"A-a bargain? What type of bargain w-would that be?"
Nfirea's mind raced with how the strange being before him presented itself. Based on the inflection of the creature's voice, it sounded like an older man who specialized in the mercantile business.
His voice was so smooth and slick that he could practically feel his pockets getting lighter, his coin purse relieved of its contents and his arms bundled with extravagant but otherwise useless treasures. Despite his fiery appearance, his demeanor would not be out of place in the Imperial Marketplace.
Wish III, as he called himself, spread his "hands" to showcase non-existent wares. "Why, son, anything! You desire information and knowledge, yes, but I can grant far more than just that."
He got even closer, sliding a smoldering limb around his shoulders. "Among my peers, there is no other like I. Even the strongest stagger before my strength, the wisest wilt before my wit, and the canny cower before my cunning. There is no one who can touch me!"
The flames that engulfed the room but did not devour the furniture surged higher. "Ah, but I can sense your doubt. You do not believe what I am capable of, or even if my words strike true. As expected of a mortal such as yourself."
This time, Nfirea found the courage within himself to stand his ground and halt his shaking limbs. "I-I don't know what to think. It's barely been three days and already I've seen more than most adventurers would in their entire lifetimes. I've experienced and learned more about the world than I thought existed, and just come face to face with its horrors."
"Tsk tsk tsk, there is no reason to try and flatter me. You've already garnered my attention afterall, so I would say the compliments are unnecessary."
"Compliments?!"
"Now, I believe we have a deal to strike, one that I promise will be most lucrative. Tell me, son, what desires have you most in your heart? What do you long for that seems so far away?"
Instantly, the flames conjured up images from Nfirea's life, snippets from thoughts and memories either suppressed or buried deep in his subconscious. They fanned out around the young alchemist as tall, smoky mirrors to show what the djinn meant.
In one reflection, he saw himself as he'd been before the destruction of E-Rantel, slightly older by the looks of the small goatee and mustache he was growing. His grandmother stood beside him, watching with pride and hunched over a cane in her wrinkled hands.
In another, he saw himself in a vast laboratory, standing before a chalk board and a hoard of scholars, who all scribbled furiously in their notebooks and scrolls. Nfirea was dressed in clothes to make a nobleman jealous, and he looked even older with the large but well-trimmed beard he wore in this iteration.
And in the last one Nfirea bothered to look at, he saw himself as he was now, in the prime of his life and just coming into a simple house from a long day's work. Sitting in a rocking chair was Enri, a swaddled bundle with grasping, minuscule hands reaching out to touch her face.
Enri looked up to him from the baby, giving him a gentle smile. Nfirea's hand felt hot, burningly so, and he yanked it away from the surface of the fire forged mirror.
It took him a moment to realize that he'd unconsciously reached out to the image, wanting to touch the Enri he saw.
"Ah, I cannot say I'm particularly surprised. Greed, power, influence…love are all factors which drive us. They inspire us to great heights that we could never accomplish on our own. How very…human of you.
That snapped Nfirea back to the current situation back at hand, having briefly mulled over his thoughts and feelings. "Human, huh? Then I guess nothing's really changed. Still, you haven't exactly told me the details of your 'bargain' or given me any assurances of how you plan to uphold your end."
Wish III merely stared at him, the white-hot points of his "eyes" narrowed. Whether in contemplation or outrage, the alchemist could not say for sure.
However, he bet on the former, based on how he stroked an imaginary beard that was no more than hazy smoke. The djinn let out an approving chuckle after a few more moments of doing so.
"I did promise you something grand, but I did also say that nothing in this life comes free. Alright, you desire assurances? You wish to know whether or not I'm fooling you, then how about this: I will grant you a taste of what I can do. I shall give away something small, for free mind you, to prove that what I am capable of is not just mere smoke and mirrors."
Something small? What could possibly constitute that? Nfirea supposed he could ask for something relatively easy, something that would not warrant a grand change or usage of unknown magics.
To wish for anything he desired was straight out of the fairytales he'd grown up reading with his grandmother. The stories of gods, monsters, heroes, and villains should've remained as just that, stories.
Yet, everything he'd seen and experienced ever since the fall of his home city had been nothing but a story ripped straight out of those very same novels. Only he didn't feel like the dashing prince or grizzled adventurer, he was the damsel in distress, constantly having to be saved by others.
Part of the very reason he'd chosen to come to Master Hermetis's academy was to try and regain control of himself again, to feel better than useless and dead weight. If only he'd been magically stronger, if only he'd been more knowledgeable of his enemies and the unknown, then he wouldn't have gotten into the mess he was back then.
Then maybe that's where I should start. Maybe what I really want is to know what I don't know.
Nfirea crossed his arms, steeling his nerves. "I want to know what it was like for those like Master Hermetis and Ladies Cythlla and Aellai in their homeland. Citrinitas and Rubedo mentioned they were constantly at war because of what they know. I want to know what was so dangerous and powerful that others would kill them for it."
An easy enough request, at least in his eyes. All he wanted was information, and if the djinn's proclamations held any true weight, then he could surely do at least that.
Said being of flame laughed. "That's all? I would've expected you to ask for something else, like riches or greater magical potency, but alas, I'm speaking with an alchemist afterall."
Wish III leaned in even closer, bringing up both "hands" to either side of Nfirea's temples. There was no mouth to speak of, but the former pharmacist had no doubt it would be twisted in glee based on the eyes.
"I'll do you one better, son. Rather than just tell you, I'll show you! The greatest accomplishment of beings such as myself to ever happen in a million years. Of course, your puny, mortal mind may interpret things differently, for some things will remain the same, while others are altered. But for the most part, it is as it was. Now, let's see here…"
Wisps of mana trailed from the fingertips of Wish III, as his voice deepened into incantations that Nfirea couldn't hear. They pounded into his skull, using it as a war drum for whatever foul powers the wish granter possessed.
His forehead felt feverishly hot the longer the mana seeped into his head. His limbs twitched, and his breathing sped up erratically. Whispers assaulted his ears, a storm of voices that demanded his attention.
Then Wish III placed both his hands fully onto Nfirea.
What came next was something so inexplicable, so unfathomable, that it caused him to scream himself into oblivion. All of his senses begged for mercy, as the alien sensations burrowed deep into his mind and nestled within him.
