A/N) As you might've noticed, this chapter is far shorter, and also titled "Part 1". I'm currently up to the chin with assignments and exam-prep (while also trying to figure out how to deal with the coming few arcs). It was about then I realised that I've ended up in something similar to last year. Those of you who were present may remember me dropping off the face of the earth until about April or so.
So... I figured that I might as well put out something— anything. You may have gotten about 40% of a chapter and a headscratcher of an ending, but at least I'm keeping the habit alive. Better than just quitting out of the blue for the longest time.
Expect the next chapter/part some time in November, when I've actually got free time again.
Chapter 17 - Elsewhere (Part 1)
Stone walls. Stone ceiling. An enclosed space, damp and murky— lit only by candle flames that swayed whenever a small draft made its way through the chamber. This place was a crypt. A mausoleum with cold stone coffins worked into the walls. A place that under any normal circumstance would have been silent and devoid of life. Though, that wasn't really the case in this instance.
"Jeez~. Didn't even bother making it a lil' difficult?" A feminine voice purred, reaching over to pat the limp body that she had slung over the shoulder on the rump.
"That's enough, Clementine." Another spoke with a rough timbre that rustled like dry grass, aiming his admonishment towards the robed woman whose every step elicited metallic clinking. "...Set him down." The stiletto-wielding assassin rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, but nonetheless complied with the request of her weathered ally, laying the blonde youth down on the cold stone floor with little care.
She clicked her tongue, lamenting how this little excursion had proven itself far less exciting than she had anticipated. —Sure enough, backstabbing the Theocracy had been quite the venture indeed, making her heart beat and blood boil with burning excitement. Everything after that, however, had left something to be desired.
It had taken far longer than anticipated to even grab Nfirea, with Khajiit (the bore) so adamant about avoiding a confrontation with the boy's grandmother, Lizzie. The assassin scoffed, swiftly brushing a tuft of blonde hair out of her eyes. ...It wasn't like she hadn't stabbed 3rd-Tier mages before. But no. Apparently subtlety mattered hours before mass death and chaos.
'The real treat has yet to come, hmm?'
Yes. That's right. ...Soon enough there will be pandemonium to partake in. People could be awfully boring, to consider something as banal as monetary gain worthwhile. Clementine disagreed. Sometimes, it was the rush alone that kept her going. A desire to prove herself— to hunt, as evidenced by the many adventurer plates that she now wore as makeshift chain mail. And sometimes, this pivotal aspect of herself led her down strange paths. Ranging from the act of joining the Black Scripture with her brother to the act of betraying them.
"...Do you still have it?"
"Nah. Dropped it in the gutter when fetching wonder-boy." The assassin drawled before breaking out into a bout of vicious giggles, ignoring Khajiit's deadpan look of annoyance. "Just kidding~! Here." With that, her hand reached out from behind her drab robe, haphazardly tossing the [Crown of Wisdom] at her companion, who clumsily caught it with a muttered swear.
That fool could mumble as much as he wanted about her being a madwoman. It didn't change the fact that he was a death-worshipping nutcase kicking around a graveyard, wishing death upon those who were better off.
"...Oh." The gaunt man's exclamation of wonder quickly morphed in to a raspy chuckle as he more closely inspected the gaudy piece of jewellery. A treasure of the Theocracy that allowed for greater magic power at the cost of one's mind. ...And now, they had the perfect wielder to match. It was a plan five years in the making, but soon enough, it'd come into fruition. "Pick him off the floor." The necromancer commanded with a wave of the hand, causing the other robed members of Zuranon to shuffle into place.
Eager as they all were— with hushed mumbles and quick motions— the cultists took great care not to harm the boy that was so important to their plan, carefully posing his unconscious form as to properly receive the Theocracy's holy artefact.
Tensions and excitement was running high, with each person reacting a little differently. The tips of Clementine's fingers traced her spell-imbued stiletto, itching to run it into something (only briefly considering trying her hand against one of those skeletal dragons Khajiit seemed so proud of).
Though, she wasn't quite given the chance.
"...Ara ara~." She spoke— face twisting into a far-too-wide smile. "...Seems we've got a guest. One who's just trying to catch our attention." She levelled a look towards the entrance to the crypt, with the echoing sounds of footsteps in the staircase being clearly audible now that the rest of the chamber had gone silent.
Khajiit froze, clutching the [Crown of Wisdom] with one hand and the [Orb of Death] with the other. —His bond with his summoned Undead Dragon was lightly tugged, rousing one of the hulking beasts resting in the graveyard above from its restless slumber. Whoever it was, they had gotten past all other members of Zuranon, making their through the cemetery and past all safety measures before finally ending up here, conspicuously announcing their presence.
