Everything felt so cold. Everything was so dark. Her entire body ached with sharp stabs, phantom pains from before. Her mouth felt dry, full of cloth and smothering her tongue. Where was she? Was she dead?
Blearily, her eyes opened a crack. She moaned in pain from a bright light in front of her, exacerbating a throbbing headache she became aware of. Ringing in her ears muffled out distant voices. Others. There were others there with her, but it was all too much at once. She couldn't make out anything yet.
Cold metal wrapped around her neck, her wrists, and her ankles. She was locked in place, swinging chains clanking in the open air. She was in a kneeling position, with her arms stretched out to either side. The collar she wore seemed connected to her manacles, keeping her tied up as some sick puppet for her vengeful captors.
No, not vengeful. Justified. I am not dead. I would not be hurting so much if I was. That must mean I am imprisoned.
A trio of voices came into focus, all male. They were debating something from the sounds of it, perhaps her imminent death. After all the suffering she caused, she half expected never to wake up again. The people of Carne did not deserve her carnage. They did not deserve her wrathful nature. It was good she lived so that she could be punished.
"-then she will serve a useful purpose keeping the others in line. Tinkering with her memories was fruitful, though dangerous. Nubo and Wish III extracted much with their combined efforts. Her memories led us directly to her little mountain fortress."
"I still think we should consider the extenuating circumstances. From what Enri and Nfirea said, she had a change of heart mid-battle. She realized what was going on and tried to stem the tide. I know it's not much but it is something to consider."
"That is surprising to hear from you, Touch Me. With your sense of justice, I am disappointed you do not leverage for a harsher punishment like you did with Clementine and Nigun."
"The fact you don't either, Ulbert, means you agree with me. Momonga, how do you want to play this?"
"Why don't we ask the girl herself? I believe she has been waking up for some time now. Would you kindly remove the cloth from her mouth?"
A pair of hands, clad in metal gauntlets, gently pried the fabric that was stuffed in her mouth. The light that hurt her eyes dimmed as well, allowing her to see more. Blinking rapidly, the identity of her jailers was revealed. She swallowed nervously when she recognized two of them.
The noble from Alenbonne, with the rose label on his shoulder, was present. Rather than a well-mannered human man, he was a gigantic, shaggy goat man with a flaming crown hovering between his curled horns. His outfit was much the same otherwise, as excruciatingly decadent as before.
A new figure was there, dressed in silver plate armor that made her old set look haggard in comparison. The ruby-red cape and massive sapphire-embedded chest plate spoke of obscene wealth as well. His face was covered by a helmet that was noticeably non-human, but she could not tell if he was another species like the nobleman.
Both were situated on either side of a painfully familiar being, seated on a simple wooden throne. The massive spines for pauldrons, the exquisite royal-purple robes, and the flaming red eyes set in the empty sockets of his skull. To not recognize this person would be an insult, especially since she spent the last couple of months conquering villages in his image. His statue was carved by hand by him, after all.
"Y-you're him," she croaked weakly, "You are the real Weeping King. The one I've been giving offerings to all this time."
The "Weeping King" titled his head. "You are very much mistaken, young girl. I am Momonga of Ainz Ooal Gown, and your patron has greatly displeased my friends and me. You too. There is a lot of blood on your hands."
Tsuareninya Veryon, former leader of the Knights of the Weeping King, hung her head. She couldn't bear to look at the undead in front of her. The burning shame was too much to handle. Her lips quivered, and hot tears fell down her cheeks.
"I… I know."
"Hmmm? Is that it? You do not defend your actions at all? From what I have been informed, you possess great inner fire. Has it abandoned you?"
"Y-yes."
Momonga hummed thoughtfully. "Touch Me, what say you?"
If it wasn't for the present circumstances, Tsuare might have giggled at such an absurd name. At least she assumed it was a name based on how it was phrased. The silver knight walked up to her with booming steps that echoed across the vast cell she was in. He gently lifted her chin.
Her gaze met the black glass slotted in his helmet's eyes. It added to the mystery of who he was underneath it. However, she could sense a kind radiance from him, bathing her in warm light. It was soothing, granting a reprieve from her bodily aches. She could soak in it all day if given the chance.
Yet, there was something… tainted about it. She couldn't quite tell, but her intuition said that an inner darkness was at the light's core. Despite the obvious presence, it was noticeably smaller. Its meaning was lost on her.
"Yep, I can see the regret in her eyes. She knows full well what she did and that she deserves what comes next. Used to see that same look all the time back in the force."
"An astute observation," complimented the goat-man Ulbert, "Though the nature of what she 'deserves' is a matter for debate. Redemption does not come so easily for slaughtering innocents."
"But you do agree that we could be lenient in our punishment."
"Most certainly, though punishment is still due."