The room span, and his stomach heaved to try and vomit his breakfast, only to be held back by whatever powers gripped him. He felt like he was floating, his feet no longer touching the ground.
The edges of his vision darkened, a web of shadows that crept along until he could no longer see, and which silenced his hoarse voice.
After that, Nfirea as he knew himself was no more.
Helheim, among the branches of Yggdrasil
LOADING…
LOADING…
WELCOME BACK: WISH III
A massive BOOM greeted his ears, alongside the uproar of yelling and curses. The Throne Room shook with great force as he materialized directly in the center of it.
Something was wrong. Ulbert had texted him, saying that he was to get on as soon as possible. When he pressed for details, the bastard hadn't responded, forcing him to log on and see for himself what was going on.
Wait…that didn't seem right. Hadn't he just been studying and talking with someone else? He could've sworn he was in his room just moments ago.
BOOM
"Goddammit! They're relentless! Somebody get Tigris Euphrates and tell him to start burrowing behind enemy lines! They're getting too bold!"
That sounded like Punitto Moe again over the group messenger. That damn houseplant never could keep himself calm, but given that the guild seemed to be in the middle of a raid, that was about par for the course anyways.
The sound of footsteps from behind him caused him to turn, a familiar face greeting his sight. He grinned when he saw who it was.
"Temperance, man, what's going on? Sounds like a war is going on out there. Everything alright?" He asked, spreading his arms out in greeting.
For once, the shadowy, monstrous player did not respond in kind. Rather, he was on edge, if his fidgeting was anything to go by. He stood by the Throne of Kings, almost hiding behind it from the looks of it.
His signature weapon, Hag's Finger, a divine class scythe and staff combo, was inert. The six foot sickle blade gleamed hungrily in the lighting of the Throne Room's chandeliers.
"We are in a war right now man. Things are looking bad. You got Ulbert' s text, right?" Temperance asked in mind, tracing a thin finger along his weapon's edge.
"Of course I did! He didn't even bother telling me what's going on, just to get here as soon as I could! Mind filling me in on the details before I start getting pissed?" Wish III scowled, the flames of his body flaring in response.
Before his friend could respond in any way, another BOOM! shook the Throne Room. The chandeliers swung heavily from their place at the top of the ceiling, almost falling down.
"There's no time now. Just get up to the surface as quickly as possible. I-I'll join you once I take a moment to calm down, alright?" The core spawn seer said, his centipede-like legs clattering against the cold floor.
Wish III took a good, hard look at one of his best friends, noting how his dark robes were more tattered and torn than usual. The pulsating sacks that made up his pillar shaped head were not the usual shade of light blue they usually were, but a bruised purple.
His misshapen arms gripped his scythe tightly, and the light embedded within his hollow chest flickered weakly. Of what he could see of his true form, the chitin that made up his lower half was chipped and falling off in sheets.
For lack of a better word, his friend looked positively beaten.
Alas, there was no more time left to dwell on it, as another ground-shaking boom trembled throughout Nazarick. The ring of Ainz Ooal Gown, which ever sat upon his middle finger, glowed lightly as some of the flames of his form were sucked into his jeweled face.
In the blink of an eye he was instantly teleported up to the surface of his home, looking beyond the crumbling mausoleums and tombstones and pillars that ringed the perimeter of the surface.
What he saw was an absolute nightmare.
Massive pits of displaced earth and showers of poisonous, scum filled swamp water sprayed the land and sullied the air. Constant bombardments of material and magic created even more pits, deafening his hearing with their blinding power.
Crimson lightning crackled in the skies above, illuminating behind the dark, ominous clouds the outlines of mighty warships that hung high up in the atmosphere. Spheres of light off their bows revealed them to be the source of the barrage that assaulted the earth below.
Among them, the massive shapes of two dragons, one with scales as white as frost and another with scales like polished gold, breathed a mixture of frigid ice and scalding flames against the hull of the offending vessels.
Every so often, streaks of blue and white lightning would strike against them, as a cluster of clouds darted from place to place and orbited the floating ships as a personal moon to provide support.
The forests of the Helheim swamp were broken and cleaved in two, where artillery was placed to further annihilate the land ahead, both cannons and catapults alike unloading their ammo against the fighting players of Ainz Ooal Gown
Hordes of human players ran up in scrambled, mismanaged groups, fighting amongst each other as much as themselves against the beloved figures of his friends.
Among those he recognized Peroroncino, who's brilliant, golden armor dazzled and awed his foes just as much as his hair, which streaked in the chaotic air of battle. Blasts of mana fueled arrows struck down his enemies, striking fast and deep within their hearts or heads.
Another was Jo-Bro, who's saurian form dwarfed the humanoid players around him. His fists were blurs against the avalanche of combatants, either sending them flying into their comrades or outright punching directly through the stomachs of their avatars. Whatever his fists did not connect with, his tail and teeth finished the work for him.
HeroHero was right beside the reptilian player, piloting his mecha suit with expertise scarcely matched by players of similar builds. The glass orb at the center of its chest housed the elder slime artificer, with hollow wires transferring his acidic essence to his mecha's fists to deal devastating damage.
Every blow melted gear and weapons, and steamed the skin of the unfortunate souls who came into direct contact with his liquid fury. Those with any sense immediately turned tail and ran directly into another group of Ainz Ooal Gown to meet their end.
It was a completely mind-melting experience trying to just keep up with all the combat, so much so that he only barely looked up in time to see the edge of a jagged blade coming down at him from an overhead strike.
CRACK!
The wielder of that particular sword was sent flying back into the shattered trees which surrounded the swamp, crashing down on another charging group of players.
"Get your head out of your ass and into the game, dammit! You're making us look bad!" Yelled Suratan, who bared his boar-tusk canines in a grim snarl.
His attire was in line with something a Viking warlord would wear, spiked and padded leather up and down his body. There were metal pauldrons hammered into the shape of bears mid-roar resting on his shoulders, making him far wider than he actually was.
Leather straps crisscrossed over Suratan's chest, held together by a buckle made in his image, and a chainmail shirt just beneath it. Metal faulds wrapped around his waist and reached down to his mid-thigh, with spiked nails holding the armor together.
