eye out for that Crimson Demon—there might be more we can learn from them."

As the players prepared to log out, Warrior Takemikazuchi's deep voice rumbled once more. "Next time, my friends, we should meet somewhere less... conventional. I know a spot in Niflheim that might suit our needs."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. One by one, they vanished in flashes of light, leaving the Drunken Dragon tavern empty once more.

Momonga was the last to go. He stood for a moment, skeletal fingers tracing patterns on the worn table. Despite the risks, these clandestine meetings filled him with a sense of purpose, of belonging. In a world increasingly divided between those who played in massive guilds and solo players, their little group was finding a third path. It felt like a nice balance.

With a final glance around the tavern, Momonga logged out. The Drunken Dragon faded away, replaced by the familiar confines of his air-conditioned apartment. He removed his VR headset with a sigh, the weight of the real world settling back onto his shoulders.

For a long moment, he sat in silence, mind racing with thoughts of explosive mages, anniversary events, and the precarious balance between skill and spending. Then, with a determined nod, he reached for his phone. 

In the game and out, the struggle continued. But they would face it together, a group of heteromorphs united by their love for Yggdrasil and their determination to carve out their own place within it.

As Suzuki Satoru's fingers tapped his phone's keyboard, coordinating with his friends via encrypted messages, he couldn't help but smile. Whatever challenges Yggdrasil might throw at them—be it overpowered players, game-breaking builds, or the ever-present threat of corporate greed—he knew that with his companions at his side, they would find a way to persevere.

Chapter Text

The [Fragment of a Thousand Faces] pulsed with an otherworldly glow, its geometric facets refracting the hellish light of Múspellsheim across the obsidian walls of Megumin's inner sanctum. For months now, it had rested upon a pedestal of blackened bone, a looming reminder of the choice before her. The artifact's presence warped and rippled the very fabric of the chamber, casting impossible shadows that flickered and capered at the edges of sight.

Megumin stood before it, unblinking. Her crimson eyes mirrored the Fragment's eldritch gleam. Promise of revolution whispered at the edges of her mind—but it was too soon. She had managed to stave off the temptation to scratch that particular itch, for now.

"Nine months..."

In a chamber of endless wonders, the small, pulsing shard commanded her entire existence.

"Nine months since I braved the Eternal Forge alone for you. And still, I hesitate."

The memories of that solo raid shimmered behind her eyes, as vivid as the day she'd lived them. The baleful light of the great molten wyrms. The thunder of collapsing earth. The rapture as she unleashed magic beyond limit and reason, tearing the titan's heart from its chest with an explosion that rent the very sky. For one glorious, infinite instant, she had been more than the Crimson Demon. More than human. 

She was as pure as an explosion. 

The forums had erupted afterwards, alight with her legend; whispers of the mad mage who challenged eternity alone and spat in the face of impossible odds. Salt flowed like lava as commentators dissected her every move, seeking the secret exploits she must have used.

"Ha! As if my glory could be so cheaply replicated."

Megumin had basked in it, sipping their awe and envy like the finest NEET nectar—hearty calories for a starving soul.

With a mere thought and flick of the wrist, she conjured the item's true nature:

[Fragment of Thousand Faces]

[World Class Item: Bypass conditions for a player to change race. Single-use item]

[The Fragment was born from the shattered remains of the World Tree's first blossom, carrying within it the essence of all beings. Its ever-shifting surface grants its wielder the power to remake themselves as they desire. Once used, the Fragment crumbles to dust, leaving only the echo of infinite possibilities in its wake.]

"It's too cool," Megumin said, her eyes sparkling as she caressed the flavor-text window once again.

Change. Rebirth. Apotheosis. The words danced before her mind's eye, glittering glimpses of distant shores she could never reach. With but a thought, she could assume the form of any race Yggdrasil had to offer, unshackled from mortal limitations. Cosmic fire coursed under her skin, begging for release that reality could only ever deny.

And yet…

"The flavor text is too cool that I don't ever want to use it!" Megumin cried out.

The young mage grasped her head in exasperation, fingers tangling in brunette locks. Her immaculate taste in all things awesome had suddenly become a hindrance on her path to the pinnacle of power. What a waste it would be to have such a legendary item disappear before her very eyes.

She began to pace, her mind racing with possibilities. What form should she take, if she were to use the Fragment? Each race in Yggdrasil offered unique advantages, and Megumin found herself considering options she'd never before entertained.

"Perhaps a dragon?" she mused aloud, striking a fearsome pose. "Scales as hard as diamond, breath a weapon to rival my explosions. Yes. Yes, very cool."

Her gaze fell upon a tome of celestial lore, and a new idea sparked. "An angel, perhaps? Wings of radiant light, holy magic to purify my foes." She shook her head vigorously. "Bah! Too goody-two-shoes. A Crimson Demon must embrace the darkness!"

As if in response to her thoughts, shadows seemed to deepen in the corners of her sanctum. Megumin's eyes gleamed with new possibility. "A being of pure darkness? Tentacles writhing with eldritch power, knowledge to drive mortals mad?" She paused, considering. "Hmm, promising, but the upkeep on tentacle polish alone would be ruinous."

On and on she went, conjuring and dismissing potential forms with theatrical flair. Demons, elementals, fae creatures—each one an intriguing choice in their own ways, yet somehow falling short of grand ambitions.

"Gah!" Megumin threw up her hands in frustration. "How can I, the great Megumin, be expected to choose but one form when all cannot meet my magnificence?"

As she ranted, a notification pinged softly in the corner of her vision. Megumin blinked, thrown off her dramatic momentum. 

[From: XxDarkLordxX]

[Crimson! You're the player who soloed the Eternal Forge. Sick! Wanna team up for the new Helheim raid? We could use some of that explosion magic.]

Megumin stared at the message. Part of her preened at the recognition, basking in the admiration of her fellow players. But another part, one that sounded suspiciously like Kazuma, whispered of the hollowness of such fleeting connections.

Her fingers hovered over the reply button, a dozen responses flitting through her mind. Should she accept, adding another notch to her belt of virtual glory? Or dismiss them, maintaining her aloof and legendary status?

In the end, she closed the message without responding. The momentary distraction faded, leaving her once again alone in her sanctum.

Megumin's gaze drifted across the chamber, taking in the fruits of her digital labors. Trophies from a hundred conquered dungeons lined the walls. Grimoires of forgotten magic hovered in stasis, their eldritch secrets as unreachable as the connection she craved.

Her eyes lingered on each artifact, memories flooding back with bittersweet intensity. The Helm of the Frost Giant King, claimed after a week-long siege of Jotunheim's capital. The Staff of a Thousand Suns, forged in the heart of a dying star.

But as she catalogued her treasures, something grew in the pit of her stomach. 

"My dear explosions," Megumin murmured, her usual bravado faltering. "What use are your flames if they illuminate nothing but my own shadow?"

Her gaze slid treacherously to the NPC console glowing in the chamber's far corner, still open from her latest futile effort. Its light seemed dimmer since the day she first installed it, cowed by the Fragment's impossible shine, yet still it beckoned.

Megumin's feet moved of their own accord, carrying her past trophies that now seemed as hollow as a dusty town's praise. The console surface rippled beneath her touch, conjuring a translucent bust from digital mist. A face, achingly familiar yet never quite right, greeted her from digital mist.

A face took shape before her, features coalescing from the ether. Tousled brown hair, forever trapped in a state of calculated carelessness. Eyes that glimmered with equal parts mischief and exasperation, a gaze she knew better than her own reflection. The slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw—details etched into her memory, now given digital form.

"Kazuma-san."

Megumin regarded the wireframe model of Kazuma, her heart clenching at the sight. Her fingers moved in a dance they'd long since memorised, adding a wayward tuft of hair here, a sardonic twist of lip there. Tiny adjustments that did nothing to bridge the uncanny valley between memory and simulacrum.

"If you could see the great Megumin now, would you laugh? Or sigh?"

Silence was her only answer, the unfinished NPC as mute as ever. How many data crystals had she spent on this folly, this doomed attempt to conjure a familiar presence in a world that knew only masks? Every Kazuma she crafted was wrong, a cruel parody lacking the soul that had made needling him worth savouring. Their eyes were glass, their clever tongues an unconvincing forgery.

With a frustrated growl, Megumin dismissed the Kazuma model. In its place, she conjured an image of Aqua, the self-proclaimed goddess's features slowly taking shape beneath her fingers.

Aqua's likeness emerged, a vision of haughty perfection. The cerulean sheen of her hair, the porcelain smoothness of her skin—Megumin had captured every detail with painstaking precision.

Yet the spark of divine petulance, the mercurial charm that had made Aqua so infuriatingly endearing, was nowhere to be found. This Aqua stared back at her, utterly devoid of the vibrant spirit that could drive Megumin to the brink of madness and back again.

Next came Darkness, the crusader's stoic features emerging from the formless data. Here too, Megumin had excelled in crafting a physical duplicate. The strong line of her jaw, the noble bearing of her posture—all were present and accounted for.

But how could mere polygons hope to convey the paradoxical blend of honor and perversion that made Darkness who she was? The NPC's eyes lacked that barely-restrained masochistic glee, that hunger for pain and humiliation that had always danced in the crusader's gaze.

One by one, Megumin attempted to recreate her lost companions. And one by one, she was forced to admit defeat. These digital echoes, no matter how faithfully rendered, could never replace the bonds she had forged in the crucible of adventure. What was the point of exploding the world if there was no one to share the embers with, no one to revel in the glorious destruction at her side?

The vast chamber pressed in around her, an airless tomb for one. Her arsenal of accolades and artifacts blurred, their lustre leeched away until only the Fragment and the failed familiars retained any colour. Two half-formed doors, both forever shut—one leading to a past she could never reclaim, the other to a future she feared to embrace.

Megumin sank to her knees, the weight of her isolation bearing down upon her. In this moment, surrounded by the trappings of her legend, she had never felt more alone. The great Crimson Demon, reduced to a shadow haunting her own memories.

"Yggdrasil!" Megumin shouted, her fists clenched. "You promised me power beyond measure! I have reached your summit! So why…" Her voice broke. "Why does victory taste like ash?"

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she allowed herself to truly contemplate the real-world consequences of her obsession.

How long had it been since she'd attended a class? The vague memory of a concerned teacher's face floated to the surface of her mind, quickly submerged beneath a tide of dungeon layouts and spell calculations. Her grades, never stellar to begin with, must have plummeted into the abyss by now.

And Hana. Sweet, patient Hana, who had tried so hard to be her friend in that bleak world. When was the last time Megumin had spoken to her? 

"What am I doing?" Megumin whispered.

She thought of her family back in her original world—her eccentric parents, her precocious little sister. What would they think of her now? The great Megumin, cowering in a virtual sanctuary, too afraid to face the harsh realities of a world without magic.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Some Crimson Demon I turned out to be. Yunyun would never let me hear the end of it if she could see me now."

As if summoned by her musings, a system notification chimed softly. Megumin opened it with a weary flick of her wrist, half-expecting another invitation to some raid or dungeon.

Instead, she found herself staring at a system update announcement:

[Attention, Yggdrasil players! The long-awaited "Valkyrie's Downfall" update is coming! Prepare for world-shaking changes, new race options, and the ultimate battle for the fate of the World Tree! Will you stand with the gods or join the forces of chaos? The choice is yours!]

Megumin's eyes widened as she scanned the details. New racial options, rebalanced skill trees, an entire realm's worth of fresh content to explore. Any other day, such an announcement would have set her heart racing with anticipation.

Now, she felt only a dull ache. "Another carrot dangled before our noses," she muttered, closing the notification with more force than necessary. 

With slow, deliberate steps, Megumin approached the pedestal where the [Fragment of a Thousand Faces] pulsed with renewed intensity, as if sensing her turmoil. "And you," she addressed the artifact directly, her voice a mix of longing and accusation.

Megumin raised her hand, fingers hovering just above the Fragment's shimmering surface. She could feel its power calling to her, offering transformation beyond her wildest dreams. But now, with clarity born of introspection, she saw the trap for what it was.

With a determined set to her jaw, Megumin opened her inventory screen. Her eyes scanned the list of items she had accumulated over countless hours of gameplay. Each one a memory, a triumph, a piece of the legend she had built for herself in this digital realm.

One by one, she began to sort through them. Legendary weapons, priceless artifacts, rare crafting materials—all of it cataloged and evaluated with a critical eye she had never before turned on her virtual hoard.

As she worked, Megumin found herself analysing the game mechanics that had consumed so much of her time and energy. The intricacies of damage calculations, the hidden synergies between seemingly unrelated skills, the optimal paths for leveling and gear progression—all of it laid bare before her newly focused mind.

"To think," she mused aloud, "that I once found such joy in manipulating these systems. In finding the perfect combination of skills and equipment to maximise my explosive potential."

A wry smile tugged at her lips. "I suppose there's a certain poetry to it. The great Megumin, master of explosions, reduced to min-maxing spreadsheets and farming drop rates."

As she sorted, a plan began to form in her mind. It was audacious, perhaps even foolhardy—but then, when had that ever stopped her before?

Megumin's fingers flew across the interface, transferring items and currency with practised ease. Within minutes, she had amassed a fortune in tradable resources and high-value equipment. "If I'm to leave this stage," she declared to the empty chamber, "it shall be on my own terms. And perhaps… perhaps sow a little chaos while I'm at it."

With a few more taps, Megumin opened the global auction window and began composing a message:

[To: Newbie Support Fund Initiative]

[Subject: A parting gift from the Crimson Demon]

[Hear me, O' fledgling disciples of destruction!

I, Arch-Wizard of Explosions, Conqueror of the Eternal Forge, stand at the precipice of transcendence! As I prepare to ascend beyond the mortal coil of Yggdrasil, I deign to bestow upon you but a fraction of my cosmic might!

Use them with reckless abandon! Let the world quake beneath your newfound strength! And always remember—the path of explosions demands sacrifice, madness, and a complete disregard for sensible mana management! Go forth and spread glorious chaos in my name!

May your blasts be mighty and your cooldowns short,

Crimson Demon ]

She paused, her finger hovering over the 'send' button. Was this really the right choice? To give away everything she had worked so hard to obtain?

But even as doubt gnawed at her, Megumin knew it was the only way forward. These digital trinkets, no matter how rare or powerful, could never fill the void left by real connections, real purpose.

"Balance this, shitty devs."

With a deep breath, she pressed 'send'.

A weight she hadn't realised she'd been carrying lifted from her shoulders. For the first time in months, perhaps years, Megumin felt truly light.

She turned back to the [Fragment of a Thousand Faces], regarding it with new eyes. No longer did it represent the pinnacle of her ambitions.

"Haaah, I think I understand better now," Megumin said softly, addressing the artifact as if it were an old friend. "Your power was never in the transformation itself, but in the choice. I recognise when it's time to set aside one mask and embrace a new path."

She reached out, her fingers finally making contact with the Fragment's surface. 

"Thank you," she whispered, "for showing me what truly matters."

With a gentle tug, Megumin lifted the [Fragment of a Thousand Faces] from its pedestal. The artifact's glow intensified, bathing the chamber in a kaleidoscope of colour and possibility.

"Enjoy your last days, Yggdrasil," Megumin declared, her voice ringing with newfound purpose. "For when the great explosion mage leaves this stage, it shall be in the only way my legend allows..."

The Fragment flared, its light growing to near-blinding intensity. Megumin felt her form begin to shift, data and consciousness intertwining in a way that defied the world's parameters.

"...with a bang."

In that moment of transformation, as the boundaries between player and avatar blurred, Megumin made her choice. Not for power or prestige, but for the chance to reclaim the connections she had lost. To return to a world that, while harsh and unfamiliar, offered the possibility of real growth, real relationships.

The sanctum around her began to dissolve, pixels scattering like motes of dust in a digital wind. But Megumin stood tall, her eyes fixed on a horizon beyond Yggdrasil's rendered skies.

"This new form,” she paused only for a moment. “It's not bad. It's just a shame I won't get to enjoy it."

As the last vestiges of her virtual empire faded away, a single thought crystallised in Megumin's mind: It was time to find a new path to walk—not one of digital glory, but genuine connection and purpose.

"[System command]: Log out."

The world of Yggdrasil vanished in a final, brilliant flash. And somewhere, in a small, cluttered apartment in Neo Tokyo, a girl opened her eyes to a new beginning.

Chapter Text

In the sprawling realm of Yggdrasil, whispers turned to shouts as news of the Crimson Demon's disappearance spread like wildfire.

"Have you heard? The mad mage of Muspellsheim vanished overnight!"

"Impossible! She was online every day, terrorising the high-level zones."

"Some say she finally met her match."

In the bustling streets of Yggdrasil's player hubs, players huddled in anxious clusters, each adding their own flavour to the swirling rumours. Some celebrated the absence of the notorious player-killer, while others lamented the loss of a living legend

"Good riddance, I say. She unbalanced the entire game with those insane spells."

"You only say that because she one-shot you last week."

"Shut up! At least I faced her head-on!"

In the shadowed corners of Muspellsheim, a void lingered where once a crimson figure had stood, a conquering hero bathed in the light of impossible magics. The once-crowded hunting ground of challengers now lay silent, and the very landscape mourned her absence.

Her final gift, the massive influx of high-level items and currency into the newbie economy, had thrown the delicate balance of power into utter chaos. In the Newbie Support Fund Initiative headquarters, harried guild administrators worked around the clock to distribute the Crimson Demon's bequest. Lines of low-level players stretched for kilometres, each newly rich in wealth and equipment far beyond their means.

Inflation soared as the market struggled to absorb the sudden glut of high-end gear, leaving crafters and gatherers scrambling to adapt.

"Do you think she'll come back?"

"Who knows? Maybe she's just taking a break."

"Or maybe she finally got bored of us mere mortals."

And so the cycle began, a serpent eating its tail. Those who had once cursed the Crimson Demon's name now clamoured for her return, desperate for a steadying hand to revert a world thrown into chaos.

But Megumin did not hear their pleas.

She was busy building a new life, one step at a time.

The sulphurous sunlight of Neo Tokyo stabbed through the narrow gaps of Megumin's headset, outlining its contours like a fractured halo. As Yggdrasil's vibrant hues dissolved, the numbing bliss she'd clung to evaporated, and the dull ache of reality seeped back in—the relentless pressure of the device pressing into her skin, a weight she'd blocked out until this very moment. The headset clamped against her face, its straps digging into her temples, the clammy sweat trapped beneath suffocating her pores. Each heartbeat sent a throb through the indentations left behind.

With trembling hands, Megumin peeled the device away, wincing as it pulled at her damp skin. The stale air of her room rushed against her flushed cheeks, a cold reminder of the world she'd been avoiding.

As she set it aside, her senses were assaulted by the stale odour of confinement—a mix of sweat, old food, and that chemical tang she had tried desperately to scrub out of the walls once before.

Her room was a disaster zone. Towers of empty instant ramen cups teetered precariously, vying for space with mounds of unwashed laundry. Her school bag lay buried beneath a drift of crumpled papers, each covered in frantic scribbles of damage calculations and progression trees.

Attempting to stand, her legs wobbled, muscles protesting after countless hours of disuse. She caught herself on the edge of her cluttered desk, letting out a hollow laugh that echoed unnervingly in the silence.

"So this is what it feels like," she rasped, "to be truly awake in this accursed realm once more."

Her gaze fell upon her phone, its screen dark and blank. A knot formed in her stomach as she reached for it, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. The device sprang to life, unleashing a relentless stream of notifications—a tidal wave of missed connections.

Megumin's throat tightened as she scrolled through them. Missed calls from the school administration, increasingly concerned texts from Hana, and messages from classmates about group projects she had neglected. Each one was a tiny stab of guilt.

