The doors of the Multiversal Chat Group Headquarters slid open with a soft chime.
Warm light spilled out, chasing away the ashen gloom of the ruined city. Inside, the air was clean, faintly scented with something like citrus and steel. The entry hall stretched up several floors, all glassy surfaces and floating interfaces, with walkways spiraling around a central atrium.
"This looks like an Arcology from a sci-fi movie," Misaka muttered, eyes shining as she took everything in.
Rimuru tilted their head, scanning. "It's more than that. The entire building is layered on a sub-dimension. It's bigger on the inside."
"Of course it is," Kazuma sighed. "Every cheat gets a magic base except me."
He then paused as a notification pinged his vision.
[Multiversal Chat Group – HQ Online]
• Zones Unlocked:
– Common Room
– Training Zone (Sandbox)
– Strategy Hall
• Special Rules:
– Primary Sanctuary Time Dilation Active
– Group Members can freely enter/exit via Chat Group Menu
– 5 minutes in this world ≈ 1 week in your original worlds (average)
"Time dilation confirmed," Miori murmured, pushing her glasses up as she walked. "So from our perspective, this place is a high-latency retreat. From Takumi's, it's a slow, continuous axis." She glanced at him. "Advantage: you get a long time to plan. Drawback: you'll watch everyone else flash by."
Takumi shrugged a little too casually. "It's better than being stuck alone."
He knew what she meant, though.
He would age slowly relative to the flow of those other worlds. People might come and go, fight wars, live decades, while only days passed for him. The thought slipped beneath his ribs like a thin knife.
The system, helpful as always, chimed:
[Emotional fluctuation detected. Recommend: snacks, socialization, and low-risk training.]
"...Are you my therapist now?" he muttered.
[No. But you are statistically less likely to break reality if you are fed and not depressed.]
"Fair."
They emerged into the Common Room—a wide, open lounge wrapped in panoramic windows. Outside the glass, the ruined city sprawled; inside, it looked like a futuristic café collided with a war room.
Soft couches. Sleek tables. Floating screens. A long counter along one side offered drinks and food via shimmering constructors connected directly to Takumi's infinite storage.
A large holographic "chat window" hovered over one low table, displaying:
[Chat Group – Global Channel]
Takumi: has created [HQ Common Room]
System: Welcome, members. Try not to destroy anything critical in the first hour.
Misaka: (ﾉ≧ڡ≦) I wanna see the training zone!!
Kazuma: Is there beer?
Rimuru: I'd like to inspect the backend of this system.
Ruri: Fufufu… so this is our Dark Citadel.
Rin: I require a stable space for experiments.
Miori: Priorities: understand Authorities, risk levels, and long-term implications.
"You all type fast," Takumi said.
"We're not typing, it's thought-synced," Rimuru answered cheerfully. "Very convenient."
"Let's check what else we got first," Misaka said. "The system said it gave us powers, right? Besides the cheats we already had."
Another notification popped up for each of them.
[Chat Group Member Enhancement – Summary]
All members have gained:
• Dimensional Link:
– Instant communication via chat.
– Rapid travel to HQ.
• Group Mall Access:
– Points earned from missions.
– Items, tech, artifacts, and Authority-compatible tools for sale.
• Unique Passive Buffs
– Tailored to individual abilities and Takumi's Authorities.
Misaka flicked her fingers; arcs of electricity jumped between them. "My output feels boosted. And my control too."
[Misaka Mikoto – Railgun Sync Bonus:
• Higher voltage ceiling.
• Microsecond-level electromagnetic perception.
• Limited "End Lock": can stabilize a current or arc at a perfectly fixed state for a moment.]
"That last one sounds like your Authority," she said, looking at Takumi. "End… but for lightning."
Takumi nodded slowly. "Looks like the system is… leaking my privileges into you, in smaller, safer chunks."
Rimuru's eyes sparkled. "I'd like to see how that scales."
Rin folded her arms. "I'd like to see how dangerous that is, more precisely."
Miori's interface was already full of charts. "The signature labeled 'Finality' overlays onto each of our abilities in unique ways. It's like the system is building a civilization's conceptual foundation… starting with us."
Kazuma glanced between them, then to his own status.
"…Ultra High Luck in Quest Rewards, and something called 'Absurd Ability' that triggers in 'extremely specific stupid situations.' I feel offended."
Ruri fanned herself, voice low and dramatic. "Do not fear, mortal. Even the weakest pawn has its destined moment to checkmate the gods."