"A fool wishing to stop the procession." He hissed, eyes shifting away from the entrance to bore into Clementine, who was fiddling with her choice of weaponry with that same unnerving smile. "...Insolence, to challenge the might of Zuranon on their own." In response, the stiletto-wielding assassin merely sighed airily, standing slightly to the side with hands wrapped around her weapons— ready to plunge them into the intruder as soon as possible.
The [Orb of Death] was grasped a little tighter, the necromancer's brow furrowing in focus and consternation.
With them currently being holed up in the poorly maintained crypt of a deposed noble family, there was only one way the intruder could come. ...And that was down the stairs and through the antechamber that preceded the circular burial room.
All eyes were on the only entrance.
And sure enough... Casually waltzing through the stone archway as though owning the place, they revealed itself.
"Who—?"
Clementine stiffened slightly, and Khajiit's eyes widened, seeming so shocked that he nearly dropped his orb.
The 'intruder' wasn't human.
Smooth bones— with slick highlights of obsidian glass— and a grinning skull with flaming red pinpricks in its sockets were the first, and most obvious features.
An undead. One of purely skeletal, not a scrap of rotting or dried flesh in sight.
Its majestic form was clad in exceptionally fine caster's garbs. ...Though its skeletal system wasn't fully human, judging by the pair of curled ebony horns jutting out from its temples— and the small serrated spikes poking out from its jagged jawbone.
"—By Surshana's breath...!" One cultist whispered, clearly shocked.
...
For a moment, not one person spoke up.
Both parties stood in relative silence, regarding each other— though Zuranon was significantly less calm than the newcomer appeared to be.
Eventually— perhaps inevitably— the uncomfortable quiet was broken.
"How trite." The undead's deep voice echoed— exuding both authority and dignity. "...What is it that you seek to accomplish, with such a meagre showing of power?" The other hooded members of Zuranon shook, filled to the brim with shock, fear and reverence. Even the mouthy assassin had decided to wisely shut her mouth, cautiously gauging the inhuman newcomer with her grip on her weapon growing tighter.
Khajiit swallowed thickly, hearing how the normally slimy voice of his [Orb of Death] had fallen silent. ...And it wasn't with a little panic that he realised that his connection to the undead dragons had been severed.
A [Dominate Undead]? Of this level? How strong was this person...? The Zuranon executive reeled and scrambled, desperately attempting to discern the identity of this newcomer.
"Speak" They commanded. "...Or has your tongue already been plucked from your skull?"
This... Lich.
They weren't immediately hostile. There may be a very good chance that they are in league with Zuranon— with one of the more potent, well-adjusted executives. ...Backup sent from the most powerful in the cult that had decided to take part in Khajiit's own pet-project.
"Ah... Honoured lich. Ascendant one." The tense necromancer paid due respect, bowing as deeply as his gaunt form allowed. Whoever this undead was— whether they sprung into existence as a higher entity, or shed their feeble human flesh in a bid to transcend mortality, this person was everything Khajiit sought to be. ...He'd been trying to sacrifice an entire human city just to stand on equal ground with the likes of this undead, after all.
The regal being shook his head, letting out a slow, breathless exhale that sounded an awful lot like a sigh. ...Their disappointment was tangible, and Khajiit couldn't help the goosebumps breaking out across his arms.
"...Make no mistake, lesser." It spoke slowly, as if intending to hammer home every spoken word. "I am nothing as pathetic as a mere lich." His voice echoed in this enclosed space, reverberating in the necromancer's skull. Those spoken words— the pride behind them, the absolute scorn— it was all dizzying. ...The necromancer could nary wrap his head around it, how the creature in front of him so casually insulted his life goal, denoting it as pathetic. "...To compare a wyvern to a dragon? Is that what you sought to do? A testament to your narrow-mindedness. That how in spite of it all, your capabilities are still lacking."
The necromancer's mouth opened and closed, completely missing Clementine's tense peal of subdued laughter.
"F-forgive me... My lord...?" He tried weakly. In truth, this creature had him at a complete loss.
As a legitimate undead, this not-lich was a fair few rungs above him in the hierarchy. ...And with how both of his skeletal dragons had been taken over, there was nothing Clementine or the entirety of Zuranon here could do to eke out a win, should tensions escalate.
"You've neglected to answer my question. ...What goal is it that you pursue?"
The other members of the death-cult shifted, seeming to want to step up and share their plans with the animate object of their worship. And frankly, the necromancer could fully understand why. ...This undead one was everything that Zuranon canonized. Everything Zuranon wished to be. ...Their majesty worthy of celebration and their power worthy of worship.
