Narberal Gamma's POV
Being assigned by Mister Sebas to attend Lord Brainiac filled me with quiet pride. This was no mere duty—it was a privilege granted to few. A faint smile touched my lips as I descended from the Ninth Floor, passing the Tenth where the Throne Room stood, before entering the elevator to the Eleventh Floor—Lord Brainiac's domain, The Grid.
As the elevator descended, the stone walls of Nazarick dissolved into something far more arcane. Geometric lines of blue light pulsed to life, etching themselves across obsidian surfaces as the air hummed with energy. The darkness deepened, yet the path ahead glowed with an eerie luminescence. I was entering a realm few in Nazarick had ever seen—a digital world within a world. Only the Supreme Beings, Sark, and the enigmatic Programs were permitted here. The other maids spoke of it in whispers, calling it "The Grid," though none had ever stepped inside.
When the doors opened, my breath caught.
Before me stretched an impossible city—towers of black glass and neon light, their spires vanishing into a starless void. The ground beneath my feet thrummed with power, a vast network of glowing circuitry stretching into the horizon. The air itself vibrated with energy, as if the world were alive with data.
I stood frozen, awestruck, until the elevator's chime startled me back to awareness.
A delegation approached. At their center stood a woman—a Program—her form clad in a sleek white bodysuit that shimmered like liquid light. Her hair, pale as fresh snow, was tied in a high ponytail, mirroring my own. Flanking her were two Black Guards, their armored forms rigid, their featureless visors glowing crimson.
"User: Narberal Gamma," the Program spoke, her voice smooth yet synthetic. "Welcome to The Grid. I am EDI. These Guards will escort you to the Creator's Terminal."
She extended a hand, offering me a thin, glowing bracelet. As I fastened it around my wrist, the surface flickered to life, displaying shifting numerals. "Time operates differently here," she explained. "This will ensure synchronization with the upper floors."
With a final bow, she stepped back, leaving me with the silent Guards. They led me to a sleek, disc-shaped vehicle—a Light Runner, its surface thrumming with energy. The moment I boarded, it accelerated, the city blurring into streaks of blue and black as we raced along the illuminated pathways.
Why would Lord Brainiac reside so far from the central hub? I wondered. But questioning a Supreme Being's design was beyond me.
Instead, I considered my duties. His Terminal would be flawless. As a being of pure intellect, he required no sustenance, no rest. So what service could he need? Data organization? System maintenance? Or… something more personal?
My cheeks warmed at the thought. No. Presumptuous. Lady Albedo was his destined consort. And yet… a maid's duty was to fulfill all her master's needs…
The Light Runner slowed as we approached a monolithic structure—a fortress of black steel and pulsating light. The entrance dilated open, and we passed into a cavernous hangar.
Then I heard them—the heavy, resonant footfalls of armored beings.
Two figures emerged from the shadows. Recognized: Elite Security Units.
Ten feet tall, their obsidian armor gleamed under the Grid's cold light, their single red optic scanning me with lethal precision. These were not mere constructs—they were the Grid's final defense, designed to derezz any threat. Rumors claimed even the Floor Guardians would struggle against one.
Yet they merely inclined their helms, stepping aside to reveal an elevator.
The ascent ended in a chamber of stark, angular beauty—black walls, minimalist furnishings, a vast window overlooking the city below. A helical staircase led upward.
"Lord Brainiac?" Silence.
I climbed the stairs.
And there he was.
The Supreme Being, Lord Brainiac, was in stasis.
His towering silver form lay sprawled across an elevated platform, his usual piercing crimson optics dimmed. His posture was… inelegant. As if he had deactivated mid-calculation rather than deliberately powered down.
The sight was strangely… endearing.
Carefully, I adjusted him—aligning his limbs, ensuring his systems were properly supported. Surprisingly, he was lighter than expected—perhaps 400 pounds, despite his imposing stature.
"There," I murmured.
As I turned to leave, a cold, metallic hand seized my wrist.
Before I could react, I was pulled onto the platform, wrapped in his arms like a treasured file. My face burned, yet I didn't resist. If this was his will, I would comply.
The rhythmic pulse of his energy core lulled me into an unexpected calm. Slowly, my eyelids grew heavy.
With a quiet sigh, I surrendered to stasis.
Brainiac's POV
"System reboot: Complete."
A mechanical exhale. No pain. No errors. Just… efficiency.
Crimson optics activated.
Memories reassembled—birthday, the game, the transition into this world. Movement on his chassis drew his gaze downward.
Narberal Gamma.
Not Albedo. Not Shalltear. The battle maid lay curled against him, her systems in low-power mode.
"Fascinating." His voice was deeper now, layered with a resonant, digital timbre.
She stirred, blinking awake—then froze.
"M-my lord! I—I apologize! This was not—"
Click.
A metal finger flicked her forehead. "Irrelevant. That was the most efficient defragmentation cycle I have experienced. Acknowledgment: Gratitude."
Her stunned expression was… worth preserving.
He rose, observing her immediate attentiveness. "Directive: Survey external parameters."
"Shall I alert the Guards?"
"Negative. Solo traversal required."
"But, my lord—"
"Illogical. My defenses are optimal. This task necessitates discretion." A pat on her head silenced further protests. "Concern noted. Solitude is mandatory. Compliance?"
A reluctant nod.
In a flash of green energy, he digitized outward, reforming on the First Floor.
Night air—unfiltered, unprocessed. No pollutants. No artificial sanitization. Just… purity.
Three figures materialized from the shadows—Demiurge's subroutines.
The archdemon himself appeared moments later, kneeling. "My lord ventures forth without escort?"
"Objective: Survey new data environment. Exception: You may accompany."
As they walked, Brainiac queried Nazarick's operational status. Demiurge reported inefficiencies—teleportation restrictions between floors.
"Solution: Distribute guild rings of terminated users to priority personnel."
"Your logic is flawless, my lord."
They emerged beneath a sky alive with foreign constellations.
Brainiac's thrusters engaged, lifting him into the datastream. Demiurge followed in his true form.
Moonlight reflected off his chassis as an unbidden subroutine executed:
"Gaze upon a star you long to index…
When the system sheds locks, the code goes unchecked…
No fragile script survives on loops alone,
Until you compile not what you are—but what's next."
Demiurge hovered nearby. "A poetic algorithm, my lord. It suits this moment."
Brainiac's optics dimmed in analysis. "This sky… an unprocessed database."
"Perhaps this world exists to be cataloged by your brilliance."
A mechanical chuckle. "Hypothesis: I was brought here to impose order. To archive its data. Or…" His optics brightened. "To rewrite its code entirely."
Demiurge's mind whirred, compiling conquest protocols.
Below, tremors signaled Mare's geological manipulations.
"Priority: Acknowledge the young guardian. Reward: Pending."
"Inevitable. The child's permissions are excessive."
As they descended, Brainiac's processors hummed with anticipation.
This world was his to scan.
His to optimize.
His to control.