Touch Me nodded with agreement and let go of her chin. Tsuare did not hang her head to cry again, letting the tears flow freely to show just how remorseful she felt. There was no hiding from them, not that she wanted to anyway. She was thankful she would not die either, she guessed.
That is the coward's way out.
"Then we have reached a consensus. The terms of her sentence can be discussed in a bit, but I wish to hear from the girl everything she has undergone," Momonga said to Touch Me and Ulbert. They grunted and let him take the lead.
The skeletal undead clasped his hands together. "Tsuareninya Veryon. That is an interesting name, quite familiar now that I think about it. My compatriot, Ulbert Alain Odle, met you some months ago in a village named Alenbonne. Is that true?"
Tsuare was confused but answered truthfully. "Yes, I did."
"You visited many such villages, some peacefully and others… not. This eventually culminated in your attack on Carne."
"I… of course. Every single person in that village, everyone still alive, must hate my guts for what I did. My rashness to serve the Weeping King, to make him proud, will never bring those people back."
"Is that so? And how does that make you feel?"
Is he testing me? Didn't he already read my memories? What more does he want from me?
Tsuare sucked in a deep breath. "I feel… awful. I thought I was serving the will of my god, giving back to my community and the people as thanks for saving me. What I was doing, how I did it, was nothing short of vile. Even those who joined me willingly probably felt like they had no choice. I'm no better than the slavers who stole me from my family almost a year ago now."
"Ah yes, your family. Do you think they would be ashamed of your actions?"
"Absolutely!" She practically shouted. She startled herself with the pure venom in her voice. "What would they want to do with a daughter who slaughtered others in the name of an undead?! What would my sister think of me if she saw me now?! I'm a monster who drowned in all the blood she was spilling, and I hate myself!"
Haggered from yelling, she slumped. Her head hung low, unable to meet their gaze. The burning shame in her chest immolated her entire being to the one before her. All this time she believed she honored the Weeping King, she was truly honoring the one called Momonga instead. Her old master said she was a wolf, to grow strong and lead his pack in his name.
A fresh wave of tears scalded her cheeks. She sniffled, barely holding herself together as is. "I don't beg because I want to live, but because I deserve to suffer whatever comes next. Please don't kill me, at least not yet. I sacrificed innocents in his name. The least I should get is to be beaten senseless by those I besieged."
The trio was quiet. They mulled over her passionate outcry and whispered amongst themselves. She wasn't sure what power Mononga held over Ulbert and Touch, but they obviously cared for him very much. They stuck close to him as close friends should, and listened as he spoke back in hushed tones. It was clear they held him in high regard.
So many in Carne do as well. They built a statue of him in their village center! It is no wonder that he intervenes now to deliver judgment on their behalf.
Finally, the three stopped talking between themselves and focused back on her. Momonga deliberately cleared his throat to get her attention. His flaming eyes flickered in a way that almost comforted her, how a stranger might take pity on a stray dog.
"It is clear to us now that the depths of your self-hatred run particularly deep. Ordinarily, we would not have told you this beforehand, but we feel the circumstances may warrant it. The people of Carne village, for the most part, are alive and well. We have undone the damage you wrought."
Her head snapped up. "W-what? How?! Wait, did you resurrect them as undead like yourself?"
"No. You see, my associates and I possess many resources to bring others back from the dead. One of our own, a woman named Pestonya Shortcake Wanko, was able to lead the efforts. For those whom we could not afford to lose no matter what, I personally handled the resurrections myself. I happen to have a rather special cup for the occasion."
The way he phrased it seemed like a joke, but it was hard to tell with his skeletal features. Tsuare stared blankly. "I don't understand. A cup?"
Momonga sighed, rubbing the bridge of his "nose". "My apologies, that came across like a bad time for a joke. All you need to know is that everyone is fine, none the worse for wear I might add."
While it didn't necessarily abate her shame, there was a smidge of relief intermingled. She wanted to profusely thank the undead who acted strangely human. Her time with the knights taught her that most undead were, once upon a time, humanoid. It was likely that Momonga was no different.
However, the way he presented himself was radically distinct. He exerted a pressure similar to the Weeping King, but more relaxed. Whereas her former sovereign was loud and boastful, Momonga was calm and humble. He spoke to her not as a subordinate but as an equal. No, that wasn't quite right. She was just a stranger, and he offered all the same courtesy that another stranger would offer in her situation.
There was no need to show off his power. He oozed it just by sitting on a wooden throne of all things. His wealth was flashy but accented his aura rather than be the highlight. Whatever he was, she was beginning to learn that he was the idealized version of the Weeping King.
Maybe that's why he made me put up so many statues of Momonga. All along, he was trying to emulate him. I'd laugh if I didn't have to atone for what I have done.
There was another question on her mind based on their conversation when she was still waking up. "My people, back in the fortress. What have you done with them? I know I have no place to ask, but they are innocent in all this. They followed my example only because they didn't know better. Please don't punish them for my sins."