As a matter of fact, one could clearly tell that their mere presence allowed the stale and musty air to gain a tinge of delectable ash, indicative of undeath.
...Was there any other option? Anything he could say other than the truth? Of course everyone wanted to ask who this person was, where he came from and what he wanted. ...But with their leader— Khajiit— knowing full well how outmatched they were, nobody spoke up first. Any slight against this creature could end in their painful death.
He didn't have a chance to properly reply. Not as the newcomer beat him to the punch.
"...Don't tell me." The imposing creature drawled, pointing at the [Crown of Wisdom] with a bony finger— Clementine tensing in surprise slightly at how the monster had recognized a Theocracy treasure. She briefly had to wonder if this being was acquainted with Rufus, though quickly discarded that notion. That undead (if he could be called such) was much too soft-hearted to let such a clearly malevolent entity walk free, right?
"A 7th-Tier spell? [Death Spiral]? Or merely the conjuration of singular potent undead?" The skeletal interloper spoke, managing to correctly guess exactly what Khajiit's plan had been.
The necromancer replied hesitantly, treading very carefully, in case the wrong answer would make them a foe whose true power greatly eclipsed theirs. "Y-yes."
"Do you truly believe that will suffice?" Their voice was now mocking, as though trying to explain a simple concept to a child.
"Huh?" The Zuranon executive managed dumbly.
"—You'll be fighting a war. This isn't merely sacrificing a small hamlet on the fringes, don't you see?" The undead clarified with a tone heavy with both amusement and exasperation. "No. E-Rantel will fall easily. It is a fortress city stripped of equipment and manpower, left unable to stave off an attack originating from within its own walls. ...But what then? What of the rest of Re-Estize, moving in to reclaim? What of coalitions of adventurers? Of Blue Rose?"
Khajiit's mouth opened and closed, not quite finding an answer. "...The... [Death Spiral] will p-perpetually spawn gr—"
"—Greater and greater undead." Khajiit flinched at the non-lich's almost disinterested interruption. "It slowly gains momentum, growing increasingly potent with time. But do you truly believe that it's fast enough? That it can grow faster than Re-Estize can mount an offensive?"
"I—"
"And what of these... 'Powerful undead'?" The creature questioned rhetorically. "[Death Spiral] values quantity over quality. ...You're more likely to gain a battalion of disposable skeletons knights, rather than anything worthwhile— the few creatures with any worth are irrelevant in the face of a seasoned troupe of adamantine adventurers fighting in tandem with the nation's full might." The undead sighed yet again, a harsh sound that Khajiit flinched at. "This little scheme of yours has no longevity. Though it'll claim thousands of lives, it'll amount to nothing."
...
In truth, the Zuranon executive was left dumbstruck, not finding the right words to say— any reasonable argument to refute the newcomer's claims. The most basic reply that he had was that they'd fight. Simply to trust in the 7th-Tier spell. Even when this interloper speaking as though he had experience with [Death Spiral]. ...But Khajiit just wasn't so sure anymore.
"I'll ask again. ...What is it that you're trying to accomplish here?"
Yes.
That's right.
His goal.
...Even if creating an undead metropolis wasn't feasible, could he still rid himself of his humanity? Flee the country after having sacrificed E-Rantel? ...Or would he be hunted down?
"I wish to ascend...!" He declared. "To shed this worthless mortal form." Dull eyes met the crimson pinpricks of dancing flames within the undead's dark sockets. "This city... E-Rantel shall be turned into another great metropolis of undeath. A place with dark necromantic energy— where dead can freely roam. Another paradise built for us."
"A grand achievement. Far beyond your grasp even now." The creature mocked, making Khajiit's jaw clench.
"...It doesn't matter." The necromancer breathed. "I'll pursue it all the same. Regardless of how many wretches I'll have sacrificed in the end."
The undead horror hummed. "Pursuing it at any cost to others and yourself, then?"
"Any." Khajiit agreed through grit teeth.
An eerie silence filled the cold stone chamber.
—Until it was broken by a throaty chuckle.
"Well said. ...For a lower lifeform." The imposing creature declared with a hint of amusement. Their skull somehow giving off the impression of a wicked smile. A skeletal hand— adorned with a luxurious ring— was raised high, all watchers looking on with bated breath. ...Clementine backed up a few steps, preparing a Martial Art just in case, her excessive playfulness gone with the wind. "Then I, Antoninus, shall offer you an accord. A boon, if you will."
A spell was cast.
The once quiet crypt came alive, rumbling as foreign magic was introduced.
Khajiit's eyes were pulled to the edges of the chamber— the walls, where numerous stone coffins lay embedded.
