Preparation (1)

The Pandemonium Regular Meeting.

It was an annual council and sacred custom so ancient that attempting to trace its origins back to the beginning felt like a fool's errand. Over eons uncounted, nearly everything about it had shifted—from the proceedings themselves down to the roster of attendees—when compared to its primordial iterations. Yet amidst all that change, a single constant remained: every demon lord could traverse dimensions legally, entirely exempt from the suppressive backlash of causality.

Naturally, dimensional transit was hardly an impossible feat for high-tier demon lords, and a fair number of regulars within the Demon Lord Gallery could tear through the void when pressed. Even so, the Pandemonium Regular Meeting existed on an entirely different plane.

Nowhere else across the multiverse could one cross the boundary to meet another demon lord in the flesh without worrying about qualifications, dimensional recoil, temporal paradoxes, or community conduct guidelines. And what did meeting in the flesh actually entail?

For the martial brawlers and battle junkies, it offered a rare chance to beat each other half to death in blood-splattering, legally sanctioned combat. For the sorcerous archmages, it was an opportunity to witness foreign dimensional magic with their own eyes. For the weak, it offered networking; for the mighty, a chance to rally new factions under their banner.

In fact, at one past council, a desperate demon lord on the brink of extermination by a local Hero had shared a drunken feast at the afterparty with an upper-echelon lord of Pandemonium. The two had sworn a pact of blood brotherhood right then and there over the liquor jars. Backed by his newfound sworn brother, the beleaguered demon lord had returned home and butchered his nemesis within minutes.

Conversely, one of the current elders of Pandemonium had first gained prominence during a regular meeting, parlaying the overnight faction he amassed into a bedrock of political clout that eventually carried him to an elder's seat. Needless to say, further explanation was redundant.

In short, it was an annual festival that practically every sovereign in existence counted down the days to attend.

Moreover, given that most demon lords were attention-seeking narcissists by their very nature, the council held an importance paramount to anything else in their immortal lives—often outweighing their very survival. Thus, the moment the sticky notification from the head manager, Ban-gal-juk, went live, demons across countless worlds threw themselves into frantic preparations, eagerly counting the hours until they could assemble.

With just a single day remaining until the Pandemonium Regular Meeting, the gallery was more alive than it had ever been. One might have wondered if another flame war had erupted, but the forum was ablaze for an entirely different reason. Demonic sovereigns were furiously trading threads and tossing replies back and forth solely to finalize their preparations for the gathering looming right on their doorsteps.

Surprising as it was, the tone of these discussions was downright wholesome—at least when graded on the subterranean curve of the Demon Lord Gallery's usual filth.

There was scarcely a dull thread on the board. Granted, that leather-clad degenerate's post had been a flashbang straight to the corneas, but the rest were surprisingly informative. For the first time in history, an atmosphere of "Haha, let's all cooperate and share!" hovered over a gathering of genocidal tyrants. But amidst all the festivities, I had one glaring problem.

"I'm so damn jealous..."

Jealousy didn't even begin to cover it; my stomach burned with bitter envy. Why was I the only one stuck taking an avatar? Why did my miserable backwater dimension have such absurd barrier difficulty that I was forced into a spiritual projection?

Back when I first heard the explanation for avatar projection, I had been thrilled that it carried zero physical risk or backlash. But that was ancient history. The more I browsed the threads flooding the gallery over the past five days, the clearer it became that attending as an ethereal phantom was nothing short of an absolute scam.

The reason for my despair was painfully simple: an avatar couldn't carry physical matter back across dimensions. That meant I couldn't benefit from a single gift, including the high-tech armaments EMPEROR was casually handing out.

"This is bullshit. Pure, unadulterated bullshit..."

If it had just been one or two giveaways, I could have swallowed my pride and moved on. But when I refreshed the Hall of Fame page, at least one or two posts on every single page were charity drives from ancient demigods giving away relics.

Every corner of the forum was bustling with deals like this. Grimoires that unleashed apocalyptic sorcery just by unlatching the cover, planetary-scale plasma force fields, divine relics of incomprehensible power... artifacts that were beyond the wildest dreams of my shattered Earth were being tossed around like pocket change. How could my stomach not turn inside out from sheer envy?

Were these really the same psychotic bastards who ripped each other's throats out in the comment sections every other day? Why did all the lurkers and famous named accounts choose right now to play nice and sing campfire songs together?

I really was the only unlucky bastard in the entire multiverse.

"Haaah..."

I let out a heavy sigh, but wallowing in self-pity wouldn't change reality. For a brief, desperate moment, I had contemplated DMing the assistant managers or Ban-gal-juk himself to ask if they could upgrade me from an avatar projection to a full ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠physical transit. But the moment I realized the odds of approval were practically zero—and the risk of drawing unwanted scrutiny was astronomical—I shoved the idea straight into the trash.

In the end, all I could do was curse my lot in life and spend the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠week like I always did: doing my mundane daily rounds, clearing minor Gates, and monitoring dimensional fluctuations.

"Still..."

That didn't mean I had sat on my hands doing nothing.

I had wracked my brains over the past seven days, plotting and scheming my own preparations for the Pandemonium Regular Meeting. And against all odds, the harvest had exceeded my wildest expectations.

This ought to be enough.

There were barely twenty-four hours left on the clock. That was more than enough time to put the finishing touches on the master plan I had set in motion a week ago.

"Right then."

Time to get to work.

Steeling my resolve with quiet ambition, I reached out my hand toward the colossal mountain of books stacked high against the wall.