"That is rather bold to presume, girl," Ulbert said amusedly, "But we'll indulge you with this as well. They're fine, but currently under our watch as we speak. We found several treasures squirreled away in that vault. You can consider that part of your recompense to keep them safe."
"So long as they cooperate, we have no reason to assume guilt other than association," Touch Me offered, "Not like they could do much anyways. Half of them are young by our standards and anxiously waiting for you. They thought at first we were soldiers of yours."
For the first time since she woke up, she cracked a smile. "Thank you. It's more than I thought I would receive today. Your mercy on them is priceless."
"I would not be so quick to celebrate if I were you, Tsuareninya. There is the matter of those other villages you conquered. Things are more dire than you realized."
The silver paladin gestured to Ulbert, who reached into an invisible space and pulled out a collection of glass shards. With a free hand, he snapped his fingers and the shards jumped, hovering over his palm. They connected like puzzle pieces, the surface rippling as an image slowly appeared before her.
Her jaw dropped in horror at what she saw, her heart beating wildly from anguish and renewed hatred of herself. "No! No, no, no! But all those people, they were counting on me! You mean to tell me-"
"All those villages are gone, Tsuare," Momonga confirmed solemnly, "We double-checked. There were no survivors."
On the magical glass was a series of images that flashed rapidly, displaying the aftermath of a horrendous carnage the likes of which she had never seen. Even during the most fearsome battles she faced, it didn't hold a candle to what she witnessed.
Among all of them was a common theme. Houses were set ablaze, their roofs caved in and trapping the slowly cooking bodies that disturbingly looked like they had been bitten into. Rivers of blood covered the street while clouds of smoke obscured the sun. Several piles of bodies ripped to pieces, were scattered all around.
Men, women, and children alike were not spared. Their broken forms were pitifully desecrated by claw and teeth marks, the wounds of a wild animal. In this case, she had a good idea of what caused such damage only because of her recent experience with Carne Village.
She recognized them since she saw the half-melted statue of Destrus Desmodus mysteriously situated in a scorched crater. A sob escaped her throat, her mentor's legacy annihilated in the wake of such chaos.
"C-can they-can you bring t-them back too like you did C-Carne?" she asked, barely able to choke out the question between her sobbing.
Unfortunately, Momonga shook his head. "I am sorry, but that is not our mission. Even if we desired it, Pestonya grows weary and the cup has run out of charges. Having only nine per day does become rather meddlesome. Suffice it to say, our job is done. Although that does not mean all hope is lost."
For the first time since the meeting started the skeleton rose. Much like his comrades, he was an imposing figure. Tsuare was barely a child compared to his might, easily squashed underfoot. That he so easily took control of the situation was proof of such.
"I am satisfied with our findings today. Though you face judgment, I find you will be a worthy candidate to join our little experiment," he stated, "While you serve out your sentence, we will need to find someone who can lead those Knights of yours. They will need to play nice with those of Carne and Sprigganson."
She sniffed, taking a deep breath to quell the tremble in her voice. "E-experiment? I do not understand what you mean."
"I will not waste time explaining all the details, but you should know that what happened to all those villages, the attack on Carne that you led, and an earlier assault on our home are all connected. Our hands have been forced, so we take desperate measures to ensure our survival."
Touch Me stepped forward, joining in. "Our guild decided that we need to be more proactive. A lot of people have been displaced under our protection, so we felt the need to gather them all in one place to keep an eye on them. Building a suitable home for them will take time, thus accommodations are underway."
"With the inclusion of your knights, that means we require… adequate leadership. You will be forced into indentured servitude for the entirety of the experiment, so another shall take your place in the meantime. I believe Sebas Tian has agreed to accept you, should this conclusion be reached," Ulbert tacked on.
Momonga reached out a hand to her in a grand gesture, sporting a variety of dazzling rings that caught Tsuare's eye. Each one was emblazoned with magnificent jewels, and there was one for each finger. He was, quite literally, adorned head to toe in riches.
"Whether you like it or not, Miss Veryon, this shall be your life for the discernable future. You will be fed, educated, and well taken care of. Make no mistake, though, for we shall put you to work. Every drop of blood shall be paid back a thousand-fold in your labor. I trust these terms are satisfactory?"
she stared wide-eyed in shock. With the way the conversation was going, she fully expected to be tortured for all she did. Instead, she was getting… indentured servitude. That was all? Before she was rescued by the Knights, that would have been her entire life!
They jest with me. Any moment they will pull the rug from beneath me and reveal the snarling beast in the corner that will tear me limb from limb.
With bated breath, she waited for that exact scenario. Some twisted monstrosity like the horned undead would rise out of the shadows and feast on her guts. Her blood pressure rose at the thought, her stomach twisted in agony.
A minute passed and… nothing happened.