On his knees were pads that matched the design of his pauldrons, and a pair of sandals that showed off his massive, clawed feet. On Suratan's head was a helmet that was some strange, boar-like creature with its own set of tusks jutting out, and shining cheek pads that hung down from the upper jaw.
Suck the Blood and Eat the Flesh, his hunk of crystalline, divine war axe, grinned cruelly with its bloody, dripping edge. The gem that connected the ruby-colored head to the onyx handle gleamed with life, a slitted pupil staring down the djinn.
Without saying more, the Sasquatch berserker let loose a bellow and dove into the same group of players he knocked the first warrior into, wildly swinging his battle axe and almost always sending some poor player either flying or dicing them to pieces.
"I guess that answers my question!" Wish III shouted with glee, reaching into the burning flames of his body and flicking his wrists outward. Two handles wrapped in Python leather struck out, fiery whips slicing the earth with hatred.
"[Freedom of Movement], [Greater Haste], [Protection of Muspelheim]," he incanted, his body glowing with each successive spell. Then he took off, practically floating across the landscape with his increased speed and agility.
The first group of players he came upon, he surprised, all of them shouting with alarm as he seemingly teleported to their position. One of them, a mage from the looks of it, raised his staff with misty mana already charged.
Wish III cackled as his whip tore asunder the air, slicing the chest of the prospective mage before his assigned protector could react. The heavily armored warrior cried out, hefting their halberd in retaliation.
Another strike of the whip wrapped around its shaft, yanking it from the Warrior's hands and sending it bowling into a nearby ranger and cleric. They were knocked off their feet.
Savage delight filled him. "What's wrong?! I thought you were all eager to attack me and my friends? Where has your ferocity gone?!"
Before any of them could reply, he dealt the killing blow, waves of hell fire blasting out from the edges of his whips and incinerating them to a crisp. They instantly dematerialized and left cloth sacks in their place, the signature death of a player in Yggdrasil.
Already he was moving on to the next grouping, doing much the same as he did to the first. However, a mage from further away was able to get off an offensive spell. From the way the air sucked in and a terrible gash in the world opened, flying straight towards the djinn, he guessed it to be a [Reality Slash].
"Oh no you don't!" Wish III exclaimed, grabbing a female player, another mage, and shoving her in the way of the attack. She screamed as the full frontal blast annihilated her form.
The sound of his whips and his uproarious laughter filled the battlefield just as much as the screams of the frustrated and dying did. Every crack of his weapons was another disarmed player, every blast of hellfire was a wave of destruction that scorched the world.
Eventually, he carved his way to another of his friends, a hearty and welcoming sight amongst the sea of enemies.
Ulbert was among a group of his own enemies, a look of bliss and pride on his face while his arms were spread in a welcoming embrace. The two golden bells that hung off the edges of his coat were alight with black flames, ethereal, clawed arms reaching out and slashing at those who dared to get two close.
Whenever someone managed to evade one of the baphomet demon's blows, streams of molten magma would shoot out from his hands, hitting dead center the stragglers. Ulbert looked over to Wish III with a content look.
"I see you made it here safe and sound. I trust things haven't been too difficult?" Ulbert asked, his extra limbs grabbing and smashing two players together, flinging them back into their group and knocking them over.
"Please. With these noobs? Based on how easily I'm able to manhandle most of them, I guarantee they don't even have a single piece of divine class gear!" The djinn shouted, flicking his right whip and wrapping it around the throat of a sneaking player, who raised his dagger to try and stab the unaware baphomet demon.
He yanked downwards, throwing the assassin off his feet and slashing with his other whip to quickly dispose of the assailant. They dematerialized without much fanfare.
Ulbert grunted. "Many thanks, old friend. Tell me, have you seen where Grievous Sin is? He was right behind me a moment ago."
Screams of agony sounded off to the side, prompting both players to briefly glance over. One of the warriors was flailing around, yelling desperately for help as a sheen of viscous, bright red worms slithered all over his body, burrowing in between the slits of his armor.
A creature that was essentially a snout, two feathery antennae, four eyes, and a mess of wriggling tentacles crawled up the length of the warrior's body, settling in on the Warrior's head and biting down.
Every worm clamped down at the same time, forming a single mass and constricting until not an inch of the warrior was seen. The full body of Grievous Sin reformed around his victim, though without his bone armor.
Other worms came back to him, covered in the shards. They reintegrated back with their main host and covered him. The Mgalekgolo loremaster shook himself.
"How curious," he simply said, falling back in line with his guildmates. Ulbert and Wish III shared a look, then shrugged.
Overhead, several other players flew, either with the help of pairs of wings, spells, or items. They zipped through the air, spiraling as vultures above the trio of heteromorphs.
They brandished spears, rifles, axes, swords, and all manner of weaponry, hurling insults and obscenities. Every point was aimed directly at their heads, though all Wish III could was giggle.
"Ulbert, you may have dragged me here into this without letting me know what was going on, but by God am I glad you did," the djinn said sincerely, spinning his whips in arcs for the coming fight.
"I figured you would. Better to keep it a surprise then spoil all the fun," Ulbert replied, his ethereal arms rising and curling into fists.
Grievous cleared his throat. "What a…bother. I much would've preferred this be a quiet day, but we can't seem to always get what we want."
Right at that moment, every airborne player roared at once, their battle cry the signal to swoop down and strike at the three with full force.
However, right as they were about to make contact, a harmonious melody played through the air, slicing through the murky air more efficiently than any blade. The airborne players bounced harmlessly off an invisible wall with exclamations of surprise and outrage.
"Ah, good. I was contemplating when you might…appear, Whitebrim," the loremaster said, with a grateful nod.
Wish III looked up, seeing the Solar bard flapping his wings as he plucked the strings of his weapon. It was an Beautiful harp, with an Imperial Gold body and the outer limbs composed of scimitar blades of Star Silver. The right limb was significantly longer than it's mirror, sharpened to a dangerous edge, and a grip of tanned hydra leather.
Whitebrim was dressed up to the nines, a stunning lavender suit that complimented his cherry-red skin, with a black vest, matching shirt, and bow tie. A rose-gold chain connected from the collar to his vest pocket.
