Hello there everyone, I'm back again and chapter four of "Age of Overlords" is here. Thank you guys once again for your reviews and support of this crososver story. Shalltear has been taken by Arkhan's dick move after she won against him and Ainz is coming home from his little adventure to Nazarick and undergo some... pest control that invaded his domain.
Happy April Fool's Day by the way! XD
Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer Age of Sigmar or Overlord. Both franchises respectively belong to Games Workshop and Kugane Maruyama. Credits goes to GhazzgullThrakan, the original author of Age of Overlords who allowed me to adopt it.
Enjoy and don't forget to review. :D
Chapter 4: Stormbringer.
Feeling weak to such a degree was a first to Arkhan. He felt his bones were broken in virtually all places, only holding up thanks to the magic and will of his overlord Nagash. He tried to call Razarak but he didn't respond. Cursing behind his black teeth, Arkhan made his sword disappear and materialized his staff, so he could have some support when he rose up from the ground.
It took almost all his willpower and sorcery of Shyish to rise despite suffering grievous wounds from the vampiric loli which is probably her last laugh from his perspective before turning into dust by his [Curse of Ages]. Calling a second time for Razarak, his steed responded.
Flying towards him, Arkhan saw the beast was battered: half his ribcage was gone, his skull had multiple cracks, a leg was missing as well as a chunk of the tail and teeth. He flew well but he walked limp. Apparently the windows matched the curtains.
With a supreme effort, he levitated himself to ride Razarak and his trusty friend flew towards the battlefront.
It wasn't going well at all. The zombies could only do so much, dying faster than they emerged, and the Flesh Eater Court ghouls' casualties started to pile up. On his ascension, a Varghulf fell as a dozen skeletal vultures devoured the mutated vampire. When he considered they had reached the optimal height, Arkhan saw clearly how badly things had gone.
The lines of Ghouls were being overwhelmed and shattered easily with immense abhorrence including the mighty Krell by the enraged insectoid being trying to get past them to kill Arkhan for murdering Shalltear in a dick move and the dark armoured woman with a horned helm wielding a battle axe who had joined in the fight. Blasts peppered the battlefield all over the place, each taking a handful of souls with them.
Right now they were divided into four forces: one was a Schiltron consisting of Harkon, the remaining Blood Knights and the Morghasts, and both groups couldn't have more than half their original numbers; another lead by Dharban and consisting of a couple dozen Ghouls, Crypt Horrors and Flayers and a Varghulf. The other two groups were pockets consisting of a Varghulf and a handful of Flesh Eaters.
A sudden blast of green energy lit the battlefield into an emerald holocaust, a spire of smoke that brought an aroma of charred flesh and metal.
Make it three pockets of resistance., he noted.
Gathering all his strength, Arkhan raised his staff and directed a purple sun of Xereus onto the enemy lines. The purple sphere dawned diagonally, straight at the enemy's heart. The tendrils of energy, viciously flaying around, ripped through the enemy ranks, accompanied by screeching screams of pain and agony drowning the crackles of energy and explosions that flew around the battlefield. An avenue paved in bones and ravaged flesh was in the making.
Arkhan felt his mind start to fade away. No... Not yet.
Well, yes, now. Again, something that barely registered in his non-existent brain within his skeletal head came into his field of vision. A meteoric black blur. He didn't see anything afterwards, barring three massive violent blasts from which columns of fire and death rose that put to shame the original one. Arkhan did hear an enraged voice of a wrathful God that would give Nagash a run for his money in the hammy department.
"I HAVE RETURNED AND I SEE THERE ARE SOME PEST CONTROL PROBLEM THAT NEEDS REMEDY! ELIMINATE ALL INVADERS! NO QUARTER AND NO MERCY! AND CAPTURE THE LEADER OF THIS RABBLE SO I CAN DEAL WITH THEM MYSELF! AINZ OOAL GOWN COMMANDS YOU!"
"Yes, Lord Ainz!", the insectoid warrior complied and doubles its efforts with great zeal.
"Anything for you, my beloved Lord Ainz!", the dark armored horned woman squealed and follows suit.
Make it zero pockets of resistance. as this was his last thought when the said armored female powerfully threw her axe towards him and he blacked out.
When Arkhan's consciousness came back he noticed there was only his skull, still cracked on one side. The Mortarch was resting on a crimson cushion (very comfy, by the way) and was in a poorly lit room, with only a small handful of candles to serve as lighting. Then came into Arkhan's field of vision an imposing being. Towering at… what, two meters something closing in to three?
The lich was clad in exquiste purple and gold cloth with multiple talismans of quite notable powers.