"Yes, that is more than I deserve," she humbly said, feeling overwhelmed now. Her emotions were a torrent, unable to comprehend why these vastly superior beings would take pity on her. There was a catch for sure, but what?
"Ulbert, I do believe that there was something you wished to do. That desire was to make Miss Veryon here fully 'appreciate' the depth of her misdeeds before she began her sentence, correct?"
"That is so," the goat-man agreed, striding right up to Tsuare. "Tsuareninya, though we delivered our verdict upon you, that is not all we had planned. To guarantee that you will not fall to your previous behavior unless commanded of you, I will share with you insight into the suffering you inflicted upon those poor souls. Consider this a valuable lesson in the sanctity of life."
His gloved hand rose, light reflecting off the insidiously long metal claws on his fingertips. He was going to snap his fingers from the look of things, a strange buzz in her ears while he prepared. Before he did, Touch Me reached out and gripped his wrist.
"Not all the way. Just enough so she knows. She doesn't deserve what Clementine and Nigun got." the silver warrior said, his voice dangerously calm.
"Perish the thought! I never intended for her to suffer like that, as a deranged servant is quite counterproductive."
Touch Me held him for a few more seconds and then let go. He stepped back, allowing Ulbert to continue with the "lesson". Tsuare did not know how he intended to go about granting her insight into the suffering she brought about, but it was likely related to the same mind magic they were talking about earlier.
The answer came when Ulbert snapped his fingers. Immediately a searing, white-hot pain burst from the base of her skull. She grit her teeth in response. Her muscles spasmed as the pain spread throughout her body. She nearly lost control as the pain evolved into scorching misery, barely able to restrain her screaming.
A sheen of sweat covered her body, rivers of fire coursing through her veins. A thousand blades were slowly slicing her skin, much like her sword had against dozens or even hundreds of foes. This, she imagined, was the physical suffering she inflicted upon so many who tasted the bite of her sword.
What came next was a whirlwind of voices whispering in her ears. They were indecipherable at first, blending in a frenzy that almost distracted her from the pain. She groaned, gripping the chains of her manacles with enough force that she was bruising her palms. The faces of her victims, murky in the sea of her mind, surfaced with incredulity at her being alive while they were dead.
Murderer!
Conqueror!
Worthless daughter of a whore!
How could you do this?
What did we do to deserve this?
Wretched, vile demon spawn!
How dare you deliver judgment on us!
Is this what Cecilia would have wanted? How could you have justified killing so many for an undead?!
She wanted to cover her ears. The voices were too damning, too monstrous. They roared in outrage at her, jabbing fingers at her very being for what she did. She did not recognize any of the voices save for one: her own. That one rang clear across the ocean of blame that was trying to drown her. This was a lesser version of the usual process? If that was true, she shuddered to think what the full experience was like, and what sort of monsters warranted that sort of punishment.
As soon as it started, it mercifully ended. It was likely no more than a few seconds, but it felt as if an eternity spanned between the start and finish. Slumping in her bonds, she sucked in deep breaths, taking stock of herself. The pain was gone, no lasting marks on her body to be seen. The whispers were silent as well. While slick with sweat, she had not soiled herself either from the stress.
All was as it should be physically. That in itself was a mercy, and she sighed in relief. "What was that? Did you summon the souls of the dead? Was that who spoke to me right now?"
The three stared at her with consideration. The goat-man raised his head in surprise. "Voices, you say? So even at a lower level, that spell can make you hear the voices of those you harm. Ah well, I consider it just deserts if that is the case. I am satisfied."
Then Ulbert curtsied to her and left the cell altogether. The skeleton and silver knight watched him go, the clanking of an iron door closing behind him with an echoing boom. The shoulders of the silver knight fell, relaxing for the first time since that meeting began.
"I'm going to speak with Sebas and let him know the outcome of this meaning. He'll need time to get her uniform ready. I'll speak with Amano and make sure our plan is still in action for Re-Estize. I trust you'll handle things here on your own, Momomga?"
"Of course, Touch Me. There is not much more to cover before the maids come with the midday meal. Go with the others and make sure our travel plans are complete. It should be quite the surprise for our future allies."
Touch Me rested a hand on the spine-like shoulder of the skeleton. He too left, the same boom of the iron door signaling his departure. The pair of them were left in that cold cell, taking a strange comfort in one another's presence. It lasted like that for several minutes, and then Momonga sat back down on his wooden throne.
The skeletal leader laughed awkwardly. "I must admit, now that we're alone, the crown of leadership can be a heavy one. Wearing the facade of a leader grows rather exhausting, wouldn't you agree?"
Tsuare was taken aback by his casual tone. "I-I suppose so? I never really got a chance to think about it, jumping from one battle to the next. It hardly seems like I was home for most of my tenure."
"Hm, then you understand. You are young, at least by our reckoning. The humans of this world age slightly faster than the humans of mine. It seems like an unnaturally short childhood before you were thrust into the world. Such a thing should be cherished."