With several tremendously loud cracks, one after the other, the coffins that had yet to be raided for their bodies were destroyed from the inside, erupting with a hail of stone pebbles and a thick billow of dust.
Clementine leapt back, stiletto pulled out and ready to stab, clearly wired and ready to fight, stopped only by Khajiit's glare in junction with what was currently happening in the coffins. The necromancer swore under his breath, turning back to the broken graves, worked up over having lost even a single seconds attention to his assassin companion.
The corpses within had begun to contort and shift.
It was beyond merely enamouring.
Rotted meat and weathered bones were consumed by viscous black fluid. A foul substance that seemed to leak from a gash that had appeared in thin air— like a grotesque, festering wound that had sprung up on space itself. This oily mass wrapped around the cadavers, breaking down and reforming them into something new. Something better.
Weapons, apparel. Cloth and metal. From robes and chestplates to flamberges and axes.
All woven from nothing, adorning these blessed ones as they crawled from what would have been their final resting place.
A few muttered prayers and shocked inhales could be heard from the cultists that occupied the room, though Khajiit couldn't even be bothered to shush them. Not when he himself stood staring, utterly gobsmacked.
Liches. Powerful undead, and—
Death Knights. Death Warriors.
Creatures he knew of only due to his obsession with undeath. These were mythical beings. Not meant to be merely called forth.
This was above and beyond anything the necromancer had experienced.
Utterly monstrous.
Half the posse of undead consisted of creatures that could be considered exceptionally powerful, with the other half being comprised of legendary undead that only ever appeared naturally every century or so. And yet...
Conjured. With but a flick of the wrist. Khajiit had taken five long, gruelling years to conjure a pair of skeletal dragons. And he had been outdone in less than five seconds.
'Nothing as pathetic as a lich', indeed. The Zuranon cultists could do nothing but look on in awe as legendary or otherwise powerful undead lined up with perfect coordination, obeying the whims of their skeletal master.
"Ha... Hahaha—!" The Zuranon executive broke down into mad cackling, barely restraining himself from running up and prostrating before Antoninus, who may very well have been a god of death from where he was standing. "A-astounding...! Marvellous!" He spoke breathlessly, and with the awed murmurs from the other cultists, he clearly wasn't alone in this opinion. "—S-such exquisite mastery of the necromantic arts!"
'—Who are you? Where did you come from, with such power...?'
"You, Khajiit." The undead spoke, and the weathered necromancer was shocked to hear that they already knew his name. "Your ambition is quite lacking. Why settle for a mere city? Why fear the interference of adamantine adventurers, or other meddlers?" The undead god spoke, and Khajiit absorbed every word, not wanting to miss a single syllable. "I too, yearn for another paradise of undeath, far greater than any others. Enact my will— aid me in my endeavour— and I believe that a dead dynasty will be well within our grasp."
...
This was it. A way for Khajiit to accomplish a life goal. Something he had strived for for the longest time. Certainly, Antoninus wanted to be king. And with such proficiency, could he even refute? Did it even matter? He'd be able to shed this worthless mortal coil in the end, wasn't that what was important?
It didn't matter if this one was involved with Zuranon, or if they were a Night Lich. They were a potential ally... And a potential threat that could wipe them all out easily.
"...I don't—" Khajiit swallowed thickly, hesitating slightly. The dangerous entity that stood before him gave no indication of being offended by him giving pause. "—With your... Might. I fail to see how we may aid you." Perhaps it was suicidal to point out your own relative helplessness, but Antoninus wasn't a fool. He had an agenda, and a clear reason to approach them as opposed to wiping them out without a second thought.
The undead scoffed. "—I have no plans of being intimately involved with running any land of dead. Merely to aid in their creation. For you see, in standing above it all, I'll tear the land of the living down to nothing but scraps," he asserted with unbreakable pride and a suffocating authority that almost felt tangible. "This city matters not. You can rule it if you so wish. But in the end? You answer to me."
The necromancer's awestruck mind was conjuring a vision. —A world of death. With the most powerful executives of Zuranon, the Night Liches and this frightfully powerful newcomer standing at the helm. And he himself a lich. An unchallenged lord of the dead ruling over a destroyed kingdom. It was dawning on Khajiit that Antoninus' stake in this might not be direct, but rather that he was a carefully hidden and deeply influential figure subtly involved with undead activity around the world.
And the idea of having a backer like that, even if it meant making a deal with the devil?
"Very well." The necromancer agreed hoarsely, unable to keep all emotion out of a voice trembling from both admiration and fear. "—I accept your generous offer... Lord Antoninus." Peering over his shoulder there didn't seem to be any Zuranon members outwardly disagreeing with the choice— and understandably so, when taking into consideration their goals and what rejecting such a boon would imply.