This being, Arkhan quickly evaluated, could be an enemy beyond his capabilities from the likes he has never seen and felt before. Even at his prime. So better attempt the weasel maneuver… well, if the lich was here to talk. He half-hoped it was the case. If not, well, Nagash would get his loincloths in a twist and do something very irrational.
"I think we've yet to make acquaintances of each other," began Arkhan.
The giant lich grunted and grabbed the base of the shattered skull with his palm, rising Arkhan to meet face to face with his captor. He certainly looked like a lovable chap., Arkhan internally snarked.
"Who sent you?" Commanded in a thinly veiled angered tone of his captor which he presumed him to be named Ainz Ooal Gown. What an exotic yet bizarre name.
"I guess we can forget about curtsies then," Arkhan sighed and grunted as the bone clutch tightened and almost menaced with breaking his skull apart, its owner's eyes glowering with fury. No use in trying to fool him. "My name is Arkhan the Black and I was sent by my lord Nagash, ruler of the Mortal Realm of Shyish to investigate the source of a strange energy. Your domain, to be precise."
The lich holding his skull remained quiet and looked skeptical of his claims.
The Mortarch explained, "Look, I'm pretty sure you're not going to believe me, but I have nothing specific against you and your people. I just came here to parley and your underling was the one that began the fight."
The clutch weakened its stranglehold, the lich's eyes calmed down a tiny bit.
"What was your subject of parley?", Ainz demanded.
"Truth be told? Your people's surrender into serfdom to my lord for all belongs to Nagash," Arkhan made a light chuckle after he replied in such casual remark. "Although he isn't exactly a prime diplomat, if you may excuse that flaw of his."
His captor stood silent for a couple seconds, an awkward tension gathering up.
"You attacked my home, you wounded and killed my people, demanding our enslavement," He was getting… a tad angry which is a huge understatement and gripped Arkhan even tiny bit harder to the point of cracking into pieces and dust. "What do you think that lord of yours has to offer me as to think he can make up for THAT? Start speaking about your offers. You have a minute before you learn the real meaning of the words Fate worse than Death."
Oh crapbaskets..., Arkhan gulped his non-existent throat.
Two days after the failed offensive at the Tomb of Nazarick
Arkhan hadn't made it back after a week. For a second, Nagash was worried that his trusted advisor was dead but it does not concern the God of Death for he can just bring him back and make Arkhan explain himself. Then he saw the stream of incoming souls speaking of a gargantuan undead fortress where they had fought and lost due to overwhelming numbers.
They spoke about a mighty lich that happens to be the ruler of this so-called Tomb of Nazarick had claimed the skull of Arkhan before obliterating the remnants of the army without even trying.
This made Nagash seethe in anger. His non-existent blood boiled with rage and his domain shook from his rage befitting a wrathful god being slighted greatly.
An undead dared to defy ME and harm MY subjects!? This rebellion against me, the God of Death will NOT be left without punishment!, he seethed in completely pure unadulterated fury that would impress and amuse Khorne. Nagash had never been this pissed before since Sigmar denied him the countless souls that were supposed to go to him in death just to make his Stormcasts and that is unacceptable even now.
Now, the enemy had bested Arkhan and a host of fine soldiers and ghouls. And by all accounts they seemed to have barely scratched the surface of that powder keg. He'd need Krell, a mighty warrior to drive the blade deep beneath the fools' domains. But even with his magical might and Krell's strength, Nagash had no doubt this would be a bloody campaign, with atrocious casualties.
Many would probably not come back even though the God of Death can easily replace his losses with more undead and souls that, ever always, rightfully belonging to him, not the upstart thief that is Sigmar who makes his precious golden boys and girls as his army.
Nagash wondered and got a eureka moment, Wait a minute... Atrocious casualties? Not coming back?
"MAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNFREEEEEEEEEEEED!", the God of Shyish bellowed boomingly for all inhabitants, be it living and undead worshiping and fearing him, in his Mortal Realm to hear for one of his Mortarchs and the vampire who was responsible for ruining the deceased Balthazar Gelt's chance of averting the End Times that destroyed Mallus, the World-That-Was a long long time ago.
Three days after the failed offensive at the Tomb of Nazarick
Mannfred von Carstein, Mortarch of Night was a muscular fellow. Cleanshaven and with brilliantine hair, fair (read: pale as snow) skin and red eyes, with ears similar to a bat's and a rather big nose. He wore his favourite black cloak and battlesuit, a work of art and sorcery that would withstand attacks better than most plates, though he'd be wearing the Armour of Templehof when the fighting began. He carried his sword Gheistvor and his staff.
