Age of Overlords (Overlord/Age of Sigmar crossover)

[LordKragan]

PervySageChuck's Productions presents:


Age of Overlords.


Written by: Cinder Knight


Proofread by: PervySageChuck


Directed by: The Late Alfred Hitchcock


Dance Scenes Choreographed by: Cecille B. DeMille


Photographed in Glorious Technicolour

(And we are talking about the original 3-strip, larger than life, very expensive Technicolour process here, folks! None of that cheap and shitty lame-assed colour that you see in today's movies!)


Presented in Dolby Atmos and Digital Projection (Where available)​

Note to understand AoS (optional but recommended)


To those uninitiated to the rich (and for the rich, considering how bloody expensive it is) world of Age of Sigmar/Warhammer. Long ago there was a great war: the End Times where the forces of Chaos fought the forces of… whomever didn't want to be utterly annhilated and skullfucked into oblivion, to be honest. Considering the game is called now Age of Sigmar, I'll let you take a guess/google search about the outcome.

Long story short: the world went kaboom and from it's ashes a new one emerged a la Ragnarok.


Prior to that a group of elves and humans fled to find yet another new world the surviving gods managed to make. It's heavily implied they didn't make it. Or is it? Because according to my head-canon that new world they fled to is… well the New World.

Faced with the loss of their original source of magic they had to resort to the native style and that's weakened them. Meanwhile the "realms" that emerged from the Old World have gone and run rampant with this magic energy (winds, as they call it) and in turn it strengthened their people.

Now Ainz Ooal Gown has appeared in the New World and this event is of such a magnitude that the New World, previously isolated from the 9 Realms, is now in contact with them.



Chapter 1. Lords of death.



The realm of Shyish, land of the dead, was a barren wasteland of gray land and green "water". At its heart lay a massive citadel of black marble and bone, of black magic and blood-fueled witchcraft. There went all the souls of everyone who died and weren't under the dark protection of the Chaos Gods, or caught the fancy of the God-King Sigmar. The halls of Nagash were an unnerving place, where silence dominated everything and yet it seemed as if a legion of eyes were following you.

At the core of the citadel was a gargantuan chamber, its walls filled with ancient symbols of arcane knowledge and rituals. They were older than the palace, older than Shyish itself, a remnant of the World that Was, like its only inhabitant and owner, Nagash, the Lord of Undeath.


The arch-lich that claimed lordship of the Wind that embodied death was a massive skeleton. As in, roughly eight meters in height at the very of the least. His pale white skin contrasted starkly with the extremely ornate lilac and bone-bleached plates of Morikhane, the black armor.

Fine robes of purple silk and cloth of gold covered part of his legs and forearms, though quite a few bits of his decayed body were exposed to the elements.


His eyes were cool embers barely shining and flickering from time to time. Up until that very same moment.


A massive surge of energy, of a nature he had never seen before came into existence. It was a strangely warm and fuzzy feeling, which made Nagash dislike it instantly. More important, it was an extremely powerful source. Of a magnitude almost on par to what the Realms on their own were capable of.


His eyes burnt now with a fiery energy, a curiosity fueled by distrust and paranoia.


Did that mean a new land had been birthed? Had some of the cinders of the World that Was finally cooled and crystallized into something new? Whatever it was, to Nagash it meant it was an incognita. Was this event something good, a bad portent perhaps?

He needed to know. Liabilities at this stage of the war, when he was so close to delivering the blow that would kick out the invaders of Chaos from his domain, weren't welcome. With a swift move, he rose and made himself float in the air, always accompanied by his nine books about the art of necromancy.
"Arkhan," said the Supreme Lord of Death in a reverberating voice that thundered across the whole massive room. "Come here."


Out of thin air yet another lich materialized: Arkhan the Black, Mortarch of Sacrament. This one, though, was about the size of a human at close to a meter eighty. Still, he had the penchant for ornate lilac and bone-bleached clothes and armour that his master wore. As well as his usage of a giant hat. Nagash's headgear had been likened once by a strange (and unfortunate) stranger as "the fucking pope's in a bath of bone and purple" and branded as ridiculous. In what position Arkhan's hat would end up wasn't a certainty but for sure it couldn't be better than Nagash's considering it was almost thrice the size of Arkhan's head (mainly the girth) and had about the same colour scheme. He couldn't be better than his overlord, could he?


Nagash weakly shook his head. That was about the last thing he ought to be thinking or talking about. He had more important business at hand.


"Arkhan, you've noticed it haven't you," the Mortarch, now kneeling, nodded in affirmation. "I want you to find what this was. It emanated too much power for me to dismiss it idly."

He left unspoken the following phrases: and you're the only one I can depend upon. Or else I'll end up with yet another End Times. That's what I get for putting my trust on vampires too much.


Right now, a strong hand was needed to control the order of battle, a necessary requirement for a mission like this. That meant virtually anyone barring Nagash himself, Arkhan and Krell could be trusted to take care of it. Considering that Krell's ability portfolio consisted of fifty pages on the ways he'd be able to murder things and one about him being a wonderful chef… it didn't take too much to figure out he was anything but qualified for a task more complex than cleaving chaos warriors, unless it was to make filet mignon, then he was more than qualified. Nagash was out of question, he needed to control his minions.

Arkhan bowed graciously as he spoke in a very soft and level voice.


"My master, your will shall be done, I'll find this source, identify its nature and see it either swears compliance to your exalted cause or is destroyed for your glory!"

=========================================


At that very same moment, Ainz Ooal Gown abandoned Nazarick as he prepared himself to embrace the good old life of an adventure. There were many more things to learn and observe about this New World. But truth be told, the most important factor for Ainz was that he, maybe, would be able to find his friends.


A whole world of opportunities awaited him and he'd let nothing get in the way and ruin it.


=========================================

In a matter of hours Arkhan had gathered the support of Lord Harkon Valendris and Konrad Lahrian, two very powerful vampires under Neferata's service. The two vampires wore black and red plate armour with a bat's wing motif all over the place. Harkon wielded a lance and sword, which would work wonders with his zombie dragon. Meanwhile, Konrad was more of a necromancer, wielding a magic staff and a Crimson Chalice to heal their wounds. Aside from that, they were pretty similar: both had unnaturally pale skin, black hair, oversized fangs, patrician faces and red eyes. Both were pretty petty and cruel too.


Following them were a cavalcade of sixty blood knights, vampires sworn to the sword and who could sate their thirst with blood addled with the adrenaline of battle and fighting, as well as a cohort of thirty morghasts. Arkhan eyed silently the "soldiers". Long ago, back during the infancy of the Old World, the morghasts had been the blade of the gods of Nekhekara, Nagash and Arkhan's homeland. Once, these avian warriors had golden armor and copper-like feathers that made them gleam like the sun as they swept proudly across the skies. Now they were reduced to bones and dull lilac armor, their weapons now accursed blades, their spirits (or what remained of them) long ago crushed to their new Overlord's will. The memories of that day brought nostalgia into Arkhan's mind.


With a sweep of his arm, he pointed eastwards.


"Duty calls, we cannot keep him waiting."


And with that his mount, Razarak began flying. Again, the beast had once served Nekhekaran gods but this sack of bones and spectral skulls was but one of many more mindless minions.


Harkon's dragon, carrying both vampires, followed suit and went on towards the same direction as Arkhan but quite farther away, in order to better see the expanse of terrain. The source was eastwards of Nagash's palace so he had the thirty morghasts stretched to the point where they almost couldn't see each other and thus their flights could cover more ground.


The skeletal avians and the the undead beasts kept flying for days, on occasion descending so they could gather information with the populace about any strange events and so that the vampires could grab a bite.


On the fourth day of travel, they found a strange door. It wasn't a realmgate, one of the many links that connected the many worlds. Well, not quite as ornate a realmgate: whereas any realmgate Arkhan had seen in his millennia of life had a very baroque and overdesigned style, this one had a very sober, almost naked, decoration. Still, he had little time to ponder about the architecture of the emplacement as something caught his eye. Next to the gate, behind it to be precise, he saw piles of rubble organized seemingly at random. Arkhan quickly pinpointed their reason of being, why they were there.


A Flesh Eater Court.


When the forces of Chaos won the war a half millennia ago, their soldiers ran rampant and wreaked havoc upon the realms. Those outside the very few safe havens that managed to survive the onslaught had three choices: join Chaos, die (which usually happened after the first choice, as they weren't deemed worthy) or resort to cannibalism and embrace the insanity of the ghouls. Their madness was literally contagious and their main focus was eating and mauling everything that didn't embrace their ways. To them those piles of rubble were marble spires and the monstrous wrecks that commanded them were the aberrations that were the varghulfs. Zombie dragons and the like were noble warriors and steeds to their decayed and rotting eyes.


Arkhan was positive he could mop up the place, but he didn't want to waste energies. For that reason and because they could prove useful, if Arkhan played his cards right. He'd need to go mad, though.

================================================================


King Dharpan the eighty-second sat on his throne, wearing an ermine cape and garments of fine crimson silk and golden trim. Surrounding him where the valiant nobles and knights of the realm, their shiny plate armour combining into a beacon of light in this dark age.


He passed court on his subjects, delivering fair justice to the subjects: a couple of men discussed about the inheritance of their father, a cow. Another group of two men discussed about who should marry a fair maiden. A third man complained about a noble failing to uphold his sacred duty and to be a little more than a tyrant, earning the wrathful punishment at the hands of Lord Brandon the Bold.


The same as usual, until a group of strangers appeared. Virtually all of them wore finely crafted armor and weapons but the leader of the party, a man of copper skin, shaven hair and priestly outfit, seemed a bit different. He bowed slightly and presented his party as a Sage and their escort.

"My lord, the most exalted Nagash, has heard many wonders about your people, and their glorious deeds of arms. And thus, he has been mesmerized (and worried) as to why such proud warriors conform themselves to guard such a seemingly unremarkable place. He worries something dire may befell the realm and asks to be illuminated by your wisdom, and be helped by the strength of your arms and soldiers should the truth result in some sort of incoming harm."


Dharpan nodded and uttered the traditional courtesies before explaining.


"My outriders found this place half a moon ago and we decided to send someone to explore. They were fine warriors, a good crop of newly trained warriors backed by the veteran Ser Guy le Valiant. Since then we've been waiting and thus we know what you, my dear friend, do: nothing at all. Certainly this place is ominous and thus we cannot let the realm be undefended of this threat so we sent more outriders to the capital while we mounted a defensive perimeter to defend the helpless from any impending threat."


The priest nodded and made a gentle smile.


"Do not worry, my valiant lord, your plea for succor has been heard and our most magnanimous Nagash has ordered me and these valiant warriors and lords to investigate the matter. Soon your presence won't be needed, once we return and assert the nature of what lies on the other side."

The king nodded graciously and thanked them.


"Give the gates guardsmen this piece of clothing with my royal sigil engraved. It will say to them that you're my emissaries and thus give you free-passage. May our great lord Nagash be with you."



================================================================


They hurried away from that circus freak, all while carrying the intestine the ghoul king had given them, leaving just in time to avoid seeing how two ghouls devoured a screeching hag while they ripped her apart, though not soon enough as to not see a group of four ghouls devour a fat man or a giant Varghulf, a vampire mutated into a giant bat, beat and devour a crypt horror over a regular ghoul.


Why they'd give preference to what was cannon fodder against a jacked up ghoul on many,many, steroids was beyond Arkhan's comprehension. Although he comprehended why that ghoul party they slaughtered two days ago was heading to the capital.


Still, they got passage and that's what they had been counting on.


Turning around to see his companions, both vampires nodded, to which Arkhan could but shrug. Only the gods knew what lay ahead, and they had died long ago.


With a slow but sure step, he crossed the gate in order to find… a graveyard?

Hundreds, if not thousands, of graves marred the dark landscape. This looked too much like the realm of Shyish but he didn't recognize the layout, and he had explored the lands of Shyish since their very birth.


A rustle made Arkhan turn around quickly. Another vampire here? Weren't they supposed to have sent ghouls? As far as the Mortarch knew, their description was: hunched, emaciated, naked and filthy, not curvaceous, with jet-black hair, and well dressed.


And how come this vampire hadn't either spoken to Neferata or Mannfred? Sure Mannfred was a turd, but Neferata was a very shrewd woman that greatly rewarded information and this place seemed to be a juicy sword of news.


This made little sense so he did the most logical thing he could.


"My fair maiden," he began in his usual soft and calm voice. "Would you kindly answer a few questions of my own?"


=========================================================


Hurrying, Shalltear Bloodfallen made her way to the place the intruders were reported to be present. She was in a very bad mood, her lips closed tightly and her eyes marked by a silvery frown.


How in blazes could a giant door, "popping out of nowhere", have escaped her watch? And it would have been so if it hadn't been for the fact that the invading force of a hundred warriors had decided to be polite and inform them that they were entering the neighbourhood.

Albedo would love to hear it unless she cleaned the mess up immediately.


Let's see the plan: I make an act of politeness, speak a bit with them to figure out whether or not they are worth keeping alive or not. As most likely they won't, I'll just slaughter them and destroy that gate, thus calling it a day and no one would know it and inform Lord Ainz.


That sounded like a very good plan, especially considering she was being followed by a three thousand-man force of vampires (a small minority not reaching a number more than one hundred), zombies (around three hundred) and cockroaches (the rest). The average level there was twenty seven or something like that, and reports were that the strongest enemy was around that level cap. All in all, there was a snowball's chance in hell they'd be alive from the confrontation, thought Shalltear smugly.


They waded through the gravestones until they found the intruder. Shalltear winced in surprise upon seeing a lich clad in very elaborate clothes. He was a looker with that form-fitting skeleton and armour, and the lilac clothes fit him very nicely, with so little in the way of fat to ruin the look.


He was strange, though. There was something off about him, and the strange bird skeletons and vampires that followed him.


Shalltear shrugged slightly and chalked this off as some local undead that were surprised by the tomb's sudden appearance.


