The Eve (2)

The Pandemonium Assembly.

Even putting aside the method of attendance—cross-dimensional transit via a spiritual avatar—the gathering itself was a glaring issue.

"...I didn't join the Demon Lord Gallery for this kind of corporate summit bullshit."

What else was there to say? Frankly speaking, sitting down face-to-face with a bunch of actual Demon Lords was the last thing he wanted to do. While the users he had met so far, like Odin and the Marquis of Wolves, were surprisingly civil and sane, he knew full well they represented a tiny, eccentric minority. From what he had gleaned browsing the board, if an afterparty or arena duel broke out after the gavel fell...

I won't be able to handle that.

He was a Demon Lord in title alone; fundamentally, he remained closer to an ordinary human psychic. He had zero confidence in enduring their primordial malice point-blank.

"Isn't there any way to skip it...?"

Clinging to faint hope, he dug through the gallery archives for records on assembly absences, only to find a grand total of one documented excuse. That meant across millions, perhaps billions of years, precisely one solitary Demon Lord had ever been granted permission to play hooky. By contrast, the archives overflowed with cautionary tales of unauthorized absentees—rebels whose entire native dimensions had been ground to cosmic dust, or deserters dragged in chains to be imprisoned in the darkest subterranean abyss of Pandemonium. He had no real choice. Attendance was mandatory.

Sighing heavily at the bleak reality, he opened the file attached to the private message. A flurry of holographic windows cascaded across his vision, filling the cramped interior of the tent.

"Spiritual Avatar Transit Mechanics, Transit Window and Recommendations, Pandemonium Assembly Itinerary, Contingency Protocol for Anomalous Events... why is there so much bureaucratic crap?"

Even a cursory skim revealed dozens of densely packed pages. Muttering complaints under his breath, he pored over the documentation until a quiet murmur of realization escaped his lips.

"So that's how an avatar works?"

According to the briefing, the extreme physical density of his dimensional depth made standard transit—freezing localized temporal flow and stepping across realities in one's true physical vessel—prohibitively difficult. Rather than attempting such an exhausting and hazardous ritual, the system would excise and construct an independent spiritual construct: an avatar mirroring his personality, knowledge, and memories, which would then be projected across the void. Once the assembly concluded, the avatar would naturally reintegrate into his physical form, merging all accrued experiences and knowledge back into the host consciousness without disrupting the native timeline.

Yet, one specific footnote caught his attention, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

If it's an independent spiritual body possessing my exact personality, memories, and consciousness... isn't that just another living person?

Viewed through an existential lens, that projected avatar was an autonomous soul in its own right. If it perished out there in the abyss, wouldn't that mean an iteration of 'him' had truly died? Of course, his primary flesh sitting here on Earth would remain pristine and untouched. But would that other 'him'—burdened with these exact same anxieties and doubts—really be able to accept oblivion with a serene smile, rationalizing that he was merely a disposable copy?

"...Stop overthinking. It's useless."

It took conscious effort to rein in his wandering thoughts. Was he finally losing his mind? For twenty agonizing years, he had lived like an unfeeling, mechanical drone, surviving on autopilot. Why had he suddenly grown so sentimental? The human psyche truly was an enigma.

"Anyway, a little over a week left, right?"

According to local temporal conversion, avatar transit would initiate in eight days and six hours. In the meantime, his daily agenda remained blissfully simple.

"Back to shitposting."

As always, the sacred cycle continued: clear Gates, eat food, browse the gallery.

Eight days had elapsed since the Chief Manager pinned the assembly announcement.

Those eight days vanished in the blink of an eye, bringing the Pandemonium gathering right to his doorstep. Yet the week had hardly been wasted. In fact, it had been one of the most entertaining stretches of his recent life, entirely thanks to the remarkably tranquil and wholesome atmosphere that had descended over the Demon Lord Gallery.

Even a glance made the unprecedented peace evident. The toxic agitators and duel-crazed lunatics who usually polluted the board twenty-four hours a day had vanished, and even the arena sub-board sat dead quiet. The reason was singular: everyone was holding their breath, hoarding their violent urges for the bloodsport bound to erupt in person at Pandemonium.

As a consequence, the forum discourse over the past week had revolved around shockingly wholesome, domestic topics. The current rolling drama in particular was so utterly captivating that Shin Soohyun found himself glued to the screen without the slightest hint of disgust. After all, how could anyone look away from a primetime soap opera unfolding live in an interdimensional demonic chatroom?

This single thread had ignited the entire forum. A scandal of unprecedented proportions—a female Hero running away with the heir to a Demon Lord—naturally set the board ablaze.

Most posters viewed someone else's misfortune as supreme entertainment. About ninety-nine percent of commenters offered neither sympathy nor viable advice, choosing instead to pour kerosene on the fire. To make matters worse, the original poster, 'MenopausalDemonLord,' had briefly uploaded a dimensional image file containing portraits of both the female Hero and the abandoned fiancée.

The moderators had nuked the post within literal seconds, but nothing escaped the all-seeing eyes of chronically online demon lords. The data was scraped instantly. The accidental leak of both women's portraits inevitably escalated the drama into a full-scale factional war.

"Pfft...!"

Shin Soohyun let out an involuntary chuckle as he scrolled through the comments. Was this what happened to the board when the bloodthirsty gladiators took a temporary truce? This surprisingly mundane, human warmth radiating from a community of apocalyptic overlords wasn't bad at all. If the gallery maintained this kind of tone, enduring his remaining thirty years of isolation wouldn't feel so unbearable.

"This is actually fun."

A crackling campfire outside, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cozy canvas tent, an endless canopy of brilliant stars hanging over a silent world, and a screen filled with the chaotic banter of living souls. Without question, it was the finest night he had experienced in the past two decades.