Her thumb hovered over Hana's name. She hesitated, the weight of her absence pressing down on her. How long had it been since she last replied? Weeks? Months?

Taking a deep breath, she began to type.

[Megumin]: I'm sorry, Hana. I'm so sorry. I got lost in my own head and forgot what really matters. Can we talk?

She stared at the message and hit send before she could second-guess herself.

It was a start, Megumin knew. A small step on a long road to making amends. But it was a step she was determined to take.

Setting the phone down, Megumin surveyed the chaos of her apartment. The sheer magnitude of the mess was overwhelming. She picked up an empty ramen cup, then another, piling them into a trash bag. The simple act of cleaning felt foreign.

Hours passed as Megumin waited for a response. The silence of her room, once a comforting cocoon, now felt oppressive. She paced, her legs weak and unsteady, pausing occasionally to stare out the window at the hazy Neo Tokyo skyline.

Finally, her phone buzzed. She nearly dropped the trash bag in her haste to grab the phone.

[Hana]: Megumin! You're alive! Where have you been? I've been so worried!

Megumin felt a lump in her throat. The warmth in Hana's message was tinged with frustration, and rightly so.

[Megumin]: Your concern touches the very core of my being! I, the great Megu—

Megumin backspaced furiously, grimacing at her own words.

[Megumin]: Thank you. I'm sorry for worrying you. Can we meet up soon?

She glanced at her reflection in a grimy mirror—a pale face framed by unkempt hair, eyes shadowed by exhaustion. Digging through piles of clothes, she found something passably clean to wear. A quick shower washed away layers of neglect, and as the cold water cascaded over her, she felt a small semblance of renewal.

The next morning, Megumin stood outside the imposing gates of her school. Anxiety coiled in her stomach like a serpent. She took a deep breath, steeling herself before stepping inside.

Whispers followed her down the hallway.

"Isn't that Megumin-san? I thought she dropped out."

"She looks different."

"Did you hear she failed all her classes?"

Ignoring the murmurs, she made her way to the administrative office.

"Megumin-san," the secretary greeted her with a raised eyebrow. "We weren't expecting you."

"I know," Megumin replied, her voice steady. "I'd like to speak with the principal."

"Wait here."

Minutes later, she was ushered into the principal's office. The principal regarded her with a stern expression.

"Megumin-san. To what do we owe this unexpected visit?"

She swallowed hard. "I'm here to take responsibility for my absence and to discuss how I can make up for lost time."

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You've been absent without notice for over a year. That's a serious violation of policy."

"I understand," she said, meeting his gaze. "I'm prepared to face any consequences."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? And what brought about this sudden sense of accountability?"

Megumin hesitated. "I worked through some… personal issues. But I'm committed to returning to my studies."

The principal tapped a finger on his desk thoughtfully. "Everyone has personal issues, Megumin-san, but truth be told, it is no excuse. If you are held back from graduating, you'll be useful to nobody but the waste cleanup department. It's rare, but we can offer you a probationary period to catch up on missed work."

Relief flooded her. "Thank you, sir. I won't waste this opportunity."

"See that you don't," he warned. "Coordinate with your teachers immediately."

"I will."

As she left the office, a mix of dread and determination swirled within her. The road ahead would be steep, but she was resolved to climb it.

Hana was waiting outside the office, a questioning look on her face.

"Well?" she asked.

"I have a chance to make things right," Megumin said. "But it's going to be a lot of work."

Hana smiled. "You can do it."

"Will you help me?"

"Of course. But it's your effort that will make the difference."

Megumin nodded. "I know."

The following weeks were some of the hardest Megumin had ever faced.

The backlog of assignments was staggering. Every class felt like an uphill battle as she struggled to catch up while keeping pace with new material.

She forced herself to attend every class, to sit through lectures that seemed to drain the very life from her soul. The teachers, once figures of mild annoyance, now loomed as towers of authority, their disapproving gazes and sharp words a constant reminder of her inadequacy. They droned on about capitalist history, their voices a mind-numbing chorus of corporate propaganda.

Late nights once spent grinding for levels and loot were now devoted to studying, to making up for lost time. Megumin attacked her coursework with the same intensity she'd reserved for the trash mobs of Yggdrasil, pouring over textbooks and assignments until the knowledge seeped into her bones.

One evening, as she grappled with a particularly dense chapter on corporate law, Megumin reached for her staff. Her fingers closed on empty air, and for a moment, panic gripped her.

Where was—

Reality reasserted itself with brutal swiftness. There was no staff, no magic to call upon. Just endless pages of dry text and the ever-present hum of air filtration units.

Slowly, painfully, she made progress. Her grades improved, inch by painstaking inch. She learned to navigate the classroom's treacherous social hierarchies, forging necessary alliances.

Students huddled in cliques defined not by friendship, but by corporate allegiance. The children of NeoSoft executives sneered at those whose parents toiled in the lower echelons of MegaTech. Megumin found herself adrift in this sea of branded loyalties, her own heritage an impossible secret burning in her chest.

"Megumin-san," her homeroom teacher called out one dreary afternoon, "please stay after class. We need to discuss your future."

She managed a nod as a ripple of whispers swept through the classroom. Megumin felt her stomach clench, anxiety coiling like a serpent in her gut.

As her classmates filed out, casting curious glances her way, Megumin approached the teacher's desk with measured steps. She stood before it, hands clasped behind her back, the very picture of a diligent student.

"Sensei," she said, "how may the great Megu—*ahem*—how may I be of assistance?"

The teacher regarded her with a mixture of concern and approval. "Your grades have improved quickly over the past few months, Megumin-san. I find it quite impressive, given your rocky start."

Megumin inclined her head, accepting the praise with a humility that would have been foreign to her former self. "Thank you, Sensei. I have been working hard to catch up."

"Indeed," the teacher nodded. "Which is why I wanted to discuss your plans for after graduation. Have you given any thought to which career you'd like to pursue? Or any particular company?"

"I... I haven't decided yet, Sensei," she admitted, hating the hesitation in her voice. "There are so many options to consider."

The teacher's expression softened slightly. "It's a big decision, I know. But you can't afford to delay much longer. The top corporations will be scouting for talent beginning December, and with your improved grades, you may have a chance at securing a position with one of the Big Eight."

Megumin nodded. The Big Eight—megacorporations that controlled every aspect of life in Neo Tokyo. Once, she would have scoffed at the idea of pledging her life to such soulless entities. Now, she found herself considering the possibility with a pragmatism that surprised her.

"I'll give it serious thought, Sensei," she promised. "Thank you for your concern."

As she left the classroom, Megumin's steps felt heavier than usual.

She found Hana waiting for her outside, a worried frown creasing her friend's brow. "Everything okay?" Hana asked, falling into step beside Megumin.

Megumin managed a smile. "Just the usual future planning talk. Nothing to worry about."

Hana could see the change in her friend. Her once-colourful speech patterns, full of dramatic flair and grandiloquent declarations, had shown signs of fading. In her place stood a girl tempered by monotony, quieter perhaps, but no less determined.

They talked often, Megumin and Hana, in the spaces between classes and over lunches newly shared. They spoke of many things—of dreams and fears, of hopes and regrets. But never of Yggdrasil.

That chapter, it seemed, was closed.

Twice now, Megumin had experienced the loss of a world she'd held dear. And so she clung to Hana's friendship like a lifeline, a last connection to the person she had once been.

Only Hana seemed to understand, to see the struggle behind Megumin's newfound resolve. In the quiet moments between classes, she was there, a steady presence offering silent support and understanding.

More months ticked by, and Megumin's world narrowed to the confines of her school, her apartment, and the scant few places in between. The polluted air of Neo Tokyo, once so oppressive and alien, became a welcome reminder of her existence in the real world, the acrid tang of pollution a bitter comfort on her tongue.

It was a struggle, every step of the way. The coursework, so long neglected, seemed an insurmountable mountain, each new concept a treacherous cliff to be scaled. Megumin persevered, fueled by a grim determination to build something in this world that could not be taken away on a whim this time.

Hana helped in that regard.

They studied together, hunched over textbooks and tablets in Megumin's cramped apartment, the silence broken only by the occasional question or murmured encouragement.

On the rare occasions when they allowed themselves a break, they would venture out into the city, braving the soot-choked streets in search of small pockets of life amidst the urban decay. They'd linger in the few remaining green(ish) spaces, snatches of artificial parks and rooftop retreats where the air was just a little bit clearer, the world a little less grey.

It was during one of these outings, as they sat huddled on a bench beneath the wan light filtering through the dome of a neo-arcology's atrium, that Hana finally broached the subject they'd both been avoiding.

"Do you miss it?" she asked softly. "Yggdrasil, I mean. And before that, too. Since you never talked about it."

Megumin stiffened, her hands clenching in her lap. Had she revealed too much?

Of course, the panic lasted only for a second. She had to remind herself: Hana, like everyone else, simply thought her an eccentric transfer student from another arcology. She didn't know about Axel. She couldn't.

For a long moment, Megumin was silent, her gaze fixed on the lone sickly tree struggling to survive in the atrium's artificial environment.

"Every day," she admitted at last, the words feeling like shards of glass in her throat. "But I've come to learn that it's not mine to miss anymore. Those lives... they're gone. And chasing their ghosts will only drive me mad."

Hana nodded. "I can't pretend to know what it's like," she said, "I've lived in Neo Tokyo my entire life. But, I'm here, you know? Whatever you need, however I can help… I'm here."

Megumin felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of gratitude for the girl beside her. In a world of billions, in a city where every face was hidden behind a mask and every interaction tinged with suspicion, she could tell that Hana had genuine compassion.

"Why did you want to be friends with me? On the first day of school."

Hana turned her head away from Megumin, her hand rising instinctively to scratch at her chin. Her finger met the smooth surface of her gas mask instead, and she let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle at the gesture.

"I, well," Hana began, her voice muffled slightly by the mask. "Would you believe me if I saw a reflection of myself in you?"

Megumin cocked her head, curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell, O' Mistress of Mystery!"

"I went through a 'phase' too, you know? I was convinced I was the reincarnation of some ancient wind spirit, destined to cleanse the polluted skies of Neo Tokyo." She let out another chuckle, this one tinged with embarrassment. "I fashioned myself a ridiculous costume out of old filter fabrics and discarded tech. Drew manga and called myself 'Sakura no Fukushu: Vengeance of the Cherry Blossom!'"

Hana's shoulders sagged slightly as she continued, "I was… pretty insufferable, to be honest. But there was this senpai. She didn't laugh at me or try to force me to change. Instead, she listened—really listened—and helped me find my footing. She transferred out before I could properly thank her." Hana turned back to Megumin.

"So, when I saw you on that first day, full of declarations and striking those poses… well, I thought maybe this was my chance to pay it forward, you know?"

They lapsed into silence then, watching as the atrium's artificial sunlight cycled through its daily progression. But for that moment, in the company of the one person who seemed to truly see her, Megumin allowed herself to feel something dangerously close to hope.

Three months passed, and Megumin was caught in a strange dichotomy as the academic year wound to a close. On the one hand, her grades were improving, her teachers' once-constant disapproval giving way to a begrudging acknowledgment of her efforts. She was, by all outward measures, adapting to this world and finding her place in this strange society.

But in the quiet moments, in the stillness of her apartment when the day's tasks were done and the distractions fell away, the girl who had once burned with the passion of a thousand explosions, who had faced down demons and monsters with a laugh and a manic gleam in her eye… that girl felt further away with each passing day.

It was a gradual, creeping, insidious thing. Like a slow poison, it seeped into the vibrant colours of her past memories, muffling the once-clarion call of adventure.

Yet she clung to her memories like precious talismans, filling journals with increasingly desperate recollections of her time in Axel and Yggdrasil. She sketched her former comrades, trying to capture the likenesses of her treasured party members and family.

But the acts of remembrance began to feel hollow, and the tales felt stilted on the page.

As the days wore on, the spectre of Yggdrasil whispered at the edges of her consciousness, seductive and damning in equal measure. The promise of power, the freedom of a world where might and magic reigned supreme… It called to her, tempting her to lose herself one more in the virtual realm.

One night, as the neon-tinged darkness of the city pressed against her window, Megumin sat at her desk, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and half-finished assignments. Her eyes, bloodshot from hours of study, kept drifting to the corner where her VR headset lay, gathering dust beneath a discarded jacket.

"Just one peek," she muttered, her fingers twitching with the phantom sensation of casting spells. "To see how things have changed. That's all."

Megumin pushed back from her desk, the chair's legs screeching against the floor. She approached the headset as if it were a sleeping dragon, each step measured and hesitant. As her hand closed around the familiar contours of the device, a jolt of excitement coursed through her, so visceral it was almost painful.

With trembling fingers, she brushed away the dust and plugged in the headset. The startup sequence began, muscle memory guiding her through the motions. As the login screen flickered to life, Megumin's breath caught in her throat. The music, the vibrant colors of Yggdrasil's loading screen–it all hit her with the force of a battering ram, memories flooding back in a dizzying rush.

Her avatar selection screen appeared, the Crimson Demon she had poured countless hours into staring back at her. Megumin's breath caught in her throat as she met those familiar crimson eyes, once a source of pride, now alien and unsettling. Her finger hovered over the 'Login' button, trembling.

"I... I am..." Megumin began, her voice barely a whisper in the empty room. The declaration that had once come so easily now choked her.

Those eyes. Those burning, accusatory crimson eyes that she'd not seen for a year. They bore into her, seeming to demand an explanation for her betrayal, for abandoning the path of explosions. Megumin felt her chest tighten, her vision blurring as she stared into a face that was hers and yet not hers.

Megumin had brown eyes. When had that become normal? When had the sight of her true eyes, vibrant and full of magic, become something she couldn't bear?

"No," Megumin whispered, curling into herself. "No, no, no..."

Tears flowed freely now, hot and bitter. She wept for the girl she had been, for the worlds she had lost, who she was, and who she wanted to be. The sobs wracked her body, muffled against the threadbare carpet of her tiny apartment.

How long she lay there, Megumin couldn't say. But eventually, the storm of emotion passed, leaving her feeling hollow and wrung out. She pushed herself up, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs, and looked around her room with new eyes.

The scattered textbooks, the half-finished assignments, the meagre possessions she'd accumulated in this world—they seemed so small, so insignificant compared to the grand adventures she'd once lived. But they were real. She could feel their weight when she held them, their textures as she grasped them.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Megumin stood. She gently unplugged the VR headset and placed it in a box, along with the few mementos she'd made from her time in Yggdrasil. Her fingers lingered on a crudely drawn map of Muspellsheim, tracing the familiar contours of a world she'd once called home.

Megumin placed the box high on a shelf, out of easy reach. She turned back to her desk and picked up her pen.

After the incident, Megumin began setting small goals for herself, tiny victories to cling to when the siren call of her former lives ever grew too strong. Attending a class without daydreaming of explosions. Completing an assignment without once comparing it to a quest log. These were her new achievements.

With each passing day, Megumin found herself playing the role of a reluctant seamstress, carefully unpicking the threads of her past. The vibrant mosaics that were her life in Axel and Yggdrasil slowly unraveled beneath her fingers.

Thread by thread, she wove them into a new fabric—the dull, utilitarian canvas of Neo Tokyo. Gone were spell circles and the bold swirls of mana. In their place emerged stark lines and cold, corporate geometries.

Megumin found herself both the artist and the art. The girl who once painted the sky with explosions now crafted a life from the remnants of her dreams, each day an added thread to the fabric of her new existence.

Each small victory became another knot to which she could tie herself to this reality. The result was less a work of art and more a functional patchwork, devoid of the wild beauty of her former self but undeniably grounding.

She learned to speak the language of business, to craft resumes that highlighted her "adaptability" and "problem-solving skills" without mentioning her skill in magical combat. She practiced interview techniques in front of her mirror, rehearsing answers to questions about five-year plans and corporate synergies until they flowed as smooth and meaningless as the polluted rivers that wound through Neo Tokyo's underbelly.

As graduation crept ever closer, the pressure intensified. Classmates who had once ignored her now sought her out, desperate for study tips and interview strategies. Megumin found herself in the strange position of being looked up to, a departure from her days as the eccentric transfer student.

"Megumin-san," a timid voice called out to her one day after class. She turned to see a group of her classmates, their faces sparkling with desperate hope. "We were wondering if you could help us prepare for the NeoSoft interviews next week."

For a moment, Megumin felt a surge of her old pride. Here were people coming to her for guidance, acknowledging her superiority in a field of study. But the feeling was quickly tempered. They weren't seeking her out for guidance on magic or explosions. On level progression or her recommended job picks. They wanted her help in securing a place in the system she scorned.

"Of course," she heard herself say automatically. "Let's meet in the library after school tomorrow. We can go over some common interview questions and practice our responses."

As she watched her classmates' faces light up with relief, Megumin felt a twinge of something she couldn't quite name. Was it satisfaction at being able to help? Or a deep-seated unease at how easily she had slipped into this role?

That night, as she prepared materials for the study session, Megumin found herself staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror above her desk. The girl who looked back at her was a stranger—neat hair, pressed uniform, hazy brown eyes. Gone was the red mage with dreams of ultimate power. She was a model student, and the very image of corporate potential.

Graduation arrived quicker than expected, yet for Megumin, each day leading up to it felt like an eternity.

The ceremony was a subdued affair, held in the school's auditorium. Megumin sat among her classmates, her posture perfect, her expression a practised expression of calm anticipation.

As the principal droned on about the bright futures that awaited them, Megumin's fingers twitched, tracing invisible spell circles on her thigh. She bit the inside of her cheek, the sharp pain grounding her in reality. The taste of blood was almost welcome—a reminder that she was still here, still real.

When it came time to receive her diploma, Megumin rose on unsteady legs. The lack of sleep and overreliance on energy drinks made her head swim. For a moment, the principal's outstretched hand seemed to morph into the gnarled claw of a Yggdrasil boss. Megumin blinked hard, dispelling the illusion.

"Congratulations, Megumin-san," the principal said, his voice distant and muffled. "We expect great things from you."

Megumin nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As she turned to face the audience, diploma clutched to her chest, her gaze drifted upward. Past the shrouded sky visible through the auditorium's transpari-steel ceiling, past the towering monuments to greed that pierced the eternal haze…

…and for just a moment, she allowed herself to dream of crimson eyes and laughter, of magic and madness and a world alive with possibility.

The moment passed, and reality reasserted itself. But the dream remained, a secret ember nestled deep within her heart.

A promise, to herself and to all she had been, that though the road ahead was dark and full of terrors…

…she would walk it with eyes wide open, and with the memory of the explosion's song forever ringing in her ears.

Chapter Text

In the heart of Muspellsheim, an inferno raged unchecked. Rivers of lava carved molten scars across the blackened landscape, their fiery tongues lapping at the crumbling ruins of once-mighty fortresses. The air shimmered with heat, distorting the anguished cries of fallen warriors and the triumphant roars of their demonic foes.

And yet, amidst the chaos, an uneasy silence reigned. For Yggdrasil, the world tree of legend had lost its most vocal champion. The Crimson Demon, scourge of the virtual realm, had vanished without a trace.

At first, the news was met with doubt. Players scoured every corner of the nine realms, convinced it was merely another of the infamous mage's grand schemes.

Surely, they reasoned, this was but a prelude to an even mightier explosion, a climax that would shake the very foundations of Yggdrasil.

But as the weeks stretched into months, and the months into years, a grim realisation settled over the player base. The Crimson Demon was gone, and with her, the spark that had ignited countless adventures and fueled endless debates.

Then came the cracks in the façade, the first signs of a deeper rot that had taken hold in Yggdrasil's virtual soil.

Three years had passed since the Crimson Demon's disappearance, yet her shadow loomed large. In the frozen wastes of Niflheim, two armies clashed in the snow-covered courtyard of the Hrímthursar fortress, their banners snapping in the frigid wind.

