The throne room emptied in waves. One by one, the floor guardians departed—each with perfect posture, measured steps, and undying loyalty. When the grand doors closed behind Ainz Ooal Gown, silence fell like ash in a dead world.
Elijah stood still.
His shadow stretched long behind him. His cloak—Mimic—shifted faintly, sensing the unease in her master's stillness.
He had done everything right.
Killed without hesitation.
Followed orders.
Earned their trust.
And yet…
"Would Touch Me have walked this same path? Would he have stood beside them? Or stopped them?"
Control Room – Quiet Observation Platform
CZ2128-Delta leaned against the doorway, silent as ever.
The only sound was the subtle rotation of her optic sensor lenses adjusting. She'd been watching him for minutes. Maybe more.
He didn't turn to look at her when she finally spoke.
Delta: "Most guardians despise the weak… You pity them?"
Elijah: (quietly) "They're no different from you and me. Your Supreme Being… was once weak, too. My mentor saved him. Taught him he mattered. I knew Momonga… back in the Nines Ool Goan days."
He exhaled slowly.
Elijah: "Now… he's changed."
Delta: "Changed?"
Elijah: "Like he intends to carry the weight of Nazarick on his own."
A long silence.
Mimic, sensing the heaviness in his voice, nudged his side softly—like a restless pup asking for reassurance. Her movement wasn't dramatic, but Delta's lenses zoomed in instinctively.
Target: Non-classified item. Signature: Unknown. Organic construct.
Danger level: Unknown. Observation recommended.
Delta: "…That cloak is alive."
Elijah: (smiling faintly) "She's more than that."
He crouched down and ran his hand over her dark form.
Elijah: "There was a world item… one the devs gave out to let you change something in the game. Just once. Most used it to buff stats, or create perfect gear."
He looked up at Delta.
Elijah: "I made her."
The cloak unraveled.
Mimic's form shifted—liquid shadow folding inward, stretching out like smoke gaining substance. What emerged was not cloth, not armor—but a figure.
The demoness stood with poise, her wings curled slightly around her sides. Her eyes glowed like dying stars—intense, wordless.
Delta's head tilted by a fraction. It was the most shocked expression she'd ever shown.
Delta: "World item functionality… mimetic intelligence… combat-ready form. No existing registry."
Without warning, one of the shadows beside Mimic split and reformed—another version of her stepping forward and transforming mid-step. The shape contorted into a sleek, brutal Gatling gun, barrels humming faintly as they cooled from simulated heat.
Elijah: "She's the first original world item. Built from the ground up. There's no other like her."
Delta said nothing at first, then spoke with that same monotone voice:
Delta: "You are… not what I expected."
He looked at her. For the first time, her eyes weren't calculating. Just curious.
Elijah: "Neither is she."
He stood beside Mimic as she returned to her usual shape, flowing up his back once more like a shadow reclaiming its place.
Elijah: "Neither am I, I guess."
Outside the window, the stars of the Great Tomb flickered like the lights of a forgotten sky. And in that moment, two watchers of death—one mechanical, one ghostlike—shared silence without suspicion.