The guild ring's arcane energies crackled through Sephiroth's pale fingers as reality twisted around him—one moment standing in the oppressive grandeur of the ninth floor's throne room, the next materializing within the moonlit embrace of the sixth floor's battle arena. The teleportation left no disorientation in its wake; he was perfection incarnate, after all.
The magic flows like liquid starlight through my veins. Excellent. This ring will serve me well in the labyrinthine depths of Nazarick, Sephiroth mused, examining the guild insignia that gleamed with otherworldly power against his alabaster skin.
His footsteps echoed through the tunnel like a funeral dirge—each measured stride a symphony of controlled power. Silver hair cascaded down his back like molten moonbeams, while his single obsidian wing rustled with barely contained energy. The darkness seemed to bend around him as if the very shadows recognized their master.
Pale moonlight flooded through the arena's open skybox, painting everything in ethereal silver before the full majesty of the Romanesque Colosseum revealed itself. Ancient stone breathed with accumulated power, and the air itself seemed to thrum with anticipation.
Albedo and her ilk genuflected before me with such delicious devotion... but what of the others? I must test their loyalty, and dissect their intentions. Weakness cannot be tolerated—not in my perfect kingdom. Even Momonga, for all his tactical brilliance, lacked the vision to truly rule.
"LORD SEPHIROTH!"
The cry shattered his contemplation like glass against steel. Emerald eyes, sharp as killing blades, tracked the source of the interruption. There—one of the dark elf twins, Aura, her voice blazing with excitement that made the very air shimmer.
She launched herself from the upper balcony with reckless abandon, her small form cutting through the air like a golden meteor. The impact of her landing sent shockwaves through the sand, dust exploding outward in crystalline clouds that caught the moonlight. Her strength was visceral, raw—a reminder that even the smallest vessels could contain devastating power.
Without hesitation, she burst into a sprint toward him, blonde hair streaming like a war banner, her masculine attire doing nothing to diminish the fierce joy blazing in her heterochromatic eyes.
"Welcome, Lord Sephiroth! Welcome to the floor we guard!" she roared, skidding to a halt that sent sand cascading around her boots.
"Magnificent," Sephiroth breathed, his voice a velvet caress that seemed to make the air itself purr with approval. A smile—rare and precious as Starfall—graced his perfect lips.
Aura's cheeks ignited crimson. "Thank you so much, my lord! Receiving praise from the One-Winged Angel himself is—" She threw her arms skyward in rapture, her voice cracking with overwhelming emotion. "—the greatest honor imaginable!"
How utterlydelicious. She practically worships me already. This ascension to power grows more intoxicating by the moment.
"Where is your twin?" Sephiroth's voice flowed like liquid silk, each syllable perfectly modulated to command absolute attention. The very stones seemed to lean in to hear him speak.
Aura's expression twisted with sudden realization, her head snapping toward the balcony above. "MARE! You're disrespecting Lord Sephiroth! Get down here NOW!"
"I... I c-can't, sister!" The response quavered from above, fragile as spun glass.
"MARE!" Aura's voice exploded across the arena like thunder.
"F-Fine..." came the tremulous surrender.
Mare's descent was poetry written in terror and determination—his small form plummeting through the moonlight before crashing into the sand with bone-jarring force. Dust erupted around him like a miniature sandstorm, and when it cleared, he was frantically brushing dirt from his skirt, face burning with embarrassment as he tugged the garment down with trembling fingers.
His approach was agonizing in its exaggerated femininity—each step a careful choreography of minced movements that made Sephiroth's eye twitch with barely contained amusement. Aura's impatience radiated from her like heat from a forge.
"HURRY UP!"
Finally reaching them, Mare collapsed into a curtsy so deep it nearly sent him tumbling, his breath coming in ragged gasps that made his slight frame shudder. "Forgive me, Lord Sephiroth! I never meant to keep you waiting!"
The creator's sense of humor was... particularly twisted with this one. Such deliberate contradiction wrapped in innocence.
"Indeed," Sephiroth murmured, his voice carrying the weight of eternity. "I have come to conduct certain... experiments. Your assistance would be most welcome."
With a gesture that seemed to tear reality itself, he summoned the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown. The weapon materialized in a cascade of golden light, its gems pulsing with power that made the air itself sing with arcane harmonies.
"Incredible!" both twins gasped in unison, their voices harmonizing in perfect awe.
"U-um, is that the staff that only Lord Momonga could wield?" Mare whispered, his heterochromatic eyes wide as twin moons.
"Indeed." Sephiroth's voice carried the weight of divine authority. "The pinnacle of our guild's collective genius—a weapon I helped forge in the fires of ambition itself."
Though it lacks... elegance. Crude power without aesthetic refinement. Time to correct this oversight.
