The preparation for a business trip to the headquarters of the gods was remarkably similar to preparing for a weekend getaway, except instead of packing sunscreen and swimwear, Elara was packing high-grade mana potions and a clipboard reinforced with enchanted steel.
The Castle of the Cinders was vibrating. It wasn't a metaphorical vibration; the actual stone foundations were humming at a low frequency, a side effect of the ambient mana density increasing by three hundred percent. The "Nightmare Mode" update had turned the simple act of existing into an extreme sport.
In the courtyard, the Black Carriage awaited. However, the undead horses that usually pulled it had been replaced. In their stead stood two Nightmares—magnificent, terrifying stallions made of obsidian and blue fire. Their manes were actual flames, and their hooves left scorching hoofprints on the cobblestones.
"They are level eighty," Valdred noted, inspecting the beasts with a critical eye. He wore his casual "I'm going to punch a god" attire: a high-collared black trench coat over flexible dragon-scale armor, with Night-Eater strapped across his back. "And they are aggressive. Do not pet them."
"I wasn't going to," Elara said, stepping out of the castle doors. She adjusted the collar of her new Legendary Coat. It felt weightless, yet she could feel the protective wards humming against her skin. "I value my fingers. Also, we have a passenger."
Valdred turned. Perched on Elara's head was Bon-Bon, the baby Undead God. The skeletal lizard had found a comfortable divot in Elara's hair and was currently gnawing on a spare pair of her glasses.
"He refuses to stay in the crate," Elara explained, reaching up to gently pry the glasses from the baby god's jaws. "And he cries if we leave him alone. It's a sonic wail that causes structural damage to the masonry."
"He is a menace," Valdred grumbled, opening the carriage door for her. "If he eats the upholstery, I am deducting it from his inheritance."
"He doesn't have an inheritance, Boss. He owns the void."
"Then I will deduct it from the void."
They climbed inside. The interior of the carriage had been upgraded by the castle's mimic-craftsmen. The seats were now memory foam that actively hugged you (sometimes a little too tightly), and there was a mini-fridge stocked with potions.
"To the Tower of Babel," Valdred commanded the driver—a headless Dullahan who gave a thumbs-up.
The Nightmares reared, their flaming manes flaring, and the carriage launched forward. It didn't roll; it hovered slightly above the ground, propelled by sheer magical intimidation. They blasted out of the castle gates, shattering the sound barrier and accidentally vaporizing a flock of fire-breathing pigeons that had been nesting on the portcullis.
The landscape of the West blurred past the window. Nightmare Mode had changed the scenery. The trees were no longer just dead; they were actively hostile, their branches swiping at the road like grasping claws. The sky was a swirling vortex of purple storm clouds, and occasionally, a giant red text box would appear in the air warning of "Local Event: Acid Rain" or "Spawn Rate Increased."
Elara watched the chaos outside with a detached professional interest. "The world is glitching," she observed. "Look at that mountain. It's rendering in low resolution."
Valdred looked. Sure enough, the peak of Mount Doom-ish was blocky and pixelated.
"The System is strained," Valdred said. "Typhon's death destabilized the core code. The Administrators summoned us because they likely need us to fix their mess. Or they intend to delete us for causing it."
"If they try to delete us," Elara said, patting the pockets of her coat where she had stashed several banned magical artifacts, "I have a strongly worded letter of complaint prepared. And a bomb."
Valdred looked at her, a flicker of admiration in his red eyes. "You brought a bomb?"
"It's a 'Negotiation Enhancer'," Elara corrected. "Leo left it behind. It's Holy Dynamite. I figure if things go south, we blow up the lobby."
"I chose my Advisor well," Valdred murmured, leaning back and closing his eyes.
The journey took three hours, during which they were attacked by a Level 70 Griffin (Valdred slapped it out of the sky without opening his eyes), a swarm of Cyber-Goblins (Elara confused them by shouting binary paradoxes), and a toll booth that demanded a sacrifice of "First Born Son or $5.99." Valdred paid the cash.
Finally, they reached the Dead Zone.
The center of the continent was a vast, featureless white plain. There was no ground, just a smooth, white surface that stretched to infinity. And in the center of the nothingness stood the Tower.
