A woman walked down a long hallway towards a conference room where her colleges waited for her. The walls were made of smooth marble, and the floor polished to a near mirror sheen. Dark wood doors embossed with gold and silver runes lined the walls, appearing once every dozen yards. There were no signs or differing symbols that designated the different rooms, but everyone knew that if you were looking for a room, you’d find it. That was just how Utopia worked.

Lailah knew that she would be the last to arrive for this abrupt meeting, which was perfectly alright with her. Out of all of Utopia, only the High Angels, more colloquially known as Archangels, were invited to this important meeting. With Lailah being one, they could wait an extra minute or two.

Out of the many perks of being an Archangel was the access to several purely cosmetic powers, one of which made her dress. This century, she was rather fond of making her clothes out of the midnight sky, literally. It was made of deep blacks and blues with hundreds of white specks that glittered in the expanse of her uniform. It was softer, and more importantly to her, quieter than any cloth that mortals could create. The dress itself was perfectly smooth and modest with a skirt that stopped at her ankles.

A somehow darker shawl than the dress was wrapped around Lailah’s neck and draped over her head and eyes like a hood. She let her straight blonde hair spill out around the cloth but kept her eyes hooded.

“Hezekiah,” Lailah said, her voice soft like a cool evening breeze.

Another being appeared just behind her. His entire being was covered in midnight black cloth and stained leather. The only thing that could be seen about him personally was his eyes; a cool pair of gray eyes looked at the floor behind his Mistress. Upon coming into view, Hesikah dropped into a one-kneed bow with his fist pressing into the ground. He seemed remarkably close to a historically accurate Ninja.

His voice was more of a strong tenor compared to hers but still carried gently on the air. “Yes, My Lady?” he asked respectfully.

“Is everything prepared for the meeting?” she asked, her tone slightly calm and collected monotone.

He nodded, “indeed. We know where all the choices are, and even your secret is ready to offer as well.”

“And the opposition?”

He stayed in place, even as she steadily walked away. “All the Demon Lord Candidates are still alive, and well, two of them have stagnated their power due to their personal vices. The Last Candidate is still growing and at an unprecedented rate, far faster than any of our forces thought possible. The other one has slowed but will never stop growing, primarily due to that is how it grows its vice,” he reported.

“Hmmm,” she hummed in thought. “It’s too bad we can’t tell anyone about who or where they are. Meddling Moderators,” Lailah said, her tone implying a lack of genuine concern. “I don’t know why we can’t meddle in the World’s Narrative but, oh well. Please be ready to move if things here go as I suspect they will.”

“Yes, My Lady,” he said.

“Wait,” she asked, pausing to face her Captain. A slight smile crossed her face as she imagined her equals’ look when she revealed her surprise. “Is the evidence here?”

Hezekiah shook his head, “No. But I was promised that he would be here, and you know how he is, Ma’am. I just do not know how he plans to get past every Ward and Guard that we have in place.”

Lailah nodded and turned back to her goal. “Who knows, thank you. You are dismissed,” she told him as she started walking towards one of the doors within eyeshot, ready to enter the meeting.

The Angel nodded, then disappeared without any special flair or fanfare. Unlike most of the Armed Hosts, Lailah’s branch avoided moving with blinding light, holy chorus’s, and the prostrations of the lesser beings. They had a job to do, and all of them were consummate professionals in their field as the minions of the Archangel of Night.

Ahead of her, the door Lailah wanted appeared before her, the realm itself bending itself to her will as she was ready to arrive. This power wasn’t unique to her in this realm, but she shared it with the other Archangels. It was the reason why, when she opened the door and entered, that none were happy that she made them wait.

Seven beings were waiting around a circular table made of smooth and polished Andesite. The heavy table center was a translucent light pink-colored gemstone that Lailah knew was Rose Quartz. Around the table sat nine chairs; eight were intact chairs that were unmarked and perfectly identical to each other, all high-backed and heavy as the white stone it was made from. Then there was the ninth seat.

The ninth looked like it had been cast from obsidian and onyx with rubies embedded into the glassy stone. Unlike the others, it was damaged with the high back shattered down to the seat and cracks running along the rest of the chair. The remains of the seat lay scattered behind it, spread about even after a near literal eternity.

“Lailah, how do you always manage to keep us waiting for you?” Raphael asked as she entered. He wore his standard uniform, a tunic with trousers under a perfect white doctor’s coat. Around his waist hung several pouches that held the various mythic remedies that he could wield and create.