The lich dismounted from his… whatever the animal that those skeletons and skulls had belonged to. He approached Shalltear and bowed to kiss her hand with his teeth. For a second his prosthetic goatee (quite pronounced and made of gold and yet more lilac) grazed her skin, which made her shiver ever so slightly.


"My lady, I'm very honored of being made your acquaintance, my name is Arkhan, proud servant and Mortarch of our one and only master, Nagash the Supreme Lord of Death. He has heard of this strange land of yours, and indeed it is, as I've never seen it ever before in my millenia-long lifespan! And he wishes to know more about your people."


Shalltear, taken aback a bit by the politeness and finesse of the lich, winced a bit as his eyes widened slightly. She quickly recovered and pondered about this "Supreme Lord of Death." The title alone was almost an attack towards the Supreme Beings, especially Lord Ainz who himself ought to be the Lord of Death. She was positive her master was the better of the two.


"Oh my, is it?" Shalltear made a light chuckle as she continued in a haughty tone. "We're glad to have caught the fancy of your lord, though he'd do well to come and see the wonders of Nazarick!"


This "Arkhan" returned the chuckle as he brought his left hand to his chest and tapped it lightly.


"You're right my lady, he'd do well to visit this Nazarick. Though he's busy now with matters of war. I'm sure, though, that he'd be very glad to see his wondrous new vassals' domains once the hostilities conclude."

Okay, that made Shalltear's left eye twitch a bit.


"I beg your pardon, my dear Arkhan?" The more Shalltear thought about it, the more violent the twitch seemed to be. " 'His' vassals?"


"Of course! As Overlord of all undead, it is his right and duty to rule over us all!" Said the lich jovially . "It is also our duty to delight him with our best deeds, and I'm pretty sure he'll be greatly pleased with your people's battle prowess in the upcoming battles, maybe he'll give you a privileged place in his courts if you do a remark-"


Shalltear snapped quickly, her response cutting short Arkhan's.


"The people of Nazarick serve only the Supreme Being," said Shalltear as her words tinged with anger alongside her eyes. "Whose name is Ainz Ooal Gown, not Nagash. We won't bow to anything inferior to the Supreme Beings."


She finished her words with a guttural growl and a baring of her fangs as she prepared the incantation to make her lance and plate appear.


Arkhan cocked his head and said the words that metaphorically broke the camel's back.


"Those are some brash words my lady, and they imply a great danger as they can invoke the wrath of my master," his words seemed to have genuine concern, they sounded totally sincere and so were the following ones. "Are you sure you'd like to defer to your parents in this judgement? After all it's something important that should be left in the responsible hands of adults."


Okay, screw restraint, screw control and screw keeping forms. That bastard needed to die. NOW.


She roared as the plate and lance she usually wore in battle materialized. She directed her strike at the lich's head, ready for the kill.


All of a sudden the world turned upside down. The lich grabbed her and turned her around like a ragdoll. She went from seeing his face to seeing the ceiling and shortly thereafter seeing the ground, to end up kissing said ground in a violent and painful clash.
She turned to see the lich unsheath his weapons as his minions ran to fight off her own, the dragon and beast taking flight to fight, and one of the invading vampires starting to raise a horde of zombies of its own.


The lich closed in but she made a powerful kick, connecting with the pelvis, and the lich was sent flying a few dozen meters, his body flailing around like a ragdoll until it hit the ground. He rose without any apparent damage.


He simply said, "Well, I guess it was a bit impolite and demeaning on my side, for what little worth it may be, you have my most sincere apologies," excused Arkhan as he materialized a staff that began glowing with a black and eerie light. "It was arrogant from my part to suppose you were a child. You're clearly an adult and thus you, without any strings or influence, have signed your death warrant. May Nagash be merciful of your soul when I present it for judgement."


"You like to talk big words from some upstart outsider, lich. Your tour of the Tomb of Nazarick ends here. We won't bow to your master and you will be crushed for trying to do so."


Both undead lurched onwards and began their clash.


The Battle of Nazarick had begun.

LordKragan threw 1 6-faced dice. Reason: 1111 Total: 6

 

[LordKragan]

Okay, I'm posting the re-write and edit, I think it's far better now.

 

[krahe]

Huh. Well, I'm interested. Seeing new Overlord fanficion is always nice, but Sigmar fics are non existent. It's literally the first one I see

 

[Vaalintine]

Considering Nagash has a history of being an absolute ass, I wouldn't be surprised if his "allies" had no objections to him getting replaced.

 

[LordKragan]

Oh yeah, that would work. As long as it's some kind of blade and lance it's fine and dandy. They aren't too fond of hammers and axes because they view them as too brutish.


Anyways. New chapter, we are on fire these days. It's a bit more graphic though, so be warned.

Prior to reading this I recommend you go watch slaaneshi patrol and lucius warp hijinks. That way you'd get the right feeling for the voice of a certain character at the end of the chapter.


Asterisks will denote lore explanations that will be provided at the bottom page.


Chapter 2. Storm of chaos.

(Same day Nagash discovered about the "energy surge")


In the Realm of Azyr lied the sprawling city of Azirheim. The Eternal City was a gargantuan complex of golden and azure domes and ingenious design and features. There were massive domes and spires, life-like statues the size of mountains. Many were its marvels but they paled in comparison to the mega-structure that occupied the city and Realm's heart. At its core lay Sigmaron, the palace-fortress of Sigmar Heldenhammer, the god incarnate of the Wind of Heavens. A wonder crafted by the God-King Sigmar and the finest masons of the dwarves, led by the God-Smith Grugni himself.


At its very top was the Stellarium, a half closed dome where one could observe the many constellations of Azyr and it was also the place the great Celestial Dragon, Dracothion, the mother of all Stardrakes, called home. The ancient beast, old and steadfast friend of Sigmar, rested with an eye closed, the other locked on her friend.

Sigmar Heldenhammer was a mighty man, at a meter ninety in height and bulging muscle. He wore his favorite cuirass, a pure golden sigmarite with two lions encircled by suns, one on the left knee and the other on the belly. Two twin tailed comets were on the corners of his pauldrons, to serve as pins for his great wolf cape. The right pauldron was shaped in the form of an eagle. His skin was fair and his eyes a stormy shade of blue. The man's chestnut hair and beard had a few braids on the sides.


His hands were clasped with each other, his brows furrowed. He worried too much and walked in circles across the colossal room like a caged beast. The thought of Sigmar being like lion on a zoo mildly amused Dracothion, causing fumes to emerge from his nostrils.


The giant pale blue dragon toyed with her sigmarite necklace, a gift from Sigmar from the first time they met. She remembered the process of the item's making, how it showcased the man's sheer ingenuity. The problem was that he was bullheaded too, and that's why he needed someone pushing him around from time to time, so he could adapt his course. The first time she guided Sigmar from Azyr to the other realms? It was actually a very easy route to follow but he hadn't paid attention to it. The man rarely thought outside the box.


"The world the old gods built during the World that Was' twilight exists, it hasn't been destroyed as you feared," surmised Dracothion in a motherly voice. "So go visit it, go see how well they held during this time. Oh, please, don't come with the "We must prepare to fight Chaos and cannot divert efforts!" attitude. After your success, your forces haven't been bringing the fight to Archaon's holds for quite a while, seeing as they have a lot to deal with in consolidating our hold, Ghyran."


A couple months ago Sigmar had launched a massive offensive against the Eight-Points, the nexus of Realmgates that gave the keys and access to all the Realms of creation. They were held by Chaos, but its fall would mean the forces of the Dark Gods would be cut off from the Realms and that the fighting would be made on Sigmar and his allies' terms.

Easier said than done. The offensive at Chamon and Aqshi, Realms of metal and fire respectively, had failed miserably. Hysh and Ulgu, light and shadow, were still an incognita. Ghyran and Ghur, realms of life and beasts, had been taken from Archaon's clutches. But Ghur being Ghur, that meant the Orcs, Gordrakk's Ironjawz to be precise, had it. And orcs being orcs, it meant the Mawgate was as good as gone. Literally, the beast that carried that bloody gate had apparently disappeared.


"After our failure, we cannot allow ourselves such distractions," grumbled Sigmar.

"Nonsense," rebuked Dracothion. "We had one gate under our control, now we have two, maybe more. They had seven gates into their control, seven Realms under their hold and threat. Now they have five, maybe less. Sure it hasn't been a brilliant success like we wanted but it's not the catastrophe you try to make it out to be. And if so, if things went truly south for us, how about we outsource most of the effort?"


Sigmar's eyes cleared up as he got the idea.


"Of course, what a fool I've been! The fyreslayers!" Said Sigmar as he thought about the dwarven mercenaries. "With the right amount of Ur-Gold* they'd be willing to go on this fool's errand. If we send in the Swords of Tempest, considering how low in numbers they are currently now, we'd have a good sized force without diverting too much effort."


Dracothion nodded and went back to sleep. Sigmar would work out the ins and outs of the deal and planning. After all, when the man got the ideas straight, he was a brilliant genius.


===========

Dharpan rallied his forces as he received news from the other side of the gate. How the noble priest was fending off a horde of rabid monsters that had dared to attack those that had presented themselves under the white flag of peace.


Such an affront wouldn't be tolerated.


"Sound the horns, gather the Dharlings for today we ride into a crimson dawn!" Bellowed the noble king.


============


The battle raged on as Shalltear battled Arkhan in duel. Reinforcements started to pour in from other areas of the Tomb, the might of her subordinates soon to be brought into full brunt.


Meanwhile the outsiders held pretty well, from what little she had seen, his vampires were on par with hers, but the other troops, those skeletal avians wreaked havoc on her force. In a split second she saw how one of those raptors cleaved in half two of her handmaidens with his scythe, while another close to the first battle was on equal terms against three of her vampires. Anything below, she had seen, would just be crumpled.


Hordes of zombies went into the meatgrinder on both sides as the enemy necromancer brought back as many as he could. How many times would he cast [Raise Undead]? Hadn't he reached the cap already?


A hissing sound brought her attention back around. The lich's blade closed the distance towards her neck.


Swiftly jerking her left arm, the massive shield she wielded swept onward. Steel clashed against steel and bone. Arkhan's right arm was sent backwards as he was thrown off balance.

Without missing a beat, the lance of Bloodfallen thrusted onwards. Arkhan had barely enough time to make a shield spell that lasted just long enough for him to cast a spell that sent her flying backwards.


Flying backwards into the direction of a tombstone. Using it as a platform, she prepared her legs and somersaulted, fired up like a rocket. Arkhan, who had been chanting for a few seconds, something he did from time to time, clearly hadn't expected it. Landing her lance right into his chest. With a grunt he went down, clashing against the ground. Whimpering and trying to rise again, he was defenseless now.


Lurching onwards, the vampire readied herself for the kill. One that didn't come as two black spikes emerged from the ground and impaled her. She grunted and muscled her way, breaking those things.

But in doing so she became distracted, she didn't pay attention to the massive bonetail menacing her unshielded side. Thus the flail came like a violent surprise and made her gasp in pain and loss of breath. When she landed she got on one of her knees to see the beast Arkhan had been riding next to his master. Cursing silently, Shalltear casted a tier nine explosive spell on her opponents. A massive ball of fire blossomed from the explosion's epicenter.


She heard the cries of pain from zombies and skeletons, both friend and foe alike. Still most if not all the vampires ought to have avoided the place. And though no one heard it, she screamed too, internally at her failure to wipe them out.


With a gust of wind the flames quickly faded down as the staff of Arkhan, who had some minor damage here and there in his armor, glowed violently with blinding light. A ray of light was sent straight out for her in an attempt to finish her off. She stepped sideways, her face now staring towards the gate, and barely avoided the beam as a few strands of her hair were burnt by the energy.


It was then that yet another sound distracted her: a cacophony of bellows and an arrhythmic chant. From the gate emerged a tide of abominations: leading them was a wreck wearing tatters and wielding a massive bone as a club, he rode a giant bat that was nothing but skin and bones and screeched in a deafening pitch. Flanking on the right of that pair were half a dozen giant bats, albeit smaller and looking to be better fed, with more fur and less gangly looking. More giant bats appeared behind the six-vanguard, but these were albinos with no hair at all, bony sacks in poor shape that looked vaguely humanoid. The left flank was led by two hundred hulking monstrosities; humans in a broken shape, hunched and with many bones stitched over their back's skin. They were masses of muscle that bellowed incoherently.


And behind all that marched onwards a horde of malnourished ghouls.


Chances were they wouldn't go and help Shalltear. Nope, they were smashing her forces. The biggest bat around had just swallowed one of her handmaidens and the rest were trading blows with her zombies and skeletons, shattering bones and gnawing flesh.


Oh, c'mon! Couldn't they just die without too much of a fuss?


Arkhan's sword almost got her this time, she barely dodged it. Jumping backwards in order to fend off the attack from the mount's claws and get room to maneuver, she felt something weird.


Looking downwards she saw a black circle surrounding her, almost as if it was a shadow in itself. From it black tentacles emerged and coiled into a tight grip on her legs. She tried to move but her efforts were counterproductive. Now that she positioned herself, she realized that this was the last place Arkhan had stopped to chant. Oh crap.


Arkhan pointed her staff at her and made an incantation that concluded with a ray of purple energy directed at her. Bracing for impact she dropped her lance, took her shield with both hands and covered herself as well as she could.


============

The single horserider went and dismounted close to the abandoned temple. The graveyard's abandoned tombstones shone slightly under the dim light of the crescent moon.


Of course Clementine didn't stop to look around the scenery. Why should she bother with such trivialities?


Knocking at the door and saying the password she entered the abandoned temple to meet the rest of the members of Zuranon in that area. Khajit welcomed her, eager to know whether or not she got her hands on her objective.


"Who do you think I am?" She scoffed at the elder necromancer as she took out the book they had been searching for, one of the requisites for the upcoming ritual. "Of course I hav-"

"AH!AH!AHHGH! STOP THE VOICES, STOP THE VOICES!!" Bellowed one of the acolytes as he began rolling on the floor, writhing in pain. "STOP THEM! THEY BURN! THEY B-AAAAAAAAGH!"


