In the year 2138 AD, the golden age of DMMO-RPGs was reaching its twilight.
And among the countless virtual worlds humanity had birthed, YGGDRASIL had once reigned supreme—a digital cosmos where gods could be born from imagination alone.
But all things, no matter how grand, eventually end.
It has been twelve long years since I entered this world.
Twelve years since I chose to abandon the dull gray of reality for the brilliance of the Nine Worlds.
In those years, I fought, bled, built, and crafted. I shaped my character into something nearly divine—a being of immense power, knowledge, and mystery. From a nameless adventurer to one of the supreme beings of Ainz Ooal Gown, my journey was one written in code and legend alike.
And tonight… it all ends.
The floating text in the corner of my vision flickers faintly:
[YGGDRASIL Service Termination: 00:37:58 Remaining]
A timer to the death of an era.
I stood in the middle of the Guild Meeting Room—a grand circular hall lit by braziers of ever-burning magic. A massive table of black stone dominated the center, its polished surface reflecting the faint glow of enchanted crystals above. Forty-one intricately carved chairs surrounded it, each etched with the names of its rightful owners—the founding members of Ainz Ooal Gown.
But now, only one chair was occupied.
Mine.
I slowly ran my fingers along the surface of the table, tracing the empty seats. Names shimmered briefly before fading into dim light—Touch Me, Ulbert Alain Odle, Peroroncino, Bukubukuchagama, and the others. Each name was a memory—of laughter, battles, and late-night arguments over build efficiency or raid strategies.
They were my comrades, my friends… And now, all gone.
Some had vanished years ago when life's demands called them away. Others had stayed longer, logging in from time to time for nostalgia's sake. But I had remained, always the last one to log out, the caretaker of what we had built together.
I exhaled softly. "So it's just me. I guess this is much better."
The words echoed faintly in the silent chamber.
I looked toward the corner of the room where a dark crystalline pedestal stood. Resting atop it was a staff—a masterpiece of impossible craftsmanship.
The Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown.
Forged by the collective effort of forty-one supreme beings, it was both weapon and symbol—proof of our unity, our brilliance, and our rule. Seven serpents of gold coiled around its length, each clutching a glowing jewel of a different hue. Power radiated from it, subtle yet absolute, a reminder that it was meant only for one who bore the weight of our name.
Of course, I also add some additional functions. Which was not available in the original.
For a moment, I hesitated. Then I reached out and grasped it.
The familiar warmth of boundless mana surged up my arm, humming faintly through my being.
[You have equipped the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown.]
A quiet chime sounded as the item recognized its rightful master.
The air trembled faintly around me.
I allowed myself a faint smile. "Let's go to the throne room. A new world awaits me."
The words slipped out like a vow.
The corridors of the Great Tomb of Nazarick stretched endlessly before me—majestic, opulent, and alive with the grandeur of our guild's dreams. Golden sconces burned with perpetual flame, and the marble floors reflected my lone footsteps with ghostly precision.
I passed by guardian statues, each depicting mighty beings that once stood as our protectors during guild wars. The halls whispered memories of victories and losses alike.
Even after all these years, it still felt real. No, they are going to become real.
When I reached the final set of grand doors, carved with images of dragons and divine sigils, I paused. Beyond them lay the Throne Room—the heart of Nazarick.
With a push, the doors opened in silence.
A magnificent hall stretched out before me, lined with towering obsidian pillars and banners bearing the sigil of our guild—the skull-and-staff emblem of Ainz Ooal Gown. The air shimmered with lingering magic, as though the place refused to accept the end.
And at the far end of the room sat the throne itself—carved from black crystal, polished to a mirror sheen.
The Throne of Kings.
I walked slowly, my cloak trailing softly behind me. Each step echoed faintly, a rhythmic drumbeat marking the approach to the inevitable.
When I reached the dais, I turned to the side.
There she was.
Albedo—Overseer of the Floor Guardians. A being of beauty so unreal it almost hurt to look at her. Midnight-black wings folded neatly behind her back, her white dress shimmering faintly in the ambient light. Her golden eyes watched me with an expression of gentle devotion, though I knew it was only code.
She wasn't supposed to exist this way—not exactly.
I still remember the joke Ulbert made when programming her personality.
"Make her a bit more… eccentric," he'd said, and I had adjusted her parameters slightly afterward—just for amusement. And yet, standing here now, her serene smile carried something more than mere coding.
I reached out and brushed a strand of her dark hair. "It's been a long journey, hasn't it?"
She didn't reply, of course. NPCs couldn't speak unless prompted. But the slight tilt of her head made her seem almost alive.
I turned and slowly sat upon the throne. The cold obsidian surface greeted me like an old friend. I rested the staff beside me, its jewels glowing faintly in response.
For one last time, I looked at her flavor sheet. To see everything is in order.
On the upper corner of my HUD, the countdown continued:
[YGGDRASIL Service Termination: 00:01:15]
The final minute.
I leaned back, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling—stars carved into black stone, glowing faintly with enchanted light.
"Twelve years…" I whispered. "Twelve years of battles, laughter, and friendship. It all ends here."
The seconds ticked down.
00:00:45.
00:00:30.
I closed my eyes. "To the end of an era… and to the start of another."
00:00:10.
00:00:03.
00:00:00.
~~~
Givea me power stone for support.