Smiling at him, she merely shrugged and moved to the only open seat, the one to the right of the Obsidian Throne. She pulled back the heavy chair with ease and sat down in it before scooting it closer to the table itself, making Raphael wait impatiently for his answer. After taking a slow, deep breath, she turned her head to him and said, “practice.”

His left eye twitched in annoyance as the man who sat to the left of the Obsidian Throne stood from his seat. The action forestalled any comeback from Raphael and the entire room when Michael, the Prince of the Heavenly Hosts, looked about the room.

The masculine Archangel wore a deep blue tunic that hung loosely about his broad shoulders. A deep brown belt looped around his soft brown breeches, where a straight, double-edged sword with a curved guard hung. His gold eyes roamed about the others in the room, his classically handsome features framed by curling brown hair never faltered from his neutral expression. Almost as if his face had been carved from stone.

“Everyone,” he said, his voice a soft bass that could reassure a crowd of dissidents with ease. “I know that events around the Planar Realms and Rosengard itself have kept us all busy. I have been going into the Infernal Plane in preemptive strikes to hold back Baal’s forces. But we have problems in the world, and I know it is at the forefront of everyone’s mind here. So I will be blunt, we need to select the Protagonist.”

No one spoke for long moments. Including Michael, who let his words sink into the surrounding High Angels. “As most of you are aware, several of the Demon Lord Candidates have been causing issues as of late, and eventually, they will crash. When the smoke clears, and one becomes a fully-fledged Demon Lord, we need to have a Protagonist gathering his strength and allies. You all know this to be true,” he stated.

“Indeed, Brother,” the Archangel Azrael said, the only other one, besides Lailah, who wore any semblance of grey and black clothes in the form of plain hooded robes. His voice was low, much like Michael’s but sounding more like the rumbling of an oncoming storm. “Pray tell why you called this meeting, Brother. It is traditional for you, Raphael, and Gabriel to select the Hero for yourself. Why have us here?”

“Does this have to do with what happened in Redwood City?” One of the other two female Archangel’s, Jophiel, asked. She wore little in the way of ornament, but none was needed. She was known as the Archangel of Beauty for a reason. Long blonde hair curled gently down her back, soft caucasian features, and gentle proportions that could be described as perfect. “Some of the faithful among the city have prayed about an amulet with origin’s to the Void.”

Michael nodded.

“Ah, and since we cannot interfere unless they come knocking on our doorstep-” Raphael started.

“Or one of us gets called there,” Gabrielle stated. The Archangel was one of the few who liked to alter her appearance as whimsy overtook her. Recently, she’d cut her brown hair short into a tomboyish cut that accentuated her sharp features. She currently wore her fitted sterling silver armor over an ocean green tunic. “I know it’s as unlikely as someone summoning an Archdemon or freeing Luci-”

“Silence!” Azrael yelled, his voice cracking the air like a whip crack. “Do not speak his name in here,” he hissed.

“Her point is still valid,” Michael spoke. “It is unlikely that we can get directly involved for some time, if ever if whoever becomes Demon Lord is intelligent. So, we need to choose a good candidate for whoever will become a strong hero. Preferably, one we can see defeating the Demon Lord and possibly Void incursions. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

Jophiel’s hand shot into the air. “Oh, I know one. Her name is Caroline Theron, and she’s a level 61 Saint Guard. She has the Good 6 and Ordered 3 alignments and has made it her personal goal to keep all people who are just trying to live their lives safe.”

“And I take it that she’s a good looker too?” Raphael asked dryly, his eyes rolling when Jophiel started to flush. “We know that it doesn’t deter from whatever her abilities and morals are; being a Saint Guard is a great accomplishment in and of itself. But I don’t want the first Hero that you are all involved in picking being chosen due to cosmetic reasons.”

Michael nodded, “Caroline is a fine choice. I’ve met her personally and will not contest her validity due to Jophiel’s personal preferences.”

Azriel stood up from his seat and put both hands behind his back, standing regally as he spoke calmly. “My candidate for Protagonist is Tsukiku Sato, A Level 29 Rogue with the Priest as her subclass. She would be unorthodox for a Hero, but she would guarantee results already being a thriving monster hunter. If we make her Hero before she chooses her specialized Class, she may choose one of the unique Heroic Specializations,” he explained. His hood dipped once in a single nod to indicate that he was finished before sitting back down.

“What is her Alignment?” Michael queried.

Azriel sighed and said, “Good 3 and Chaotic 4.”

“She’s not evil; that would immediately disqualify her from becoming the Hero. Why is she Chaotic?” Michael questioned again.

