Heya everyone!
Here's the ninth chapter, hope you enjoy it!
DISCLAIMER: English is not my first language, so please be patient with me!
Arc 1
Chapter 9 — "Primordial and Exchange."
Primordials were strange, enigmatic creatures. They were supposedly firstborn children of the Primordial Dragon, from which the world was fashioned, ancient and powerful. In life, their abilities had rivaled those of the silent gods themselves. In death, they had spawned a multitude of lesser primordials to continue their everlasting struggle. One would think that such fearsome entities and everything related to them would be vividly remembered by history, documented for the ages... but this was not the case. While the Primordials had been powerful and frightening in their heyday, they had been sealed away eons ago. That was a lot of time for information to be forgotten, especially since the gods had actively tried to limit knowledge of them and their prisons while they were still being active in the world. Thus, finding any substantial information on them was quite hard.
Moreover, even when such information was found, it was hard to gauge how much of it was reliable and how much of it was pure fabrication. A lot of the stories that bothered going into details about the nature of primordials were mutually contradictory, and there was no way to test any of them to see which one was closer to the truth than the others.
And even so, those very few sources that might be deemed reliable wouldn't even show the whole picture to begin with. How could they? No matter how knowledgeable the authors may have been, how privy to the secrets of this world they were, a Primordial's nature wasn't something that could be grasped by the feeble minds of the mortal races. Like how a two-dimensional being could never understand how it felt to live in the third dimension, humanity could never comprehend, fundamentally, what the Primordials were.
Panaxeth was the very embodiment of change and adaptation. His very essence, his blood, was the reason behind the existence of shifters: beings capable of shaping their bodies to match that of different creatures. Essentially, in a very vague way, they could be considered his offspring.
Unlike his brethren —scattered across the physical realm— that had long-lost any semblance of hope to ever break free from their extradimensional prisons, he was different. Since the day of their demise, the ever-changing primordial had never ceased to search for an opportunity. For something, anything, that would let him escape his captivity.
The divine shackles that constrained his incomprehensible and ever-changing body hadn't stopped him from trying, even though each of his movement would trigger the holy chains and send him in a world of absolute agony for month at a time, his flesh and soul seethed by the godly power within.
But... Panaxeth would get out of his eternal prison.
At some point, he knew he would. It was an inevitability. He was patient, time wasn't an issue. No matter the eons of suffering he needed to endure, he would break free. His chains would someday rust away. His drive would never subside, his wrath would only grow.
Everything the gods ever created, their most dearest creation, the mortal races, he would destroy them all. He'd relish in their suffering before waging war upon these cowardly gods once more.
Yes, such was his destiny.
He, who was the very embodiment of evolution, would find a way.
.
.
.
...at least, that's what should've happened. This destiny of his, it might've come to pass... if it wasn't for one, single mistake he made. One grave, foolish mistake that would bring about his eternal damnation. A blunder so great that its consequences would be felt across the entire realm, triggering a chain of event that would, in time, reshape the very foundation of this world.
In his infinite hubris, Panaxeth thought he could control what he couldn't understand.
He had called upon a Supreme Being.
And Ainz Ooal Gown had answered.
And, even face to fact against the embodiment of absolute death himself, the fool still couldn't realize the danger he had brought upon himself.
It seems fate is finally on my side, Panaxeth denoted smugly.
Primordials didn't experience emotions the same way as the rest of the mortal races did. Their morphology processed information differently. Yet, sometimes, something resembling human emotion did surface.
What Panaxeth felt at this very moment could've been described as an intense thrill, an ecstatic sense of excitement and pleasure.
It was a rare occurrence, almost legendary. What prompted such feeling? Well, it was because the higher existence he had called upon in the last iteration of the In-Between now stood before him, against all odds.
Death and Adaptation.
Finality and Perpetuation.
Two fundamental, yet opposite side of the same coin.
Ainz Ooal Gown and Panaxeth, at long last, had met.
The featureless void started to tremble under the strain of their presence. As if aware of the looming danger of a potential confrontation, the darkness itself, as if it had gained consciousness, recoiled in anticipation.
Zorian watched the two entities with bated breath. Zach's unmoving body was by his side; he was unconscious but alive, saved by the Guardian that had transformed into a grotesque amalgamation of eyes. Maybe it's a security measure... Zorian thought, still oblivious to the fact that the Primordial they've been fighting against now stood before them.
"I am called Panaxeth," the monstrous, one-thousand eyed doll spoke.
The Overlord remained wholly silent. Its fiery gaze assessing the newly arrived entity.
Panaxeth... Panaxeth... where have I heard this name before...? Ainz repeated in his head, searching in his memory for any mention of such a name. It did vaguely remind him of something, but he just couldn't remember from where.
Its appearance was enerving, even to the Overlord of Death that commanded an untold number of monsters. The way the eyes shifted around his body, continuously and without rhymes or reasons, grossed Ainz out in a way he did not think possible.
Also, the feeling he got from this Panaxeth was odd, to say the least. The pressure it emitted was ancient, primal and inhuman. It definitely was strong, but to what extent, that the Overlord couldn't tell. Its aura felt both overwhelming and faint at the same time.
Casting [Detect Enemy] might have given him a clearer answer, since it allowed the caster to estimate an enemy's level. But doing so may trigger any anti-divination protections, and would forever break any sense of good-faith he'd tried to convey if found out. Better not burn the bridges that had yet to be constructed, he thought.
"Ainz Ooal Gown," Panaxeth continued in reverence. "Though, it is rather late, please allow me to welcome thee unto my domain. I would've wished to exchange with you sooner, but my situation hardly confers me such freedom, unfortunately."
The Guardian's borrowed body did not move an iota as Panaxeth talked. There was no apparent mouth to talk through, yet the voice was booming and intimidating.
His situation? I have no idea what he's talking about... well, at least he's not hostile yet, Ainz noted.
The Overlord decided to indulge the doll in the conversation he'd requested. After all, he stood nothing to lose, but everything to gain —information wise. Though, it did not mean his guard would waver for a second. The moment the primordial did something suspicious, Ainz was ready to unleash his full power on him.
"Umu. Thank you for the warm welcome, Panaxeth," Ainz addressed cordially in response. "I can't say I have ever heard of you. If you don't mind, can I ask what manner of creature are you?"
"I can't blame you. The gods made sure my name would be forever lost to time when they imprisoned me," Panaxeth said, bitterness and a thinly veiled anger permeated his every word. "Regarding what I am, the humans refer to me as a Primordial. We are the firstborn of this world."
Zorian recoiled in shock, his eyes widening in horror.
