Pandemonium (2)
A conference hall and a full-blown free-for-all brawl.
Having plunged headlong into a space where two such mutually exclusive concepts coexisted, I was utterly at a loss. Deafening explosions erupted as fireballs streaked through the air; blinding flashes gave way to bolts of lightning striking across the hall; and sonic booms tore through the atmosphere whenever some colossal mass was hurled across the room. If anyone could maintain their composure in the middle of this madness, they were either the Buddha reincarnated or completely out of their mind. To make matters worse, chunks of severed flesh and sprays of gore rained down in erratic bursts.
A blood-soaked disaster zone was the only phrase that fit, but the real problem was that I was trapped right in the thick of it. Pushing my psychic abilities and sensory perception to their absolute limits, I desperately wove between debris hurtling at supersonic speeds, scrambling away from any Demon Lord chanting bizarre incantations. It was an unsightly, humiliating sprint for survival.
How much time had even passed? Having already exhausted myself sprinting toward the assembly hall earlier, my breath was already ragged.
"...I should have kept up with my training!"
Regret came far too late. Twenty years of dull, repetitive routine on a desolate Earth had softened me with peace. Surviving in a meat grinder like this was nearly more than I could handle. I gritted my teeth, scrambling behind another crumbled pillar, when a voice drifted casually toward me.
"Hey there. Aren't you the newbie from the gallery? What're you doing down here?"
Startled by the presence that had closed the distance without making a whisper of sound, I whipped my head around. The face greeting me was surprisingly familiar.
"Uh..."
He had radiant blonde hair and wore lavish aristocratic attire that looked straight out of the nineteenth century. It was the very man I had watched in the arena—the Demon Lord who wielded both a holy sword and a demonic blade, appearing far more like a righteous Hero than any demon.
"The fixed handle... 'Equilibrium'?"
He was the forum user everyone called a Hero collaborator.
"Look at you, recognizing me right away," he chuckled.
"Well, when you fought 'TenCommandments' in the arena..."
"Ah, right. You were hanging around old man Odin back then." Equilibrium tapped the side of his head with a grin, as if just recalling the memory. "So, what's our resident newbie doing stranded in the war zone?"
"...I'd like to know that myself."
I had come to the assembly to gather intelligence on Demon Lords and Heroes, not to get dragged into a gladiator battle with a bunch of cosmic psychopaths.
"Walked through the front doors and got caught in the crossfire, didn't you?"
"Yeah..."
"Then don't just stand out in the open like a target. Come with me. You can't be enjoying this slaughterhouse anyway, right?"
"Excuse me?"
"Let's head somewhere comfortable."
Equilibrium gestured with his chin, and my gaze followed his direction toward a section of the hall I had completely overlooked amid the chaos. Jutting out from one wall of the vast circular arena was an elevated chamber sealed behind floor-to-ceiling glass, looking remarkably like an exclusive stadium VIP lounge.
"Over there...?"
"The lounge for the Neutral Faction Demon Lords. Move your feet, let's go."
I fell into step behind him, chatting as we made our way toward the sanctuary. Seeing him in person made me wonder if my anxiety over his reputation as a traitor had been entirely misplaced. Far from the notorious troll who caused chaos across the forums, the man before me was exceptionally amiable and boisterous.
"—So, old man Noah gave you a ride here?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Damn, you've got serious guts. What possessed you to board that sociopath geezer's ship?"
"...What?"
"You didn't hear his backstory? That old bastard wipes out anything that doesn't fit his personal standards. Just look at his home world—a bunch of wicked people got on his nerves, so he drowned everyone except himself."
"Is that really how it happened?"
Perhaps because Noah had seemed so warm and grandfatherly, I had never felt threatened aboard his vessel. Even after hearing his tale, I had merely taken it as a tragic legend of an ancient past.
"Well, everyone's got their own take on history," Equilibrium laughed heartily, picking up his pace. "Oh, by the way, calling you 'newbie' the whole time feels kind of awkward. What's your name?"