“Her methods haven’t always been… ethical or moral. When she encounters a problem, she does what she thinks is best to accomplish it; doing so had netted her a few extraordinary kills. Tsukiki has slain a Mutated Dire Lion with Aerosolized Zombie Plague only to kill it minutes later when she managed to get it to break through a wall and chase her into a Church of Helene. The Holy Magic might as well have been radiation,” Azrael told them, letting out a short stream of chittering noises that could have been construed as laughter.

“I see,” Michael said with a nod. “Her Chaotic Alignment makes sense. Any other options?” he asked, looking around the room.

Uriel, one of the silent Archangels in the room, stood up. His face was firm, strong, but his eyes were soft and sympathetic. A red hooded cape covered up most of his clothes, which mainly consisted of white linen pants and a sash around his waist which served as a belt, leaving his chestnut brown torso bare.

When he spoke, it was concise and to the point. “What about the HoarFrost sisters?”

“The Region Bosses?” Lailah asked, honestly not having considered that option.

“Yes, Sister. Gwyneth and Nellia are already powerful, give one of them the Hero Mantle, and I can see them overcoming most obstacles in their way. Especially if we give the Class to the Nellia, the non-magical one,” Urial stated, retaking his seat.

“Interesting,” Michael intoned. “I will admit, I like this choice the most. Especially since this would mean we can free them from their cycle of death and rebirth as Bosses. Does anyone else have a suggestion?”

As soon as the silence fell, Lailah decided that it was time for her to speak her piece and hoped that her asset would arrive quickly. “I have a suggestion that I know none of you are going to like.”

The entire room groaned at that pronouncement. “May Hell have mercy on us, Lailah. You always say that about your plans and ideas, and you have always proven yourself right,” Azrael said. “What makes you think that we want to try whatever insane idea you have planned?”

“Simple, because it is a good idea. It’s just that none of you want to even consider the idea. All of your choices are good and strong competitors for this position, especially given all the power you will be entrusting them with. Still, there is one flaw with all of them. And it is all the same flaw,” Lailah proclaimed.

“What. Flaw?” Raphael asked pointedly.

“They’re all of this world. Except for maybe the HoarFrost Sister’s, if they die, that’s it, no more Protagonist. But if we choose an outworlder-” Lailah said before Michael cut her off.

“And there is a reason none of us chose one of them. While this is not the case for all of them, they walk this world as if it were just a game. None of them could comprehend what is at stake for them. Not to mention that if we make an Outworlder the Protagonist, then they would be just like the Outworlder Antagonist,” Michael stated flatly.

“Stuck in Rosengard as well,” Lailah confirmed. “But as long as the Protagonist doesn’t die against the Antagonist, there’s a strong possibility that he will try again. Not to mention that he would have stronger motivation to win against the Demon Lord, whoever it may end up being.”

Michael’s stare turned stoney as he thought about Lailah’s proposal. “Fair enough, did you have someone in mind?”

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

Every Archangel in the room turned their heads towards the door and stared at it for a hard minute before it repeated itself.

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

Even though Lailah was expecting this, she still did not know how it happened. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a human with eyes that shimmered and glowed like molten copper. The man looked reasonably typical for a mortal human. Smooth bronze skin, unkempt brown hair, and a smile made him look comfortable as he entered the room filled with some of the most powerful beings in the universe. He wore a worn aviator jacket, black tee-shirt, and beige cargo pants that covered his boots.

“Hello, Angels. I hope you weren’t waiting for me,” the man said, entering the room and closing it behind him.

“Actually, no. You are right on time,” Lailah informed him. “You’ll have to tell me sometime how you subverted our security.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, winking.

“Who are you?” Azrael asked, his voice quiet and threatening.

Gabrielle stood up and pointed a finger at the mortal in the room, “you don’t know? That’s Da-”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather introduce myself, Miss. Greetings, Archangels. My name is Dante the Chronomancer; it is a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Wait, he’s Dante?” Raphael asked.

The Archangel didn’t wait for a reply. From nowhere, he summoned a bronze spear and moved towards the Chronomancer. In Utopia, the Archangels might as well have been considered all-powerful. However, their differences in their strengths could only be determined between each other. Raphael’s movements to any other mortal would have been all but instantaneous. But as he thrust the spear into Dante, he vanished.

“You know, that’s very rude. Stabbing someone out of nowhere like that. I didn’t even insult you yet,” he said.

Raphael turned to the voice, finding the man leaning against Lailah’s chair as if it were a common wall. “Hold still and let me skewer you before you befoul this place with your profane air.”