From one side came a rallying cry: "If a punishment for a PK is a fine—!"

The opposing force answered with equal fervour: "—then it's a punishment meant only for the free-to-play!"

High above, in the fortress' tallest tower, Momonga stood watching, his skeletal form an imposing silhouette against the aurora-streaked sky. Red pinpricks of light flickered in his empty eye sockets as he surveyed the battlefield below, his bony fingers tightening on the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown.

"Quite the spectacle, wouldn't you agree?" Momonga turned to find Punitto Moe beside him, the strategist's overgrown form seeming to shrivel in this frozen realm.

"Indeed," Momonga replied. "Though I find myself longing for the days when such conflicts were simpler. PvP was just PvP, not... this."

The battle below was but a taste of a much larger schism that had formed—a theological war between two rival factions, each interpreting their in-game deity's final actions through the lens of their own fervent beliefs.

The Equalisers, free-to-play RP'ers in red, saw her bequest of high-level gear as a call to arms against pay-to-win mechanics, fighting for an even playing field. The Ascendants, clad in gold, believed that cash shop items were a measure of devotion. Both seized upon cryptic phrases left behind as holy writ, rallying cries in their bitter war of ideology.

It had begun with a broken economy, the delicate balance of supply and demand thrown into disarray by the sudden influx of resources the Crimson Demon had unleashed in her final act.

Prices fluctuated wildly, fortunes were made and lost overnight, and players who had once prided themselves on their hard-earned gear found themselves outpaced by lucky newcomers with fat virtual wallets.

Frustration spilled into forums and chat channels. Veterans decried the "dumbing down" of their beloved game, while newcomers revelled in their ill-gotten gear. Guilds fractured along ideological lines, their once-united fronts dissolving into infighting and recriminations.

The developers scrambled to keep pace, patching holes in a ship taking on water. They tweaked drop rates, adjusted skill trees, and introduced new mechanics at a breakneck pace, each change met with a fresh wave of outrage from a divided player base.

Many simply walked away, their love for Yggdrasil soured by the bitter taste of disappointment.

They logged out one final time, their avatars fading into the digital ether, never to return. The population dwindled, once-thriving player hubs haunted by the spectre of better days.

For those who remained, Yggdrasil withered. The once-vibrant nine realms now echoed with the hollow sounds of a game on life support, its dwindling population a shadow of its former glory.

But amidst the decay, a curious thing began to take root.

Whispers of the Crimson Demon's legacy, once dismissed as idle chatter, took on new meaning. Roleplayers and lore enthusiasts ran with it, arguing that the Crimson Demon's disappearance was a turning point in world tree's fate.

These dedicated storytellers wove narratives around the Crimson Demon's actions, casting her as a catalyst for change in a stagnant world. In their tales, the Crimson Demon became a martyr, a visionary who sacrificed her legend to ignite a revolution. Her disappearance marked a new era of collapse and decay.

As the narratives spread, they took on a life of their own. Players who had never roleplayed before found themselves drawn into the mythos, their own experiences in the fractured world of Yggdrasil suddenly imbued with new meaning.

They pointed to the withering cities, and the dwindling player base, as signs that Yggdrasil was on the brink of collapse—a fate that could only be avoided by the realisation of the game's true potential.

At first, the developers paid little heed to these whispers, dismissing them as just another symptom of a disgruntled player base. But as the murmurs grew to a choir, a glimmer of inspiration took hold in the minds of those who had been tasked with Yggdrasil's stewardship.

What if, they reasoned, the key to revitalising their dying world lay not in endless patches and balance tweaks, but in the mythology that had sprung up around their most notorious player?

And so, with a subtlety that belied their desperate straits, the developers wove the legend of the Crimson Demon into the lore of Yggdrasil. The red mage whose name heralded destruction.

Cryptic NPC dialogues hinted at unfulfilled prophecies. Forgotten tomes spoke of a crimson harbinger. Hidden shrines bearing a fiery eye sigil appeared in the most remote corners of the nine realms. Each breadcrumb was carefully placed, transforming a player's disappearance into the cornerstone of a new pantheon. The effect was electric—player engagement soared as theories ran wild, breathing new life into the withering world tree.

Long-dormant accounts flickered to life as veteran players, once jaded by the endless grind, found themselves inexorably drawn back. The whispers online of a greater mystery promised more than just loot, but purpose in a realm they'd thought exhausted of wonder.

As the whispers grew to a deafening roar, as the nine realms once again echoed with the clamour of battle and the thrill of discovery, a realisation dawned upon those who had once dismissed the Crimson Demon as little more than a madwoman with a penchant for destruction.

For the denizens of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, sweeping change presented both opportunity and peril.

"We can't ignore this any longer," Momonga said, his tone hardening with resolve. "Ainz Ooal Gown must take a stance. If we don't, we risk being swept aside by this tide of fanaticism."

Punitto Moe nodded. "I agree. But tread carefully, old friend. We've worked too hard to build our rather fearsome reputation. One wrong move in this powder keg of faith and politics could undo everything. You know how much everybody here likes roleplaying when they get into it."

Momonga straightened, the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown pulsated, reflecting his thoughts. "We shall tread carefully, but we shall tread nonetheless. Gather the guild. It's time we discussed our role in this new world order."

As Punitto Moe faded away to carry out his orders, Momonga cast one last look at the now-quiet battlefield. The players below were dispersing, some to lick their wounds, others to spread the word of what had transpired here.

"Wherever you are," Momonga spoke to the empty air, "I hope you appreciate the chaos you've left in your wake."

"[Greater Teleportation]!"

With that, he appeared within the Great Tomb of Nazarick. There was much to be done, and the game was changing rapidly. Ainz Ooal Gown would adapt, as they always had.

But as he walked the gilded halls, Momonga couldn't shake the feeling that they were all pieces in a game far grander than any of them realised.

Ripples of chaos, further fueled by the devs, reverberated through the world tree with no end in sight. Only one thing was certain—the name of Ainz Ooal Gown would echo through Yggdrasil just as the Crimson Demon did.

Momonga stood before the assembled members of the guild. The grand meeting hall of their recently acquired dungeon buzzed with tension and anticipation.

"My friends," Momonga began, his skeletal visage as impassive as ever, "the time has come for us to address this new phase that has gripped our world."

Murmurs rippled through the gathering. Peroroncino's avian form ruffled its feathers in agitation, while Bukubukuchagama's slime body quivered with what might have been excitement or concern.

"Oh man, oh man," Peroroncino chirped. "Are we finally getting some action around here?"

Bukubukuchagama's gelatinous form rippled with a sigh. "Brother, please. This is serious."

"Indeed it is," Touch Me's resonant voice cut through the chatter. "We must approach this with caution and honour."

"Honor, you suggest?" Ulbert scoffed, his demonic features twisting into a sneer. "Where's the fun in that? I say we show these 'faithful' the true meaning of this crimson chaos they so worship. At least their drops will be worth looting."

Momonga raised a bony hand for silence. "We are going to do what we've always done—adapt and thrive."

He summoned a holographic map of Yggdrasil with a gesture, glowing points marking recent religious activities. The Catacombs of the First Flame, a newly discovered dungeon in Muspellheim, pulsed in red—a nexus for the Crimson Faithful, Equalisers, and Ascendants alike.

"The latest updates have reshaped the meta," Momonga explained. "While players chase faith and rumour, opportunities arise for us. Territories left unguarded, resources uncontested. We will use this to our advantage."

"So what's our play?" Peroroncino asked. "Do we join the treasure hunt?"

"Yes and no. We will investigate these events with a purpose beyond mere curiosity. Some of us will investigate these mysteries, seeking knowledge to use to our advantage. Others will focus on strengthening our hold on farming territories."

Touch Me leaned forward, his armour gleaming. "So, we're to be scholars and conquerors both? Quite the balancing act you propose, Momonga-san."

"Precisely. And all the while, we watch and wait. The true significance of the developer's intentions may yet reveal itself. I would put my money on a new World Enemy, but we can never be sure. We must be ready to act when the moment comes."

With a newfound sense of purpose, the guild members agreed, determined to unravel the secrets convulsing Yggdrasil while still advancing their own interests. As the meeting adjourned, Momonga found himself alone with his thoughts, silently grappling with the philosophical quandaries raised by recent events.

His musings were interrupted by the gentle arrival of Yamaiko, her golden form somehow conveying a deep concern.

"There's more to this than meets the eye, isn't there?"

Momonga lowered his head. "I fear we are all pieces on a board whose true dimensions we cannot yet see. Each move we make, the Crimson Faithful make, even the developers themselves—the last thing we want is to be left behind."

A soft chime echoed through the hall: a message. Momonga opened the notification, his eyelights flickering as he read its contents.

"It seems," he said, a note of excitement creeping into his voice, "that our investigations have borne fruit. A new dungeon has been discovered in Niflheim, one that doesn't appear on any official maps."

Yamaiko leaned in, intrigued. "The developers' handiwork?"

"Most likely," Momonga mused. "Gather the others. We need to move quickly before word spreads to the Crimson Faithful."

As Yamaiko hurried off to alert their guildmates, Momonga felt a familiar thrill course through him. Yes, this was what he lived for—the thrill of discovery, adventuring with his closest friends, to push the boundaries of what was possible in this world they had come to call home.

With purpose, he strode towards the hall's exit, the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown thrumming in his grasp.

He teleported once more, revealing the harsh beauty of Niflheim's frozen wastes. Momonga paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the icy landscape. In the distance, the aurora borealis danced across the sky, a silent watcher of breathtaking artistry.

"Incredible."

Momonga allowed himself a moment to simply appreciate the view. "Even after all this time, this world never ceases to amaze me."

As his guildmates gathered around him, their excited chatter filling the air, Momonga felt a surge of affection for his companions.

"Ready for another adventure?" Touch Me asked, clapping Momonga on the shoulder.

Momonga nodded.

"This dungeon won't explore itself—shall we?"

Chapter Text

The soft hum of electronics filled Megumin's private office. She sat behind her imposing desk, fingers dancing across multiple holographic displays as she juggled reports, projections, and the occasional urgent message from higher-ups—the very model of corporate efficiency.

But there was a glint in her eye, a barely suppressed smile tugging at the corner of her mouth that hinted at something more. For in this moment, as she deftly manoeuvred through the labyrinth of data before her, Megumin felt the old thrill of battle.

"Hah! You thought you could hide from me, didn't you?" she muttered, zeroing in on a discrepancy in the quarterly projections. "But my all-seeing eye for detail is unparalleled! Tremble before my analytical prowess!"

She caught herself mid-dramatic gesture, hand raised as if to cast a spell that would never come. A quick glance confirmed no one had witnessed her momentary lapse. Megumin cleared her throat, straightening her crisp white shirt and adjusting her dark red tie. She was a professional now, after all. The youngest department head in company history and a rising star, to be precise.

A gentle chime from her neural interface interrupted her thoughts. The daily employee productivity report materialised before her eyes, a sea of green indicators with one glaring exception.

"Suzuki Satoru," Megumin murmured, frowning at the yellow warning beside his name. "Just what's going on with you?"

She pulled up his file, scanning the impeccable record of one of her most reliable team members, until recently. Suzuki had always been a model employee: diligent, efficient, and refreshingly drama-free. He arrived at the office on time, finished his work, and left—nothing more, nothing less.

Megumin's frown deepened as she reviewed the past week's data. His immediate supervisor noted a few missed deadlines, uncharacteristic errors in his reports, a general air of distraction.

While she wasn't exactly best buddies with every analyst that worked for her, she knew Suzuki well enough that his recent behaviour was unlike him.

For a moment, Megumin considered simply sending a stern message. That's what was expected of someone in her position, after all. But something held her back. A memory, perhaps, of a time when she had been lost and struggling when a single act had made all the difference.

Her eyes drifted to a small cactus, a gift from Hana, which sat proudly on the corner of her desk—a touch of life amidst the sea of monitors and datapads.

"Hana," Megumin muttered, a rueful smile on her face. "Still giving me trouble after all this time."

Decision made, Megumin opened a direct communication channel to Suzuki's workstation.

"Suzuki-san, please report to my office. We have matters to discuss."

As she waited for Suzuki's arrival, Megumin found herself fidgeting with nervous energy. It had been a while since she'd voluntarily called a one-on-one meeting like this. Most of her interactions these days were filtered through layers of management and conducted in the sterile environment of vidcons. It wouldn't have been surprising if the company could run itself completely without the need for human interaction.

"Get it together," she chided herself. "You've faced down demon kings and corporate boards. Surely you can handle one depressed salaryman."

A soft knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts.

"Enter," Megumin called out, schooling her features into what she hoped was an expression of calm authority.

Suzuki Satoru stepped into the office, his usual neat appearance slightly rumpled. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and there was a slump to his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

"You wanted to see me, Megumin-sama?" Suzuki asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Megumin nodded, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Indeed, Suzuki-san. There are matters we need to discuss."

As Suzuki settled into the chair across from her, Megumin found herself at a loss for words. How exactly did one broach the subject of personal problems in a professional setting? She briefly considered summoning an explosion for dramatic effect before discarding the idea. Old habits died hard, but they did eventually die.

"Is everything alright?" Suzuki ventured, breaking the awkward silence.

Megumin cleared her throat. "That's precisely what I wanted to ask you, Suzuki-san. Your performance lately has been concerning."

Suzuki's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of panic crossing his features. "I, I apologize if my work has been unsatisfactory. I'll redouble my efforts immediately."

"No, no, that's not what I—" Megumin cut herself off, taking a deep breath. This wasn't going at all how she'd planned. She needed to change tactics.

"Suzuki-san," she began again, her tone softer this time. "I'm not here to reprimand you. I'm simply concerned. You've always been one of our most reliable team members. But lately, it seems like something's been weighing on you. I wanted to check if everything was alright."

Suzuki blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. "I… appreciate your concern, Megumin-sama. But I assure you, everything is fine. Just a bit of trouble sleeping, that's all."

Megumin leaned forward, her gaze intense. "Suzuki-san, in my time as a seasoned advent—as a manager, I've learned to recognize when someone is carrying a burden. Whatever it is, I want you to know that you can speak freely here. This conversation will remain between us."

For a moment, something flickered in Suzuki's eyes—a deep sadness that resonated with Megumin more than she cared to admit. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a polite mask of professionalism.

"Thank you, Megumin-sama. But really, there's nothing to worry about. I've just been rather preoccupied with some personal matters. It won't affect my work going forward."

Megumin frowned. She didn't buy it for a second. Time for a more direct approach.

"Suzuki-san," she said, her voice taking on a commanding tone that would have made Darkness proud, "as your superior, I order you to tell me what's troubling you! Speak now, or face the wrath of HR!"

Suzuki's eyes widened in alarm. "Megumin-sama, I really don't think—"

"No excuses!" Megumin declared, rising to her feet in a gesture of dramatic emphasis. "I, Megumin, vanquisher of inefficiency, demand to know what foul demon plagues your productivity!"

A moment of silence followed. Suzuki blinked rapidly, as if trying to process what he'd just witnessed. Suzuki had heard rumors, but experiencing it firsthand was different.

Throughout the company, Megumin's eccentricity was a known quantity. Her dramatic outbursts and unconventional methods were tolerated—even grudgingly respected—because they somehow produced results. It was an open secret that this uniqueness had contributed to her rapid rise, though few understood exactly how or why.

He realised this was a boss battle he wouldn't win—her stubbornness to cut to the heart of a matter would win out eventually.

Suzuki cleared his throat, regaining his composure.

"I appreciate your concern, Megumin-sama. Truly. It's just, well, it's a bit embarrassing, to be honest."

Megumin leaned forward. "Do tell."

Suzuki hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "It's… it's about this game."

"A game?" Megumin echoed, her eyebrows rising. Her mind raced through possibilities. Some sort of elaborate team-building exercise gone wrong? Did he have a complaint that he needed to file?

"Yes," Suzuki continued. "I've been playing it for over a decade now, and well… they recently announced it's shutting down soon."

Megumin blinked, the gravity of the situation not quite registering. "Shutting down? You mean, like, an online game?"

Suzuki nodded, his expression pained. "Exactly. It's… it's been a big part of my life. I know it sounds silly, but—"

"Ah." Megumin interrupted, her corporate persona slipping for a moment. "Suzuki-san, you're telling me that your recent performance issues are due to a game shutting down?"

Suzuki flinched, realising how it sounded. "When you put it that way, it does seem rather unprofessional."

Megumin leaned back in her chair, fighting the urge to laugh or cry—she wasn't quite sure which. Here she was, worried about corporate team-building or personal tragedy, and it turned out to be about a game. A game that, unbeknownst to Suzuki, had once meant the world to her too.

"Suzuki-san," she said, her tone carefully neutral, "while I appreciate your honesty, I'm not sure how to respond to this."

"I understand," Suzuki said quickly. "I'll do better, I promise. It won't affect my work again."

Megumin held up a hand, stopping him. "No, no. That's not… Look, Suzuki-san, everyone has hobbies and things that matter to them outside of work. If this game is important to you, then," she weighed her words carefully. "Have you used your annual leave yet?"

Suzuki blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Uh, not yet. I haven't taken any time off this year."

"Right," Megumin nodded, coming to a decision. "Use it. Our one glorious day of annual leave bestowed upon us by the higher ups. Use it to say goodbye to your game. Do whatever you need to do to get this out of your system."

"Really?" Suzuki asked. "You're not upset?"

Megumin shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "As long as it doesn't affect your work going forward, I don't see the harm. Sometimes we all need a day to process things."

The relief on Suzuki's face was almost comical. "Thank you, Megumin-sama. I really appreciate your understanding."

As Suzuki turned to leave, Megumin felt a twinge of something—something she had to ask.

"What is the name of this game?" Megumin asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

Suzuki hesitated, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. "Ah, it's quite old at this point. It's called—"

Just then, a loud chime from Megumin's neural interface interrupted them. An urgent message from the CEO flashed across her vision, demanding immediate attention.

"I'm sorry, Suzuki-san," Megumin said, genuinely annoyed at the interruption. "It seems I have an urgent matter to attend to. We'll have to continue this another time."

Suzuki nodded, looking almost relieved. "Of course, Megumin-sama. Thank you again for your understanding. I'll see you tomorrow."

As the door closed behind him, Megumin let out a frustrated groan. She quickly dealt with the CEO's message, a minor issue that hardly qualified as 'urgent', and found herself staring at the closed door, lost in thought.

Megumin slumped in her chair, letting out a long sigh. "A game," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "Maybe I would've turned out like that if you never saved me."

She turned back to her work, trying to focus on the presentation before her. But her mind kept drifting, wondering what game could have possibly captured Suzuki's heart so thoroughly. It couldn't be… No, that would be too much of a coincidence.

Wouldn't it?

A notification from her neural interface interrupted her reverie. Megumin opened it absently, expecting another corporate memo or meeting request.

What she saw instead caused her to freeze.

[From: Yggdrasil Development Team]

[Subject: A Special Invitation]

[Greetings, Crimson Demon!

We hope this message finds you well. As one of our most valued players, we would like to extend a personal invitation to visit our development headquarters for a very special surprise. Your contributions to Yggdrasil have not been forgotten, and we believe you'll find what we have to show you most intriguing.

Please respond to confirm your attendance. We eagerly await your reply.

May your explosions be ever glorious,

The Yggdrasil Team]

Megumin stared at the message, as her mind reeled. How had they found her? She'd severed all ties with that world. And yet…

Her finger hovered over the delete button. It would be so easy to erase this reminder of her past, to continue down the path she'd chosen. There was no time for games or any place for fantasy in the life she'd built.

But then the image of Suzuki came to mind. Here was a man slightly older than her, with responsibilities and a career, who still found joy in his game.