"Shin Soohyun."
"Shin Soohyun? An Eastern name, huh? Doesn't matter. I'm Leon. As you probably know, people around the board usually call me a Hero spy."
Leon drew two blades from his scabbards in a single, fluid flourish, twirling them effortlessly before returning them to his hips. Combined with his striking features and aristocratic bearing, the display made him look blindingly heroic—the kind of disgustingly handsome protagonist that made any normal man grimace with envy.
"Oh, and drop the formal speech. It's weird," Leon added. "We look about the same age on the outside, so there's no need to be stiff."
"Understo... Sure."
"Much better."
Pleased with my compliance, Leon whistled a cheerful tune and led the way inside. The lounge we stepped into after a short walk was decadent in every sense of the word. In stark contrast to the blood-soaked abattoir churning just beyond the glass, the room was steeped in tranquil serenity, with soft classical melodies drifting from a phonograph in the corner. The plush leather sofas and mahogany bookshelves were of such exquisite craftsmanship that even an uncultured eye like mine could tell they were priceless luxuries.
And then there were the occupants. Four Demon Lords sat dispersed throughout the lounge: a man with deep, bruised shadows hanging beneath his eyes; an elegant woman draped in a lavish fur coat; Moses, whom I had seen in the arena; and an officer dressed in a twentieth-century military uniform.
"Not a whole lot of us, is there?" Leon remarked, reading the surprise on my face as I surveyed the room.
"Yeah."
It was vastly different from what I had pictured. The forum boasted hundreds, if not thousands, of active users, and a quick glance down at the conference floor revealed well over a thousand Demon Lords tearing each other apart. Out of such an endless sea of apocalyptic rulers, the entire Neutral Faction amounted to only five people?
"I didn't expect there'd only be five, including you and me."
"We're not five. Look over in that corner."
Following Leon's pointing finger, my eyes landed on an odd mound near the back wall.
"...A pile of blankets?"
Layers of thick, quilted duvets were stacked high like a miniature mountain. Was there actually a living creature—a Demon Lord, no less—under that?
"Hey, ajumma! We've got a guest! Come on out!"
The moment Leon bellowed toward the corner, the bedding began to squirm. The duvet shifted, and a young girl emerged from the mountain of fabric, blinking lazily with heavy eyelids.
"...Too much hassle..."
"Come on, you're not even browsing the gallery right now. What're you hiding under there for?"
"Sleepy..."
Without bothering to pay attention to anyone else, she mumbled her drowsy protest and burrowed straight back under the thick layers. I stared blankly at the quivering bundle of blankets before finally managing to speak.
"...Is she a Demon Lord too?"
"Yep. Total shut-in forum addict. Don't let the cute face fool you—underneath that skin is an old lady. Or an ancient hag, really."
A massive pillow came flying out from the blanket fortress at incredible speed, but Leon tilted his head aside with practiced ease to dodge it. He cleared his throat and addressed the rest of the room.
"Anyway, that's her story. As for the other four... are you introducing yourselves, or do you want me to do the honors?"
"You do it," the dark-circled man muttered.
"Be our guest," Moses and the military man agreed in unison.
"I'll introduce myself~" the woman in the coat purred.
With three out of four deferring the chore, Leon cleared his throat theatrically. "First off, that guy over there goes by the handle 'Retry.' He's kind of the neighborhood punching bag on the board, but he's actually terrifyingly strong in person, so don't get careless."
"Who're you calling a punching bag?" the dark-circled man snapped with an irritated grimace.
"The gentleman in the uniform uses the handle 'Fallout.' And over there... well, you already know him, right? Old man Moses."
Fallout took the cigar from his mouth to offer a quiet nod, while Moses gave me a gentle, grandfatherly smile. Before I could fully process their greetings, my attention was completely stolen by the final figure.