Again, Raphael rushed at him; his Attributes here in Utopia were easily in the quadruple digits. But again, right before the spear would make contact, the offending man would vanish and reappear somewhere else. This time, he was pulling a small object out of his jacket and handing it to Jophiel.

“For you, a beautiful gift for the prettiest Archangel,” he flirted as he handed whatever it was to Jophiel. Then he looked at Raphael, “try that one more time, and I will show you why I am not to be trifled with. Either here or on earth,” Dante threatened, bands of copper light appearing around his hands and rotating as the seconds passed.

“Enough of this!” Michael barked. “Raphael! Sit down and be silent. If he meant to cause problems, he would be doing so instead of just evading and wooing Jophiel. If you cause another ruckus, I will-”

“I. Got. It,” Raphael spat. He moved towards his seat, letting his conjured spear vanish as quickly as he made it appear. “Do not act like you are our leader here, Michael. We are equals, and I will not be talked down to. Got it?”

Michael said nothing, only turning to Lailah. “I assume that you were waiting for this human to arrive?”

“Indeed, Michael. As he said, he is Dante the Chronomancer. I have asked him to come here to help sweeten the deal in our favor since he agrees with my proposal,” Lailah said, grinning at her siblings.

“How so?” Gabrielle asked. “How can this man do that for you? We will not accept him as the Protagonist,” she stated bluntly.

“Do not worry,” she assured them. “I had no such inclination.”

Dante shrugged in agreement, “Not that I wanted it anyway; I’m already powerful as it is. I have no interest in being one of your pawns in the struggle of Black versus White. No, thank you.”

“No, what I had planned instead was twofold. I asked Dante to help decide which Outworlder would be the best choice for the Protagonist AND what it would take to give him the best chance to win. He’s done so, and I have paid him already for the assistance,” she stated simply. “He’s come to explain his findings.”

“Very well,” Michael intoned. “State your case.”

“Okay, so, to make a long story short. Using someone from this world would be a big no-no. With only one life to live, they would only get one short to succeed, and let’s say that all of the Demon Lord Candidates are dangerous. If the Protagonist got unlucky, they would die, and then the Demon Lord rules Rosengard. So, an Outworlder is the best choice just to avoid the Hero losing quickly.”

Dante paused for a moment, knowing that Lailah had already said this but needing to restate it for his own premise. “Not to mention that an Outworlder is one of the Demon Lord Candidates. So your Hero would need a way to match him, and that is only truly possible if they are an Outworlder. Using my powers, I found one viable candidate or group of candidates that could work for three easy reasons. Strength, strategy, and motivation.”

“Now, I will stress that none of these people are evil, but they are not good-aligned either. With the right motivation, we can get them the alignment necessary for one of them to become the Protagonist.”

“Not an immediate disqualification,” Michael told Dante. “What is the name of the group leader?”

“MonterayRevial,” Dante answered.

“I am not aware of this Outworlder. Why him?” Michael asked.

“He and his Party are reasonably strong with room to improve around their powers. None of them are above level 26, meaning they can choose specific Specialized classes around the Protagonist mantle. Add that to the fact that he and his Party are part of one of the most powerful Outworlder Guild’s on Rosengard. Fourth worldwide, I believe,” Dante shrugged. “That detail isn’t important if it’s a little inaccurate.”

“Strategy, he’s not alone. With the help of his Party and some sound strategy, he’s already overcome some strange encounters. They were the reason his Guild was able to collect the Celestial Shard that allowed his Guild to create their base inside the Dungeon they own,” Dante said. “Apart, eh, they are alright, but together they can do some pretty amazing things, I know that for a fact.”

“Then lastly, motivation. They are the reason one of the Demon Lord Candidates is on the warpath. I am aware that we cannot just tell them that he was one of the Candidates, but surely, we can convince them that becoming the Hero is the best way to keep themselves safe, right?” Dante said, then smiled.

“Also, I found the original Hero Sword,” Dante stated as if that detail was secondary.

Michael’s face changed to shock, “what? Where is it?”

“Nope, not telling,” Dante stated. “I will only tell you after we agree.”

“No,” Michael said, his will as strong as adamant. “Even if everything you say is true, we cannot trust these people if they cannot know the full measure of why they are being chosen. Therefore, the Motivation factor that you just mentioned will be lessened.”

“Not necessarily,” Dante said. “One of their numbers was recently killed by the wronged Demon Lord Candidate, so if an offer that will grant them power comes along. I estimate a 93.71 percent chance that they will accept the quest that will be offered.”

“How do you know all this?” Raphael asked, jabbing his finger in towards Dante.