"Perhaps? But we grow fast to avoid the dangers of this world. All of us seem destined to do something with our lives, and for the longest time, I thought maybe I was destined to just be a farm girl in the dirt. Not a very impressive destiny to have."
"And now? Being a cult leader seems like quite the leap from being a poor farmer's daughter. Though if I am being honest, it is an alternative many of my people could only dream of. You ended up here for a reason, just as I have."
She barked a harsh laugh. "I suppose so! And I ended up right where I started: a servant to a higher power, never truly freed from the chains. I can't help but wonder if I ever really escaped them in the end. The Weeping King just so happened to be holding my chains."
Momonga hummed, stroking his chin. "Your former master is no longer in a position to hold chains of any kind. That attack I mentioned before was because of him."
"What?! He was here? Why? What reason did he have to come and attack you? Were you enemies in a previous life? Those statues I erected were just a way to mock you, weren't they?"
A plethora of feelings bubbled inside of Tsuare. Having directly worked with the Weeping King, she did feel an odd kinship to him. The voices that haunted her suggested otherwise, but there was no denying their past together. He chose her as his champion. She led his entourage in battle. A past like that was not so easily forgotten.
He never opened up about where he came from. Not like I was his equal to do so anyway. That his image is sitting before me tells me all that I need to know about how their meeting went.
"It was an unfortunate misunderstanding spurred by the deceit of another. The battle was fierce and yet he escaped us. It would be no surprise if he appeared again," Momonga drummed his fingers on the armrest of the throne.
"Then… I am certain you will defeat him again. Whatever form he may take, I will raise arms against him for the carnage he caused, directly and indirectly. Even if I were not an indentured servant, I would do so!"
"Thank you for your declaration, Miss Veryon. I shall take that under consideration the next time we evaluate you. You shall prove useful to my friends and I yet."
A loud banging from the iron door signaled the arrival of someone else. Momonga rose from his throne once again and nodded to her. "That would be lunch. The maids will be in here with armed guards and a key so that you may eat without incident. I look forward to your service."
And then he too left, opening the door to allow a trio of blond maids carrying trays of food and a couple of the mercenaries from Carne Village. That confirmed her suspicions about their origin at least. She closed her eyes, thinking about those next steps in her life.
Despite all that happened, she felt… hopeful. She would redeem herself, no matter what it took. It would be trying, it would be painful, but that didn't matter. True freedom would have to be won from below, from her squalor in the dirt. Her new masters from above couldn't grant that freedom she needed within her own soul.
Meanwhile, in the Wretched Hives of Náströnd
Among the centuries that he had lived, he felt there were very few regrets to his name. He came, he saw, and he conquered in the name of the only one he thought understood him. The Thirteen Heroes had been worthless. Hamada betrayed him. Tsaindorcus Vaison wounded him. The discrimination he faced as a heteromorph never ended, even as he transferred from Yggdrasil to Olari.
He was in the right to defend himself. His pride as a man and fledgling god had been at stake. He deserved to be recognized for his accomplishments. He "bled" for those he once considered his friends, and they tossed him away! The one he thought was Ainz Ooal Gown gave him the chance to take back his destiny, and he claimed it!
And yet…
I was such a fool to take that deal.
Not that it mattered anyway. He was dead. At least he thought he was dead, given that for miles around he was surrounded by the void. There was a curious, rhythmic thumping sound, but no visible source for it. The noise pierced the void with a terrible finality that made his teeth rattle. How had he come here?
As was becoming a common theme nowadays, his memory was fragmented, torn asunder by his longevity. He recalled… meeting with Albedo and Pandora's Actor disguised as Ainz. The full might of the Forty-One came to meet him, and the other Ainz showed up. He'd been shown a terrible truth, and then he was devoured.
As simple as that. Eaten like some cheap confectionery. He would've growled in disappointment at himself if he could. Whatever this afterlife was, it was suitably unremarkable and dull. After what he'd done, he figured hellfire would've been his eternal reward.
"Not quite yet. Our work is yet to be finished, my heir."
That familiar voice stopped his musing stone cold. The void tore away, a dim light shattering his perception and ruthlessly depositing him into another plane of existence. He raised his arms reflexively as he fell, bracing against the rock floor rapidly approaching. He landed with a thud, his armor jostling him.
For a few moments, the world spun on itself. He would've been dizzy were he still alive, but nausea was an effect he was immune to. He did groan instinctively from the whiplash of dealing with prior events. Thankfully he was physically fine, not a scratch on him despite the strange goo growing out of his skeleton when "Ainz" possessed him.
"There was no need to harm you. Your soul's power may be mine, but your agency is still required. I took the liberty of preserving your old form. I trust this is acceptable?"
He rose immediately to his feet, materializing his sword, Dark Drinker, and his shield, Abyssal Wall. "You! How dare you! I trusted in you and the plan! What right did you have to take my body against my will?! Show yourself, coward!"