"Are you calling me a pawn?"
"Yes."
They didn't stay in the Common Room long.
Curiosity—and in Misaka's case, raw battle itch—pulled them to the Training Zone.
The door opened onto what looked at first like an endless white void.
Then the system obliged them with a bit more comfort.
[Loading environment: Standard Arena v1.0]
The void resolved into a wide, circular arena. The floor looked like matte metal, with faint glowing lines marking concentric rings. The "sky" was a high dome of soft light, peppered with distant, ghostly grids that hinted at the underlying simulation.
"Welcome to the lab," Rimuru said, amused. "System, can we access the parameters?"
A control console appeared in front of them, complete with sliders, toggles, and a 3D model of the arena.
[Permissions:
• Rimuru – Analysis & Sandbox Control (Limited)
• Miori – Observation & Logging
• Rin – Boundary Layer Adjustments
• Misaka – Stress Test Input
• Kazuma & Ruri – …Participant / Chaos Sources]
"What do you mean 'Chaos Sources'?!" Kazuma yelped.
"Accurate," Miori said calmly.
Ruri smiled behind her fan. "Fufufu… I accept this title."
Takumi stepped into the center of the arena, feeling the floor respond to his presence. The HQ recognized him as core admin; power hummed beneath his feet.
"Alright," he said. "Misaka wanted to test something. Let's start there. I'll try to use Finality in a controlled way. Rimuru, Miori, Rin—please yell at me if this looks like it'll explode."
Rin cracked her knuckles. "I'll also try to model it in magecraft terms. Maybe we can classify it as a bounded conceptual domain."
Rimuru grinned. "And I'll make sure the worst case just resets the arena instead of collapsing the universe."
"You can do that?"
"I can negotiate with the system," Rimuru said. "We're both administrators in our own worlds. We understand each other."
Misaka strode to the opposite end of the arena, her eyes bright.
"So. Authority of End versus Level 5 Railgun," she said. "I'm kind of looking forward to this."
"Just don't kill the host," Kazuma muttered. "I have a feeling the respawn system here is… not generous."
Takumi exhaled slowly and reached inward.
Finality responded at once.
It rose to his call like a tide of cold darkness—not evil, not emotional, just absolute. It whispered endings to everything: heat death of the universe, the last star going dark, the final thought flickering out. It wanted targets. It wanted closure.
His heart picked up speed.
You're just testing. Be precise.
"Rimuru," he said quietly. "Can you put a hard cap on what I can do here?"
"On it," Rimuru replied.
Layers of translucent hexagons bloomed around the arena, forming a multi-layer barrier. Magical patterns and system circuits intertwined, creating a hybrid defense that hummed with both magicules and data.
"This sandbox is now disconnected from primary causality up to a certain threshold," Rimuru said. "If you try to end something bigger than the local domain, the system will buffer it."
"Reassuring," Rin muttered. "Relatively."
Misaka rolled her shoulders. "Ready."
She pulled a coin from her pocket, flipping it with practiced ease.
Electricity flared around her, forming swirling blue-white arcs. Her hair fluttered in the electric wind as she raised her hand, coin on her thumb.
"Railgun, low-intermediate output," she called. "I'm not going all out on the first try."
"Appreciated," Takumi replied dryly.
He reached again for Finality.
This time, consciously, he narrowed his focus. Not everything. Not time. Not life. Just one thing: the kinetic motion of the projectile.
"Three…" Misaka counted, eyes narrowing. "Two… one—"
The coin snapped forward with a crack like thunder.
The world slowed.
Takumi could feel the coin slicing through the air, lightning wrapped around it like a screaming comet. The system helpfully outlined the trajectory in red. Finality pushed against his mind, eager to cut.
End the motion, he thought. Nothing else.
He triggered the Authority.
For an instant, he wasn't in the arena.
He was nowhere.
No sound, no light, no time. Only a vast, blank stillness—the conceptual plane where all things, eventually, stop.
And in that place, he realized Finality wasn't just an ability. It was a viewpoint. A way of seeing reality purely as processes heading toward termination.
If he lost himself in it, he could decide that something had already ended, retroactively, and the universe would comply.
A deep, irrational terror surged in his chest.
No. Back.
He yanked himself out of the abstract void.
The arena snapped back into existence.
