They were lost. Bleeding. Exhausted. Cornered. His padawan, dead, the poor, foolish child.
The King had lost nearly all his loyal soldiers, consumed by the renegade tide broiling through the city.
Now, it was just him, the King, his family, and his only remaining retainers. The "Royal Guard" in name only, armed with blasters, but bereft of skill, if their pallid skin and sweaty faces were an indication.
He was the last bastion. Force help him, they were all going to die-it only needed deciding if it would be quick, or brutal.
The rebel leader, the "Butcher", was not named so for his esteemed kindness.
In retrospect, there was no else to blame but him. He had misjudged the situation, deemed the leader to be amenable to reason. The monster had sent him back his padawan in pieces.
There was no way to contact the Republic-not that things would be expedited even so, with the Naboo debacle still fresh in the galaxy's minds. He suspected that for the reason of this uprising, although he still could not fathom how a minor warlord like this could hope to survive, alone, in the Outer Rim.
As a Jedi, it would have been his duty to ensure the safety of the Royal Family, whom he was sworn to protect. Gladly would he have given his life for that cause. But now, it was an impossibility. Death was inevitable-but for all. Thrice the failure.
No. He could not think such unworthy thoughts, even now. That was the path to the Dark Side. Serenity, even in defeat. Peace, in the face of death.
The rumbling around the walls intensified. He could do little to assuage the mounting fear within the chamber-nor the palpable hatred he could feel. He closed his eyes to center himself, and assured them that he would protect them for as long as he was able.
Sounds of blaster fire filled the silence. They were louder now. Closer than ever before. He gripped the hilt of his lightsaber tighter
Then, the blast doors opened. He activated the lightsaber-it was too late to negotiate. A strike team stood at the threshold, masked and faceless. The King began to plead for his life, but by the looks of the gun barrels aimed in their direction, the other side also considered further negotiation futile.
The blasters primed. He tensed, ready to intervene.
Then, shouts. From behind the invaders came sounds of conflict, scuffling, misaimed blast fire, bodies falling to the ground. Then, the unmistakable hum of a lightsaber blade swinging through the air.
A black giant appeared, causing the king and his entourage to shout in fear. A figure in thick, black antiquated armor, like ancient warriors from legend. To the Jedi's horror, it wielded a pair of energy blades it was familiar with, but knew deep in his mind should not even be-for the lightsaber blades were easily thicker than the king's fat body, and as long as he was tall. In addition, the blades thrummed an angry red.
With quick ease, the mysterious warrior eviscerated the remaining intruders. After a short, stunned silence, it paused, as if to stare at the entourage. The Jedi found himself walking sideways, to protect the king.
Then the angry, red blades disappeared with a muted hiss. The black warrior bowed to the king, saying, "I have come, to save you, oh good King. I, the great traveller Momon, shall sweep this rabble off your home. In exchange... well, you must spread my legend from your little planet-and towards the stars."
"This is madness," he murmured, staring at the holo screen. It showed the dark warrior "Momon", rushing headlong towards the throng of soldiers surrounding the palace, like a juggernaut deeming even blasterbolts unworthy of notice or concern. Then, when he reached the enemy's ranks, he was a shadow reaping through a field, turning life to death with a single hew or slice.
"No, no, master Jedi," the king said, almost gleefully. "This is justice! Now all shall think twice before ever thinking to rebel!" The king had reason to be happy-what had once been a hopeless situation had been turned around, becoming a slaughter. The king must've thought Momon to be some sort of embodiment of his royal wrath, smiting his enemies like a god.
Such needless death drew pangs from his connection to the force. And that was in addition to the definite bad feeling he sensed from the man, and his lightsabers. He should be even more wary, even hostile to the warrior, if even a hint of a Force presence could be detected. Thus it would mean this was some sort of Dark Jedi, or worse-a Sith. But the man had almost no Force presence, which would undoubtedly have been felt in the thick of battle. But there was nothing, not even a hint. So the warrior was probably some sort of super-armored cyborg or droid. Or a supremely skilled warrior, clad in powerful gear.
