Chapter 1: The Almighty's Final Hour
Beep...
Beep...
Beep...
Beep...
The heart monitor's rhythmic pulse cuts through the white noise of the hospital ward, a mechanical confirmation that I'm still alive. Usually, I turn the damn thing off—the constant beeping grates on my nerves. But tonight isn't usual.
My favorite game, Yggdrasil, shuts down at midnight. It's 10:00 PM now, and I haven't logged in once today thanks to a battery of tests and physical therapy sessions the medical staff insisted on. You're probably wondering why I'm trapped in this sterile prison.
I was born with congenital total blindness—complete darkness from day one. Alone, it wouldn't be a death sentence. Plenty of blind people live full lives. But life decided to stack the deck against me.
At twelve, they diagnosed me with Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. My heart muscle is abnormally thick, making it harder to pump blood effectively. As if that cosmic joke weren't enough, a progressive neuromuscular disorder joined the party—my muscles systematically breaking down, growing weaker by the day. The doctors say it's similar to spinal muscular atrophy, but they can't pin down the exact variant.
Three conditions. One failing body.
The blindness I was born with—a genetic lottery gone wrong. But the other two? No family history, no clear cause. They just happened. Random cellular rebellion in a universe that has a sense of humor.
The next thing they'll probably tell me is that I have cancer. Scratch that—I won't be around to find out.
Germany legalized medical assistance for dying years ago under strict conditions. I'm twenty-six, my life expectancy has been slashed, and my only escape from this rotting world is about to be taken away. My online friends have real lives—families, jobs, futures. Meeting them in person is impossible when I can't even navigate to the bathroom without Angela's help, without risking cardiac complications from overexertion.
Yggdrasil was my sanctuary, my refuge from flesh that betrays me and a world I can never see. In ninety minutes, those servers will go dark, and my world will die with them.
Earlier today, I requested MAID treatment for midnight. I signed the papers while Angela Brand—my favorite nurse—watched with sad eyes. We chat sometimes, just small talk, but I can tell she's compassionate and stubborn as hell. She never complains when helping me, and never acts like I'm a burden. She probably doesn't want me to go through with this, but she's felt my trembling hands and heard my labored breathing. She understands.
Hope that the date you mentioned goes well, Angela. Hope Werner treats you right—you deserve better than most people get.
I grab my haptic feedback headset from the bedside stand, careful not to jar anything as I strap it on. The advanced system converts visual elements into tactile and audio cues—my window into digital worlds. My hands shake as I power it up. The clock's voice announces 11:45.
Come on, hurry up.
[SYSTEM BOOT]
Booting up...
Boot up: Successful.
Loading Last Saved Location: Nazarick—9th Floor: Royal Suite.
START
Third Person POV
"Hey, it's been a long time, huh, Momonga?" HeroHero's voice carries exhaustion that matches his avatar—purple slime melting into his chair and pooling on the table. Across from him sits Momonga, a seven-foot undead mage draped in magical robes and gleaming shoulder guards.
"I didn't think you'd come, HeroHero." Surprise colors Momonga's skeletal features. "It's been about... two years, right?"
"That long?" HeroHero sighs, the sound somehow conveying weariness despite his gelatinous form. "This is bad. I've been pulling so much overtime that my sense of time is completely shot."
"Isn't that a pretty serious warning sign?" Worry creeps into Momonga's voice.
HeroHero doesn't acknowledge the concern, instead leaning back to survey their surroundings. "My body? It's completely worn out." The confession hangs heavy in the air before he straightens. "Sorry, I didn't come here just to complain."
"Don't worry about it. It's fine." Momonga flashes a close-eyed smile emote.
"I have to go soon—way too sleepy." HeroHero opens his logout menu.
"Oh... okay. Rest well!" Momonga's smile remains fixed.
"Sorry about this, but... I'm really surprised the Great Tomb of Nazarick is still here. You must have been maintaining it as guild leader, huh?"
"Well, Nazarick was the base we all built together. Of course, I'd keep it maintained. But I wasn't alone—Yhwach helped too."
"Haven't seen him in ages either. How's he been?"
"He's been well. Comes on late most nights, but he still shows up."
"Well, thank you for all your hard work. Tell Yhwach when you see him too, eh?"
"Definitely."
"See you IRL."
HERO HERO HAS LOGGED OFF
"Hey, it's the last day the servers will run. Why don't you stay till the end?" Momonga speaks to empty air, then slumps in his chair with a heavy sigh. "No... I'm just happy he came at all today. 'See you IRL,' huh?"
BANG!
"YOU'VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!" The words tear from Momonga's throat—sadness, hurt, and exhaustion given voice. His fist remains pressed against the indestructible desk.
"Such theatrics from the Skeleton King." A new voice cuts through the brooding—deep, commanding, with an unmistakable German accent.
YHWACH HAS LOGGED ON
The skeleton mage jolts upright as a towering figure enters—an imposing man in flowing white robes and a dark cape, long black hair framing a face marked by a distinctive mustache and beard. His presence radiates absolute authority.
"Yhwach?!"
"Indeed. Though I must say, your dramatic display lacks the dignity befitting a guild leader." Yhwach's voice carries both amusement and reproach as he surveys the scene with piercing eyes.
"And you're one to talk about drama, Your Majesty."
"I prefer gravitas, mein Freund. There is a difference between emotional outbursts and commanding presence." Yhwach moves with regal bearing, each step deliberate and purposeful. "Though I must admit, your despair has a certain... authenticity to it."
Momonga rolls his eyes but grins. Even after just a day apart, he'd missed Yhwach's imperious nature mixed with unexpected moments of camaraderie. He walks to the golden staff at the room's center while Yhwach continues his observations.
"You seem troubled, Skeleton King. What weighs upon your undead soul?"
