Mare's descent carved through the morning air like a falling star, his emerald staff blazing with raw druidic power. Where his magic touched the scarred earth, life erupted in violent beauty—grass tearing through the soil, roots writhing like serpents, flowers blooming with colors that seemed to pulse with their own heartbeat. The very ground convulsed as nature reclaimed what had been barren, a transformation so visceral it made the air itself taste of copper and chlorophyll.
Mare's feet touched the earth with the softest whisper, yet the impact sent tremors through the newly awakened soil. He spun toward his lord with an expression of pure rapture, eyes wide and gleaming with devotion that bordered on fanatical. "Lord Sephiroth!" The name tore from his throat like a prayer, and he bounded forward with movements that seemed to defy gravity itself, his feminine grace somehow making each step appear choreographed by madness and worship.
Such beautiful corruption, Sephiroth mused, watching the young dark elf's desperate need for approval writhe across his features like a living shadow. Even in this world, worship takes the most exquisite forms.
"Why are you here?" Mare asked, then his expression shifted to concern, almost panic. "Did I make a mistake? Did I fail you somehow?"
"Quite the contrary, Mare." Sephiroth's voice carried that distinctive melodic quality, calm yet commanding. He knelt gracefully to Mare's level, his movements fluid and deliberate. "Your work concealing our home has been... exemplary. I trust you understand the significance of this task."
"Y-yes, Lord Sephiroth," Mare responded nervously, still affected by his lord's imposing presence even when showing kindness.
"Good." Sephiroth stood with ethereal grace, reaching into the air where green flames danced briefly, leaving behind a small ring bearing the guild crest. "Then accept this token of my... appreciation."
"The ring of Ainz Ooal Gown!" Mare squeaked, his voice reaching higher octaves. "But only the Supreme Beings should wear these! I couldn't possibly—"
"You will," Sephiroth interrupted gently, though his tone brooked no argument. "Consider it both a tool and a symbol. The ring will ease your movement between floors, and more importantly..." His green eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly light. "It marks you as one who has earned my personal recognition."
Mare accepted the ring with trembling hands, sliding it onto his finger and watching in wonder as it adjusted to fit perfectly.
"I-I won't disappoint you! I'll work even harder to be worthy of this honor!"
"I have no doubt you will exceed even my expectations." Sephiroth's smile was subtle but genuine. "Now, return to your duties. I have other matters to attend to."
"You could never be a burden to us, my beloved Sephiroth," came a sultry voice from above. Black feathers drifted down as Albedo descended, her wings folding elegantly as she touched down.
"Albedo." Sephiroth acknowledged her with a slight incline of his head, silver hair flowing like liquid mercury.
"Your very presence inspires us all to greater heights," she purred, approaching with calculated grace. "How could such perfection ever be unwelcome?"
"H-hello, Lady Albedo," Mare stammered, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Albedo's golden eyes fixed on the young dark elf with barely concealed irritation. "Mare," she said with a false sweetness that could freeze hellfire.
The territorial behavior remains unchanged, Sephiroth observed with mild amusement. Some aspects of her programming run deeper than others.
Mare, possessing more survival instinct than courage, bowed quickly and retreated at a pace that was almost, but not quite, running.
"You seem... tense, Albedo," Sephiroth noted, his voice carrying that particular cadence that suggested he found her jealousy mildly entertaining.
"Not at all," she replied with dangerous sweetness, though her cheeks flushed at his attention. "Is there something you require of me?"
Such transparent emotions, he mused. But the loyalty of this intensity has its uses. "As it happens, yes." Another green flame manifested in his palm, revealing an identical ring. "As Overseer of the Floor Guardians, you should possess the same privileges."
Albedo's breath caught as she accepted the ring, her expression transforming into something approaching euphoria. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion and barely restrained desire.
"Demiurge," Sephiroth called, his voice carrying easily to where the demon had been observing with characteristic patience.
"Yes, my lord?" Demiurge stepped forward, adjusting his spectacles with practiced precision.
"Eleven additional rings will be provided within the hour. One for yourself, ten for distribution to essential personnel. I expect a detailed report on your selections." Sephiroth's tone carried the weight of absolute authority. "Your judgment will determine whether you receive the remainder for broader allocation."
"It shall be done with meticulous care, Lord Sephiroth," Demiurge replied with a perfect bow, his tail swishing with satisfaction at being trusted with such responsibility.