The Overlord, on the other hand, just scratched his chin, akin to how a collector would after finding an interesting piece of art.
"A primordial, you say? I have never met one of your kind before. Is this how you usually look like? This doll seemed fine just a moment ago," Ainz said.
"Of course not, this is only a vessel. My actual body is bound within the confine of my eternal prison."
"Umu. I see." Ainz nodded.
So it's remotely controlled? Interesting. It should be easily defeatable, but it might be the point. Maybe he uses puppets to gauge his enemies' abilities... better not show him anything unless I have to, the Overlord concluded.
"And what business do you have with me? Are you perhaps those kids' protector?"
Panaxeth was a little taken aback by the insinuation. Maybe, slightly offended even.
"No," he drily answered, an unmistakable tint of hostility in his tone.
"Then, why did you order me to stop?"
"I did not mean to antagonize you, Ainz Ooal Gown. Those two are special, and while I don't care about what you do with them, destroying their souls would trigger an emergency response from the world we're inhabiting. I cannot allow that to happen at this stage."
The Overlord did not respond. Obviously, something was amiss, and he couldn't understand half of what the Primordial had just said.
"I can see that you are confused, and that is exactly why I've wanted to talk with you," Panaxeth said. "Let's not further waste time. I have an offer for you, one that I think you—"
Suddenly, the voice of Zorian Kazinski resounded throughout the void of the control room, interrupting the Primordial.
"WAIT!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.
[Moments earlier...]
As the two beings of unimaginable might stared at one another, Zorian held onto his dear friend's unmoving body with an uncharacteristic warmth. Zach's face was still contorted by the unbearable pain he had been subjugated to. His eyes were slightly opened, yet unfocused. His mouth was agape.
Seeing the unassuming arch-mage —his best friend and strongest person he knew — broken like this physically pained Zorian. His wails of pure agony still ringed clearly inside his ears. And, they might for the rest of his life.
An unbearable sense of guilt and shame washed over him.
If only I hadn't searched for this stupid name, Zorian admonished himself.
Because of him, both of them were doomed. Even, if by some holy miracle, the reset did activate... in what state would he found Zach? His soul was probably irreversibly damaged at this point. And, even if his soul could heal in time, would he still be the same Zach he once was? After living through the worst pain imaginable, the psyche was bound to change for the worst.
"Zach… I'm sorry," he muttered, under his breath, almost inaudible, defeated. "I'll… I'll find a way out of this. I'll do my best."
But, in this world, misfortune never comes alone. Every time a situation could turn for the worst, it would. Especially for someone like Zorian Kazinski.
"I can't say I have ever heard of you. If you don't mind, can I ask what manner of creature are you?" Death asked.
"I can't blame you, the gods made sure my name would be forever lost to time when they imprisoned me. Regarding what I am, the humans refer to me as a Primordial. We are the firstborn of this world."
As the corrupted Guardian of the Threshold, Panaxeth, revealed his true nature, Zorian visibly recoiled in shock.
He... he's the primordial? No way...
Zach and Zorian's worst enemy, the one at the epicenter of all of their conflicts, the one they needed to prevent from escaping... was aware of the time loop... was aware of them. Not only that, but he could control the Guardian, their only access to the controls of the In-Between. Their only means of escape.
Zorian felt his stomach drop, turn and twist, his heart sank, his throat and muscles tightened painfully.
That can't be real... please, no! Someone, please, wake me up from this nightmare already!
Zorian redoubled his efforts, triggering the kill-switch of his marker again and again, each attempt more desperate than the last, to no avail.
Then, a realization struck the boy. If Panaxeth truly held some kind of control over the world of In-Between, then it wasn't far-fetched to reason that he also was able to prevent resets in some capacity.
Is... Is that why we can't reset?! Is this some kind of sick joke? Can he do that however he wants, or is it an exceptional occurrence? Why did it never happen before?
Zorian began to curse his fate, his bad luck, everything. What he was currently feeling was far beyond anything he'd ever felt before. A despair so deep, so all-encompassing that there wasn't enough nouns in the human language to describe it.
Was it his fate to become the jester of this world, he thought. To always chase an unattainable goal? To be some sort of entertainment for some kind of higher existence? If so, then they must've been laughing pretty hard by now. Every time he thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. It always did! Invariably so! Like clockwork. Like some godly punishment.
Trapped in a time loop at fifteen years old? Why don't you stop an invasion from another country led by the millennial lich himself? That sure sounds fun! Oh, by the way, be careful on your way there, a third time-looper is out to get you and your family, also he can soul-kill. Wait, why not add a cult to the adventure? One that has already invaded most of your governmental structure and whose goal is to liberate a Primordial that once battled the gods. Wait, wait, better, let's also bring a god to the festivities! Yes, that'll do it! There you go champ, do all that on your own! Good luck, break a leg!
It was absurd! Ridiculous! Unfair! Ludicrous! Cruel and unjust! What did he do to deserve this?
Zorian felt like crying, bawling his eyes out, rolling on the ground and throw a fit like an impetuous child. What could he do in front of such unfairness, of such injustice? Everything he did amounted to nothing. Even if he'd acted differently from the very beginning, it wouldn't have changed anything.
Hell, even if, miraculously, the reset did happen, it wouldn't change anything at this point! He and his partner were still doomed, no matter what. Zach's soul would still be badly damaged. Both the Primordial and this unknown God were obviously aware of the time-loop and would retain their memories across the timeline. As soon as this iteration ended, they would just hunt them down again.
It never ended. They were at their mercy. They had no agency anymore! None!
They... they had lost.
At that final realization, something in Zorian broke. It was all... just... it was all just too much to handle for him.
He wasn't a chosen one, like Zach, nor was he anything close to it. He was never meant for this destiny, to battle the greats of this world such as Quatach-Ichl or Oganj, not to mention legendary beings that could rival the Silent Gods themselves. He was a run-of-the-mill, lesser-noble brat that happened to be an above average magician. Nothing more. All of his life, Zorian had run away from his problems, never confronting them head on. He was a coward. Bitter. Resentful. He'd even throw his best friend under the bus if it meant living another day. Donning a cynic personality to hid his lack of one.
Yet, fate expected him, such a callous human being, to overcome this impossible predicament?
No. It just wasn't possible.
Defeated, alone and broken, Zorian's mind blanked out. With a long and heavy sigh, the teenager let go of his problems, of his troubles and tribulations, of his worries... he simply stopped thinking about it all. Why bother when it was no use, he thought.
As the two entities continued their exchange, their voices barely registering in the boy's mind, Zorian started to muse about how life would've been if only he had been a little bit more fortunate.