The Tower of Babel was not made of stone. It was a monolith of shifting data streams, black metal, and pure light. It stretched up into the sky, disappearing into a hole in the clouds that looked suspiciously like a corrupt file icon.
"It is big," Elara noted, craning her neck.
"It connects the realms," Valdred said, stepping out of the carriage. "Earth, Hell, Heaven, and the Developer's Lounge. All floors are accessible, provided you have the clearance."
The air here was sterile. It smelled like ozone and fresh plastic. There were no monsters. Just silence and the hum of a million servers.
They walked toward the entrance—a massive revolving door made of glass that seemed to be spinning a little too fast.
"Timing is key," Elara muttered. "One, two... now!"
She grabbed Valdred's hand and pulled him into the spinning door. They shuffled through, Bon-Bon clinging to Elara's shoulder for dear life, and popped out into the Lobby.
The Lobby of the Tower of Babel looked exactly like a high-end corporate headquarters, if the corporation was run by eldritch horrors. The floor was polished obsidian. The ceiling was a live feed of the galaxy. And the receptionist was a Beholder—a floating sphere of flesh with one giant eye and ten eyestalks. It was wearing a headset and typing on a holographic keyboard with its telekinesis.
"Welcome to Babel Inc.," the Beholder droned, its voice echoing in their heads telepathically. "Please take a ticket and wait for the next available deity. Current wait time is: Eternity."
"We have an appointment," Valdred said, walking up to the desk. He slammed the black invitation card onto the counter. "With the Admins."
The Beholder's main eye swiveled down to look at the card. Its pupil constricted.
"Ah," the Beholder said. "The Troublemakers. The Tyrant and the... Assistant."
"Advisor," Elara corrected sharply. "And this is Bon-Bon."
She pointed to the skeletal lizard on her head. Bon-Bon hissed at the Beholder. The Beholder hissed back.
"License?" the Beholder demanded.
"License for what?" Valdred asked.
"For the Class X Entity attached to your female's skull. No undocumented gods allowed in the building. Fire code regulations."
Valdred's hand drifted toward his sword. "I do not have a license for my child. I have a sword."
"Whoa, easy!" Elara stepped in front of him. "Violence is Plan B, Boss. Let me handle the bureaucracy."
She pulled out her clipboard. She quickly scribbled on a blank form, stamped it with her own official "Approved" stamp (which she always carried), and slid it across the desk.
"Here is his 'Emotional Support Apocalypse' certification," Elara said smoothly. "Under the Americans with Disabilities Act—which I am arbitrarily applying to this dimension—you cannot deny entry to a service animal. He helps with anxiety."
The Beholder read the paper with three of its eyestalks. "Emotional Support... Apocalypse?"
"He eats anxiety," Elara lied. "And furniture. But mostly anxiety."
The Beholder stared at Elara. Elara stared back, adjusting her glasses. It was a battle of wills. The Beholder blinked first (which took a while since it had eleven eyes).
"Fine," the Beholder grumbled, typing something. "Here are your visitor badges. Do not lose them. If you lose them, you will be teleported to the dimension of Infinite DMV Lines. Take the executive elevator to Floor 999."
Two badges materialized in the air. Elara grabbed them.
"Thank you," she smiled sweetly. "Your customer service survey will reflect this interaction."
They walked past the desk toward the elevators.
"Emotional Support Apocalypse?" Valdred whispered, looking impressed.
"If you say it with confidence, it becomes true," Elara replied. "Rule number one of consulting."
The elevator bank was a row of shimmering portals. They stood in front of the one marked "Executive / Admin / God-Tier Only."
The doors slid open with a pleasant ding.
Inside, there was elevator music playing. It was a smooth jazz version of "Highway to Hell."
They stepped in. The doors closed.
"Floor 999," Valdred commanded.
The elevator didn't move up. It moved inward.
The sensation was nauseating. It felt like being folded like a piece of origami. The walls of the elevator dissolved, and suddenly they were rushing through a tunnel of code, stars, and screaming faces.
"Keep your arms inside the vehicle!" Elara yelled over the rushing wind.
Bon-Bon was loving it. He was trying to catch the passing stars with his tongue.
"This is not a physical ascent," Valdred shouted, planting his feet to maintain balance. "We are ascending through conceptual layers! Hold on to your mind, Elara! If you think about a paradox, you will explode!"
