Up.

And down.

He was falling.

He was rising.

An unyielding force, pulling at his every seam— though never threatening to rip him apart or harm him, as he danced elegantly through the dark of night.

No.

There was only the brisk evening air so high up, caressing the Angel's newfound wings and locks of silver hair— the obsidian armour he donned moments ago now long forgotten.

And so the Beguiling Entity moved, choreographing a well crafted ballet up in the heavens, a dance of swirling white robes and gently rustling feathers of the finest alabaster.

The Divine One finally came to a stop, arms spread wide, silently hovering above the somber land that was now so far below, a wavering stare shifting focus between the wide-open awning of constellations above and the darkened horizon so far away.

Where did the sky end and the earth begin anew?

When would the sun broach the horizon and bring with it its delightful energy?

Would he still be here then, to witness such a view?

When had he began smiling?

When had he began crying?

Eyes of brilliant cerulean— ever shifting, ever changing— stared at the luminous heavens above.

The Angel's eyes shone— ephemeral shocks of golden nebulae swirled and morphed within his icy blue gaze, akin to an enrapturing billow of interstellar clouds, so otherworldly in their nature.

No longer were the skies overcast— obscured by a dull grey coating or coloured by some blanket of toxic smog.

Instead, as if to match the allure of his gaze, a finely sewn blanket of constellations punctuated by a pale moon decorated the darkened sky above— a sight beyond mortal scope bearing down on him, crushing the Angel with the weight of the World.

The amalgamation finally caught up. An Arch-Devil with the wings of a bat and the head of a toad, its ungodly appearance heavily contrasting with the divine sight that was the Angel's weightless dance moments prior.

Previously too taken by the sight of his perfect master's glee, the Devil finally dared approach— now mutely awaiting his errant God's orders with unmatched patience.

Nothing was said.

For no words were needed.

Merely the gentle din of rushing winds— with no cover to break it— filled the space between them.

The devoted Arch-Devil looked once more upon his unmatched master.

Wandering but not lost.

Isolated but not alone.

Contemplative but not stumped.

His master stood upon the air, gravity but an inconsequential suggestion that had long since been brushed aside.

Pale ivory feathers— shed from the most dignified of wings— drifted down like gentle snowfall, the Angel standing with his arms wide open, as if the embrace the entire World at once.

The Being's form stood clear, so small against the backdrop of immeasurable scale, still he bore a weighty 'reality' that drew the eye. Brightly silver robes fluttered gently in the wind, giving motion to a spellbinding painting that had come alive.

Brilliant.

Exalted.

Eminence made flesh.

An unmoving, unyielding force unmatched in power that was content to simply remain there.

...

"Demiurge." The Angel spoke, his regally dulcet tones echoed— a smooth voice with but the slightest rasp near the end, but still gentle like the caress of silky cloth or a refreshing summer breeze upon the skin.

The Arch-Devil shivered at the kindly saccharine voice, which tickled the spine of whoever heard it.

"I am at your service, my Lord." The Demon returned, fervour evident.

The Divine Being turned his attention to his devout follower.

The Devil, who upon seeing how his master's eyes— beautiful as they were— glistened, began to fret.

"It's breathtaking, is it not?" The Angel drawled, almost lackadaisically gesturing towards the sky that was embellished with bright stars and faraway celestial hazes.

"Indeed it is, my Lord," the devoted Devil replied breathlessly, a bit too taken aback to offer any meaningful insight. The Entity gave a mirthful chuckle at his stumped delivery.

"...And yet, you seem not entirely convinced." The Divine Being teased, appearing to be once more on the brink of joyous laughter— a sound the Arch-Devil has come to associate with a soothing calm that no natural force could instil.

"If you claim it to be beautiful, then that must be the case, my Lord. Your word is absolute law— nothing short of it."

For but the briefest of moments, the Devil was almost certain that a slight grimace had marred the Angel's alluring face before he schooled it back into a gently smiling mask.

Another beat of silence followed— before the veritable God returned his focus to the ever-silent night sky.

"This..." The Divine Being began. "Truly, this World is a box of jewels." The Angel's declaration trailed off, as the Devil tilted his head at his master's musings. "Unblemished, untainted... Untouched."

The Arch-Devil watched in awe as his glorious master seemed to reach for the heavenly canopy— his three pairs of brilliant ashen wings spreading wide. All while the ornate golden halo that hovered above his head hummed, showering the immediate surroundings with a gentle light.

"One could simply reach out, and have it all to oneself..."

An terse pause punctuated his sentence.

"...Though that might be a little haughty, no?"

Demiurge paused. It seemed quite possible indeed for the ultimate master to do such a thing— to simply snatch the very stars from their lofty perch.

"I assure you that it is anything but haughty, my Lord." The Demon rebutted. "...This World, and all of the stars that decorate its skies, should belong to your Supreme self, if anybody at all."

It was the truth. The only truth that mattered, and the only truth that even existed. All of Nazarick would toil to see their master's will through to the end, a fact that the Devil wished to outwardly declare— but not yet. Not in this sombre moment.

The Angel tittered in an almost playful manner. With one quick yet august motion, a genteel hand was run through his pristine ashen locks, brushing aside whatever tufts of hair that had gotten in the way.

Blazing eyes of Azure befitting of a chthonic God bore into Demiurge's hovering form, his gaze vivid and somehow physically suffocating.

Neither judgemental nor vehement— merely pondering, if not a little curious— but undoubtedly intelligent to a dangerous degree.

Once again, the Devil failed to repress a chill, brought about by equal parts fear and reverence.

Small moments as this gave insight into his master's true nature as something quite far from 'holy'.

...When the consoling effect of the Being's mere presence gave way to the dread of being silently dissected by a mind far superior— an Entity capable of darkness beyond meagre demons.

"There is something on your mind." He spoke once more. "I wish to hear it."

"My Lord...?"

"Speak." The Angel requested. Or perhaps it was a veiled command; its force masked by such a softly beguiling voice. It was as if the Divine Being had discerned the Devil's desire to serve— to bring him the very heavens in a gift basket.

The Supreme One wished to hear it— his conviction. For the Arch-Devil to put on display his willingness to serve. To dress the Angel's absolute form with a quilt of interwoven stars. To extol promises of loyalty, when the rest of Nazarick was not present to do so.

'Promise me.'

'Adore me.'

'Serve me.'

'...Speak freely.'

Unspoken orders or unspoken requests?

The Arch-Devil would grant these wishes all the same, in the name of his master— an Entity with sharp tongue and sharper wit, it seemed.

"Of course, my Lord!" Demiurge exclaimed. "...All of Nazarick exists for the sole purpose of fulfilling your Supreme desires. Your sublime self need only issue the command!"

And so the Devil obliged.

He sang his master's praises to his hearts content. Promising and intending to deliver the entire World upon a silver platter. The Angel silently looked on, the barest hint of a smile pulling on his face.

A smile so joyous.

Yet so melancholic.

So warm.

Yet so distant.

So proud.

Yet so defeated.

So fulfilled.

Yet so tired.

Did the Angel dream of his old comrades; the other creators? Demiurge wondered.

And there they stood upon the air.

Far above the earth, the night growing older still.

Angel and Demon.

The latter looked upon the former, admiring their presence. Their power. How— even in a place so mystical— they remained the most captivating of sights.

The future path was not yet clear to even his bright mind, though the Devil harboured no doubts.

This World was not prepared.

And looking upon the Angel,

He wondered if that was what it meant to be Supreme.