And with that three tendrils of flesh and bone emerged from his stomach, a fourth and fifth one from the eye sockets. A second and third head grew from his chest and neck and two extra sets of limbs popped up at odd places, alongside five mouths and nine eyes. All accompanied by a melody of bones cracking and flesh being torn apart, of muscles turning upside down and outwards. Of screams of pain almost drowning the screams of terror and horror*.


The writhing mass of gory flesh and unnatural limbs yelled in pain as Clementine hacked it into many bits. More than was strictly necessary. She swung her arms, cleaving the flesh and snapped bones as she grunted and cursed.


The end result was a mess, simply put. A horror that would haunt the dreams of many.


"What was that?" Asked Clementine, her eyes wide open and breathing heavily from the surprise, her voice filled with horror. "Khajit, what the hell have you been doing?"


Before he had a chance to respond a knock was heard and everyone turned their heads towards the door.


"Hello?" Asked someone in a very high pitched voice. "Is somebody heeere!?"

At that moment, massive clang noises were heard as someone tried to ram down the door.


"Come on come on! We are going to eenteeer!" The voice giggled and during that giggle the pitch changed thrice.


BAM! The door went down in a flight of wood chips, leading path to a pair of armored giants, wearing thick and massive plate armor filled with spikes and marred with eight pointed stars, of strange symbols with a clearly sexual connotation, and skulls.


The third giant warrior to enter wore only arms and leggings for armour, showing a massive and chiseled chest of pale white skin, completely filled with scars and a small mouth filled with teeth on the left side. His mouth didn't have lips, instead fully showing his teeth in a permanent and vicious grin. His purple eyes didn't have eyelids and there seemed something was grafted in his bald head.

On each arm he had what seemed a demon wearing a thong. The left one had two horns and was largely human, if not for the fact that his arms were crab claws and had six boobs exposed to the air, their nipples connected by a chain and six piercings acting as links. The other one had half his face almost eaten by a horn, had a single boob on the left pectoral covered in a tight corset and… seemed to have some bulge down there.


"We are going to have a nice time, aren't we my boytoys!?" Said triumphantly that monster as he snickered maliciously and the rest followed suit.


Clementine tried to fight but she felt something compelled her too. All around her she saw Khajit and his acolytes get naked and on their knees, begging for pleasure. Something was addling her mind and she couldn't act. Her memory faded away as the apparent leader approached.



*Back during the beginnings of this setting, there was a massive and giant Salamander named Vulcatrix. She was such a dangerous being that Sigmar asked Grimnir, the slayer god and the Incarnate of Fire, to battle her. In an awesome and over the top battle, they scored a mutual kill. Vulcatrix's shards went and became the many volcanoes of Aqshy, the aptly named realm of fire, while the remnants of Grimnir became the Ur-Gold. The fyreslayers are obsessed with the stuff because they think that once all the bits (or a sufficient volume) are gathered Grimnir will come back and lead them towards glorious and gory battles over honor and endless grudges (because they are dwarves, they gotta hold grudges).

* To those who don't know, that's how a chaos spawn, a being touched by the power of the dark gods and who's found wanting of their blessing. Suffice to say nothing of the former being remains from that process and it's considered a horrible fate even by chaos followers.

 

[S_K]

Oh good, chaos is in full effect.
...
Wait, what's going to happen if Ainz/Momonga casts "Ia Shub Niggurath"?
Does he summon chaos demons? Does he summon his own chaos demons?

 

[LordKragan]

To repeat myself in Space battles: no, he summons dark young. Ranked magic is a total different method in comparison to the AoS/Wild magic. Still one could make a point in case that the dark young are Ainz's daemons,a greater ones at that.

 

[Tentaclecat]

Huh, a fanfic that doesn't really make it one-sided (because it makes it look like Arkhan is winning and about to kill off Shalltear) is very rare and interesting.

I have no knowledge of SIgmar but I'll go gather up as much info as I can about it.

 

[LordKragan]

Draft of third chapter. By and large it's done, only a bit of editing and revisions by the beta are needed. Being as impatient as I am, though, I'm posting it now and will tomorrow (saturday) post the corrected version (though I don't think there will a lot to correct, so this isn't too much)


Don't know why but I thought she used a shield in battle. Turns out she doesn't she only uses her lance. Well, she now has a lance AND shield.


Chapter 3. Deathrattle.



======


A pillar smoke rose towards the pitch black sky. The Bindings of Hekaph, an old spell of Nekhekara used to hold tight prisoners as they met their impending doom, had left anchored in the perfect killspot. His offensive spell, the spear of Shyish, would have done short work of her.


On second thought.


Arkhan's staff glowed again as he prepared his spell. The purple beam erupted violently from the Staff of Spirits, a heirloom granted by his lord Nagash. The ray went straight ahead towards the pillar of smoke. Arkhan half expected it to pass through. Of course, it was half stupid to think so, thus why he was preparing a defensive spell.


Arkhan heard a faint "force barrier!" from inside the pillar of smoke.


The ray exploded in the midst of the cloud. Of course she was al-


A red blur barely registered Arkhan's vision. Before he could fully understand it, he was pinned on the ground, a silver shield blurring onwards and backwards, hitting Arkhan repeatedly. Shalltear rode atop him, her helmet gone and left a face that had a rather nasty wound on the head that bleed down onto her left eye. Many bruises marred her face, which was contorted into a mask of rage and fury, eyes bloodshot, as she shrieked in rage. She said "BANISHMENT!" twice but Arkhan only felt tickles, for some odd reason.


CLANG! CLANG!

Bones and plate started to crack a bit as the sheer brute force mauled Arkhan. He was unable to meet and beat such physical approach. He'd be feeling intense pain if he wasn't dead all along, he supposed. He was going to die, wasn't he?


Then Razarak roared as he lurched towards the vampire. With a guttural bellow and a swift turn of her torso, Shalltear bashed Razarak and sent the beast sideways into the thick of the battlefield, throwing off and crushing scores of skelletons and zombies.


In this fraction of a second, Arkhan casted a repel spell and sent Shalltear into the air. Wasting no time Arkhan casted another spell, this time half a dozen projectiles of green light that went on in their hunt for the vampire, tracking the best paths. Five hit and the sixth richocheted into the shield. She landed forcefully and rolled thrice, not too far away from where she had dropped her lance. Damnation.


He, again, went on to cast another Binding of Hekaph. As he prepared himself, Shalltear.. Threw her shield. That had been an odd movement and left Arkhan stranged.


Only after she casted as spell that accelerated greatly its speed Arkhan noticed what she wanted to do.


He jumped to avoid the razor-like spin of the shield but one of his legs didn't quite make it, sawed in half from almost beneath the left knee alongside the purple plate. Arkhan fell face first into the floor. Quickly and trying to not waste time, he tried to get on his feet, managing only to adopt a kneeling position.


Shalltear had her lance and lurched onwards only to disappear afterwards. Arkhan was.old enough to figure out invisibility tricks. Instead of panicking, he made himself levitate, rising fast like a rocket into the pitch black sky. He stood silent and still for a second and then turned quickly to avoid the shockwave incoming from the eight o'clock, thirty degrees of inclination downwards.


He went down at full speed, making his staff disappear and grasping his swords with both hands, he turned directions and altered his course twice. The clever minx was trying to flank him.


At the very last moment he saw Shalltear materialize, her lips closed tightly and her brows furrowed while her only working eye tried to mark well the target. The tip of the lance shone brightly.


They clashed violently.


Shalltear's spear blasted away his right arm, as well as that side of his torso and a chunk of his skull. Lilac and bone disintegrated from the massive blast.


Arkhan's Tomb Blade slit into her throat, going from one side to the other. Blood came out messily and splurted like a fountain.

The fall was brutal and the crack in their cuirasses was painfully audible. Arkhan felt his remaining leg shatter and a few ribs crack. Right now he felt off balance with a side of him missing but still managed to finish the job. With a clean swipe to both sides, Shalltear's head went off in a decapitation strike. Her body vanished into a thin mist. Most strange indeed.


But before Arkhan finished his pondering, he was sent into the ground again by a potent shockwave. Something rather unexpected.


The Mortarch turned over himself to see what was going on, only to have a boot shoved into his chest, fully shattering the damage sternum and heart of the breastplate.


Shalltear Bloodfallen, with a few bruises and a nasty wound on her head that rained blood over her eye, stood in front of him. She had damages but nothing too serious. She was in her state prior to this second round. And she was smiling as inhumanely smug as possible.


===================================

Ephut Enephta, member of the morghast archai, had a dim notion of his existence. He couldn't be called the proud warrior he once was, since he had no recollection nor enough emotion and personality to lay such a claim,


Still he could tell when the odds became more dire. Legions of zombies and skeletons rose to their aid but they were quickly destroyed by the newcomers, skeletons clad in very ornate gear and weaponry. They were accompanied by savage dogs and they were lead by their own versions of liches, with vampires acting as a shock force.


How many they were? A thousand? Two thousand? Too many perhaps. Not his prerogative: he could tell the odds but couldn't determinate under which ones he'd fight. He couldn't decide when it was too much, when it was enough. That was a freedom he hadn't had for too long now.


The Morghasts took to the sky and performed dive attacks on the enemy ranks, so to snipe away the enemy commanders. In so far, there hadn't been any major incidences, only two of the morghasts dying. Meanwhile the blood knights had formed a schiltrom and held their position on the right flank tightly while the Flesh Eater Cour rampaged.


The skeletons in gaudy apparel charged. If he paid enough attention he could see which ones would explode or not. One would.


He stepped onward with great speed, anticipating the opponent's movements. Swinging his scythe, he hit that one in such a way he'd be caught by the scythe but not be beheaded. With a mighty pull he sent the enemy flying into the heart of the enemy ranks. Exploding and causing a chain reaction in the process. The opponent skeletons swung their blades and spears at Ephut, bouncing effortlessly against the magic plate. A second and third swing chopped down a dozen more of them.


Then disaster started to pile in.

A vampire from the opposing side leapt onwards against Ephut. He was occupied killing the last of the score of armored skeletons so the enemy's blade struck without opposition. The still carved its way and sawed off the bone of the right hand. He still had his left hand and thus swung the scythe about as well as he could.
The opponent stepped backwards just in time to avoid being cut in half but got a light cut from beginning to end of his upper chest. The second he took from the reeling of pain proved to be a fatal one, as Ephut lucked a second swing that split the vampire in half and a shower of blood. It had also been a second another vampire had taken opportunity off to finish off his remaining arm. He had been, though, careless: Ephut still had his teeth. Craning downwards his head, Ephut's maw clobbered the unprepared vampire's neck, ending in bloody irony.

Jerking violently his torso, Ephut threw the dead body into a third vampire and caught in mid flight the poor sod. Rising above the battlefield, where the forces of Nagash were starting to buckle up. Then he went downwards and ran into the ground very fast the vampire until the skin started to peel off and blood painted generously the ground.


Not wanting to stop, Amon took to the sky for a last run. Three skeletal vuturles tried to fight him, only to be swept aside by his mighty wings slamming agaisnt them.


He saw, or at least he thought he had, his ideal target and went on for a last attack. The prey seemed to have noticed him. How so? Simple.


A blast intercepted him in mid flight and Ephut was no more.


===================================


Razarak was sent flying by the strong vampire, and crashed against the horde of zombies and skeletons. Turning over himself quickly he turned his head around to scan the battlefield. A series of explosions brought his attention and saw vampires and undead that didn't boast the livery of Nagash's armies. He felt great power in their ranks, particularly a lich wearing a pair of horns on his head, clad in rags.

That meant they were a potential threat to their master. Which turn implied they needed to be eliminated.
His master was occupied fighting the enemy commander. Which in turn implied he was in no condition to fend off the attackers.


Which meant it befell to Razarak to protect his master. That, then, implied he needed to attack and act immediately.


So be it.

With a roar, he rose to the sky and prepared for a dive attack. The skulls that filled his innards tremored as vengeful spirits started to lurk, ready to attack. He'd protect his master and anyone who attacked him would meet a most dire fate.


===================================

Zibubael, a level seventy lich, had lead the counterattack of the first wave. Over fifteen hundred warders, four hundred undead knights, and three hundred more NPCs of level forty and above were the first to attack. More soon would follow, but he hoped his soldiers would be enough to finish the job.


Casting an explosive spell, he obliterated one of the avian warriors with ease. So much a fuss for this? He was almost disappointed.

Almost because a giant skeletal beast dove from the sky and killed three of his level fifty vampires: one was bitten off to death, the second was crushed by its sheer weight, the third was cut in half by the beast's massive tail.


Zibubael began casting a defensive spell and formed a magic barrier around him, brute force most likely wouldn't shatter.

"Not so strong now, huh?"


As if the beast had understood Zibubael, its spectral skulls shone more brightly until turquoise tendrils emerged. They took the form of sharp daggers and started to float and fan about. All were pointing at him.


Zibubael decided to cast an enhancer for the barrier, while he prepared his offensive sp-


The daggers flew straight ahead, bypassing the barrier, bypassing and ignoring his cloak, bypassing his flesh and bone. Instead they pierced straight ahead his very soul.


For the very first time in his unlife, he felt cold. Zibubael went to his knees, taken aback by the sheer surprise and impact. He was barely able to defend himself from the gaping maw that severed and crushed his skull and upper thoracic box. Heh, perhaps they wouldn't be so disappointing.

===================================



"Surprised aren't we?" Asked Shalltear Bloodfallen as she gleamed with pride beneatht he blood and grim. A part of her wanted to be let loose and burn everything, to slaughter, rape and butcher. Still she hadn't had that much blood yet as to be out of her mind.


His status served Arkhan right. To think he could make the Supreme Being bend the knee, the gall!!


Shalltear's smile widened as she thought about the rightful punishment, about how he'd be now crying for mercy and be broken down!


"So you made a duplicate of yourself that perfectly mirrored your capabilities, gear and status," said Arkhan, in a more matter-of-factly tone rather than a question tone. "Marvelous... it was a marvelous spell, I daresay! Once we reach more… agreeable climate between our polities I'd be most... interested to be enlightened by such... knowledge." His voice was quickly getting more ragged, apparently his life force was abandoning him and thus he was about to die.

