Nerding Day : Ultimate Demonic Empowerment

Genius sparked Ultimate Demonic Empowerment. Self-help books melt into magical bullshit, and spellbooks melt into self-help mantras. Why not mix them into 600 pages of Sephiroth chanting “believe in yourself?” That’s out of character, but you’re out of your mind.

Perfect for reality’s most anime book. Not anime in the insider sense—some words live a double life, and anime lives six. I mean anime the way your stepfather says it. The way a confused date says it. Like someone that doesn’t know who Gojo is, but knows how his fans smell. Like someone that will die unable to name a second Pokemon.

Ultimate Demonic Empowerment writes a letter to that culture. I didn’t skip the word “love.” It’s a hostage letter glued together from Demon King monologues.

Seven? I stand corrected: this is the most anime (pop pejorative) series of all time. Including The Time I Reincarnated as a Self-Help Mark. For just $240 mortal dollars, you can master the darkness within.

The Stable Diffusion cover art hints at a creatively empty fan. I may have been wrong about the flavor: Ultimate Demonic Empowerment might be anime the way your little brother says it. The way a doomed date says it. Like someone that knows who Gojo is, but not why you left the elevator. Like someone that will die without finishing a harem-free book.

It’s a toss-up. But don’t take my strawman’s word for it. Here’s Book One’s first paragraph:

The egotism! The hyperbole! The meaningless bold text! I beamed when I read this. High-grade madmen keep my lights on. And the cover skipped a key detail: the author goes by Thoth Horus. A name rooted in either lazy avarice, delusional madness, or ultimate parental failure. Maybe all three!

Then I read more, which always backfires.

A bit samey. Cracks litter the language–the handsome, non-single arch-devil should absorb potency, not hand it out to serfs. And try as I might to master the dark power within, I can’t force harbinger of consequence to mean anything. The devil might be up to something.

But I want to believe. Divorces are whatever, but losing madmen wounds my soul. Whether demonology works or not, I need Thoth to be real.

A bit samey. We’ve also hit the end of the chapter without definitions for demonology or demonic empowerment. Speaking to insiders is nice, if you’re not writing an arcane WikiHow page. Here it’d pay to slow down, instead of looping a monologue about breaking the mindwheel of the unascended. Though that might be mortal impatience talking. Context says demonology is quoting Sauron.

Seems off, doesn’t it? This chapter lacks a certain flow between ideas. Or any. These affirmations are lego heads stuck to legs. Though maybe that’s biblically accurate. Thoth might have first-page nerves, so give him a few hundred pages of rope. Here’s Book One’s closer.

If that sounds like a Monopoly version of the intro, you’re right. Thoth’s affirmations swap topics while changing nothing. Ultimate Demonic Empowerment isn’t just an isekai hostage letter. It’s also AI poison. Autogrifters are after our most vulnerable weebs.

That, or Thoth Horus wrote twenty 500-page spellbooks in one year.

Well, six months. Thoth’s spellcasting output started in May and wrapped up in October. If mastering demonology were faster than a bulk, we’d see more gurus killed by exorcists than heart attacks—I’ll pitch that idea later. Maybe the Olde Jerseyman’s tired of egg jokes.

I can buy channeling hellpower from the manga section. Thoth’s output seems less natural. While Satanist zen koans write themselves, inspired typing still takes time. Even unedited. Anyone writing that quickly for Satan would meet him early.

Hopefully I’m wrong. AI plagiarism’s beneath Satan’s dignity. I’ll peek ahead.

It’s not looking good.

If daydreaming’s dynamic, Hal ate the wrong dictionary. The reader’s on one power trip across twenty books of hell lullabies. That’s as static as it gets. And these are all passive fantasies. I suspect that The Secret fibbed, and you have to at least breathe near your goals to see results.The cosmic order of creation sounds neat, but I couldn’t define it with a gun to my head.

You know, robots don’t have to write every page. Thoth should learn from my grad students (undergrads still have pride), and sprinkle his own near-thoughts into the data. Chapter 2 can do more than darken our soul-blade’s thronesorrow.

Yeah, a robot’s training the anime devil. The first and last steps are confidence. Here, my notes say mankind’s dying in a biblical flood of slop. But that’s not what I believe. In my darkest heart, I think we’re taking this stupid bullshit to space. Ten billion morons will invent slurs for alien life, and try to sell them garbage. A posthuman explorer of the expanse will waterboard himself in ice water for gains. We’ll lose half the species to Dyson sphere cost-cuts and blame woke. While marks pay the anime devil to make sense of it all.

That could be me! Exciting stuff.

I’ve always wanted an invincible dark side. I’ve got zero impulse control, so I just need edge and hair dye. Still, I bet he has a slick wardrobe, bigger side delts, twice the katanas, and even more dolls. Finishing Thoth’s book seems easier than working on that stuff. What’s next?

