An: Hope you enjoy, Thank You for reading. Idek if I need disclaimers, can someone tell me? xD
Disclaimer: I do not own Overlord, that all goes to Maruyama-sama
Grinding or gnashing.
Either word fit for the action being taken by the beautiful succubus known as Albedo. Her raven black wings jittered slightly with emotion, as she kept her jaw clenched.
"Flat-tear Bloodfallen." She fumed as she completed Ainz's paperwork with splendid ease, far faster than any human ability to process.
Her sulphorous eyes landed on the loan so dastardly requested by Jircniv Rune Farlord El-Nix. Albedo wondered why Jircniv would even ask for a loan, why he would send it as a letter and other branches of those questions. Faster than one could blink, the labyrinth of her mind thought of various possibilities, ranging from absurd to plausible.
She reasoned that him sending the letter was most definetly out of fear of Ainz-Sama's presence, and the loan...
Albedo was conflicted. She thought of ways to twist this loan into a noose, since Jircniv had already tied it himself, but she recalled her masters words.
'Momo- Ainz-Sama said that he was in favor of accepting it..' Albedo thought, while she narrowed her eyes at the words of her master that appeared in her mind, trying to uncover their hidden meaning.
She recalled the uncanny events that had taken place within her master's sacred office, for once the Guardian Overseer herself was at a loss of words.
The succubus distracted herself by way of freeing her thoughts, allowing them to come to their own conclusions without her conscious input. She couldn't do so often since she's had more layers of responsibility on top of her normal duties as Guardian Overseer. Her macabre wit, twisted to make traps for fools, evaluated her choices before making a conclusion.
She was to act as the will of her master, her love, and thus Albedo completed arrangments for the "emperor" of Baharuth's loan, with minor adjustments. Then sent the finished copy on-route to Arwinter's palace.
White hair, older than an entire generation, flowed in the passing breeze. Crows feet lined the edges of the wise eyes that have seen more than many human would hope to. His iconic white casters robe, in synchrony with his hair, whirled with the wind. His aged eyes scanned the scenery around him, watching peopl
On top of his tower Fluder Paradyne watched the city of Arwinter, with a black box clasped underneath his arm, against his chest as if to guard the box with his life. He had thrown away everything, for the chance to reach into the abyss of magic, and now with the veil of said abyss rested under his arm, he felt content for the first time in his over 200 of life.
Fluders aged hand caressed the box he had recieved from the 'Arbiter of the Abyss', the mighty magic caster Ainz Ooal Gown. Fluder had to restrain himself or else he would've started crying out of joy, allowing his ecstasy to echo off of the walls of Arwinter.
The old man took a deep breath and made the sign of his newly found god across his chest as he returned to his room on the floor below.
Fluder's room was neat at a glance, it always was before and after he studied the tome he so grasciously recieved from Ainz Ooal Gown. Lest a surprise inspection of his properties come into play, he kept both his translation-in-progress with the tome inside the magical box.
The old magic caster couldn't contain himself as his eyes took on a new shine as he placed the box ceremoniously on top of his desk.
"O'Ancient One, heed my pleas." Fluder almost inaudibly whispered to the box.
The box breifly illuminated a small magic seal on its face before an audible 'click' sounded as the box coursed open. The 6th tier magic caster rubbed his hands in satisfaction every time he said the password he created, but that wasn't simply because he liked saying it, inside the now opened box, the 'Book of the Dead' shone with a radiant halo, only seen by Fluder.
In total he had been making laughably slow progress, but that was the price in exchange for having such lore readily available. Especially as he had the guidelines to abide by from the direct word of Ainz Ooal Gown, use magic to translate and only translate a maximum of one page at a time. To be honest, Fluder thought himself above such limitations, but he would be foolish to act against any word of the manifestation of power that had offered him a gateway to the depths of magic.
Fluder's esoteric ritual began the same as it did the previous session. He thanked his new master repeatedly while bowing, after which he reread over all of his previous notes to refresh himself, so far only ten pages had been transcribed into his language, but just of those ten pages, already Fluders comprehension increased.
"If souls are but froth from the waves of experience, from which does the water come from?" Fluder whispered to himself as he began translating a new page.
The sound of writing encompassed the silence that previously accompanied the magic caster's room.
Jircniv was at his desk, he had been managing his empires internal affairs quite a lot recently, and since his recent vassalization, he had watched his work load get lighter by the day. This allowed a faint fmile to cross his lips before his eyes landed on the ldger given to him by Shalltear, becuase of this ledger he had no time to concentrate his thoughts on the possibility of potentially being "dissaplined" upon the rejection of his loan request. Instead, the Bloody Emperor was trying to organize exactly what to do with 260 undead summons; first he thoroughly validated his comprehension on the Sorcerer King's 'unit' program.
He was sure that these 'units' were not only a ratio of their labor force to their cost, but an assimilation technique. The world both hated and feared the undead, seen as mindless manifestations of negative energy, even being in the prescence of them to most was objectionable, Jircniv knew he needed to do some serious juggling to unravel this situation before he was tied up in an impossible scenario. So he began to write.