"My good sire, perhaps now is the time to escape?" said one of the king's advisors. "With sir Momon's aid, the path to the emergency shuttle has been cleared. As a precaution." Even with the impossible sight in front of their eyes, there was still some doubt as to Momon's capabilities. In fact, even the Jedi himself thought the warrior would finally be hit by a fatal shot anytime soon.
The king did not share such pessimism. "Escape? Yes, and I may as well give up my claim to this planet, as well, and live forevermore a mendicant! Pah! Let us put our trust in Momon."
The holo beeped. Momon's hollow voice came through. "My apologies, sirs, but perhaps you should avert your eyes now. All this slaughter is getting tedious A... protege of mine shall use her... skills to quickly eliminate this army."
"Eliminate? How?"
"I leave it to you to see if you are curious-but I did warn you."
"Over there!" said one of the retinue, pointing out the window. Up in the sky flew a person, although by what means they couldn't tell. Without any tools they couldn't see its face more closely. The Jedi, however, sensed a great and horrible foreboding-and then a second later the figure seemed to explode with the Dark Side.
A great storm of lightning flashed from its position in the sky, its bolts raking across the city like the writhing branches of a plasma tree. The lightning tore through the army, turning rebels into corpses and corpses into ash. In the midst of it all, only Momon stood, alone, untouched.
The barrage ended after only a matter of seconds. The Jedi slumped, feeling a wave of nausea rush through his body. The area, this very room, now coursed with the Dark Side, as if it had suddenly become a tangible thing, like a black, poisonous plume that cloyed in his throat, until all he could see was black.
Momon left at the battle's end. He refused the king's offers of a feast or a ceremony, to celebrate his victory. Ordinarily, such a snub would have enraged the King, however the man did demand a boon-that news of this victory should rightly be attributed to his hand and no one else's. Momon's protege, a human of such incomparable beauty that she seemed a more human-like alien, was also extended the same offer, with the same answer.
Then the two bid farewell, taking flight on a winged beast with great wings and majestic plumage, a beast of unknown species which Momon called a "parakit". Then the creature spoke, and the King was delighted even more, and again insisted on having them stay. But Momon, the protege, and the "parakit" known as "Twitsuke" left.
When the Jedi woke, Momon and his protege had long since left. After a night's rest, the Jedi hastened off world, bearing a great many ill news.
On the far side of that same world, Twitsuke landed its Master and his servant on a shallow rise. The warrior cricked his neck, before the helmet disappeared as if by a puff of dust, It revealed-nothing at all. Then the rest of the armor dissolved, now replaced by a robe of deepest midnight, ornamented by red, glowing orbs. Under the hood was an endless void, which seemed to suck light toward it, "until it was covered by a gem-studded silver mask, shaped by a skull.
"Momonga" sighed, once [Perfect Warrior] ended. "That was informative. How was it, Nabe-no, Narberal?"
The beauty curtsied. She flexed her fingers. "All was well, milord."
"Were there any problems casting the... spell?"
"None."
The two turned towards the parakeet, which Momon had found wandering another planet. He had seen it for what it was-a giant parakeet. But every other human and alien being on this universe seemed to see it as some sort of rare commodity.
"A most enjoyable performance, milord!" squawked Twitsuke. "Surely none would ever dare-"
"That's enough," Momonga snapped, turning away. "We shall return to the Fleet."
"Do you not intend to claim this world for your own, milord?" asked Narberal Gamma. The question had been raised time and again, on the few planets the two had arrived.
"How many times must I repeat myself, Narberal? We only travel to acquire information. All other... concerns must come later."
"Ah, a prior reconaissance before the military campaign?"
"U-umu. Yes... Just like that, yes."
"I sincerely apologize for questioning you, milord." Narberal cried, bowing.
"No, no, it's fine. It is good to raise objections. In fact, I encourage it."
