I said it was on hold, now I bring it back. sorry for the very long wait folks. Anyways, my time off has given me a chance to properly articulate this little story, which is why I bring you the remastered version! There's going to be quite a few changes from the original as you'll soon see, but enough of that! You're here for Chaos! Carnage! Evil! So Let's Get This Bloody Show On The Road!

And if it isn't obvious, I haven't watched the 6th season yet.

I don't own Overlord or RWBY, as both are already owned by their respective owners, Triumph Studios and Roosterteeth. :)

Dark Tower, 150km South from Mountain Glenn's current location, Several Hundred Millenium Before the Events of RWBY...

The Overlord sighed as he stroked the armrest of his decadent throne, plastered in skulls dipped in gold, and the deepest of rubies, it screamed wealthy. It pained him to know that he would never sit upon it again. All his work, all those years unifying the various duchies into a proper kingdom, battling rebels in the hills, and paving the way for his descendants and his people, would come crashing down upon him in mere hours. He knew his methods were cruel, no matter how efficient and cost-effective they could be. All those slaves, those purges and massacres, they were necessary to bring Vale the prosperity it sorely needed. His Minion Armies shattered those who would resist his command, while his great horde or thralls built the various improvements that would bring the Kingdom to glory.

Destiny, of course, believed otherwise. For who else could tear down all that he achieved? Who else could take Velvet and his child away? Who else could twist the knife embedded into his back?

Who else but his friend could betray him in such a way?

The Overlord sighed. He could hear the trembling and earth-shattering march outside. This was it then, his Last Stand. He waved at someone, hidden by the darkness of a pillar's shadow to come closer.

"Gnarl. Is it done?"

The grey old minion almost immediately replied. "Of course Master, the hives have been smuggled out to be hidden away, as you've requested." The Minion turned to face the balcony, which was just across from the throne room, and around the Tower Heart Pool. Gnarl turned back to the Overlord. "Well Master," Gnarl began to speak, wiping away a tear from his eyes as he continued in a saddened voice. "You are truly the best Overlord we minions have served since the Black Baron himself. Truly! All that pillaging and carnage! Angering not one, but two Gods in the process!"

The Overlord let out a sigh, staring at his gauntlet, extending and retracting his digits in an almost trance-like state. Once he broke free, however, he felt, different. Standing to his great height of 6'7, The Overlord gave his final command to Gnarl.

"Gnarl, I order you to leave."

Gnarl seemed aghast by this, sputtering in surprise. "What? That-That's not a very minion thing to do Ma-" His argument was soon drowned out by the Overlord slamming the blade of his sword into the stone flooring, ending his argument.

"I was never the First Overlord, and I don't expect to be the last. My hope is that you live so that the inheritor of this title may be as Evil or better than me."

Gnarl would have refuted, were it not for the stare he was given not moments later.

"Leave."

The Old Minion hesitantly nodded before disappearing into the shadows, as if he was never there.

The Overlord swallowed what fears he held within him. It was unbecoming of a figure such as himself, showing fear.
Grasping his blade and wrenching it free, The 8th Hero stared deeply into it, the Arcanium Blade that had been with him since the start of his adventure. It was fitting it would accompany him to his end.

His brief reflection on past memories soon came to an end as a Warhorn blew outside his tower. It was time.

The Overlord began his final march down the dimly lit hallways, through the tattered red banners. Behind him assembled the last of his Minion Guard. Most of his Minion Armies were wiped out in past assaults, dealt swiftly by the very Deities that now stand against him. Only the 50 minions of the Minion Guard remained. His Most Prestigious Unit, the ones he personally led in all his battles. Comprised of 15 Browns, 15 Reds, 10 Blues and 10 Greens, these heavily armoured grunts of his would be present in his last battle, and he would have it no other way.

They arrived at the front gate into the tower, which was being battered down. The lobby was designed to funnel any would-be invader towards a single set of stairs, providing the Overlord with a defensible chokepoint in which to do bloody battle. The stairs led to the second level of the tower, which had a clear vision of the lobby below as two walkways were built alongside it.

The Overlord's gauntlet gleamed red, and he pointed towards both sides of the lobby at the walkways, an elevated position where his Reds could rain fire. His gauntlet glowed again, and his Greens were placed at the top of the staircase, their invisibility making it look like they weren't even there. His Blues and Browns were left on the bottom of the staircase, with the browns in front.

At last, the gates came plummeting down at just the right moment, as a flood of men began to pour into the building. The room descended into a shuffling melee as Reds toss fireballs on the besiegers below, causing several of them to catch fire. The Browns with their large Halberds swung up and down, Steel ringing against Minion Steel. Greens leapt from above, catching unaware bystanders by surprise as their throats were torn to pieces. The Bloodcurdling screams, it made him feel, at home. A Brown then collapsed, killed by a lucky arrow, only for a blue to rush beside him and infuse him with magic, forcing the minion back to life in a whirlwind of screaming and pain. The Brown soon charged back into the fray.