Somewhere in his peripheral, Clementine exhaled and shifted— smoothly sheathing her dual-stilettos with a complicated look on her face. The assassin didn't look entirely happy with this setup, but... She was wise enough to not voice her dissent in the presence of an overwhelmingly powerful undead.
There were a lot of unanswered questions.
Things not made explicitly clear.
But none of them, in the presence of something so powerful, were able to voice any doubts.
With such a wild display of power Antoninus had proven that victory was outright impossible, and that it was by his grace that they were allowed to continue living. They were mere chaff, and simply plucking the [Crown of Wisdom] from Khajiit's body would likely be a simple task to accomplish. Either way, it was clear that he wasn't the leader anymore. Rather, this singular undead who had appeared out of nowhere, effectively embodying every value held by Zuranon, had taken over.
The non-lich gave a hum of approval, stepping forward past the rows of powerful summons. "...Excellent choice." He drawled, lightly gesturing with a bony hand— lights in his hollow sockets flaring slightly. "Need I ask you to prostrate yourself? Is it not a common courtesy, to kneel before the very lord of undeath you've pledged yourself to?"
With that command, a few nervous looks were traded— some awed cultists sinking to their knees with gusto, and others with more hesitation. After great deliberation Khajiit's mind had been made, allowing him to bend the knee without much added thought. Clementine, however, didn't seem quite as eager to just roll over. Instead opting to remain standing, while observing the now servile Zuranon members with noticeable disdain.
"...Clementine." Khajiit rasped, staring daggers over his shoulder at the blonde assassin.
A beat of silence followed, before Clementine's face pulled into that familiar wide smile— complying with an exaggerated flourish. "—My lord." She spoke, not a hint of mockery of scorn in her voice as she knelt down. ...Though the necromancer had no doubt that the crazy woman would have wanted nothing more than to take a swing at the obscenely dangerous lord of death and his equally lethal cronies, she still had her self-preservation, and was likely aware that she'd be left without allies even if she'd manage to chase off the dangerous undead.
Antoninus gave a grunt of approval, allowing his gaze to sweep over the kneeling Zuranon— the blazing red in his eye sockets settling on Clementine for just a moment longer.
"T-then, what is our first order of business?" Khajiit inquired cautiously, shivering slightly when the undead's attention once more pulled towards him.
"Merely to bide time." The newly established master answered without hesitation.
"I... I beg your pardon?"
An inhuman skull was tilted slightly, implying curiosity— the slight shift causing a horned shadow to fall over Khajiit's kneeling form. "How long have you pursued this aspiration of yours, Khajiit?" The non-lich's deep, kingly voice echoed.
The necromancer's gaze was aimed down at the floor as he licked his dry lips. "...Half a decade, now."
"Then, I believe another two weeks won't be too much. You may simply remain idle. ...And wait. Your preparations are complete, are they not? I require but a little time to 'prime the weapon'."
'Two weeks?'
How much could happen in about half a moon-cycle? ...'Plenty', the Zuranon executive realised, if the strength exhibited by Antoninus in such a short time was enough to go off of. He'd be ready to wait another half-decade, if it meant seeing his ambition through to the end. Two weeks was nothing in the face of it.
The heart racing in his chest often felt like a personal slight. A perpetual reminder of his mortality and unneeded humanity. Though the excitement at the prospect of laying eyes on yet more powerful undead and to witness the birth of a nationwide metropolis of death almost made it worth it.
"I see." Khajiit croaked. "—What shall we do, during this time?"
"Brace." Antoninus chuckled, and a chill made its way down Khajiit's spine at the implications. "And be sure to acquaint yourself with the troops you will be commanding." He gestured towards the line of varied summons, each patiently awaiting instructions. "Re-Estize has a storm ahead of it." The monstrously shaped creature declared mirthfully, drawing out a few excited murmurs from the kneeling cultists.
"I'll relay further orders to you when the time is right."
With those foreboding words, the imposing undead disappeared in a flash of bright blue light.
At that moment, the crypt was as silent as it should have been during normal circumstances.
It took a moment of quiet reflection— and of careful inspection of the dozen powerful undead who were obediently lined up— before anyone dared stand back up.
The silence didn't last.
"~Good job, lapdog." Clementine crooned, seemingly not too worried about the summons if her wide smile was anything to go by. The assassin twirled a stiletto, somewhat annoyed about having to resort to formalities even after her time in the Theocracy. Khajiit dusted himself off, giving his wicked companion a look of unbridled annoyance. It wasn't quite simmering anger as it shouldhave been— or rather would have been, had her insolence ruined any attempts at discourse.
