"Now everyone..." Albedo began, pulling Brainiac from his thoughts. All but one Guardian were present. "To our new Supreme Leader—begin the ritual of fidelity."
One by one, the Guardians knelt before Brainiac, reverently bowing their heads. Brainiac scanned the room, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he noted one absence.
"Albedo."
Her name emerged not as a shout, but as a sharp digitized signal—cold and exacting.
"Y-Yes, my Lord?" she answered, already bracing for reprimand.
"I instructed you to summon every Guardian—excluding only the fourth and eighth floors. Did I not?"
"Yes, my Lord. I—I followed your instructions to the letter."
"Then explain..." Brainiac took a single step forward, his posture perfectly still, yet oppressive, "...why one is missing?"
Albedo paled.
"There are twelve floors in Nazarick. You oversee the ninth. Victim guards the eighth. Demiurge, the seventh. Aura and Mare, the sixth. Cocytus, the fifth. Gargantua, the fourth. Shalltear, the first through third. The twelfth remains unassigned. The eleventh, however, is mine."
His red optics pulsed, their glow flickering with irritation.
"Where. Is. Sark?"
Albedo dropped to both knees instantly, trembling in deep shame.
"I have failed you, my Lord. I—I only wanted to make this moment perfect, to honor your—"
She flinched as a hand, cold and faintly buzzing with energy, gently settled atop her head.
"Emotion clouds logic. Do not repeat this error."
"Y-Yes, Lord Brainiac."
"HERE, my Lord!" a sharp, modulated voice called from the far side of the chamber.
Sark emerged—Command Program of the Eleventh Floor, styled in stark black and red, his circuitry pulsing with malicious pride. His form stood out amidst the gothic ambiance of Nazarick, a walking contrast from another dimension. His entrance was bold—nearly dramatic.
He dropped to one knee, arms swept wide. "Apologies for the delay, my Master. I live to serve you—in this world and any other."
Brainiac regarded him with the faintest hint of approval.
"Timely as always, Sark."
Sark smirked. "Time bends to power, my Lord. And you are the axis upon which it turns."
Brainiac's core pulsed brighter.
"Welcome, Command Program."
Sark had been his own creation—once a tribute to a game, now a sentinel of his own design. His purpose: unwavering enforcement of order and surveillance across the Grid, Brainiac's digitized fortress. A being of tyranny and control, made loyal only through Brainiac's unmatched intellect.
"Thank you for coming," Brainiac began, addressing all present. "Your response time has been logged. Efficient. Acceptable."
Each Guardian raised their gaze, pride shining in their eyes.
"You honor us with your praise, Supreme One," Albedo said, her voice breathless. "We are but extensions of your will. You who remained when all others left us. You, the Collector of Worlds. Our intellect made manifest."
"WE SERVE!" they all chorused.
The title Collector of Worlds echoed in Brainiac's mind—a name forged from years of conquest, of data assimilated, civilizations studied and erased, knowledge preserved and lives discarded. This was not just a moniker. It was a truth.
"Efficient response, Guardians," he said. "You exceed statistical probability. I will note this favorable deviation."
They straightened, beaming with robotic precision or genuine devotion—depending on the Guardian.
"I do not possess the emotional variance of Momonga. But I am here. I will govern. Analyze. Optimize. That is my pledge to you."
For a moment, they were silent—awed.
Then, the air shifted.
A crushing aura emerged from Brainiac's form—compressed thought, raw intellect laced with psionic suppression. The weight of it pressed down like invisible gravity. Even the undead among them shuddered.
"Now then," Brainiac said with glacial calm. "The Great Tomb of Nazarick appears to have been... displaced."
Sebas stepped forward and bowed.
"As ordered, I surveyed the region. The swamp is gone. Only grasslands remain for at least five kilometers in all directions."
"Good," Brainiac replied. "Data received. Cross-referencing terrain schematics... anomaly confirmed. We are no longer in Yggdrasil."
He turned, directing commands with mechanical efficiency.
"Albedo, Demiurge—enhance logistics. Run simulations on defense scenarios. Full inventory audit—assets, servitors, guardians—submit to my core by sunrise."
"Yes, my Lord!" they responded in unison.
"Mare. Environmental camouflage?"
He hesitated. "U-Um... we could bury the outer walls, then cover it with sod. It... it wouldn't be pretty, but it could hide us..."
Albedo recoiled, horrified. "Dirt on Nazarick?!"
"Utility outweighs aesthetics," Brainiac interrupted, silencing the objection. "Begin terraforming at once."
"Understood..."
"Sebas. Any natural elevations nearby?"
"None, my Lord. The terrain is unnaturally flat."
"Then we simulate them. Construct false ridges. Use holograms and illusion spells as overlays. Sark, assist him."
"As you command."
Brainiac paused.
"I have been Supreme Leader for less than an hour. But you have known me far longer. Am I worthy?"
He turned to each Guardian.
Shalltear: "You are the embodiment of calculated perfection! A mind to rival gods! The pinnacle of existence!"
Cocytus: "Undeniable power. Absolute command. Worthy beyond question."
Aura: "You're... super smart! And calm, and collected!"
Mare: "V-very smart... very cool... and really intimidating..."
Demiurge: "Strategic beyond comprehension. Ruthless. Infallible."
Sark stepped forward.
"Your vision defines this reality. I exist only because you deemed it logical. I would burn the Grid itself to serve you."
Sebas: "When all others left... you remained. That proves everything."
Brainiac blinked once—calculating, processing, feeling something resembling acknowledgment.
"And Albedo?"
"You are the One True Overlord of Nazarick. The greatest mind across all realms. My life, my soul, my every molecule exists to obey you."
For a long moment, the chamber was silent, lit only by the pulsing energy of Brainiac's systems. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Acceptable."
He activated his teleportation matrix and vanished in a flicker of green light.
The Grid – Brainiac's Suite
Austere. Clean. Impossibly symmetrical.
"Sleep may no longer be necessary... but I must understand this body's limits."
He laid down stiffly, eyes dimming. His mind never truly stopped. Even at rest, it analyzed the world.
Still... a simulation of sleep began.
Back in the Arena
The Guardians finally dared to breathe. The pressure had lifted.
Albedo stood first, clutching her chest.
"Such intellect... such gravity..." she whispered. "He radiates purpose."
"A true overlord." Cocytus nodded.
"That aura..." Mare trembled. "I felt like I was going to be erased!"
Aura giggled. "Yeah, but like, in a cool way!"
"His presence bends reality," Demiurge said, awestruck.
Sebas spoke evenly. "I will remain close to The Grid. He may need me again."
"Tell him..." Albedo blushed, "tell him I will come—however he wishes."
Sark stepped forward, arms folded.
"His intellect is unmatched. You may fawn all you want. But it is his mind that leads us—not your fantasies."
Albedo narrowed her eyes. "Are you suggesting I'm delusional, Program?"
Shalltear stood. "H-his power was... overwhelming! I... I lost control..."
"You... BITCH!" Albedo shrieked.
"You jealous succubus—he chose to speak to me!"
Auras flared. Claws extended.
"Not again..." Demiurge sighed.
"Aura?" Mare whispered.
"They're fighting again."
"Over what?"
"Head wife."
"Of course..."
Sark rolled his eyes. "Their code is corrupt."
Cocytus tilted his head.
"To be called... Uncle Cocytus..."
"DON'T encourage them!" Demiurge snapped.