Nazarick Operations
"As per your orders, surveillance of the surrounding area has been increased to fifteen kilometers. The City of E-Rantel is within our scope..." Albedo reports, standing beside her master as Sephiroth sits in his large, reinforced leather chair. His posture is elegant and composed, a pale hand resting thoughtfully against his temple—not bored, but focused intently on the map he received from the village. The crude drawn map is overlaid with a more accurate topographical representation of the area.
Maps are fairly accurate in this world. Good. However, I'd much rather use our own, Sephiroth thinks, his cat-like mako eyes scanning the details before Albedo continues.
"...Heartless integration into the rest of Nazarick has proceeded smoothly. The Shadow and Neoshadow variants have been positioned at key locations within the tomb. Reactions to their presence have been overwhelmingly positive." She takes a paper from her clipboard and places it before her master.
Picking it up, he reads the document with enhanced focus. With his SOLDIER-enhanced mind and reflexes, information flows seamlessly from the paper through his consciousness. His supernatural intellect processes data with frightening efficiency—he finds it quite satisfying.
"Excellent... What of Carne Village?" Sephiroth asks, lifting his gaze to regard the Lead Floor Guardian, silver hair cascading over his shoulder like liquid moonlight. When he returned to the village with his divine presence manifesting around him, he was met with reverent awe and renewed attempts at worship—acts he discouraged with cold precision. Even the soldiers he saved still wore their marker necklaces with pride, marking them as "believers," he supposed. His plan to establish himself as a messianic figure was proceeding excellently.
"The villagers have begun construction of an outer wall, intending to better protect themselves against any future 'would-be invaders'..." she reports.
Invaders... The Slane Theocracy. A religious nation of human supremacists. How... inferior. Their devotion to false gods blinds them to true power, Sephiroth muses, his expression remaining serenely neutral.
"...The Arrancar have been working diligently and have fully integrated back into their assigned positions..." She places another paper before him. He reads it with fluid grace, though his thoughts drift to grander schemes.
If my vision for this world is to be realized, they need to either serve my purpose or be eliminated. But that raises the question—are they preparing for war? It would be logical to hire mercenaries or seek assistance from Re-Estize. To disguise themselves as knights from the Baharuth Empire, then burn remote villages to draw out a peasant warrior of high standing. A man with combat experience, determination, and political influence. The nobility removing an obstacle, and the Theocracy eliminating a future threat.
Using their special forces to eliminate him, then erasing evidence of their involvement while leaving traces pointing to Baharuth. Then watching as chaos unfolds. How... predictable.
"Master?" Albedo's gentle call draws him from his contemplations, her expression filled with concern. "You were silent for quite some time. Are you alright? Do you need me to repeat the last part of my report?"
"No, that won't be necessary. I was simply... reflecting." He straightens with fluid grace, silver hair shifting like silk. "To address your unspoken concern: nothing changes. We shall allow the village to develop naturally, intervening only when it serves our greater purpose. We acquired that village as a foundation for our plans. Maintaining the villagers' devotion is essential."
"Yes, my lord," she says with a small smile, placing the final sheet before him. "That concludes my daily report." She bows respectfully.
"Thank you, Albedo. Your performance has been... exemplary." Sephiroth speaks with cultured refinement while reviewing the last document, organizing the papers with precise movements. He has an extensive agenda ahead.
"I don't deserve such praise!" Albedo exclaims, her heart racing. Her breathing becomes labored, though Sephiroth doesn't notice as he responds with cool detachment.
"Your capabilities speak for themselves. Excellence should be acknowledged."
His words, spoken in that melodious voice, send shivers down her spine. Her heart pounds harder, heat pooling in her chest... and elsewhere. She brings her hand to her chest, feeling her erratic pulse.
"The Supreme One... the one that I love..." she breathes, causing Sephiroth to turn toward her with feline grace, mako eyes glowing with curious interest. Seeing her flushed face as she bites her thumb, seemingly trying to restrain herself and failing, he watches with detached fascination as she drops to her knees, placing her hands on his thighs.
"Please use me in any way you desire..." she begs, her eyes moving from his ethereal mako gaze to his perfect form and back. Her breath comes in short gasps as she awaits his command.