"—You must be more mad than I thought, to dare consider such a stunt." The necromancer hissed. In response, the blonde's eyes narrowed and smile widened, with her unsheathed weapon returning to a reverse grip, as though preparing to stab something. With but a single internal swear his body tensed, as another defensive spell was prepared, just in case the nutcase deigned take another swing at him.
"L-lady Clementine." A cultist tried, stepping closer in an attempt to soothe. "I implore you t— gh-!" A big mistake, considering how a cold metal blade found itself in his neck faster than he could react, cleanly puncturing through the larynx.
"What is the meaning of this?!" The weathered necromancer barked, now considering using a spell to strike down the assassin before she could do more harm. The other cultists also readied themselves for combat— stepping away from the crazy woman and cautiously observing their leader's actions. The assassin's smile grew wider as she wrenched her weapon free, allowing the stabbed man to limply sink to his knees, fruitlessly clutching his throat.
He didn't last long.
"Awww." Clementine cooed, looking down at her bloodied blade as though considering licking it. "—Don't tell me~. Ain'tcha just real sentimental, Khaji-chan? Do you really need these flunkies, now that your skeletal lover is here to lend aid~? Why, I thought death was a luxury."
Khajiit growled. "Striking at your own allies like a mad dog. Stay your hand, lest you be put down."
"Put down? And how will you manage that?" The blonde questioned venomously— playfully tilting her head and pushing a finger against her cheek. Evidently she had picked up on the fact that he was no longer controlling any skeletal dragons. The necromancer could do nothing but frown, and clutch his [Orb of Death] a little tighter.
Their alliance had always been fragile.
Though it seemed as though the encounter with Antoninus had rubbed Clementine's pride the wrong way, pushing an already shaky business-relation to its breaking point.
"—Crazy-!"
"Enough."
All heads turned towards the voice. Though the orator sounded weak, with a whistling breath barely above a whisper, it took just one look to dismiss such a notion. No one dared assume the freshly conjured lich was anything other than tough.
"A pitiful display." The unnamed lich wheezed with rotten throat, motioning slightly. With that innocuous hand gesture, an imposing Death Knight stepped forth, placing itself between the two bickering parties. The legendary undead's attempt at placating was effective enough, as its burning hatred towards all life somehow felt oddly personal. "—You serve lord Antoninus. Professionalism is expected." The conjured lich interjected once more.
"Of course." Khajiit agreed with a throat that suddenly felt very dry. What a marvel it was, to witness such majestic undead up close. He just gave the still-smiling Clementine one last glare. The assassin shrugged, hummed, and sheathed her weapon again.
'Tsk.' Nothing more to do, with Antoninus' servants acting as dangerous mediators.
Things had turned out strange exceptionally quick. And yet, Khajiit found himself inexplicably giddy. His plans may have been thwarted, but what was about to transpire... It would be beautiful.
Not long, now.
But first?
"Hold the boy still." He commanded, as a pair of cultists (still nervously eyeing Clementine and their dead comrade) sprung into action— grabbing hold of the still unconscious Nfirea. A wide, repulsive grin pulled on the necromancer's chapped lips as he menacingly stepped closer with [Crown of Wisdom] held tight.
Even with his plan derailed... It was all coming together.
x==x==X==x==x
'How does he do it?'
Perhaps such a question was pointless, but Demiurge just couldn't help himself but wonder. To his knowledge the Supreme One knew as little of this world as the rest of Nazarick (heretical as it may be, to consider themselves equal in any aspect). Despite this, however, their gracious lord— now 'Ainz Ooal Gown'— had managed this much in such a short time and with such limited information.
In this dimly lit room, this unsuspecting locale situated somewhere within the confines of E-Rantel— a Devil sat, dressed in his signature orange suit and with hands folded in his lap. A few written reports lay on the table in front of him, but ultimately, his focus was elsewhere.
Truthfully, he wasn't able to gauge the scope of his perfect master's plans quite yet. All he could do was pick up on the hints and act accordingly.
'—Foolishness, to take the Supreme One's orders at face value. I must focus my efforts from this point onwards. The will of Nazarick's greatest mind shall not be denied because I've failed to discern his motives.'
Of course there were double (or triple) meanings within every issued command. And Demiurge was ashamed to admit that he had failed to extrapolate any of them until just recently.
His lord had ensured that the population of spies— Shadow Demons and any other creatures good at subtle information gathering— within the closest city of E-Rantel was particularly dense. Initially the Arch-Devil had accepted the Supreme One's reasoning that proximity made it optimal for observation and investigation, with the magnificent Angel stating that any planned exploration that could locate Nazarick was likely to go through the nearest adventurers' guild first— and that keeping an eye on E-Rantel could prove worthwhile.