As Sephiroth moved past Albedo, whose breathing had become notably irregular, he allowed his hand to brush against her shoulder—a gesture both casual and calculated. Her sharp intake of breath was audible, and when she spun around to respond, she found only empty space and the fading scent of his distinctive presence.
---
Later that day, as sunlight filtered through the magical concealment surrounding Nazarick, Sephiroth sat in his study reviewing Demiurge's comprehensive report. The demon remained in a respectful kneel, awaiting judgment.
"Your selections demonstrate the strategic thinking I've come to expect from you, Demiurge," Sephiroth said, setting the papers aside with characteristic precision. "The remaining rings are yours to distribute."
He gestured to an ornate box on his desk, which Demiurge collected with obvious satisfaction.
"Your confidence in my judgment is deeply appreciated, Lord Sephiroth," Demiurge said, bowing once more before departing with barely contained pleasure at his success.
The administrative aspects of leadership, Sephiroth reflected with mild irony. Not what I expected when I chose this character, but there's a certain... poetry in bringing order to chaos.
"Summon: Mirror of Remote Viewing," he intoned, his voice carrying the perfect pronunciation that came naturally to him even in this world. The oval mirror materialized before him just as his door opened.
"Good morning, Lord Sephiroth," Sebas announced himself, entering with his characteristic measured stride.
"Sebas. Your timing, as always, is impeccable." Sephiroth didn't look away from the scrying mirror as he began manipulating its view with elegant hand gestures.
"Is there anything I might assist you with, my lord?"
"Perhaps later," Sephiroth murmured, his attention focused on extending the mirror's range beyond Nazarick's perimeter. He guided the view across the surrounding forest until it settled on a distant village.
"A celebration of some sort?" Sebas suggested, observing the crowd gathering in the village center.
Sephiroth's expression darkened as he focused the image. "No. Slaughter." His voice carried a cold edge as he observed armored soldiers systematically murdering villagers. "How... wasteful."
Even as he watched the massacre unfold, Sephiroth felt that familiar detachment—the same emotional distance that had defined his existence in both worlds. Yet something nagged at him as he observed two young girls fleeing desperately through the chaos.
"Sebas, summon Albedo and Aizen. We're intervening."
"At once, Lord Sephiroth." Sebas departed with renewed purpose.
Sephiroth drew Masamune, the blade singing as it cut through space itself. "Gate," he commanded, and reality parted before his will.
---
## The Girls' Perspective
"Sissy..." Nemu whispered in terror as her older sister Enri collapsed, blood spreading across her back from the knight's sword.
The armored soldier raised his weapon for the killing blow, but before it could fall, the very air began to ripple with otherworldly energy. A sound like wind through silver chimes filled the space, and the temperature dropped noticeably.
The knights froze, their weapons lowering as they stared in growing horror at something behind the girls.
"What in the name of—" one soldier began, but his voice died in his throat.
From the ethereal rift stepped a figure that seemed carved from nightmares and divine ecstasy. Silver hair flowed like liquid mercury touched by starlight, each strand catching and fracturing the light into prismatic agony. His face bore the terrible beauty of a fallen seraph—features so perfect they seemed to mock humanity itself, with eyes like burning emeralds that held the weight of countless deaths. Clad in black leather that seemed to drink in the light, with steel adorned in wing motifs that spoke of paradise lost, he moved with predatory grace that made reality itself seem to bend around him.
The sword in his grip pulsed with malevolent light, its blade humming with barely contained violence that made the very air weep.
"How... pathetically predictable," Sephiroth's voice drifted through the air like silk over razor wire, each word perfectly enunciated and dripping with contempt so pure it felt like acid on the soul. "To witness such artless, graceless slaughter... it offends my very existence."
He glided forward, each movement a study in lethal poetry, his presence alone causing the temperature to plummet until breath became visible and steel began to frost.
"Mercy," one knight gasped, the word torn from his throat in a spray of saliva and terror. "We were following orders from—"
"Orders." The word fell from Sephiroth's lips like a death sentence, his emerald eyes igniting with flames that seemed to burn cold. "How beautifully... human."
Masamune moved in an arc of silver lightning. The knight didn't scream—there wasn't time. His body separated with surgical precision, each half falling in perfect symmetry as blood painted the ground in arterial spirals. The metallic scent filled the air, rich and cloying.
"Perfection," Sephiroth whispered, watching crimson droplets slide down his blade like liquid rubies. "Even in death, there should be... artistry."
The surviving knight's legs betrayed him, sending him stumbling backward as his mind shattered against the impossibility of what he'd witnessed. He tried to run, but darkness erupted from Sephiroth's outstretched palm like black lightning given form—tendrils of shadow that wrapped around the soldier's soul and began to squeeze.