Right now, Zorian would have gladly exchanged his life for another. One with a loving family, and away from the problems of the world.
Yes... such an exchange would be ideal.
.
.
.
Wait... exchange? Zorian suddenly thought, as an epiphany struck him.
Like an illumination, his conversation with the late Ghost Serpent surged back to the forefront of his mind, crystal clear:
'That wretched being tried to call upon a higher existence; offering an exchange for their assistance.'
Exchange... Zorian repeated slowly multiple times, as if it was some sort of incantation.
His mind filtered out his surrounding, the voices of the two almighty entities becoming mere background noises to the teenager. As he withdrew inward, within the confines of his own mind, it exploded with thoughts and theories, instantly. Zorian pondered, cogitated, mused over every little detail, analyzing and re-contextualizing the situation anew through the prism of this tiny, insignificant, forgotten piece of information.
If it's supposed to be an exchange between two parties... I should learn the content of it. What would Panaxeth want? Freedom?
Foremost, Zorian had to reassess the implication of Panaxeth's freedom. If the Primordial was left unchecked, the consequences would be disastrous for their world, as one might expect. Primordials held a deep resentment toward all the mortal races —humanity in particular. If free, Zorian ascertained that the Primordial would, in all likelihood, brought about the ruins of civilization, and free his brethren along the way.
But the angels would never allow such tragedy to befall humanity...
If Panaxeth truly did escape his containment, it was but certain that the angels —protector of the mortal races in the absence of the gods— would intervene in some capacity. Zorian had no way to gauge how capable they were, but it was probably reasonable to assume that they had a few contingency plans in case of such an outcome.
And Panaxeth is probably aware of it, too. From the way he speaks, he doesn't seem like an unintelligent brute.
Therefore, breaking out of his prison was only half of his job. On top of that, the Primordial would also need to fight back the combined might of the heavens, alone. Even for him, it was probably a gargantuan task.
Hence, why Panaxeth had called upon a higher existence such as Ainz Ooal Gown. Firstly, it guaranteed his freedom. The Esoteric Order of the Celestial Dragon, while they had the means to break him free, were more often than not unsuccessful in this endeavor. With a god by their side, it would be impossible for them to fail.
And secondly, if Panaxeth could secure Ainz Ooal Gown's assistance, would the angels be able to measure up to the both of them? From what Zorian understood, this skeletal god was said to be even stronger than the Primordials themselves... and once they liberated a few other Primordials along the way, their victory was but assured.
So this is probably the content of Panaxeth's side... but what's in it for Ainz Ooal Gown, then?
Zorian continued to think, and finally, as he realized the last piece of the puzzle, a flicker of hope reignited within the time traveler. It shone brightly amidst the meanders of his despair.
Wait... the deal has yet to be made!
Given their prior interaction, it was the first time Panaxeth and Ainz Ooal Gown ever met... meaning that nothing was set in stone yet. Zorian had assumed the two were already in cahoot since Death's servants, the monstrous maids, had attacked them...
But it may be an unrelated matter altogether... after all, the maids said their Lord just wanted to speak with us.
If nothing was certain between the two, then... could he, somehow, subvert this exchange? It was a long shot, and he wasn't sure how helpful preventing those two from cooperating would help his case, but at this point, what else could he do?
But, what would an evil god even want, he thought questioningly.
Wait... evil?
The term seemed off.
Ainz Ooal Gown wasn't a saint, not by any stretch of the imagination. He had tortured Zach without an ounce of hesitation nor remorse, using the foulest of magic to do so. He had made him suffer an excruciating pain that he might never recover from. He was a menace who's moral compass obviously didn't align with what was considered human.
But this anger he demonstrated, it wasn't born out of purely evil intention, right? Rather, it was more of a fatherly wrath against those who he deemed had harmed one of his children. Hypocrite as he might have been... such paternal devotion didn't fit the description of evilness in Zorian's book.
It was hard for the boy to wrap his head around such supposition. After all, when one was unjustly harmed, human's instinct tended to automatically label the assailant as evil, regardless of the context. And Ainz Ooal Gown certainly looked the part.
But, the more Zorian thought about it, the more his perception changed, ever so slightly.
Would a being of absolute evil act so... father-like?
Zorian came to a conclusion. One that would play a major role in the upcoming minutes, he felt like.
Panaxeth was a primordial. An existence incapable of human emotions. His only concern was himself; to achieve his goal —to be free from his prison and wreak havoc on the world— he would stop at nothing.
In contrast, Ainz Ooal Gown showed that he did have the ability to care. While it may be restricted to a select few —his children—, the very fact that he could fundamentally differentiate him from the primordial. His goal was unknown, but surely the safety of his loved ones was a priority.
If the mere mention of his maid being bullied — not harmed or killed, but bullied— was enough for him to chase them down to the confine of the earth, into the deepest hole and into a magical subspace, then what would he do if anything more serious were to threaten his children?
It may have been a fluke on his part, a self-delusion, but Zorian felt that this fundamental dichotomy between the two would be the determining factor in whether he could sow the seeds of doubt within the God of Death's mind or not.
As he made up his mind, he heard Panaxeth:
"Let's not further waste time. I have an offer for you, one that I think you—"
Arming himself with courage, the kind that he didn't think he possessed since today, Zorian spoke.
The boy was ready. He fully believed that it would be the last speech of his life. A final struggle, one against all the odds. And while he acknowledged how pathetic he had been up to this point, he refused to die a coward.
This human, Zorian Kazinski, would fight until the very end.
"WAIT!" he screamed, his eyes resolute, though maddened by fear.
The one-thousand eyed doll and Death incarnate focused their attention on him. He felt a physical pressure from their stares alone, but he remained strong. At least, he tried to.
"Ainz Ooal Gown, you should not trust him," Zorian said, his tone was reverent, yet accusatory. He pointed his finger right at Panaxeth. "Primordials such as him are all traitorous fiends. If you don't want to be stabbed in the back when you least expect it, or be deceived time and time again, I would advise you to refuse whatever deal he has in store for you."
Panaxeth, the accused, said nothing. He did not even acknowledge Zorian's presence. Maybe believing that the claim was so outlandish that it did not deserve an answer. Rather, it was the Overlord himself who responded.
"Really? And why should I believe you?"
From his tone of voice, which was filled with scepticism, it was evident that the God of Death did not believe him. At least, not at face value, not without some sort of proof. This distrust did not surprise Zorian though, on the contrary, he expected it.