Guildmaster of Ainz Ooal Gown

Seraphim's Dread

Unholy Scholar of the Divine

Crimson King In Purest Ivory

Leader of the 41 Supreme Beings:

'Momonga'


Chapter 1 - Something Divine

The world, more bleary than it had ever been, slowly came back into focus— with an indiscernible array of shapes dancing across his vision. Each fractal, each shaft of light, slowly morphing and shifting— warped by the tears forming in misty eyes— until they could take that last step into absolute clarity with but a blink.

It was in such a manner that Suzuki Satoru was roused from a restless, dreamless sleep. A sleep that brought no comfort, and a sleep that only seemed to have made him more tired still.

What his vision discerned was wholly illogical. An impossibility. Instead of a faded concrete ceiling, cracked from decades of wear and tear, decorated by mildew— the sight that met his eyes was not of something so decrepit. Being instead a finely made baldachin of an unknown, but surely expensive, make.

...Nor was the man's surroundings in line with his expectations either, standing head and shoulders above even the most expensively comfortable living spaces of Earth. Though with the remaining mists of sleep being staved off by the rapid re-emergence of his consciousness, it was not difficult to recall how this may not be 'Earth' anymore.

With a barely audible groan brought about by being reminded of his current situation, the nervous wreck of a man slowly sat up from his less-than-Supreme sleeping position.

Though, perhaps, this statement wasn't accurate anymore.

What may have once been the human salaryman— exhausted from an unwavering onslaught of work-related stresses— was 'normal' no longer. Instead it would have been far more accurate to say that "Momonga", the Supreme Being, had sat up in his bed.

...Or that somebody pretending to be a Supreme Being was sitting up in the Supreme Being's bed.

It was certainly more fitting. Matching up with Momonga's current mindset at the very least. It would be no exaggeration to say that things had gone downhill in record time. Though Suzuki was used to things possibly breaking down during work, this entire supernatural ordeal has been an endurance test in the smallest sense of the word.

'...I'm still here, it seems.' The ex-human noted blearily.

...

'Ah.'

And it had only been three days. Each time he went to that overly opulent bed of his, Momonga had half-expected to wake up in his DVR-interface recovering from some nano machine-induced coma. (Thankfully,) no such luck.

Without so much as a warning, the salaryman had been ripped from his old responsibilities and placed in charge of a job far more comfortable, albeit significantly more stressful. How he was supposed to last several lifetimes, or eternity for that matter, was anybody's guess at this point.

And that was a mere three days ago. When he had first arrived— confused beyond words and more than struck dumb by the ridiculous situation he had found himself in.

...Not that the concept of 'isekai' was completely unknown to Suzuki Satoru, but the genre had been considered mostly dead for the past century, no more than an idea best left unacknowledged. ...Save for Luci*Fer's caffeinated rants whenever the man went beyond monosyllabic grunts or other long-winded tirades.

With a heavy sigh, the Fallen Angel's face contorted to reflect a dissatisfied frown.

As such, Momonga briefly considered clutching his head in despair while his mind was going through the available options, though the idea of someone being there to witness such a pathetic display was too pressing. At this point his stomach was doing backflips in his guts, not helped by how he had forcefully knocked himself unconscious with a [Sleep] spell the previous night, leaving the overlord* feeling more groggy than refreshed.

'Am I going to have to keep this up...?' His addled mind wondered, the unfamiliar situation not doing his slowly growing paranoia any favours. It goes without saying that simple constructs with nothing more than fluff-text to dictate their personalities coming alive as fully sentient beings was a worrying situation.

The Supreme One's perfectly groomed silver eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly, lending his alluring face a hint of hesitation and concern.

'Yeah. I can't trust the NPCs as things are right now. They seemed loyal enough, I guess... But how long will that last? Will they turn on me if I let slip that I'm just "some guy"?' That idea brought the perturbed Angel no peace— his already frayed bundle of nerves being accentuated by the slightly unstable nature of his current form.

'The possibility exists for all I know.' Another sigh was held back.

'This charade must go on.

...Maybe I should amass scrolls, items— anything I can get my hands on. In case a revolt does happen, I'll be ready. No weaknesses to be revealed, me!'

The exhausted Supreme Being idly scratched his head before standing up. As his dark thoughts faded a sense of comfort took hold, brought about by finally being allowed some room without the bed cramping him.

He smiled for the first time since he had awoken— finally able to let go of his concerns, if only for a moment.

Comfortable and cashmere-soft, the bed was luxurious to be sure, but still felt a little limiting for a race with wings, even if they had been supernaturally stowed away until further ado.

Fists clenched and unclenched as his biceps curled. The monstrous grip of his made the sound of creaking leather as he did so.

If Suzuki Satoru had to point out one silver lining specifically, it would be this newfound body of his.

It was a lean and muscular body, to say the least. Neither imposing nor diminutive, instead riding the fine line between thin and beefy without fully committing to either side. To that end, a comparison could be made— with his physique resembling a particularly flattering statue of some obscure Olympian God. One wrought from the finest marble by a master craftsman so skilled that they had practically been sprung from their mother's womb with a chisel in hand.

Where Suzuki was pallid, Momonga was fair.

Where Suzuki was scrawny, Momonga was slim.

Where Suzuki was weak, Momonga was merely gentle.

Where Suzuki had grease, Momonga had luster.

'Umu... I suppose that all the time spent in the character creator did end up paying off. If only in the weirdest way possible.'

With a sparse grin on his perfectly supple lips, the Fallen Angel took a deep breath, savouring the richly sweet air. Serenely noting how pleasant it was. He may have been deep underground, far removed from the wide-open wilds of the world above, but the atmosphere here tasted no less like victory.

It was a blessing of the highest form, if one were to consider this sudden turn of events as such, to have a body not turning gangrenous from the inside courtesy of toxic smog. Not one aspect of his current angelic body felt unnatural— with Suzuki feeling almost far more at ease with it than the faint human frame he had been saddled with up until this point.

Still wearing a smirk on his face, the Supreme Being took a step forward only for his feet to not meet any ground.

'Ah...! Right.' He fumbled, glad that nobody had seen him basically trip over the very air.

Being the highest tier angel a player could become meant that Momonga's natural way of traversing the world was to weightlessly float around a foot off the ground, unbound by gravity. An instinct that seemed to have integrated itself into him without much fuss.

As such, the Supreme Being had started to subconsciously hover when he flexed his body a bit— akin to how newborns tend to grasp at things without being taught to do so.

Momonga's previously effortless smile pulled into a more troubled expression at the reminder that even something as basal as this had changed. He barely even noticed the slightest tug that came on some metaphysical level as he looked at the now distant ground with pursed lips.

Almost as if responding to his innermost thoughts, the angelic features that had been hidden away to allow for comfortable sleep flickered back to life, nearly causing the overlord to jolt.

'It feels so natural that I keep forgetting it.' The Fallen Angel noted with a grimace, doing a good job keeping his mental sighs from slipping out.

It began in a spot diagonally above and tilted slightly behind his head.

Light began to warp around a point— an event horizon— as if an infinitesimal object with immeasurable mass had suddenly intersected with this plane of existence. The distortion grew as rays of divine light began flowing from that compressed point, dancing and interweaving into an ornately decorated laurel wreath.

The massive halo of the finest gold erupted the breach. Not long after, the warped and misshapen space from whence the halo came closed up, allowing the brilliant ellipse to grow.

Slowly, the ethereal circlet spun, flowing gold transmogrifying and growing with each revolution, expanding until reaching a crescendo, when it nearly matched the size of its holder's body.