“Chronomancer,” Dante stated, pointing to himself. “One of my powers allows me to see the past and the future. Also, probable futures as long as I have enough data for my power to help extrapolate the possibilities. Since I can look backward as well, all it takes is time. And time. Is. What. I. Do,” Dante told him slowly.

“What are the possibilities of them beating whoever becomes the Demon Lord?” Lailah asked, smirking since she knew the answer.

“Uncertain, the percentage changes every time I look. It’s impossible to get a perfect look at the future and estimate the percentage chance of something happening. But it’s good, better with the sword. Even with the Void-based variables,” Dante informed them. Looking ahead, he could see the variables on this conversation, and he checked one thing. They would eventually agree, but it would be another three hours to convince them. And…

<><><><><>

After Volkiere’s death at the hands of DevilWalker, he didn’t log back in until the following day. He’d died before, so that was nothing new, but he hadn’t felt so useless in a fight before, and that DevilWalker was pissed. When he did respawn, he was in the Krimson Spire headquarters, in the middle of nowhere.

The Dungeon the Krimson Spire Guild was based in was a tower the size of a skyscraper that stood in the middle of an open plain. It looked like its name implied a red tower that rose forebodingly into the sky. Every Krimson Spire Guild Member in good standing got a room in the building, and Volkiere walked out of his.

Immediately upon his exit, Akatarina in her gray armor hurried over and looked him over. “You okay? The roster said you died in BriarThorn, but you didn’t log back in when you got the chance. What happened?”

Volkiere, staying true to his idiom, simply shook his head in the negative, keeping his statement short. “I only want to say it once. Where are the others?”

“Monty is reporting that you’re back but said he’d join us in meeting room sixteen. Morenstad is already there,” she told him. “Come on, you can tell us all there.”

Volkiere followed along, feeling a little lethargic being back in his character after DevilWalker killed him. The hate in that man’s eyes… That was not something he would forget easily. He allowed himself to be led instead of following her to conference room 16 and simply sat in the first free chair in the room built to seat thirty people easily.

Morenstad sat there in his assassin garb, having received the Contractor Career, which made it easier to find jobs as a hired killer, whether legal or not. He wasn’t originally planning on being an Assassin. After his first stealth kill and enjoying the thrill of it, his plans changed. None of the group was sure about how they felt about it, but none could argue how effective the man had become.

Volkiere stayed quiet, as usual, and neither of the other two talked to him in return. Which was fine, considering that the other two mostly spoke to each other.

When Monty walked in, wearing his recently upgraded integrated plate mail armor, his massive tower shield on his back. The team leader took a seat next to Volkiere and clapped the man on the shoulder, “Good to see you, man. How are you?”

“We fucked up, Monty,” Volkiere stated, his voice even.

His eyebrow raised, “what do you mean?”

“Do you remember that guy we met in that armory shop a few months ago? New to the game, wouldn’t give us that weapon augmentation, so we killed him to try and loot it?” Volkiere asked, the summary brief but adequate.

“Yeah, so what? He should have moved on, maybe a little salty but players eventually get over it. It’s how we are; it’s nothing personal. Why?” Monty asked.

“He’s the one who fucking killed me, Man!” Volkiere yelled. “He fought through a Golem AI uprising to fight and kill me, man. He came prepared too! I was his Goddamned target! And he’s not done!” he said, his sanity fracturing as he recounted the death, DevilWalker’s eyes and words boring into his mind. “He wants to kill all of us; he stated that I am only the first.”

“Well, shit man,” Monty said, a little confused. Out of everything he could have expected, DevilWalker was not what he would have guessed. Then Volkiere actually talking AND getting emotional; this must have been bad.

“Fucking prick, apparently he didn’t get the idea the first time,” Ekaterina cursed.

“Well, shit. He’s actually doing it; he said he would,” Morenstad said, more amazed than frightened. PVP happened on occasion, and most people hated it. Still, they also got over it and attacked them if their attackers ever showed up. It was rare for anyone to actively hunt them down.

“I’m sorry about that man, but BriarThirn is on the other side of the continent. Not much we can do to get back at him quickly. I guess we’ll take it easy for a few days until you feel more up to it man, how does that sound, Volk?” Monty asked, his tone understanding.

“Thank you, man. It was either this or quitting the game for a while if you wouldn’t let me relax for a few days,” Volkiere said, more than a little relieved.

There was a flash of copper light as someone else appeared in the room, “are you sure you want to take a break right now? Because I have a once-in-a-lifetime offer for you and your friends.” Dante stated, his grin wide while the Party reached for their weapons.