The coin—mere centimeters away from his face—froze, suspended in midair. The lightning wrapped around it like a sculpture, utterly still. Sound cut out around the bullet, air stilled. Even the faint smell of ozone became a frozen moment.
Everything outside the meter-wide sphere was normal.
Takumi realized his heart wasn't beating.
He forced his will inward.
End your pause. Resume.
His body jolted. Breath rushed back into his lungs; pain flared in his chest, as if he'd been punched. The coin and lightning disintegrated into harmless sparks, the energy dissolving into the arena's safety net.
For a second, no one spoke.
Misaka lowered her hand slowly. "…Okay. That was terrifying and cool."
Rin's fingers trembled slightly as she traced imaginary sigils in the air. "That was not magecraft. That was… editing the endpoint of an event. I couldn't feel the mana flow at all, only the before and after."
Rimuru squinted at their internal logs. "From the system's point of view, you pushed part of reality into a Finality sublayer and then re-synced it. Nicely done, but very risky."
Miori's voice was quiet. "You stopped your own heart, even if only momentarily."
Takumi let his shaking hand fall to his side. "I noticed."
Finality withdrew, settling into a sullen lump at the back of his thoughts. It wanted more. It had tasted "closing" a living process.
And that taste had almost appealed to him in that void.
That scared him more than the power itself.
Kazuma cleared his throat. "So… you almost accidentally permakilled yourself during a friendly test. Great. Fantastic. Perfectly normal."
"Don't exaggerate," Rimuru said. "I had three failsafes ready. But yes, we learned something: direct usage on biological processes is dangerous for your mental state."
Rin nodded. "You need a buffer. Something to stand between your mind and the raw concept. A familiar. A shell. A clone."
Her eyes slid to him. "Didn't you mention an Authority of Domination?"
Takumi hesitated.
"Yes," he said finally. "I can create… derivatives of myself. Sub-selves that I control. They're not fully independent people, but not mindless puppets either."
Ruri's eyes lit up. "Minions."
Kazuma shivered. "Please don't say it like that."
Rimuru clapped their hands. "Actually, that's a good idea. If we can create a controlled avatar that channels Finality instead of your main self, it'd reduce the psychological load."
Miori was already pulling up the relevant data. "Authority of Domination: currently dormant, untested. Range undefined. Risk: unknown."
"Story of my life," Takumi muttered.
Still, he stepped back into the center of the arena and closed his eyes.
Domination didn't feel like Finality.
If Finality was the quiet end of all things, Domination was structure. Hierarchy. The ability to define relationships between "main" and "subordinate," to carve out pieces of self and label them yours even if they walked separately.
Create derivative entity, he thought. Based on me. Limited autonomy. Bound to channel Finality under constraints.
The world rippled.
A shadow peeled off his feet.
It rose up, gaining color, texture, shape, until a second Takumi stood facing him—same face, same height, but with eyes that glowed faintly silver and a slightly blurred outline, like a rendering that hadn't fully finished.
A tag floated above its head:
[Domination-Clone – Takumi-β]
Authority Proxy / Process Echo
Takumi felt something plug into the back of his mind. Thoughts flowed both ways: he knew what the clone perceived, and the clone knew his intentions. If he concentrated, he could puppet it directly; if he relaxed, it could act on standing commands.
The sensation was both intimate and invasive.
So this is what being a god feels like, he thought. And I don't like how normal it feels after two seconds.
"Fufufu…" Ruri's low chuckle floated over. "Behold, the birth of the first Apostle of End."
"Don't call him that," Takumi said automatically.
Takumi-β tilted his head. "Technically, I don't mind," he said in the exact same voice. "It's thematically appropriate."
The original grimaced. "Of course you'd say that."
Kazuma stared between them, horrified. "It talks. Why does it talk? Is it… you-you, or like a copy-you, or like an NPC-you? What happens if we kill it? Do you die? Does it cry? Do you cry?"
The system chimed:
[Domination-Clone is a semi-autonomous process. Termination will not kill the main host, but may cause feedback discomfort.]
"Discomfort," Kazuma repeated. "That's vague and I don't like it."
Rimuru summoned a small ball of magicules in their palm. "Takumi-β, can you channel Finality on this while the main body watches from the sidelines?"
Takumi-β nodded. "Yes." He raised his hand, concentration sharpening. "Designate target: internal decay of this specific mana construct."
He triggered Finality.
Takumi watched from the outside this time, like watching someone else move his arm. The pressure in his mind was still there—but muffled, filtered through Domination's control structure.