The Staff of Metamorphosis—his most treasured ability—awakened within him like a sleeping dragon stirring to life. As a Fallen Seraph, he commanded both the sacred flames of heaven and the consuming darkness of the abyss. Light and shadow were but different faces of the same cosmic truth, and he was their master.
Silver radiance poured from his outstretched palm, wrapping around the staff like liquid starlight. The weapon screamed as it transformed, its crude form melting and reshaping into something far more worthy—a blade-staff hybrid that sang with lethal beauty, its consolidated crystal heart pulsing with colors that had no names.
The twins stared with expressions of rapture so intense they seemed ready to weep.
"How... how did you accomplish such a miracle?" Mare breathed his voice barely a whisper.
"Metamorphosis," Sephiroth replied with casual magnificence. "I simply... perfected what was already there. Power without beauty is mere brutality."
"It's breathtaking!" Aura exploded, her voice cracking with emotion.
"Beauty and function as one," Sephiroth agreed, satisfaction rolling through his voice like distant thunder. "Now... shall we test its capabilities?"
He raised the transformed weapon with fluid grace, pointing it toward the distant training dummy. The crystal heart blazed with an inner fire as he spoke the words of power: "[Summon: Seraphic Flame Guardian]"
Reality shattered.
The dummy didn't simply ignite—it exploded into a pillar of divine fire that roared toward the heavens like a living prayer. The flames took shape, coalescing into a six-winged seraph of pure fire whose very presence made the air itself scream with holy power. Each wing was a masterpiece of destruction, feathers of white-hot flame that danced and writhed with predatory hunger.
Heat slammed into them like a physical blow, and Sephiroth's wing spread wide, becoming a barrier of absolute darkness that devoured the searing waves before they could touch the twins. The contrast was breathtaking—divine fire met by primordial shadow, creation, and destruction locked in perfect balance.
"Magnificent," Sephiroth purred, his green eyes reflecting the flames like emerald mirrors. "Would you care to test your skills against divine wrath itself?"
Aura's response was immediate and explosive: "YES! Oh, please, yes!"
Mare trembled like a leaf in a hurricane, but his voice carried unexpected steel: "I... I'll try, my lord!"
"Fear," Sephiroth said, placing one pale hand on Mare's shoulder, "is merely courage waiting to be born. Face it together."
"Seraphic Guardian," he commanded, his voice resonating with absolute authority that made the very stones tremble, "test their limits—but do not break them."
The battle that followed was poetry written in violence. Aura exploded into motion, her small form blurring between the guardian's sweeping wings of flame. Each dodge was perfection, and each counterattack was a masterpiece of timing and precision. Mare, despite his terror, danced through the inferno with surprising grace, his magic weaving protective barriers that shimmered like soap bubbles but held firm against divine fire.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. They move like extensions of each other's will.
While they fought, Sephiroth tested another ability—extending his consciousness across the vast distances of Nazarick like a spider's web of thought. The mental connection snapped into place with crystalline clarity.
Lord Sephiroth... is something required?
Perfect. Even the most subtle powers remain intact.
"Sebas," he projected, his mental voice carrying the same melodic authority as his spoken words, "report your findings."
Perimeter secured, my lord. No organic life was detected. Though I confess... the situation remains... confusing.
"Excellent. The guardians gather at the sixth-floor arena. Return and deliver your complete assessment."
At once, Lord Sephiroth.
The Seraphic Guardian began to fade, its flames guttering like candles in a sudden wind. The twins stood victorious but respectful, their clothes singed but their spirits blazing with triumph.
Sephiroth approached with steps that seemed to glide across the sand, his wing folding against his back like a cloak of living shadow.
"Exceptional," he breathed, and the single word carried more weight than a thousand speeches. "Your synchronization transcends mere technique—it approaches art. True strength lies not in individual power, but in harmony."
"Thank you!" Aura gasped, sweat streaming down her face like liquid diamonds. "That was incredible!"
"Perhaps," Sephiroth mused, his voice carrying thoughtful authority, "regular training would serve you both. Stagnation is the enemy of all things beautiful."
With a gesture as graceful as falling snow, crystalline glasses materialized in their hands, filled with water that seemed to glow with inner light. "Blessed water," he explained simply. "Let it restore you."
They drank with expressions of wonder, and Mare's voice, still breathless, carried unexpected boldness: "I thought you would be more... terrifying, Lord Sephiroth."
Sephiroth's emerald eyes narrowed, but his smile remained. When he spoke, his voice dropped to a whisper that somehow filled the entire arena: "I can be quite... persuasive... when necessary."
The air itself shimmered with barely contained power. His presence expanded, pressing against their consciousness like velvet-wrapped steel. The moonlight seemed to bend around him, shadows dancing at his feet in patterns that hurt to perceive directly.
"But," he continued, the oppressive aura vanishing like mist, "fear should never be the foundation of loyalty. Devotion born from terror is... ugly."
