Chaldea and Staff: %~*r% (256)

Dr. Roman — or Romani, as he was more commonly known in Chaldea, at least for as long as he could remember being part of Chaldea, stared intently at the projection before him, displaying the Singularity that the Last Master of Humanity was fighting in.

While he looked like he was just doing nothing, to be fair, this was technically his job, monitoring the Singularities and Ainz’s progress within them. Gathering data, analyzing it for future use, compiling it into tidy reports for the higher-ups and whoever else might need them down the line.

Which right now was just Olga, but hopefully in the future, it would also be for the ones in the Clock Tower… Though, he has no idea how the Lord and Ladies of the Clock Tower would react to it – but that’s a problem for the future.

Officially speaking, Roman’s current job was as an analyst and expert consultant, quite the far cry from his job as Chaldea’s head medical officer.

Though maybe he should try to get his old job back? Roman hadn’t actually been doing his job as an analyst in ages. What was the point, really, when Ainz was the one inside the Singularities? The man hardly required outside observers to figure out what to do.

Even if some grand lesson were hidden in these conflicts that would cause setbacks, which Roman doubted, as Ainz seems prepared for everything. If one exists, Ainz himself was far better equipped to dissect, adapt, and internalize it. The guy wasn’t just smart or experienced, he was knee-deep in the action, while Roman could only watch from a safe, cushy distance.

Not that Roman ever slacked off, of course… Or, at least, he never admitted to slacking off.

His ‘observational duties’ served two vital purposes; avoiding Olga-Marie’s wrath and attention, though the two are usually the same thing, she’d happily dump extra work on him if given the chance. And, most important of all, guaranteeing uninterrupted access to the computer in front of him right now — with its glorious, massive high-definition screen!

So, while officially he was overseeing Ainz’s progress, Roman spent most of his time browsing idol concerts.

It wasn’t exactly a secret, but Olga-Marie seemed to tolerate it, at least when she didn’t catch him red-handed. Maybe she assumed he at least glanced at Ainz’s feed between performances, or perhaps she deemed this better than him doing something actually destructive. Though, her ‘tolerance’ mainly consists of loud, creative insults and reminders of his laziness, but no formal reprimands or outright violence, only ample threats of it… Actually, calling it ‘tolerance’ might be generous.

That’s why, if anyone were to see Roman now, they would find a strange sight.

Roman wasn’t sipping coffee, streaming Magi✩Mari, or waving his glow sticks like a deranged fanboy. Instead, he sat rigidly before the massive screen, fingers drumming the console as he stared at the sprawling projection of the nearly complete Singularity. Even stranger; he’d dusted off and activated the emergency comms system linked to the Singularity’s Masters, or, more precisely, the one occupant, Ainz, the Last Master of Humanity.

This wasn’t some performative stunt to placate Olga-Marie.

Roman was deadly serious.

Beast II, Tiamat.

One could endlessly speak of her from a lot of perspectives. Scientifically, if such an approach could even be applied to Tiamat or to magic itself. Through her myths, studying ancient religious texts, both those still publicly accessible and those hoarded by the magical community. Even artistic depictions in literature could be sought.

Yet anyone studying Tiamat would inevitably collide with the same fundamental problem.

Whatever length they studied her, even if they had read all the books and myths of her — it was woefully insufficient.

How does one describe ‘everything’? A concise definition for what constituted ‘all things’ might be crafted, but how does one illustrate totality? Infinite lists in every human language would still fail to describe Tiamat, reduced to merely cataloging components of what is ‘all’ from mankind's limited viewpoint.

The unimaginable would still persist beyond comprehension's edge.

Tiamat was mother to all life, the wellspring of divine power given form as Beast II. If the term ‘Absolute’ could ever apply to any entity, she stood as the prime candidate.

Theories abound of course, based on magic, technology, and evidence, even the absurd — all of them untested until confronting reality. And so, ‘defeating’ Tiamat remained purely a theoretical matter, and Romani harbored no joy that Chaldea was now facing this trial, to test that ‘theory’ out.