Ordinarily, his wings would be compressed into a swan feather cloak, which would likely clash with the apparent color scheme that said angel was trying to go for, and thus why his full plumage was out instead.
Lilac sapphires rimmed the cuffs of his jacket, and the gems were likewise arrayed in the divine's Olympian curled hair, though only a hint of their glimmer could be seen beneath the oversized bolero hat on his head.
Glowing lines traced themselves along the contours of Whitebrim's cheeks, though the thickest went directly over his eyes and down to the collarbone, where more could have been seen sliding down the rest of his body.
"I aim to please as an artist, afterall," Whitebrim said, tipping his wide bolero hat. He pulled at a few more strings, playing a fast but simple number that created a green aura around his fellow heteromorphs.
The Solar angel hummed with satisfaction. "Enjoy the extra damage, boys. I have other places to be."
"NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT!"
The puttering of an aircraft split the air, descending from the warships to hover above even Whitebrim. At the brow stood a thickly muscled, shirtless human player. Layered armor like a tank covered his lower half, and a helmet with glowing red eyes and devil's horns sat upon the man's brow.
Tribal tattoos covered every inch of exposed skin, and his armor, oddly, was a glaring hot pink. Designs of roaring musicians were etched into his armor as well, both historical and new-age.
Exhaust pipes snaked along the hull and spewed tongues of flame while the new arrival played a heavy metal riff on his guitar, in the shape of a double-headed battle axe. The end of the handle, where the strings were connected, was a dragon's head, which breathed flames each time a crescendo was reached.
"I AM ONGAKUKA THE BARBARIAN, OF THE GUILD OF BIKINI BABE WARRIORS!" Exclaimed the man, who tore out another riff from his guitar. A sickly aura began to cover the Heteromorphs right afterwards. "I HAVE COME FOR THE FILTHY PIGEON, WHITEBRIM! MEET ME, MAN TO BEAST, TO SEE WHO IS THE GREATEST BARD OF THEM ALL!"
Whitebrim huffed in indignation. "Oh? You're challenging me?! Rather than flee, you'd come face me? A plebeian like yourself could never appreciate the fine arts! Even an orangutan would turn away from that chalk-board scratch you call 'music'."
To prove his point, the Solar of Ainz Ooal Gown plucked another melody, reapplying the buff that'd previously been stripped away from his allies. Golden fire raged in his eyes.
"Leave this brute to me, my friends! He's all mine," Whitebrim snarked, before the two engaged in a battle of buffs and debuffs, classical lyre versus new-age rock and roll.
Every so often, the aerial combatants would drift close together, where they would both stop, flip their weapons around, and swing them at one another to get a strike in. They were either parried or simply dodged, and the miniature war of music raged on as both sides slowly but steadily drifted away.
The display awed boths sides temporarily, though the djinn recovered first and lashed out with his whips to take advantage of the stand-still.
"Don't forget about us! We're still here to raise hell and take your loot! You may have started this war, but by God are we gonna end it!" Wish III said, cracking his whips and unleashing another wave of fire.
Fighting on both sides resumed after that, and though the trio of heteromorphs were able to hold their own, they were steadily being pushed back by the ever increasing hordes of enemy players.
Their hill was overcome, and the first strike that the wish granter experienced left a glowing wound across his left shoulder.
He growled with frustration. "I think now would be a good time to retreat. We need to regroup with the others. Do you know where anyone else is?"
"Most of our guild has been separated in the fighting. I was with Touch Me and Momonga when the fighting first started, then I ended up with Grievous here," Ulbert said, blocking an arc of lightning with one of his wards and slamming back with kinetic force.
Grievous nodded his head, slashing his four arms in an X formation. He pulled at two bones sticking out of his thighs, yanking out a pair of makeshift blades to stab at his foes with his bottom pair of arms.
"Takemikazuchi and Yamaiko were giving support to Garnet and Brisingr. Lucifer and Tepas Smith are holding off a wave of their own to the east of the tomb," the loremaster replied, snapping his jaws down on the neck of a rogue right after.
All three were back to back by that point, moving as one towards a more advantageous position. Where that could be, they were not certain, for the battlefield was constantly shifting on account of the raw strength, bombardments, and explosive magic being thrown around.
Wish III suffered another wound, this time on his lower calf. His body had partially solidified to take advantage of his own gear, which he'd pulled from his inventory and equipped in the heat of battle, but it was taking too long to fully arm himself.
A sudden force to his back knocked him off balance, causing him to stumble and miss his mark at a prospective elven archer. When he chanced a glance back, he saw that Ulbert's temporary ward was charged into by a warrior wearing a helmet resembling a rhino's horn.
"To hell with this shit! Where the hell is Dynamite! Call her in for some air support before we start drowning over here!"
"Already on it!"
The familiar feminine voice called to him, while the sky darkened with the shadows of what looked like arrows. Wish III looked up, seeing that the objects, in fact, were not arrows, but rather feathers sailing towards them at supersonic speed.
Several of the projectiles embedded either in the ground or directly into the heads and backs of enemy players, who gasped at the onslaught. Those who'd been weakened by the efforts of the heteromorphs dematerialized, leaving behind bags of items and gear in their place.
Those unfortunate enough to not fade away with death were left dealing with the stuck feathers, which sizzled and glowed white-hot.
Dynamite herself, with her signature shit eating grin, flapped down, many more feathers loosening and firing upon the horde.
"And this is always my favorite part. Time for the fireworks, baby! KA-BLAM!" Dynamite thundered, clapping her wings together in a dramatic display.
At her command, every single feather combusted into spires of flame, consuming those impaled by their sharp edges or cutting off entire pieces of the battlefield. Swaths of enemy players were routed, especially those homing in on Ulbert, Wish III, and Grievous's location.
A brief reprieve, but a much needed one. Wish III chuckled and gave his avian friend a thumbs up.
The harpy wizard, unlike typical mages, was adorned more like a soldier from World War II than someone who practiced the arcane arts. She was dressed in an army-green uniform that had the emblems of Ainz Ooal Gown and her own personal sigil as war medals pinned to her breast pocket.
A field pack was strapped to her back, stuffed to the brim with supplies like potions and scrolls. Alongside that was a military rifle, perhaps an M1 Garand, that served more a decorative use than anything truly useful.