A wry smile tugged at her lips. "If one of my underlings still spends their time slacking off and enjoying games," she mused, "surely the great Megumin-sama could manage it too."

Hopefully, the trip wouldn't cost her that one precious day of annual leave she'd always saved for the company's yearly 'Synergy and Wellness Day.'

Megumin quickly typed out a response.

[The Crimson Demon shall return!]

Chapter Text

The stench of singed hair and monster viscera hung in the air.

Megumin sat perched atop a moss-covered log, her crimson eyes darting between her companions as they squabbled. Behind them, the dungeon's entrance yawned, tendrils of mist curling out like grasping fingers.

"I said no, and I mean no!" Kazuma's voice cracked, his usually ruffled hair now a bird's nest of twigs and unspeakable goop. "We barely escaped with our lives, and you want to go right back in? Are you insane?!"

He paced back and forth, gesticulating wildly with hands still coated in a suspicious blue slime. Every few steps, he'd pause to pluck another piece of debris from his hair, flicking it to the ground with disgust.

"But Kazumaaa~!" Aqua whined, hugging an empty bottle and rocking back and forth. "If we don't finish the quest, how will I buy more tasty wine? Do you want me to suffer?" Her bottom lip quivered dramatically, tears welling up in her eyes.

The self-proclaimed goddess writhed on the ground, her once-pristine robes now slathered in dungeon filth. She sniffled loudly, blowing her nose on a relatively clean patch of sleeve.

"You? Suffering?" Kazuma scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What about me?! I'm the one suffering here, stuck with a party of useless lunatics who seem hellbent on getting us all killed and bankrupt!"

Darkness shifted in her dented armour, the metal creaking ominously. A flush crept up her neck as she cleared her throat. "I… I think we should reconsider. Although those monsters were quite the formidable opponents, surely a second attempt would—"

"Don't even start with the depravity again!" Kazuma jabbed a finger at her, his eye twitching. "I saw that freaky look you had when that slime grabbed you by the chest. You tooootally enjoyed it, didn't you, you shameless masochist?!"

The crusader's blush deepened, spreading across her cheeks like wildfire. "I-I did no such thing!" she protested, her voice rising an octave. "I merely appreciated the, um, tactical advantages of close-quarters combat."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" Kazuma's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Because from where I was standing, it looked an awful lot like you were trying to show off to that slime!"

Darkness squirmed, her armour clanking. "W-well, I, that is to say, a crusader’s job is to face every hardship head on."

Megumin snorted, unable to contain her amusement. She opened her mouth to interject, but Aqua beat her to it.

"Waaah! Kazuma's being mean again!" The blue-haired goddess wailed, tears now streaming down her cheeks in earnest. "Megumin, make him stop! Tell him we need to go baaack!"

All eyes turned to the Crimson Demon, who blinked in surprise. She twirled her staff, the familiar weight of it in her hands was comforting as always.

"Well, as the mightiest mage in all the land," Megumin began, puffing out her chest, "I, Megumin, declare that we should—"

"—Absolutely not. We’re not doing that," Kazuma cut her off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Your 'solution' to everything is to blow it up. We need the dungeon intact to complete the quest, remember?"

Megumin puffed out her cheeks indignantly. "Explosion magic is the answer to all of life's problems! You just lack vision, Kazuma."

"Vision? I'd like to keep mine, thank you very much. Along with all my other body parts."

As her friends continued to bicker, Megumin found herself oddly content. The familiar rhythm of their arguments washed over her. She watched as Aqua attempted to sneak back towards the dungeon, slowly creeping away step by step, only to be yanked back by Kazuma.

"Oh no, you don't!" he growled, grabbing the collar of Aqua's robe. "I'm not letting you drag us back into that deathtrap!"

Aqua wriggled in his grasp, her arms outstretched towards the dungeon entrance. "But the quest reward, Kazuma-saaaan! Think of all the high-quality booze we could buy! It’d be enough to last me one—no, two weeks minimum!"

"Is that really all you ever think about?" Kazuma grumbled, maintaining his hold on the squirming goddess.

"Of course not!" Aqua protested, finally wriggling free from his grip. "I also think about… purification! And exorcising evil undead! And also lots of other super important Goddess stuff!"

Kazuma let out a long-suffering sigh. "Fantastic. Truly, we are blessed to have such a well-rounded priest in our party." All signs of life had vanished from his eyes.

Meanwhile, Darkness had begun to polish her sword, her movements slow and deliberate. "You know," she mused, her voice taking on a dreamy quality, "those monsters did seem more vigorous than usual. Perhaps another encounter would allow us to truly test the limits of our bodies, heart and soul."

Kazuma's eye twitched again. "Well, guess what? I already found my limit. It was back there, right around the time that giant slime almost digested me!"

"Oh, come now," Darkness chided, a hint of excitement creeping into her tone. "Surely seasoned adventurers such as ourselves aren't afraid of a little slime?"

Kazuma sputtered, gesturing to his goop-covered clothes. "Does this look like a little slime to you? I'm going to be washing this stuff out of unspeakable places for weeks!"

Megumin couldn't help but laugh at Kazuma's distress. "The world may be cruel from time to time, but you must look on the bright side," she offered, grinning mischievously. 

"You’re right." Suddenly as if a revelation hit him, Kazuma relaxed, closing his eyes. Then when he opened them to the sight before him he gazed warmly at his companions. His friends. "The bright side is that we all made it back safely, together."

"Ew, no! It’s that at least you’re smelling better than usual with all that slime!"

"Oh, ha ha," Kazuma grumbled, shooting her a withering glare. "I'm so glad my suffering amuses you."

A warm breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of adventure and possibility. Megumin closed her eyes, savouring the moment. The weight of her hat, the smooth grain of her staff, the exasperated sighs of Kazuma—it all felt so perfectly, wonderfully normal.

"Fine!" Kazuma threw his hands up in defeat, inadvertently flinging globs of slime in all directions. "We'll take a vote. All in favour of immediately returning to the death trap we just narrowly escaped from, raise your hand."

Three hands shot up in an instant. Kazuma's jaw clenched as he stared at Megumin. "No, you don't get a vote! You didn't do anything while we were in there fighting for our lives!"

Megumin grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What can I say? I was merely waiting for the perfect moment to unleash my ultimate power! If only we had stayed in there a liiiittle longer and maybe I would have been forced to use my trump card."

"That's not—you can't—argh!" Kazuma buried his face in his hands, then immediately regretted it as he smeared more slime across his features. "Why am I stuck with you lunatics?"

"Because you love us deearly~" Aqua chirped, batting her eyelashes innocently.

"I'm being punished for something, there’s no way fate could do me this dirty by chance," Kazuma muttered, wiping his face on his sleeve. "If we're really doing this, we need a proper plan. And no, Megumin, 'explosion' is not a plan."

Megumin pouted, lowering her staff. "You never let me have any fun."

Kazuma shook his head. "Okay, listen up. If we're going back in there, we do it smart, and we do it right. Aqua, you focus on healing and support. No trying to purify every single skull we pass on the way, ya got it? We’re going to be needing prayers more than them."

Aqua nodded solemnly, then immediately ruined the effect by hiccupping.

"Darkness, you're our shield. Try to actually block the attacks instead of... whatever it is you were getting off to last time."

The crusader's cheeks flushed. "I-I always give my all in battle! It's not my fault if the monsters' attacks are so powerful that they overwhelm my defenses and—"

"Yeah, yeah, save it for your diary," Kazuma cut her off, rolling his eyes. "Megumin, stay back, conserve your mana, and please don't blow us all up in the dungeon unless I explicitly tell you to."

Megumin's eyes gleamed. "So you're saying there's a chance I get to use my explosion magic?"

"That's not—" Kazuma started, then sighed. "You know what? Sure. If things go completely sideways and we're all about to die anyway, you have my permission to bring the whole place down on top of our heads."

Megumin decided to ignore the sarcasm.

"Yes!" Megumin pumped her fist in victory. "You won't regret this, Kazuma! The announcement of our party's glorious demise shall be visible from every corner of the continent!"

"I already regret it," Kazuma grumbled. He turned to address the group. "Alright, let's do one last equipment check. Food, weapons, armour—make sure everything's in order."

As they began their preparations, the bickering continued unabated.

"Aqua, stop trying to sneak wine bottles into your pack!" Kazuma snapped.

"But what if we get trapped in the dungeon?" Aqua whined. "We'll need provisions!"

"Provisions, not poison!" Kazuma snatched the bottles away. "And you, Darkness, why are you loosening your armour straps?"

Darkness jumped, startled. "I-I was just adjusting them for comfort!"

Megumin couldn't help but giggle at the chaos unfolding around her. She twirled her staff, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Hey, Kazuma," she poked him.

"Hai, Kazuma-desu."

"…wanna bet on how long it takes before Aqua starts crying?"

"Megumin!" Aqua wailed. "You're so meeeeean!"

"Oh come on, we haven't even entered the dungeon yet, wait until we make our bets!" Megumin complained.

Kazuma pinched the bridge of his nose again, a headache already forming. "Why did I agree to this quest? We're going to die in there, and it's going to be all your faults."

As the party once again found themselves at the entrance of the dungeon, Kazuma's mood turned uncharacteristically somber. He paused, his eyes fixed on the looming darkness ahead, filled with the sounds of squelching slimes, before addressing the resident archmage.

"I can understand why the other two want to go back," he said. "Darkness is a massive pervert and Aqua blew though her entire budget." He turned to face her. "But why do you want to return? Is it really just for the thrill?"

"…"

Megumin opened her mouth to respond, but the words never came. How could she ever explain it to him properly?

Kazuma sighed. "Argh, forget it. I know the reason. It's always explosions with you, isn't it?"

But he was wrong. So terribly, beautifully wrong.

It was never about the thrill or the explosions. The only reason she had raised her hand, the only reason she ever wanted to dive headfirst into danger, was to spend more time with them.

With him.

Megumin's cheeks were wet with tears she didn't remember shedding. The laughter and bickering that had filled her dreams moments ago left behind an ache so profound it stole her breath.

She couldn't recall the specifics, but the emotions lingered—a bittersweet cocktail of joy, frustration, and belonging that left her feeling adrift in its wake.

She lay still, staring at the pristine white ceiling of her bedroom. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the room in a warm glow. Gone were the cramped, dingy quarters of her early days in Neo Tokyo. This apartment was spacious, meticulously clean, and utterly devoid of the chaotic attitude that had once defined her life.

Her gaze fell on her tablet set on her nightstand, its sleek surface reflecting the morning light. The Yggdrasil developers' email had been the last thing on her mind before she'd fallen into a fitful sleep. The email was still there on the screen, threatening to upend the careful balance of her life.

Megumin padded across the polished hardwood floors and stared at her reflection on the kitchen countertop. She had worked hard for this life—a prestigious job, a luxurious apartment, and the respect of her peers. She was successful by all conventional measures.

It was everything she'd told herself she wanted from this world.

The coffee maker hummed to life at her approach, a modern convenience that still felt alien after all these years. As the rich aroma filled the air, Megumin soon longed for the scent of monster slime, the earthiness of dungeon stones.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the nostalgia. "Get it together," she muttered to herself.

But even as she tried to focus on the day ahead—meetings, reports, Yggdrasil… Her thoughts kept circling back to that email. She had replied too quickly. It was unlike her.

The rational part of her mind screamed caution. She had built something real here, something stable. To risk it all for a game, for memories of a world that no longer existed.

Megumin clutched her coffee mug, its warmth a poor substitute for the comforting heat of a magic staff.

"…Why do I want to return…?"

The Crimson Demon yearned for chaos. The corporate climber counselled caution, practicality.

And there, in the chasm between these warring aspects, Megumin stood frozen. She was no longer the reckless young mage who could solve any problem with a well-timed explosion, nor was she fully the polished executive who navigated boardrooms with ease. She was both, and neither. 

"If only," her voice was caught on a memory she couldn't quite grasp, "we could put it to a vote one more time…"

Tanaka's fingers danced across the holographic keyboard, lines of code streaming by in a blur of neon blue. The office hummed with an energy he hadn't felt in years, not since the early days of Yggdrasil's development. But today was different. Today, she was coming.

He glanced at the clock hovering in the corner of his vision: 13:47. Just over two hours until the Crimson Demon arrived.

"Hey, Tanaka!" A voice called from across the room, breaking his concentration. "Did you finish coding the custom skills for the Crimson Demon?"

"Just wrapped it up," Tanaka replied, a grin spreading across his face. He gestured to his screen, inviting Yuki over. "Wait till you see her new passive defence-shred stats. It's going to be epic."

She leaned in, eyes widening as she scanned the code. "Holy crap, Tanaka. You've basically made her a god. This is a universal debuff?"

Tanaka chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Well, she's supposed to be a World Enemy. Might as well go all out, right?"

"Yeah, but still…" Yuki muttered, scrolling through the ability list. "This goes way beyond what players are usually supposed to have."

"That's kind of the point," Tanaka said, pulling up another window. "Check this out. Remember the World Item she used before she left?"

Yuki nodded.

"Well, the design team took that concept and cranked it up to eleven," Tanaka explained, his voice brimming with excitement. "Since we didn't know what avatar she'd like to use for the event, she has a passive race change option built-in."

"What? With no restrictions? But that's… that's not possible in Yggdrasil. The race system is hardcoded into the game's core mechanics!"

Tanaka's grin widened. "And I know what you're thinking. It's not just lazy class extension of the doppelganger logic—she can transform into any race at will and customise its appearance. Sliders that aren't even exposed to players during character customisation will be free to modify. Dragon, eldritch abomination, angel, demon, you name it. It all works in real-time."

Yuki whistled, impressed. "So if she wants to destroy the world as a cosmic horror straight out of someone's nightmare..."

"She can do it," Tanaka finished. "She could rain destruction down as a majestic dragon. Or smite the world tree as an avenging angel. The senior devs wanted her to accept the job no matter what. This will give her one less excuse."

"That's incredible," Yuki mused, her initial awe giving way to curiosity. "But Tanaka… Why putting so much effort into this if the servers are just being shut down? Didn't you spend a week on just this function alone?"

Tanaka's expression turned thoughtful. He glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot, then leaned in close. "Okay, this is just speculation, but, I think all these features are going to be reused in the future."

Yuki's eyes widened. "But that's just a rumor, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Tanaka raised an eyebrow.

Yuki nodded slowly, realisation dawning on her face. "They're planning to migrate these mechanics to the new game."

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" Tanaka said, warming to his theory. "Yggdrasil was revolutionary when it launched, but the market's evolved. Players want more customisation, more power fantasy. What better way to test these new systems than in a controlled environment with a legendary player?"

"But why all the secrecy?" Yuki asked. "Why not just announce Yggdrasil II and run an open beta with the Crimson Demon as the boss?"

Tanaka shrugged. "Narrative, probably. Imagine the buzz when players witness the Crimson Demon destroying the World Tree, only to have it spark the birth of a new world. It's the perfect segue into a sequel announcement."

Yuki opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by a chime from their neural interfaces. "All staff report to the main atrium," came the boss's voice. "Our guest will be arriving shortly."

Tanaka and Yuki exchanged excited glances. "This is it," Tanaka said, standing up and straightening his lab coat. "Ready to meet the legend herself?"

As they made their way to the atrium, Tanaka couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. He'd spent months working on this project, pouring his heart and soul into creating the ultimate character for the Crimson Demon. But would she appreciate it? Would she even agree to participate?

The atrium was already filling up with other developers when they arrived. Tanaka recognized faces from every department—QA testers, narrative designers, network engineers, and fellow developers. All of them wore the same expression of barely contained excitement.

"Can you believe it?" A voice piped up from nearby. Tanaka turned to see Hiroshi, one of the junior developers, practically vibrating with energy. "The Crimson Demon, here, in our office! She was the one who inspired me to join the dev team years ago!"

"I know," Yuki replied, grinning. "I've been reviewing her old gameplay footage. The things she pulled off… to think they were possible within the constraints of our engine. If one thing's for sure, she's a creative genius."

"Remember when she finally unlocked metamagic?" Another developer chimed in. "I was on call that day. Thought for sure we were being hacked with all those memory leaks happening at once. Had to rewrite the codebase for Triplet and Twin Magic."

A ripple of laughter went through the group. It had become something of an inside joke among the dev team—the day the Crimson Demon had somehow chained together so many explosion spells at once that she almost crashed an entire server.

"And now we're giving her even more power," Yuki mused, a hint of worry creeping into her voice. "Are we sure our infrastructure can handle it?"

Before Tanaka could respond, a hush fell over the atrium. Their boss, Nakamura-san, had arrived.

Nakamura-san was a imposing figure. He strode to the front of the room, his eyes scanning the assembled developers.

"Today is a momentous day," he began, his voice carrying easily through the atrium. "Not just for us, but for the future of Yggdrasil."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd.

"As you all know, we have invited a very special guest—the player known as the Crimson Demon. Her contribution to Yggdrasil is unprecedented, we've had some of our best quarterly reports thanks to her endeavours."

Nakamura-san's gaze swept across the room, making eye contact with each developer. "What you may not know is the true purpose of her visit. Today, we offer the Crimson Demon a chance to shape the end of our beloved Yggdrasil."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "The server shutdown event we have prepared is a bridge to the future—a future some of you may have already guessed at."

Tanaka felt Yuki nudge him, a silent 'I told you so.'

"If the Crimson Demon accepts our proposal, her actions will serve as the catalyst for Yggdrasil II," Nakamura-san continued, his voice filled with unwavering certainty. "The destruction of the World Tree will be a rebirth of our world, witnessed by every player, with the Crimson Demon at its center."

The atrium erupted into excited whispers. Tanaka was satisfied—his work, his code, would be at the heart of this transformation.

"Now," Nakamura-san said, raising a hand for silence, "I know many of you have questions. All will be revealed in due time. For now, I need each and every one of you to be at your best. The Crimson Demon's experience here must be flawless."

As if on cue, a chime sounded throughout the atrium. Nakamura-san's eyes widened slightly—the only sign of surprise he allowed himself to show.

"She's early," he muttered, before raising his voice.

"Places, everyone! Remember, utmost respect."

The developers scrambled to form a neat line, an air of anticipation settling over the room. Tanaka found himself standing between Yuki and Hiroshi, all three of them barely able to contain their excitement.

The main doors slid open with a soft hiss.

And there she was.

Megumin stepped into the atrium, her gaze sweeping across the assembled developers. She looked nothing like the red-robed mage that had terrorised Yggdrasil's dungeons. Dressed in a crisp business suit, her hair neatly styled, she could have passed for any corporate executive. 

As one, the entire development team bowed deeply.

"Welcome," Nakamura-san intoned, stepping forward, "to Yggdrasil's heart, Crimson Demon. We have a proposition that only you can fulfil."

Megumin's eyebrow arched slightly, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. Her eyes, however, betrayed her wonder as they swept across the atrium. The space was a breathtaking homage to Yggdrasil itself.

Towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes that seemed to glow with an inner light – recreations of the game's countless spell books and lore volumes. Pedestals dotted the room, each bearing perfect 3D-printed replicas of World Items. Megumin's gaze lingered on a familiar crystal, pulsing with obsidian black—the World-Class Item she had once used.

Intricate dioramas depicted famous battles and legendary quests, while sprawling murals brought Yggdrasil's nine realms to life in vivid detail. The ceiling above was a digital canvas, currently showcasing the shimmering branches of the World Tree itself, its leaves rustling in a nonexistent breeze.

Even the developers themselves seemed part of the decor, their lab coats emblazoned with sigils and runes from the game. It was as if she had stepped not into an office, but into Yggdrasil made manifest.