Shalltear winced slightly, her eye widening a bit in surprise. Did this guy knew he had lost and was going to die? Was he so full of himself he didn't understand the impending doom.
Still, we not play around with him? He was going to be a cold corpse soon, better entertain his ideas. The battle still raged on, but both sides ignored their leaders and soon enough the full might of her floors would be brought to bear against them. Reinforcements already made it, from the sudden sounds of explosions.


"Einheriar is a special skill from my valkyrie job-class that allows me to duplicate myself in mirroring perfectly my gear, condition and stats. It's a perfect copy and, since I am one of the mightiest fighters of Nazarick (if not THE mightiest)


"Huh... huh," said Arkhan as he scratched his broken prostetic goatee with his only hand. "To be honest... it sounded like cathaian*... gibberish to me. But well... now that you've satisfied my knowledge about that... "trump card" of yours I'll tell you mine... you see, when I died… the first time that...is, I cursed that anyone that would touch my bones would...die horribly… this was of course a ruse... so they'd leave me in peace and don't scatter... my parts across the dunes of my homeland. But, you see…"


With a snap his arm parted ways from the rest of the broken body, lurching ahead into a grapple on her throat. She felt her force abandon her, he tried to free herself but the ironhard grip was too much for weakening strength. She clawed to no avail and stared helplessly the lich who stood silent in front of her.
"There's a bit of truth into it... only the other way around... if you excuse my rudeness and treachery...this has been a great fight… I'm sorry we've...met under this circumstances and… me being so heavy handed…. Plus using the curse… of years upon you..." As her sight started to fade away, she saw him shrugg and utter a few last words. "Duty can't excuse this bluntness… don't worry, I'll… make sure Nagash is mercyful."


Shalltear tried to scream a last time but couldn't as her skin, now like a crone, turned into fine dust. First the hands, then the face.


Then... darkness.


==================================

"Kyaaa!"


Ainz jerked his head only to see Ninya, horrified by the sight of the undead that had masqueraded as an adventurer. He'd been caught right when he was receiving very important-and dire- news regarding the status of Nazarick. He felt his skull hurt from the great incoming head-ache and thus had decided to massage it,removing his helmet, when the female adventurer arrived.


Oh crud. Was Ainz's first reaction.


"Ninya, I can.. I can explain it!" Said Ainz frantically.


Ninya tried to run away but fell to the ground. The she turned and tried to run away while running almost like a crab, backwards.


"What happened Ninya!" Asked Peter Monk as he ran towards their position, only to shout in horror too when he saw Ainz.

Rolling his eyes, and not wanting to repeat the scene two more times, he shouted at the incoming adventurers Lukeluther and Dyne.


"Yes I'm a damn lich, I'm an undead!" Belowed Ainz, "Look, I could stay here two whole days explaining you the ins and out about why I'm here but there's a very pressing matter I need to attend."

Narberal Gamma, ready to kill the adventurers upon seeing what was going on, halted and stared estranged her lord. He was usually a cautious and careful man, what could have made such a man lose his cool.


Upon hearing it, he was astounded at such event, unable to give credit to those news. How could that have happened.



===================================

Arkhan's trump card is the curse of years, a curse that makes time pass and makes people age unnaturally (so there's no immortality shenannigans to bypass it) the enemy until only dust remains.


*Cathay was the China equivalent of Fantasy, a very original country ruled by a dragon emperor and defended from hordes of nomad horse-riding barbarians by a great defensive system called the Great Bastion. Rings any bells? Don't worry, there's Nippon, guess which country is based upon and how original it is?

 

[LordKragan]

Chapter 4. Stormbringer.


Feeling weak to such a degree was a first to Arkhan. He felt his bones were broken in virtually all places, only holding up thanks to the magic and will of his overlord Nagash. He tried to call Razarak but he didn't respond.
Cursing behind his black teeth, Arkhan made his sword disappear and materialized his staff, so he could have some support when he rose up.
It took almost all his willpower and sorcery to rise. Calling a second time for Razarak, his steed responded.

Flying towards him, Arkhan saw the beast was battered: half his ribcage was gone, his skull had multiple cracks, a leg was missing as well as a chunk of the tail and teeth. He flew well but he walked limp. Apparently the windows matched the curtains.

With a supreme effort he levitated himself to ride Razarak and his trusty friend flew towards the battlefront.

It wasn't going well at all. The zombies could only do so much, dying faster than they emerged, and the ghouls' casualties started to pile up. On his ascension, a Varghulf fell as a dozen skeletal vultures devoured the mutated vampire. When he considered they had reached the optimal height, Arkhan saw clearly how badly things had gone.

The lines of ghouls were being overwhelmed and shattered. Blasts peppered the battlefield all over the place, each taking a handful of souls with them.

Right now they were divided into four forces: one was a schiltron consisting of Harkon, the remaining blood knights and the morghasts, and both groups couldn't have more than half their original numbers; another lead by Dharban and consisting of a couple dozen ghouls, crypt horrors and flayers and a varghulf. The other two groups were pockets consisting of a Varghulf and a handful of flesheaters.

A sudden blast of green energy lit the battlefield into an emerald holocaust, a spire of smoke that brought an aroma of charred flesh and metal.

Make it three pockets of resistance.

Gathering all his strength, Arkhan raised his staff and directed a purple sun of Xereus onto the enemy lines. The purple sphere dawned diagonally, straight at the enemy's heart. The tendrils of energy, viciously flaying around, ripped through the enemy ranks, accompanied by screeching screams of pain and agony drowning the crackles of energy and explosions that flew around the battlefield. An avenue paved in bones and ravaged flesh was in the making.

Arkhan felt his mind start to fade away. Not yet.

Well, yes, now. Again, something that barely registered in his brain came into his field of vision. A meteoric black blur. He didn't see anything afterwards, barring three violent blasts from which columns of fire and death rose that put to shame the original one.

Make it zero pockets of resistance. Was his last thought.

================

When Arkhan's consciousness came back he noticed there was only his skull, still cracked on one side. The Mortarch was resting on a crimson cushion (very comfy, by the way) and was in a poorly lit room, with only a small handful of candles to serve as lighting.

Then came into Arkhan's field of vision an imposing being. Towering at… what, two meters something closing in to three? The lich was clad in exquiste purple and gold cloth with multiple talismans of quite notable powers

This being, Arkhan quickly evaluated, could be an enemy beyond his capabilities. Even at his prime. So better attempt the weasel maneuver… well, if the lich was here to talk. He half-hoped it was the case. If not, well, Nagash would get his loincloths in a twist and do something very irrational.

"I think we've yet to make acquaintances of each other," began Arkhan.

The giant lich grunted and grabbed the base of the shattered skull with his palm, rising Arkhan to meet face to face with his captor. He certainly looked like a lovable chap.

"Who sent you?" Commanded in a thinly veiled angered tone.

"I guess we can forget about curtseys then," Arkhan sighed and grunted as the bone clutch tightened and almost menaced with breaking his skull apart, its owner's eyes glowering with fury. No use in trying to fool him. "My name is Arkhan and I was sent by my lord Nagash to investigate the source of a strange energy. Your domain, to be precise."

"Look, I'm pretty sure you're not going to believe me, but I have nothing specific against you and your people. I just came here to parley and your underling was the one that began the fight."

The clutch weakened its stranglehold, the lich's eyes calmed down a tiny bit.

"What was your subject of parley?"

"Truth be told? Your people's surrender into serfdom to my lord," Arkhan made a light chuckle. "He isn't exactly a prime diplomat, if you may excuse that flaw of his."

His captor stood silent for a couple seconds, an awkward tension gathering up.
"You attacked my home, you wounded and killed my people, demanding our enslavement," He was getting… a tad angry. "What do you think that lord of yours has to offer me as to think he can make up for THAT? Start speaking about your offers. You have a minute before you learn the meaning of the words fate worse than death."

=================

(Two days after the failed offensive)

Arkhan hadn't made it back after a week. For a second, Nagash was worried that his trusted advisor was dead. Then he saw the stream of incoming souls speaking of a gargantuan undead fortress where they had fought and lost due to overwhelming numbers. They spoke about a mighty lich that had claimed the skull of Arkhan before obliterating the remnants of the army.

This made Nagash seethe in anger. His non-existent blood boiled with rage.

An undead dared to defy HIM and harm HIS subjects!?
This rebellion couldn't be left without punishment!

Now, the enemy had bested Arkhan and a host of fine soldiers and ghouls. And by all accounts they seemed to have barely scratched the surface of that powder keg. He'd need Krell, a mighty warrior to drive the blade deep beneath the fools' domains. But even with his magical might and Krell's strength, Nagash had no doubt this would be a bloody campaign, with atrocious casualties. Many would probably not come back.

Wait.

Atrocious casualties? Not coming back?

"MANNFREEEED!"
=================
(Three days after the failed offensive)


Mannfred von Carstein, Mortarch of Night was a muscular fellow. Cleanshaven and with brilliantined hair, fair (read: pale as snow) skin and red eyes, with ears similar to a bat's and a rather big nose. He wore his favourite black cloak and battlesuit, a work of art and sorcery that would withstand attacks better than most plates, though he'd be wearing the Armour of Templehof when the fighting began. He carried his sword Gheistvor and his staff. Quite enough for what was essentially a glorified parade, as Nagash prepared the Undead to march.


Mannfred von Carstein today chose to ride on an abyssal steed. The skeletal horse huffed as he grabbed the reigns tightly and made him speed up. Smiling smugly, Mannfred approached his squire/thrall, Felix. The young boy was a bit pudgy, with eyebags around his pupils and black hair, pale white skin and deep blue eyes. He wielded a two handed sword and wore full plate armour and had given his abyssal steed barding.

"What a magnificent day, don't you think?" Said Mannfred as he ignored his servant's dismissive grunt. "The sky is bleak and the souls of people fall from the sky as they scream in terror. Today is a GLORIOUS DAY!"

Nagash had given Mannfred the great privilege of leading the vanguard of the punishment expedition. What was more important was leading the vanguard: the four thousand blood knights he led. They were all soldiers removed from Neferata, Mortarch of Blood, and one of Mannfred's foremost political opponents. She surely was very upset about losing troops. And if things went south, Mannfred could run away, sure the line would hold very well. After all, the Executioner Regiment was covering the second line!

"Mark my words, today we unleash the Kraken!" Bellowed Mannfred.

As if taking a cue, Felix dismounted and grabbed a small coffee colored chihuahua. The dog barked and trembled violently. Felix took out the leash and gave it to Mannfred, who proceeded to profusely pet the dog.

"Who's my cutey-lil-cutey Kraken? Yes you are! Yes you are!"

Felix sighed and rolled his eyes. Mannfred turned and glowered at him. The younger vampire went stiff as his master's spells clasped his very soul for a second in a deathly grip. Mannfred released him, sure that the warning had been clearly sent.

"C'mon cheer up, you spoilsport! What could possibly go wrong?"

Mannfred went on to spoil Kraken, he was so engrossed in the vital activity he didn't hear Felix say: I dunno, everything?
=================
(Five days after the failed offensive)

Shalltear still hadn't been recovered, Ainz awaited to see whether or not this "Nagash" delivered or not.

Truth be told? He was scared out of his brain. This place was dangerous, even to the people of the Tomb.

Would he be able to protect what he and his friends had built with so much effort? An air of uncertainty had started to surround the answer.

He was trembling now, just a bit, a slight shiver that ran down his spine.

According to Arkhan, Nagash was an imposing lich, having morphed his body into a gargantuan monster. The lich had told Ainz that his master was very fond of fanfare and making shows of strength. If he didn't want his rhythm to be brought down, he needed to make a show of strength.

Thus he had gathered all his floor guardians, and brought almost a thousand of the strongest NPCs Nazarick had. An army that would dwarf most if he was asked to. Now, was it enough to make Ainz feel secure of his chances? Hell, no!

But he understood what the prisoner said: Nagash wouldn't stop at all, and would spend as much as he could in trying to break Nazarick down. A massive waste of time, effort and resources for both sides. Best solution was to defuse the bomb before it made a mess, concluded Ainz.

Still, he could bring Shalltear back. And for free. The New World's gold didn't serve for resurrections, he needed to use the vaults of Nazarick. If possible he'd like to spend it as little as possible, so it would last longer. He'd hate the living guts of those people but there was no need to throw oneself into such a massacre without having the right amount of information. For now he needed to probe and ensure the safety of Nazarick. Turtling up would keep them safe for only so long. Their gold would eventually run out after countless waves and then the Tomb would fall. He wouldn't allow it.

"Are you sure of this?" Ainz asked Arkhan. "Do you really think he'll uphold such a deal?"

The lich's skeleton had regenerated, and so had his armour. Bizarre but practical, concluded Ainz. He tried to pay as little attention as possible about the floor guardians staring daggers at him.

"If need be, I'll try to convince him myself, this-"
"Yes, I heard that part already: this was an unnecessary waste born of my (your) lack of tact."

And at that moment. A chain of lightnings came from the door, blinding everyone. When Ainz could see again, he was rather surprised.

Instead of seeing the pale and dour skeletal and undead warriors Arkhan had spoken off, instead he saw a host of red and golden warriors wearing great armours, massive shields and oversized hammers. Some brought that to the extreme with hammers almost as big as them, and four bladed axes. A couple dozen were flying with pure white wings that shone like stars, something rather prevalent in their iconography: everyone had quite a few twintailed comets.

What caught most of his attention were the two massive dragons, four horns of alabaster crowned their imposing heads of azure scales. One of them opened its wings a bit and they showed a full constellation shining and moving in the membranes. At the top of each was another of those golden warriors.

Lastly a host of dwarves appeared… a host of dwarven strippers? Seriously what was wrong with them!? Two thousand of them and none wore more clothing than a thong or a belt made out of golden plates with ornate carvings… Oh, and the golden helms that were almost as big as their height. Suffice to say, to see a thousand naked, burly, red(literally red) haired dwarves in quite revealing outfits and with a bunch of strange tattoos sent mixed messages to the lich.