Her camouflage pants were cut off at the knees to accommodate her digitigrade legs, her four toed claws flexing in the air. A ballistic helmet was fastened to her head, with score marks carved into the side, and the phrase "a good clanker is a dead clanker" right next to it.
"Glad to see you swoop in, Firehawk. Been kicking ass and taking names for AOG?" He asked in a jovial tone.
The harpy saluted him with a goofy smile. "You know it! Just an FYI for you guys though: I've been flying around and surveying the battlefield, and I've spotted some world champions lurking around."
Ulbert swore when he heard that. "World champions!? Here? I got the impression this invasion was a bunch of nobodies, so who the hell did they get out here that could classify as a world champion?"
Dynamite's grin faded into a grim line. "From what I've seen, they've got Tinker Tooker, Gelody Cleavage, and some other guy I've never seen before. I think his username was Phantoon, but the one I'm most worried about is Zeus Enalios."
That last name earned a collective silence, at least from the present heteromorphs. The background noise of their current war hadn't dissipated in the slightest, which only compounded the feeling of dread that Wish III was certain he and his friends all felt.
"This is an unfortunate development," Grievous Sin finally remarked, toying with his bony daggers. "I was under the impression that none of the top guilds were taking part in this fight."
"The rest of Illicit Sinners aren't here. For now it's just Zeus Enalios and the Olympian Hit Squad. Couldn't tell you where the rest of their guild is," the harpy said.
"Still, I'd rather not run into them without Touch Me. Any way we could reach him without dying along the way?" Ulbert asked, for once desiring the Paladin's presence without also seeking to bother him.
Given the circumstances, such rivalries could be justifiably set aside, especially if another extremely powerful world champion was lurking on the battlefield.
Though not everyone in Ainz Ooal Gown got along all the time, Touch Me was still a source of pride for their guild, given his own status as World Champion of Alfheim. However, that only reminded them of the other eight, far more hostile world champions of the nine realms.
Chief among them was Zeus Enalios, World Champion of Midgard and leader of the sect of Illicit Sinners known as the Olympian Hit Squad. Zeus's legendary trident was easily the most revered and feared weapon among any player of his caliber, save for guild weapons and world class items.
To have him present indicated that something more foul about the raid on their base was afoot, but what it was Wish III could not guess. He was no tactician like Ancient One or Punitto Moe, nor a social scientist like Bellriver.
"If Zeus Enalios is really here, then we need to get to Touch Me, pronto," the djinn said, though his words left a bad aftertaste. "Best case scenario, we gather up more of the guild and reach Touch Me. Worst case…I'd really, really prefer not getting speared.
His guildmates grunted in agreement, already scanning the destroyed landscape for said paladin. Off in the distance, the wish granter could see Warrior Takemikazuchi squaring off against another swordsman.
They both wore similar samurai armor, but as befitting a nephilim, Takemikazuchi was easily a head taller than his human opponent. In the worlds of Yggdrasil, however, size mattered not, for it was the abilities and equipment of players that won battles.
Takemikazuchi bent both knees, gently resting a hand on the handle of his katana, staring down his opponent. Likewise, the other samurai was similarly poised. Neither moved a muscle, or even seemed to breathe.
Then the other samurai lunged, ripping his serrated blade from its sheathe and aiming for the nephilim's neck with a vertical slash, but still Takemikazuchi did not move.
Right as the human was about to relieve the nephilim of his head, he slid past, falling to the dirt in two pieces, from shoulder to hip. Takemikazuchi, while in the same position and with a single stroke of his weapon, drew his blade and struck all at once, one-hitting his peer.
In another portion of the fighting, Shijuuten Suzaku was swinging a massive zweihander along the edge of his ground, sending waves of icicles and frost to freeze and impale those who drew in too close.
One rogue dared to draw closer, throwing vials of steaming potions at the undead warlord. He whooped with jubilation and adrenaline, only to be cut off by Shijuuten's massive paw gripping his entire head and squeezing.
Immediately, the rogue went limp, and his body was thrown back at his allies as it was disintegrating.
But it was the sight of Touch Me and Momonga on a hill who drew Wish III, Ulbert, Grievous and Dynamite's attention most of all.
The powerful overlord, in his majestic, regal robes and rib shaped shoulder guards, floated above the ground as he charged up a spell. Based on how large and intricate the rune circles were that surrounded his undead body, it was likely something to nuke the horde of enemy players that crowded in on all sides.
The only thing holding them at bay was Touch Me himself, who's glimmering sword would often cut down those who dared to strike at him, while also blocking and outright parrying other blows in the same motion.
At times, the paladin was able to attack from angles that shouldn't have even been possible without a ludicrous amount of speed. Every stroke of his sword was another dead player, and for every head that rolled, another bag of loot added to the mountain of treasure steadily building up around the duo.
His armor was a fortress, his weapons, forces of nature, and his will to protect and dominate absolute. If ever there was any aspect of the warrior that Wish III could respect, it was the sheer, raw power that Touch Me possessed.
Already the quartet of heteromorphs was making their way to the overlord and insectoid. Any resistance they met along the way was quickly brought down. The players of the invasive guilds may have been level one hundreds, but their equipment and builds were subpar compared to anything Ainz Ooal Gown had to offer.
Just as all four of them reached their destination, Momonga's charge time for his spell had completed, the runic circles glowing brighter and spinning far faster than before.
"[FALLEN DOWN]," The overlord invoked, all rune circles rushing into his body at once. In that moment, Wish III's vision was completely engulfed in blinding white light, the groans and cries of frustration from every player defeating his ears.
He imagined the heat would absolutely obliterate any and all without the proper protections, and when the light cleared and he could look around properly, he saw just that.
The sea of enemies had been cleared, only pieces of equipment and bags left behind as markers to signify anything was there at all. The earth was scorched for great distances all around.
"Things must have been getting dicey if you used something like [Fallen Down] to clear out these noobs," the djinn commented.
Momonga gently floated back down. "It was unfortunate, but with how many swarmed us, we grew desperate. With all of us here now, we should be able to gather more of our friends and hopefully turn the tide."
"Has it gotten any worse for our side since we've started?" Dynamite asked, her wings fluttering.