Tanaka, watching Megumin's reaction, felt a surge of pride. He had been part of the team that designed this space, insisting on every detail that now drew the Crimson Demon's awe. It was gratifying to see their hard work appreciated by the very player who had inspired so much of it.

"It'd be my pleasure," Megumin finally managed, her voice betraying a hint of the excitement she was clearly trying to contain.

Nakamura-san gestured towards a set of doors at the far end of the atrium. "If you'll follow me, we have much to discuss. The fate of worlds hangs in the balance!"

As Megumin followed Nakamura-san out of the atrium, Tanaka couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. This was the player who had pushed Yggdrasil to its limits, who had inspired countless others with her audacious playstyle. And now, unknowingly, she held the key to Yggdrasil's rebirth.

The moment the doors closed behind them, the atrium erupted into excited chatter.

"Did you see her?" Hiroshi exclaimed, his eyes wide. "She looks so… normal!"

Yuki chuckled. "What were you expecting? Crimson robes and a floating staff?"

"Kind of, yeah," Hiroshi admitted sheepishly.

Tanaka shook his head, amused. "Appearances can be deceiving. Remember, this is the player who once took down a guild of PKers by convincing them she was a newbie, only to lure them into the biggest explosion trap Yggdrasil has ever seen."

"I wonder if she'll agree to it," Yuki mused. "Being a World Enemy, destroying the World Tree, it's a lot to ask."

"Are you kidding?" Hiroshi grinned. "It's the Crimson Demon! Causing massive explosions is like, her whole thing!"

As the developers continued to speculate, Tanaka found his mind wandering to the character he had helped create. The World Enemy version of the Crimson Demon was a masterpiece of game design, pushing the very limits of what was possible in their now decades-old game engine. But would it be enough to entice a player who had walked away from the game years ago?

"Hey, Tanaka," Yuki's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Want to go over the character specs one more time? Just in case Nakamura-san needs any last-minute tweaks?"

Tanaka nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Good idea. Let's head back to my station."

As they made their way through the office, Tanaka couldn't help but notice the buzz of excitement that filled the air. Developers huddled in small groups, whispering excitedly about Yggdrasil II and the possibilities it might bring. QA testers ran last-minute checks on the World Tree destruction event, ensuring every explosive detail was perfect. Even the usually stoic network engineers seemed energized, triple-checking the servers to make sure they could handle the strain of what was to come.

Back at his workstation, Tanaka pulled up the Crimson Demon's character data. The avatar that greeted him was a far cry from the mage that had once roamed Yggdrasil. This version of the Crimson Demon was a being of pure chaos, her form shifting and swirling with barely contained power.

"It's really something, isn't it?" Yuki breathed, leaning in for a closer look. "Wait. Am I reading that right?"

Tanaka nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "You are."

"But the executives…"

"The executives asked for it, actually."

Yuki shook her head. "A 100% discount on all cash shop items? Even our employee accounts only get a 10% discount!"

Tanaka was clearly pleased with the reaction. "Exactly. They want her to have every tool at her disposal. Whatever she thinks is necessary to carry out the plan, it's hers for the taking. No limits."

"But won't this completely upset the game's economy? Remember how mad the player base got when we shuffled those loot tables around?" Yuki asked, still struggling to wrap her head around the concept.

Tanaka shrugged. "At this point, balance isn't the priority. The servers are shutting down, remember? The marketing department wants spectacle, they want chaos. And who better to deliver that than the Crimson Demon with unlimited resources? Let's just call it paying back her gift, with interest."

Yuki's brow furrowed slightly. "But won't this be, I don't know, overwhelming for her? It's been years since she played. To suddenly have all this power dumped on her…"

Tanaka shook his head, a knowing smile on his face. "That's the beauty of it. We've designed the system to scale with her. Her powers will grow in tandem with how much she uses an ability. By the time the main event happens, she'll be ready."

"Clever," Yuki nodded approvingly. "And what about the other players? Won't they feel cheated if this one player suddenly has god-like powers?"

"Remember," Tanaka said, pulling up another window. "She's a World Enemy, not a player. We've prepared a special event quest. As the Crimson Demon grows in power, they'll be racing to stop her. The more they accomplish, the more tools they'll have to thwart the World Tree's destruction."

"So it's not a foregone conclusion? The players could actually stop her?"

"Theoretically, yes. But between you and me, we've stacked the odds heavily in the Crimson Demon's favour. But the possibility is there. It'll make for one hell of a finale, either way."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The foundations of Nazarick trembled as Momonga felt the shockwave of the Crimson Demon's first explosion ripple through the game. Even in the deepest sanctum of the Great Tomb, eldritch energy crackled in the air. Dust rained from the vaulted ceiling, the once-impenetrable barriers of his guild base straining against incomprehensible forces.

The Mirror of Remote Viewing hung suspended before him, its surface rippling with scenes of devastation. Through its enchanted surface, Momonga watched the Crimson Demon's test shot carve a perfect sphere of nothingness into the heart of Muspelheim. The void hung there, edges crackling with residual energy as the game's terrain unraveled, lines of code peeling away like strips of burning paper.

He pulled up his status window and grimaced at the sight of a newly applied debuff:

[Crimson Rot: Unremovable]

[Reduces player's resistance to fire-type attribute magic by 5%.]

The debuff itself wasn't devastating, but its existence grated on his nerves. A faint red haze clung to his skeletal form, giving his regal figure an almost sickly cast. Years spent meticulously crafting every detail of his avatar's appearance, only to be tarnished by a tiny debuff with an unwanted cosmetic effect.

The Mirror of Remote Viewing reflected a world unmaking itself. Asgard's celestial spires tumbled into molten rivers, their divine gold bleeding like lifeblood through the cracks. Midgard shattered like fragile glass, entire cities collapsing into the void, their years of careful craftsmanship erased in seconds. Even Jotunheim's eternal glaciers were no match—centuries of frost melted into cataclysmic floods that swallowed the remnants of frost giant strongholds. The World Tree's branches, once a highway of realms, now twisted into impossible shapes, dissolving into cascading waterfalls of binary code.

"Magnificent," Momonga whispered, unable to contain a spark of professional admiration. The serpentine heads of the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown writhed as their jeweled eyes pulsed in time with the magic hammering against Nazarick's defenses.

Through it all strode the Crimson Demon, untouchable and terrible in her power. The Mirror tracked her relentless advance, each step leaving burning footprints in her wake. Where her staff pointed, existence simply gave up, too exhausted to maintain coherent form.

The Mirror's view shifted again, showing clusters of Crimson Cultists gathered in Asgard's ruined plaza. They scattered about like frantic ants, their robes swirling in disarray as they argued. Even now, as their world crumbled, they clung to their petty ideological squabbles—pathetic yet strangely admirable in its persistence.

Amongst them were those who embraced the chaos. A group of six high-level players charged headlong toward the approaching wall of hellfire. Striking as one, they unleashing their most powerful abilities in perfect synchronisation. Divine weapons flashed, sacred magics thundered and lit up the dying sky.

They lasted all of thirty seconds before being reduced to ash, their death cries cut short by the game's profanity filters. The Crimson Demon didn't even turn to face them. A casual wave of her staff, and the six vanished mid-attack. No death animations, no dropping of items. They simply ceased to be.

"Idiots," Momonga muttered, though he couldn't keep the grudging respect from his voice. At least they had gone down fighting.

Another tremor shook the throne room, more violent than the last, strong enough to rattle the golden banners hanging from the ceiling. The proud symbols of the Forty-One swayed with each shockwave. Through the Mirror, Momonga watched the Crimson Demon raise her staff high, eldritch energy gathering at its tip.

"Behold!" her voice carried across every realm through the world broadcast. "This is the power you feared, the strength you sought to contain!"

A lesser guild might have panicked. But Momonga had an image to uphold. He was an undead of culture and dignity. He straightened his back, spreading his arms in a grand gesture toward the assembled NPCs.

"Faithful servants of Nazarick! Your master speaks!" His voice echoed through the vast chamber. Sebas and the Pleiades remained perfectly still, their pre-programmed stances unchanged. Momonga continued anyway, because that's what a proper Overlord would do.

"Behold through this mirror the chaos that approaches! The Crimson Demon herself returns to unmake all of creation!" He paused for dramatic effect. "Truly, a worthy final boss for this world's closing chapter!"

He quickly tapped through a series of menu commands:

[Pop Spawns: Activated]

[Defensive Formations: Maximum Alert]

[Auto-Engage Protocols: Enabled]

The NPCs shifted into combat stances with mechanical precision. Momonga nodded approvingly—the animations were still smooth after all these years. He'd have to compliment the character designers, if he ever saw them again.

Another explosion rocked the virtual world. Through the mirror, Momonga watched a familiar guild base crumble—the Lunarian Palace, pride of the Eclipse Dynasty Guild. How many raids had they launched against Nazarick from those silver spires? Now their fortress dissolved and its treasures scattered, leaving nothing behind.

Something tightened in Momonga's chest. Yes, it was a game, but they were also memories. Every castle, every dungeon, every constructed town held stories of adventures shared with friends long gone.

His finger hesitated over the global chat interface. He could see the messages piling up:

"Need backup in Asgard!"

"Anyone have World-class items?"

"Protect the World Tree!"

But what was the point? This wasn't some raid boss they could overcome with careful planning and coordination. This was the end itself, wrapped in crimson robes and cackling with glee.

Momonga's shoulders slumped slightly. Then he caught himself—an Overlord must maintain perfect posture! He straightened again, grip tightening on the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown.

"To think," he mused aloud, his voice carrying the proper gravity an ancient undead should possess, "that our final battle would come not from some mighty raid party, but from the shitty developers themselves! How devious! How appropriate!"

He rose from the throne, robes swishing dramatically.

"Sebas!" The butler's immaculate form shifted slightly, acknowledging the command prompt. "Gather the Floor Guardians! Their master requires their presence for one final glorious stand!"

A simple checkbox confirmation appeared: [Execute Area Defense Protocol Y/N?]

Momonga selected 'Yes' without hesitation, watching as Sebas bowed perfectly before marching away, his movements as precise as the day he was programmed. The Pleiades remained in their ready stances, awaiting further orders.

Alone with his thoughts—well, as alone as one could be with six combat maids standing perfectly still—Momonga turned back to the mirror. The Crimson Demon's latest explosion had transformed an entire mountain range into what looked like modern art, a jagged expanse of crystalline wreckage, glimmering with refracted light and flickering system errors.

"She's really going all out," he muttered, momentarily breaking character. "Those particle effects must be murder on the servers."

His eyes drifted to the guild weapon in his hands, then to the flags hanging overhead. Each one represented a friend, a comrade, a piece of what had made this place into something more. A home.

Touch Me's banner caught his eye—the gold and red still pristine after all these years. What would his old friend say if he could see this ending?

Probably something heroic and cliche about never giving up, Momonga thought with fond exasperation. His fingers traced the familiar window of the guild menu interface, pulling up the member list one last time. So many grayed-out names.

"My friends…" he began, then stopped. Started again, putting proper dramatic weight into each word: "My dearest comrades! Though you've long since departed these halls, know that I shall defend our legacy to the last! The Great Tomb of Nazarick shall not fall unremarked!"

The NPCs said nothing, of course. Their expression sliders remained locked in their default positions. But Momonga liked to think—in the privacy of his own mind—that somewhere in their code, they lauded his dramatics.

Above, through the mirror's surface, he could see the World Tree beginning to splinter. Reality itself was coming undone, one explosion at a time. In the burning ruins of Asgard, a guild of crafters hurried to take screenshots of their greatest works before they vanished forever. Veterans who had fought through countless raids raised glasses in virtual taverns, toasting the spectacular end of their digital home. Some raged, some wept, but all watched in awe as their world died in crimson fire.

Soon, the Crimson Demon's rampage would reach Nazarick.

Good.

Let her come. Let the shitty devs have their spectacular ending. He would meet it as befitted the last Supreme Being—with style, with dignity, and with enough ham to fill a butcher's shop.

Momonga opened his inventory window, quickly equipping his best gear. Each Divine-class item materialised with a flash of light, their effects stacking into something approaching respectability. Not that it would matter against admin powers, but an Overlord had standards.

"Pleiades!" he commanded, spreading his arms wide. "Your master goes to face destiny itself! Follow, and witness the final performance of Ainz Ooal Gown!"

The combat maids fell into perfect formation as he strode from the Throne Room. Their footsteps echoed in perfect synchronisation—the sound mixing with the distant rumble of approaching destruction.

As he walked, Momonga's mind drifted to all the hours spent in these halls. The raids, the celebrations, the endless planning sessions that devolved into silly conversations about nothing in particular.

His steps slowed as he passed the Round Table Room. The open doors revealed the empty chairs, once filled with voices plotting grand adventures. Now they gathered dust, or would, if the developers had bothered to code dust physics.

"I wonder…" he mused, breaking character for just a moment, "if any of you are watching our ending? Herohero-san? Peroroncino?"

The empty chairs offered no response. With a shake of his head, Momonga resumed his dramatic stride. There would be time for melancholy later. Right now, he had a role to play.

The steps of Nazarick gleamed marble-white in the dying light. Momonga stood at their summit, the Pleiades and Floor Guardians arranged in perfect formation behind him. Above, the sky fractured like broken glass, shards of reality tumbling into an ever-expanding void.

"Let's make this properly dramatic, shall we?" Momonga muttered. His fingers found the familiar menu interface, queuing up a series of buffs. "[Body of Effulgent Beryl]. [Bless of Magic Caster]. [Anti-Life Cocoon]."

The spells settled over him like a comfortable shroud. Not that they'd make much difference against admin powers, but presentation was everything. An Overlord had to maintain standards, even at the world's end.

He raised the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown high, its crystals pulsing with stored power. "Time to signal our final guest."

Momonga began the super-tier spell's casting sequence. A magic circle blossomed beneath his feet, its intricate patterns spreading outward like ripples in a golden pond. More circles materialised in the air above, rotating in complex geometric patterns that hurt the eye to follow.

The countdown began.

[1:00] — Explosions rippled across the horizon, each blast creeping closer. The Crimson Demon was erasing Yggdrasil piece by piece.

[0:47] — A mountain range dissolved into corrupted data, collapsing into the void. Momonga clenched his skeletal fingers around the staff. He had farmed those peaks with his guildmates. Gone now. Like everything else.

[0:35] — The magic circles above him whirled faster, their glow sharpening into piercing clarity. Divine energy thrummed in the air, buzzing against his undead bones.

[0:21] — He took a breath, or at least the illusion of one. Just a little longer.

[0:10] — His crimson eyes flickered. This was it. His final performance.

Momonga drew himself up to his full height, letting his voice ring out with all the gravity an ancient undead should possess:

"O' divine light that sleeps within the highest heavens! Let your radiance pierce this twilight hour! Come forth and stand guard over these hallowed grounds! [Super Tier Magic: Pantheon]!"

The spell crystallized with a sound like breaking church bells, a noise that echoed across all nine realms. Six pillars of holy light pierced the fractured sky, so bright they seemed to push back the encroaching void itself. From each pillar descended a Cherubim Gate Keeper, their wings of burning light spread wide, holy magic crackling along their golden armor.

They arranged themselves in a defensive formation, their presence causing the air to hum with divine energy. The spell sent ripples through what remained of Yggdrasil's physics engine—a declaration and a challenge rolled into one.

"Quite the light show," Momonga nodded approvingly. "Surely that will—"

A voice like joyous destruction cut through the air: "Oho? What's this? A challenger appears!"

For a fleeting moment, the weight of her corporate existence pressed against her consciousness—endless meetings, quarterly reports, carefully measured words. How strange that it took the end of a virtual world to make her feel truly alive again. Here, facing down the last guardian of a dying realm, Megumin felt the familiar thrill of performance singing in her veins. This wasn't the stifled roleplay of boardroom politics or the careful navigation of office hierarchy. This was pure theater, grand and unrestrained, just as she remembered it.

Her robes rippled with impossible winds, crimson eyes blazing beneath her witch's hat. She struck a pose that would have made her old party proud.

"Greetings, O' foolish one who dares signal their presence to the harbinger of oblivion! Your light show was most impressive!"

Momonga felt a strange kinship with her immediate grasp of proper villainous dialogue. He spread his arms wide, bones gleaming. "Welcome, destroyer of worlds, to the Great Tomb of Nazarick! I am its master, Momonga, last of Ainz Ooal Gown!"

"The heteromorph guild?" Megumin's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. "Ah! Your reputation precedes you! Though I'm afraid it changes nothing—all must fall before the might of my explosion magic!"

Momonga nodded graciously. "Naturally, but perhaps we might converse briefly before the inevitable? It's not every day one entertains a world-ending deity."

Megumin considered this, then grinned. "A proper dialogue between powers of evil? How could I refuse! Let us exchange villainous banter as befits beings of our station!"

She floated cross-legged in the air, staff balanced casually across her knees. Momonga noted with professional appreciation how she'd positioned herself to have the fracturing sky as a backdrop. The girl clearly understood dramatic staging.

"I don't suppose," he ventured, "there's any chance of sparing this one small corner of Yggdrasil? For posterity's sake?"

"Impossible!" Megumin declared, but her tone held a note of sympathy. "The art of explosion demands total commitment! No half measures, no exceptions! Though I admit," she gestured at Nazarick's looming facades, "so much effort spent building these beautiful things. It almost seems a shame to destroy them," she murmured, thinking of her employee's pain. "But that's why it is worthy of the grandest finale possible!"

Momonga sighed. He'd expected as much, but it had been worth asking. Now he had no regrets.

"Then I'm afraid we must do this properly." He raised the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown into a guard position. "Cherubim! Battle formations!"

The six angelic beings wordlessly obeyed, forming a radiant perimeter around him, their holy magic condensing into gleaming spears of pure light. The Pleiades shifted subtly, their combat routines activating in response to the imminent battle.

Megumin let out an amused hum. "Oh? The NPCs too? How delightfully thorough!"

She slowly rose to her feet, twirling her staff as crimson arcs of energy crackled along its length. Then she spread her arms wide, eyes shining with manic anticipation.

"Undead! You stand upon the threshold of a grand saga! Let history remember this day, the day when the heavens trembled, the earth wept, and oblivion itself took form in my hands!"

Her grin sharpened. "Come! Let us paint the battlefield with the embers of creation! Let this clash be carved into eternity!"

Momonga struck first.

"[Triplet Maximize Magic: Reality Slash]!"

Three blades of void energy travelled through space itself, a spell that could cut through virtually any defense in the game. The Cherubim followed instantly, their holy spears weaving a web of divine light that would have trapped even a raid boss. Behind him, the Pleiades launched their most powerful skills in perfect synchronisation, their attacks flowing together like a deadly dance.

The combined assault could have one-shot a max-level player. Reality twisted and bent around her form as the attacks passed through. Megumin felt each spell like whispers against her skin, their carefully coded effects dissolving against her admin privileges. It was different from her days as a player, when every hit carried weight and consequence. Yet there was something almost melancholic in this invincibility—she was no longer truly part of this world, but rather its appointed executioner.

She didn't dodge. Didn't block. Reality-cutting blades carved through space. Holy spears converged, divine energy crackling in their wake—yet she remained untouched, an illusion wrapped in sanguine light.

"Is that all?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. "Surely the great Ainz Ooal Gown has more to show me?"

Momonga's mind raced. "[Greater Teleportation]!"

He appeared behind her, Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown already swinging. "[Grasp Heart]! [Maximize Magic: Gravity Maelstrom]! [Triplet Maximize Magic: Call Greater Thunder]!"

Each spell activated perfectly, their effects layering and combining just as he'd practiced countless times. The Cherubim adjusted instantly, their holy magic converging from six different angles. Even the community's strictest PVP commentators would have praised the execution.

Megumin laughed in delight. With a casual wave of her staff, his spells simply ceased to exist. The Cherubim's attacks dissipated inches from her body, their divine energy unraveling like poorly knitted sweaters.