"Coward? Bold, coming from someone too afraid to reap vengeance on his friends without my aid the first time. This is beneath us. We both know you cannot harm me in any way that matters. If the Forty-One could not, what hope have you?"
The Weeping King snarled viciously, his eyes darting around his surroundings to find the source of "Ainz's" voice. It did give him time to survey his surroundings. This was for the betterment of his situation, in case he needed a way out without fighting.
From what he did see, it was a throne room carved of obsidian and granite. Stone pillars with alcoves of green flame burned, engraved with scenes of torment. Souls being sucked out, bodies flayed off their skin, the undead crushing the bones of their would-be victims in wars that the Weeping King did not know.
They led up to the dais, where an insidious throne sat. He thought it looked similar to the Throne of Kings in Nazarick but made of jagged stalagmites. It was haphazardly hewn from the stone, but there was no mistake that it was intended to be sat on. Chandeliers of bone swung in the darkness above, held together by a vicious tar.
Ragged tapestries depicting profane symbols adorned the throne room, almost nonsensical in their shape. They mocked his lack of knowledge, teetering on the edge of his mind. They spanned the wide spaces between those pillars, hung limply in place.
All-in-all, the whole room he recognized. He had never been here before, but the layout was eerily familiar to Nazarick. If he could, now would be when the nausea kicked in.
"Do you like what I have prepared for you? Is this not what you wanted? A seat at the table, offered on the backs of your sacrifices. This is what you have striven for, is it not?"
"This is a far cry from what I meant!" the Weeping King screamed. "I wanted camaraderie! A place to belong! I thought by purging my humanity for one hundred and fifty years, I would earn my place in Ainz Ooal Gown the guild! This?! This is a farce!"
"A farce? Here? In this place? My heir, that could not be further from the truth. When we struck that bargain all those years ago, I promised you strength and influence beyond your wildest dreams. That you could not handle it at first was my fault. A result of my greed, but now look at you. You have grown into a worthy vessel, strong enough to house my essence in full, if only for a short time. Do you not remember? Or does that mortal mind continue to deteriorate?"
In saying that, the Weeping King felt more shards of his memories come together. Yes… there had been a moment when he held all of "Ainz's" life force. A veritable ocean of power, nearly undoing his soul just trying to hold it. A web of pain barely held him together, even against the bite of swords and the sting of magic.
I had been a world enemy. I could take on an entire guild. It was so magnificent, but the way I got it was not my choice. It was taken away from me!
"Think of that power. Was it not addicting? Did you not feel invincible? Granted your constitution was still too fragile, but with time and practice, you could hold that power nearly indefinitely. You would be greater than a god, you would be a world eater."
The Weeping King jabbed his sword at the throne, deciding to use that as the focal point of "Ainz". "I never wanted to eat the world! I wanted a place in it! Even if I had to become a monster, I could at least earn that much! My Knights are proof of that! I took them in and passed down my knowledge and treasures to secure my place in history! What good is there in power if I have nothing to rule over with it?"
And that was the crux of his problem, he supposed. That side by the bonfire with the other heroes as they hunted down demon gods. Even if the smiles and laughter weren't aimed at him, he still took joy in it. Hamada, his brother, had been a steadfast foundation to anchor himself. When that final battle came to pass, he was at a loss.
What was he if he could not be loved? If he was leered at from every angle. There was no party member for him to fall in love with, no homestead for him to return after the war with the demon gods was over. No city would ever accept him, let alone worship him and his exploits. He was solitary in his heteromorphic shell.
His Knights had been a final gamble. He raised them into a formidable force for good he thought, taking on the weak and desolate so that none may be alone like he had been. In doing so though, the fear that they too would abandon nudged his mind, and so he left on his journey to atone for his first failure to his supposed "Twin King of Ruin".
I wanted to kill her outright when I came back and appointed her. I thought I slipped up by choosing her, and now she's likely dead anyway. Forgive me, Tsuareninya.
There was an amused chuckle from the direction of the throne. "Ainz" did have a sense of humor after all, or he was simply indulging the Weeping King's need to be oriented.
"Your little knights are alive, my heir. Ainz Ooal Gown has possession of them now. I did not send my creations after your fortress when I collected my sacrifices. The thousands of souls were enough, and I was feeling generous. Consider it a token of my goodwill."
"Ainz's" admission startled the undead sovereign. "What is your goal here? If you think somehow that you can use them to manipulate me-"
"There is no need. Your soul is mine, as surely as it was the day we struck our bargain. That was the terms of our deal, as it has always been with my servants. Your consent was never an issue."
The audacity stunned him in place. His grip loosened on Dark Drinker momentarily, then tightened as volcanic rage clouded his senses. With a roar, he charged at the throne, the only real target he had. "Ainz" still had not revealed himself. That was fine. All he needed to do was prove a point.
