AN; Hello dear Audience. I am Brett Fire, here with my first fic I have ever published.

I was inspired to take writing by my desire to entertain people. There have been so many fics out there that I have read that have either died before making it to a conclusion, or didn't pan out the way I would like.

In particular, there is the fic Yellowness by MidasMan on . It has an inspired idea, a wealth of possibility. It filled me with the desire to create. His writing is vastly better than my unpolished skills, and I dare not bash his creation. However, his OC's intense hatred of Nazarick dashes chances to interact with them all, add in her meta knowledge and she comes across a bit off. I love Citrinitas, and I dare not come across as a thief, so I contacted MidasMan directly and asked for his acceptance. He gave me the all clear.

I shall acknowledge now, I am not anywhere near as good of a writer as MidasMan. The intricate nature of the MC's personality slowly slipping away for Citrinitas's Personality isn't something I can achieve with my current skills, so instead I am weaving them together early. This fic more stands on exploring the NPCs as characters, having fun and conflict, whether that's between themselves or with outside forces.

I love Overlord for its aesthetic, "we're the bad guys, deal with it." The characters are memorable, and they hold a special place in my heart. However, (as an anime fan at least. I read some of the manga too.) the characters always stood in the shadow of Ainz, as the spotlight heavily favors him. The characters rarely get a chance to shine, so the idea of using an NPC as the main focus is genius as it gets rid of the supreme one dynamic.

So, I present my remixed prompt; An NPC of Nazarick has memories of a human life!

My goal; to explore the guardians a bit deeper, to let them shine.

I hope you enjoy it.

I was a humble man, Luther Burtet. An upper middle class chemistry teacher, drastically overqualified of course. My friends had likened me to Walter White, but with hair. They weren't far off, we shared a lot in common but I never had the pride to resort to such means. I had everything I could have asked for. The mundanity of life, while boring, was pleasing to me… that was until my life ended of course.

What were my last thoughts? Were they of family? Unfilled desires? A life flashing before my eyes? No.

They were "THOSE ARE HEADLIGHTS!" as my mortal form collided with the metal hull of what felt like a truck. Adrenaline shot through my veins as I ragdolled onto the pavement beneath great, black tires.

Fear overtaking my senses, I couldn't feel my mangled body under the halted truck. I was sure that the driver had called for help before having pulled me out from under. He kept talking about something… staying awake was it? Anyhow, once the adrenalin started wearing off, the cold of blood loss crept in, combated by the red hot pain of injury.

I could feel the blood pooling around my head, resting on a jacket that wasn't mine. The blasted smell of iron filled my nose while blood matted my hair. Faint typing sounds clicked away, as the driver who was out of my blurry view called for help.

The war between the cold, with their needles, and the heat, armed with iron, waged throughout me, except for anywhere lower than my waist. Slowly but surely, the cold kept winning. First it was in my fingers, then my arms, the pit of my stomach, and it just kept creeping forth.

Whoever the man was, I feel sorry for him. As my body started shutting down, I could hear him crying. "I didn't mean for this to happen! Sob, It was an accident, stay with us, please!" I don't blame you, don't cry big fella. It was my fault, I should have paid more attention.

'What good scientist doesn't pay attention?'

We never think about how slow our deaths will be, or just how little we know of death.

…

Everything came back all at once! I could feel my body, unbroken, healthy… and upright? Everything was super stiff, and dark, this body felt foreign. Please, let me open my eyes!

A simple humming tune danced around the room. At least that confirms I'm not in oblivion. It sounds to be deep in thought, like an artist unsure of where to place their first brushstroke.

As the humming sound moved around me, it was accompanied by a wet, slapping sound. My heart raced, as I couldn't pin what could possibly make that noise, let alone hum as well.

Against my will, my eyes shot open, and my heart plunged into my stomach. Standing before me was a creature straight from the pages of H.P. Lovecraft, with skin a sickly pale, tentacles dangled from the jawline, it's torso was slender and long, the legs stood on hooves. Had I the option to move, I don't think I could have brought myself to. It clearly knows I am here, and it hasn't done anything yet.

The monster continued to walk around me, all while humming in a humanoid voice, betraying its appearance. Screen floated around it. Impossibly long, claw-like hands tapped away at what looked like sliders and grids.

With every wave of it's fingers, I could feel myself shift. A slider slid and I grew tall, another slid, and I grew heavy, only for the creature to slide it back, and I could feel the pounds disappear. He tapped at lists and my body moved without my input. I would tilt my head as its fingers commanded, I would pose as the lists demanded, all so the creature could continue to sculpt me.

The humming continued, and so did my shifting and posing. After the shock died down, I could collect myself. A thought bubbled forth, once more of an artist and a portrait.

'Am I this creature's 'art project'? Why me?'

After what felt like an hour of being molded by something that didn't even have to touch me to change me, the creature stood before me and admired it's work. In the screens hovering around it, I caught a glimpse of myself.

A beautiful woman. Blonde, with gold eyes. Skin that was pale like porcelain. A figure that could rival movie stars, ever so slightly curvy, but never extreme.

It wasn't who I was before this. Before this, I was a brunette man in his late 40's. The stress of my work had put streaks of gray through my hair, and a slouch had welcomed a hunch into my back. I was a chemist, a teacher, and… it all seems so far away now. How could I go back? Between this artistic octopus and what had to have been my death - MY DEATH!

I was so caught up with the situation at hand, it had slipped my mind that my life had slipped away. Is this the afterlife?

Looking closer at the screens, I could recognize their nature. While I may not be able to read their language, I could recognize their functions. Between a portrait of my new form, and the array of sliders, grids, and lists, I had come to a conclusion. Admittedly baffling as it was.

I was at a character creation screen, and I was the character.

The creature brought a hand up to scratch an itch as it looked at me, as if judging itself to its own standards. A door slammed open out of view, and a clicking run made its way over.

A bird man ran into the room and yelled out "Tabula!" to which the octopus creature, whose name must have been yelled out. "You're late to the meeting and" getting immediately sidetracked, "who is this beauty?"

"Her name is Citrinitas, and I can't be late to the meeting, it's only" Tabula looked at his wrist, a clock popped into view, "Time to run! Hurry Peroroncino, TO THE MEETING!" he yelled while running out of the room with the bird man.

My mind was busy blowing out of my ears. The leather wearing Cthulhu had molded me into a beautiful woman, then got yelled at by a bird man about a meeting that he was late to. I couldn't tell if I was in a Lovecraft story or the weirdest Halloween party.

I still couldn't move a muscle however. In fact, I hadn't even breathed yet. Not that my lungs burned, I just didn't really need to breathe. So many questions, and so very few answers. Let's check off what we know; I am unable to move, I was in character creation a minute ago, there was an octopus man named Tabula and a bird man named Peroroncino, I had died earlier today, let's not dwell on that.

…

The realization dawned on me, I was completely alone, and unable to move. The seconds ticked by without a frame of reference. The dreaded silence of the room kicked in, as I continued to fight to move, even a finger, to blink, to breathe, to do anything but stand there and stare at a wall. It was worse than sleep paralysis, as least those tended to end, this was like being in a waking coma. A claustrophobia within my own body.

I fought to move, I cried out to myself, unable to muster a breath. This must be what dolls feel like on shelves.

For the second time, I began to go numb. Fighting this was impossible, as impossible as the situation I was in. I resigned myself to counting the seconds, something, anything to get my mind off the situation.

'1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18...'