Roman of course believed in Ainz, he had never doubted him — from their first meeting, the Overlord demonstrated his power through solving every Singularity. Even when Ainz clashed with Solomon himself, the Grand Caster chose retreat over continued combat. If higher magical accolades existed beyond forcing Solomon's withdrawal, Roman couldn't conceive them.

Thus, against all rationality, Roman clung to a mad hope — that Ainz could achieve the impossible once again.

But what of Beast II herself?

If Tiamat approached the ‘Absolute’, then Beast II embodied it. Humanity's terminal evil, the Beasts represented mankind's end, not obstacles to overcome but instead calamities to prevent. The Grand Servants, for all their power and vaunted position, weren't triumphant saviors, but desperation's answer – Humanity's final wager for a fighting chance. Not Beast-slayers, but the only entities who could stand in their presence.

No guarantees of survival, let alone victory — merely participants in an equation that is infinitesimally close to approaching zero. One might technically call it a ‘chance’, but as the zeros stretch to infinity… What fool would stake reality, Humanity itself, on such long odds?

Roman never considered himself a pessimist, on the contrary, he instead found solace in life's grim fatalism, an odd optimism if such a term could apply to his strange state of mind.

Human life wasn't meaningless, and the pain endured living wasn't merely punishment for the act of being born. He derived strange comfort from the tragedies of ancient civilizations or the chronicles of long-dead kings, the mantra of ‘This too shall pass’ fortified him, even as he understood better than most, that death was the irrevocable finale to all ambitions.

The certainty of an ending gave meaning to existence; every book had its last chapter, every life its grave, every game its final bell. Death served as the ultimate full stop, demarcating the cessation of all things.

Yet this peculiar optimistic fatalism had failed to steady Roman in this moment as he stared at the unfolding disaster on the screen.

Tiamat had awakened. Not minutes, seconds, remained before she would shatter her prison and manifest in her full, catastrophic glory. Even as he watched the Servants of the Singularity, and the ones that Ainz had brought with him, some in a more literal manner, rallied against her, even as he rationalized that Tiamat's awakening must be part of some incomprehensible plan… Roman found no reassurance.

The thought that Death would one day claim this world, even should they pass this tribulation, offered no solace now.

A sudden knock jerked Roman from his vigil over the Singularity's feed. He turned sluggishly, as though the sound had taken eons to pierce the fog of his racing thoughts. When the knock came again, sharper, demanding, he blinked, pushed the emergency comms panel aside, and trudged to the door.

Mozart stood there, hand raised for a third knock. His grin widened at Roman's dazed expression.

"Am I interrupting your idol-watching session, Doctor?" He peered past Roman's shoulder, eyebrow arched, as he came upon the sights of the Singularity instead of the Idol Concert that he was expecting.

"Oh! Am I first? Splendid! Front-row seats, then!"

Before Roman could react, the composer shouldered past him, sliding into the room with practiced ease, before fretting over which of the seats he should take. Roman stared, bewildered, as Mozart hemmed and hawed over the central monitoring station, Roman's own seat, before sighing dramatically and shuffling aside.

"Ah, but it'd be rude to steal your throne. You've been glued here watching Ainz's grand performance, have you not?"

Roman could only manage two stumbling words. "What are—?"

The question died as pounding footsteps echoed down the hall as a familiar, singsong voice rang out.

"Dibs on the best viewing spot ~umu!"

"Then I shall take the most splendid seat of all ~umu!" The voices of the two Neros overlapped so perfectly that a listener might have mistaken them for a single person speaking to themselves. A phenomenon not at all conducive to Roman's mental well-being as he bore witness to the scene.

Fortunately, the simultaneous appearance of both Neros, one clad in red, the other in white, offered Roman some fleeting relief from having to deal with Mozart. Their actions, however, did the opposite.

The moment they entered the room, both emperors immediately pointed accusingly at Mozart, who had comfortably claimed the center of the sofa. "Mozart! That is utterly disgraceful behavior ~umu!" They both chorused.

"How dare you exploit the fact that the most radiant beauty in existence requires upkeep, only to steal the finest seat in our absence? You should be ashamed, resorting to such underhanded tricks to seize what is rightfully ours ~umu!"

