Stranded (1)

While most users of the Demon Lord Gallery were glued to their screens—boasting of their latest conquests, spying on rivals' realms to plot their next moves, and generally obsessing over forum threads—one resident ghost who belonged on the board more than anyone had shoved his forum window aside.

"Saehrimnir jerky, packed. Now I just need the compressed mead..."

That fixture was none other than Odin.

Posting under the handle 'OneEyedGeezer,' he was the board's resident explain-it-all Speedwagon and one of the quintessential forum phantoms who practically haunted the site twenty-four hours a day.

"Wait, Asgard's completely out? What a pain in the ass."

The predicament he faced was simple: Asgard had run out of the mead he promised to distribute in his forum giveaway thread. Why on earth did I promise an unlimited supply? A sudden wave of lethargy washed over him, pinching his brow into a sour scowl.

"Guess I have to drag myself all the way down to Midgard. Haah."

Midgard was an intertwined layer of the multi-dimensional structure known as Yggdrasil. From where he stood in Asgard, it qualified as a completely different realm, though that posed no real barrier. So long as a destination did not reside in the rigid, magic-suppressive physics of the Depth 100s, crossing dimensions was as natural to Odin as breathing. His distaste came from an entirely different matter.

"...Nothing for it. Next time I'm checking inventory before I go promising free handouts."

With a resigned sigh, he flicked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his hand through empty air. The space surrounding him warped, collapsing into a single infinitesimally small singularity before blooming outward. In that singular instant, his entire surroundings transformed.

The luminous flora, pristine white soil, and gleaming golden palaces vanished without a trace. In their place stood a colossal, withered tree silhouetted against a pitch-black sky.

He took a slow drag of the air, then let it out.

"Ah, that refreshing stench of toxic miasma. Truly, this place never changes."

Grimacing with sheer revulsion, Odin waved away the stinging fumes and strolled toward the monumental trunk before him. The ancient timber rooted on the far horizon and stabbed into the vault of heaven, seemingly unreachable by foot. Yet through some strange spatial sorcery, a few casual strides carried Odin straight to the gnarled roots of the dead tree.

"The cellar was... down under this root, right."

Muttering to himself, he dredged up ancient memories, quickly found his bearings, and stepped down into a cramped subterranean vault. Stacked within, stretching as far as the eye could see, were colossal casks. Boundless reserves of vintage mead.

He drew out his magic, compressing the barrels down into transportable charms, then snatched a dusty bottle tucked away in a shadowed crevice. When he stepped back outside, the pitch-black sky greeted him once more.

"What a rotten sky."

Just looking at it made his chest tighten with suffocating gloom, a foulness so heavy that one could hardly endure it without drowning their throat in liquor. Popping the cork off the bottle, Odin tipped his head back and emptied it in long, thirsty gulps.

The draught was bitter. Bitter and wretched, matching the blackened soil and dead sky of Midgard.

"A truly godforsaken sight, wouldn't you say, Yggdrasil?"

As Odin called out to the void between frantic gulps, the empty air cracked open, spilling a gentle bundle of luminescence into the gloom. The light slowly coalesced into the ethereal silhouette of a woman before descending softly by his side.

"...What brings you to Midgard?"

"Ask properly, why don't you? Shouldn't you be asking why I bothered stepping outside of Asgard at all?"

"...Very well. You, the All-Father, despised even glancing at other dimensions beyond Asgard. So why—"

"Came to fetch this stuff. Can't you see?"

He brandished the half-emptied bottle. Yggdrasil gave a small, understanding nod.

"...Supplies for that Demon Lord council, or whatever it is called."

"Yep. What, going to nag me like the old days about associating with trash like them?"

"...No."

"Good. Saves us both a headache."

There was a time when Yggdrasil bitterly reproached him. She had wept and raged, asking how the father of a divine race, the supreme sovereign of multiple realms, could mingle with such vulgar wretches as demon lords. But after endless eons, things had changed.

Odin's past deeds had strayed far too deep into demonic cruelty, and Yggdrasil had finally accepted that the All-Father was fundamentally incapable of righteousness. Once she realized he was using Pandemonium's assembly to seek a cure that could revive her dying body and restore their shattered dimension, she stopped pestering him altogether.

"...Do you believe this gathering will yield any fruit?"

"Who knows."

Even for Odin, master of past, present, and future, a definitive answer was impossible. The Pandemonium assembly tangled the fates of countless divergent universes together, placing the summit entirely beyond the purview of foresight.

"..."

"Still, there's a fresh sprout this time. One with undeniable potential."

Odin chose to place his faith in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that sprout.

"It's my first time encountering someone from the Depth 100s. If I play it right, I can use that link to set the Grand Plan into motion. And once the Grand Plan is carried out—"

He trailed off, scanning the surrounding wasteland. Nothing met his eye but the bleak canopy and the stark footprints of extinction. If the plan succeeded, this blackened, blighted realm would be restored to life.

"I'll be able to cleanse the rot left behind by Jörmungandr."

Untethered from the constraints of Causality and the Balance, Jörmungandr's lingering venom could be wiped away in a heartbeat. And once that corruption vanished, prosperity would return to the nine realms.

"...Then go safely."

"Right. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hold down the fort while I'm out."

Riding on this regular meeting was the resurrection of Yggdrasil and all nine dimensions. To Odin, it was a lifeline he could never afford to let slip.

"I will bring back results."

No matter the cost.