The magicule sphere flickered and collapsed inward, its energy dissipating into nothing. No explosion, no residue. Just a clean, quiet end.
"Fascinating," Rin whispered. "It's still the same Authority, but the vector is different. Less psychological contamination."
Miori's screens filled with data. "We can treat the clone as an Authority interface. Good. Very good."
Kazuma opened his status window out of sheer stress.
A new line had appeared under his "Absurd Ability".
Passive Condition: When existential horror in the room exceeds threshold, a stupidly convenient distraction will occur.
"...Oh no," he said.
A second later, a tiny holographic pop-up appeared in front of Takumi-β's foot:
[Free banana from Infinite Storage? Y/N]
The clone stepped forward.
"Yes—"
A banana materialized under his heel.
Takumi-β slipped.
He fell flat on his back with absolutely undignified flailing.
The Authority of Finality flickered, briefly imprinting its pattern into the floor in a perfect, circular sigil before the sandbox absorbed it with a boop sound the system had probably added out of spite.
Silence.
Rimuru stared.
Rin stared.
Miori stared.
Then Misaka burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter, clutching her stomach.
"Pff—aha—he just—hahaha—slipped on a banana—"
Kazuma carefully raised a hand. "I… think that was me."
Ruri's shoulders shook behind her fan, eyes shining. "The Dark Apostle felled by a banana peel. A pure, crystalline form of narrative justice."
Even Takumi couldn't help it. He snorted.
Takumi-β lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. "As a derivative of you, I feel deeply insulted," he said flatly.
"You'll live," the original replied, grinning despite the knot of unease still inside him.
The moment of comedy stripped some of the oppressive weight from the room. The idea that godlike power could be tripped up by slapstick took the edge off the abyss.
They spent the next while refining their tests.
Rimuru constructed small, isolated "cells" of reality inside the training zone—mini-worlds to poke at without risk to the main arena. Takumi-β experimented with ending specific processes: cooling of an object, propagation of sound, decay of a simulation's sun.
Rin tried to map all of this into her understanding of magecraft.
"Think of it as rewriting the End Condition of a bounded field," she said eventually. "Except the bounded field is… the universe."
"That sounds absolutely healthy and not at all prone to disasters," Kazuma muttered.
Miori stayed near the console, monitoring Finality's "signature" as it touched things. "Each use leaves a faint residue," she said. "Conceptual footprints. If you use it too often on the same layer of reality, that layer will start re-aligning itself around Finality as a fundamental rule."
"You mean… the world itself might start leaning toward endings?" Takumi asked.
"Shorter lifespans, faster entropy, that kind of thing," Miori replied. "Or it might evolve entirely new metaphysics. We need to be careful where and how often you use it."
"So we need a doctrine," Rimuru said. "Rules of engagement for godhood."
Ruri smirked. "A dark code of conduct for the Lord of End. I approve."
Takumi felt tired.
Not physically—the HQ's ambient field actually invigorated his body—but mentally. There was something heavy about knowing that every casual flick of his fingers might nudge an entire reality closer to the grave.
He dismissed Takumi-β for now; the clone dissolved into a stream of light, folding back into his shadow. The link receded, leaving him once more alone in his head.
"I need a break," he admitted.
The system chimed approvingly.
[Recommended: Low-stakes social interaction and carbohydrates.]
"Translation," Misaka said. "Snacks in the common room."
They reconvened in the Common Room.
Takumi tapped the counter; the constructor hummed, pulling items out of his infinite storage and assembling them with a precision that would've made every cafe worker on Earth weep.
Cakes. Sandwiches. Bottled drinks. Good coffee. Ice cream.
Misaka's eyes sparkled. "Okay, I forgive the terrifying death Authority."
Kazuma grabbed a soda. "So this is the upside of having infinite storage. Do you have… instant noodles? Beer? Fried chicken?"
Takumi considered.
Storage answered before he did: packets of instant ramen, a six-pack of beer from some Japanese brand, and a tray of crispy fried chicken appeared.
Kazuma's eyes filled with tears. "I no longer fear god, I fear Takumi."
"We are going to abuse this," Misaka declared.
Rimuru, munching thoughtfully on a slice of cake, glanced at the panoramic window. "You know… this place could be more than just a base. If you're really going to build a civilization, you'll need more than tools and weapons."
"Culture," Rin said. "Rituals. Education. Festivals."