Mozart let out a resigned sigh under the twin glares, and without much protest, he shifted aside, freeing the spot. The white-clad Nero swiftly occupied the vacated space, while her red-garbed counterpart perched on the opposite edge, creating room for another person. The Red Nero then abruptly gestured to the bulky equipment in front of her.

"What is ‘this’!?"

"It’s the… It’s the emergency communication system," Roman answered mechanically, his mind growing numb amid the relentless surge of absurdities unfolding around him.

"Remove it! It blocks the screen and obstructs our magnificent view ~umu!" The Red Nero commanded imperiously, arching a brow as if silently counting how long it would take Roman to process the order.

"Ah—" Roman gaped like a fish stranded ashore, mouth opening and closing soundlessly before he managed to form a coherent question. "Why… What’s even happening here?!"

Sadly, before Roman could get an answer, one of the more scary Servants in Chaldea then made her entrance.

"Why in blazes are you sitting in our seats?!" Cainabel’s sharp voice sliced through the air, startling Roman into whirling around and seeing the usual pair of Cainabel and Altera. The implication that Cainabel had referred to ‘our seats’ as though speaking for both herself and Altera, who typically required no such accommodations, sent Roman’s already overstressed mind into another free fall.

He could only stare blankly at the train crash unfolding in front of him, as even more Servants started coming in.

"Move!" The voice, is it Stheno’s? Or Euryale’s? Snapped, and Roman reflexively moved aside, his consciousness now fully offline after the relentless assault of surreal chaos, leaving his body operating on autopilot.

His timing proved fortuitous as a split-second later, an enormous object, only later identified as the lounge’s plush sofa, hurtled past where his head had been, now suspended two and a half meters above the floor.

Roman's gaze slid over the floating couch before his eyes, first finding Stheno sitting there with Euryale beside her, neither seemed troubled by their airborne position, before his eyes landing on an identical couch nearby. There, he spotted Medusa and Kiyohime, equally unbothered by their levitation.

A moment later, as his eyes traced the couches upward, Roman finally realized why they were floating; the couches were resting on the massive, muscle-corded shoulders of Asterios, who lumbered forward bearing both couches like Atlas did.

"Over there is good, darling," Kiyohime purred to Asterios, while the Minotaur rumbled in agreement, took a few strides, and set one of the couches down, after a few more steps, he placed the second at a distance from the screen, forming a semicircle. The spacing made relaying fine details to the Singularity harder, as the couches blocked the majority of the consol… But for movie-watching? Ideal.

A private theater for elites, reserved for the crème de la crème of entertainment.

"As I’ve said before…" Cainabel's elongated shadow stirred, lifting from the floor to solidify, and it wedged itself beneath a couch, hoisting it upward despite the indignant ‘umus’ of protestations from the two emperors. Cainabel then shoved the couches to the back, freeing its previous occupied space.

After surveying her handiwork, Cainabel claimed the central spot, a spot that even the Neros had conceded to Roman. Looking backward at Altera, who was still standing, Cainabel’s brow once again twitched upwards, and as if to follow her mood, her shadow lurched upward again. Earning more ‘umu’ of complaints from the Neros and a choked rasp from Mozart, the shadow claw bulldozed them aside and carved out space. The purpose of which was soon divined when Cainabel raised a finger, pointing at Altera, who wordlessly obeyed and settled beside her.

Roman wasn't sure what shocked him more’ witnessing Cainabel actually being ‘kind’ to someone else not named Ainz, or the chaos erupting around him. But of course the chaos has not yet reached its zenith.

"Will someone remove this eyesore?! It's blocking the view!" Cainabel kicked petulantly at the emergency comms unit, but her height, or more precisely, her lack of it, let her only graze its base with her toe. Thankfully, before Cainabel could start getting ‘creative’, she was interrupted.

"I'd prefer no one destroys technological marvels in my presence," Tesla's voice cut in. To Roman, it felt almost trivial amid the bedlam. Instead, he'd already half-expected the electricity-wielding genius to show up.

"Make me," Cainabel leaned against the couch, before flashing Tesla a smirk of triumph in some invisible contest. Luckily, once again, before the two could come to blows, the brewing clash stalled as Baal entered the room and interjected. Which is a very rare thing to say about the Demon – his presence usually doesn’t improve anything.