Connecting with past lives! And they’re bitter losers! Seems dry–was I ever a juggler? Or poison tester? That’s an amazing gig until your last shift. I have the same job today, but for ideas. When I detect poison, I rush it to you.

Super Me sounds like a Fucking Dork. It’s hard to make pride and time travel sound like a Saturday night porn sprint, but this unedited hypeman gets there. Granted, the cover warned us. It looks like someone traced over Kaoru from Evangelion with Kaoru from Evangelion. Skip Google, you already know what he looks like.

Next chapter.

I can feel it. We’re down with the crowdsourced, encyclopedia-length sickness.

The Beast still sounds like a Fucking Dork. With this mantra, the hero’s beating the piss out of me. No flashbacks or training. Just knees to kidneys. The kind of pointless non-fight that lowers TKO stock. Sorry, wrong reference pool. The kind of pointless non-fight that boosts Jujutsu Kaisen ratings.

What do you steal to produce this voice? Your son’s detention notebook? Your own? A vision board of fanfics and playground snipers? Sorry, that’s cheap. There’s dope fanfiction, and manifestos are getting competitive. One thing’s certain: I’m decades further from learning demonology. I should’ve gone to bible camp with a Berserk anthology. Again.

I take? Prior chapters/spells all address “You.” Sure, revision means little to a life coach of darkness. But a human writer would at least skim the Incelnomicon. The Demon King should be literate. It’s cruel for a guide to make sure you never fuck or read again.

For example: unleashing the storm that’s been confined for too long. That reads like The Beast’s first climax in years. Fair. Dating’s tough when your spirit’s unbound. Try fresh photos, without cosplay. Or, if you’re a 7+, more cosplay. A Demon Body can help sell a Demon Personality.

But I’m stealing Thoth’s thunder. He also stole thoughts on love.

Well, love or fame. This was written by a PS5. The rest of the chapter says romance, though spotting distinct topics feels like looking for shapes in clouds. Let’s assume love. I’m trying to be cool about this, instead of mailing OpenAI mystery powder. After all, what’s closer to demonology than machines that kill thought? Who sacrifices more to the King Below?

Though there’s not much to kill—LuciferGPT beats all the dating advice I’ve gotten since high school. Agency? Avoiding desperation? It’s like having Sheev as a guidance counselor. Hopefully there’s a job offer after the slop.

Esdeath’s just not that into you.

See? Merely nonsensical. This broken robot is crushing the curve on breakup pep talks. “Unleash your eldritch fortress of emotional stability and move on to a nicer incubus. Better yet: shed your cosmic lust for co-darkness and learn to date your own shadow.” Much more human than DVtok. After this section, I cut half my incel jokes. Instead, Ultimate Demonic Empowerment inspires people you regret fucking:

“Your lowly ex is unworthy of your invincible hate. Save your shadowforce for your cursed personal goals. Seize a vat of cursed ice cream and ascend.”

Therapy bots and their consequences are a disaster for the human race. But at least the stopped clock rule holds. I can probably stop here, in Chapter 13 of 200, Book One of twenty, confident that the future’s in mediocre hands.

Hold on. That sounds like a way to get my ass beat. Confidence is nice, but you don’t just wake up at half health without your money. Unless you’re lucky.

That’ll definitely get my ass beat. Hopefully literally. Thoth’s telling our least aware, most suggestible nerds that consequences don’t exist. Which sounds fine, if you’ve never seen a convention afterparty. After watching two Inuyashas fight for one Kagome, I’d reconsider. The flailing gets bloody. Remember Tyson’s words: everyone has a plan until the other fighter does anything, at all, even poorly. Races to the bottom still have losers.

Why’s Thoth want me to get my ass beat? Is it the wall of insults? I only meant the ones to his brain and soul. The hobby’s fine.

Thoth, you have to read these. The bar for hell magic’s in hell. To win, just avoid putting readers in traction. I know that responsibility’s a slur, but Ultimate Demonic Empowerment buyers are a little rough around the everything. You’re sending them into biker bars with plastic nunchucks, looking for challengers.

And the wank goes on. Bullying’s worst side effect? Turning healthy human brains into this. Who then turn robots into this. Will Rocco’s Basilisk call haters at 2 AM, crying? I’m much more afraid of that. I barely have the depth to talk apes off the ledge. The machine god’s jumping.

The spellbook crisis needs more awareness. The con to content ratio’s unsustainable. Somehow, as everything else burns, spellbooks are the only insufficiently cursed artifacts. I’d play along with serious tilts at dating dragons or robbing succubi (the opposite’s difficult). But I’m besieged by vapid graft. This better not be some dumbass frame for imperial decline. I fucking hate those.

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