"Wonderful form!" she praised, spinning to face him. "Such precision! Such timing! But…" Her eyes blazed brighter. "Let me show you what true power looks like."

She leveled a casual finger at the nearest Cherubim, thumb cocked like the hammer of a gun. "Bang."

The level 80 summon, a being that could have cleared entire dungeons, simply vanished. Not killed, not defeated. One moment it was there, and in the next it wasn't. Erased from existence, its code unwritten with a word.

With a smirk, she lifted her hand to her lips and blew away the curling wisp of smoke drifting from her fingertip—a special effect she'd added purely for the style points.

Momonga couldn't even complain. It was cool.

"Now then…" Megumin spread her arms wide, a manic grin stretching across her face as she raised her staff. A miniature crimson star flickered into existence at its tip, no larger than a marble, yet thrumming with an ominous energy that made the very air retreat.

She let out a breathless chuckle. "Rejoice, for you stand upon the precipice of oblivion! Gaze upon this sphere—a cosmic ember, a spark of ruin, a harbinger of annihilation! This is the power that humbles kings, sunders mountains, and reduces all to naught but memory!"

Her eyes gleamed with unhinged glee. "Now, let me grant you a fleeting glimpse of a true god's might—" She thrust her staff forward, voice ringing with unfettered fervor.

"[EXPLOSION]!"

The blast expanded outwards.

Where it touched, matter forgot how to exist. The remaining Cherubim vanished as the ground beneath them began to dissolve, chunks of Nazarick's immaculate courtyard breaking apart into loose chunks flying outward everywhere.

Momonga watched in horrified fascination as his defenses crumbled like sandcastles before a tsunami. All his power, all his carefully accumulated items and skills, meant nothing before admin-level authority. What a cheat.

Yet still he stood his ground as his HP whittled away. "[Mantle of Chaos]! [Infinity Wall]! [Greater Full Potential]!"

The additional buffs settled just as another explosion erased what remained of his summons. The Pleiades continued their attacks, their AI unable to recognize the futility of their actions. One by one, they broke apart into scattering pixels, their carefully crafted forms returning to base code within the Tomb.

Momonga watched each maid vanish with a pang of regret he couldn't quite suppress. How many hours had his guildmates spent designing them, arguing over every detail of their appearance and personality? He thought of Albedo watching behind him, faithful to the end. She would face oblivion with that same serene smile, that perfect poise that Tabula had labored over for weeks. These were the last echoes of his friends' creativity, their passion preserved in digital amber. And now, like everything else in this dying world, they would return to nothingness.

"Magnificent!" Megumin declared. "Truly, you understand the importance of a proper final battle! But now…" Her raised her eyepatch. "Allow me to respond in kind!"

She raised her staff high, and Momonga felt reality starting to unravel. The air itself seemed to catch fire as she began her incantation:

"Darkness blacker than black, crimson deeper than blood! Let all creation witness this ultimate magic!" Power beyond comprehension swirled around her small form. "The culmination of magic itself!"

Momonga lowered his staff. He knew what was coming. An Overlord faced their end with dignity.

Their eyes met across the dissolving courtyard—crimson to crimson, player to player. In that moment, they shared an understanding that went beyond their performance. They were the witnesses to something precious: a world that had given countless players purpose, friends who had made that world worth living in, memories that would persist long after the servers went dark.

Megumin saw in Momonga's steady stance the same fierce love for this digital realm that she had once felt, that perhaps she still felt, even as she prepared to unmake it. He saw in her blazing eyes recognition. The weight of what was about to be lost, and the determination to make that loss meaningful.

"It was a good home," he said softly, his gaze taking in Nazarick one last time. Twelve years of friendship, preserved in perfect clarity until this moment. The NPCs remained in their combat poses, faithful to their programming until the very end. "Thank you, my friends, for leaving something to protect."

The light above pulsed, the universe itself drawing breath before its final sigh. For one last moment, he closed his eyes. He could almost hear them—laughing, arguing, planning. If this was to be the end, then let it be worthy of Ainz Ooal Gown.

"[EXPLOSION]!"

The world went white.

And in that final moment, as reality faded around him, Momonga could have sworn he felt something… shift. A tug, a twist in the fabric of existence itself. Then darkness took him, and Nazarick with it.

The Crimson Demon hovered in the void where the Great Tomb had stood. "Ainz Ooal Gown," she said appreciatively, "you would have been a formidable foe in another life."

She turned her gaze to the World Tree, its vast form beginning to crack under its own weight. There would be time to appreciate worthy opponents later. As she turned toward her final target, Megumin felt an unexpected weight settle in her chest. This destruction was different from her old explosions, which had been born of pure joy and obsession. This was a purposeful, necessary controlled burn to clear the way for something new.

Yet as she gathered power for the final blast, she couldn't help but think of Hana, of Suzuki-san, of all the others who found meaning in virtual worlds. Would they understand that sometimes an ending could also be a beginning? That destruction, when properly applied, could be an act of creation in disguise?

The World Tree's began to crumble beneath her gaze, and Megumin allowed herself a small, secret smile. In the end, she was still a Crimson Demon, and there was still beauty to be found in bringing things to their ultimate conclusion. With that thought, she raised her staff one final time, ready to paint her masterpiece across the canvas of a dying world.

It was time to make one anew.

Chapter Text

Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix was having a good day.

The morning sun streamed through the enchanted windows of his private study, catching the gold filigree that adorned each pane. The light scattered across carefully arranged stacks of parchment, lending an almost ethereal quality to the mundane business of empire. Reports from the southern provinces spoke of bumper crops. The merchant guilds reported increased trade along the reformed networks. Even the yearly preparations for conflict with Re-Estize proceeded with uncharacteristic smoothness.

He allowed himself a small smile as he read General Nimble's latest dispatch. The Kingdom's nobles remained as predictable as ever, marshaling their peasant levies with the same tedious pageantry. They would clash on the Katze Plains, as they did every year. The Empire's knights would demonstrate their superiority, as they did every year. And the Kingdom would grow ever weaker, as they always did.

"Your Imperial Majesty seems pleased," observed Baziwood from his post by the door. The knight's ceremonial armor gleamed in the morning light, though Jircniv knew the keen edge beneath the polish was anything but ceremonial.

"Pleased?" Jircniv's fingers drummed against his desk, an old habit he'd never quite managed to break. "I suppose I am. Though one should be wary of good fortune. It has a way of breeding complacency."

The Blood Emperor's gaze drifted to the window, taking in the sprawling magnificence of Arwintar. The city had matured considerably under his reign, its marble spires and golden domes signalling the Empire's prosperity. More importantly, to the prosperity of those who had supported his ascension.

Loune cleared his throat softly, drawing Jircniv's attention to a fresh scroll. "The report from the Ministry of Magic, Your Majesty. Fluder Paradyne requests an audience regarding some unusual findings."

"Oh?" Jircniv raised an eyebrow. The old wizard's "findings" typically warranted attention, even if they sometimes proved taxing on the imperial treasury. "What sort of findings?"

"One of his scholars discovered some conflicting evidence in the records of the Eight Greed Kings. They want to fund a small expedition near the border of the City State Alliance." Loune's expression remained neutral, but Jircniv caught the slight tension in his scribe's shoulders.

The Eight Greed Kings. Even after centuries, their legacy cast long shadows. Jircniv's thoughts turned to the sightings of "Crimson Cultists" in the frontier towns. Deluded fools who spoke of some prophesied return, of a demon who would remake the world in flames. Most had been quietly dealt with, of course. The Empire had no patience for doomsday cults.

"Schedule him for this afternoon," Jircniv decided. "After my meeting with the merchant guilds. And have someone check on those meditation crystals we imported from the Argland Council State. The old man's been particularly excitable since they arrived."

Leinas shifted slightly at her post, half her face hidden in shadow. "Your Majesty, about the merchant guilds… There have been rumors of unrest among the larger houses. They claim the new trade regulations favor the less established families."

"Of course they do," Jircniv replied smoothly. "That was rather the point. The younger houses haven't grown fond of stability just yet. They are incentivised to innovate, rather than stagnate." His lip curled slightly. "Those who haven't learned can be taught. Or replaced."

The words hung in the air, a reminder of why they called him the Blood Emperor. Yet there was no malice in his tone, only the calm certainty of a man who had long since learned to view politics as a game of careful calibration. Each death in his early reign had served a purpose, each purge carefully measured to achieve maximum effect with minimum disruption.

Nazami Enec, ever the practical one, spoke up from his position near the balcony. "The larger houses might be more amenable if we offered them a share in the new mining operations near Azerlisia. The yields have exceeded expectations."

Jircniv considered this, absently adjusting one of his rings—a habit he'd developed after a third assassination attempt involving poisoned jewelry. "A reasonable suggestion. Have Loune draft a proposal. Something suitably generous, but with enough conditions to ensure their cooperation."

His fingers found their way to the imperial seal, a weighty thing of gold and precious stones. So much of ruling came down to the proper application of pressure. Too much, and systems shattered. Too little, and they grew slack, inefficient. The art was in finding that perfect balance, the precise amount of force needed to shape events without breaking them.

A shaft of morning sunlight caught the seal's gemstones, sending crimson reflections dancing across the study's walls. Jircniv watched them for a moment, reminded again of those cultists and their ravings. Fluder always seemed unusually interested in their prophecies, though he'd dismissed Jircniv's questions about them with his usual cryptic mumblings.

The Empire had weathered its share of would-be prophets and divine messengers. Each had been dealt with according to their threat level—some merely required monitoring, others more permanent solutions. But lately, there had been something different in the air. A tension that even Jircniv's carefully cultivated network of spies and informants couldn't quite pin down.

He pushed the thought aside. Speculation without data was merely wool-gathering, and the Blood Emperor could ill afford such luxuries. There were reports to review, policies to consider, the thousand tiny adjustments needed to keep the machinery of empire running smoothly.

Jircniv reached for another scroll, this one bearing the seal of the Imperial Magic Academy. Yes, it was shaping up to be a good day indeed. He should have known better than to tempt fate with such thoughts.

The door to Jircniv's study burst open with enough force to rattle the enchanted windows. The Blood Emperor didn't flinch—assassins rarely announced themselves so dramatically—but his guards moved immediately, weapons half-drawn before recognition set in.

A junior guard stood panting in the doorway, his pristine uniform now coated in a fine layer of ash? The young man's face was flushed, eyes wide with barely contained panic.

"Your Imperial Majesty! The eastern district—" he broke off, struggling to compose himself under the weight of Jircniv's measured stare.

"Take a breath," Jircniv commanded, more curious than concerned. "Then explain yourself properly. We are not some common merchant's household where one may simply burst in shouting."

The guard straightened, the ingrained habits of imperial discipline asserting themselves. "Apologies, Your Majesty. There's been an incident in the eastern market district. The entire square is just… gone."

"Gone," Jircniv repeated flatly. He set down his quill, noting with annoyance how a drop of ink had marred the trade agreement he'd been annotating. "Define 'gone.'"

"A crater, Your Majesty. Where the fountain used to be. Half the surrounding buildings as well." The guard's voice trembled slightly. "The witnesses describe a light from above, brighter than the sun. Then… devastation."

Now that was interesting. Jircniv's mind rapidly cataloged and discarded possibilities. The Slane Theocracy's divine magic? No, even their most zealous cardinals preferred subtler methods. The Re-Estize Kingdom could barely maintain their street lamps, let alone manage a fireball of this scale. A dragon lord testing the Empire's defenses? But why target a market square of all places?

"Casualties?" he asked, his tone remaining calm and measured. Panic was a luxury reserved for lesser men.

"S-Sire," one of the younger bureaucrats stammered, his hands trembling as he clutched a parchment. "This—this is an act of war! The Re-Estize Kingdom must have acquired some heretofore unknown—"

"Fool," Loune snapped, shaking his head. "The Kingdom lacks both the talent and the resources for magic of this scale. To suggest such a thing—"

"Then it must be the Slane Theocracy!" Another voice cut in, frantic. "Their divine casters—"

"The Theocracy prefers assassinations and surgical strikes, not craters in broad daylight," Baziwood growled.

Jircniv exhaled, slow and measured, letting the panic around him run its course before speaking. "Speculation without data is useless. I will not have my council turning into frightened children. Now, casualties."

"We're still counting, Your Majesty. But we fear it could be substantial. The explosion came from such a height that our people had only a moment to react when they saw the light. Still…" The guard swallowed hard. "The property damage is extensive."

Jircniv resisted the urge to massage his temples. Just when everything had been proceeding so smoothly. The yearly war with Re-Estize was practically choreographed at this point, the noble factions were finally falling in line, and now this? The timing was too convenient to be coincidence, yet too crude to be a calculated strike.

"Fluder," he said, not raising his voice. The old wizard would hear him regardless—one of many small enchantments that made governing an empire marginally more efficient.

Nothing happened.

Jircniv's eyebrow twitched slightly. "Where is—"

"I assume he is already at the scene, Your Majesty," Loune supplied helpfully. "He left rather abruptly about two minutes ago. Something about 'unprecedented thaumaturgical signatures' and 'impossible mana densities.'"

The Blood Emperor closed his eyes for precisely three seconds—long enough to compose his thoughts, not long enough to suggest weakness. When he opened them, his gaze had hardened to garnets.

"Baziwood, have the Imperial Knights secure the area. I want every fragment of debris cataloged. Nimble, alert the merchant guilds that any price gouging in response to this incident will be dealt with personally." His fingers drummed once on the desk. "Leinas, coordinate with the city guard and the adventurer's guild. I want every corner of Arwintar searched."

A single explosion could be an accident. A magical experiment gone wrong, perhaps. But Jircniv hadn't kept his throne by believing in accidents. Someone or something had just demonstrated the power to erase a city block from existence. Whether it was a warning, a test, or simply a show of force didn't matter. The response had to be decisive.

The real question was: why the market square? If this was meant as a threat to the Empire, surely the palace itself would have made a more dramatic target. If it was foreign aggression, why not hit the military barracks or the Magic Academy? A random act of destruction seemed almost more concerning than a calculated strike. At least with the latter, one could anticipate the next move.

Through the window, Jircniv could see the pillar of smoke rising above the eastern district. The morning sun caught the debris cloud, painting it in shades of gold and ruby. Somewhere in his city, a power beyond even Fluder's understanding had just announced its presence. The imperial spymaster would need to be summoned, the border patrols doubled, the entire security apparatus of the Empire turned toward finding answers.

So much for a quiet day of administrative work.

Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix was having a very bad day indeed.

The reports kept coming.

Jircniv stood at his study window, watching the smoke rise over Arwintar as couriers and guards rushed through the palace gates below. Each new account painted a clearer picture of the devastation, and with each detail, he felt the weight of his crown grow heavier.

"The crater is perfectly circular," Fluder's scribe reported, reading from a hastily penned scroll. "Forty-seven meters in diameter, twelve meters at its deepest point. The stone itself appears to have melted, Your Majesty. Master Paradyne says he's never seen anything like it."

Of course he hadn't. It was rare for the old man to admit such a thing. Jircniv's fingers tightened on the windowsill as he remembered the reports he'd dismissed just last week.

He'd thought the problem dealt with. The ringleaders had been quietly eliminated, their followers scattered. Yet somehow…

"Continue," he commanded, not turning from the window.

"The surrounding buildings were destroyed. Much of the debris and foundation stone evaporated. Mortimer's Emporium—gone. As if they never existed."

Jircniv's face remained impassive. Old Mortimer was a friend of Fluder, and those pillars had been reinforced by the court mage himself. To simply erase them…

"Your Majesty," Baziwood spoke up from his post. "The treasury's preliminary assessment of damages—"

"Can wait," Jircniv cut him off. "What of the search?"

"Nothing yet. The city guard is conducting a thorough sweep," Baziwood hesitated. "Some of the survivors are saying strange things. Nobody seems to have seen the perpetrator."

Jircniv finally turned from the window, his crimson eyes narrowing. "And?"

"Yes, sire." Baziwood shifted uncomfortably. "We found only this in the wreckage."

He produced a scrap of fabric—deep red, almost black, with gold threading that seemed to catch the light oddly. Jircniv recognised the material instantly. The same cloth the cultists had taken to wearing in their ceremonies.

"I thought," he said, his voice deadly quiet, "that we had dealt with this particular problem."

"As did we, Your Majesty. But…" Baziwood gestured to the smoke still rising outside. "It seems we missed some. Or perhaps…"

"Let us hope this is merely a copycat," Jircniv finished. He moved to his desk, pulling out a specific drawer with precise movements. From it, he withdrew a thin folder—reports spanning the last six months. Incidents he'd dismissed as minor. Patterns he should have seen.

A merchant caravan disappeared near the border, leaving only scorched earth behind. A noble's estate reduced to ash overnight, with witnesses reporting lights in the sky. And always, always, whispers of the crimson cultists and their prophecies of cleansing flame.

"How many?" he asked, though he already knew the answer would displease him.

"We've confirmed twenty-seven dead, Your Majesty. Many buried within the surrounding buildings. The market itself was mercifully empty at the time of the attack."

Jircniv closed the folder with deliberate care. "Summon the war council." Jircniv's voice remained level, but the room was deathly silent now. "And send word to Fluder—I want him here, not poking through rubble like some common archaeologist." He looked out the window, where the smoke had started to thin but the scent of burning still lingered in the air.

"Your Majesty," Baziwood started, hesitation in his tone. "If this was a demonstration…"

"Then our enemy is not simply testing us," Jircniv finished, "but teaching us to be afraid."

No one spoke. For once, not a single official, knight, or scholar had a counterargument. The silence was its own confirmation.

As if in answer to his words, a distant rumble shook the palace. Not an explosion this time—just thunder. Yet Jircniv noticed how everyone in the room tensed at the sound, hands moving to weapons.

The Blood Emperor allowed himself a small, bitter smile. He had spent years carefully cultivating that tension in others. How strange to feel it himself now.

Outside, the rain began to fall, turning the rising smoke into a grey pall that hung over his city like a shroud.

Megumin was having a bad day.

Raindrops pattered against cobblestones that shouldn't exist, soaking through her crimson robes as she pressed herself against rough-hewn stone. Another patrol of guards rushed past her hiding spot, their torches casting wild shadows in the growing dusk. Their armor caught the light—real metal, real leather, real in a way that made her head spin.

This wasn't right. She should be back in the dev lab, probably getting congratulated on a spectacular server shutdown. Instead…

Her hands trembled as she touched the wall beside her. The stone felt wrong. Too detailed. Too imperfect. Not the carefully rendered textures of Yggdrasil, but actual weathered rock that scraped against her fingertips.

Voices approached. Megumin held her breath.

"—eastern district's completely destroyed—"

"—never seen magic like that—"

"—whole square just vanished—"

She squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn't meant to. It was supposed to be a game effect, something spectacular for the final event. Just an accident. She was casting a final explosion before everything was gone—

No. She couldn't think about that now. Not about the transition, not about being ripped from another world, not about anything except the very immediate problem of an entire city guard searching for her.

More torchlight. More boots splashing through puddles. Megumin drew deeper into the shadows, her distinctive robes suddenly feeling less like a badge of pride and more like a target. The rain plastered her hair to her face as she tried to think past the panic clawing at her throat.

She needed… she needed…

What did she need? A plan? A hiding spot? Kazuma?

No. Stop. Focus.

First step: don't get caught. Everything else could wait. The existential crisis, the questions, the growing horror of realising she'd actually destroyed part of a living city—all of it had to wait.

Right now, she just needed to survive.

Another patrol passed. More torches. More voices. More chances to be discovered.

Megumin bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, the sharp pain helping to center her thoughts. She couldn't stay here. But where could she go? She didn't know this city, didn't know its rules or its people or its anything.