"I doubt anyone here desires a death match now. Rebuilding this room mid-finale would waste precious time — and I suspect none wish to miss the opening act."

"So a post-screening brawl is permissible?" Da Vinci, perched on a peripheral couch's farthest edge, the genius being smart enough not to be involved in the battle royale for the ‘best’ spot, eyed Baal opposite her.

"More entertainment after this? Why would I oppose such an idea?" Baal shrugged, his smile inscrutable — its sincerity as dubious as its falsity.

Tesla, finding himself seated near Da Vinci, merely snorted slightly but chose not to respond, avoiding provoking Baal or Cainabel further. His genius intellect had grasped that Cainabel wouldn’t hesitate to cause collateral damage or bystander casualties, while Baal would simply activate his Noble Phantasm to eliminate him swiftly and with minimal effort.

“Would someone HELP me already?!” Cu Chulainn’s irritated voice burst into the room alongside an unmistakable aroma of popcorn, salty, sweet, and cheesy in varying ratios and forms.

“I’ve already burned my damn hands hauling this over here!”

“Such suffering,” Scáthach’s voice, lethal enough to outmatch Gáe Bolg itself, the spear that always kills in a single strike, drifted to his ears moments later, “My pupil reduced to carrying… hot popcorn.” Had the thought of dropping his cargo onto his approaching teacher, and facing consequences far worse than sharp words not frozen him in place, he might’ve collapsed right there.

Instead, Cu wobbled forward, the pyramid of popcorn buckets on his tray trembling precariously.

“Truly, your training breeds the greatest of heroes,” Nobunaga, trailing behind Scáthach, remarked with a smirk, earning a glare but no retort. The Witch of Dun Scaith exhaled loudly, deliberately ignored the jab, and strode to a vacant seat, only for Nobunaga to plop down beside her with a shameless grin.

Roman could only stare at the chaos, stupidly. Had his frayed nerves finally shattered his sanity? Was this a fever dream?

“Am I… asleep?” he muttered.

“Unlikely,” Karna’s calm voice replied from behind him, as clinical sounding as ever. “Unless you possess the ability to lucid dream while maintaining bodily control. In which case, I apologize for my prior ignorance of this trait.”

The sheer absurdity of Karna’s deadpan answer confirmed that this indeed was reality.

“Hey! Move this junk already, it’s blocking the view!” Jalter’s shout, concerning a subject that has been discussed many times before, snapped Roman back to attention. His eyes then landed on Serenity, perched atop a server rack, far from the seating area to avoid any accidental poisoning.

Finally, seeing Serenity was too much, and Roman’s mind and emotional control finally snapped.

“WHAT. IS. HAPPENING?!” Roman, usually unflappable amid Chaldea’s daily insanity, gripped his head in pain.

“CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHY THE ENTIRE WORLD’S GONE MAD EXCEPT ME?!”

"Doctor, is something wrong?" Distracted from her ‘sister’s’ attempt to move aside the communication equipment partially blocking her view, Jeanne glanced at Roman worriedly, then reached out to place her hand on his forehead as though he were delirious with a fever.

"Are you unwell?"

"Of course I'm unwell! The entire world has gone mad, and I'm the only sane one left!" Roman, who had only raised his voice only once before in Chaldea, when Lev had sabotaged the facility, recoiled from Jeanne's offered hand as if it were a cursed crucifix.

"Doctor, there's no need for distress," Hassan's voice echoed calmly from his perch atop the second server rack, his demeanor mirroring Serenity's poise as the leader of the Hashashins.

"It's simply that the Servants had gathered here…"

"To demand bread and circuses," Semiramis interrupted, entering last and scanning the room with visible disdain. She reluctantly chose a remaining open seat, carefully avoiding physical contact with others while clearly irritated at not securing the central spot, yet at least unwilling to cause a scene.

"Speaking of which – the bread is here!" An enormous tray entered first, radiating the intoxicating aroma of fresh pastries, followed by Archer gripping it with oven mitts with a death grip. Behind him, Arthuria trailed like a bloodhound, her gaze locked on the food, her glare a silent warning that anyone stealing her rightful share of Archer's baking would face a beating rivaling Ainz's battle against Tiamat in the Singularity.