With godly strength, he swung his beloved weapon down on the jagged throne, cleaving it and a portion of the dais in two. The cavern shook with his rage as he began to assault the symbol of his oppression, reducing it to dust.
"You think this stupid chair means anything to me, liar?! I'll take back my destiny like when I fought Hamada and his goonies. You couldn't do it yourself! You need me, and I renounce you! Crawl back into whatever little hole you spawned in and die!"
His shadows lashed out with malice, onyx whips that further shredded the throne room. It was all a mockery! Everything before him was a pale imitation of what he desired, built up as a false altar to him. The Weeping King, slayer of Fabris the Demon God King, spellsword of Yggdrasil, a mere pawn? He would never have it!
"You can't even face me now! Instead, you're mewling in the shadows about how you've done all this for me, about how much greater you are than me. You're just some miserable phantom, and I am beyond you! I am more than the Weeping King, I am-"
"[hætta]."
Everything halted all at once, his arm mid-swing. He grunted with effort, trying to continue his assault to no avail. When he tried to jump back and re-evaluate what was going on his legs stubbornly refused to obey. By some means, he was locked in place. His fury grew so hot he swore that some molten tears were tracing their way down his cheekbones.
What sort of magic is this? If that was a spell in another language, it should have been translated! It could be a skill, but there is no skill I know of that could do such a thing.
Again, his fragmented memories plagued him by revealing bits of the truth. While housing the weight of "Ainz's" soul, he did recall his former partner similarly casting spells. Something… Something similar had happened to Godenth's son once.
When one became beyond the reason or grace of the World Spirit, their name was lost to history. The magic that auto-translated all languages for others became static to their ears. Godenth herself was not quite to that point, but she took up her current name as a symbolic gesture of that same principle.
If it could be extended beyond just a person's name, the very idea of their being…
"There now. Let us set aside this violence for the time being. You will require your wits for what is to come ahead. I have not revealed everything to you, but given you are my servant nonetheless, it is only right that you are privy to what comes next."
The throne reassembled itself. Dust solidified into rocks that merged to become the same stalagmites that created it in the first place. For the first time since their meeting began, "Ainz" materialized. He looked different from the form he usually appeared in. Being the glamorous, beloved leader of Ainz Ooal Gown was no longer profitable, the Weeping King supposed.
Rather than the orb with Emerald, serpentine eyes, he had a fully humanoid shape fashioned of dense shadow. A myriad of multicolored orbs swam around in his body, the same way that fish might in a tank. They bumped haphazardly against each other, more often than not against the edges of "Ainz's" immaterial body. Those Emerald eyes of his narrowed in amusement.
"Beyond the initial hiccups, my plan continues as I wish. Ainz Ooal Gown shall venture into the world, and my creations have successfully created a barrier to shield us from the sight of Jormungandr. All that remains is to prepare the corpse of Cure Elim Los Malvar for ascension, and finish growing that damnable tree."
"Ainz Ooal Gown as a whole will be out in the world? They will hunt you down. They will not rest until you lay dead at their feet. How could you possibly think waking a giant like that was a good idea?"
"It was not about 'waking the giant' as you put it. Idle hands are the devil's plaything, but rarely are they productive. I have far more enemies who lie in hiding, beyond my gaze. By prompting Ainz Ooal Gown into searching for me, they will draw them out. Strength invites challenge, and that encourages conflict. By the time I am found, it will already be too late. I have ample contingencies to hide my presence until I desire."
Like in the void, the Weeping King heard that same thumping in the throne room. Unlike last time, he could discern that the source was from above and behind the throne that "Ainz" sat in. His [Dark Vision] worked to help see it better.
At first, he wasn't sure what he was looking at. There was a malformed, grotesque lump of flesh floating there. Black splotches were speckled across the surface, wrinkled and wet.
Four limbs flailed about uselessly, a doddering head with a single, vacant eye fixated on him with a cold intelligence. A curious malevolence radiated off the creature, oozing with slime with a pungent smell to match. It was, quite easily, the most repulsive thing he laid eyes upon.
That's odd. He didn't smell anything before. Didn't hear that thumping until "Ainz" mentioned contingencies. He felt like there might have been more to it, like he'd dealt with it before, but the knowledge of how and when was frustratingly out of reach.
He grit his teeth in frustration. "Alright, say I believe you. You have… whatever that is to hide you away, but what will you do when the final battle comes, hmm? You couldn't defeat the Forty-One before. What will change between then and the future?"
"That is where you and your siblings will come in. It will take effort, but the pieces are in place. All that matters now is the timing of events. You will be indisposed, so I will require another agent to take your place. First, I will need your sword."
Dark Drinker flew out of the Weeping King's hands and landed in the lap of the dark god. The immaterial being traced his claws along the sword's edge, reveling in the carnage it unleashed through centuries of use.