All she knew was that somewhere out there, in the rain and darkness, she could hear people hunting for her. And her crimson robes might as well have been a signal fire.

The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she forced herself to breathe slowly, steadily. One problem at a time. Just like Kazuma had taught her.

The patrol's torchlight swept across her hiding spot, and pure instinct took over. Megumin's hand moved in familiar patterns, her mouth forming hushed words that tasted like starlight and shadow. "[Greater Invisibility]."

The spell settled over her like a second skin. She blinked in surprise—she hadn't actually expected it to work. In Yggdrasil, invisibility had been a simple status effect. Here, she could feel the magic clinging to her skin, wrapping her in layers of bent light and distorted perception.

Invisible but not intangible, Megumin carefully extracted herself from her hiding spot. The guards passed within inches, close enough that she could smell oil from their torches, leather from their armor. One of them sneezed, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"This is pointless," one guard grumbled. "If someone's powerful enough to destroy a market square, they're not hiding in some alley."

"Orders are orders," his companion replied. "Besides, did you hear what Master Paradyne said? Whatever caused that blast, it could be some kind of ritual that left the caster weakened."

Megumin bristled at that. She wasn't weakened. If anything, her magic felt stronger here, more immediate. The thought sent a shiver down her spine—if only because she felt a ghost of her old grin touch her lips. How much damage could she actually cause in this world?

Information gathering first, existential magical crisis later.

She followed the guards from a safe distance, listening as they continued their conversation. Fragments of useful intel emerged between complaints about the weather and their superior officers:

The explosion had occurred just before noon. The Imperial Magic Academy was involved in the investigation. Someone named Fluder Paradyne seemed to be in charge of magical matters. The Emperor himself had taken an interest.

Empire. Emperor. The words rattled around in Megumin's head as she pieced together her situation. Well, that was no good. Maybe he'd accept an apology in person if she just explained herself?

But she needed more information. But more importantly, she needed supplies. Her robes were far too distinctive. A change of clothes, some food, maybe a map… what a headache.

In Axel, she'd always had someone else to handle these details—Kazuma with his crazy plans, Darkness ready to shoulder any troubles, Aqua…

The thought of her friends sent a wave of nausea through her that had nothing to do with magical drain. Twice now. Twice she'd lost everything. Her chest felt tight, her eyes burning with tears she couldn't afford to shed. Not here. Not now.

Here, she could smell the ash on the wind. Real ash. Real death.

Her legs threatened to give out. She wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and wait for someone—anyone—to find her and make things make sense again. But that luxury belonged to a younger Megumin, the one who always had friends to fall back on.

"Have any of the patrols checked the sewers yet?" One of the guards spoke as she trailed behind. Wrong direction, Megumin thought distantly. Her explosion magic had always come from above.

"Let's leave the sewers in the capable hands of adventurers, shall we?"

Adventurers. Of course there would be adventurers here. The thought hit her with the force of memory—card-carrying heroes taking quests from guild desks, arguing over reward splits, bragging about their latest conquests over mugs of ale.

Her hand unconsciously moved to where her guild card should have been. In Axel, that little piece of parchment had meant everything. It had been her ticket to purpose and belonging. Even in her darkest moments in Neo Tokyo, she'd sometimes dreamed of that card's familiar weight.

An adventurers' guild would have maps, information, maybe even a way to figure out exactly where—and when—she'd landed. But it would also be the first place the authorities would look for someone with unusual magical abilities. She could picture it now: guards posted at every entrance, watching for a crimson-robed figure asking suspicious questions.

No, as tempting as it was to seek out that familiar sanctuary, she couldn't risk it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She quietly sighed to herself. another piece of her old life denied to her.

Her invisibility spell thrummed softly against her skin, a constant reminder of the power still at her disposal. The palace loomed ahead, and with it came a sobering thought: any ruler worth their crown would have wards against invisible intruders. Yet… her explosion magic had proven different here, devastating enough to level a market square. The rules were different. The limitations unclear.

A lifetime of caution—Kazuma's endless lectures about stealth, years of corporate risk assessment—whispered for her to stay hidden, to gather more information before acting.

But wasn't that exactly what they'd expect? Even the guards expected to find the perpetrator skulking about in alleyways. The thought sparked something in her, a familiar defiance that had driven her to master explosion magic when everyone said it was useless. The same fire that had carried her through board meetings and hostile takeovers in Neo Tokyo. She was Megumin, the feared and revered Crimson Demon who had challenged a Demon King. One who had risen to corporate heights in Neo Tokyo. A mad god who had unwound an entire world by its seams.

Playing it safe felt like an insult to herself. An insult to the Crimson Demon.

The palace towers beckoned through the rain, their gold-capped spires rising above the chaos below like a challenge waiting to be answered.

"[Fly]," she whispered, the spell coming as naturally as breathing. Her feet left the ground, and for a moment the sensation was so different to Yggdrasil that her heart leapt. She could feel the rain passing through her, could taste the wind. Real magic. Raw and terrifying in its immediacy.

The palace gates loomed ahead, guard patrols moving in precise patterns. Through the rain, Megumin could see more soldiers on the walls, crossbows at ready. But their eyes searched the streets, the alleys, the obvious approach routes. None looked straight up.

They never looked up. Not in Axel, not in Neo Tokyo, and apparently not here either.

Megumin began to move, circling the palace walls.

"[Detect Magic]."

She noted a few magical traps set up strategically around each spire and windowsill. The wards weren't anything special—simple alarm spells mixed with what looked like basic defensive enchantments. Nothing like intricate trap networks of Yggdrasil's high-level dungeons. Tier three magic at best.

Amateur hour, really.

The rain intensified as Megumin ascended higher, moving between the spelled zones. Each rumble of thunder reminded her of the explosion that had brought her here.

Through one of the higher windows, she caught glimpses of opulence—marble floors, gilded furniture, and priceless works of art. Signs of power, of authority. Of someone who might have answers.

A flash of movement caught her eye. In a large chamber three stories up, a man paced before a window. Even from this distance, she spotted it. His eyes were fixed on some document in his hands.

Crimson eyes.

Megumin drew closer, careful to stay out of the detection range of the nearest ward. The Emperor's features became clearer—young, sharp, with an intensity that reminded her of corporate executives before major negotiations. But those eyes…

He turned suddenly, speaking to someone out of her view. She couldn't hear through the glass, so she settled on casting a silent [God's Eye] within the room. His lips moved, and his words now reached her ears with perfect clarity:

"—something about this attack doesn't add up—"

Megumin bristled at the Emperor's words, visible even through the rain-streaked glass. Didn't add up? It was a perfect explosion! The blast radius, the way it had carved through enchanted materials like they were nothing, the sheer raw power—

The thought stopped her cold, horror replacing indignation. When had she become so callous? People had died. Real people, not NPCs or respawning creatures. And her first thought had been about the technical excellence of the explosion that killed them?

Something was wrong with her. She felt sick.

In Axel, death had never seemed so permanent—not with Aqua around to complain about Kazuma's recklessness. But this wasn't Axel. She had no idea if [True Resurrection] worked here, if the laws of death and life followed the same rules.

The rain fell heavier now, droplets racing down the windowpane like tears. Below, the sounds of the city rose up—guards shouting orders, people crying, the chaos she'd unleashed with a single spell. Through it all, she watched the Emperor pace, his crimson eyes reflecting lamplight as he studied reports of devastation. Her devastation.

Her fingers moved almost of their own accord, tracing familiar patterns in the air. "[Discern Enemy]," she whispered, the spell settling over her vision like a crystalline lens.

Numbers and statistics bloomed above their heads—pathetically low compared to the god-like beings she'd faced in Yggdrasil. The Emperor himself barely registered on the scale, his guards only marginally stronger. Even the court wizard, all dramatic robes and self-important posturing, wouldn't have survived a single round in her old world.

"[Greater Teleportation]."

The spell carried her through the window, rain droplets vanishing mid-transport. She felt the warmth first—real warmth, not the calibrated temperature settings of Yggdrasil. The Emperor's study smelled of ink and expensive perfumes, nothing like the acrid server rooms where she'd last cast magic.

A messenger burst in, almost clipping her invisible shoulder. "Your Majesty! Word from the Slane Theocracy. They're mobilising their Scripture units. They claim divine mandate to investigate any magic that threatens the human realm."

"Of course they do," the Emperor cut him off sharply, crimson eyes narrowing. "Send word back—any Scripture members who cross our borders without explicit permission will be treated as hostile agents. I won't have zealots turning my capital into a bloodbath again."

Megumin watched him manage the crisis with an unexpected pang of sympathy. How many times had she sat through emergency meetings after some corporate disaster, wrestling with stakeholders and damage control? At least she'd only been tasked with PowerPoint presentations and quarterly reports. This poor emperor had to deal with another country on top of everything else she'd dropped in his lap. If only he knew the source of all his current sorrows was with him in that very room.

Sorry about the paperwork, she thought with a touch of guilt. And the zealots. And the whole explosion thing, really.

Corporate life had taught her patience, strategy. Her time in Neo Tokyo had shown her the weight of real responsibility. She wasn't the same explosion-happy kid who'd first stumbled into Axel.

And yet.

And yet here she was, invisible in an Emperor's study, watching him try to understand what had happened to his city. To his people. The whole situation was so absurd she had to bite back a laugh. Or maybe it was a sob. She wasn't quite sure anymore.

One of the guards shifted position, boots clicking on marble. Such a small sound. Such a real sound.

What are you going to do, Crimson Demon?

She had no idea. And wasn't that just perfect?

Chapter Text

The neon signs of Neo Tokyo painted the smog in shades of electric blue and burning crimson, their glow diffused through layers of poisoned air until they became nothing more than distant, drowning stars. Megumin traced the edges of each corporate logo with her eyes, remembering other skies, other lights.

From the corporate arcology's rooftop garden, she watched the city's desperate attempt to outshine its own corruption. The dome above hummed with protective energy, but even its advanced filters couldn't completely purify the air within. Her mask's respirator wheezed softly with each breath, the sound mixing with the omnipresent drone of industrial machinery far below.

"I can't believe they still call this a garden," Hana said beside her, reaching out to touch one of the few surviving plants—a scraggly thing that might have been a tomato vine in a kinder world. Her gloved fingers came away stained with grey residue. She rubbed them together, watching the toxic dust scatter. "Even with the dome shields, nothing really grows anymore."

Through the scratched lenses of her mask, Megumin studied her friend's profile. Hana's shoulders slumped slightly, her usual optimism wavering in the face of such persistent decay.

"It doesn't have to be like this, you know."

"The garden?"

"The world." Megumin's voice grew distant, her brown eyes fixed on something far beyond the city's artificial horizon. "There should be places where the grass grows wild and green, where you can drink straight from mountain streams without filtering systems. Where people can hunt their own food, real food, without the fear of being poisoned with a single bite."

"I wish I shared your optimism." Hana turned to look at her friend. "You sound so certain. Like you've seen it yourself."

For a moment, Megumin could taste it on her tongue—the sweetness of fresh-picked apples, the gamey richness of roasted monster meat shared around a campfire. Her fingers twitched, remembering the smooth grain of a wooden staff instead of corporate touchscreens.

"Maybe I have," she said softly. "In dreams."

"Dreams, huh?" Hana's laugh was gentle, muffled by her mask but warm with affection. "I thought you left that life behind, Megumin. The explosions, the grand speeches about being a Crimson Demon…"

"This isn't about Yggdrasil," Megumin cut her off, more sharply than she intended. Her hand rose unconsciously to touch her chest. "I mean… actual dreams. Haven't you ever wondered if things could be different?"

A maintenance drone buzzed past, its sensors scanning the withered plants for signs of life.

"I think we all have," Hana admitted, her voice barely audible over the drone's whirring. "But this is the world we have. Unless you've got some secret plan to upend global environmental policy from that fancy new office of yours? You've only been working there for a month! Changing the world is impossible for people like us."

Megumin frowned behind her mask. In another life, she would have solved this with a well-placed explosion, reducing the corruption to rubble and starting fresh. But that was then, and this was…

"Impossible?" Megumin straightened. "Nothing is impossible for—" She caught herself, coughing to cover the slip. "For someone with proper ambition and resource allocation strategies!"

"There's the corporate climber we all know and love." Hana bumped her shoulder playfully against Megumin's.

"We'll do it properly," she declared, infusing her voice with every ounce of certainty she'd learned to project in boardroom battles. "I'll rise through the ranks, gather influence like a demon king. And then, when the moment is right—" She spread her arms wide, encompassing the broken horizon. "I'll use that power to change the world!"

"Through proper channels and stakeholder engagement, of course," Hana added dryly.

"Of course! The paperwork shall be legendary! Forms signed in italics, environmental impact accords that shall echo through the ages!" Megumin cackled, the sound bouncing off the dome's curved surface. "They'll never see it coming!"

Hana shook her head, but Megumin caught the way her eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter behind her mask. "You're ridiculous. But… I believe you." She turned back to the withered tomato plant, touching its leaves with surprising tenderness. "Someone has to believe in impossible things, right? Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?"

The city's neon pulse seemed to slow, creating a pocket of stillness around the two friends. In that moment, Megumin felt the weight of three lives pressing against her chest—the explosive joy of Axel, the crushing conformity of Neo Tokyo, and something else, something yet to come, hovering just beyond her reach.

"Just promise me one thing," Hana said finally.

"Hm?"

"When you become this all-powerful corporate CEO demon king, don't forget about the little people, okay? Some of us will still be down here, trying to grow tomatoes that don't glow in the dark."

Megumin's laugh caught in her throat. "Never," she swore. "I'll never forget. Not you, not this moment, not any of it. That's a Crimson Demon's promise!"

"Ah! There you go with that Crimson Demon thing again," Hana teased. "One of these days you'll have to tell me what that actually means."

"One day," Megumin agreed softly, her eyes stinging with what she told herself was just atmospheric irritation. "When everything's green again. When the world is ready for a little magic."

Above them, through gaps in the ever-present haze, the first stars of evening began to shine—or perhaps they were just satellites, endlessly circling a dying world.

The memory of Hana was a ghost that followed Megumin through the palace's winding corridors. Each breath here was a small miracle—clean, crisp, untainted by the industrial poisons of Neo Tokyo. No respirator masks turning speech into mechanical whispers. No recycled oxygen burning her lungs with every inhalation. Just life, pure and precious and completely taken for granted by those who had never known anything else.

She drifted near the vaulted ceiling, watching servants scurry through halls of polished marble like ants in a colony. Their movements held purpose but no real appreciation for the miracle of their existence. How many breaths had they drawn without a thought for the gift each one represented? How many mornings had they woken to clear skies without remembering to be grateful?

"We were the same once," she whispered to herself, the words dissolving on her tongue. Back in Axel, she rarely thought of anything besides her explosions. Even in Yggdrasil, such magnificent scenes were nothing more than virtual entertainment. But Neo Tokyo had taught her the true worth of things—every breath, every patch of living green, every moment spent without poison slowly killing you.

For three days now, she'd haunted these halls like a crimson-eyed spectre, learning the rhythms of palace life. Jircniv fascinated her most—the way he wore authority like a second skin, how his crimson eyes missed nothing. She recognised something of herself in him, perhaps. They were both performers in their own way, though his stage was rather more limited than hers had ever been.

His routines were a study in controlled paranoia. Mornings spent buried in intelligence reports, testing each piece of parchment for poison before touching it. Afternoons holding court, his throne positioned to watch every entrance simultaneously. But evenings… evenings were different.

The palace bathhouse was his sanctuary at sunset—a cavernous chamber where steam rose from heated pools like spirits ascending to heaven. The guards outside its heavy doors were handpicked, trusted, but still kept at a careful distance. Here, finally, the Emperor allowed himself to be simply a man.

Megumin hovered near a gilded column, absently running spectral fingers through the rising steam. Her staff's familiar weight anchored her to purpose, even as memories threatened to drag her back to other times, other worlds. She could still hear Hana's voice, muffled behind layers of protective gear: "Someone has to believe in impossible things, right?"

But Hana was gone, along with that dying world of artificial gardens and corporate arcologies. This world still had a chance—if only its people could see what they had. If only they understood the precious gift of every unpolluted breath.

Below, Emperor Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix held court with the precision of a master swordsman. His black-gold cloak rippled like spilled blood as he turned, crimson eyes sharp. The twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed carefully contained fury—another report of the market district's destruction, no doubt. Another reminder of her… enthusiasm.

Beside him stood Fluder Paradyne, and oh, what a study in contradiction the old mage was. His skeletal frame practically vibrated with barely contained excitement as he pored over the investigation's findings. Gems and precious metals adorned his robes like stars, as if he could purchase enlightenment through mere ornamentation. But beneath the glitter and ceremony, his magical essence flickered pitifully—a candle pretending to be a sun.

Courtiers bowed and scraped before him with a reverence that made Megumin's head hurt. Their spines bent like wind-whipped reeds, foreheads pressed to cold marble in supplication to mediocrity. She could smell Fluder's desperate hunger for power, his need to transcend mortal limits. Once, she might have empathised. Now it just seemed… quaint.

A memory surfaced—herself as a young mage, practising explosion spells in her clan's outskirts, certain that raw power was all that mattered. The thought felt alien now, like trying to recall someone else's dream. That version of Megumin felt so far away.

These people, with their petty politics and magical hierarchies… she could unmake their entire world with a whispered word. The urge tickled at her fingertips sometimes—to show them true power, to tear away the illusion of control they clung to so desperately. But that would solve nothing. She had come to apologise, after all.

The sun's last rays painted the palace windows in shades of amber and gold. Soon, Jircniv would retreat to his evening ritual, seeking solitude in steam and heated waters. Megumin felt her lips curve into a smile behind her veil of invisibility.

A [Greater Teleportation] spell carried her through space like a whisper. The bathhouse embraced her invisible form, steam rising from heated pools in lazy coils. Lavender and sandalwood tickled her senses—such simple pleasures, untainted by industrial filters or synthetic aromatics. When was the last time she'd smelled something real?

Jircniv entered.

The Emperor's robe slipped from shoulders carved by years of martial training, falling to marble tiles with a whisper of silk. He sank into the water with a sigh that seemed to shed decades of careful control.

He would have made a fine Crimson Demon, Megumin thought with unexpected fondness. All that pride and power, wrapped in a package designed to draw attention. She almost laughed at the thought, but held it back. Time enough for introductions soon.

A quick [Silence] spell settled over the chamber, muffling all sound beyond its borders. Perfect. No interruptions, no witnesses. Just two beings of power, about to have a very interesting conversation.

Steam danced through the air in serpentine patterns, wrapping around polished columns like lovers' arms. Even here, in his most vulnerable moment, Jircniv's crimson eyes never stopped moving. They swept the room, mapping exits and angles of attack. A predator's instincts, even in repose. She could appreciate that kind of dedication.

But how to appear? Her crimson robes were… distinctive. Memorable. The kind of thing that started wars and sparked religious movements. No, she needed a disguise. Something meaningful.

Hana's memory surfaced like a bubble in still water.

Strange, how the mind curated its treasures. The gas mask was perfect in her recollection—every scratch on the left lens (from that mad climb to the arcology's peak), the crooked third filter stripe (they'd laughed about that for weeks), the particular way the valves wheezed when Hana spoke too quickly. But Hana's actual face? That had faded, not from time's passage but from simple scarcity. In a world where faces hid behind protective gear, Megumin had known her friend more by her equipment than her smile.

Megumin reached inside herself, fingers of thought probing the boundaries of her new existence. Something answered—not Yggdrasil's rigid frameworks or Axel's wild magic, but a power that lived in her marrow. Flesh rippled like disturbed water.

Her form… unravelled.