"You told me your master was fond of making a spectacle, but not THAT much."

"That's not my master, sir."

Before Ainz could ask for a further elaboration, the lead blue dragon approached. Riding it was another of the fully armoured warriors in glittering gold and crimson red armour, the latter dominating the paint scheme. The pauldrons and the stomach plates were roaring lions, and the helm emulated the mane of such beasts. It wore a red cape and wielded a hammer and shield.

His floor guardians readied for the attack, but Ainz spread his arms in a gesture of halt and they kept a guarded, but not aggressive, stance.

Surprisingly for such a bulky warrior, whom Ainz thought a man, the voice was that of a woman, silky and almost like a birdsong.

"Greetings in the name of Sigmar Unberogen, mighty God-King, we bring offers of peace and friendship."




Aaaah, Mannfred, Mannfred. The very reason this fic (and AoS) exists. Guy's original character is dead, and unlike the good bat-boy, it seems it won't go back. Back during the end times the guy was a backstabbing and bitchy coward that made a lot of dumb decisions. AoS, of course, has done a lot to cement that position too, to the point where many refer to him as Mannlet von Carstein. Which is why I have fun writing him as the dumbass he's turned into.
Yeah, Fyreslayers are dwarves that go around almost naked, they are basically an army of Fantasy's slayers: dorfs who went around killing everything ion sight while going half naked through life and towards an early grave.

 

[Vaalintine]

I never liked how Von Carstien went pants-on-head retarded, they originally came across as less Stupid Evil than the majority of vampires.

I certainly hope Sigmar looks past the "undead" part, because having someone who can fill Nagash's shoes without a massive stick up their bum would be a major boon.

 

[LordKragan]

I never liked how Von Carstien went pants-on-head retarded, they originally came across as less Stupid Evil than the majority of vampires.

I certainly hope Sigmar looks past the "undead" part, because having someone who can fill Nagash's shoes without a massive stick up their bum would be a major boon.

Click to shrink...

I for one found it slightly hilarious. Then again I was never a VC player so I never got invested in him. Sorry if that's the case, character assassination of a beloved individual isn't nice.
Yeah he won't have too much beef with it. Heck, relictors are undead and form part of his stomcasts. As for the demons, as long as they swear they aren't turning to chaos he's fine and dandy. He has demons after all too.

 

[LordKragan]

Chapter 5. Balance of power.


Ashigaroth, like Razarak, had once been a beast at the service of the Nekhekaran gods. Unlike his kin, though, his bones were obsidian, his skull a giant bat's, his breastplate crimson and gold, the spectral skulls filling his innards orange. Atop this wicked beast, Mannfred, now clad in the black Armor of Templehoff and wearing a burgundy cape, stared at his forces from the sky.


The vanguard of Nagash's army had at its core three thousand blood knights clad in crimson armor and riding brutal steeds, shining like a great bloodstain on the move. The elite of Nefferata's courtiers marched escorted by close to seven thousand skeleton knights, nine thousand grave-guards, all while being supported by almost a hundred thousand rabble of zombies and skeletons. Across the sky flew two hundred morghasts and a hundred dragons and terror gheists, massive dragon-like zombie bats. About half of them were ridden by vampire lords, masters of the blade, lance, magic and slaughter.


The right wing was under the ghoul king Vlagorescu, and consisted of ghouls, horrors and flayers. The left wing, under Krell's command, was mainly grave guards supported by a horde of skeletons, but had almost twice as many zombie dragons and terror gheists. Both those wings, if combined, more or less equaled the vanguard.


Still everything paled with the gargantuan number of close to three hundred thousand (not counting hexwraiths and other spectres) troops of the core block. Almost two thousand necromancers rode on massive corpse carts, close by were the four hundred mortis engines, ominous looking thrones dedicated to sorcery and enshrined with the hallowed remnants of necromancers.


All this was spearheaded by six hundred morghasts under Nagash's command, as well as six of the Nineteen Black Abbots, the high priests of Nagash's mortuary cult, plus the prissy-sissy Obsidian Pontifex, the head honcho of said cult. Oh, and almost half a thousand dragons and terror gheists (with a solid chunk being mounted by either vampire or ghoul lords), escorted by hundreds of varghulfs, filled the sky above that group


The earth trembled as the endless tide of bone, steel and arcane might marched at the rhythm of a million wails from the wandering souls, the countless shrieks from fell beasts, and the thunder of thousands of massive wings cutting through the sky.


This force was massive, more than a quarter of what they had gathered in Nova-Nagashizzar for the upcoming counter-invasion. Whatever foes they'd be facing had better bring in a whole bottle of lube because they would otherwise have their asses reamed dry and hard.


Felix, riding his terror gheist, approached Mannfred and started to shout:


"SIRE! SOMETHING APPROACHES!"


Of course, the wind and the speed they were going made Mannfred unable to hear him.


"SOMETHING APPROACHES!"

Nada, he didn't understand him. Mannfred began the question again but was cut short as he pointed frantically and started cursing.


Turning his head downwards, and ignoring the "you fucking idiot" and "bloody moron" and "fucking deaf old goat" his aide was spouting, he saw a couple of Stormcasts riding dracoths, drakes with fancy ass names and scales.


Oh my, now this was going to turn out to be interesting.


============

The army had halted, forming a camp around an immense tent of deep purple and gold. Inside it where the many officers of Nagash's army. Dozens of vampires and liches, a few ghouls and wraiths, flankingtheir colossal liege lord. All surrounding and glaring murderously at the stormcasts clad in crimson and gold armor, their emotionless masks impervious to the staring eyes.


"We bring a message from the Tomb of Nazarick and it's denizens, requesting a parley and peace negotiations."


Murmurs of outrage spread like a wild fire across the room. Who did they think they were? Nagash was angered, as the host of raging spirits that was forming around him indicating.


If the stormcast were daunted, they sure as hell did their best to not show it (possibly because the masks helped in that matter). They simply limited themselves to hand the scroll to the closest Black Abbot, donning a ceremonial tunic in black colors with a hat not too dissimilar of Arkhan's, albeit smaller in size.


"It's in lord Arkhan's handwriting," announced the mildly surprised lich.


"How do you know it's his?" Asked a suspicious vampire.


"Because just at a glance I can feel the violent urge to rip my eyes from their sockets, even though I have no eyes,"deadpanned the Abbot. "Yikes, talk about bad calligraphy."


"Oh c'mon! It can't be THAT bad!" Said Felix as he took the paper and began reading it. "It's actually a rather nice letter."


"Almost as if the pot called the kettle black," murmured a bemused Mannfred as he began petting Kraken behind the dog's ears.


"Blah blah blah, very nice people, blabber blabber," Said Felix as he skimmed through the letter. "Assholes are tough nut to crack, excuses excuses, nothing of note, miscellaneous reasons about coming to negotiate: powerful warriors, wealthy and well defended stronghold, potential war assets of great value and…" He stopped dead on his tracks, rising his head as the eyes were open like plates, the mouth forming a perfect O and the brow risen in incredulity.


"And what? Don't leave us in suspense child," said the same Black Abbot as he retook the paper. "And a new… is that the word system? A new…" he now rose too, though he wasn't so expressive in his flabbergasting, trade-off of being virtually a skeleton. "Magic system. A new magic system the… likes of which we haven't seen."


Everyone went agape. Mouths fell wide open en mass, eyes bulged almost in unison, and silence took supreme control of the room. That is until Felix broke it.


It was a rather bizarre sound, which could only be described as something halfway through a hysterical giggle and a full blown orgasm. He grabbed Mannfred by the arm and started shaking the Mortarch, who was starting to laugh maniacally.


At that point everyone threw a chimp-out out of sheer excitement. What once had been a room full of murderous bloodthisty zealots now was more akin to a schoolyard full of children where someone had gone by to offer legit free candy. Everyone went ecstatic as every single of them were avid necromancers eager to discover new secrets of the arcane.


Everyone barring Nagash, suffice to say. He at least kept that excitement under control.


"ORDER!" Boomed his voice in a deafening blast that drove the excited sorcerers into utter silence, again. "You're my servants! Not some damsels in mating season that have received the attention of the joust's winner. But seeing my loyal servant Arkhan believes there will be something to gain from this charade, I think we can go and meet this new mag-" began Nagash but almost automatically corrected himself. "Rebels. These rebels and see what they are hiding, "in their libraries, were the unspoken, but universally heard, words.


"Huzzah!" Was the almost unanimous and synchronized response.


Parlays were so beautiful, weren't they?


=============================================


The two stormcasts returned quickly with affirmative news. There would be parley between him and Nagash. Deep inside, Satoru Suzuki allowed himself a sigh of relief. Things wouldn't turn into a bloody bath, apparently.


"Now, he'll make a spectacle, that's for sure," said Arkhan, matter of factly.


He kept saying it, and it greatly worried Satoru. Just what was this people's definition of "spectacle"?


"As if anything your master could do w-" Began a scoffing Albedo before her voice was drowned.

Through the door came a bang of blinding light, followed by the cacophony of ten thousand trumpets and other metal instruments forming a deafening symphony that caught everyone unaware, minus Arkhan, he had been warning about it for a while now, for a reason- and surprised them. The tone was something oppressive, a song to make people shrivel in shock and awe. And it was doing a fine damned job on Satoru, the mind of whom was now two sides debating:


Just keep calm, everything is going to be fine.


Will it?


Of course it's just… a god of death. I will be fine, okay?


Now the music became more strident as a legion of armored skeletons, not too different from the undead warders, strode through the gate in perfect unison. Now a faceless chorus accompanied and went toe to toe with the music, singing praise to the lord Nagash as hundreds of fireworks started to litter the sky through the door. One went straight to the top, reaching heights the others couldn't hope to.


And then, at it's apex, came a gargantuan explosion. Violent and deafening, the purple blast almost blinded Satoru again, and almost drowned out the music. "Almost" being the keyword, considering they picked up the ante and kicked up their volume a notch or two.


Now hundreds of skeletal angels flew around swinging incense filled braziers and spreading its odor through the area. It was a tad irritating and Satoru somehow found it slightly nauseating..


The explosion quickly dissippated in order to reveal a massive lich, it ought to be ten meters in height at the very least, with bone and lilac armor and ornaments littering half of his body. A tall crown, not too unlike a pope's hat, of elaborate bone and purple covered his head and he wielded a staff almost as big as him.


Upon the revelation both music and chorus accelerated, now reaching a frenetic and almost maddening pace and strength as their lord began his descent towards Satoru. He was taken aback and could barely think.


Look at the size of that thing! Thought Satoru as he noted his own dry throat.


It approached, closing the distance, and Satoru felt how his body trembled ever so slightly and involuntarily made a scared and nervous laugh.


Yeah, this would go very well.


==========================================


"Hmph. Not bad." thought Albedo, her face locked in an aloof and almost disinterested expression.


Not bad, but like heris Lord Ainz was showing, this was but a laughable attempt to be too important. She had half a mind to join him but thought it wouldn't be as subtle as her lord's laugh and may be a bit out of line, so she restrained herself and let her lord enjoy himself in the almost silent mockery.


When the "oh-so-important" lord, this Nagash, approached, her Lord Ainz regained his composure, showing him to be a very excellent diplomat for having such control of his emotions. From such presentations it was clear that her liege lord was infinitely better than the invading upstart. And what was wrong with that hat? Was he trying to compensate for something with that ridiculous tower?


The upstart spoke, with a deep and booming voice. Decent, but certainly with nowhere near the charm her lord was capable of.


"Greetings. I, Nagash bid you welcome to my domain!"


He certainly was full of himself, at the very least that massive frame wouldn't go to waste from how much stuffing of ego he ought to have. How dare he say that to a Supreme Being!!??


She bristled in anger but remembered the words of her liege lord, ever showing a superb degree of cunning. She calmed herself and tried (but didn't fully succeed) to let it slide.


Albedo simply made a dismissive and delicate groan as she diverted her stare. They'd have to talk with him for a while, ugh.


Parlays were so horrible, weren't they?


==========


They used the second floor, (there was no way in hell Satoru would lead them to the heart of Nazarick), to conduct the negotiations. In Shalltear's residence, they set a great oak table. The round table held the three parties.


On the right corner sat Ainz flanked by Albedo and Sebas. Demiurge may have been more shrewd than them, but Ainz doubted he'd have been able to leash him and he'd been able to cut too sharp with his tongue.


On the center sat the two "stormcast", some lord called Fenaor Thunderheart and his twin, Irithien Bladestar (apparently those were titles, not surnames). The trio was completed by a dwarf, an "Auric Runefather" (apparently he WAS the father of all those dwarves present, wo-ow!)


On the left corner sat Nagash and his retainers, specifically Krell and Ulrich. The first was said to be Nagash's champion, a fitting title for a guy wearing a vikingesque helmet and wielding a two handed axe that looked rather nasty.


The latter had been described as the pontifex of Nagash's own cult. If so, someone had mishanded him the memo considering the guy wore a full plate armor of black metal, wielded a massive warhammer and wore an iron circlet with spikes on the cardinal points. His face was extremely gaunt and hard, with gray skin that was almost sucked out and eyes that were drowned by a turquoise light. If anything, he looked like a lovechild of ten power metal albums.

Though, to be honest, that statement could be said about virtually anyone who had been crossing that blasted gate.

When he spoke it was as if he was making gargles with the strange echoes that emanated from the throat.

"It's most lamentable to have again met under such circumstances," said Arkhan apologetically.


Arkhan sat on the remaining corner, tied with one of those jackets used for insane people, and flanked by the dark elven twins.


"You've got nothing to excuse, my loyal servant," said Nagash, a hint of care almost present. Almost. "The ones that dared to attack someone under the banner of peace and diplomacy are at fault."

Nagash glared daggers at Ainz, who stood silent, glowering at the Lord of Undeath in return. Albedo and Sebas tensed, preparing themselves to strike the offender.