"Despair," Sephiroth intoned, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability itself. The knight's scream transformed into something inhuman, rising in pitch until it became a shriek that seemed to tear reality's fabric.
His body convulsed as the darkness consumed him from within, flesh melting away like wax to reveal gleaming bone, which then cracked and reformed into something altogether more monstrous. Where a man had stood, now crouched a creature of white bone and endless hunger—a Hollow, its mask bearing the twisted remnants of human features frozen in eternal anguish.
"Hunt," Sephiroth commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a god addressing his most devoted servant. "Leave none of these insects breathing. Make their deaths... memorable."
The Hollow's response was a sound somewhere between a roar and a sob, before it vanished in a blur of bone-white violence and insatiable hunger. A succubus with black wings and barely contained fury, and a tall man whose casual smile somehow seemed more dangerous than any weapon.
"Albedo. Aizen," Sephiroth acknowledged them.
"Apologies for the delay," Aizen said with that characteristic smile, adjusting his glasses. "Someone insisted on changing outfits three times."
Albedo's eye twitched dangerously. "One must look appropriate when summoned by perfection incarnate!"
"Ah, but Albedo-san," Aizen's smile widened with false warmth, "surely you understand that when Lord Sephiroth calls, punctuality demonstrates respect more eloquently than... accessories?"
"Are you questioning my devotion?!" Albedo snarled, her axe materializing in her grip.
"Perish the thought," Aizen replied smoothly, his hand resting casually on his sword's hilt. "I merely observe that true dedication reveals itself in action rather than... presentation."
"ENOUGH." Sephiroth's single word carried absolute authority, freezing both combatants instantly. "Your petty rivalry serves no one, least of all me."
---
## Sephiroth's Perspective
Both guardians immediately prostrated themselves. "Forgive me, Lord Sephiroth," they said in unison.
"Rise," he commanded, then turned his attention to the injured girls. His movements were fluid as water as he knelt beside them, Masamune dissolving into motes of light.
"I am Sephiroth," he said, his voice gentler now but no less commanding. "These are my... associates. Albedo and Aizen."
Aizen knelt as well, his smile becoming genuinely warm. "A pleasure to meet you both. Might we know your names?"
"E-Enri," the older girl managed, clutching her sister protectively. "And this is Nemu."
"Lovely names," Aizen said approvingly. "Though I notice you're injured, Enri-chan."
Sephiroth summoned a healing potion, the red liquid appearing in a crystal vial. "This will restore you completely."
Enri stared at the potion with obvious fear and uncertainty. Her sister grabbed her arm, trying to pull it away.
"Sissy, no! Don't drink it!"
"Nemu, please—"
"It's poison! It has to be!"
Albedo's temper flared at the perceived insult. "How dare you question Lord Sephiroth's—"
"Albedo." Sephiroth's voice cut through her rage like a blade through silk. "Control yourself."
"My apologies, my lord," she said through gritted teeth.
"The child's caution is... prudent," Aizen observed with genuine approval. "Though unnecessary in this case. Tell me, young ones, are you familiar with magic?"
"A little," Enri admitted. "A healer visits our village sometimes..."
"Then you understand the principles involved," Sephiroth said patiently. "This will heal your wounds and ease your pain. Nothing more, nothing less."
Something in his tone—perhaps its very lack of deception—convinced her. Enri drank the potion and gasped as her injuries vanished instantly.
Sephiroth rose with fluid grace and extended his hand to help her up. After a moment's hesitation, she accepted, and he lifted her effortlessly to her feet.
"What are you?" Enri asked with more curiosity than fear now.
What indeed? Sephiroth mused. In my original world, I was called a monster. Here, I have the power to be something... greater. "Have mortals truly forgotten the old gods so completely?" he asked with ethereal amusement.
The girls' eyes widened in awe and recognition. Albedo practically glowed with pride at her beloved claiming divinity, while Aizen's smile took on a more calculating edge as he recognized the strategic brilliance of such a declaration.
"Come," Sephiroth said, beginning to levitate with effortless grace. Magical energy lifted the girls gently alongside him. "Let us see what remains of your village."
As they flew over the now-quiet settlement, Sephiroth contemplated his next moves. If he was to be worshipped as a god in this world, perhaps it was time to look the part. After all, even deities required proper... presentation.
The irony wasn't lost on him that Albedo might actually approve of such vanity.
---
End of Chapter