"Don't think about paradoxes," Elara repeated to herself. "Don't think about the sentence 'This statement is false.' Don't think about time travel."
Ding.
The motion stopped instantly. The walls solidified again. The doors opened.
They stepped out onto Floor 999.
It wasn't an office. It was a garden. But a garden made of polygons. The grass was perfect, uniform green triangles. The trees were wireframes. The sky was a static white void.
Sitting at a white tea table in the center of the garden were three figures.
The System Administrators.
The first was a woman made entirely of golden light, wearing a suit that seemed to be woven from sunbeams. She radiated order and judgment. (Admin 1: The Architect).
The second was a hooded figure whose face was a swirling void of static. He wore a T-shirt that said "I Paused My Game to Be Here." He slouched, radiating chaos and apathy. (Admin 2: The Glitch).
The third was a small, fluffy cat. Just a normal cat. Sitting on a floating cushion. (Admin 3: The Supervisor).
"You're late," The Architect said. Her voice sounded like a choir. "We expected you yesterday."
"We got held up by a toll booth," Valdred said, walking onto the wireframe grass. "And your elevator music is terrible."
"It's royalty-free," The Glitch shrugged, his voice sounding like a broken radio. "Budget cuts."
The Cat meowed.
"Sit," The Architect commanded. Two chairs materialized at the table.
Valdred and Elara sat. Bon-Bon hopped off Elara's head and sniffed The Cat. The Cat bopped Bon-Bon on the nose with a paw. Bon-Bon retreated, accepting the hierarchy.
"So," Elara started, placing her clipboard on the table. "You invited us. Here we are. Nightmare Mode is cute, by the way. Very retro."
"It was not a choice," The Architect said stiffly. "It was an automated failsafe. You killed Typhon. Typhon was a load-bearing boss. His existence stabilized the difficulty curve for the Western Continent. With him gone, the System panicked and maxed out all parameters to compensate."
"Oops," Elara said. She didn't sound sorry.
"You broke the game loop," The Glitch chuckled. "Heroes are supposed to kill Demon Lords. Demon Lords are supposed to kill Heroes. Nobody is supposed to kill the Level 1000 Landscape Geometry. That's just rude."
"He started it," Valdred crossed his arms. "He tried to eat my Advisor."
"Irrelevant," The Architect waved her hand. "The issue is that the world is now unbalanced. The Heroes cannot cope with Nightmare Mode. They are dying in the tutorial zones. The economy is crashing. The forums are exploding with complaints."
"Forums?" Valdred asked.
"Prayer circles," The Architect corrected. "We need to fix it. And since you broke it, you are going to help."
"And if we refuse?" Valdred asked, his aura flaring slightly.
"Then we delete you," The Architect said simply. She raised a hand. "Ctrl-Alt-Delete."
Valdred's hand went to his sword.
"Wait!" Elara slammed her hand on the table. "Hold on! You can't just delete us. We have user rights!"
"You are NPCs," The Architect said. "Non-Player Characters. You have no rights."
"We are sentient!" Elara argued. "I have a pension plan! He has a child! Look at the baby!" She pointed at Bon-Bon, who was currently licking a wireframe flower.
"Sentience is a bug, not a feature," The Glitch muttered.
"Listen," Elara stood up. She went into full Manager Mode. She paced. She gestured. She adjusted her glasses. "You have a problem. Your game is broken. Your user base (the Heroes) is churning. Your difficulty curve is a vertical line. Deleting us won't fix that. It will just leave a power vacuum."
The Admins watched her. The Cat blinked slowly.
"If you delete Valdred," Elara continued, "the West falls into chaos. Millions of uncontrolled monsters spill out. The Heroes get overwhelmed even faster. Game Over. Server Wipe."
The Architect lowered her hand. "Go on."
"You don't need to delete us," Elara said. "You need to rebalance us. You need a new mechanic."
"What do you propose?" The Glitch asked, leaning forward.
"Make us the endgame," Elara said. "Make Valdred the official Final Boss. Not just a regional warlord. The Big Bad. Scale the rest of the world back down to Normal Mode, but keep the West in Nightmare Mode. We become the Zone that players aspire to reach."
"A high-level raid zone," The Glitch mused. "Restricted access. Level caps."