"I understand that you have a grudge against me and my friend, your Excellency. You have made it very clear, and we do not intend to resist further. But you have to trust me when I say that nothing good can come from him," Zorian said. "He's a primordial. I don't know how well versed into our history you are, but his kind is known to be the enemy of all that is sacred. They cannot be trusted."
Since Zorian had nothing of value to give, he couldn't persuade the Overlord to join his side without convincing him, which would be hard, maybe too hard. Hence, his only option was to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind, hijacking their cooperation by demeaning Panaxeth's character, painting him as untrustworthy as possible. Which wasn't false.
But, his approach had been wrong.
"Indeed, I'm not well versed into your history. But, if this is your sole argument, Zorian Kazinski, I am afraid it isn't a very compelling one. Especially for someone like me. I am an undead, if your logic holds true, surely you expect me to loath and be the enemy of all the livings. Do you not?"
His rebuttal somewhat flustered the time-looper. Zorian cursed, he should've been more careful with his words.
"N—No, that's not what I meant—"
"Then, what is your point?" the Overlord asked. "Do you even have any, or is your claim solely based on your bias against their kind?"
"He has none," Panaxeth interjected. "It is not surprising, the gods made sure to weave their twisted narratives into the minds of humans before departing."
"I have arguments! I do! Your Excellency, I humbly think that you've misconstrued my words. Primordials are different from the other races; they are not a group of unrelated individuals, like the undeads you're part of or humans," Zorian explained himself with fervor, his fear of the two incomprehensible entities seemingly nowhere to be found. "They are all siblings, born out of the Primordial Dragon Below. I don't know how many of them there are, but they are not numerous. I don't even know if you could refer to them as a race, honestly. Those that left a stain on the history of this world, eons ago, are the same ones that are breathing today. I assure you, my opinion of them is not one of prejudice nor generalization, but one of documented fact. They cannot be trusted. They are deceivers, cheaters and betrayers."
Though Death listened intently, something particularly caught his attention.
Primordial Dragon...? The Overlord thought, his power dangerously wavering around him as the memories of the Dragon Emperor resurfaced. Is this a coincidence? Ainz Ooal Gown subtly glanced at the thousand-eyed doll with renewed suspicion.
"Umu. I see. Forgive me for jumping to conclusions, then. Please, elaborate as to why this fellow wouldn't deserve my support," Ainz said, presenting an open palm to Zorian, as to say go ahead.
Truthfully, he did not really care about what the boy had to say, but it was obvious that he had some kind of information that Ainz did not. And, he wasn't foolish enough to trust Panaxeth either.
"There is no point in listening to him, Ainz Ooal Gown," Panaxeth interjected, frustration steadily rising. "It's a last ditch effort to gain your sympathy. Maybe he thinks he'll be able to escape that way? What a fool. Anyway, it has nothing to do with—"
"You waged wars upon the gods!" Zorian rebutted, directly speaking to Panaxeth. "How many died because of you?!"
The aura around Panaxeth increased, though, his body still did not budge. Apparently, mentioning the war against the gods particularly ticked his nerves, which was exactly what Zorian aimed for.
I should press on this, he thought.
"Zorian Kazinski, you know nothing of what happened. Do not vomit me your scriptures as if they were the unbiased accounts of history, they were written by the gods themselves."
"You mean they were written by the victors?" Zorian retorted smugly, to which the primordial's anger only intensified. The surrounding air seemed to contort even more than before.
"We may have been vanquished, but we still live to fight another day."
"So, even after so much time, you still wish to destroy our world? Is that what you're trying to say?"
"I only seek to regain my freedom, and my dignity, Zorian Kazinski."
"And how will you do that?" Zorian asked.
Panaxeth did not respond.
Got him, Zorian internally exclaimed.
The pressure turned almost unbearable for the teenager. But, it was a good sign, all things considered. Panaxeth was steadily losing his calm.
The Overlord had so far remained relatively quiet, preferring to let Zorian talk. Truthfully, he was learning a lot from him. All of this information would be a great asset should him and Panaxeth enter a negotiation. Certainly, whatever transpired from this exchange could only benefit him.
"Umu. I understand what you are trying to say, young Kazinski. You blame them for what happened in the far past, and fear they would do it again if given the chance? I sympathize with you, but to be honest, it doesn't really concern me. I don't see what you're trying to do, here?"
Huh...? Zorian thought internally, his stomach acting again as the skeletal god seemed unbothered by the atrocities of the primordials.
"B—But... they waged war upon the gods... how could you trust them after—" Zorian mumbled, before being interrupted by the Overlord.
"Ah, here lies your problem, Zorian. You idolize godhood way too much. The gods are not as perfect as you think they are, far from it. To be honest with you, and sorry if it ruins your image of them, most of them are quite insufferable. I can see why someone would want to kill them," Ainz Ooal Gown said nonchalantly, as if he spoke of the weather. "I myself have hunted and killed my fair share of gods in my youth."
As Death Incarnate finished speaking, the void seemingly froze over.
Zorian's eyes widened, his jaw dropped, his breath stuck in his throat; he was at a loss for words as his mind tried to process what the Overlord had just said.
He... he killed gods? Did he... just admit to killing gods? Wha...
But then, he was reminded of the maids. How they had laughed at him when he had compared their Lord, Ainz Ooal Gown, to the silent Gods. Describing him as something even greater, as a Supreme Being.
Panaxeth, similarly, was completely astounded. Though, a part of him doubted these words, another was certain that this was the truth. For the first time in his life, a strange feeling emerged within the ever-changing primordial's psyche. One he couldn't quite grasp at first, but he soon realized what it was: fear and admiration.
He achieved what me and my brethren couldn't. Panaxeth thought to himself.
Then, the primordial, hidden within the confine of his eternal prison, began to sweat profusely. Ever so slowly, he started to realize what kind of existence he had allowed to walk upon the realm. He gulped, or at least the primordial's equivalent to gulping.
I need to secure him, otherwise...
While the silence persisted, the Overlord cocked his head pensively.
Huh... did I say something wrong? Ainz pondered, the quietness slowly becoming awkward as the other two fixated him weirdly.
The Overlord faked a cough, and continued.
"Anyway, like I said, while I sympathize with what you are trying to say, it really doesn't concern me," Ainz said coldly. "But, let me ask you a question of my own. What are you trying to do?"
It took Zorian a few seconds to get his mind to refocus, forcibly forcing the matter of the deicide out of his head.
He pondered deeply about the Overlord's question. What was he trying to do? He wanted to stop Ainz Ooal Gown and Panaxeth from forming an alliance. Why? Because it would bring about the end of his world... not, that wasn't right.