"To be honest, going on at the tune of surrender or die, isn't exactly the point of peace and diplomacy, so we're a kind of at fault."


"On which side are you!?"


"I'm just pointing out the facts, my lord," Said Arkhan matter of factly.


"Arkhan, stay quiet," said flatly Nagash. "You damn smartass! You are going to ruin everything."


"Certainly, it raises a few interesting questions," said Ulrich in a rather inquisitive tone. "How come we've never seen you and your ilk prior to this? You certainly don't fit the kind of people belonging to the World that Was," he asked while he quickly diverted a murderous glare to the Stormcasts.


Something was obviously going on between him and those three.


"That's a point for later," quickly deflected Ainz. "Once we've finished the peace talks, I think it would be in our best interests to learn more about the other parties."


"Huh, and what possibly do you think you'd have for us to accept peace? My trusted lieutenant? If need be I could kill him myself and have him back through my powers." Nagash perched his massive frame towards the other party. "Be it gold or lands I care not, for the former is of no substance and the latter I can take with ease. Perhaps it is something else?"


Ainz almost seemed to break down under the stare of the Lord of Death. To his credit he stood apparently impervious.


"Knowledge," said Ainz matter of factly. "We have our own repository of knowledge, of many things you know nothing about. Furthermore, I and my people know nothing about your homeland, it's a new whole place, both outside the Tomb and the other side of the gate. But we know more from the lands outside our stronghold than you do."


"Wait, outside the Tomb?" Asked Nagash.


This time the one to explain was Fenaor.


"According to our lord Sigmar, this place is part of a supposed haven made during the time of the World-that-Was."


Nagash's scratched his prosthetic goatee, musing.


"Lileath's screw-this-shit-gotta-save-someone place? Huh, so it wasn't destroyed by the chaos gods. Funny thing. Which brings us back to a valid question my man Ulrich," the priest made a gesture of thank you, "has raised: Where are you from? You're not from the realms and you claim to be an outsider to this place? And I say: What's left then?"

Ainz shifted slightly, barely appreciable, but to the keen observer (like Arkhan) it had been duly noted.


"We come from Yggdrassil," finally said Albedo with a solemn voice, her and Sebas' faces turning a bit saddened at the mention. "We'd speak about it but that's a place that doesn't exist anymore."


A solemn silence overtook the conference as a sign of respect. Both Arkhan and Nagash remembered vividly the End Times, of their efforts to stop it and avoid the end of the world. Doing but not doing enough. Even the lord of Death could relate, even if only a small bit, with that.


Breaking the silence, the dwarf, Bael-Grimnir, a fyreslayer whose beard had started to be filled with silvery threads of advanced age yet still maintained top form, spoke.


"My dear lords," began the dwarf, all business like. "I'm pretty sure we could tell each other countless sagas of our exploits and tragedies but I think we've derailed the matter long enough: according to the base text, the key to these talks are the freedom of Mortarch Arkhan and the resurrection of Guardian Shalltear."

Grunting in agreement, Nagash proceeded to cast the resurrection spell. As the circle came to a completion a short shimmer of life shaped the human body of Shalltear, clad in her usual dress. She grunted and murmured something as she was regaining her consciousness.


Both Albedo and Sebas exchanged surprised stares, that wasn't a spell they recognized, nor did it use cash to do the resurrection. Ainz had his head cocked backwards in what seemed interest (in truth he was flabbergasted).


Arkhan's jacket came off, freeing the Mortarch, who proceeded to massage his wrists.


"That frees one item," said a disinterested Nagash. "Though I may ask: why were you so intent on me doing the resurrection? Do you work following some different principle? Let me try. FELIX!"


The doors opened as a vampire clad in black plate ran towards his lord.

"Something is wr-AAAAAGH!"


As he approached Nagash grabbed him by the head and made him burn like dry wood.His body erupted in a mass of greenflame as armor melted down inmediately.Turning towards the lord of Nazarick, Nagash asked non-chalantly:


"Would you do the honors?"


And when Ainz did so something strange happened: a pile of gold started to fall down upon Nagash. Confusion reigned supreme in the room. It would take quite a while to properly explain it.


This was going to be a very long show, wasn't it?


============================
After four hours of discussion, (if something so derailed could be called as such), the parties finally came to something one might call an agreement. Suffice to say, considering all parties, hostilities would end up breaking out again in thirty minutes after the beginning, this was an incredible success.

Mind you, this was still pretty close to a cold war but the current status quo was better than anything.


As of now, Nazarick wouldn't be the target of that oversized skeleton's legion of undeath. Something Satoru was thankful for. Very thankful. Furthermore, it had been agreed that a party from Nazarick would be allowed to visit both Azirheim and Nova-Nagashizzar. Under the pretext of being "ambassadors" these groups would grant them as much information as possible on all fields: troops, might, society and magic. Both Nagash and Sigmar would do the same.


Oh, of course they'd be keeping away the most juicy secrets from each other. Of course all the involved parties would try to find those things out and get them. Satoru was positive on that. But it was something at least.


But the most important part: both Nazarick, Sigmar and Nagash would organize a few expeditions to Chamon and the new world. A whole place made of pure metal was too big a deal to let by. If he couldn't get free-resurrection he could as well get bucketloads of cash to make up for it. As for the new world, it saved manpower for Ainz, meaning less damage inflicted on Nazarick (and less cash to spend). The other parties got to learn something too, all while not having a solid means to access the place without Satoru giving the greenlight.


"Well, it seems we won't be blasting each other until kingdom come, now we can blast the chaos followers and ourselves to kingdom come." Said Arkhan as he left Shalltear's abode.


Everyone would be heading to the lower floors to celebrate the peace without any major hitches. It would also drive home how mighty Nazarick was and how hopeless it would be to try to take such a hold. At least according to Albedo, the artificer of the idea. The throne room had been prepared (and by prepared they mainly meant they had sealed all other accesses, just so they didn't get weird ideas) for such occasion.


Also, and this was the main reason, it could be used as a deathtrap that way, should they offend Nazarick too flagantly or defy Satoru's wishes. After all, they'd have to go through the nine floors if they wanted to get out, starting through the most gruelling parts and facing Victim and the eighth floor very early.


"You seem rather at ease speaking with someone who's imprisoned you and you fought against very recently," Ainz finally said.

Satoru had been rather wary of Arkhan, after all, what exactly he had to gain in all this matter?


Arkhan simply shrugged.

"I've fought under a hundred warlords. As long as you don't become an enemy of my lord, I won't be picky. And you aren't an enemy of his, but rather a potential ally that could shift thoroughly the balance of power."


=================================


"Marvelous, simply marvelous," said a vampire lord to one of the Black Abbots. "This place has nothing to envy from Nova-Nagashizzar, aside from not having our glorious overlord."


Right now, Felix and the rest of the delegation, almost a thousand individuals ranging from necromancers, vampire lords and liches, plus the senior Stormcasts and dwarves.


He wore a black military dress-jacket with the silver cross and red skull marking him as a knight of Templehoff. Matching pants and boots, he looked as if he had come straight out of a masterwork. Regal and dignified even with his slightly puffy body build, he strode around the room to see where the hell his master was. He only saw gawkers: everyone was being mesmerized by the wonders the outlanders had to show, truly amazing if one asked Felix. Still they'd better not grow too fond of these things. Not all that shines is gold.


Something called his attention. A ruckus that was happening not too far away.


Please, tell me master isn't involved. Please, tell me master isn't involved. Please, tell me master isn't involved.


"Oi lady? What do you think you're doing?"


Uff, good grief, it wasn't his master, but some fyreslayer causing ruckus to one of the maids in attendance. The redhead with dark-skin had an athletic build which was quite highlighted by her attire (that skirt couldn't leave less to the imagination, especially considering those thigh-high socks). Golden eyes flickered with bloodlust as the arrogant Runesons overstepped their bounds. Oh my, this was going to be interesting.


Ulrich started to step in, closing in the distance but Felix intercepted him mid-way. The knight of Templehof shook his head.


"Son, you'd better let me teach those rascals a lesson. There's manners to respect."


"Oh trust me, she's about to teach them the lesson, no need for either of us to butt in on her matters. Just grab a cup of wine and enjoy the show."

And almost as if expecting those words, the maid made a straight kick into the dwarf's groin. She, before departing, twisted her heel as her braids swung around from the turn. Felix shivered a bit as he reflexively placed a hand over his own groin in a defensive gesture. He went flying and clashed against the wall.

The other four dwarves were silent, as well as the rest of the ballroom. Then the offender rose, craned his neck, which cracked noisily, and laughed viciously. Pretty much everyone did the same (well, laughing, the motives behind it were quite varied.) and chalked it up as a minor irrelevance.

Behind them approached a stormcast, introducing himself.


"Worrglug Clawbasha, at your service." introduced the stormcast.


Huh, curious. Worrglug's skin was golden now, and in more than one place one could see rivets and forging signs. But nevertheless, those rugs, the way the metal moved… it was too uncanny, almost as if it was real flesh. Though not as curious as seeing an orc in a white tunic That was perhaps a first for both.


Apparently, the guy was selected to be part of the embassy and recon teams, (whatever was needed during the circumstances), as part of one of the Paladin Dracothian guard detachments. By the way and politeness with which he spoke, it was almost impossible to think he had been a greenskin. Well, his eagerness to club things to death was a bit of a sign, but he spoke about it in a too ritualized manner to be your average orc hooligan. Surely the guy had more than just one story to talk about.


This all made Felix think about this post:

Far away from the frontlines, interesting company, a whole pile of knowledge and marvels to dig in… man, he wished Mannfred for once was competent enough to get the job.




Auric Runefathers are literally the fathers of most if not all the troops of the Lodge (their equivalent of a Hold). Yes people, Walder Frey exists in AoS, only that's half the height and thrice the musculature, has a flaming/red beard (or both) and goes almost naked to battle while having tattooed runes of arcane power made out of the shards of his god (no, seriously, their runes are made of Ur-Gold, which are the remnants of Grimnir, their god).


Something rather funny about AoS naysayers is that they call Stormcasts Sigmarines. While the name is catchy (and I've used it quite often) they are pretty different. There's no indoctrination involved, for starters, as every new recruit was once a great warrior who fought against chaos, instead of a maladjusted kid that was jacked up of drugs and steroids by a bunch of zealots ; they can be EVERYTHING: orcs, elves, dwarven. You name it, and as long as it's not a daemon they've got it. Guys aren't emotionally stunted, unless they start to die like flies a lot. It's mentioned that even some have… done a bit of hammer time, if you know what I mean (albeit it's left rather vague). That and apparently this motherfuckers can beat chaos out of you. Just to name a few points.

Yes they can take their armor, if people haven't noticed they have a buckle belt on their pants (and considering the books state they need to do their needs, those aren't merely aesthetic). Now, is that their exact face? Maybe not, but the novels don't specify how they look down the armor

 

[Fabula Amanti]

A nice read but I have to say that it lacks the appeal that Overlord has on its own. The thing about Overlord was its evil OP premise and the anticipation that it builds to show off that aspect. You as the reader know he's going to win but we want to see how as well as the glorious faces of those associated with the main cast.

Here, that's not really so making it slightly disappointing. Another issue is that I don't know much about AoS so it became hard for me to be invested in that characters from that side. There's not enough screentime for each character on the whole and the immediate transition to conflict makes it feel rushed.

 

[LordKragan]

I personally found that that ended up being a pitfall for Overlord. I knew the stomping was about to be glorious and liked it, but after volume five it was less enjoyable, becoming dull and borderline formulaic: dude appears, thinks he can beat nazarick. Get's wrecked. that or: nazarick comes and turns shit upside down. Got a bit dull IMO.

 

[Fabula Amanti]

I agree, but I argue that it was the pacing of it rather than the OP nature. The first few parts was awesome, destroying angels, wrecking adventurers. Had it continued to build up for World domination it would have been much better. Ainz becoming the generic OP adventurer was a let down honestly. But the war phases was when it shined.

Let the rest of the world politic and struggle. Ainz Ooal Gown will crush you all under our tyranny and you will learn to revere the Supreme Beings or die. If it had turned into the plot of Obsidian's new game Tyranny...

 

[MooGoesCow21]

Sigmar would crush ainz like a bug. Sigmar OP

 

[LordKragan]

I agree, but I argue that it was the pacing of it rather than the OP nature. The first few parts was awesome, destroying angels, wrecking adventurers. Had it continued to build up for World domination it would have been much better. Ainz becoming the generic OP adventurer was a let down honestly. But the war phases was when it shined.

Let the rest of the world politic and struggle. Ainz Ooal Gown will crush you all under our tyranny and you will learn to revere the Supreme Beings or die. If it had turned into the plot of Obsidian's new game Tyranny...

Click to shrink...

Eh.... do you know that's the focus of all the plot barring vol 2-3, don't you?

"The problem was the pacing". So you're saying is that the issue is how fast/slow we reached that pitfall, that's it.

 

[LordKragan]

Chapter 6. Assignments


(eight days after the connection of worlds).

"Mannfred, you're on the job," said Nagash in a dour tone. "Congratulations are in order, I guess."

Nagash considered all choices available to be bad ones, seeing as he couldn't let the Abbots stay here, with the upcoming invasion, and the vampires... could be about as trusted to not mess things up as a ghoul could be trusted to not eat you if you didn't defend yourself. So he left it to his underlings to decide, it would still lead to some sort of mess.

Mannfred pulled every single dirty little secret, every favor and every trick and threat he knew of. He blackmailed the hell out of the other lords with all he knew and oh, he knew. Fools got to know a lot around them, people never took them seriously nor paid attention to them. As a result three quarters of the lords assembled had elected him to be the ambassador, lest things they'd prefer hidden come out into the light.

Nagash, for all he cared, was fine with it as long as Mannfred produced results… and didn't fuck things up too badly. But for that reason he'd have a few wraiths with blades ready to be shoved up his ass.

Mannfred jumped off his chair and pointed several times at Harkon.

"IN YOUR FACE, HARKON! SUCK ON IT!"

To this the other vampire lord grumbled about how he had died in the discovery of this realm and thus he should be more deserving of the position.

