Narberal Gamma POV
Pride burned through my chest like molten steel when Mister Sebas assigned me to Lord Sephiroth. Not just pride—exhilaration. The honor of serving a Supreme Being, of being deemed worthy enough to stand in his presence... My lips curved into a smile that felt almost foreign on my usually stoic face.
The elevator's descent was a plunge into darkness itself. Stone walls gave way to something that made my breath catch—bone-white surfaces that pulsed with otherworldly energy. The very air grew thick, pressing against my skin like invisible hands. This was Hueco Mundo, the fabled eleventh floor that existed beyond mortal comprehension.
"The Hollow Realm," the other maids whispered in hushed, fearful tones. Now I understood why.
The lift shuddered to a halt, and the doors opened to reveal... infinity. An endless desert of white sand stretched before me, each grain catching light that had no source. Massive bone structures twisted into the perpetual night sky like the ribcage of some ancient god. The sight hit me like a physical blow—beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
My mouth fell open. I couldn't help it.
"Magnificent..." The word escaped as barely a whisper, swallowed by the vast emptiness.
Movement in my peripheral vision made me turn. Three figures approached across the sand, their footsteps making no sound. The leader was tall, predatory in his grace, with hair like spun moonlight and eyes that seemed to hold the depth of eternity. His companions wore masks of bone that covered half their faces, hollow eye sockets burning with spiritual fire.
"Greetings, Miss Narberal. Welcome to Hueco Mundo." His voice was silk over steel, each word precisely cut. I bowed so deeply that my spine ached.
"I have come to serve the Supreme One," I managed, my voice sounding small in this vast realm.
"I am Grimmjow." He smiled, and something in that expression made my instincts scream danger. "These are my... associates. They will escort you to the Master."
His hand moved with liquid smoothness, producing a device that hummed with spiritual energy. When he fastened it to my wrist, the touch of his fingers was like ice. The device flared to life, and suddenly I could breathe again—I hadn't even realized the spiritual pressure was slowly crushing me.
"The energy here can be... overwhelming," he said with dark amusement. "This will keep you alive."
Alive. The casual way he said it made my blood run cold.
The journey across the desert was a nightmare of speed and sensation. The creature we rode—some massive, writhing thing that might once have been a worm—undulated across the sand with a sickening rhythm. Each movement sent shockwaves through my body, and I had to clamp my teeth together to keep from crying out.
The palace that rose before us defied reality itself. Walls that breathed, spires that twisted in directions that hurt to look at. It was beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful—perfect, deadly, alien.
And then I saw them.
The Vasto Lorde emerged from the palace like nightmares given form. Ten feet of condensed spiritual pressure and predatory intelligence, their bone armor gleaming wet in the eternal moonlight. When they looked at me, I felt naked—as if they could see straight through to my soul and found it wanting.
One pointed toward the palace entrance with a clawed finger that could have punched through steel. I walked past them on trembling legs, feeling their eyes track my every movement like hungry wolves watching prey.
The lift inside was worse—a platform of pure spiritual energy that made my skin crawl as it carried me upward through chambers that seemed to exist in several dimensions at once. Reality bent around me, and I had to close my eyes to keep from becoming sick.
When it finally stopped, I stepped into Lord Sephiroth's domain.
The chamber was a study in perfect, terrifying beauty. Everything was white and silver, but it wasn't peaceful—it was the white of bleached bone, the silver of a blade's edge. Crystalline formations jutted from the walls like frozen screams, each one humming with barely contained power that made my teeth ache.
"Lord Sephiroth?" My voice echoed strangely as if the room itself was listening.
Silence.
I called again, louder, and heard my own voice come back twisted, changed by whatever forces shaped this place.
Moving deeper into the chamber, I found a spiral staircase that seemed to be made of crystallized starlight. Each step sang under my feet as I climbed, the sound following me like ghostly whispers.
At the top, I found him.
Lord Sephiroth lay across a bed carved from a single piece of spiritual crystal, and the sight stole my breath. His silver hair spilled like liquid mercury across the surface, catching light that came from everywhere and nowhere. Even in rest, he radiated power—I could feel it pressing against my skin like heat from a forge.