As he continued to think hard, an image of Kirielle, drawing a beautiful piece of art while lying leisurely on his bed, flashed before his eyes. His gaze mellowed, and he spoke.
"I am just trying to protect my home. To protect what I hold dear... just like you," Zorian said slowly, without the fervor he had a moment ago.
Ainz Ooal Gown did not give a response, nor did he react in any way that would indicate anything. But, maybe, just maybe, the deepest part of the Overlord, the bits and pieces of his lost humanity, did resonate with Zorian's plead.
"Your Excellency, if you accept his offer, my world will burn."
"How would you know? He still hasn't told me the terms of his proposition, and I doubt he told you, either."
"He doesn't need to. Like I told you, your Excellency, Primordials only want two things. To be free from their prison, and to bring this world toward complete destruction."
This is it, Zorian thought. It was now time to expose what Panaxeth's offer entailed.
"First, he'll ask you to aid him to escape his prison, and then, he'll drag you and your servants into a war against heaven, because he can't face them alone—"
"Enough. I do not fear these wretches! Begone—" interjected the primordial, before himself being cut.
"False, why would you have called upon Ainz Ooal Gown, then?!" Zorian retorted. "You have to trust me, he'll want to control you! He'll find a way to threaten your servants!"
Zorian gulped, questioning whether he should continue, or not. The message he wanted to communicate had been delivered, and he wasn't dead. Not yet, at least.
Zorian ascertained that it was but assured that the seeds of doubt had settled in the Overlord's mind by now. He wouldn't blindly trust Panaxeth. And, while he might not care about this world, the fact is that Panaxeth true intentions had been laid bare. If the primordial went through with his demands —the same that Zorian described— then Panaxeth own words would give credence to Zorian's claims.
The time-traveler fidgeted. Would he dare to ask further? He wanted to. But he wasn't sure if Ainz Ooal Gown had been convinced enough to do so. If he wasn't, what he was about to ask may nullify all of his prior efforts. Zorian might appear as an opportunist.
He looked at Zach, by his side. His expression had somewhat relaxed, and he now seemed at peace, sleeping. His soul was still damaged, though. And there was nothing Zorian could do about it.
But Ainz Ooal Gown certainly could... with one last look at his friend, Zorian steeled himself. Time to repay my debt to you, Zach...
"Ainz Ooal Gown, side with us! Contrary to the primordials, we won't be able to double-cross you, nor will we ever be a threat to you or your servants! I don't know what he will offer you in exchange for your cooperation, but we can offer you a wide variety of knowledge and—"
"I said. Enough," Panaxeth exclaimed angrily, his voice booming across the void world. He snapped his finger, both Zach and Zorian disappeared from the control room.
"—and magic."
Huh...?
Zorian looked around him, he was still in the same featureless void, Zach by his side. But the two entities of unimaginable might were missing, nowhere to be found.
"I see, I crossed the line with that last one," Zorian commented to himself, letting a small laugh escape his lips. There was no regret in his voice. Rather, only relief. "Well, at least I'm not dead."
Now that he was finally alone, his nerves softened, and he felt like a week worth of exhaustion washed over his entire body. Which was weird, since it wasn't his body, per se. Simply the projection of his soul.
A minute or so passed, with nothing happening.
Zorian wondered where he was. Obviously, he was still in the Sovereign Gate, but was it another subspace within or something else? Could it even be possible to put an isolated place into another? He did not know. His knowledge about them was still lacking, which wasn't surprising considering how hard it was to gain any amount of knowledge about this type of magic. It was the highest form of dimensionalism, and masters of this art were hard to come by. If he survived this loop, he would like to further study this discipline. It was just so convenient and useful.
"Survive... huh..."
It was a weird feeling that Zorian currently felt. Starting today, everything would change. No matter what would transpire between Ainz Ooal Gown and Panaxeth, they would no longer be free. If the alliance was formed between the two, they might be killed or tortured for eternity. And, on the slim chance that the God of Death sided with them, they would probably be at his service for the rest of their lives. Still, it was better than death, he thought.
Zorian wasn't afraid, he had already made up his mind about it. Just weirded out by the prospect of his life changing so suddenly.
Minutes continued to pass, with still nothing of note happening. The boy jumped from subject to subject, reviewing the events of the night since the beginning. It has truly been an endless night, he thought.
First, in the dead of night, unable to sleep, he had decided to open the memory packet of Spear of Resolve, which indicated to him the location of the secret time research facility, thought, at that time he didn't think he would go there so fast.
Then, after being accosted by the three maids, he had fled to the Noveda mansion, where he and Zach had battled Lupusregina. They only survived because she underestimated them, but Zorian couldn't help but feel some kind of pride toward this accomplishment. Though, that broken wrist of his had truly been a pain —metaphorically and literally.
After their battle, they had hidden away in a remote location in the north, only to be easily discovered by the forces of Ainz Ooal Gown once they decided to throw subtelties to the wind. Zorian had not voiced it out at that time, but it was truly a fascinating magic that they had used. Creepy and unsettling as that giant eye in the sky may have been, it truly worked wonder. Such an esoteric magic... what fun it would be to learn it, Zorian mused, though it was only a sweet dream.
In a hurry, Zach and him had decided to head directly toward the secret research facility. They had been intercepted along the way, though. Zorian reminisced of that dark-haired maid. It was fortunate that they hadn't needed to confront her, Zorian doubted they could've won over her like they did with Lupusregina. She did not seem the type to pull her punches.
Now that he thought about it, Zorian realized that each of the maids were quite attractive. Each in their own way. Ainz Ooal Gown must like to be surrounded by beautiful women, Zorian though with a tiny laugh.
Wait... no, he called them his children. How does that even work?
Well, higher being morphology adhered to different patterns than the mortal races, he concluded. Better not fry his remaining brain-cells on that.
Another thought that resurfaced at the forefront of his mind was one he had forcibly put aside at the time.
Ainz Ooal Gown committed deicide...
Zorian wasn't sure how he felt about this piece of information. All of his life, he thought that gods were without equals, perfect being that would protect them no matter what.
But if he believed the words of the Overlord —and he was inclined to— then he had been wrong all along. And... maybe the reason the gods had gone silent... was because they were dead.
A godless world... The mere thought terrified Zorian.
And, such was his last thought before a veil of darkness encompassed his vision. His world faded to black.
Zorian's eyes abruptly shot open as a sharp pain erupted from his stomach. His whole body convulsed, buckling against the object that fell on him, and suddenly he was wide awake, not a trace of drowsiness in his mind.
"Good morning, brother!" an annoyingly cheerful voice resounded right on top of him. "Morning, morning, MORNING!"