"Call your knights of Templehof and get yourself a handful of troops, no more than a hundred. We want to present an image of strength, not start a full blown war," yet was the unspoken but universally heard word of Nagash. "And be sure to report their moves."

"At your command," said Mannfred as he made a bow in front of his lord. "You'll not regret making me ambassador, I swear it."

"Mannfred, I've been regretting making any of you an ambassador even before the specific appointment was made. Let's pray I can send someone competent and with good clout soon enough."

That is, after finishing Chaos off… so quite a while.


***

"I'm assistant ambassador, nanana, nanana," sung Felix as he walked through the halls of the Tomb.

It was wonderful. Let's be honest: Felix being with his master on the battlefield and under Nagash's command (or anywhere close to it) was impending doom, and the worst kind at that. So being far away from the Lord of Undeath brought out a massive relief to the "young" vampire. It would be a nice insurance against silly (read: anything related to his lord's stupidity and previous fuck-ups) deaths where he'd be impotent.

Wait a moment. He turned quickly and pointed his finger at the interloper, the one that had, apparently, been stalking him.

"A-HA!" Said Felix triumphantly.

After all, it had been the fourth attempt he had tried. He knew he was being tailed but didn't quite pull out the timing as to when the pursuer was the closest behind him.

Turns out it was the nutbuster maid. With her usual grin, golden eyes filled with malice and those silly braids of hers.

Cocking his head, Felix asked.

"Is there something I may be of help with?"

The maid made an impish smile-quite fitting, truth be told. She turned around Felix once before saying.

"They say you guys are strong, VERY strong. So I was wondering whether or not I could get any glimpse of it."


Now the smile widened into a grin and the eyes were filled with viciousness. An expression returned by Felix.

"Oh yes? Something along the lines of a "friendly" sparring match where we are "accidentally" issued the real deal and we go a bit harder than usual? Something along those lines, my lady?

Both made a light chuckle as they nodded slightly. Yes, indeed.

"So would you kindly follow me into the colusseum?"

"My, of course, it will be an utmost pleasure," responded Felix exultantly as he approached the maid and made a slight bow. "Now, I think I've been rather rude to you, as I haven't presented myself: I am Ser Felix von Carstein, at your service."

She made another light laugh and brought her hand to her chest.

"My name is Lupusregina Beta, the pleasure is mine."

"Oh no, I must insist: the pleasure is all mine," he said as he brought his arms to a fold behind his back.

Now it was Lupusregina who was the one to cock her head.

"For a knight you're a tad weird, don't know why but I somehow had the hunch you'd try and kiss my hand in an elaborate curtsey.

Felix shook his head while smiling apologetically, his eye's locked on Lupusregina's.

"Why should I? I think we will soon have a bit more contact than that and will start sharing and seeing quite interesting things of each other."

Knowing fully well what they meant, they now laughed. Lupusregina took the lead and Felix followed, a grin not unlike Lupusregina's. A feral and bloodthirsty grin, looking forward to the kill and the wanton bloodshed. He made a barely audible growl of anticipation.

Now, this was turning out to be interesting: gutting each other in a beautiful and savage slaughter, (the fact she was a looker was quite a bonus), was fine in his books, at least he could partake in the fun.

============

(nine days after the connection)


Narberal and the band of worms were making camp as two of them started arguing.


"Shouldn't we go and try to find him? Maybe he's still alive and has survived." Said Worm A. Pete, was it?
"Are you insane? That thing could fight on equal ground with Momon and Nabe, we are no match for it." Said Worm B… what was its name again?


"Surely we COULD do something," began Worm C… okay, again she got nothing regarding names.

She was getting riled up. If she kept this up, she'd kill them, something her lord had vehemently prohibited.

Deep breaths, Narberal.

Deep breaths.

"For one: what could you do, to begin with? You can barely fight goblins, you maggots."

That to start, then went on to the fact that they had tried to make a request to the guild, only to balk away from making said request due to the high price (apparently, according to their estimates, they needed a Mithril team if two well equipped and very competent adventurers had been beaten with ease).

Pathetic, this was just plain and simply pathetic. Narberal made a notorious sigh. Which was misinterpreted by worm D, the effeminate worm.

"Don't worry, we will find a way to help him," it said while trying to make a comforting, and revolting to Narberal, smile, though the apprehension in its voice was anything but comforting."Everything is going to work out just fine."

Worm D placed its hand over her shoulder, touching it gently.

Her eye almost twitched and she barely repressed a yell of fury.

"What do you think you can do, you little runts, filthy maggots barely worth ANYTHING!?"


Seriously, they thought they were in some way capable of helping a SUPREME BEING. For Ainz's bloody sake, how stupid and full of themselves could these fools be? She should crush them and tear them down for making such affirmations that demeaned her lord up to such a point.

Deep breaths, Narberal.

Deep breaths.

She wondered what she had done to deserve this punishment. Had she offended Lord Ainz in some way? She almost gasped. What if she had? Horror almost surfaced into her stony face.
Nonono, it couldn't be. It just couldn't. Right?

***
The following two days were spent on travelling towards E-Rantel. When they made it to that rathole, Narberal felt about to explode from the sheer bottled up frustration of the last days. She just couldn't bear any more of their inbred moronity.


Back there in the guild hall they got the payment for the silver-grade job they had taken. Even when coupled with the previous two missions, (though of lower level), it wasn't enough to make up the cost of completing the contract.


Narberal rolled her eyes at that. Would they stop it already? And again, the effeminate Worm was still trying to "comfort" her. She was clutching her own hands, pressing them so hard she was almost sure she'd bleed her own fists soon enough.


Then she heard an old coot speak to one of the guildhall's workers. Apparently a group of mighty savages had ravaged their village. They didn't take anything of value, except human lives. Along the way to the city, another two villages had joined the travel and decided to pay the job together. It was classified as a Gold Class job because those enemies were believed to be strong.


Narberal stepped in and grabbed the paper and said:


"We are taking it," her voice left no room to discussion and her deadset eyes, piercing and cold like shards of eyes, helped a lot on silencing any complaint. "We will do it."


The worms gathered to see the paper, then worm A speaks again.


"Hey, do you think we could afford it with all this combined!?"

The guildhall worker made mental calculations and responded affirmatively.


This elicited cheers from the group as they all touched her shoulder in gesture of comfort/support/congratulation, whatever one wanted to call that brazen excuse for the defilement of her shoulderblade as.


Just let me kill, hack and slaughter these fools. The Supreme Beings know damn well I need it.

============

(Three weeks after the connection).


Light burst into the dark room, blinding Clementine as her eyes were almost burnt down. Shrivelling in fear, she curled into a fetal position, covering her face with her arms. Her whimpers fell onto deaf ears, for the armoured giant just grabbed her by the few strands of hair remaining on her head and dragged Clementine out through the corridors of her sect's former hiding spot.


Weeks, months, whatever had gone by since that night, had turned the hallways of that abandoned place into an abomination. Each day they brought a whole batch. Ten, nine, a dozen or so. It didn't matter, they all ended becoming playthings for those monsters. Screams filled the hallways in consonance with the depraved laughter.


Passing by a puddle of dubious color and origin, she saw her face. Clementine was emaciated, almost skeletal, and full of bruises and cuts. Eyebags circled her eyes, now glassy and virtually devoid of life. About two thirds of her teeth had been ripped out. Her hair was barely a handful of loose and weak strands.


The rest of her body hadn't fared any better. She was thoroughly malnourished, coughing constantly, and the bruises and cuts on her face extended down her body all the way to there. The remembrance of those sessions where… She couldn't think about it, just the thought urged her to vomit.


After a bit of walking she was shoved onto a stone slab with strange carvings on it. She didn't recognize them but her experience with Zurannon had taught Clementine enough to understand what were random drawings and what were sigils and runes for a sacrificial ritual.


She was the lamb. Clementine was going to die.

"No...no." Her voice cracked.


Despite everything that had happened this time, Clementine still clung to life, for she felt a sudden surge of fear. Gathering all her remaining strength she jerked and flailed. Her captor let her go. He wanted to play with her a bit more, although that much was unknown to the prisoner.


Scrambling on her four destitute limbs, Clementine tried to make it to the door under the amused stares of the four giants and the wizard. She barely heard one chuckle.


Her eyes were bloodshot, she panted with difficulty and tried to do her best to run but when she was a step away from the door one of the warriors slammed his axe in front of her. Chunks of stone flew off and cut her cheeks from the sheer speed. Blocked.


Two of the warriors manhandled her and placed her again on the slabstone, sniggering maliciously.



"Please, no...no," she began sobbing. "No, I swear I'll do whatever you want. Please don't!"


"Don't worry child, it will be just a new beginning for you," promised the wizard with a rasping voice that could only be achieved if one regurgitated a thousand razors out of one's throat every morning.


They laughed more from that comment as they dragged and threw Clementine onto the stone again. Bracelets of black iron materialized and shackled her. Clementine tried to flail in a futile attempt to free herself from their grip. She screamed and begged, sobbed and cried trying to appeal to whatever shred of humanity they did have.


Clementine felt her whole body burn, crack and turn upside down. Her entire body felt as if it was being mauled beyond recognition all while it was being torn apart into a thousand cuts. Screaming in pain, her consciousness disappeared into oblivion.



The ten knights of Templehof are the bodyguards of Mannfred von Carstein, fluffed out to be those very few who stood by his side during the long time he flew away from everyone in the Realms. They are vampires of around levels 70-75, barring Felix, who's now level 64 after the resurrection.

 

[LordKragan]

Chapter 7. The Three-Eyed King.


================


Humming idly, Mannfred placed the golden plaque with "Ambassador Mannfred" written on it over his desk. The ambassadorial office would look glorious as all hell!


Okay, now he needed a gold or ivory plated desk, and something that screamed pompous asshole who's better than you. Oh, a wall sized painting!


"A painting of me… huh, what do you think, Kraken?"


Kraken, sitting atop a satin cushion next to the desk, barked and panted as he trembled furiously and turned his head sideways a few times.


"That's my boy! I knew you'd like it! Felix fetch me a painter, there's a masterwork to realize!"


Turning to his aide he found out… no one. Where was Felix?

Oh, wait...



***


"Bah it's just a flesh wound," hand waved Felix.


"If by flesh wound you mean that gaping hole that goes from one side to the other on your body, then yes, it's "just" a flesh wound." Deadpanned Mannfred.


Sitting on one of the benches of the colosseum's inner halls, Mannfred stared at the bloody hole his subordinate had. Blood flowed in a tangle within the limits of the remaining flesh as if contained by translucent veins, as the spell Felix had cast kept it in place. About the only thing he knew about healing.


"At this rate you'll look like a gruyere cheese." Said Mannfred. "A week or so in and you've gotten blown to chunks what, half a dozen times at least?"


It was endearing that he wasn't scared of pain and wasn't worried about it, after all it would increase his proficiency as a meatshield. On the other hand, he needed him kicking around to be used as a meatshield, something he wouldn't be able to with those kind of holes/wounds popping around so often.


The source of his minion's outburst of mutilations exited the room they were waiting to enter. riding-red-she-wolf smirked at seeing the wounded vampire. Like always, Felix returned the smirk.


And, like always, they started their usual banter. And by usual banter, Mannfred meant they explained how they'd brutalize and borderline-torture each other in the next sparring session, how they'd make the other beg for mercy (lies, they still had to pull it off even once, and Mannfred doubted that flute would ever sound) all while wearing slasher smiles and making friendly (and rather sinister) laughs.

Mannfred almost got shivers from the atrocities they managed to say. Almost.


***


Inside the library, the necromancers of Nagash's embassy devoured what books they were allowed to read. They were pretty sure they were only being given superfluous knowledge (On the Principles of Necromancy, Empire Building 101, PK for Dummies, The Feisty Lizardmen Womanservant and the like)


Mannfred in particular was reading a rather interesting history book. Whomever this Napoleon fellow had been the guy certainly had had a very extravagant lifestyle.


A rustle distracted Mannfred from the thrilling life of the general, to notice a little dark elf girl. She was looking for a book but seemed to struggle with her height to see the last line of books properly.


Without any prior warning, Mannfred had decided to help her and rose her to the last line of book's height, grabbing her like a cat.


"Can you see what you're looking for now, girl?" the Vampire Count asked helpfully.


"My lord," said Felix as he briefly rose his eyes from the book. "That's a boy."


At that point Mannfred all of a sudden threw the young dark elf to the side and shouted, "It's a trap!"

Naturally this ended up as well one could have expected: Mannfred got scolded by Titus, the lich in charge of the library and the one who was keeping an eye on them. Mare got very angered at being thrown like a ragdoll. All while the necromancers laughed hysterically at the scene as they went on to place their things back. Felix was smirking the whole time.

***


Once he entered his own private chambers, Mannfred took from his pockets the day's haul: six books and three magical items, ready to be hidden inside a magical box Nagash had given the Vampire Count. Profiteering from his episode in the library with the dark elf boy, Felix and the others took out a few relevant items and had placed charms of memory erasing on those positions. If someone wanted one of the stolen items, he'd forget about it once he got his hands on the crime's scenes.


Mannfred smirked. This would go rather well. He could see various forays that would give Nagash a good edge (and a massive benefit to Mannfred). In so far as the reputation of Mannfred as an outright moron was spreading like gunpowder. A strong moron, yeah, but even rubber would look like a sharper pencil than the doddering fool that seemed half obsessed with the dog...well that last part wasn't entirely false.


It essentially gave a lot of freedom of movement without people paying attention.


After all, who suspects an idiot?



===================


Today Sebas and Yuri alpha would depart towards "Azyrheim" while Demiurge would be the ambassador to Shysh while Ainz was preparing a suitable (read: a high level lich) ambassador for the realm of Death, The first two were surrounded by a group of stormcastsin livery of crimson and gold. The latter stood a couple of paces away from his future host.


"Sebas, honour Nazarick and learn as much as you can of these people," Said Ainz to Sebas Tian in a solemn tone. "I expect nothing less than, nor doubt you will do, your best."