Late at night, lord Ainz had used [Message] for the sole purpose of notifying Nazarick of the importance of Talents, and his desire to keep an eye on them.
Demiurge's gentle smile grew wider.
It couldn't have been coincidental. Not when there was an organisation creeping around a Talent-wielder within the confines of E-Rantel at that very moment. And when taking into consideration the inferences the Devil had made regarding the Supreme Being's desire to use this world's population for their benefit? Why, it was too perfect to be sheer happenstance.
Sure, the demonic Floor Guardian didn't really get it.
Nazarick alone could accomplish the plans that Demiurge was picking up on. Granted, this would allow them to ride off he coattails of Zuranon's infamy, but realistically speaking, there was no point in colluding with that little creed of small-minded death-worshippers. Not with what the Tomb was capable of. But this had to be part of their master's plans, for the Supreme One to leave such a trail of breadcrumbs. The Arch-Devil just couldn't see the purpose just yet.
Faith. That was all he needed. And it was something he had in spades.
"Lord Demiurge." A deep voice spoke. "—I hope my performance proved sufficient."
The Floor Guardian's smile returned to perfect amicability, shedding the light touch of mania that it held moments prior, when he was quietly basking in the glory of the ultimate leader. The one to have spoken up was the distinctly inhuman undead, who was now kneeling to Demiurge's side.
Aurelius. One of the five Overlords who protect Ashurbanipal alongside the head librarian. Though the Devil figured that he'd be known as 'Antoninus' to the world at large.
"Quite so. It was a commendable act, Aurelius." The smiling Arch-Devil commended. "Your cri de coeur may have left something to be desired, but the power and rhetoric put on display was more than enough to sway those death-obsessed fools. Trust between parties might be weak, it'll do well for our purposes— after all, 'we' won't be betraying them."
The Overlord stood back up, dusting off his fine robes. "Exciting times." He spoke. "The Supreme One makes a bid for the world. —Truly, it is an honour to have been picked for such a glorious purpose."
"Of course." The Floor Guardian practically chirped. "Given your... Proclivities, I believed you to be the most fitting choice."
"That may very well be, sire." Aurelius agreed, allowing a bony finger to trace his serrated mandible. "Though standing guard within Ashurbanipal is a divine purpose, this is an enticing opportunity; to witness streets run red with blood, and to feel the pungent scent of copper in the night air." Demiurge chuckled under his breath. Aurelius was a good pick. His yearning for action was at odds with his companions in the relatively quiet library. For him to be granted such an active role was a blessing.
Then again the devilish Guardian had to wonder if the Overlord had the charisma and innate stage presence for their purposes. Though more than enough to manipulate Zuranon, who practically worshipped the ground his kind walked on, Aurelius might not be captivating enough for the 'narrative' they were weaving for the world at large. If that was the case...
Maybe Demiurge would have to step in.
It follows master Ulbert's rhetoric of 'presentation is everything'. And if "Antoninus" cannot captivate an audience, then it may fall on his own shoulders to pick up the slack.
"Forgive me for inquiring, lord Demiurge... But I simply must wonder if these 'allies' are to be trusted." Of course, the library-guard's skull couldn't contort to show any manner of expression, though the Arch-Devil was still pretty certain that his mien would reflect curiosity, were it able to. "As inhabitants of Nazarick— devoted creations of the Supreme Ones— we are barely qualified to take part of Ainz-sama's plans. But for these... Petulant children. These insects...?"
The sharply dressed devil hummed conspiratorially, a small smile still resting on his lips. "What do you make of these people?" He replied with another question.
...Aurelius paused, seemingly mulling over it.
"Insignificant. Useless." The Overlord Wiseman finally spoke, attempting to make an observation in front of his intelligent master. "Their leader's contempt for humanity might be the one thing I would not condemn. Though ultimately, the traits displayed are concerning to see even in temporary servants of the Supreme One. Particularly worrying is the girl."
Demiurge's smile grew a little wider, contrary to the slight irritation he felt when considering that individual.
Loyalty was the most basal trait among Nazarick's denizens. ...And to have to work with such a difficult person whose ideals seemed to run contrary to this...? Well. It was more than just a little infuriating.
"Right you are." Demiurge agreed, standing up and dusting himself off— as though existing in a structure outside the Tomb had dirtied his suit. His metallic tail joyfully swayed, as he knew full well that these allies of theirs were fully disposable— and had a pretty good idea of how they'd eventually end up when his master entered the equation.