"This is perfect!" Aura exploded with renewed energy. "You're exactly what a true leader should be!"
"Fascinating," Sephiroth murmured, genuinely pleased by their lack of fear.
"Am I the first to arrive?"
The voice was silk and honey, and it made Sephiroth's smile deepen with genuine warmth. Shalltear approached with vampiric grace, her pale form seeming to flow through the moonlight like liquid porcelain. Her black dress whispered against the sand, and her crimson eyes burned with barely contained adoration.
"Shalltear," Sephiroth purred, her name rolling off his tongue like a prayer. "My devoted crimson rose."
Her composure shattered like glass, revealing the desperate devotion beneath. She dropped her parasol and glided toward him with inhuman speed, her pale hands reaching up as he bent gracefully down. His wing enfolded them both in a cocoon of protective darkness as she pressed against his chest.
"My beloved angel," she whispered against his throat, her voice trembling with religious fervor.
Utterly devoted. As they all should be. We who conquered YGGDRASIL's heights are indeed their gods now.
The moment was shattered by raised voices—Aura and Shalltear had begun another of their legendary arguments, their personalities clashing like opposing storms.
"You display behavior unworthy of guardians in our master's presence," Cocytus announced, his arrival heralded by the sudden drop in temperature that made their breath mist in the air. His crystalline carapace gleamed like frozen starlight, and his very presence radiated warrior's discipline.
"This bitch questioned my combat abilities!" Shalltear snarled, power crackling around her like crimson lightning.
"I merely suggested room for improvement!" Aura shot back, her own aura blazing to life.
"Enough."
The single word didn't echo—it simply was, filling every corner of the arena with absolute authority. Sephiroth hadn't raised his voice, but somehow it resonated in their bones, their souls, the very stones beneath their feet.
His presence exploded outward—not threatening, but overwhelming. His wing spread wide, casting shadows that seemed to have weight and substance. His green eyes blazed with inner fire, and the air around him shimmered with barely contained divinity.
"Such petty disputes diminish you both," he said, his voice carrying the weight of disappointed perfection. "You are the guardians of Nazarick—act like it."
"Forgive us!" they chorused, dropping into bows so deep they nearly kissed the sand.
"Your passion has its place," Sephiroth continued, his overwhelming presence fading to gentle warmth, "but direct it toward worthy causes."
Turning to Cocytus, he inclined his head with regal grace. "Welcome, Cocytus. Your timing is impeccable."
"I exist to serve at your command, my master," Cocytus responded, his voice rumbling with unshakeable loyalty.
"Forgive our tardiness," came a cultured voice from the arena's entrance. Albedo approached with measured steps, and behind her walked the figure who had spoken—Demiurge, resplendent in his crimson suit, his intelligent eyes gleaming behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"Now then," Albedo announced, her voice carrying formal authority that made the air itself straighten, "let us perform the ritual of fidelity to our Supreme Leader."
As one, they dropped to their knees, the sound of their genuflection echoing through the arena like a thunderclap of devotion. Sephiroth surveyed them with the satisfaction of a god reviewing his faithful—until he noticed the absence.
"Albedo," he said, and her name flowed from his lips like liquid music.
She looked up with eyes that burned with adoration so intense it was almost painful to witness. "Yes, my lord?"
"I requested the presence of all guardians save those of the fourth and eighth floors, did I not?"
"Yes, my lord. Have I... have I failed you somehow?"
"Nazarick possesses twelve floors," Sephiroth explained with patient authority. "You guard the ninth, Victim the eighth, Demiurge the seventh, these twins the sixth, Cocytus the fifth, Gargantua the fourth, Shalltear the first through third. The twelfth remains unguarded, but the eleventh—my personal domain—has its sentinel."
Understanding crashed over Albedo like a wave, her face contorting with horror at her oversight.
"So, Albedo..." Sephiroth spoke her name with the gentle disappointment of a teacher correcting a beloved but wayward student. The weight of his presence settled over them all—not anger, but the far more devastating sensation of having fallen short of perfection itself.
"Where is Sōsuke Aizen?"
Albedo's carefully maintained composure crumbled like ancient parchment. She collapsed forward, pressing her forehead to the sand in abject supplication. "My lord! My deepest, most abject apologies! I meant no disrespect! I was simply so eager to gather them quickly that I—"
Her words died as Sephiroth's pale hand settled on her head with surprising gentleness, his fingers threading through her hair like moonlight through shadow.
"Peace, Albedo," he murmured, his voice carrying infinite patience. "Perfection is a journey, not a destination. I am not displeased—merely curious about his whereabouts."
"Here, my lord."
The voice emerged from the arena's far entrance—calm, measured, carrying undertones of vast intelligence and carefully concealed depths. Even in those three simple words, there was something that made the air itself seem to hold its breath in anticipation.
Finally. Let us see what manner of guardian has been entrusted with my personal domain...