The discussion done, Momonga pointed and a rip in reality slowly formed before them. It was as if Momonga had torn through the seams of reality, on the other end of which was the throne room located on his capital ship. The trio stepped through, and the great Tear slowly reformed behind them, knitting together rapidly until it disappeared completely.
Narberal led the parakeet away as Momonga ascended the steps towards the Throne. Beside it waited Albedo, Chief Overseer of the Lost Fleet of Nazarick.
"Welcome back, milord Momonga," greeted the luminous beauty.
"Contact the Guardians," he said. Holograms then appeared around Momonga, feeble and nearly invisible, each holding the form of the loyal and powerful Guardians assigned to the Fleet.
First was Shalltear Bloodfallen, the Star Vampire, and Commander of the Fleet's strongest ship, the Night's Vengance. She curtsied.
Then bowed the hulking form of Cocytus, Scourge of a Thousand Worlds, Prime of the Acherus Brood, and Lord-General of Nazarick's legions.
Then the twins: first was Aura Bella Fiora, Xenobiologist, and Chief Overseer of the Materials Acquisitions and Abductions Department. Her brother was Overseer of the Terraforming and Resource Acquisition Committee, Chief of Nazarick's Research and Development, and Captain of the Star-Eater Engine. They both bowed together.
Last was the irascible Demiurge, who commanded the small Spinebreaker Legion, and was also Chief of the Department of Foreign Relations. "I bid you well, Momonga-sama," he said warmly, bowing.
"All the Guardians have gathered before you, Momonga-sama," said Albedo, who ruled over them all in the name of their ultimate master. "What is your glorious will?"
Momonga raised a hand. "I have travelled much, and seen what this galaxy can offer. A universe of infinite possibilities-and we shall spread the name of Ainz Ooal Gown to its every corner."
"All Hail Ainz Ooal Gown!"
Shurpuff says: A little short, but I just wanted to illustrate a point. Writing for Overlord's pretty easy, unlike what some people claim-particularly if one does a crossover. My previous attempt (Swapping One Chaos for Another) was on a macro scale, and this time I went a bit smaller. It was still very much workable, and has much potential.
By extension, any other crossover also works. The key here is the "New World", and Momonga's relation to it. Obviously it's not my place to dictate what is or is not good, but if one wants to retain the "feel" of the original work, the New World has to be appropriately inferior to Momonga and his minions, in order that the same level of interplay arises when the two sides meet. After all, if Momonga gets overpowered by the natives, then it's a completely different story (and I see little point in it, no matter how well-written it is). On the other hand, one also has to ensure Momonga's superiority is tempered smartly-I leave it, of course, to any individual writer on how that's accomplished.
Someone asked me to do a Mass Effect one-I'd be glad to, except that my knowledge of that side is fairly limited. But it's fair game for any of you folks willing to do it. One can go macro or micro, have fun exploring Momonga's powers relative to the setting. Dragon Age? The Forgotten Realms? Modern Wizarding Earth? The Elemental Countries? Any of a number of Japans? (to name a few of the more famous things on this site). In my opinion, it gets more difficult, or rather pointless, if one chooses certain settings, though. But, let the imaginations soar, regardless.
One wonders if this delves into what one might call "Mary Sue" territory. Well, it bears repeating-Overlord is all about the power fantasy which is common in Japanese media nowadays. Ordinary dudes being transported to another world and somehow fixing problems is sort of fanfiction already, in a way. In my opinion, Overlord is a bit unique in that the story is about the making the curbstomp entertaining. As readers, we know the boot is crashing down, our focus is more on the ants scurrying below it. You want to make the ants bite back? Well, go ahead, it's your story. Momonga or whichever viewpoint character you choose could be a walking Death Star, just make sure it somehow ends up fun or humorous. Or at least, entertaining.
Anyway, that's it. Pretty long, but I just wanted to write it down, for posterity.
Thanks for reading!