And there it sat, slowly rotating— the room now bathed in a gentle golden light that could only be described as something holy.

The crown of light in question was ornate, decorated with countless runes, carvings, engravings and depictions of what looked to be ancient mythology. If one looked closely enough, perhaps a fanciful story could be gleaned from it.

Momonga allowed his expression to slacken a little, cautiously observing his new addition.

'So familiar and so alien at the same time. It's natural when it comes on out, but I just can't get used to it when I try to get a feel for this thing. ...It's like a strand of hair or a nail.'

With much deliberation, the best comparison the overlord could make was that of a baroque chakram taking on the generalized shape of a cartoon sun. ...If said chakram was the most expensive, gaudy piece of art in the world.

He thanked the stars that these things kinda just go away whenever he tries to make himself comfortable. Sleeping with an indestructible golden halo nearly as big as yourself wasn't exactly optimal.

Ever so slightly browbeaten, the Fallen Angel frowned. Had he still been a human— or anybody other than himself for that matter— the over-the-top presentation lent itself well to claims of sanctity, making it easy to believe him to be some manner of deity under the wrong light. Especially with the overwhelming regal aura given off by this form.

...But, alas, the Supreme Being was currently inside his own head, and he sure as hell wasn't fooling himself. Even if the added confidence would have been appreciated.

More of the angel's racial traits awoke from the slumber he had forcefully put himself in. Three pairs of white wings burst from his back, nearly knocking over a vase in the process. Pure feathers of impossible magnificence filled the air, slowly drifting towards the ground like gentle snowfall. The slight delay made possible due to the transformative properties of the angel race no longer being a simple on/off button.

It was as if someone had blown up a mountain of pillows. An observation that seemed to stave off a bit of his ill humour. Against his better judgement, the angel snatched a feather out of the air as it cascaded down.

'So soft.'

He bent it and pulled at it, testing the feather's tensile strength before rubbing it against his face.

'Tough too. Man, my feathers would make for an awesome pillow. Now that the room is covered in them, maybe I should try it...? Surely Nazarick has a seamstress or something similar.'

Momonga's mouth was pressed into a thin line.

'I could technically pull the "I'm your boss" card to get it done... Assuming I am able to keep it together for that long.'

...

Good lord, he was getting distracted already. And who could blame him? For a mundane office worker everything here would be brand new and exciting, though that was no excuse when he had pressing matters to attend to.

'Alright. Alright. Right right right RIGHT,' the nervous wreck chanted internally— his silver hair seeming less 'stylishly messy' and more 'dishevelled' with each passing moment. 'Gotta look my very best. ...Can't appear weak or "imperfect" in this critical moment.'

Momonga hovered toward the mirror in the room, intending to adjust his visage accordingly. And when he arrived, he noted that it still took a fair bit to get used to his new reflection.

The guildmaster saw his platinum white hair, which almost seemed to shift and dance like a living flame in a gentle breeze. Sky blue eyes with golden highlights peered back at him from within the reflection— occasionally flickering between other shades of brilliant blue while the shocks of gold seemingly glowed stronger in response to his distress.

With a single snap of his fingers, luxurious clothes were pulled from beyond the veil, covering the overlord's lean body. He inspected his own reflection in the mirror again, this time taking into consideration general appearances.

Though Momonga's angelic form was undoubtedly a man, there certainly was a softer touch to it— a more feminine side, if you must.

As such he appeared to be fairly androgynous at a distance. Though, upon closer inspections, he definitely leaned more towards JRPG 'pretty boy' than anything else, with more delicate and dainty qualities to go around. Momonga groaned as he massaged his eyes, simmering with annoyance.

His avatar's design, along with Pandora's Actor were things he had come to despise over the years, not that it was anything inherently wrong with them. Suzuki realised that his tastes had just changed a bit, but this was still quite weird. At least he could cope with Pandora's Actor. But seeing this face in the mirror all the time?

'Gh~! I never thought I would feel so insecure about my masculinity. My old looks? Maybe. But not masculinity.

Hah—. At least Bukubukuchagama seemed to be really into this avatar.'

His current feelings weren't even brought about by his own tastes, but rather Peroroncino and Ulbert's endless teasing over the better part of a decade. Even Suzuki realised that, given time, he'd likely be quite okay with his appearance.

The Supreme Being blinked as the light of his halo reflecting off the mirror which, along with his three pairs of overlarge wings, served as stark and thoroughly unsubtle reminders that— in spite of his look— he wasn't human anymore.

But rather a Fallen Angel. Or an Angel of Sin as it were.

What an utterly ridiculous thing it was— now that he heard himself think it out loud. Each time he attempted to wrap his head around it, it was as if his sane mind rejected the notion of this happening.

A perfectly smooth hand traced an equally smooth jawline, as Momonga's forehead creased when thinking of the possibilities. At least he'd have some basic knowledge about his current anatomy, even if he very well could have ended up as some wildly different race.

...Such as an undead, which probably could have happened.

Though it was a long time ago now, he died a lot at the hands of human PKs early on in the game. Almost to the point that Suzuki had thought of abandoning YGGDRASIL all together. —It very nearly ended up happening, but the office worker knuckled down and decided to give it another shot.

Since he was constantly being hounded for playing as an 'ugly' undead, logic dictated that he should try something new.

...Though he may have ended up becoming a victim of course overcorrection, ending up an angel instead. It goes without saying that, stubborn as he was, Momonga wasn't quite willing to just give up on his dreams of a pure necromancy character. Though his priorities inevitably began to tip.

Among the various possible sub-classes of angels was the 'Fallen Angel', specializing in dark, unholy magic rather than the alternative. And so, Momonga had ended up creating his role-playing build of a death angel.

Of course, nothing in life is easy. Least of all attempting to make a proper build in an incredibly poorly balanced game. Though the wide variety builds available in the game were plentiful, Yggdrasil was not flexible enough to make them all viable. So, torn between practicality and a dream-build, the already overworked salaryman felt increasingly torn on what he wanted his character to be, both in terms of build and roleplay.

Needless to say, he ended up as a grab-bag of a character.

It wasn't until the musings of Bellriver, with his own "jack of all trades" build, and Tabula Smaragdina with his bloody gap-moe fetish, that the freshly crowned leader of Ainz Ooal Gown had decided on a more unambiguous direction to take his avatar.

Perhaps it wasn't a wise thing taking character-advice from the weakest combat-oriented member of the guild, but hey, that's what Momonga ended up doing.

Sure, his combative power suffered initially, but having some actual direction in game (in life) was a nice change of pace.

With the primary purpose of his avatar being to masquerade as something more accepted in the community, and to be borderline "fujoshi-bait" with his appearance, the character of Momonga appeared 'pure', 'holy' and 'angelic', despite being one half-assed stone toss away from registering as a sub-class of demon.


"Hey, you know we could capitalize on this!" Tabula's voice seemed to echo from some aged and faded memory, now years old. "They'd expect some dull meta-build for a generic angel, suckered in by a few holy spells and when they realise that it's a trap..."

"WHAM!" The chipper voice of Peroroncino chimed in— voice distorted due to crackling static. "They won't even realise why their holy-counters are so shoddy, and you'll hit 'em back!"


A Fallen Angel learning holy magic.

'Like some craven heretic seeking redemption', a certain Mindflayer had declared dramatically.

'How poetic', was the inevitable sarcastic retort that came, and they all shared a laugh.

Joyous. Heartfelt.