"I'm Anastasia, the Succubus Queen. On the gallery, my handle is 'Good Night.' Feel free to just call me Asha~"
Though her long fur coat concealed most of her body, the sheer aura radiating from her was impossible to ignore. As a red-blooded man, my eyes were drawn to her almost by pure biological instinct. What was more, I had definitely seen this woman before.
"...Wait. Didn't we see each other at the arena?"
Just before the projection spell had cut out, a female Demon Lord had thrown a flirtatious wink in my direction. It was unquestionably her.
"You remembered? I'm honored!"
Her soft, melodic laugh was breathtaking. Just looking at her, listening to her voice, made my thoughts slip into a warm, intoxicating haze. A strange urge began to take root in my mind—a desperate desire to please her, to follow any instruction she gave, to obey whatever command Asha might utter—
"Hey, ajumma! You're far too old to be seducing young men! Act your age, will you?"
"......Leon."
Asha's alluring expression twisted into a glare. Thankfully, Leon's sharp intervention shattered the spell, dragging my runaway consciousness back to reality. A cold sweat broke out across my back. Is this what a real succubus is capable of? It was terrifyingly potent—far more insidious than most high-tier mental abilities I had encountered on Earth. Making a mental note to keep my guard up around her at all times, I addressed her with careful courtesy.
"...It's a pleasure to meet you, Asha."
"The pleasure is all mine~"
With the brief introductions wrapped up, I was able to piece together a rough sketch of the Neutral Faction's members. The military man was Joshua Edward, and 'Retry' was Fermaviche, typically shortened to Ferma. Both were remarkably quiet individuals; even when Moses chimed in with a few polite remarks, the two remained absorbed in their own worlds—one silently puffing on his cigar, the other buried in a thick book.
As I mentally organized the names and faces, Leon suddenly perked up, looking out the glass.
"Oh, look. The Head Manager just walked in. The meeting's about to start. Talk about perfect timing right after introductions."
Following his gaze, I looked down through the panoramic window. Sure enough, a lone figure was striding toward the center of the chaotic amphitheater. Enhancing my vision and sensory perception, the first thing I noticed about him was his profoundly exhausted expression. He looked less like a ruler of darkness and more like an overworked, low-level corporate drone on the verge of collapsing after a seventy-two-hour shift. Much like several other Demon Lords I had met, his presence seemed entirely harmless and remarkably ordinary.
That initial impression, however, shattered in a split second.
The moment the Head Manager, Ban-gal-juk, crossed the floor and stepped onto the central podium, every single clash grinding through the hall came to an immediate, dead stop. The sudden transition from deafening carnage to absolute, frozen silence was nothing short of miraculous, as if the flow of time itself had been forcibly halted.
"Damn, freezing the entire room the second he steps in. The old Judak's authority never gets rusty, does it?"
"....."
Did he literally stop time?
Before I could wrap my head around the sight of hundreds of motionless demons suspended in mid-air, Leon nudged my shoulder.
"Shin Soohyun, watch this closely. You're about to see one of the Head Manager's administrative authorities in action."
"What?"
Before I could ask what he meant, the temporal stasis shattered. Roars of battle and kinetic shockwaves erupted once more, but almost in the exact same breath, Ban-gal-juk raised a wooden gavel high above his head and brought it down hard against the sound block.
What followed could only be described as a live-action replay running in reverse.
Brawling Demon Lords staggered backward in perfect retrograde motion. Sprays of blood that had coated the walls retracted through the air, siphoning back into torn flesh as wounds sealed themselves shut. Scorched, cratered floor tiles pieced themselves together into pristine stone. Hundreds of rampaging demons were pulled backward through space, deposited neatly into their assigned seats, while the thick clouds of dust choking the arena vanished into thin air.
Once the rewind had entirely run its course, a heavy, breathless silence settled over the immaculate hall.
Crack—
The crisp strike of the gavel echoed through the cavernous chamber, accompanied by a weary, gravelly voice that carried across every corner of the room.
"The meeting is now in session."