The two weeks Zuranon would have to wait weren't really necessary. It was just to buy some time to get everything into position. Though E-Rantel would be facing plenty of casualties, this incident would not create a country of dead, let alone a city. Demiurge wasn't an idiot. He wasn't about to hand his perfect master a massacred country populated by nothing but corpses and call it a success. ...Zuranon would lay the groundwork but wouldn't be getting far.
Of course, the Arch-Devil was working off of half-discerned plans created by a grand mind far beyond his own. —One could only pick up on the subtle hints and hope to extrapolate deeper meanings down the line. The Floor Guardian sighed while adjusting his spectacles— contemplating if it'd be shameful to boldly ask the Supreme One for more detail.
It was then he felt it.
—The telltale sign of a [Message] prodding at the back of his mind. Practically blaring.
'Curious.'
There shouldn't really have been a reason for anybody contacting him in this instance. As far as the Arch-Devil was aware, his every co-worker already had a task ahead of themselves. Those with shorter missions, such as the dark elf twins, had already reported back, and if any others were finished they'd be far ahead of schedule.
It was with a mix of curiosity and unease that Demiurge pressed his index and middle finger against a pointed ear, wordlessly dismissing Aurelius with a wave of his free hand.
The [Message] immediately filtered through, allowing the slightly uneven voice of Shalltear to push through the silence and fill his mind.
[D-Demiurge.] She spoke stertorously, making the Arch-Devil's expression pinch into one of mild concern.
[Shalltear.] He acknowledged his colleague, not offering any further greetings or platitudes. Not when the vampiric guardian sounded so grave. [What's the matter?] Nevertheless, the Devil got out of his rickety wooden chair, assuming his full height once more— ready to teleport if the situation turns out to be dire. Whether he wanted to or not, the Floor Guardian began pacing, not bothering to look where on the scuffed flooring he set his fine dress shoes.
[I—!] Another shuddering breath came from the True Vampire. Not quite enough to be called panicked, but also far from calm. [—I think I've failed Ainz-sama. S-severely let him down when pursuing my task.] Her words started off fearful, but over the course of a single sentence, lost much of its hysteria, instead gaining an air of defeat.
Demiurge still found it within himself to almost trip over his feet.
This wasn't happening. The very first tasks requested by the Supreme One that went beyond defending the Tomb, and then this. With a small click of the heels, the pacing Arch-Devil came to a stop, his gloved hand finding itself adjusting a luxurious tie with a grip much too tight. Momonga— no, Ainz Ooal Gown here outside the Tomb— had placed his faith in his loyal subjects, graciously lowering himself as to grant them purpose beyond their core duties. And too repay his generosity with failure on the very first go? Demiurge didn't even want to consider that possibility, and yet here they were.
—Maybe it wasn't too bad. Things could still be salvaged. He'd have to withhold judgement until after his co-worker has given her full report.
[Demiurge? Are y—]
[Yes. I am here.] The sharply dressed demon cut off his compatriot, unable to help himself from feeling an inkling of grim satisfaction at the unseen wince on the other side of the connection. True, he did care— he did empathise— but with tensions running high, ire took precedence over compassion. [Are you in any danger, presently?]
[No, that— that has since passed.] She replied, with the devilish Floor Guardian quietly noting how her voice took on a darker tone near the end.
'...An inevitability, maybe. Perhaps we, as creations, cannot be infallible as our masters.' Demiurge's lips couldn't help but pull into a slight frown. 'Lord Ainz... Is it possible he foresaw this as well...? Would it be heretical to think that misplaced faith clouded his better judgement, if I dare assume this did not unfold according to any plan?'
[And... Can this 'error' of yours be corrected?] The Arch-Devil had to question, though he was certain that Shalltear would have amended her mistake on her own, had she been able.
[W-well, maybe if we were to use Nigredo, but—]
[In detail.]
[Eh-?]
[Everything that happened. Tell me in detail.]
Chapter End
Khajiit has wares, if you have the coin
*Aurelius is one of 5 Undead Overlords (Overlord Wisemen?) who defend the library of Ashurbanipal within Nazarick, canonically. ...Supposedly one that prefers "action" over passivity and words. He's named after Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, the Roman emperor. I figured that Antoninus could serve as a pretty good cover name.
A/N) You didn't expect me to completely neuter the Slane Theocracy so soon, did you? ;)
Nah, but don't worry too much about it. You'll get an explanation soon enough.
...And while we're at it, there's a new cover image. I'm not sure whether or not I like it more or not. A bit lacking in personality, but more thematically appropriate. It's the Helix Nebula, also known as the Eye of God. The name, coupled with how I keep using the word "nebula" to describe Ainz's eyes made it feel somewhat fitting.