His legendary sword, Masamune, leaned against the wall nearby, its blade seeming to drink in the light around it.
He looked... exhausted. Not physically—beings like him didn't tire in ways mortals understood—but there was something in his perfectly still form that spoke of burdens beyond comprehension.
Before I could stop myself, I was moving toward him. He needed proper rest, and I would die before I let a Supreme Being wake uncomfortable under my watch.
When I touched him to adjust his position, electricity shot up my arms. His skin was cool as moonlight but somehow alive in a way that made my heart race. Moving him was like moving liquid starlight—he was simultaneously there and not there, existing partially in this realm and partially in something beyond my understanding.
I arranged him carefully, my fingers trembling as I moved his hair away from his face. It felt like touching spun silk, each strand seeming to glow with its own inner light.
"There," I whispered, and the word seemed to hang in the air like a prayer.
I turned to leave him to his rest, but his hand shot out with inhuman speed, wrapping around my wrist like a shackle of living ice. Not painful, but inescapable.
Before I could even gasp, I was pulled down beside him as he moved in his sleep, his arm encircling me with the casual strength of a god. My head came to rest against his chest, and I could feel power thrumming through him like a second heartbeat.
My face burned with embarrassment, but beneath that was something else—a deep, primal sense of safety. This was a being who could unmake worlds with a thought, and somehow his subconscious had chosen me for comfort.
The spiritual energy of Hueco Mundo seemed to respond to his presence, the very air around us becoming charged with potential. It was like lying next to a sleeping storm, beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
Despite my racing heart, exhaustion crept over me like a tide. The constant spiritual pressure, the overwhelming sights, the sheer impossibility of where I was—it all crashed down at once. My eyes grew heavy, and I let myself drift into the most peaceful sleep of my existence.
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TIMESKIP
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Sephiroth's POV - Third Person
Consciousness returned like the slow draw of a blade from its sheath—smooth, inevitable, sharp. For one perfect moment, there was nothing but existence itself. No pain clawing at failing organs, no burning need for revenge against a world that had abandoned him, no crushing weight of mortality.
Just... power. Pure, unlimited, intoxicating power.
His eyes opened, and the familiar sight of his chamber's ceiling greeted him. But the memories came flooding back like a tsunami—the guild, the game, the impossible transition from dying flesh to immortal perfection. He had been torn from one reality and thrust into another, given a body that matched the character he had crafted with obsessive precision.
The irony burned through him like acid. In life, he had been powerless, his body a prison of failing systems and constant agony. Now he possessed strength that could reshape continents.
Weight against his chest made him look down. He expected Albedo—the succubus was notorious for her... enthusiastic devotion. Perhaps Shalltear, with her vampiric obsessions.
Instead, he found Narberal Gamma curled against him like a sleeping cat, her dark hair fanned across his chest, her breathing soft and even.
"Fascinating," he murmured, and his voice resonated through the chamber like distant thunder. It was deeper than his original voice, carrying harmonics that seemed to vibrate in dimensions beyond the physical.
Sitting up with liquid grace, he studied the doppelganger's face. Perfect features, unmarred by time or hardship. Even in sleep, she maintained an aura of lethal competence. Nishikienrai had outdone himself with this one.
He traced a finger along her cheek, marveling at the craftsmanship. Her skin was warm, real, alive—not some digital construct but a being with thoughts, desires, and fears.
She stirred at his touch, eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings. Confusion clouded her features for a heartbeat before awareness crashed over her like a cold wave. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating with shock and something that might have been fear.
"Good morning," Sephiroth said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority tempered with genuine curiosity.
"G-good morning, my lord..." she stammered, then seemed to fully grasp her situation. Horror flooded her features as she scrambled away, dropping to her knees beside the bed in a bow so deep it looked painful. "Lord Sephiroth! Forgive this worthless servant's unforgivable transgression! I was only trying to—"
"Silence."
The single word cut through her panic like a blade through silk. The very air seemed to still be around them, spiritual pressure making the crystalline formations sing in harmony.
"You have committed no transgression," he continued, his tone gentling fractionally. "That rest was... the most restorative I have experienced in either of my existences. You have earned my gratitude."