"And the 'circuses' shall arrive shortly," Hector remarked, passing by the remaining seats to lean against an exhaust vent. He produced an ashtray and cigarettes from his coat before nodding at the still-unmoved equipment. "Though, about that clutter…"

Mordred, appearing in the doorway, ignored the ongoing tech debate and promptly kicked aside the priceless machinery, cutting off the current debate on how to move it. Tesla's aggrieved groan mingled with Medea's arriving sigh. "How civilized."

"What was that, witch?!" Mordred whirled toward Medea, only for Francis Drake's towering frame, and her armload of beer kegs and wine bottles, to block her path. "No squabblin' here, ye hear? Or I'll drink every last drop myself!"

The threat worked.

After greedily eyeing the kegs, Mordred rolled her eyes and stomped toward the last free spot on the couches, failing to notice Sita had already claimed it during the chaos. Roman, meanwhile, stared at the shattered equipment, his sole link to the Singularity, before collapsing to the floor, overwhelmed by a storm of bewilderment, terror, and the crushing realization he'd taken a wrong turn in life…

"Get up, Roman. You disgrace Chaldea's honor with this pitiful display." Olga's voice pierced his fog, forcing his head to snap upward – meeting the icy gaze of the director looming over him.

And, in a perfectly childish manner, Roman contorted his face into a look of utter bewilderment. "But… Tiamat… the Singularity… The battles…"

"Do you think anyone here isn’t aware of that?" Olga raised a single eyebrow, shifting her gaze to the side, forcing Roman to follow it, seeing the throng of Heroes, all excitedly doing their own things.

"That’s exactly why everyone’s gathered here now."

Indeed, observing the scene left only one conclusion: every person in this room knew exactly what was unfolding in the Singularity. The identity of the enemy, the combatants in this clash, and the stakes at risk…

Yet, their collective attitude makes it seem as if they are treating it all as nothing more than a spectacle. Like they were watching a long-awaited blockbuster movie premiere they’d obsessively tracked via trailers and posters, rather than the battle for Humanity’s continued existence it actually is.

"But… Still…" Roman fumbled, his words and thoughts jumbling around as he failed to articulate a coherent protest.

Olga parsed his meaning regardless.

"Do you really think this entire group, Heroes and all, would bust out the popcorn and beer to watch humanity’s doom play out in real time?" She countered Roman’s questions with another question of her own, sweeping her gaze across the Servants in the room.

Roman mirrored her glance, and it suddenly struck him…

Not a single Servant present doubted the battle’s outcome.

Not all were thrilled. Scáthach wrinkled her nose at the thought of watching Ainz fight, but she was excited nonetheless to watch it, Francis was already cracking open a beer, and Da Vinci materialized a notebook out of nowhere, poised to scribble notes.

But their expressions shared one truth.

Absolute certainty that Ainz would win.

They had no clue how. No idea of the cost it would take. No concept of the twist and turn the battle would take. But against impossible odds, where hope itself seemed madness… They simply knew that Ainz Ooal Gown would prevail.

"Ainz once declared that, ‘Ainz Ooal Gown does not know defeat’." Olga smiled faintly as if she was remembering a fond memory as she extended a hand. Roman grabbed it instinctively and hauled himself upright.

"As he’s never lied before… Why would this be false? When everyone around you insists sanity lies in trust, perhaps your desperation to contradict them… is the real insanity, instead?"

Roman surveyed the room again, and unexpected laughter bubbled up inside him as panic and fear receded. For the first time in ages, he let his anxieties about the future fade as he settled into a vacant seat.

Olga nodded, satisfied, and claimed the last spot on the couch.

Beyond the slightly ajar door to the observation room, even a nondescript technician paused to glimpse the battle — one unlike any of the previous Singularities. A small creature with lavender-white fur peeked from his collar, chirped, then scrambled onto his shoulder. Together, they peered through the gap at the massive screen blazing with destruction.

Ainz Ooal Gown did not know defeat.

And now — from the technician, to the doctor, to the director — each soul in Chaldea would witness that truth firsthand.

***

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