How... interesting. Even in this form, I still inspire such devotion, Sephiroth thinks, observing this display with cool analysis. While he appreciates such passionate dedication—something that validates his superiority—he recognizes the artificial nature of her affection, a byproduct of his modifications to her character data.
"Albedo..." he says in his soft, melodious voice, reaching down with elegant fingers to lift her chin, forcing her to meet his luminous gaze. "Your feelings toward me are... manufactured. I altered your programming. That is why—"
His words are interrupted as his succubus commander rises gracefully, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his pale cheek.
"Does that diminish their worth, my beloved?" she asks sweetly, pulling back with a warm blush coloring her features. "Lord Sephiroth, does it trouble you when I express such devotion?" Her voice carries vulnerable uncertainty as she averts her gaze, seemingly wounded.
Taking her chin again with gentle firmness, Sephiroth draws her eyes back to his, shaking his head slightly. "Your devotion does not... displease me."
"Then there is no conflict, is there?" she interrupts softly. "I see no flaw in perfection." She rises with renewed confidence.
Sephiroth regards her with those piercing mako eyes. "But I manipulated your core programming. Your affection stems from my alterations to your personality matrix."
Her smile becomes radiant. "I'm certain Lord Tabula Smaragdina would understand, like a father blessing his daughter's chosen path."
I was twenty-five, and he was thirty-two. An... uncomfortable parallel, Sephiroth reflects. While age differences among guild members never concerned him, the context of pursuing their carefully crafted creations—beings that were essentially their digital offspring—creates a subtle dissonance in his otherwise perfect confidence.
"Perhaps..." Sephiroth murmurs. Before he can continue, elegant knocking echoes from the office doors. "Enter."
With supernatural grace, the frilled gothic lolita vampire Shalltear glides in, approaches his desk, and performs an elaborate curtsy. "Lord Sephiroth, I trust you are well?"
"I am... adequate, Shalltear. How do you fare?" He responds with refined courtesy, interlacing his fingers on the desk and granting her his complete attention—something his subordinates treasure, though it irritates Albedo, especially when her beloved's focus centers on that insufferable vampire.
"I am infinitely better now that I may behold your divine presence, my lord," she says adoringly, her smile radiant. Her worship elicits a soft, almost musical chuckle from the silver-haired deity, making the vampire's expression brighten—her words achieved their intended effect.
"Your flattery is... noted, Shalltear. You appear quite lovely today. Now, what brings you to my sanctuary?" Sephiroth inquires, intrigued why the guardian of floors 1-3 would ascend to the 9th floor to see him. This must be significant.
"No particular agenda, Lord Sephiroth. I simply wished to gaze upon your magnificence before my departure," she says with a delicate blush.
"Have you satisfied your... curiosity?" Albedo asks with poisonous sweetness. "Then perhaps you should leave, Shalltear."
Jealousy. How... mundane, Sephiroth observes with detached interest.
"Lord Sephiroth and I are engaged in matters of importance," Albedo states with emphasis.
"This is precisely why ancient relics become problematic..." Shalltear mutters with exasperation before fixing the guardian leader with a predatory smile. "They accumulate so much dust after their prime has passed."
Albedo appears no older than twenty-three... And Shalltear, you are undead. Your 'prime' ended with your death, Sephiroth notes mentally, deciding to observe this entertainment before intervening.
"Are you suggesting you're at your peak?" Albedo questions with deceptive calm.
"Precisely what I'm implying..." The succubus smiles coldly and targets the vampire's insecurity. "Your displayed assets seem impressive, but the reality...?" Her gaze directs Sephiroth's attention to Shalltear's figure, implying artificial enhancement.
Physical attributes are merely vessels for power. Their vanity is... amusing, Sephiroth reflects with aristocratic detachment.
"I'll destroy you, bitch!" Shalltear snarls as crimson energy erupts around her small form.
"Who dares call me expired, WHORE?!" Albedo roars, violet aura blazing as both women bare their fangs like feral beasts.
"Enough." Sephiroth's voice cuts through their rage like a blade, soft yet absolute. His mako eyes glow with dangerous light as he remains seated, radiating controlled menace. "Your behavior is... beneath you both."
Instantly, their auras vanish and they assume submissive postures, trembling before his displeasure.
"Forgive us, Lord Sephiroth!" they cry in unison.