"My lord, we won't fail you."

The meeting kept dragging on as they wanted to make a minimum of pomp and fanfare. A bit of speech here and there, a bit of feelings spilling over (after all, what would happen in those foreigner capitals?) and a lot of tension in the air. Which is natural considering there was half a million potential enemy soldiers around.


Like, holy shit, there was no ending to them, thought a terrified Satoru. Even if most were fodder that just seemed wrong on a certain level.


Which brought him to the core point of the matter: he was terrified. Oh sure, one could say it was repressed by him being a lich, but honest to god? He was scared of what was going on, of how wildly out of hand things were going. It was one thing being in a world where he had a modicum of control. But here? It seemed things were on the verge of a rollercoaster with kegs of gunpowder strapped on.


Floor Guardians had died. The thought horrified Satoru to no end: the creations of his friends, murdered and mauled!


I need to protect them. I MUST protect them.


And he had come to the conclusion that he couldn't just go and sit like ducks. Blocking the door? The bricks were literally blown away the moment they placed the last one. Magic? Barriers shattered, and traps and the like were nullified. It was like the gate was flipping the bird to anyone intent on halting the traffic.

Which meant they'd be hit by what lay behind that door. And he didn't like what he had seen so far. Maybe this "stormcast" may prove to be good and trustworthy allies, useful to keep Nazarick safe but as far as Satoru was concerned, Nagash (despite Arkhan) was bad news, big time. He couldn't be in the dark. He needed to know everything possible. Find any weakness and exploit it until they broke down. Guardians would be issued world items to make them stronger too, that way they'd avoid that kind of situation. Search teams would be sent in secret to find more of these "realmgates" and the embassies would try to get as much information as possible.


He'd keep them safe, and for that, thought a very-terrified-by-the-prospect Satoru, he'd need to act decisively.


***

On the way back, Satoru backtracked to the zone where Shalltear's abode was.

Clad in her armor, wielding lance and shield, she swung and battered into smithereens the training dummies as she grunted and roared with anger. For a few days she had kept doing this non-stop, according to her hand-maidens.

Satoru stood silent as she vented her anger, frustration, and shame. He felt compelled to allow her that moment of self-flaying. It was cathartic for her. Still, he had seen co-workers whip themselves too hard for their past errors, often driving them to even worse scenarios.

If possible, he wanted to avoid that with Shalltear.

After a while, Satoru decided to speak to her. Faking a bit of cough, he got Shalltear's attention almost immediately. She jerked her head around as her eyes widened in surprise.

"M-my lord!" She stuttered as she shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, I understand perfectly your desire to further hone your skills so I didn't want to interrupt."

Shalltear diverted her gaze, ashamed with herself. She was still blaming herself for falling to defeat Arkhan's attack. Which was funny considering the lich was scared of her:

I'm not fighting her again if I'm given half a chance. That was a game of chicken and I am not very interested in being the one ending up in the pot, something too probable with her. Arkhan had affirmed this to Satoru, saying he didn't want to fight Shalltear again, nor did he think he could pull off a victory the next time. Ainz thought it was more fifty-fifty, a game of chicken as the lich had said, as both were equal.

"Your opponent was a mighty warrior and magician," Satoru placed his hand beneath her chin, raising it ever so slightly, before Ainz spoke in a determined tone. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of. You put your life on the line for Nazarick, and almost triumphed in your duty. Fates are fickle but they don't demean the merit of your actions, results be damned!"

For a second they stood silent and with the last words, Satoru had grabbed her by her hand and pressed gently. Then came the reaction.

She smiled and beamed confidence now, her apparent gloom and self-deprecation starting to fade. Good, they'd need everyone in high spirits to be ready for anything.

Of course, he didn't understand the whole reason behind her blushing. Well, he did… only in the totally opposite way the truth lay.


***

Satoru right now felt awkward, to say the least. And honestly, any heterosexual male would feel so if twenty ripped guys, totally naked if it weren't for thongs of leather or belts of gold plates (luckily those massive beards also double-timed as aprons to cover part of their bulk) stood in front of him, glaring intently at him.

Please tell me this isn't Broke Back Mountain VI!

Deep inside, Satoru made a nervous, cracking laugh.

But he still managed, (at least he hoped), to strike a regal position and voice.

"Something I can help you, dear hosts?" Said Ainz Ooal Gown.

"My lord Ainz, within these past few days that we've tasted your hospitality, we've seen many wonders of your people," the leader slash father of the dwarves, Bael-Grimnir waxed lyrically. "But the most wondrous one that we've heard of is the box that lets you convert items. I won't dillydally too much, lord Ainz: we'd like to use that box in a fair exchange.

Huh, interesting. Let's see what they had to offer. Thought a part of Satoru.

They have to offer a knife in our bony back. Don't you see these guys are here to con us and then make us pay dearly for our mistakes? Everything from that blasted door is trouble! Thought another part of Satoru.

"We'll swear permanent service to Nazarick: in exchange for regular Ur-Gold, we will fight under your banner and any other enemy you wish, even our own if it were to come to that. My lodge, when fully assembled, numbers eight-thousand warriors of good breed and we will fight until the bitter end or your glorious triumph."

That was… actually interesting. These guys clearly had a lot of information, seeing as they were mercenaries.

"You're going to be scorned or worse, that much I assure you. My people are very proud and… distrustful, to say the very least, of non-heteromorphic races," seeing the confusion in the dwarves, Ainz said, "Humans, dwarves and so on. Your life in Nazarick will be far from idyllic."

"We don't care if we are hated, if we are at the bottom of the chain, my lord." Bael-Grimnir responded quickly, his resolve unwavering. "For a long time, our people have fought for the chance to resurrect our lord Grimnir, who died in battle and became the Ur-gold my kin fights for. For a long time, we've hoped to see him again and recover what was ours. For a long time we've had no hope. Until these days. My lord, you and your marvelous powers are the hope my people is looking for," Bael-Grimnir at that moment knelt and bowed his head as his fists touched the ground while the rest of his followers did the same. "We beg of you, even if it is as slaves for the rest of our lives, grant us the chance to recover and bring back our God!"

Wow, is there something in the air on the other side of the door that makes people over-dramatic? Satoru thought wryly. I hope it isn't contagious.

"I've got a primary condition, aside from swearing undying loyalty to Nazarick."

"To the latter we will swear loyalty to you and vow our honor along the line, as long as you uphold your part and, if successful, don't try to attack Grimnir… in the case he starts hostilities for some reason we swear we will try to control him, putting our own bodies as meatshields if need be." said the dwarf solemnly as he rose, then hesitated a bit before speaking. "To the condition… what is it, my lord?"

"Put on some clothes."

A bit more of negotiations still followed, regarding the location of the dwarves, they'd settle in the magma level as they said it reminded them of their home, their duties and their obligations. And at last they'd wear some damn fabric aside from those skimpy leather thongs. Goodness gracious...

***

That afternoon, and using the rings, Ainz got to contact Narberal.

"Narberal, I'll be able to be joining you soon, now that things have returned to a modicum of normalcy;" said Ainz Ooal Gown, trying to pay not too much attention at the exaggerated relief her subordinate's face was showing.. "We've dealt with the invaders while gaining a few interesting pluses along the way. Not bad for a crisis."

"That is good to hear, my lord, though I didn't expect any less regarding a Supreme One. Truly we are most blessed to have you at our leadership, we cannot be too thankful."

The way Narberal said those words, which in ANY other context would have sounded mocking, made Satoru think about how straightforward and blindingly loyal to him his subordinates truly felt.

"Thank you very much for your compliments, Narberal. Now, is there anything of interest you've learned about?"

"We..." she pronounced that word with utter distaste, as if she was on the verge of vomiting. "Are heading to the kidnappers' hideout. They seem interesting, at the very least, as they wear a sigil never seen around here, so they may be an interesting object of interest.

Shifting slightly, the Battle Maid took out a piece of paper that had an eight pointed star drawn on it.

"This was a representation of the most concurrent symbol these people, allegedly extremely powerful, wore."

"An eight pointed star?"

A clank of plates falling to the floor distracted the two speakers. A dwarf, Belgein (if Ainz remembered well) had let them fall as he turned, totally aghast.

"Do you know what it means?" Asked Satoru.

"Trouble, my lord," said the dwarf with great apprehension. "Lots of trouble, to say the least.".

===================


All-Points, the nexus that connected the Realms, was a place of great power. Once a prosperous hold of the Sigmarite Pantheon, where human, undead, elf, dwarf, orc and goblin and all the other races coexisted in peace... this was now the seat of power of Archaon.


Here rose the Varanspire, commanding the land atop a desolate landscape as the warp had ravaged it beyond repair.


Hundreds of towers rose high and proud over gargantuan walls, lumps of black stone and brass metal shaped in forms that brutalized the sky. Portcullis and battlements lined with teeth and filled with the millions of skulls belonging to the defeated and whose countless halls were stalked by hordes of warriors of chaos, daemons, and horrors that man or any other species should not know of as long as they valued their sanity.


At the heart, at almost the very top of the mightiest spire, which rose to the sky far taller than the others, was the throne room. An empty room with a throne no one had ever taken a seat upon.


Up until today.


The tyrant of the Varanspire, the greatest warlord under the service of chaos. He was a colossus, almost making it to the height of three meters, clad from tip to toe in a plate armour dyed in the darkest pitch of black, gold adorning the pauldrons and joints of the armour and the neck, though this trimming in particular was hidden beneath three skulls of bizarre beasts. His helm was crowned in a nightmare of steel thorns flanked by two grand horns, curved and thick. A velvet top-knot was at the top of that ugly lump of metal and contempt.


His three eyes scoured the room. Two were barely embers, blazing with hatred and wrath. The third, the one above the other two, equidistant between them, was a sapphire that shone eerily and whose core moved independently, twitching right and left.


As he took his rightful seat, nine voices belonging to featureless and bizarre faces announced, in perfect unison of pitch, tone and timing, the presence of the overlord:


"All hail, Archaon! Hail to thee, Everchosen of Chaos!"

"All hail, Archaon! Hail to thee, Grand Marshall of the Apocalypse!"

"All hail, Archaon, that shall be the destroyer hereafter!"


Archaon, the Everchosen, grunted in confirmation. For the first time since its finalization, Archaon stepped up to the throne of the Varanspire, for there was a lot to deal with.


Reports regarding the fall of Ghyran and Ghur, realms of life and beasts respectively, flooded him. News about the impending attack Nagash was preparing, (it was hard to miss two million soldiers and a horde of dragons), were also abundant. Oh, and the situation in the realms of Ulgu and Hysh, shadow and light, was still very shaky. Sure, Ulgu was more or less stabilized. But the twins Tyrion and Teclis and their highborn elves were being a massive thorn in his plated side.


Almost grunting in frustration, Archaon barely noticed his nine Gaunt Summoners approaching. Powerful sorcerers of eldtritch knowledge, clad from head to toe in blue and golden clothes with bird motifs all over the place. Together they spoke, their chorus pitch perfect, almost as it was a single voice coming from nine mouths.


"My lord, we've seen something that may be of your interest."


Indeed it was of his interest, not in a positive sense though. His response was that of unparallelled wrath. How could it be? Thought the Everchosen. How could it? Only when he calmed down, when the outrage at knowing he hadn't fully annihilated the World that Was waned, did he speak.


"Prepare the Legions," said the Everchosen with a voice as cold as the most purest of ice, and as chilling as the mightiest blizzard. "The Holocaust calls again."


***

The Varanspire's underbelly held hordes of skavens. Half a dozen clans and millions, (well, most likely billions), of ratmen called this dark place home. In the deepest of the burrows, thousands upon thousands busied themselves with the bizarre digging. Warp tunnels were strange things in themselves, something that Archaon didn't, (and didn't want to), understand.


Next to him was arch-warlock Riddick Irontail, a Skryre Skaven. Like all techno-nutjobs of his ilk, that rat had more metal than flesh grafted in his body. His face was a mask with two glassy green beads for "eyes" and two breathers connected to a giant backpack that contained crushed warpstone, the powerful drug/magic booster skaven loved so much. A dozen tubes penetrated the surface of his greasy and unkempt fur, and Archaon could swear none of them served a specific or meaningful purpose.


"We've encountered-found* a few complications but the tunnel is working fine and well under our projections, only a quarter of a million skaven have been lost."

To any other faction this would have been an unsustainable toll. Clan Gautner, Riddick's clan, would have replenished those numbers within the hour, if one didn't want to count the deaths caused by the dozen (or more) civil wars his clan was having. It would take more in that scenario. But then again, they were skaven, that was par for the course.


While hearing in full detail the nigh-meaningless babble the skaven was spouting, a member of Archaon's warrior elite, the Varanguard, approached.


"Sire, the gaunt summoners confirmed that we've found a realmgate but it's small and its power flickers, we won't be able to send too many or reliably."

Then it would be the slow approach, a handful of sorcerers and warriors to convert the local populace into his cause, followed by whatever they could send.


"So does that mean, we must-must halt-stop?" Said Riddick in a most dejected tone. Mainly because he wouldn't get to kill en masse as many dissenters as he had done these past two days.


"No, keep going at it, you'll serve as a second front to support the incursions and to distract them from the main invasion once we find a realmgate big enough. Once attacked by all sides they'll know no respite."

And it's not like we are losing a great deal. A couple million skaven is nothing.


What wasn't nothing was this "new world." The fact that it stood intact, alien to his conquests, made Archaon seethe in anger. It was an affront to him, to the promise he had made and his life-long objective.

Once, aeons ago, he swore he'd destroy everything. Gods and men, kings and plebians. He'd leave nothing in his wake but a burning pile of rubble and death that would span all creation. That much he swore.

And Nothing. Would. Stop. Him.

*Skaven speak in that fashion: very often they'll speak using two verbs and refer to any other race as (insert name)-things.


And with this we are about to finish (just one chapter more) the introduction arc, the first (and shortest) of the four or so story arcs I've planed. I've had a very fun time writing this and reading your comments. So I'm still very pumped with this.