Quite enough for what was essentially a glorified parade, as Nagash prepared the Undead to march.
Mannfred von Carstein today chose to ride on an abyssal steed. The skeletal horse huffed as he grabbed the reigns tightly and made him speed up. Smiling smugly, Mannfred approached his squire/thrall, Felix. The young boy was a bit pudgy, with eye bags around his pupils and black hair, pale white skin and deep blue eyes. He wielded a two handed sword and wore full plate armour and had given his abyssal steed barding.
"What a magnificent day, don't you think?" Said Mannfred as he ignored his servant's dismissive grunt. "The sky is bleak and the souls of people fall from the sky as they scream in despair and terror. Today is a GLORIOUS DAY!"
Nagash had given Mannfred the great privilege of leading the vanguard of the punishment expedition. What was more important was leading the vanguard: the four thousand Blood Knights he led. They were all soldiers removed from Neferata, Mortarch of Blood, and one of Mannfred's foremost political opponents. She surely was very upset about losing troops.
And if things went south, Mannfred could just run away, sure the line would hold very well.
After all, the Executioner Regiment was covering the second line!
"Mark my words, today we unleash the Kraken!", bellowed Mannfred.
As if taking a cue, Felix dismounted and grabbed a small coffee colored undead chihuahua-looking animal which is so damn freaky and uncanny as hell. The dog barked and trembled violently. Felix took out the leash and gave it to Mannfred, who proceeded to profusely pet the dog in a fake sickeningly sweet tone of his deep baritone voice unbefitting of a Vampire Lord and more of a Slaneeshi follower.
"Who's my cutey-lil-cutey Kraken? Yes you are! Yes you are!", he cooed, which such sight can be seen as actually creepy as fuck.
Felix sighed and rolled his eyes at the Vampire Lord going at it again with his cringey eccentricities that hid his true nature which Mannfred turned and glowered at him, dropping his eccentric mask that served him well to fool those thinking he is not the same Vampire that damned the World-That-Was in the End Times. The younger vampire went stiff as his master's spells clasped his very soul for a second in a deathly grip. Satisfied that Felix knows his place on the Pecking Order, Mannfred released him, sure that the warning had been clearly sent.
Smiling in a faux peppy manner, the Mortarch of Night said, "C'mon cheer up, you spoilsport! What could possibly go wrong?"
Mannfred went on to spoil Kraken, he was so engrossed in the vital activity he didn't hear Felix say in a sassy manner: "Oh I dunno, everything?"
Five days after the failed offensive
Shalltear still hadn't been recovered from Arkhan's [Curse of Ages] and that is a sore spot of humiliation for Nazarick that one of the esteemed Floor Guardians have been brought low by such hax spell, Ainz awaited to see whether or not this "Nagash" delivered or not. Truth be told? He was scared out of his brain. This place was dangerous, even to the people of the Tomb.
Would he be able to protect what he and his friends had built with so much effort? An air of uncertainty had started to surround the answer.
He was trembling now, just a bit, a slight shiver that ran down his spine despite his lich's nature to not feel any human emotions at all.
According to Arkhan, Nagash was an imposing lich, having morphed his undead body into a gargantuan monster and became a literal God of Death where all the souls belonged to him and even mentioned about Sigmar stealing what is rightfully is to make his little shiny immortal warriors which is an unforgivable affront to Nagash. The lich had told Ainz that his master was very fond of fanfare and making shows of strength. If he didn't want his rhythm to be brought down, he needed to make a show of strength.
Thus he had gathered all of his Floor Guardians as they are all armed and ready like Albedo who still retained her armour and axe while the visor of her horned helm is opened for her face to be shown, and brought almost a thousand of the strongest NPCs comprised of skeletal soldiers, knights and mages that Nazarick had gathered in full number and strength at their disposal. An army that would dwarf most if he was asked to. Now, was it enough to make Ainz feel secure of his chances in meeting with Nagash?
Hell to the fuck, no!
But the Supreme Being understood what the prisoner said: Nagash wouldn't stop at all, and would spend as much as he could in trying to break Nazarick down even when facing the fully unleashed and unrestrained might and power of the most powerful Lich Player of YGGDRASIL that is Ainz Ooal Gown until Nagash gets what he wants: submission or destruction, and all souls belong to the God of Shyish.
A massive waste of time, effort and resources for both sides of the two powerful undead overlords.
Best solution was to defuse the bomb before it made a mess, concluded Ainz as he rather not have Nazarick be destroyed or suffer a pyrrhic victory.