So distant now.

In the end, Ainz Ooal Gown's enemies had laughed as well. It was a fun trick to be sure, but still a trick in the end. And a Fallen Angel investing in divine magic was... Foolhardy. Fun, to be sure, but not unlike an undead doing the same, such a build was not met with much success.

So the guild-members laughed as well. Laughed about how the guildmaster of the dreaded 9th-ranked guild, Ainz Ooal Gown, was little more than a dream-builder. A man so far removed from the competitive scene that the word "meta" was an abstract concept.

Then came the hidden class.

And the laughing very quickly ceased.

That little joke about some heathen clinging to whatever meagre scraps of divinity they could get a hand on seemed to stick— evolving into something far more dangerous from a competitive perspective. In the end, the moniker 'Unholy Scholar of the Divine' ended up sticking, not unlike how 'Winged King of Explosive Strikes' did for a certain other bird-brained member of the guild.

'Shame the multitude of barbarian/chefs didn't receive the same treatment.'

Then, with an innate proficiency with the entire karmic spectrum of magic, the leader of Ainz Ooal Gown could be nothing less than 'terrifying'.

Perhaps not fully measuring up to the prestigious title of [World Champion] held by Touch-Me, but certainly enough to— with enough craftiness— eke out a win under the right circumstance. Something that has happened enough times to be counted on the fingers of one hand. Admittedly a feat made less impressive by how many times they've gone at it.

That was proof. Evidence that Suzuki Satoru— Momonga— wasn't powerless in that moment. ...That he wouldn't be at the complete mercy of his subordinates, should something go awry.

So the Supreme Being clung to that feeling.

That reassurance that he could stand his ground.

He sought comfort in it, metaphorically clutching it close to his chest like a small child would do with a teddy.

Whatever magic... Whatever levels he had in this moment grounded him. Soothing his frayed nerves like a cool balm.

"Maaa~an...! I don't get it! Momo-chan's avatar is perfectly manly if you ask me. ...I think you're all just real envious that none of you look that way in real life." A feminine voice played in the back of his mind. One burning memory clinging to Momonga's passing thoughts, singeing mental flesh like boiling oil-tar.

A scoff rang out. Barely audible through the white noise and blood rushing in the Angel's ears. "Pffft. Yeah...! Says the fujoshi of the group."

"Oh? Are we tossing stones in glass houses now, my degenerate brother? Do I need to give you a detailed reminder of the Eroge incident?!"

A near exact transcript of their argument echoed, little more than a faint remnant of a point in time that will never come again.

The din of their back and forth conversation— their endless tirades and complaints filled the silence of the room.

...And the Supreme Being could not help but smile.

Their ceaseless bickering was a war drum— steeling his resolve and helping the wavering Angel push forward even now, when it felt so much easier to just remain curled up in this haven away from responsibilities he wasn't qualified for.

For one single moment the reflection in the mirror that stared back at the salaryman was not one of an anxious role-player out of his depth.

No.

In that little instance... In that fleeting time frame, however brief it may have been, the person in the mirror was one of regal bearing. A being that seemed to have been born wearing a self-assured, yet not cocky smile. One that was encouraging him. Pushing him forward. At first, the feeling that he had felt during his first flight seemed nearly incomprehensible when viewed under a microscope. He simply didn't understand the almost unnatural self-assurance that allowed him to so casually banter with Demiurge that night. That effortless confidence had rooted itself in his chest then, likely born of adrenaline and nothing more, was never to be felt by this nervous wreck again.

But now...?

It was but a spark.

—But it was there.

The Fallen Angel's stance. Posture. Expression. ...Presence. It all seemed it a bit more genuine. A bit more real. And he had to wonder if this was another ingrained instinct.

With this, with an added bit of confidence in what he has, and what he had, the Supreme Being gently opened the door to his room.

Ready as he could be.


x=x=X=x=x


Labyrinthine.

Maze-like.

A veritable Gordianknot of overlapping, interchangeable hallways that twisted and turned like the bowels of some gargantuan beast.

That was the best way of describing the complex architecture found within the Great Tomb of Nazarick was "a means to deter invaders", yet it was no obstacle for the roving Angel, who was so naturally navigating its convoluted layout. The process was so smooth that Momonga himself had to wonder if it was another innate impulse that had been ingrained into him.

'Not unlike how I fold my wings. All six of them! I suppose it's quite fitting for the highest tier of angel. ...I don't understand how it feels so normal to have six extra appendages.'

Sure, it had taken a little bit of effort at first, with him feeling like a newborn helplessly flopping about with them— but with a bit of instinct and by observing Albedo's graceful movements (a bit too closely, by his own prudish standards), the Fallen Angel had the furling and unfurling nailed down.

His uppermost pair of wings— those jutting out very close to his shoulders— could be either folded up normally, or draped around his shoulders like the world's most pleasantly silky cape. Similarly, the pair in the middle could be stowed away the way one would expect from an Angel with a single pair of wings, or alternatively be wrapped around his midriff.

Only the lowermost pair had a single comfortable furled state— that being loosely encircling his hips and thighs, not unlike how a certain Guardian Overseer handled her own pair.

...Being able to levitate around without actually using the wings on his back was something he had initially found to be odd. But with his current reality being what it was, the cowed Supreme One opted to not complain about such a mundane facet of this World's rule set.

There were... Other things more deserving of his chagrin regardless.

His NPC's overprotectiveness and over-the-top devotion was one such thing. Endearing as it was at first, the novelty quickly wore off, with his entourage's constant presence becoming more and more grating with each passing hour of the days he had spent here. Especially with Suzuki Satoru's more introverted nature.

With countless reassurances and a thousand promises that no, he wasn't going to be jumped by a group of super-powered level 100 hoodlums within the depths of Nazarick, did the Pleiades and Guardian Overseer relent enough as to let him walk around unsupervised.

So why was it that he was thinking about this now, as he hovered down the ridiculously gaudy hallways, quiet as an owl on the prowl?

...Well.

"Greetings. Cixous, Decrement." The Supreme Being had all but sneaked up on a pair of gossiping maids— all but interrupting their conversation. Escaping social interactions was NOT an option. Not without coming off as self-important or unpleasant. As such, he had taken the time to memorize the names of most of the NPCs to ensure their loyalty via the 'kind, caring boss' approach.

Momonga was admittedly somewhat proud over how easily the act of cramming had come to him, and how effective it had been.

The maids visibly startled at their master's sudden appearance, which only served to make Suzuki's pride turn into shame for frightening or disturbing the cleaning staff, who seemed to be working themselves down to the bone. Before he could so much as vocalize an apology or change his expression into something more remorseful, the homunculus maids had already prostrated themselves before him.

"L-Lord Momonga! Forgive our rudeness, in out infinite obliviousness we failed to notice your approach!" Cixous quickly blurted out with her head lowered, making the Supreme Being blink at the earnest and outright fearful grovelling.

"Good morning, master. This humble servant is deeply ashamed of her negligence. Please forgive me." Decrement, though far more level-headed than her partner, still spoke in a clipped tone, a slight tremble noticeable in her voice.

Whether such an overblown reaction came from dreading the Supreme One's wrath or because of shame in forcing her master to shamefully greet them first was anybody's guess. The angel frowned a bit upon seeing his servants so scared of him.

'Gosh, how do I get them to relax a little? I suppose being nice to them would make for a good start. I can't be too casual... I'm still supposed to be their boss, right?'