"I wish every day could be like this."

A quiet, modest wish, yet one that felt more luxurious than anything in existence, carried softly into the apocalyptic night.

Deep within the colossal orbital refuge of spaceborne humanity, footsteps echoed rapidly down a massive, futuristic metal corridor.

A researcher in a pristine white coat sprinted with frantic urgency.

"Why is the Chairman summoning me so suddenly?"

"New intelligence regarding E_0's recent activity was delivered to his desk," an artificial synthesized voice replied through her earpiece.

"Wasn't that matter supposed to remain unresolved for now?"

"Were you unaware that the Coalition Council held an emergency plenary session today?"

"...I apologize. I was buried in research data and completely lost track of time."

"*Sigh*... Chief Researcher Sara. I would appreciate it if you consulted your schedule at least once a day."

"I'll be more mindful."

The woman addressed as Chief Sara sprinted through reinforced security airlocks, her credentials clearing clearance thresholds in rapid sequence. After traversing several security sectors, she finally halted before an austere, heavy set of double doors.

"Chief Researcher Sara reporting."

"Enter."

The doors hissed open to reveal an opulent, archaic library. Towering shelves carved from mahogany held rows upon rows of real paper books—an exorbitant, obscene luxury in the resource-starved void of orbital space. The study stood as a physical testament to supreme wealth and unassailable authority, projecting the absolute stature of its occupant. In the center of the chamber, shrouded in thin ribbons of blue smoke, a middle-aged man stood puffing on a handcrafted cigar.

"You summoned me, Mr. Chairman."

"Indeed, Chief Sara. A binding resolution was passed during today's Council session."

The man known as the Council Chairman ground his cigar into an onyx ashtray and rose to his feet, his gaze cold and heavy.

"Initiate the final phase of Project Inhuman."

"...What?"

"You heard me clearly. Reactivate Project Inhuman, which had been suspended just prior to its terminal stage."

"B-but Chairman! That project's final phase has an abysmal success rate!" Sara cried out, her composure shattering as she openly questioned the directive. Across hundreds of millions of supercomputer simulations, the probability of the final phase succeeding barely touched a single percent. "We cannot butcher thousands of human lives on a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one-percent gamble, Chairman! If you lodge a formal objection to bring the matter back to the floor—"

"Do you take me for an idiot?" the Chairman snapped, cutting her off with icy finality. "Do you think I don't know the odds? But tell me, what other choice do we have? Are you going to pretend you are ignorant of the current situation regarding E_0 and Earth?"

"......"

Sara froze, unable to muster a rebuttal. Every word he spoke was an unassailable truth. The telemetry recently beamed up from the Argos satellite network was indisputable.

"Argos detected an impossible spatial anomaly on the surface—a structure resembling an ancient colosseum manifested out of thin air on Earth before vanishing," the Chairman said, his voice dropping into a harsh rasp. "Anyone with eyes can see that was an esper manifestation. Or perhaps Gate activity. What is your scientific assessment, Chief?"

"...It is undeniably an esper phenomenon, or an event of equivalent energy output, but—"

"'It might not be dangerous'? How many times do you think I've heard that naive excuse? That exact same complacent optimism is the reason humanity was driven from its home and exiled into the vacuum of space twenty years ago!"

The Chairman's voice swelled with fury, only to forcibly contract, choked down like a man suffocating on bitter poison. He could not afford to lose control. After all, the statesman who had extended leniency toward the awakening psychics twenty years ago—the fool whose mercy had cost half of humanity their lives and doomed the survivors to orbital exile—was none other than himself. Because of that irredeemable sin, he despised esper phenomena and psychic anomalies more fiercely than anyone alive. Above all else, he loathed his own past weakness.

"Furthermore, E_0—the traitor Shin Soohyun—is the single most lethal psychic in human history," the Chairman continued, pacing behind his desk. "Right now, he remains dormant on the dead surface because he lacks the means to project force into the vacuum of space. But what if his power evolves further? If he ascends past his current plateau, could you contain him, Chief Sara?"

"...No, sir."

"If the unmonitored Gates run rampant and the monsters adapt to the vacuum of space, descending upon our orbital colonies to slaughter the remnants of our species, could you stop them?"

"I could not."

"Then provide me with a viable countermeasure," the Chairman hissed, his knuckles whitening against the edge of his desk. "Instead of preaching about the sacred bioethics of disposable test subjects. You weep over a handful of biological guinea pigs, yet you remain entirely blind to the hundreds of millions of human lives hanging by a thread."

"......"

"Is this not vastly preferable to executing Project Armageddon? Or am I the only one who thinks so?"

The moment the words 'Project Armageddon' left his lips, the color drained entirely from Sara's face. Not that. That contingency must be averted at all costs. Project Armageddon was an apocalyptic scorched-earth plan designed to physically obliterate the planet Earth, completely disregarding ecological ruin, gravitational collapse, or the aftermath for orbital humanity. Compared to that madness, Project Inhuman was indeed the lesser evil. Not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an ideal solution, but a tolerable nightmare.

"...I will proceed with the project."

"Good. That settles it. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir..."

Sara bowed stiffly and turned toward the blast doors, but before she could cross the threshold, the Chairman's voice called out behind her once more. It was uncharacteristic of the meticulous statesman to append a conversation.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder with an apprehensive expression.

"Chief Sara? There was one minor detail I neglected to mention."

"Yes?"

"There is an official operational codename attached to this deployment. Those theater-loving politicians on the Council insisted on giving it a rather melodramatic moniker."

"What is the operational title?"

"Operation: 'Hero,'" the Chairman muttered with a grim, humorless scoff. "Ludicrous, isn't it?"