Still, he could bring Shalltear back. And for free. The New World's gold didn't serve for resurrections, he needed to use the vaults of Nazarick. If possible he'd like to spend it as little as possible, so it would last longer. He'd hate the living guts of those people but there was no need to throw oneself into such a massacre without having the right amount of information. For now he needed to probe and ensure the safety of Nazarick. Turtling up would keep them safe for only so long. Their gold would eventually run out after countless waves and then the Tomb of Nazarick would fall.
He wouldn't allow it to go to waste with Nazarick's destruction and spit on the memory shared with his old friends back when YGGDRASIL was at its golden years prior to shut down.
"Are you sure of this?" Ainz skeptically asked Arkhan. "Do you really think he'll uphold such a deal?"
The lich's skeleton had regenerated, and so had his armour almost as if Arkhan is now good as now and not a single scratch on him. Bizarre but practical, concluded Ainz in his astute observation. He tried to pay as little attention as possible about the Floor Guardians staring daggers at him and ready to execute Arkhan if he tries something funny against the Supreme Being.
"If need be, I'll try to convince him myself, this-", Arkhan said.
Ainz dismissed, "Yes, I heard that part already: this was an unnecessary waste born of my (read: your) lack of tact."
And at that moment, the arrival of guests within the throneroom of Nazarick made themselves known as a powerful chain of lightnings came from the door, blinding everyone for a moment and immediately went on their guard after they can see again.
When Ainz could see again, he was rather surprised from he saw entering his throne room.
Instead of seeing the pale and dour skeletal and undead warriors Arkhan had spoken off, instead he saw a host of red and golden warriors wearing great armours, massive shields and oversized hammers. Some brought that to the extreme with hammers almost as big as them, and four bladed axes. A couple dozen were flying with pure white wings that shone like stars, something rather prevalent in their iconography: everyone had quite a few twin-tailed comets.
What caught most of his attention were the two massive dragons, four horns of alabaster crowned their imposing heads of azure scales. One of them opened its wings a bit and they showed a full constellation shining and moving in the membranes. At the top of each was another of those imposing golden warriors that had lightning symbols on their armours.
Lastly accompanying with the golden warriors, a host of dwarves appeared… or rather a host of dwarven strippers. Seriously what was wrong with them!? IS THIS A JOJO REFERENCE! All it needed left is that iconic and catchy theme song from Battle Tendency., Ainz exclaimed in thought at the sight of half-nude dwarfs wielding axes of glowing heat while looking impassive at them.
Two thousand of them and none wore more clothing than a thong or a belt made out of golden plates with ornate carvings… Oh, and the golden helms that were almost as big as their height. Suffice to say, to see a thousand naked, burly, red (literally red) haired dwarves in quite revealing outfits and with a bunch of strange tattoos sent mixed messages to the lich.
"You told me your master was fond of making a spectacle, but not THAT much.", the Supreme Being deadpanned.
"That's not my master, sir.", Arkhan simply said.
Before Ainz could ask for a further elaboration, the lead blue dragon approached. Riding it was another of the fully armoured warriors in glittering gold and crimson red armour, the latter dominating the paint scheme. The pauldrons and the stomach plates were roaring lions, and the helm emulated the mane of such beasts. It wore a red cape and wielded a hammer and shield.
His Floor Guardians readied for the attack from the unexpected guests entering their Supreme Being's chamber, but Ainz spread his arms in a gesture of halt and they kept a guarded, but not aggressive, stance.
Surprisingly for such a bulky looking golden warrior with a face concealing helm, whom Ainz thought a man at first impression, the voice was that of a woman, silky and almost like a birdsong.
"Greetings in the name of Sigmar Unberogen, mighty God-King of Azyr, we bring offers of peace and friendship.", she says.
Author's Notes: Aaaah, Mannfred, Mannfred. The very reason this fic (and Age of Sigmar) exists. Guy's original character is dead, and unlike the good bat-boy, it seems it won't go back. Back during the End Times the guy was a backstabbing and bitchy coward that made a lot of dumb decisions. AoS, of course, has done a lot to cement that position too, to the point where many refer to him as Mannlet von Carstein.
Which is why I have fun writing him as the dumbass he's turned into but it doesn't mean he had not lost his cunning behind his eccentric mask to catch his enemies and rivals off guard, thinking he has officially gone bonkers.
Yeah, Fyreslayers are Dwarves that go around almost naked, they are basically an army of Warhammer Fantasy's Slayers: Dorfs who went around killing everything on sight while going half naked through life and towards an early grave, and also searching for Ur-Gold so that their God, Grimnir will return to them once more in a fabulous and manly way. *cue Pillar Men theme song*
Enjoy and don't forget to review. :D