"Please. Raise your heads. There is no need to apologize," the Angel spoke softly, the smooth gentleness of his voice practically tickling the ear— causing the deeply prostrating cleaning staff to stand a bit straighter, looking at their master, clearly bewildered.

To punctuate his sentence, Momonga did his best to give a jovial smile. Something that both maids saw upon looking up at their Supreme Being. The homunculi stared boggle eyed at their master as the previously light dusting of pink on their cheeks blossomed into an eye-searing vermilion.

The overlord froze up slightly, smile stiffening upon noticing their reaction.

'Uhhh. What did I do? Do I look scary?'

That wasn't the case. And if Suzuki Satoru indeed had even a little bit of experience reading others, it would have been plainly obvious. Alas, a deeper understanding of particularly passionate emotions still eluded him.

Rather than striking fear into their hearts, the Fallen Angel's smile positively beamed at the servants, practically making the hallway brighter by existing. Fittingly enough the best word to describe it was 'divine'.

The Supreme Being simply possessed an ethereal visage that— due to whatever magic mumbo jumbo had made Nazarick and his avatar real— managed to be both traditionally beautiful and handsome.

In any natural scene beauty was in the eye of the beholder. A truly subjective thing that varied from person to person. What one individual may find enticing might not match up with the tastes of their peers.

...Though whatever had brought this body to life seemed to recognize the little mental post-it note Suzuki stuck onto his character that declared his intention for it to be objectively attractive. With that, the world's densest man had been haphazardly gifted a body that moistened panties, tightened boxers and broke sexualities with a wink in some rendition of a divine joke**.

"A-ah... Lord M-Momonga..." Decrement stuttered, fidgeted slightly as Cixous just gawked.

"Now now," he chided exasperatedly with the air of a comforting paternal figure wishing 'only the very best' for you. Though this may have been due to his slightly strained tone of voice, courtesy of the maids' weird behaviour.

"I'm very happy that you work so hard for my sake. The other Supreme Beings would certainly feel the same, were they here." The Angel's voice was smoother than silk, wriggling into the listener's ears and gently tickling the brain.

It possessed a certain noble authority that compelled those who heard it to obey. There was a distinct difference in 'hearing' and 'listening'—and with Momonga's intrinsic charisma one could not 'hear' him without 'listening' as well.

Whereas Demiurge forced those within earshot to act accordingly via [Command Mantra], one could consider the Supreme One's ability to be far more subtle and far more insidious. Merely a respectable, naturally likeable voice guiding the listener, influencing their actions and very gently instilling the idea of subservience.

The maids started tearing up a little bit upon hearing their master's praise, feeling their excitement and motivation reach astronomical new heights. Decrement retained a bit of her stoicism, able to remain misty eyed rather than bordering on a good bawl like Cixous. Finally, they had mustered up the courage to smile back at their God.

"Thank you so much Master!" The blonde maid chirped, more enthusiastic than Momonga had ever heard her.

"You are too kind, lord Momonga...! We shall not disappoint you!" They both bowed deeply yet again.

'So zealous... I just complimented them a little, as a good employer should. Then again, I suppose I have been a bit deified. Ffffff... All the higher standards to live up to.'

"Oh yes. One more thing." The homunculi maids perked up, listening intently.

"Anything, milord." Decrement declared ardently while her colleague nodded along with adorable vigour.

"I seem to have shed a few feathers in my room, could I bother you to clean them up?" The overlord unfurled his middle pair of wings and gave them a few flaps as if to prove his point. The maids' faces seemed to grow into a more saturated shade of tomato-red upon hearing his request.

"O-of course, lord Momonga!" The maid gushed, stumbling over her words in the rush. "—It would be an honour to serve!"

"T-to clean up Master's feathers...?" Cixous practically moaned those words. In response, Momonga barely repressed a flinch at the sensual passion in the delivered line, only avoiding taking a step back (away) due to being airborne.

'Agh! Please stop being so... Aggressively thirsty? Is... I-is that the right words for it?'

The Supreme Being just returned a strained smile before bidding adieu and inconspicuously rushing down the hallway with little more than a mental groan— doing his best to ignore the two maids' (now abnormally passionate) bickering. Whether he knew it or not, his words had spurned on the cleaning staff even more— bolstering morale.

...And with Nazarick's zealous subordinates in tandem with their overly polite leader, this won't be the last time either. Not with how idiosyncratic they both were.

'Ugh. Whatever. I have things to do,' was the irate thought that moved through his mind— briefly making the Angel feel like an angsty teen again with how moody he could be at times, though the moment thankfully passed quickly.

But that had been the truth. There was something important to do.

Upon arriving in the New World Momonga had been unable to still his manic mind as it bounced between paranoia and euphoria. Though it seemed as if the enhanced control of his new inhuman race allowed him to maintain his poise and remain calm on a surface level. That being said, one of the things he had done a while after meeting the guardians was to scry for natives or invaders in a frenzied manner.

The Supreme Being needed to determine where he had ended up, assuming he was still in Yggdrasil at all. Had any other players ended up where he was? Could he parley with them? The sooner this could be determined, the better, giving him and the rest of Nazarick ample time to act.

...Worst case scenario would be if all the surrounding creatures were both powerful and hostile, so much so that the guild-base would be left stranded in a lethal area where they could be whittled down via battle of attrition. Though that idea had been put to rest the very same night they had arrived— with that nightly flight of his.

Instead, a rival guild having been transported with them would be another tough spot.

Though, given the circumstances, it's a little unreasonable to think that they would disregard the current situation just to antagonize Nazarick. Luckily enough none his worst fears have yet to come to fruition. Even if he had yet to find anything interesting, having set aside the mirror with only a few minutes of use, there was still something fun about seeing the world— even if it was done through a scrying tool.

His adventuring-sense was tingling, craving exploration that a sedentary lifestyle could not fulfil. Though this expedition would stationary. Like sightseeing with an interactive map... With a co-worker looking over your shoulder.

Be it as it may, he could escape his endless supply of devout followers queueing up to serve him when simply going about his business. The same could not be said about when actually conducting work, as there'd be at least one hanging off his every word and action.

'...Maybe if I ask very politely!'

So he had taking the scenic route, 'promenading' (floating) through the majestic halls of the Great Tomb rather than forgoing the journey with that ring of his. ...Though there would be no more postponing.

Arriving at his destination, a large wooden door stood, as if silently awaiting his arrival. Even if he was dreading having to interact with the more powerful NPCs with higher standing in Nazarick, the salaryman was well aware that the best thing to do was to simply knuckle down and face his fears. Running or putting it off would do no good.

'Just a normal wooden door', he'd tell himself (ignoring the fact that proper wood was comically expensive back in Japan).

Just a door.

A giant expensive wooden door with a level 100 NPC behind it.

'Hm. Good grief, I feel like pond scum that'd end up tracking mud all over the carpet and stain everything I touch with grease!'

With a slight grimace, the world shifted, and Momonga felt gravity affect his form once more, tying his feet to the floor.

His hand hovered over the door handle for a short moment, as he in those three seconds wondered if dismissing his entourage of bodyguards was a mistake, as they'd certainly rob him of agency by simply opening the damn door for him.

Click.

He hadn't even thought things through before his hand seemingly moved on its own— finally putting an end to his quiet bout of self-loathing. Ignoring the brief pang of concern over not having gotten into character, a neutral expression made its way onto the Angel's face before the door could fully swing open.