She looked up at him with something approaching religious awe. A Supreme Being, thanking her? The pride in her chest swelled until she thought it might burst.
Sephiroth rose from the bed in one fluid motion, silver hair cascading around him like liquid starlight. "I will be venturing into the world today. Alone."
"My lord," Narberal's voice was tight with worry, "surely you require protection—"
"Protection?" His laugh was like breaking glass, beautiful and sharp. "I am beyond such mortal concerns. There are... observations I must make. Solitude is required."
Her head bowed in acceptance, but he could feel her distress radiating from her like heat. He placed a hand on her head, feeling the warmth of her scalp through her silken hair.
"Your concern honors me," he said, lifting her chin to meet his piercing green gaze. "But I am not the frail creature I once was. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord."
Power exploded around him—spiritual energy mixing with something darker, more fundamental. Black feathers materialized from nothing, swirling around him like a living storm before he vanished in a rush of displaced air.
The first floor of Nazarick greeted him with cool night air that tasted of grass and earth—clean in a way his previous world had never known. No pollution, no industrial decay, no stench of a dying planet.
Movement in the shadows caught his attention. Three figures emerged—demon generals, their forms radiating malevolent power. Behind them, a more familiar presence.
"Lord Sephiroth." Demiurge's voice carried notes of surprise and calculation. The archfiend dropped to one knee, his generals following suit like dominos. "You venture forth without escort."
"I wish to see this world," Sephiroth replied, his voice carrying undertones that made the very stones beneath their feet vibrate. "To understand what fate has delivered into our hands."
"I cannot permit you to travel unaccompanied, my lord."
Sephiroth's eyes narrowed—not with anger, but with the focused attention of a predator evaluating prey. Then he smiled, and something in that expression made even Demiurge's confidence waver.
"Very well. You will accompany me."
"The honor destroys me, my lord."
As they walked, Demiurge provided updates on logistics and concerns. When transportation limitations were mentioned, Sephiroth's response was immediate and decisive.
"The guild rings will be distributed. The Floor Guardians and selected others will receive them." His tone brooked no argument. "Your concerns are now resolved."
"Your wisdom transcends mortal understanding, my lord."
"Naturally."
They reached the entrance, and Sephiroth stepped into the night. Above them, stars blazed in configurations that put his previous world's polluted sky to shame. Each point of light seemed to pulse with potential, with possibility.
"If only they could witness this," he murmured, thinking of guildmates who had moved on to lesser pursuits. "This world... it may prove worthy of our attention."
Power unfurled from his back—a single, magnificent black wing that caught starlight and seemed to drink it in. He launched himself skyward with explosive force, leaving cracks in the stone where he had stood. Demiurge followed in his demon form, struggling to match his master's effortless grace.
Above the clouds, Sephiroth felt something ignite in his chest—not the familiar burn of rage or ambition, but something pure and terrifying in its intensity. Freedom. Absolute, unlimited freedom from every constraint that had ever bound him.
"Tell me, Demiurge," his voice carried easily through the thin air, power making every word resonate, "what do you see when you observe this world?"
"I see a realm awaiting the touch of your magnificence, my lord. A canvas upon which you might paint your vision."
"Yes..." His green eyes blazed with interest, pupils dilating as predatory instincts awakened. "A world unburdened by the failures of lesser beings. Perhaps it is time to establish a new order. One worthy of our capabilities."
The words hit Demiurge like physical blows. His mind raced, plans already forming, strategies crystallizing. His master spoke of conquest, of dominion—and Demiurge would move heaven and earth to make it a reality.
Far below, the earth itself convulsed and reformed, magical energies reshaping the landscape with causal power.
"Mare works diligently," Sephiroth observed, approval coloring his voice. "The child shows... promise."
"Indeed, my lord. Shall we descend?"
"Yes." His smile was razor-sharp, predatory. "It has been far too long since I properly acknowledged the Floor Guardians' dedication."
As they descended through layers of cloud and starlight, Sephiroth felt anticipation singing in his veins—a sensation he had never experienced in either of his lives. This world spread before him like a feast, and he was starving for what tomorrow might bring.