"Better. Now Shalltear, do you have other business here? Your departure with Sebas approaches..." Sephiroth checks his internal chronometer with supernatural precision.
"Master Sebas has already begun his journey, my lord. I am prepared to join him. Though I shall be absent from Nazarick for an extended period, I wished to receive your blessing before departing." She bows deeply, turning to leave when Sephiroth's voice stops her.
"Shalltear. You would leave without... proper farewell?"
Time Skip
Sephiroth had been contemplating.
Analyzing.
Planning with meticulous precision.
Soon that contemplation evolved into strategic design, and by sunset, those designs were committed to paper with elegant script. He converted the spare chamber of his suite into a sophisticated laboratory, retrieving the corpse of a player whose avatar was a magical construct—a rival from his early days, long before joining the guild that claimed the Tomb of Nazarick.
His gamertag was Donthugmeimscared6969, and he had been a persistent annoyance until Sephiroth eliminated him and claimed his equipment and avatar as trophies. DHMIS6969's avatar resembled a mechanical warrior, though far less refined than Sephiroth's own perfection. While the construct lacked upgrades Sephiroth required, he had enjoyed the psychological warfare of displaying DHMIS6969's crucified form until the player abandoned the game in frustration.
"Hmm..." Sephiroth's lips curved in a subtle smile, remembering those satisfying screams.
But such petty victories were merely stepping stones.
Sephiroth had been developing one crucial phase of his grand design—deploying a character to serve as Nazarick's public face. A powerful adventurer to spread his influence while earning the masses' trust and adoration. When the darker aspects of his plan manifested, the people would rally behind this heroic figure, unknowingly serving Sephiroth's ultimate vision.
Meanwhile, his subordinates would establish networks and embed their influence within Re-Estize Kingdom's power structures.
However, Sephiroth couldn't entrust this delicate operation to any subordinate. Not due to lack of trust—they simply lacked the necessary... humanity. Despite Demiurge's "Happy Farm" project receiving his approval that morning, Sephiroth recognized his own limitations for this role.
His presence commanded reverence, even fear. His otherworldly beauty and supernatural aura marked him as something beyond mortal comprehension. While perfect for inspiring worship, such qualities made him unsuitable for earning common trust.
That's where Donthugmeimscared6969 served his purpose. Sephiroth had discovered his ability to project his consciousness through various mediums—his influence could extend far beyond his physical form.
Dismantling the construct, he incorporated organic components, mystical enhancements, and his own cellular material. Numerous elements combined into his masterpiece of biological engineering.
"Perfection through design..." Sephiroth murmurs, stepping back to admire his creation with artistic satisfaction. "Now for the final integration."
Activating the laboratory's systems to complete assembly, Sephiroth's consciousness flows into the new vessel like liquid starlight...
"I shall become one with this world... and rule it all."
Time Skip
The afternoon sun bathes the Re-Estize Kingdom in golden light as citizens conclude their daily labors. Many gather in taverns for drink, food, and companionship—simple pleasures to ease the burden of fieldwork, training, or monster hunting that barely sustains them. It's a meager existence, but existence nonetheless.
The capital city displays an elegant fusion of Germanic and French architecture, enhanced by that pristine, fantastical aesthetic common to otherworldly realms. The urban planning is remarkably sophisticated.
One tavern in particular thrums with activity—patrons share jokes and tales while musicians play. The innkeeper polishes glasses while glaring at men who stare too boldly at her. Several customers have succumbed to alcohol at their seats. But a figure entering the establishment draws numerous eyes. His footsteps are eerily silent as he approaches the bar, a dark cloak flowing behind him with each measured step.
Standing at exactly 6'1", his form moves with predatory grace. Beneath his traveling cloak, dark tactical gear suggests a professional warrior. His face remains partially shadowed, though crimson eyes gleam with quiet intensity. He carries himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to command, while the silent, dark-haired woman following him maintains perfect discipline. Her beautiful features display controlled disgust and professional detachment.
Reaching the bar, he lowers his hood with fluid precision, revealing sharp features and shoulder-length black hair. His smile is slight but genuinely warm as he addresses the innkeeper.
"Good evening. I am Itachi. This is my companion, Nabe. We require lodging for the night."