Huh...?
Zorian looked around him warily, not believing his senses. He was home, back in his hometown of Cirin.
The reset had happened. It was a new iteration of the world.
Zorian heard the birds chirping outside, felt the few rays of sunlight piercing through his windows' shutters. The distinct, woody scent of the Kazinski household's residence entered his nostril.
To say he was dumbfounded would've been the understatement of the century. Even the high-pitch voiced Kirielle barely registered into his mind, as if he did not even acknowledge her presence despite the fact that she was laying on top of him.
Instead, he pinched himself, nothing happened. He pinched harder, still nothing.
I made it...? He slowly realized. But how? What happened between Ainz Ooal Gown and Panaxeth for the reset to activate so soon ?
Zorian's mind was muddled, he truly did not know how to feel. Though his body should've reversed like usual, he still felt unusually heavy and tense. Then, he realized it was all due to his mental exhaustion finally taking its toll.
The time traveler let himself fall back into his bed, his muscles relaxing as he let his mind, his empathy, wander off around him.
I truly made it back, he silently uttered in his mind, as if saying it out loud would somehow bring him back to that void he thought would be his grave.
"Brother, are you okay?" Kirielle asked, worried as her brother did not act normally.
Suddenly, Zorian started laughing. An uncontrollable, loud, hearty and sincere laugh that brought tears into his eyes. Like a dam finally breaking free, all of his pent-up stress and anxiety burst out into the open. He just couldn't stop.
Kirielle just looked at him like he was some sort of weirdo.
When he finally regained some control over his emotions, he realized that it hadn't been just a few tears that his eyes had shed, but a whole water-fountain. His eyes were reddened, and his cheeks soaked. With the sleeve of his pajama, Zorian swiped away the tears, and addressed his sister.
"Oh, hello Kirielle. I did not see you there," he grinned at her.
She puffed her cheeks, and jabbed him in the shoulder. Though she tried to put some force into it, her small nine-years-old frame didn't allow her to inflict a ton of damage upon the time traveler.
"Jerk," she said before leaving for the bathroom, as usual on the first day of the loop.
Ah, I've made her worry. Sorry, Kirielle, I'll make up for it, promise, he told himself, a radiant smile atop his face as he stood up from his bed and stretched.
His bones cracked in a satisfying tempo, and the teenager moved his right wrist around. "Good to have you back, partner," he said to his once broken appendage.
As the morning continued, Zorian went through the motion as usual. Though, a jovial attitude permeated his every action.
He went for the bathroom a few minutes later, just to find it locked, Kirielle still monopolizing it —no doubt the price for making her angry. His younger-self would've taken offense, but he did not. He simply returned to his room and got dressed. From experience, he knew his little sister would take her sweet time, if only just to spite him.
Once fully dressed and his packing done—containing none of his usual school amenities—, he descended downstairs, toward the kitchen to greet his mother and eat a breakfast.
Though she denoted her son's unexpected cheerfulness, she took it as a sign of growth, and the both of them exchanged trivialities. As usual, his father was absent the first morning of the first day of this never-ending month.
"Mother, you know I love you, right?" he asked between two bites of porridge.
To say she was taken aback would be mild. Sign of affection, in the Kazinski household, were few and far between. Especially Zorian, who had the reputation to be rather cold toward the rest of the family.
"Of course, you don't need to ask, Zorian," she responded.
"Right, sorry," the fifteen-years-old smiled, before rising from his chair.
"Is there anything going on—" she tried to inquire, just to be interrupted by the sound of the bell.
Zorian was already on his way toward the entrance door, as if he knew exactly that it would happen. And of course, he knew.
"I'll get it!"
Zorian opened, and found himself staring at a bespectacled woman dressed in expensive-looking clothes. "Zorian Kazinski?"
"Hello Miss Zileti, are you here to discuss my mage certification?"
"Oh, you already know? Great! Yes, indeed. May I come in?"
"Unfortunately, I will be rather busy very shortly. You wouldn't mind if we expedited the matter quickly?" Zorian asked, already knowing that Ilsa Zileti would enjoy finishing her task sooner rather than later.
Of course, she happily obliged, handing him the sealed scroll that he easily opened through basic mana-channeling.
"For my tutor, I chose Xvim Chao. And for my three electives, let's go with advanced mathematic, linguistics and engineering."
Though Ilsa was quite surprised to see a student purposefully choosing Xvim Chao, she showed nothing of it.
"Alright, mister Kazinski. Everything is good on my part. You're sure you don't have any question?" she asked one final time.
"Certain, miss Zileti. Thank you for indulging me in my selfish request," Zorian answered, bowing his head slightly.
"Do not mention it. Well then, goodbye to you, mister Kazinski," she said as she departed. "We'll see each other on academy ground. Do not hesitate to come by my office should you need anything."
Zorian did not respond to the last part. He only smiled and waved her goodbye. Subtly, though, the time traveler greeted his teeth. He muttered sadly under his breath.
"Farewell, Ilsa Zileti."
As the minutes steadily succeeded one another, Zorian continued to spend his time with his family. Nothing exceptional was taking place; rather, he simply indulged himself to relax within the calm and the peace of everyday life.
As the clock hit noon, it was finally time for him to depart.
Usually, he quite enjoyed when his obligations gave him an excuse to escape his family, but today was different. He didn't want to leave them. Not yet. But, he had already pushed his luck; contrary to his usual routine, he was rather late. One last self-indulgence he had permitted himself.
Both Kirielle and their mother waited for him at the entrance of their family home.
"Be safe on your way to the academy, you hear me?" his mother told him, nagging him as usual. But he didn't mind.
"Yes, mother. Do not worry about me."
Zorian turned toward his dear little sister, a brotherly smile plastered across his face. He knelt down on one knee, facing her. She fidgeted a little. Zorian didn't need to rely on his empathy to see that the little girl was disappointed.
He knew Kirielle did not want to be with their mother. Under her, she couldn't be herself, she was barred from any magical knowledge, couldn't practice her passion of drawing, and was always at the mercy of their mother's incessant nagging. But, as much as he wanted to, Zorian couldn't take her with him. Not anymore.
Instead, he patted her on the head, gently caressing her long brown hair.
"It'll be alright, your trip to Koth will only take two months," Zorian comforted her.
"Says you who got to have fun with magic an' all at the academy," Kirielle pouted as she averted her eyes.
Zorian let a small laugh escape his lips. He approached closer to her ears and whispered, low enough so that their mother couldn't hear.
"You know what, when you return, I'll take you with me to Cyoria. I'll show you all the cool spots around the city, and if you're interested, you can even learn a bit about magic if you want."