That which lied behind the door was a cosy room that was not wanting in size, resembling a well-decorated study built with liberal usage of dark cherry wood. Momonga might have complained about the lone fireplace by the wall being a fire hazard, were it not for the fact that Nazarick likely had hundreds of safety measures. This room, not unlike his own bedroom and office could be found just about everywhere. Not because they were copy and pasted, but rather in the sense that little nooks and crannies were implemented into Nazaricks design. Small, practically unimportant locales added by the guild to enhance roleplay, to paint a picture of a truly living world underground. Though a lot of it seems to have found an actual uses now.

And of course...

"Greetings lord Momonga. I hope that this day has found you well?" A stately voice came from beside the overlarge table in the middle of the room, belonging to none other than the leader of the Pleiades, Sebas Tian.

"Ah, yes." The Supreme Being managed, straining himself not to speak too quickly. "...The bed was indeed quite comfortable."

Sebas always had a rather... Intense expression, one born of Touch-Me's love of the 'stoic warrior' archetype. Though Momonga figured that the butler was capable of more approachable miens, the Fallen Angel had yet to see one, leaving him slightly uncertain as to how to interact with Sebas. (Some part of him was quite certain that practice might help.)

Lo and behold, the manservant took it upon himself to further intensify his serious mask, as if intending to further stress out his master.

'Oh dear lord, what is it?!'

"If I may, my lord...?" A stiff nod came from the uncomfortable guildmaster. "Is it not unbecoming for this servant to simply stand here while you open the doors yourself? To be accompanied by a maid would certainly help in this regard."

Momonga breathed a (very quiet) sigh of relief, managing to loosen up enough to flash Sebas a brief smile.

"That won't be necessary, Sebas. I am quite able to handle myself. As I am not geriatric quite yet." Though the last sentence took on an playful tone, the Supreme Being quickly came to regret it, wondering if that had been too informal. But when the butler of steel revealed a slight smile, so too did Momonga allow himself one.

"I am happy to hear that, my lord," he replied contentedly, pulling out an expensive-looking chair for his master to sit in.

Though perhaps not fully at ease, the Fallen Angel felt a bit of tension leave his body as he took a seat, feeling the comfortable support of a piece of ludicrously gaudy furniture— his relaxed state somewhat hampered by how his wings didn't allow him to fully lean back and relax.

Sebas, living up to his title of 'head butler', set down a brilliantly polished silver platter on the table, on which rested a glass of juice. The Fallen Angel had to wonder how and when he had produced this silver platter, ultimately chalking it up to being a quirk of high-level serving staff, opting instead to focus on the beverage.

A tall glass of orange liquid.

Momonga gave an amused exhale through the nose upon seeing the drink— reminded of the first time he had tried it two days ago, and how he had struggled to keep a straight face after having drank something so good after the eternal dry-spell that was life on Earth.

Then again, it should have come as no surprise how his servants misinterpreted his poor attempt at a poker-face for displeasure. Thankfully, he was savvy enough to save some poor sot from having their head lopped off for producing 'sub-par juice'.

With a look of genuine appreciation on his face, the Angel lifter the glass of nectar to his lips— and the perfectly balanced blend of fruity flavours further calming him***.

'Jeez, that's still fantastic. Courtesy of Blue Planet no doubt.

With how good that is, I wouldn't mind one of Nazarick's alcoholic beverages to take the edge off at this point, even if I really shouldn't get inebriated during work. ...Can I even get drunk?'

He had briefly considered eating something as well. But put it off time and again, a decision made easy by magic items and his species not requiring much in terms of nutrition. Even now, Momonga couldn't definitively pin down why he did it.

One part of him figured that it would be disappointing. That even 'proper' food wasn't as good as he remembered it— basically not being much better than the nutrient paste he consumed on a regular basis up until Yggdrasil's shutdown.

Another part figured that he would enjoy the food, but would also damage his image by breaking down crying in front of whoever was inevitably there to watch him eat.

"This is a fine drink, Sebas." Momonga stated airily, smiling as he did so. The grey haired appeared quite happy by that statement, giving his master a reverent bow.

"I'm very glad that you enjoyed it, lord Momonga. I'll ensure that the juicers and chefs are notified of their fine work. Would you care for a refill?"

"No. That will be enough. Though I won't be walking around too much, being full isn't desirable." Sebas nodded in response as the overlord took another slow sip.

'Besides, the glass is still more than half-full.'

"Shall we continue our investigation today, Momonga-sama?" Sebas asked with a polite tone, rousing the Supreme Being from his thoughts.

"Indeed." He intoned, hoping that his time with Ashurbanipal's thesauruses would carry him through. "...I'll summon the magic mirror. You may stand at ease." With that command, Sebas gave a gracious nod before returning to that ramrod straight posture of his.

The constant overly formal back-and-forths were starting to become mind-numbing at this rate. He'd likely never end up having a 'normal' casual conversation with anybody if this kept up— which meant that Suzuki would have to slowly but surely break the ice and act more natural, lest every interaction be as stilted as this one.

Momonga gave a disinterested flick of his wrist, allowing an intricately decorated silver mirror to appear before him. The movement he made was practised, as the Supreme Being did his best to mimic how he thought a confident God would act.

'Something like that maybe? Bah—! Acting the part of some deity isn't easy! But I have to start somewhere. Like... Here.

This shall be "Regal Pose No. 1" for future reference!'

The Fallen Angel threw a subtle glance towards the butler, seeking confirmation that he looked as proper as he thought he did. But with Sebas' unemotional facade, that information was not easily gleaned by someone so thoroughly lacking in social experience.

'Uwah~...! Albedo scares me, but at least she's easier to read!' Swallowing his discomfort and pride, the Supreme Being returned his focus to the mirror in front of him.

In a swift, elegant motion the angel manipulated the hovering artefact. Something he had time to learn not long ago.

Seeing the world with all of its saturated colours, even through the mirror, was an amazing experience. Sure enough Yggdrasil's graphics have been quite realistic. ...But knowing that all of this greenery was but one single teleportation-spell away...?

It was an unfathomable thought.

Great big trees, oddly adorable small ones... Little woodland creatures scurrying around, be it squirrels or rabbits. At some point, the Fallen Angel was content so simply observe, only making a few reserved movements to control his scrying-tool.

'...A forest. Haven't seen one outside of images found on the internet. Ha~! That's a rabbit... That's a doe? And that's a squirrel! Not a flying one— or I'd actually be able to meet my namesake in person.'

Thankfully the Supreme Being was turned away from his subordinate, or his wide grin would be plainly visible. With yet another movement, the perspective shifted, no longer pointing down towards the ground but focusing instead on the tops of the trees.

...

'And that... Is smoke.' Momonga's gleeful expression dropped like a stone.

"...My lord." Sebas interjected with a questioning tone.

"Mm." The overlord hummed noncommittally in response. "I see it." With a few smooth movements with his fingers, the image displayed in the mirror shifted once more.

'Pfsh. I hope that isn't a forest fire. I reckon I'll have to step in if that's the case.'

It was not a forest fire.

As a matter of fact, it was just a building fire.

Momonga's eyes widened and his mouth hung open slightly as the visage of a burning shack was displayed behind the magic mirror's crystal clear surface. He blinked, half expecting to open his eyes to a different sight. Nope. That was still a building. One most likely made by people.

'Oh.

...Natives.

Burning natives.'

With another casual flick, the image zoomed out enough to give a proper view of the new location, which appeared to be some manner of medieval village. A lot of movement, with the people scurrying around like insects. One could even go as far as to call it pandemonium. At least from a bird's-eye view.