"Remember what this is, Yhwach?" Momonga gestures to the jeweled staff.
"Naturally. The Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown—the symbol of our collective conquest." Yhwach's expression grows contemplative. "I recall Wish III's... domestic complications regarding the materials for its creation. Those were simpler times."
Momonga chuckles. "Yeah, those were the good days."
"Indeed. Perhaps we should pay our respects to the throne room, ja?"
"Your German is showing," Momonga teases as they leave the council chamber.
"Ach, you say this as though it were shameful, you skeletal fool who mangles pronunciation!"
"HEY! I'm getting better!"
"Marginally. Your linguistic efforts remain... amusing."
Their banter echoes through the corridors, the mood lifted by Yhwach's commanding presence. He had that effect—some found him arrogant, intimidating, even insufferable, but Momonga appreciated the man's complexity. Beneath the imperial facade lay genuine strategic brilliance and unexpected loyalty. Their friendship had endured six years, built on mutual respect despite Yhwach being a decade younger. Both had reached level 100—the game's ceiling—and both wielded terrible power.
Momonga specialized in death magic while Yhwach embodied the Quincy Emperor class—a unique build focused on spiritual manipulation and absolute dominion. With his carefully crafted abilities and equipment, Yhwach potentially surpassed even Momonga in raw power, making the skeleton occasionally wonder what it would be like to wield such a commanding presence.
They encounter Sebas and the Pleiades—six battle maids and their butler, who bow respectfully upon approach.
"Shall we grant them the honor of our escort, Skeleton King?" Yhwach seems pleased by their subservience.
"Sure, it's the last day after all. What was the command again?"
"Follow. Really, must I remember everything?"
"Right. Follow."
The NPCs fall into formation behind them. Momonga lapses into thought while Yhwach maintains his dignified stride, occasionally adjusting his cape with practiced authority.
"Did we not station them as throne room guardians?" Yhwach inquires.
"Yeah, but no player ever made it this far." Momonga surfaces from his contemplation as they approach the cathedral-like throne room, banners of all forty-two guild members hanging from the vaulted ceiling.
"Is today not your birthday, Yhwach?"
"It is indeed. Why do you ask, Bone Lord?"
"Just thinking about something. Happy birthday, Yhwach."
"Your consideration is... appreciated, mein Freund."
In the throne room, they part ways with the maids, who position themselves alongside Albedo—the succubus guardian standing beside the ornate seat of power. Momonga approaches the throne but pauses, looking back at Yhwach.
"Ah, Albedo..." Yhwach moves to regard the NPC with an appraising gaze, his expression softening slightly. She maintains her pleasant expression, unresponsive to his attention.
"You've always been drawn to her, haven't you?" Momonga observes.
"She possesses a certain... perfection. Beauty unmarred by the passage of time, loyalty absolute and unwavering." Yhwach's voice carries unusual warmth. "In a world destined for endings, she represents something eternal. At least until that clock strikes zero." He glances meaningfully at Momonga. "I simply wish to appreciate Nazarick's treasures while they remain ours."
"How about I give you a birthday present?"
"A birthday present?" Yhwach turns, intrigued despite his composure. "How unexpectedly thoughtful of you."
"I don't think the other members would mind, so... what the hell. Yhwach, what if I made you guild leader?"
Yhwach's eyes widen—the first crack in his imperial composure showing genuine surprise.
"You would... grant me such authority?" The words carry unprecedented vulnerability. "This is... a most significant gesture." He pauses, visibly moved. "I accept this honor if you deem me worthy."
Momonga opens his interface, transferring the title before presenting the staff. "It's done. You are now guild leader of the Great Tomb of Nazarick!"
Yhwach stands motionless, the weight of the moment settling upon him. In the game's final minutes, he's been granted the ultimate position of power—a fitting throne for meeting whatever comes next.
"This gesture... it honors me beyond words, mein Freund."
"I'm glad. I'm logging off now—let you enjoy the throne!"
"What is dominion without subjects to rule?"
"I don't know, Your Majesty, but I'm retiring! Haha."
"Farewell, Skeleton King." The words carry the weight of finality.
"See you!"
MOMONGA HAS LOGGED OFF
Staff in hand, Yhwach approaches the throne—the seat of absolute power their guild earned through conquest and dedication. He allows the staff to float beside him as he settles into the ornate chair with regal bearing, surveying his domain with the satisfaction of a true emperor.
Albedo stands at attention, awaiting commands.
"It is fitting that my first decree as guild leader be witnessed. Kneel."
The battle maids, Sebas, and even Albedo drop to one knee, heads bowed in perfect submission. The display satisfies Yhwach's sense of proper hierarchy, but curiosity compels him to examine Albedo's behavioral parameters—the code defining her personality and responses.
After several minutes of reading, his expression hardens. "Insufferable personality programming. Tabula always favored such... disagreeable character archetypes." He deletes the offending code, pausing at the empty field. "This will not do. She deserves better characterization befitting her station."
His interface responds to his commands: "She is completely devoted to and in love with [Yhwach], recognizing him as her absolute sovereign."
A rare smile crosses his features at this small act of digital dominion before melancholy returns. It changes nothing—she would remain motionless, beautiful but untouchable. The code might declare her devotion, but he would never experience its reality. In minutes, the injection would begin its work, taking him along with this digital realm.
"And so it begins..." A familiar pinch in his arm signals the medical procedure's commencement. The countdown reaches single digits.
00:00:07
00:00:06
00:00:05
00:00:04
00:00:03
"It has been... a worthy campaign. Farewell, Angela. Farewell, Skeleton King. All of you. Until we meet in whatever realm awaits beyond."
00:00:01
00:00:00
00:00:01
00:00:02
00:00:03
"Was ist das?!"