"What, really?! You promise ? You're not pranking me, right?" she whispered excitedly, maybe a bit too loud to conceal everything from the matriarch.
"I promise you. You just have to behave and be a good girl for the duration of the trip. Also, give Daimen my regards when you see him. Do we have a deal?"
"Deal!"
Both siblings crossed their pinky fingers to formalize the promise.
"I love you, okay?" Zorian said as he stood up.
Kirielle nodded with renewed vigor. "Me too, brother!"
The time traveler fought the urge to bit his lower lips as he felt his eyes welling up. He held his heavy suitcases, and passed the threshold of the door. With one last glance at them, he spoke his last goodbyes.
"See you soon, mother. See you soon, Kirielle."
And he left.
But he did not travel to the train station he usually took to reach Cyoria. No, rather, once out of sight, he subtly found an empty alleyway, and channeled a quick teleportation spell.
After a flash of bright blue light, the young time-looper arrived in the middle of an empty field, in the countryside, not that far from his hometown but still very much remote from any villages or cottages.
He let his suitcases fall to the ground, and he waited. He sat upon them, and began to look at the sky above. It was a clear sunny day.
He did not know what he was waiting for, nor for how long he would wait, but he knew it would come eventually. Like an instinct. The moment he'd woken up, the moment the reset had sent him back into his bed, he knew they would come for him.
Who's they? He didn't know. Hell, he didn't even know if that dreadful alliance had come to pass or not.
"Well... at least they were kind enough to not barge in front of my family," he said out loud to no one in particular but himself.
It was perhaps the first time that Zorian did not have to juggle with an absurd amount of problems at the start of the loop. All that interested him right now was knowing what was to come, and to go on with his life of servitude —or his death.
The brown-haired boy did not even bother with his usual arsenal of anti-divination protections. His ineptitude on that field had been duly noted during the events of last night, and he would not let his ego on the matter be bruised a second time. No, thank you.
He was happy, actually. He had been able to enjoy one last morning with his family. He had never really done so before, in all honesty. Well, if he was being honest with himself, his mother's nagging was still quite infuriating... but Zorian guessed it was more of a personality trait than anything else at this point. It was just how she was.
Minutes passed, and, as he expected, something happened. Someone came for him.
A swirling, purple-dark oval shape appeared out of thin air, a few meters away from him. The same that Ainz Ooal Gown had used to enter the control room of the Guardian of the Threshold.
The blades of grass around it slightly danced in the wind, even though there was none, as if the vortex itself emitted some kind of subtle air flow outward.
From this hole in reality, three figures appeared. Two maids, and one butler. Neither of them he recognized, they were not the ones he encountered during the events of the last loop.
One of the maid had dark-haired fashioned in a low-cropped bun. She donned a kind and intelligent look, wearing a pair of round glasses and a blue collar around her neck. Her outfit was rather traditional for a maid, apart from the few parts that were reinforced with metal plates —a characteristic that most of Ainz Ooal Gown's maid seemed to possess. The most notable elements were the two, big and green, spiked gauntlets that she carried with ease.
The other maid was shorter in stature. Her long hair of red and gold coloration reached all the way toward the middle of her back. Her face seemed very delicate, as if artificially crafted by the hands of a master craftsman; one of her eyes was covered by an eye-patch, while the other shone an emerald color with a weird target-like pattern on the inside. Her uniform was similar to the first, if not for the few pieces of camouflage she donned. The other significant difference was her weapon: a long, white gun that was holstered on her waist. Zorian had seen a few muskets before, but none of them resembled this one. It seemed to belong to a completely different technological era altogether.
Finally, the last one was the butler. His appeared rather elderly, but his stature communicated anything but weakness. Any top athletes would be jealous of his build. His face was both gentle, and sharp, the kind of features that commanded awe and respect. His white hair and white beard were both immaculately groomed to perfection. In contrast to his female counterpart, his uniform held no metal reinforcement, rather it was just a graceful, traditional black uniform. But, what truly differentiated him from the other two was the aura of power he emitted, probably unconsciously.
It almost matched that of Ainz Ooal Gown, which was hard to believe for Zorian, but he rationalized his thought process by concluding that his human mind couldn't grasp the difference in power of such mighty entities.
The trio walked up to Zorian, and seemed rather pleased to see that he hadn't taken any action to flee.
The butler was in front, and stopped at a reasonable distance to be neither too close nor too far for a conductive exchange.
"Good morning, mister Kazinski," he said, as he bowed deeply, a motion that was mirrored nearly exactly by the two maids besides him. His voice was low and gentle, yet powerful. "My name is Sebas Tian, house steward of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. My Lord wishes to speak to you. For that matter, he has extended his invitation, once more. Would you be so kind as to follow us, so we can lead you to him?"
Once more, heh? That's a rather passive-aggressive way to put it. I guess they did not take kindly to our refusal, last time, Zorian mused. Also... he paused when he said his name, why's that? Is his name Sebastian, or Sebas Tian? I'm not sure...
"It's an honor to meet you. Of course, I will follow you," the teenager said humbly as he bowed slightly. "Can I take these suitcases with me? They are filled with manuals, nothing magical in nature," he asked.
"I don't see a problem with that," Sebas Tian responded, before launching a glance at the maid equipped with the military rifle. "Shizu?"
The petite maid understood the order without it being uttered. Her right eye, the emerald one, started faintly flashing. The target-mark that served as her iris blinked in multiple colors and forms, and after a second, she spoke in a monotone voice.
"Clear."
"Alright. Do you need help carrying these?" the butler proposed.
"No, thank you but it's okay. It isn't heavy, and even if it was, I could just use a bit of magic to—" Zorian said, before being subtly interrupted by Sebas Tian.
"Understood, but please do not use magic. Once you've entered the realm of our Lord, any unauthorized use of it may be severely reprimanded," he urged Zorian with a compassionate, yet stern tone.
"Right, that was stupid of me. Sorry."
"As long as you understand. Shall we depart?"
Zorian nodded, and followed the trio.
Before entering, one step away from the swirling vortex, Zorian decided to give his world one, last, fond look. The environment may not have been the most mesmerizing, mostly fields and a few mountains on the horizon, but he still relished the view.
Maybe, he though, doing so was akin to a promise to himself. A promise that he may, one day, return.
Finally, Zorian passed through the [Gate], and entered the sacred realm of the last Supreme Being.
The distance necessary to reach the throne of Ainz Ooal Gown was not long per se, but still substantial compared to any castle ever built by the hands of the mortal races.