"Exactly," Elara nodded. "We contain the chaos. We manage the difficulty. You give us official Admin privileges over the Western Server. We keep the monsters in line. We keep the Heroes entertained. And in exchange..."
"In exchange?" The Architect raised an eyebrow.
"You give us better loot," Valdred interrupted. "And you fix my castle's plumbing. The lava moat is affecting the water pressure."
"And," Elara added, "We want immunity from deletion. Permanent contracts."
The three Admins looked at each other. They communicated silently in a burst of binary code.
The Cat meowed loudly.
"The Supervisor agrees," The Glitch interpreted.
"Very well," The Architect stood up. "Proposal accepted. Valdred, Tyrant of the Cinders, you are hereby promoted to Global Antagonist (Tier 1). The West is now a Quarantined Nightmare Zone."
She waved her hand. A golden contract appeared in the air.
"Sign," she commanded.
Valdred looked at the contract. It was written in divine runes. He looked at Elara.
"Do I sign?" he asked.
"Read the fine print first," Elara warned.
Valdred squinted. "Clause 7: The Entity 'Bon-Bon' must be registered as a Raid Boss pet. Clause 8: No more killing Gods without filling out form 27B/6."
"Standard boilerplate," Elara shrugged. "Sign it, Boss. It's a promotion."
Valdred signed with a flare of mana.
The contract vanished. A pulse of blue light swept through the garden, then out through the tower, spreading across the entire world.
"Patch applied," The Architect said. "Nightmare Mode is now restricted to your territory. The rest of the world has returned to Normal Difficulty."
"Thank you for your cooperation," The Glitch said, yawning. "Now get out. I have a speedrun to watch."
"One more thing," Valdred said, standing up. "Who is the Player?"
The Admins froze. The Glitch stopped slouching. The Architect's light dimmed. Even the Cat stopped licking its paw.
"The Player?" The Architect asked slowly.
"You call us NPCs," Valdred said. "You talk about difficulty curves for Heroes. But who is playing them? Who is controlling this world?"
"That is information above your clearance level," The Architect said coldly. "Leave. Now."
Valdred stared at them for a moment. He saw the fear. For the first time, the Gods looked nervous.
"Come, Elara," Valdred turned, sweeping his coat behind him. "We have what we came for."
They walked back to the elevator. Bon-Bon scampered after them.
As the doors closed, Elara looked at Valdred. "You poked the bear, Boss."
"I needed to know," Valdred said, staring at the floor indicator as it plummeted back to 1. "They are afraid of something. There is someone above them."
"Well," Elara sighed, leaning against the wall. "That's a problem for Season Two. Right now, I just want to go home and see if the rats have stopped striking."
"Agreed," Valdred said. He reached out and awkwardly patted her head, right where Bon-Bon had been sitting. "Good work, General. You negotiated with Gods and won."
"I just used logic," Elara smiled, tired but happy. "Gods are terrible at logic."
The elevator dinged. They stepped back out into the lobby. The Beholder glared at them.
"Did you enjoy your visit?" the Beholder asked sarcastically.
"It was enlightening," Valdred said. "We are leaving."
They walked out into the white void, back to the carriage. The Nightmares were waiting, looking bored and slightly less on fire than before.
"Home," Valdred told the driver.
As the carriage lifted off, speeding back toward the West, the world outside began to change. The red text boxes vanished. The glitches smoothed out. The trees stopped trying to kill them (mostly).
But as they crossed the border into the West—their territory—the sky turned purple again. The lightning returned. The ominous music swelled.
"Welcome to the Nightmare Zone," Elara said, watching the familiar jagged peaks of the Cinders appear on the horizon.
"It is good to be the villain," Valdred said, a rare, genuine grin spreading across his face.
"Meep," Bon-Bon agreed, finally managing to chew a piece off Valdred's shoulder armor.
Valdred sighed, but he didn't stop him.
"Elara," Valdred said after a moment of silence.
"Yes, Boss?"
"When we get back... order pizza. With extra meat."
"You got it. Pepperoni and souls?"
"Just pepperoni. I am on a diet."
The Black Carriage vanished into the storm, carrying the Demon Lord, his Human Manager, and their Baby God back to their castle. The world was safe (for now), the system was patched, and the office was open for business.
But deep in the Tower of Babel, the three Admins watched a screen. A screen that showed a single, blinking cursor.
"New Player Connected."