Thirty minutes remained until the start of the Pandemonium Regular Meeting.

While most of the board was heating up with dimensional transfer check-ins and travel screenshots, I was enjoying a peaceful consultation with a veteran Demon Lord.

"Uh... so, all I have to do is click on this floating prompt that says 'Would you like to initiate Avatar Transfer?' right?"

—Precisely.

"...Is it always this straightforward?"

—Only on the surface, my friend. Such is the nature of magic. Simple to the eye, yet beneath the hood lies an intricate web of—

"Every time I hear about this stuff, magic sounds way too convenient. Is there any way for someone like me to learn it, Marquis?"

—Haha, out of the question, I'm afraid.

The demon lord tutoring me was none other than our community's beloved volunteer and friendly moderator, the Marquis of Wolves. Naturally, his lesson revolved around dimensional travel via Avatar Transfer. Frankly, the process was so effortless that it hardly warranted a guide at all; I could have tuned out half his words and still managed it fine.

"So that covers everything you just mentioned, right? No other safety guidelines or red flags to keep in mind...?"

—None whatsoever, so set your mind at ease.

"Should I just head over right now, then?"

—You are free to depart whenever you wish, though I personally wouldn't recommend jumping in early.

"Pardon?"

Hearing his discouraging tone, my finger froze millimeters from the transfer prompt. Coming from a demon lord as courteous and mild-mannered as the Marquis, a negative recommendation was basically screaming that danger lay ahead.

"Is there some kind of penalty for showing up early? I just figured I'd walk around and take a look at the venue."

—You seem to keep forgetting this, lad, but we are demon lords. Well, rather than me blabbering on, it would be faster for you to look at the board yourself. Pull up the gallery.

Mystified by his cryptic warning, I brought up the gallery window. Within three seconds of scanning the front page, his advice made terrifying sense.

Watching these demon lords brawl like feral beasts day in and day out had drained me of the energy to even sigh.

"...What in the world is happening over there?"

—Exactly what you see. If you inspect the official guidelines for the Regular Meeting, violence is strictly prohibited *during* the session, and scheduled duels take place at the after-party. However, there is no clause forbidding violence *prior* to opening remarks.

"So that's why they're turning the place upside down—"

—Indeed. You can think of the pre-meeting foyer bloodbath as an annual festival of sorts.

I shook my head in utter disbelief. Leave it to demon lords to exploit the rules with such shameless cunning.

"How is this any different from fighting after the meeting? Are these guys just addicted to violence or something...?"

—They are, in fact, insane. You've been observing them for over a month and haven't realized that yet?

"....."

—The duels held afterward are formal, organized contests—mostly one-on-one or team-versus-team affairs. But this chaotic pre-meeting brawl? It's a free-for-all where anyone can sucker-punch the poor soul walking next to them. That distinction makes all the difference to these degenerates.

The conclusion was glaringly obvious: jumping into the hall early was pure suicide.

"...My avatar won't suffer any actual backlash or physical damage, right?"

Even having studied the mechanics of Avatar Transfer inside and out, seeing the carnage unfold on the forum rattled my nerves. Short clips and screenshots were already surfacing, showing severed limbs flying, space rupturing, and the lobby architecture crumbling into dust. How could anyone look at monsters capable of that and not feel a chill down their spine?

—The Avatar system is managed directly by the Chief Manager's sorcery. So long as you remain within the confines of Pandemonium, you are entirely safe.

"Sorry for constantly asking."

—Suspicion and caution are the cardinal virtues of any demon lord, lad. Think nothing of it.

The Marquis offered a warm chuckle, then gave his parting words.

—Well, I have administrative duties to attend to, so I shall take my leave first. Let us meet inside the chamber.

"Safe travels, Marquis."

—Ah, and if you are truly uneasy, there is no harm in arriving fashionably late. A good number of elders and fixed nicknames make a habit of showing up tardy anyway.

With that parting piece of advice, the transmission flickered out.

Dismissing the notification, I sat alone in contemplative silence. What I needed to accomplish, the concessions I had to secure from the council, my future course of action—juggling these tangled priorities made the minutes melt away.

Before I knew it, half an hour had vanished. Only a few seconds remained until the gavel struck for the meeting's official commencement.

"Time to go."

Steeling my resolve, I opened the system inbox and pulled up the transfer prompt.

"...Whew."

Drawing one long breath, I tapped the prompt. My vision plummeted instantly into pitch-black nothingness.

And then.

The universe inverted.

All five senses shattered into chaos. Thoughts and cognitive logic seemed to peel away from my brain, leaving me floating as a detached phantom of myself. But that disorienting vertigo lasted only a heartbeat before a blinding flash ripped through my scrambled awareness.

When my eyes snapped open, what greeted me was completely beyond anything I had pictured.

"...What the hell?"

Stretching before me were colossal metallic monuments. Sweeping, monolithic sculptures constructed entirely of seamless curves—without a single corner or sharp edge anywhere in sight. Though the polished surfaces possessed the unmistakable luster of refined alloy and were blatantly artificial, there was an eerie, total absence of human presence.

I tilted my head back, staring blankly at the bizarre monuments that resembled neither a demon lord's citadel, nor a parliament hall, nor a grand temple. But my bewilderment was cut short as a flurry of warning windows flashed into existence before my face.

Taking in the flashing crimson text in a single frozen second, only one phrase managed to escape my lips:

"I am so fucked."