"Movies," Misaka added.
"Games," Ruri said. "And an official Dark Order uniform."
Miori nodded. "And policies. Ethics. We're effectively designing an empire from zero. The way we start will matter."
Takumi looked out at the ruins.
The dead city reflected in the glass, but inside, his view was filled with laughing, bickering, scheming people eating snacks and planning how to reshape reality.
He imagined this room one day full of more than six extra-dimensional weirdos. Kids running around. Cursed Children from other worlds finding a place they could actually be safe. Artificial intelligences learning to understand jokes. A festival under the starless sky where the lights were all ones he'd built.
The thought made his chest ache in a good way.
"First, I need people," he said. "That initial quest—20 population. Right now it's just me."
"Plus your clone," Kazuma said.
"Clones don't count. That's cheating."
"It is a cheat system."
"Still."
Rimuru tapped the table, eyes brightening. "Then we move to phase two: Dimensional Diplomacy. You scanned some worlds earlier, right?"
"Yeah," Takumi said. "Neighbor worlds. Demon Slayer, Honkai, Azur Lane…"
He hesitated.
"And I just so happen to already have a template in my head for dealing with a certain harbor full of shipgirls."
Misaka blinked. "Shipgirls? Like the anthropomorphized warships?"
"Yes."
Ruri smirked. "Fufufu… a world of weaponized maidens. A suitable vassal state for a Dark Empire."
Rin groaned softly. "Please stop saying 'Dark Empire.'"
Miori leaned forward. "If you initiate contact, we'll need to observe how other civilizations react to a being with your Authorities. Don't flaunt the godhood."
"I wasn't planning on leading with 'Hi, I end universes for fun.'"
Kazuma raised a hand. "Are we… coming with?"
"Not for the first face-to-face," Takumi said. "Let me scout. Time flows faster on your side anyway. For you, I might be gone a minute, but I'll have been over there for weeks."
He stood, finished his coffee, and felt the decision settle.
"Let's go to the Strategy Hall."
The Strategy Hall sat near the top of the HQ—a circular chamber with a high ceiling and a central holo-table.
When Takumi entered, the Hyperdimensional Star Map unfolded above it. The glowing bubbles of multiple worlds floated in organized chaos, each labeled.
Demon Slayer. Date A Live. Azur Lane. Fate/Grand Order. Honkai Impact.
He focused on Azur Lane.
Details bloomed.
[Azur Lane: Pre-Space Age]
• Oceanic-dominant world.
• Beings: Shipgirls – anthropomorphic warships.
• Engaged in prolonged conflict with Sirens.
• Tech Tree: Advanced military technology + minor magical elements.
Relative Comparison (vs. Takumi's Civilization):
• Technological Level: Like a God.
• Military Strength: Like a God.
• Economic Power: Like a God.
[Available Options:]
• Diplomacy
• Traversal (Cooldown applies)
"Still makes me feel like a caveman," Takumi muttered.
[Accurate.]
"Not helping, System."
He selected Diplomacy.
The hall dimmed.
A huge holographic screen unfolded in the air before him, then stabilized into a view of a harbor office bathed in daylight.
Stacks of documents. A polished desk. Flags. And behind the desk, a blonde woman in elegant red-and-white clothing, her rigging half-materialized in instinctive caution.
Richelieu.
Her violet eyes widened at the sudden intrusion of an enormous holographic window into her reality.
Takumi's avatar appeared on her screen; she could see him in the dim Strategy Hall, surrounded by swirling star maps.
He lifted a hand and waved.
"Hello. Can you hear me?"
Richelieu jolted, almost spilling her coffee.
She stared for a few heartbeats, then quickly straightened her posture, adjusting her clothes. Her rigging shifted behind her, cannons swiveling just enough to remind him she was armed.
"Well… hello," she said, defaulting to formal politeness. "Welcome to the Azur Lane main harbor. I am Richelieu, flagship of the Richelieu-class battleships, Iris Libre. May I ask who I am speaking to?"
Takumi smiled. "I'm Takumi. Neighbor."
Confusion flashed across her face. She glanced sidelong at her window, as if checking for pranksters.
"There are no humans living near this harbor," she said carefully. "And you don't appear to be a Siren. What faction are you with?"
"Technically?" Takumi said. "None of yours. I'm from the adjacent universe. Our worlds… are neighbors on a higher-dimensional map."
She stared.
Then, very slowly: "Ha…?"