"Thankfully, no. Some of our guildmates fell back into the tomb to handle those who made it past the initial line of defense. They should be dealt with soon enough," the overlord replied.
"That is…good," Grievous Sin said, "Dynamite informed us that while surveying the battlefield, she spotted world champions among our enemy's ranks. Have you managed to glean anything from them as to who they are or why they're here?"
"Not much. They're something called the 'Eight Guild Alliance', a sort of group dedicated to trying to bring us down. Why, I can only guess. Probably for loot, more likely for fame," Touch Me said, fiddling with his sword.
"No, something tells me they want more than that," Ulbert butted in, "Zeus Enalios and the Olympian Hit Squad are here too. Illicit Sinners as a whole aren't, but there's no telling how long until they join the fight. We need to get everyone else together and hold the line, or else we'll-"
"Get smashed beneath our boots and smeared like the insects you are."
Everyone tensed up, hearing the new voice interrupt their conversation. It didn't help matters when they heard the collection of snickers accompany the haughty, arrogant tone.
Wish III grit his teeth while he turned to face the newcomers. They stood just outside the perimeter of [Fallen Down]'s radius, so the speaker used either a spell or item to carry his voice.
There were six figures total, to match each member of Ainz Ooal Gown currently assembled. They were arrayed in a U formation, with a lead figure to represent the group as a whole and his guildmates flanking his sides.
Unlike most of the players that the wish granter battled today, their equipment was either just below or meeting the standard of his guild, making them a far greater threat.
Two of the figures were human archers, one silver themed and the other gold, a woman and man. The man's bow was more angular and geometric in the arms, with the string glowing sunset orange, while the woman's bow was much more slender and graceful in its shape.
Both wore matching tunics, with breastplates of their respective metals like chiseled muscles. Circlets of sunfire and moonlight adorned their brows, with similar, flowing hairstyles to compliment one another.
One man wore muscled armor shrouded in shadows so thick it would make Temperance jealous. Each shoulder carried the snarling visage of a three-headed dog, and his Spartan helmet carried a majestic plume made of crow feathers.
In the shadowy warrior's left hand was a bident, or a two-pronged spear, and on the other was a massive, clawed gauntlet that could cleave a dragon in two. A cape cascaded down his impressive shoulders like ink, pooling around his feet.
Another was a thickly bearded blacksmith player, who wielded a heavy, two handed war-hammer with a head that, strangely, resembled a braying donkey. A Celestial Uranium lined apron covered his entire torso, while Heavenly Bronze casts covered the blacksmith's arms and legs as makeshift armor.
The second to last figure was covered in reptile-green robes with imagery of coiling serpents all along the hems of his clothing. In one hand was a caduceus, a golden staff who's core was wrapped in the bodies of live, hissing cobras, and a pair of wings at the tip.
That figure's hood was thrown back to reveal a sharp, spear-like helmet with its own pair of wings flaring outwards on either side. The greaves the man wore likewise were similarly adorned. Auburn ringlets peaked out the edge of the man's helmet.
All of the described players were among the Olympian Hit Squad, a collection of the most feared and respected minmaxers and role players among the nine realms, but in a sense, they did not even come close to the one who led them.
Zeus Enalios himself was dressed as he always was. He was bare chested, with the tattoo of a sea serpent writhing across his pecs in a fearsome display of decoration. Bands of Imperial Gold wrapped around his finely sculpted biceps, bulging with the strain placed upon them.
Around his waist was a belt of interlocking coral links, from which a waterfall of sea water flowed endlessly. Just beneath, greaves of ocean rock covered his lower half, with bracers of a similar material upon his forearms.
Resting on his head was a crown constructed of volcanic rock and pearls, images of sea life engraved all along its perimeter. Wheat colored hair reached down to his chin, framing the angular jaw and high cheekbones his avatar had.
But more concerning of all were his eyes, a blank and completely bored stare permanently consuming the deep blue of his irises. His chin was always slightly raised, and his gaze peering past his handsome and terrible face.
"I thought I smelled heteromorphic filth around here," Zeus Enalios stated in a neutral tone, "Tell me, have you enjoyed the little party we've thrown in your honor? Do you like the amount of guests we've brought to come and see you all? I figured you'd all be getting lonely, given just how completely loathed your entire existence is."
"How about you eat shit and die, Zeus? KA-POW!" Dynamite roared, snapping her wings forward and shooting out a barrage of explosive feathers.
Each projectile fired at a speed that no normal player should have been able to keep up with, already sizzling red-hot with power and ready to impale their next target.
Only before they could reach their intended target, a whirlwind of air and strength battered them away like flies, the clang of gear against ordinance ringing through the air. Even to Wish III, he could scarcely keep up with what he was looking at, which appeared as no more than bands of air in the Helheim air.
When the last feather was completely knocked aside, the gusts ceased, and the djinn could see the fabled trident of the World Champion of Midgard. It was nearly twice the height of the man himself.
The length of the weapon was a flawless, polished bronze that caught the light of the atmosphere. The tips of the weapon looked more like the teeth of some vicious, prehistoric monster, and the shaft it's tail ending in a wickedly sharp spike.
Grooves were cut into the weapon's handle at regular intervals, and in between each were scale designs and a rough, bumpy texture like corroded rock. It steamed from a combination of heat and whatever energies the weapon exuded naturally.
A weapon of war, meant to be wielded by the pinnacle of Yggdrasil's player base. Its name was 'Mavra Tis Lithis', or the 'Maw of Oblivion'.
The world champion's lips drew into a thin line. "Was that it? I figured the 'Firehawk' of Ainz Ooal Gown would have a little more to offer than that. Guess you and those rumors share something in common, nothing but hot air."
Dynamite snarled, moving to strike again, only to be held back by Touch Me himself.
"Calm down, he's just baiting you," the paladin said, "You know if you get close, he'll just finish you in one hit."
Zeus's condescending look deepened. "Is that right? Well, at least you had the brains to figure out a low blow like that. Though, had you bothered to get any closer, I would've just let the others have you instead. You're hardly worth the time."
"Why are you here, Enalios?" Momonga asked, stepping forward. "Why gather so many newbies and d-list guilds to fight against us? You can't possibly think you can take Nazarick with only a few hundred players, at best."