For 15 solid minutes, the defences held. The gutsy strategy of aggressive assaults that once worked upon the great Minion armies became those men's undoing. The hallways became a scene of a tragedy, smelling of Charred Flesh and Death. Soon enough the bodies stopped piling up, a sign that they'd ceased the attack.

Then two lights emerged from the entrance, and the Overlord visibly tensed.

Two figures soon floated in. One, a female, had pristine white skin, like a set of china, but also sported dark clothing, almost inhuman. The other, a male, held a staff, with glimmering white hair and a rather opulent choice of style. The Overlord glared at the latter, with an unquenchable rage. The male pointed the magical stick at the Overlord.

"Istvan! Stop! Your reign of tyranny is over! For the sake of our past friendship, surrender!"

The Overlord merely yelled back at him, reciprocating his 'friend's' actions by pointing his blade at him.

"Our friendship died the moment I buried her! Ozma! Face Your Doom!"

The Overlord roared, squeezing his palms as Magical Energy suddenly surged within his hands.

The Ozma cast a ward around both him and his partner for what was to come. The Overlord's hand blew up in magical energy, sending a hectic shockwave running through the building, shown only by a little blue light. Minions began to explode, their lifeforce being absorbed into his gauntlet like a dwarven machine. A little trick he learned, being able to absorb the power of the minions that served him, and whilst temporary, became stronger depending on how powerful the minion was.

The juiced-up Overlord jumped from his position, bringing his blade down upon the ward, breaking it instantly. Ozma and the female leapt backwards to avoid the strike, which rocked the foundations of the building. The roof was collapsing, as dust and debris began to fall. The pair ran out of the building, the Overlord fast behind them.

As they exited the Dark Tower and into the forest that surrounded it, The Overlord only just took notice of the numbers against him, for he had only fought a small contingent of a greater mass, unfortunately, they were... cheering?

The great crash behind him told the Overlord what had transpired. The ground was split, a chasm forming beneath the tower.

The Dark Tower, the symbol of his Dominion, was sinking into the depths below, caused by him?

He could not dwell on the question as a fireball suddenly struck his chest, sending him reeling back. Facing the two, The Overlord charged forward, blade swinging wildly in a mad craze, be it from the loss of his home or the sight of his hated foe.

Every blow caused a shockwave, every block sent someone backwards. As the fight drew on, the Overlord began to weaken, his Arcanium Armor, said to be able to absorb a dragon's breath, began to shatter.

Ozma became reckless, swinging his staff down upon the Overlord's head. The 8th hero brought his right hand over his head to protect him, only for a magical explosion to send him flying back towards the edge of the chasm.

He couldn't feel his legs as he tried getting back up. His breathing was laboured. He spat a gob of bloody spit onto the ground, before analyzing his minion gauntlet, and it wasn't good.

The gem at its center, at broken in two, the other piece, he had no clue where it was.

The Overlord was sent to his knees as Ozma began to approach him, eyes glowing an eerie white. Their eyes met, locked in a mutual dislike for the other. He couldn't resist what would come next, and to him, he refused to accept it.

Ozma picked up his Arcanium Blade and ran him through with it, and The Overlord's ragged gasps followed. Furthermore, from the base of the wound, ice began to form, slowly encasing his body.

Istvan laughed with what energy he had left as his life ebbed away. Ozma merely looked confused.

"You will not contain me for long, I will return."

"You've been stabbed by your own blade, your threats mean nothing to me." Ozma tore the helmet off of the Overlord, revealing a sullen face, with tired amber eyes and charcoal hair. His beard pointed, yet a mess. The man merely smiled in response.

"You of all people know Ozma, Evil always finds a way."

Just as Istvan was completely frozen solid, Ozma kicked the block of ice into the ravine, watching as Istvan fell into the abyss.

As the reincarnated hero turned around to face the overjoyed troops and the concerned look Salem was giving up, his mind was in a different place. He couldn't even notice the other half of the minion gem in his love's hand.

All he could think about was Istvan's final words.

Brown's Gorge, 150km South of Mountain Glenn, Present Day...

There was a muffled noise, the clambering of feet, the growls of creatures, the moving of stone...

"This one! Here!" the coffin door above him shifted, letting out a thud as it crashed onto the floor. His vision was blurry, he couldn't see what was in front of him. Something was rubbed against his face, and he growled in pain.

Istvan wheezed as he slowly began to recover his eyesight. He was presented with the faces of 5 Browns, with their yellow eyes and jagged teeth, one of which had a messily cut lemon in his hand.

The Overlord sat upright, looking down at his half-naked form, a visible scar in the center of his chest.

He smiled.

:l

Well then. The next chapter will be out next month I promise.

And for those confused why I didn't adhere to the colour rule, The Color Rule was implemented after the Great War, which was After the Overlord was kept on ice for several millennia.

Well, see you next month.