Muscle and bone flowed like mercury, reality's basic principles becoming mere suggestions. Colours that had no business existing in nature rippled across her surface—impossible shades that hurt the eye and delighted the mind. Her skeleton rearranged itself with sounds like a forgotten language spoken backwards.

The strangest part wasn't the horrific fluidity of it all. It was how right it felt.

After losing two worlds, perhaps the universe had granted her this small mercy: the ability to be anything, to shed forms like old clothes. Her consciousness expanded beyond mere biology, touching realms of possibility that would give gods nightmares. She was everything. She was nothing.

The power sang through her veins like liquid starlight. A dragon's majesty? Child's play. An angel's grace? A parlor trick. A demon's hunger? Please. She could be the concept of transformation itself, dancing on the head of infinity's pin.

But she chose Hana.

The seifuku materialised first, each thread impossibly perfect. Crisp pleats and pristine fabric that had never known pollution's touch. The sailor collar settled around her throat with its red neckerchief a bloodied promise. This was the uniform of a world that valued control over life, preserved in sterile glory.

Last came the gas mask. Not birthed from magic but from humanity's desperate industry, it consumed her face in black rubber and chrome. Filters jutted out like mechanical mandibles, their ridged surfaces dark with memories of filtered toxins. Behind scratched lenses, her eyes became twin voids that drank light rather than reflected it. The whole apparatus rattled softly with each breath, as though the mask itself lived and hungered.

Was there still a person under that mask? Did the question even matter anymore?

Her shoes touched wet marble without a sound. Steam parted around her like subjects before a queen, recognition written in water vapor. One final spell remained—a simple dismissal of invisibility. She had mulled over what she wanted from the emperor long enough. Time to begin the performance.

I hope you're watching, Hana. This is for your world too.

Jircniv's reaction was magnificent in its efficiency. One hand seized a nearby towel while the other swept up a decorative amphora—ready to be thrown at a moment's notice. His muscles coiled like springs, body settling into a defensive stance that spoke of years of assassination-survival training.

"Interesting." A single word, delivered with perfect pitch—loud enough to alert any guards who might be listening, yet tinged with just enough curiosity to buy time. His crimson eyes mapped her form, cataloging details with predatory focus. "The bathhouse is traditionally neutral ground, even for would-be assassins."

She raised her hands in a placating gesture, her empty eyes meeting crimson. "I apologise for the intrusion, but this was the only way to ensure a private audience. Your guards are loyal, but their presence would complicate matters."

Jircniv's gaze flicked to the door, then back to her, his mind clearly racing. He slowly raised the container and his posture remained alert, ready to strike at any provocation.

"Oh! No, no," Megumin waved her hands, realising how this must look. "This isn't an assassination attempt! Well, I mean, I guess it could look like one, what with the whole appearing-while-you're-bathing thing, but I promise that wasn't the intent! I just wanted to talk somewhere private about the, um, recent unpleasantness in your market district?"

The Emperor's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're claiming responsibility for the explosion."

The hiss of Megumin's respirator filled the silence before she answered, the sound alien and mechanical in the steam-filled chamber. Through the mask's dark lenses, she studied the Emperor with the detached interest of a scientist observing a particularly interesting specimen.

"Claiming responsibility suggests it might not be mine to claim," she said, her voice distorted into something barely human. "Let us say instead that I am acknowledging a certain miscalculation on my part."

"A miscalculation," Jircniv repeated, his voice flat. "Twenty-seven dead. Half the eastern market destroyed. And you call it a miscalculation."

"The blast radius was actually quite precise," Megumin replied, her head tilting at an angle just wrong enough to be unsettling. "Though I admit the yield exceeded expectations. I was meaning to simply test my abilities when… that happened."

Jircniv shifted slightly, water rippling around his chest. His eyes never left the dark lenses of her mask. "How did you get past my guards?"

Megumin made a dismissive gesture, the movement too fluid, too seamless. "Is that really what concerns you most? The shortcomings of your security rather than the reason for my visit?"

"Forgive me for being cautious when confronted by a masked figure who appears uninvited in my bath and admits to killing my citizens," Jircniv replied, sarcasm edging his words.

"Fair point! Very reasonable, really." Megumin clapped her hands together, the sound echoing unnaturally in the silenced chamber. "Social niceties dictate that I should express remorse for the deaths, so consider that done. Very sorry about it all. Truly regrettable. Such a waste of life, et cetera."

The gas mask wheezed with her exaggerated sigh. "The truth is, I'm still getting used to this. Where I'm from, such matters tend to be less permanent." She tilted her head the other way, studying him. "Your eyes are very interesting, by the way."

"Forgive me if I don't return the compliment," Jircniv said dryly. "Your appearance is rather distinctive."

"Oh, this?" Megumin gestured at her mask. "It's quite practical, actually. Where I come from, the air itself is poison. Everyone wears these, or they die slowly from the inside out." She leaned forward, the lenses of her mask reflecting nothing.

Jircniv's expression remained carefully neutral, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "And where might that be?"

"It's a place that no longer exists, at least not for me." Megumin spread her arms in a theatrical gesture. "But that's neither here nor there! I've come to make amends, as is proper when one has inadvertently caused harm."

"Amends," Jircniv repeated skeptically. "And how exactly does one make amends for twenty-seven lives?"

Megumin tilted her head, considering. "Well, I suppose it depends on how you value human life. I've learned that in strictly economic terms—"

"They were my citizens," Jircniv cut her off, his voice hardening. "Not numbers in a ledger."

"How refreshingly sentimental," Megumin observed, her tone suggesting genuine surprise. "I wouldn't have expected that from someone called the Blood Emperor. Your reputation suggests a more pragmatic approach to mortality."

Jircniv's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You seem remarkably well-informed."

"I've been listening," Megumin admitted. "The way you govern. It's quite fascinating, actually. In some ways, it reminds me of corporate governance structures, though with more beheadings and fewer quarterly reports."

She began pacing the edge of the bath. "I could offer gold, of course. Material compensation for families, reconstruction costs. But that seems inadequate. Money doesn't really address the fundamental imbalance, does it?"

"And what imbalance is that?" Jircniv asked, his eyes tracking her movement.

"Power," Megumin said simply. "You have it, but not enough. I have too much, with too little direction." She stopped, turning to face him directly. "Perhaps we could help each other."

The bathhouse doors burst open, and Leinas Rockbruise stumbled through the silence barrier, her face flushed with panic. Her mouth moved soundlessly for a moment before she entered the spelled area.

"Your Majesty! The Windflower Scripture—they're here! In the throne room! Their leader demands immediate audience regarding the market district incident and—" The Imperial Knight's eyes finally registered Megumin's presence, her hand dropping to her spear. "Intruder!"

Leinas's spear spun in one fluid motion, her face twisted with protective fury. Steam parted around her as she lunged forward, the blade's edge singing through the air with deadly precision. The knight's reputation wasn't just for show. Her attack would have bisected any normal assassin.

But Megumin wasn't 'normal', was she?

"[Temporal Stasis]."

Leinas Rockbruise, one of the Empire's four Imperial Knights, froze mid-strike. Not the crude paralysis of a [Hold Person] spell, but something far more fundamental. The very air around her crystallised into perfect stillness like a three-dimensional painting. Even the water droplets from her blade's arc hung suspended, catching light that suddenly had all the time in the world to reflect.

Megumin sighed, the sound whistling through her mask's filters.

"My apologies for that," Megumin said, turning back to Jircniv. "She seems very dedicated to her job."

The Emperor's eyes hadn't left her mask's dark lenses, though she noted how his gaze flickered briefly to his frozen knight.

"Release her," he said finally, his voice level despite standing nearly naked before an apparent enemy. "If you are truly here to apologise for your transgressions against my Empire, you would do well to show my authority some respect."

"Erm…" Megumin gestured vaguely at the frozen knight. "I can't do that right now, but she'll be fine! Just taking a brief vacation from linear time. I didn't want her getting hurt trying to protect you from someone who's honestly just here to talk."

"Then talk." Jircniv's laugh held no humour.

He ran a hand through his still-wet hair, a gesture of frustration that seemed startlingly human from someone of his station. "I simply wanted to take a bath in peace. First, a masked girl appears claiming responsibility for an act of terrorism, and now I must deal with the Theocracy's dogs sniffing at my door. Can it all not just go away?"

Something clicked in Megumin's head. An idea sparked, dangerous and wonderful, like the moment before casting her favourite spell.

"It… could, you know." The words came slowly, her mask tilting at that unsettling angle again.

"Could what?"

"Go away." She straightened slightly, warming to the concept. "The Theocracy's representatives. They're being rather inconvenient, aren't they? Demanding audience, making threats… Very rude, really. Especially when you're trying to have a private conversation about property damage restitution."

Jircniv stared at her for a long moment.

"I mean, if they're being such a bother…" Megumin shuffled awkwardly, the motion making her school uniform look even more out of place. "I could just… sort of… make them be somewhere else? Temporarily! Probably temporarily. Most likely."

A drop of water fell from the ceiling, the soft 'plip' echoing in the silence barrier. In her frozen bubble of time, Leinas's blade continued to not-quite-reach its target.

Jircniv actually laughed—a sharp, surprised sound that echoed off the marble walls. "What are you supposed to be? Some wish-granting dragon?" He shook his head. "A scripture of the Slane Theocracy is not a stray cat to be shooed away."

"Is that a no? Because it would be very simple to just…" She waggled her fingers in what she hoped was a suitably mysterious fashion.

The Emperor studied her for a long moment, crimson eyes calculating. "I believe the Slane Theocracy has some business with you, actually. They've been rather adamant about investigating 'Crimson Cultists' in my territory."

"Crimson…cultists?" Megumin repeated, genuinely puzzled. "I don't know what that is."

"No?" Jircniv's smile was thin, disbelieving. "Strange. Their scripture leaders seem quite concerned about individuals who speak of crimson destruction. Yet here you are, claiming responsibility for an explosion that matches their descriptions perfectly."

Megumin's mask tilted in confusion. "I'm not part of any cult. The explosion was entirely my doing."

"Of course it was," Jircniv said in a tone that suggested he believed exactly the opposite. "Just as I'm sure you alone could make an entire scripture 'go away', single-handedly and with no help whatsoever."

The subtle sarcasm in his voice sailed right past Megumin, who simply nodded enthusiastically.

"Exactly! It would be trivial, really. A simple [Mass Greater Teleportation] and they'd find themselves…" She paused, considering. "Perhaps atop the nearest mountain range? Or in a nice field of flowers?"

Jircniv's expression shifted almost imperceptibly—calculation replacing skepticism. If this delusional magic caster truly believed she could challenge a Scripture, perhaps he could solve two problems at once. Either she'd eliminate some of the Theocracy's agents, or they'd dispose of this bizarre intruder for him. He'd have the alibi of delivering a Crimson Cultist directly to their door regardless. A win either way.

"Tell me," he said, his voice carefully neutral, "what exactly do you hope to gain by coming here? By claiming responsibility for a terrorist act and then offering to attack representatives of a neighbouring country?"

"It's not an attack," Megumin clarified, the gas mask's lenses reflecting nothing. "Just a geographical relocation. And I told you, I'm here to apologise properly. The explosion was excessive. I'm still adjusting to this realm."

"This realm?" Jircniv repeated, now certain he was dealing with a madwoman. A dangerous one, certainly, but clearly deranged. These cultists were getting bolder by the day.

"Yes, this…" Megumin gestured vaguely at their surroundings. "Everything. It's all very new to me."

"I see." Jircniv didn't see at all, but that hardly mattered. "And you believe you can simply make the Theocracy's agents disappear without consequences."

"What consequences? They'd still be alive, just… elsewhere. They could walk back. Eventually."

The Emperor considered his options. If this cultist actually possessed even half the power she claimed, letting her loose on the Theocracy's agents might provide valuable intelligence on both threats. And if she failed… well, he'd have one less problem to deal with.

"You're very confident," he said finally. "Perhaps overly so."

"Experience breeds confidence," Megumin replied, shrugging. "And I have quite a bit of experience with explosions. And teleportation. And temporal manipulation, as your knight is currently discovering."

Jircniv's gaze flicked briefly to Leinas, still frozen mid-strike. That, at least, was undeniably impressive magic. Once this was all over, he would ask Fluder what tier of magic it was.

"The Windflower Scripture is waiting in my throne room," he said, his tone casual despite the weight of his decision. "They have been demanding access to the explosion site and authority to investigate suspected cultists throughout my Empire."

"How terribly inconvenient for you," Megumin observed. "Especially when you're trying to enjoy a peaceful bath."

"Indeed." Jircniv's smile was a diplomatic masterpiece. He revealed nothing while seeming to offer everything. "If you truly wish to make amends for the disruption you've caused, perhaps you could explain yourself to them directly?"

"Explain myself?" Megumin considered this, oblivious to the Emperor's true intentions. "Well, I suppose that would be the proper thing to do. Take responsibility and all that."

"Precisely." Jircniv nodded, relief carefully hidden beneath imperial dignity. "They're quite eager to meet anyone connected to explosions. I'm sure they would appreciate hearing your unique perspective."

Megumin clasped her hands together, the school uniform's fabric rustling unnaturally. "An excellent suggestion! Very diplomatic. I shall introduce myself formally and clarify this whole misunderstanding!"

If Jircniv was surprised by her easy agreement, he didn't show it. "Splendid. Though perhaps you might release my knight first?"

"Oh! Yes, of course." Megumin gestured casually. "She'll return to normal the moment I leave. I didn't want our conversation interrupted by well-meaning but ultimately unnecessary violence."

Jircniv inclined his head in acknowledgment. "The throne room is down the main corridor, left at the third intersection, through the golden doors. You can't miss it."

"Perfect!" Megumin struck a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip, the other raised toward the ceiling. "I shall away to meet these scripture people forthwith! And worry not, gracious Emperor—I shall ensure they understand that you bear no responsibility for my actions. It would be most unfair for your empire to suffer because of my miscalculations."

"How considerate," Jircniv said, barely containing his amazement at how easily his ploy had worked. This cultist was powerful but clearly lacked basic political acumen. "I appreciate your understanding."

"It is the proper thing to do," Megumin declared with an emphatic nod. "Farewell for now, crimson-eyed one! May your bath be relaxing and free from further interruptions! [Greater Teleportaaation~]!"

Brilliant azure light erupted around her form as a mesmerizing whizz-whoosh sound filled the room. In a dazzling flash of blue, she vanished, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air where she had stood.

The moment she disappeared, Leinas unfroze, her spear completing its arc through empty air. The knight stumbled forward, nearly falling into the bath before regaining her balance.

"Your Majesty!" she gasped, looking around wildly. "The intruder—"

"Has gone to hand herself into the Windflower Scripture," Jircniv replied calmly, rising from the water. "Hand me my robe, Leinas. I believe we should prepare for an interesting diplomatic situation."

As the knight helped him dress, confusion evident in her face, Jircniv allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Whether the cultist destroyed the Scripture or the Scripture captured the cultist, he would be rid of at least one problem. And if, by some miracle, they destroyed each other…well, that would be the ideal outcome.

"Your Majesty?" Leinas ventured, still bewildered by what had just occurred. "Should we warn the Scripture?"

"About what?" Jircniv asked innocently. "A delusional woman in a strange mask who claims responsibility for destroying the market district? I believe that's precisely why they're here, is it not?"

"But she froze me! She appeared out of nowhere in your private bath!"

"Did she?" Jircniv raised an eyebrow. "I recall her offering to apologize for an act of terrorism and then volunteering to explain herself to the proper authorities. She seemed awfully guilty about it. Perhaps these cultists do have a heart."

Leinas opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. "As you say, Your Majesty."

"Indeed." Jircniv straightened his imperial robes, his expression once again a mask of controlled authority. "Now, I believe we should make our way to the throne room. I wouldn't want to miss whatever explanations our visitor might offer."

As they left the bathhouse, attended by guards who had seen and heard nothing of the encounter, Jircniv reflected on the strange cultist's words. Her claim about "adjusting to this realm" suggested the Crimson Cult might be more widespread than intelligence reports indicated. Perhaps they were still lingering pockets outside the Empire's borders? Something to investigate, once the immediate crisis had passed.

One thing was certain—whoever emerged victorious from the confrontation between the masked cultist and the Theocracy's agents, Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix, the Blood Emperor, would come out on top.

Megumin materialised in an empty corridor, pleased with her diplomatic success. The Emperor had seemed quite receptive to her apology, even suggesting a proper course of action! How refreshing to find a ruler who understood the importance of taking responsibility!

She glanced around, getting her bearings. Golden doors, the Emperor had said. Left at the third intersection. Simple enough. She strode forward, her school uniform and gas mask creating a bizarre contrast against the opulent palace decor.

As she walked, Megumin considered how best to explain the situation to these "Windflower Scripture" people. A formal apology seemed appropriate, followed by a detailed technical explanation of why the explosion had exceeded parameters. Perhaps a demonstration of controlled magical output to show her good faith?

The thought made her giggle behind her mask. Oh, the expressions on their faces would be priceless! Assuming they had faces. One could never be too certain in another world, twice.

Rounding the third intersection, Megumin spotted the golden doors the Emperor had mentioned. They were magnificent—twice her height and covered in intricate carvings depicting what appeared to be the Empire's military triumphs. Very subtle. Megumin approved.

Two guards flanked the entrance, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. They stiffened as she approached, hands moving to their weapons.

"Halt!" one commanded. "Identify yourself!"

The Crimson Demon struck a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip, the other extended theatrically. "I have come at the Emperor's behest to speak with the Windflower Scripture regarding a certain explosion that may have been slightly more impressive than intended!"

The guards exchanged bewildered glances, clearly unprepared for a schoolgirl in a gas mask making such proclamations.

"The Emperor sent you?" one asked dubiously.

"Indeed! We just had a lovely chat in the bathhouse. Very accommodating, your Emperor. Suggested I come explain myself directly to these Scripture people. Most efficient!"

Before the guards could respond, the golden doors swung open from within. A stern-faced woman in ornate white robes stepped forward, her piercing eyes fixing on Megumin with immediate intensity.

"We heard everything," she said, her voice cold as winter. "The Windflower Scripture has been expecting you, heretic."

"Heretic?" Megumin tilted her head, genuinely confused. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

The woman's lips curved into a thin, humorless smile. "Oh, there's no misunderstanding. The Slane Theocracy has documented every aspect of your cult's magic. That explosion was unmistakably the work of your fellow followers." She gestured sharply. "But we never expected one of you to simply walk up and announce yourself."

Megumin's confusion deepened. "I'm not part of any cult. The explosion was entirely my doing. A bit stronger than I intended, but that's why I'm here to apologise!"

The woman's lips curved into a thin, humourless smile. "I see your script hasn't changed. A lone actor claiming responsibility." She gestured sharply to her companions. "Bring her in. We'll continue this discussion inside."

Two robed figures moved forward. Megumin allowed herself to be guided into the throne room, still trying to make sense of the situation. What cult were they talking about? How thoughtful of the Emperor to direct her to people who clearly needed an explanation about the explosion! Perhaps they'd been tasked with reconstruction efforts?

As she entered the grand chamber, Megumin noticed the empty throne upon its dais. Of course, the Emperor wouldn't be here yet—he was still finishing his bath. Around the room stood a dozen more white-robed figures, some holding ornate staves, others with hands resting on weapons.

They didn't look like city planners.

"I think," Megumin said to no one in particular, the respirator's mechanical wheeze punctuating her words, "that there has been a rather significant miscommunication."

Why was she hesitating? She'd come to apologise for an accident, yes, but if they rejected her apology, wasn't she free to act as she pleased?

Behind her mask, Megumin smiled. Perhaps that was simply her nature for things to end this way. But she couldn't deny that a small part of herself hoped for an outcome like this.

It seemed a more practical demonstration of her abilities was in order after all.