"A few hundred? Please. You've no idea the storm that's coming your way! There won't even be a scorch mark to remember you by on the map!" Shouted the silvery, female archer, hefting her bow in threat.
She wilted under the withering glare that her leader sent her way, shuffling her feet awkwardly and looking down.
"We don't speak out of turn, and we especially don't bother sharing details, do we, Luna Chaser?" The World Champion of Midgard said calmly, almost as if he were scolding a puppy.
The archer shook her head softly, and a comforting hand was placed on her shoulder by her golden counterpart.
"In any event, you'll be overwhelmed soon enough. We'll take whatever loot you have to your name, especially those world class items you have locked up in there. I think your base will do nicely as a storage house once we've taken it too," Zeus chatted, directing his attention back to the others.
All heteromorphs assumed defensive stances at his words, to which the Olympians save Zeus mirrored.
"You want Nazarick? You'll just have to pry it out of our digital, dead hands, you two bit poser," Ulbert snarked, his ethereal arms slithering out of their bells and curling into fists. Runic circles encompassed his forearms.
Everyone of them assembled their weapons or summoned their magic, determination filling Wish III as he stared down the stony face of Zeus Enalios.
A glint of amusement shone in the world champion's eyes, though his expression hardly changed. He bent his knees, bringing his trident up to point directly at his throat.
"Gladly," was all the human warrior said. And then he pounced.
All the present Olympians followed suit, letting loose battle cries at the same time that Ainz Ooal Gown did.
Just outside of his vision, the djinn could see the other players from the invasion gathering up, but not jumping directly into the fight. They seemed far more content to sit back and watch the show that was going on.
One even had some sort of drone hovering over their shoulder, the camera eye shuttering as it took various photos of what came next.
Wish III's whips came crashing down upon the green robed Olympian, who raised his staff to allow his cobra's to flare their hoods and spray twin streams of venom from their fangs.
They evaporated against the natural protections of the wish granter's body, negligible beyond the simple "cool" factor of the cobras.
The flaming weapons wrapped around the shaft of the caduceus, but rather than being yanked away, the weapon glowed with an enchantment that shimmered venom yellow. The fires of his whips sputtered, before fully extinguishing.
"[Wrath of Surtr] and [Stream of Magma]!" He chanted, runic circles hovering above his palms. In his right, a flaming sword materialized and slashed horizontally, carving a wall of fire that pulsed every few seconds. Each pulse sent out its own shockwave of energy along the ground, dealing area of effect damage.
The secondary spell was more straightforward, a pure blast of raw heat and elemental damage shooting out in a straight-line. For every second that he kept up the beam, it drained another tick of his mana.
Green Robe smirked, the wings on his greaves fluttering as he dodged, creating afterimages from the added speed he now wielded. In the blink of an eye he was up in the djinn's face, slicing downwards with a straight-edge dagger concealed in his clothing.
Wish III growled as he felt his health tick down from the attack, likely a glowing wound from his forehead to his lower chin leaving its mark. From the way it sizzled and how his health continued to dwindle, he figured the weapon was similarly enchanted with poison damage.
Before he could react with another blast from [Stream of Magma], Green Robe was already gone. He floated a few feet away, ignoring the pulses of fire from [Wrath of Surtr] altogether. He held up a peace sign.
"What's the matter? Can't keep up with my speed? You should know I already did my research, and know exactly how to deal with you," the mage taunted, zipping around to his back to deal another attack.
"[Protection of Muspelheim]," he said, right as another slash made its way across his back. The spell stored the added damage he would've received, and reflected inwards into a fiery column that shot out from the point of origin.
Based on how his opponent yelped, he must've come close to being singed, but managed to escape at the last minute. He zoomed back in front of the djinn with an annoyed glare.
"You think you're the only one who has a few tricks up his sleeve?" Wish III snarked, "How about you try this on for size: [Psychic Blades]."
Wisps of smoke trailed from his body, hovering and solidifying into daggers above his head. They then surrounded him in a circle, constantly spinning to cover him as best as the spell could manage.
They both reengaged, Green Robe's speed being tempered by the defending parries of the djinn's extra defenses. His whips reignited, adding on to the wish granter's arsenal and applying more pressure.
Off to the side, he could see Momonga and the bident wielder flying in mid air, throwing blasts of darkness fueled spells and the occasional [Reality Slash] if their mana allowed.
Several skeletons with bows filed around on the ground, firing the occasional arrow before being smashed to pieces by the shadow cloaked Olympian's clawed gauntlet. Sometimes, the bones would remain intact enough to reassemble and continue their doomed task.
Every once in a while, Bident would thrust forward with his spear, only to be deflected by a ward or one of the spare daggers that the overlord kept on his person.
Ulbert was handling the duo of archers, who spread away from each other and were much more efficient and quick in firing their volleys. The two archers were on almost opposite ends of one another, which meant that the baphomet demon effectively had to keep an eye on two different directions.
His ethereal fists caught what arrows they could, slamming on the places where the twins would be moments prior to rolling out of the way. Whatever arrows made it past bounded off the wards the powerful demon put up for himself.
Closer to the outskirts of the massive scorch mark, the hammer wielder was pressing the advantage on Grievous Sin, who sent out as many worms as he dared to harass and nip at the legs of the heavy set human.
Whatever strength the human had was great enough that he muscled through the damage, raising his donkey-headed weapon to crack the skull of the mgalekgolo. An evil grin cracked its way across the blacksmith's hairy face.
Only to fall when several feathers pierced his hide and exploded, sending Hammer flying face first into the dirt. Dynamite flapped closer to her guildmate, reciting a spell that Wish III did not catch from his position, but that encased Grievous in an opal glow.
When the blacksmith staggered back up, his right arm hung limply, but he needed only one to properly swing his weapon. In his eyes were murder, and a desire to tear the heteromorphs apart with his bare hands if needed.
But the main attraction of their bout came from the clash of the two world champions themselves, who fought in the center of their make-shift stage.
Both struggled in a titanic display of awe-inspiring skill, clashing with their respective weapons and unleashing whirlwinds with each blow.
Touch Me threw a vertical slash, which Zeus Enalios caught between the prongs of his trident and shoved forward, only to get blocked by the paladin's shield and shoved aside, disentangling their weapons.