The emperor drew up ideas ranging from creating a new legion, to compressing already existing legions together and making up the difference with undead.
He knew what to do with the skeletons, they would be going to far away villages to see the process of absorbtion into farm work. Three death knights were to be sent to neighboring cities, one stationed at each; were he to unleash one inside the capital, being Baharuth's most populous city, would be disaterous, so he had to watch the ripple before he wanted to make a wave.
"Lastly.. Ah, the soul-eaters." Jircniv sighed to himself at the name of the mysterious undead, as he had heard only stories of such a name.
His amethyst eyes gazed to the adjacent tower which he could see from his window, he felt a wave of emotion flash across his eyes as he swallowed such feelings, feelings of betrayal, and pain from the inevitability of it irked Jircniv direly. No man could be justly called a King if he didnt put the feelings of his nation before his own, Jircniv knew this, but it didnt make him anyless of a man than he was, his heart still would bleed if cut.
The eyes of the Bloody emperor, narrowed as he disseminated through his thoughts, such occurances had become almost second nature due to the frequency of his flights of fantasy and mental gymnastics.
He decided to only evaluate the capacity of one soul-eater, letting it hall goods to and fro the cities of his empire. While technically being on the leash of Ainz Ooal Gown, Jircniv was still an absolute ruler in his own right, controlling the systems in place within the empire. He will have to get in contact with his appointed administration, those that manage their specific cities import/ export quotas and the tedious bureaucracy needed to keep places of society functional.
He will need to invite them to an audience to discuss the empire's leased undead in further detail.
To say a show of force was akin to a battle of wits between intellectuals was correct, it was a way to show the cultivation of skills by a direct means; one cannot be justified with their strength without first an ordeal to prove it.
With four limbs and a prehensile tail, a demi-human in the form of an ape, bespeckled with patches of rock protruding from it's brown fur squinted at the setting sun. It's ape-esque head was fit with a proud mane of silver hair, not unlike the white manes of it's fellow tribe members, blew in the direction of a sinister wind.
This creature was known as a Stone Eater, a demi-human not exactly unique in its likeness, but rather for the fact that they can shoot rocks from their mouths as projectiles a certain number of times a day. Some have been known to harbor talents that allowed them to boost their abilities for a short duration depending on the mineral they ate. While starting at the sun setting over the horizon the Stone Eater was called by his tribe.
"Lord Mu'Aaz, the ceremony is ready."
Mu'Aaz, the King of his tribe of Stone Eaters nodded at his subordinate. Mu'aaz began walking to where his tribe had congregated, maybe he was just imagining it, but as he walked the grass felt sorrowful on his knuckles, like something was about to happen.
The great leader Mu'Aaz did his best to set aside such thoughts, as his tribe was preparing to test its own mettle to decide who would go to the grand demi-human tournament, hosted to de-escalate tensions between surrounding tribes by sending the strongest of each to battle each other, it acted as mutual respect and recognition for all parties involved.
That was when he saw it.
A ball of fire so large and hot it seemed as if to replace the sun itself fell over a looming hill in the backdrop of the horizon. Even more troubling to Mu'Aaz was the fact that it landed where the designated tournament was to take place, in the Armat tribe of Gozyo.
That was when he heard what shook him to his core..
Mirthful laughter that was both contradicted and compounded by screams of terror echoed off of the surrounding hills, rolling over them as if being carried by a wave. Blood seeped into the ground, watering the dry grass with the essence of life. Usually in the Abelion Hills, life and death were a struggle of dominance, but this wasn't a struggle, rather a simple neutralization of the strength that the surrounding beings prided themselves with.
A crater of scorched earth, the smell of burning flesh and melting fat, the sounds of suffering. The being looked around at the carnage that his 'appearance' caused. Many Armat and other races lay mangled, and partially incinerated inside the crater the demon made. He had used [Meteor Fall] as his entrance, along with his [Aspect of the Devil- Hellfire Mantle] to act like a heat aura.
Rocks flew in every direction upon the demon's impact, like the shrapnel of a nuclear blast they tore through anything in their path.
'Its cold, so cold' the creature thought distantly, wondering why he couldn't speak as he felt something leaving him.
Blood flowed from the Armats splayed throat, carrying the creatures warmth away from it as its body wasted the last reserves of oxygen on spasms.
A being to control fire and the manifestation of evil terror is the first thought that would cross any sane beings mind, simply entering its vicinity left the lucky ones with skin melted, organs poached, muscles contracted and brain boiled, those unlucky had been left alive by some twist of evil fate, screaming as the aura of heat washed over their non-vitals, leaving them fallen statues of suffering on the ground.
"You will serve and suffer less or die and suffer more" The manifestation of hate and cruelty spoke with a booming yet oddly charming voice which would reverberate along any living beings bones.