"...This is different." The Supreme Being vocalized his shock, and the head butler leaned in closer in a polite manner, as to not get in the way of his master's peripheral vision. Though Sebas' face was as neutral as it always was his brow creased upon seeing what his master was referring to.

Though Momonga hadn't began deciphering what exactly was occurring, the chaos was plainly evident. No matter what way you sliced it, this didn't appear to be a normal occurrence.

'These are the first locals we've stumbled across and they're dying.'

"A bit hectic today." Momonga groused as he zoomed in to see several armoured men crowd around a bloodied villager who had been knocked prone. "Not a festival then."

"It would appear not, my lord." As stoic as Sebas was, the Supreme Being noticed him shifting slightly— the most emotion he had ever seen on the man.

"...An entire entourage of knights, attacking this village?" The Fallen Angel wondered out loud, considering the possibility that they may have stumbled in on a war. Regardless of perspective, there was no denying that defenceless civilians were being slaughtered en masse.

The mirror granted a very clear first row seat for the pair witnessing the massacre, seemingly responding to its owner's subconscious thoughts in order to focus only the most brutal detail and angles. Revealing the sorry state of the corpses, with how broken bones pierced bruised skin and where flayed flesh ripened into carrion for the crows.

Momonga's eyes nearly widened in horror, not because he was disturbed by the view. But because he had unwittingly raised the glass to take another sip of juice despite seeing a man being viciously hacked to pieces. Realising his rather nonchalant behaviour the overlord set the glass back down on the table.

'That's... Concerning. I've already determined that my current body is affecting me somehow, but I didn't realise it was to this extent.'

In times of war, one could expect military fortifications to pop up in especially strategically valuable locations. Though, from the looks of things, this village didn't have any worthwhile preparations. ...Which made sense if whatever society they belonged to didn't consider their little hamlet important, but...

'Just outright destruction. This serves a strategic purpose, but I cannot yet tell what for. I'm not as knowledgeable as Punitto Moe-san, so I can't say for certain... But if this was war, would it really be necessary to butcher the local populace?'

The Fallen Angel frowned as a knight split a man's skull open with an overhead swing, resulting in the contents of the villager's head leaking out and wetting the dry ground.

'Should I feel disgusted? Disturbed? Afraid...? I feel none of these things. It's just... Wrong.' Teeth subtly grit without Sebas' notice.

Yet another civilian screamed and pleaded as they were rounded up in the town square by the attackers. A smaller entourage of knights ran off to hunt those who saw fit to run. Sebas' expression seemed to darken as more of the battle revealed itself— a detail that didn't slip past Momonga.

'This...' The Supreme Being's eyes refocused on the systematic destruction of the village and its inhabitants— the comforting support of the chair suddenly seeming less welcoming. His face remaining impasse, save for a slight twitch of the eyebrow and the quiet grinding of molars.

'I never saw much gore back "home". A corpse every once in a while maybe. And yet... The blood. The viscera. The screams. That's not what bothers me, just...!'

A click of the tongue could be heard in the otherwise silent room.

The captivating allure of the Supreme Being's face disappeared as a scornful sneer pulled at his lips. His newfound body always felt amazing, effortlessly achieving what felt like peak physical performance. Now practically every joint in that body was screaming for action— like rubber bands that have been pulled taut before being allowed to snap back.

It was so many things at once, with a flood of emotion rushing to his brain, leaving him light-headed. Each part contradictory, each pulling in different directions.

It wasn't quite empathy. The suffering, the gruesome imagery, the silent screams that didn't carry over through the mirror... That didn't affect him in the slightest.

Maybe human sensibility and old moral dregs were carried over. A rational, unequivocally 'right' thing to do presenting itself, with the added bonus of (v̸iol̴e͢nc̵e) standing up for the battered populace.

He wanted to step in. But...

This will be the first interaction he'll ever have with the locals.

And it'll involve combat with a hostile force that he did not know the extent of.

...All while a loyal subordinate stood waiting, peering over his shoulder and observing his every move.

'No spells... No teleportation. No interesting equipment... They all appear to be rather weak. ...Then maybe... Am I willing to take a risk?'

The Supreme Being's lips pursed, mind torn between disgust at the slaughter and wicked amusement at the idea of getting involved. He looked once more upon the face of his butler, seeing the clear dissatisfaction on it— thankfully directed towards the soldiers in the mirror.

'A good person...' Those words moved through his mind as he took note of Sebas' appearance.

"Sebas." His voice, though not shaky, wasn't quite boisterous either. The butler immediately tore his gaze away from the carnage that was unfolding in the village in order to meet the eyes of his master.

"Yes, lord Momonga?"

"You are troubled, I can tell." Things got somewhat quiet after that as the servant returned his attention to the mirror. What a hypocritical thing to say, when Momonga may have been more moved by the sight.

'Say something. Reassure me here.' The Fallen Angel's mind had already been made up, but this was the first time he'd have a chance at getting through to one of his subordinates, and maybe see eye to eye with them.

"You are correct, lord Momonga." The Supreme Being signalled at the butler of steel to continue. "My allegiance, of course, lies with the Tomb and with you my lord. Please punish me accordingly if I were to speak out of line."

"I wish to hear your thoughts, Sebas. No need to sugar coat or lie. I'd rather you be straight forward with me." The grey-haired servant seemed to hesitate a little bit before finally speaking.

"We... Are strong, and I believe that we may be able to learn a great deal of things from this village, should we decide to save it." Clearly Sebas wasn't entirely sure about what he had said, but nonetheless did his best to point out actual tangible benefits rather than play the sympathy card against someone he thought was a pragmatic.

The overlord nodded at that statement. "Now they are in peril. Since we are able and do not have anything to lose by assisting them, why don't we?" The butler spoke once more before realising how his spiel may be interpreted as a critique of his master's decisions. Sebas suddenly went pale and knelt down.

"—Ah! Forgive me, lord Momonga! I did not mean to question your supreme wisdom...!"

Momonga's eyes flit between his kneeling servant and the mirror.

No excuses anymore.

The Supreme Being wasn't able to fight off the encroaching smile as a familiar rush came over him, pulling his rational mind through the gutter as it had a few nights prior, when he had so effortlessly engaged in back and forth banter with Demiurge.

Those little moments, those little sparks when all doubt was eliminated and his mind zeroed in on whatever he fancied in that moment. ...Whether that was a racial trait or sudden onset insanity was anybody's guess.

At that moment, his halo spun a little faster.

...And worries were forgone in favour of simple enjoyment.

"Haha—!" Momonga suddenly laughed joyously, much to the shock and confusion of his manservant. "An excellent observation, Sebas."

"My lord..."

The mirror changed, revealing a young woman running away from the village with a child in her arms, raiders in hot pursuit.

With one elegant motion, the Angel was out of his chair, dusting himself off as if he had recently been in a scuffle— his majestic wings spreading wide and providing an awe-inspiring sight for the butler.

'What would Touch-Me say?'

"Hey Momonga you god damn noob, where are my 500 data crystals?!"

'Er— No, not that.'

"Sebas... What would your creator say in this situation?" The overlord asked with an impish lilt, a deceptively gentle smile pulling on his lips.

At first, Sebas just blinked dumbly before finally managing to wrap his head around the sudden shift in tone. Still on his knees, his greying head was lowered with an awed look in his eyes.

"... To help those in need is common sense." The butler spoke passionately, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face for the first time.