The spear-master used a wide-sweeping arc to push Touch Me backwards, stabbing at his feet to create additional distance and then slicing upwards towards the chin. A sword met the strike, tracing along the shaft and regaining the distance lost to put the two world champions so close they could brush their noses together.
At that point, Zeus had no choice but to raise his left hand and back-hand the paladin away, slamming the insectoid in the chest with the brunt of his trident's staff and edging around his shield to attack his blind spot.
And on and on this went, a flurry of counter attacks and parries blending so seamlessly together that it looked almost rehearsed, from what little Wish III could catch while swinging his whips.
A deadly dance of blade and ego, brawn and brain. The top players of Yggdrasil, dueling for bragging rights just as much the right to protect or besiege Nazarick. Despite Touch Me's normally morally righteous and uptight attitude, there was no doubt in the djinn's mind he was enjoying being able to go all out with someone of similar abilities.
Within his own battle, mounting frustration was apparent on both sides, as Green Robe found no clearance to swing his daggers or jab with his caduceus, and Wish III could neither grab or wrap the speedy player with his whips.
'Where are your spells?' the djinn thought, 'Why haven't you used your spells yet? Give me something besides speed and little slices.'
Reading his thoughts, Green Robe gave him another peace sign and a cocky smirk. "[Extend Magic], [Teleportation]."
The speedster disappeared in a flash, as did the human blacksmith that was steadily being beaten into a pulp by Grievous and Dynamite. All the other humans retreated as well, suddenly backing off the heteromorphs they fought.
Zeus Enalios got in one last jab, which, expectedly, was deflected with ease by Touch Me. The World Champion of Midgard stalked backwards, joining up with his allies back at the edge of the [Fallen Down] scorch mark.
"What's wrong? It starting to get a little too hot for you here? Need a moment to recuperate?" Wish III taunted, cracking his whips in challenge.
He and his guildmates reassembled as well, warily watching the Olympians as they stared back. Then, they began to chuckle ominously.
"You didn't think this was the full extent of the invasion, did you?" Zeus Enalios replied, face blank as ever, "No, we merely had to keep you distracted enough for the main event."
The world champion gestured with his trident over their shoulders, causing all of Ainz Ooal Gown present to look behind them.
Through the murky clouds up above, split apart by the crimson lightning that arced across the sky, the dark shapes of even more warships drew in closer, around five of them if Wish III was seeing correctly.
Now that he was no longer distracted by the thrill of battle, he could feel the mountainous shaking of the ground, and below the collection of darkened clouds was another of dust.
Through the maelstrom he could witness easily a thousand or so approaching figures, armed and ready for combat. Not all of them were players, for many of them walked jankily and in short bursts.
Some floated above the main force in the space between the warships and the ground force, held aloft by wings or spells or items. Amongst the players on the ground, there were interspaced golems of all materials and varieties, marching along towards their intended target.
A chant was taken up by the mighty army, thumping their weapons in tune with their war cry: "DOWN WITH AOG! DOWN WITH AOG!"
The players surrounding the charred area of [Fallen Down] cheered, waving excitedly at the arriving army and thumping their own weapons in tandem. The previous player with the drone over their shoulder now had many more, taking pictures all around.
"Phase one of this invasion was just to buy time for everyone else to show up. They may be d-listers, but they're determined, and they have the numbers," Zeus Enalios declared, his voice right in Wish III's ear.
There was no time to react, as suddenly the prongs of his trident burst forth from the djinn's stomach, molten blood pouring from the wounds.
Time slowed down when he saw his mortal injury, and though he felt no pain, he knew that with the damage he sustained, there would be no way for him to be saved unless his friends were able to pry him off at that second.
Whatever powers lay within Zeus's trident went to work, eating away at his very essence and eroding his avatar from the inside out. He should've put on a breastplate, or used [Body of Effulgent Aquamarine] earlier to account for piercing damage.
"Wish!" Ulbert cried, rushing forward to try and save his friend, only to be tackled by the other Olympians who took advantage of their momentary distraction.
Dynamite was smacked down by the blacksmith's hammer, the explosive mage crying out in shock. Grievous and Momonga were pelted by arrows from the twins, the two heteromorphs blocking as best they could from the onslaught.
Bident and Green Robe both charged Touch Me, who was forced to go on the defensive with the hit and run tactics Green Robe employed with speed that nearly matched the paladins. When Ulbert tried to come to the World Champion of Alfheim's aid, he was blocked by Bident's own assault.
The djinn was lifted into the air, sliding down further along the trident's tips. His beloved whips fell from his hands as he grabbed at the weapon and tried to pull himself off.
"I'll enjoy stealing every last thing you have to your name," the human warrior said casually, "Every last piece of armor, every last weapon, every last goddamn coin you have on you, and then I'll plunder your home."
More and more of his health drained away, and he knew he only had seconds left before he completely dematerialized. With great effort, he looked down on Zeus, gritting his teeth in rage.
If this was how he was going to go out for the time being, then he'd make sure to have the last word, literally in this sense if possible.
"I'll find you," he said, his arms now fading away. "I'm gonna find and spawn camp the shit out of you and take your fucking trident as a trophy. You'll stand and deliver for this, Olympian."
What was likely only seconds stretched out for an eternity, the member of Illicit Sinners studying the heteromorph closely. His eyes seemed to be searching for something, though what it could possibly be, the djinn would never know.
The thought of being blindsided as he had been was a hideous blow to his pride. He was a member of Ainz Ooal Gown! One of the Unholy Triumvirate, to oppose the Holy Triumvirate that comprised Connaisdiam, Nubo, and Touch Me himself!
He was supposed to be better than this! Stronger than this! Smarter than this!
Finally, for the first time that entire fight, the human actually smiled. It was a smile that was surprisingly less venomous than he thought. Gentle, maybe even kind, if he was kidding himself. But ultimately, his smile portrayed amusement most of all.
"I'll be waiting then," he said simply, while lowering his trident and allowing Wish III to slide off. By the time he hit the ground, only his head remained, and then that too disappeared.
In the darkness that followed, a simple message entered his vision.
YOU DIED.
RESPAWN?
QUIT?