A quiet ping appeared in Takumi's peripheral vision.
[Global Chat – Overlay]
Misaka: (watching) Whoa, is that a shipgirl?
Kazuma: She's hot.
Rin: Don't be rude. Also, yes.
Rimuru: Her rigging has very interesting energy signatures.
Ruri: Another potential vassal for the Dark Fleet.
Miori: Focus, please. We're recording a first-contact scenario.
Takumi suppressed a smile.
Explaining took time.
He simplified it as much as possible: different worlds, separated by more than distance. A map in higher-dimensional space. His ability to contact and travel between them.
Richelieu's initial disbelief gradually turned into cautious acceptance. If someone could hijack her office's reality with a visual feed and speak fluently in her language, they either had inconceivable technology or power—too much to waste on a prank.
"So there are other worlds," she said softly. "And your… civilization is beyond ours?"
"Not really," Takumi said honestly. "On paper, I'm weaker than you. My population is one. My tech level is 'Stone Age.'"
She blinked. "Pardon?"
"Long story," he said. "What matters is: my world is currently empty. No humans left but me. And I've been given a chance to rebuild… not only my civilization, but a multiversal one."
He met her gaze.
"I contacted you because I thought we might help each other."
Richelieu's fingers drummed lightly on her desk. "Help how?"
"Your harbor struggles with resources, right?" Takumi asked. "Oil, metal, secure land, safe ports. The Sirens block the seas. Expeditions are dangerous."
Her expression didn't change much—but the slight narrowing of the eyes confirmed he was right.
"I control an entire empty Earth," he continued. "Raw materials, land, abandoned infrastructure. Right now it's just decaying. No Sirens. No enemies. If we formed an agreement, I could supply resources. In exchange… you'd send people. A small migration unit."
"A migration…?" Richelieu repeated.
"A settlement team," Takumi clarified. "Shipgirls who want to build something new alongside me. Help with infrastructure, research, protection. We can add a non-aggression and joint defense clause, if you want to sound bureaucratic about it."
Richelieu fell silent.
Her eyes drifted off-screen, probably reading urgent messages from other flagships as they patched into the mysterious foreign signal. The system helpfully translated the gist for Takumi: 'Unknown entity. Emergency. No, it doesn't look like a Siren. Yes, we're monitoring.'
Finally, Richelieu sighed softly.
"Mr. Takumi," she said, slipping into slightly more formal tone. "Matters between worlds—" she emphasized the word "—cannot be decided by me alone. The major fleets must convene. We've never even reached orbit, let alone crossed the stars. And you are talking about… universes."
"That's fair," Takumi said. "I'm not asking for immediate promises. Just this: would you be willing to meet again? Maybe with other flagships present. I can come to your harbor in person. It's easier to negotiate face-to-face than shouting across realities."
Richelieu's composure cracked just a little. "In person? You can cross between worlds?"
"Yeah," Takumi said. "It's not effortless—I get a cooldown—but I can."
"How?" she asked, despite herself. "Ship? Gate? Magic?"
He glanced at the Traversal option on his interface.
"Like this."
He pressed it.
[Traversal Initiated: Primary Sanctuary → Azur Lane World]
[Warning: Dimensional transit consumes mental energy. Cooldown: 30 days.]
[Landing Site: Target – Azur Lane Harbor (Approximate)]
A vortex of multicolored light twisted open in the middle of the Strategy Hall.
Reality folded inward, forming a tunnel that went nowhere and everywhere at once.
From Richelieu's perspective, the holographic window in her office flared, and the swirling vortex appeared on her side as well—a matching wound in space hanging above a sandy beach near the harbor.
She shot to her feet, knocking over her chair. "Wait! I'll dispatch a reception party—"
Takumi looked once more at the star map above him, then at the chat messages flickering at the side of his vision.
Misaka: You're just going??
Rimuru: I'll monitor from here.
Rin: Don't start a war.
Kazuma: If there are destroyer lolis, say hi for me.
Ruri: Fufufu… go forth, Lord of End.
Miori: Collect as much data as you can and avoid unnecessary Authority usage.
He smiled.
"Alright," he said. "First mission, then."
He stepped into the vortex.
The Strategy Hall vanished in a rush of color and weightlessness.
Behind him, in the headquarters at the end of a dead world, a star map rotated slowly, awaiting the next move of a Stone Age emperor with the power to end things—and the stubborn desire to build them instead.