"Right you are." Momonga declared almost giddily. The room was coloured a saturated azure shade as a whirlpool of black and blue tore open in front of the Supreme Being. Phantom winds caressed the locale, causing the veils and cloth on Momonga's newly manifested armour to gently sway.

Once again, the poor manservant was thrown for a loop as he gawked at his ever-eloquent master leisurely strolling towards the [Gate].

"My lord! Do you intend to act yourself?" Sebas exclaimed with a voice that didn't quite manage to hide all of his surprise. "On your own?" The Angel came to a stop and shook his hooded head.

"Would you allow that?"

"My lord! Of course not, your safety is our utmost—"

"What do the denizens of Nazarick think of humans, Sebas?" Momonga interrupted the servant's whinge with a question. The leader of the Pleiades paused for a moment.

"They are... Not well liked, my liege."

"If that's the case, then I ask of you to accompany me."

"Me, lord Momonga? Surely lady Albedo would be able to better protect y—"

The leader of the Supreme Beings just gave a jovial laugh and stepped towards the [Gate], staying on the ground to better prepare for combat on the other side.

"You are the one who wanted to help." He spoke with a savage grin, glancing towards the surprised butler. "Now, don't be long. Time waits for nobody~!"

"Lord Momonga...!"

"Keep the guardians on standby, ready up the Eight Edge Assassins! Hurry it up a little." The Supreme Being gave a lazy wave before disappearing through the portal, leaving a stupefied butler scrambling to complete his master's orders.

'So, my littlest knights. Let us see just how far that lack of chivalric code will bring you.'


Chapter End


REWRITTEN AS OF APRIL 2022, but the next chapter hasn't been quite yet. ...So expect a difference in formatting/storytelling. Things may not flow together as well as I want it to because of that.

*I refer to Momonga/Ainz as "overlord" many times. This is not his race as it is in canon, but rather his title (or occupation). With him being an evil ruler leading a tomb filled with dedicated minions.

**Frankly I think it's really funny how Ainz will end up with people who love him for reasons other than his appearance- and that he's too lacking in self-awareness to intentionally capitalize on an attractive body.

...Whereas a more immature part of me finds the idea of Ainz accidentally flirting to be hilarious, with everyone around him going "oh my god, what's up with this super-smooth bachelor" while Ainz's thought process doesn't extend past "haha, politeness. big words".

***In canon, part of the reason Nazarick's juice is so good is because of the whole dryad-business in the side-story. They aren't part of the 6th Floor yet, but I figured that Nazarick would be able to make some pretty good grog either way.


A/N)

Ma~n. Writing and rewriting can be fun, but frankly it feels as if I run the risk of turning everything into purple prose at any moment. So lemme know in case that happens moving forward. ...Like, the whole prologue/intro was meant to be a bit more... Snobbish? But I still had to trim it a bit.


Character Sheet

Momonga/Ainz Ooal Gown

Epithet:

Unholy Scholar of the Divine

Job:

One of the almighty 41 Supreme Beings

Ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick

Residence:

Great Tomb of Nazarick

Room in level 9

Alignment:

50 (largely irrelevant due to Job Levels)

Sense of Justice

Neutral/Good (largely irrelevant due to Job Levels)

Total Level (Racial Levels (40) + Job Levels (60)) = 100

Racial Levels (Total 40):

Fallen Angel (15)

Unholy Scion (15)

Seraph of Sin (10)

Job Levels (Total 60):

Holy Summoner (15)

Angelic Combatant (15)

Archangel Spell Weaver (10)

Divine Caster (10)

Ruler of the First Sphere (5)

Karma Weaver (5)

Ability Chart:

HP: 66

MP: 100 (MAX)

PHY. ATK: 41

PHY. DEF: 83

AGILITY: 57

MAG. ATK: 100 (MAX)

MAG. DEF: 100 (MAX)

RESIST: 94

SPECIAL: Exceeds Limit


-Special Notes-

Racial Levels are primarily geared towards unholy or otherwise "evil" abilities/spells, whereas Job Levels are focused primarily on holy spells as is the case for most angels. This dichotomy has led to a largely unfocused and ineffective build, suited for roleplay rather than actual combat efficacy.

The exception lies in the 'Karma Weaver' class, which Ainz's build is reliant on in order to become viable.

As such, the guildmaster gets to have his cake and eat it too, allowing for exploitation of the strengths of any part of the karmic spectrum. With this, he is allowed access to almost all manners of magic, as well as being proficient in using all 'aligned' summons (demons, undead, angels, specific summons from other areas).


-Transcript from the Amphitheatre-

(A conversation is held as the 6th Floor Amphitheatre is used by the guildmaster for a combat demonstration)

Luci*Fer: "HACKS! I CALL HACKS!"

Yamaiko: "Shuuuut the fuck up, Luci*Fer."

Luci*Fer: "What do you mean 'shut up'?! I spent A BOATLOAD OF CELESTIAL URANIUM ON MY HOLY-ALIGNED GOLEM ONLY FOR ITS MOST POWERFUL ATTACK TO BARELY GRAZE THE BASTARD!"

Yamaiko: "I mean- Touch Me-san is, kinda like his name tries to say, basically untouchable. And nobody's complaining about that."

Warrior Takemizukachi: "Honestly, I think Luci*Fer-san has a point. Touch Me-san is No.2 in the world, after all... And I think the golem's basic charged punch might have done more damage to Momonga-san than [Hallowed Divide, Absolute Providence]. Ffff... -The Captain isn't even a tank."

Yamaiko: "That the Touch Me-envy speaking again?"

Warrior Takemizukachi: "Tsk."

Luci*Fer: "Kh...! This is total bullshit."

Yamaiko: "Should have just stuck to blunt force trauma, haha-! ...Though this might just be comeuppance for playing as a golemancer in the first place."

...

Warrior Takemizukachi: "...Crap. He's handling the two Primordial Elementals at the same time."

Yamaiko: "Yeah. Never thought I'd see mister Dream-Build handle a gank so leisurely. Besides, don't you think he has deserved it? It's like playing with both hands tied behind your back and finally being cut loose!"

Luci*Fer: "Ooh, ooh! Like one of those anime where the characters wear weighted clothing?"

Warrior Takemizukachi: "Heh. Those usually tend to be pretty cool. ...But yeah, I think I can see it."

...

Warrior Takemizukachi: "Yamaiko-san has a point. Momonga-san is really skilled normally to make this work. Having an actually viable build is the cherry on top. We might just be making a mountain out of a molehill."

Yamaiko: "See, now you're getting it! If anything, feel free to harp on the old goat for blowing something up again."

Warrior Takemizukachi: "Hah~. Agreed. Either way, Momonga-san is impressive regardless of build so-"

...

Warrior Takemizukachi: "...Did... ...Did that [Negative Burst] just heal him...?"

...

Yamaiko: "Pfffff~! HAHAHA~!"

Luci*Fer: "MOMONGA-!"


Karma Weaver - In which abilities that have positive effects on specific alignments instead affect the entire spectrum, allowing the user to benefit from them- such as healing from [Negative Burst]. When a karma check occurs, the least harmful outcome is always chosen. These can be made beneficial, though the effect is mostly delegated to reduction of harmful effects as opposed to total nullification or inversion.

In a purely hypothetical situation, [Ahur Mazda], the World-Class Item that affects all evil creatures in the world, would not target Momonga regardless of his actual alignment- not because of the World Item being countered or cancelled, but rather because the target in question technically does not posses negative karma.

This effect may also take hold on aligned spells cast by the holder of this class, to always grant a little bit of an edge to all karmic spells.