According to Sebas Tian, teleportation within the place was barred. If one wanted to ascend the floors —or rather, descend into the tomb—, one needed to take teleport gates at specific locations, each one only going up or down by a single floor.
Though, when first informed, Zorian thought the descent would be tedious... yet, it had been anything but.
Honestly, Zorian's exhaustive vocabulary was hardly enough to describe how grand and all-encompassing this Tomb was. Entire realms had been fashioned by the hands of gods —no, by the hands of Supreme Beings, Zorian corrected himself. Along the way, the teenager has seen wonders he did not even believe possible.
Never ending catacombs where horrifying monsters loomed over every corner; a cavern so big that he first thought the shining geodes in the ceiling were the stars of the night sky ; a cold hell that froze the very soul, yet whose giant blue-white crystals were marvels, beauties of nature ; then, in contrast, a fiery volcano that threatened to burst its deadly fumes and flames at any moment, where giant lava monsters inhabited ; an entire world was dedicated to the flora and fauna of another world, full of life and grace. And finally, once past these beautiful hazards, a magnificent palace sublimed the eyes of its beholders. Where each tiny piece of artistry on display probably cost more than entire nations.
As Zorian walked over each and every realm, he understood, yet again, the insignificance of the mortal races. No matter what they did, how could they ever hope to match these divine halls?
Admiration filled his eyes. Sometime, he would forget to even breath, or respond to his guides.
But, gawking at wonders wasn't all he did along the way. Zorian had been instructed by both Sebas Tian, and the maid he had come to know as Yuri Alpha, of the strict and proper decorum to adopt in front of the Supreme Being.
He seemed rather lax on the form when we were in the void... but I guess the situation is different, Zorian noted in his head. Interesting though, even being like him needs to maintain a certain image, huh?
Zorian stood before the Gate of Judgement, the last barrier between him, and Ainz Ooal Gown.
It was a majestic set of double doors, well over five meters in height, covered by intricate carvings that depicted battles of unheard proportions. The left side was shaped into the form of a beautiful goddess, while the right side resembled a cruel demon. These depictions were so realistic that Zorian, upon entering the hall, first thought they were alive.
As he anticipated his reunion with the god of death, he felt his heart beat faster inside his chest. After a long, and steady sigh, he felt ready as he'll ever be.
He thanked the silent gods that these massive doors opened automatically ; he did not think he would have the courage, nor the muscle mass, to pry them open by himself if it weren't the case.
Zorian, inadvertently, let out a gasp escape him as his eyes discovered the Throne Room. By far, it was the most exquisite piece of art he had ever laid his eyes upon. Wide and tall, hundreds of people could've easily fitted inside. The ceiling and surrounding walls were coated with a white coloration, which was beautifully highlighted by gold lines spanning all across the room.
As Zorian set foot upon the red carpet, the sensation he got from it was odd, yet deeply calming. It felt like walking upon a solid, fluffy cloud.
On the ceiling, numerous chandeliers made for a beautiful performance. Their shining stones, whose coloration covered the entirety of the rainbow, emitted a fantastic, dreamlike radiance upon the room.
Across the walls, there were flags emblazoned with different symbols and insignia. Zorian wondered what these could represent.
The teenager continued to walk toward the end of the room, where a committee of three awaiting his arrival.
One somewhat resembled what folkloric tales would describe as a devil. His dark skin, pointy ears and nicely combed dark hair gave him an air of elegance and refinement. A pair of round glasses covered his eyes. He donned a reddish-brown apparel that matched his overall appearance. But, his most distinguishable feature was by far his tail, a long, metallic silver tail covered by not only plates, but spikes.
The other, Zorian couldn't describe her as anything but a world-class beauty. He couldn't tell exactly what manner of creature she was, but she certainly wasn't human. She was a lustrous, dark-haired lady with the face of a goddess. Her eyes, shining a golden hue, held dark and split pupils on their centers. Imposing horns protruded from each of her two temples, and on her waist laid a pair of jet-black wings. The dress and the gloves she wore were silky white, while a golden spiderweb like necklace covered her shoulders and her chest.
And finally, the last he recognized instantly. Even just looking at him was enough to send shivers down the time traveler's spine. The master of this heavenly realm. The Overlord of Death. Last of the Supreme Being. Ainz Ooal Gown.
He sat mightily across a throne that seemed to have been carved from a single mass of obsidian. It was gigantic, as its back was high enough to reach and touch the ceiling up above.
As Zorian reached them, and as instructed by his guides, he knelt down to the ground in absolute deference. He kept his eyes straight toward the ground, not daring to rise his head by an iota.
"Ainz-sama, your guest has arrived," the demoness said, her voice sweet as honey and enchanting.
"Umu, you may rise," Ainz Ooal Gown ordered.
Zorian obeyed, and looked up toward the committee of three, especially, his gaze focused on his interlocutor.
"It hasn't been long since we last met, hasn't it?"
"Indeed, your Majesty, it hasn't," Zorian responded. "I myself am pretty surprised by this turn of event. What happened to Panaxeth?"
"Zorian Kazinski, before we enter the heart of the matter. Could you confirm me, with your own voice, that you are, indeed, a time traveler? Always living through the same month, over and over?"
Zorian slightly cocked his head to the side, unsure what the point of the question was. Doesn't he already know that? Why ask confirmation?
"Yes, your Majesty, because of a certain incident in the past, my soul and Zach's have partly merged, and I gained parts of his abilities," Zorian explained himself as clearly as possible. "However, to be more specific in my answer, unlike Zach, I don't know exactly what my official status is regarding the timeline. I may be considered an anomaly in the eyes of the system, it is still unclear."
"Fascinating, young Kazinski," Ainz Ooal Gown responded, while he looked at Zorian with great interest. "Now. Let me ask you this: how do you wish to die?"
Voilà!
Hope you liked it. Me, personally? Meh.
If some of you are wondering why this chapter is a week late, it's because writing it broke my sanity.
I've easily re-written the whole thing three or four times, and it's never to my taste. Even as I publish it today, I still find some parts rather lacking. But the show must go on, one way or another, so here we go. (And, also because I'll surely grow mad if I have to re-write it one more time.)
Don't hesitate to share how you felt about this one :)
Next chapter:
What transpired between the secret negotiation of Ainz Ooal Gown and Panaxeth?
What fate will our protagonists be subjugated to, now that Nazarick has a hold on them?
Will Zach ever recover from having his soul partly destroyed?
(The actual next chapter will almost certainly be an interlude about the arrival of Nazarick into MoL's world. Sorry, not sorry for that cliffhanger.)
It's all for tonight! See you next time! ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