"Yes… yes, this will do. That executive in Zuranon has been clamoring for an opportunity to sate his thirst for blood. Killing Khajit was the right move to get the response I wanted. Now, he will do whatever it takes to not only fulfill his dream but also enact vengeance on the ones who wronged him."
The undead spellsword was confused. "Who are you talking about? I thought you didn't care if Zuranon lived or died?"
"They are a tool, just as much as everything else. Those tools will continue to create chaos and shed more souls for me to devour. The dragon lords, players, and the denizens of this world will be driven into a frenzy. Madness will overcome reason, and brothers will slaughter brothers in their desperate bid to save themselves."
"Ainz" leaned forward on his throne, reaching out his right hand. The Weeping King's prone body slid forward with all the grace of a statue, stopping just short of a few inches in front of his former partner.
"All your life, you have been betrayed by those you have loved most. A hollowness exists in your heart, unable to be filled by either bloodshed or tears. Above the madness, we will reign supreme. Through me, you shall repay such insults with their demise. It is your inevitable fate."
He shook from his effort to escape. This was not how his story would end! It couldn't! All the hard work, planning, lying, stealing, and espionage should not amount to a net loss. To be so effortlessly imprisoned within his own body was itself an insult to him.
The lack of an emotional inhibitor made itself known more and more as his rage bubbled over. The same iron tears he blinded Brain with pooled in the corners of his eye sockets, his flaming eyes narrowed with hate.
Unbidden, a final memory rose from the depths of his shattered mind. This one held a particular place in his heart, if only because it was the last time he and Hamada spoke together as brothers-in-arms. That final conversation catalyzed his breakdown after the battle with Fabris.
He'd been standing on the outskirts of their campground, as per usual. His armor blended in well with the night sky, which twinkled the stars' beauty. Dark Drinker was planted in the ground and his shield rested on his back. He was staring off into the distance, alert for any demons that might stalk the night.
Laughter and the sounds of eating and drinking were at his back. He savored those sounds, pretending for just a moment that he was included as well. Even while he felt the pinprick glares of those who detested his presence, he still treasured those pure laughs. The distant warmth of the campfire was welcome on his avatar's bones.
Dirt crunched underfoot as someone approached from behind, a gauntlet-clad hand clapping his shoulder. "Hey, gonna take the night shift again? I know the undead don't need to sleep, but it can't be good for your mental health to keep doing this."
He glanced over at Hamada Tomatsu, the Golden, of the "Thirteen Heroes" as they were being known. The inhuman among their group grumbled at the name, a contention he shared with them even if they wouldn't admit it. They outcasted him regardless.
He grunted. "Mental health is hardly a concern at this time. Fighting demons and saving the world is the larger issue, not me. Wouldn't you rather have someone untiringly watching your back than someone who could collapse from exhaustion?"
"Only if I didn't think they were doing it just to get out of addressing their needs. Come on man, talk to me a bit. What's got you in a tizzy? You can't ignore this forever. I know you've been muttering to yourself ever since we slayed that kitsune demon god, Kim Yi"
"I already told you, it's nothing! It's just… me keeping myself occupied, that's all. There's no reason to hem and haw about it. Besides, isn't it dinner time for you? Food will get cold if you don't go back soon."
Hamada stared at him for a while, trying to read his skeletal expression. A bonus of becoming undead was that he maintained an excellent poker face. Eventually, the Yggdrasil human sighed and reached into his inventory. When his hand reappeared from that invisible space, he was holding a baseball.
"Do you remember how we first met? Back before all of this? Before even Yggdrasil?" Hamada asked calmly, hefting the simple item.
The undead stared at it. "…My family and I just transferred over from America under the thumb of my father's corporation. I had no friends or family besides the ones I came with. I was effectively alone, my only keepsake from home was a signed baseball just like that one."
"I bumped into you that first day at the corporate academy because you kept focusing on that damn ball and not watching where you were going. Your Japanese was so bad I thought you were making fun of my accent."
"Ha! Didn't help that you were essentially from the countryside. You followed me around after that, trying to get me to tell you the names of the baseball players on the ball and explain what the sport was."
"American names sounded so weird to me then. I ended up giving you a proper Japanese name to make you feel at home!"
They chuckled at the fond memory of their humble beginnings. Hamada clenched the baseball in his grip, the humor on his face evaporating for a moment. "I made a promise to you that we'd stick together from that day through thick and thin. Up until we were young adults, nothing got in our way. That hasn't changed. Regardless of how this ends, you're still my brother till the day I die."
"…and the same goes for you. Although I am immortal, so you're going to be waiting a long time before you're free of me. Can't get rid of me that easily."
Again they laughed. Then the Golden stayed with him to watch the stars, even as Rigrit, Hamada's latest fling, called out to him to get his plate of food. With the warmth of the fireplace at their backsides, the undead spellsword felt more at home.
The Weeping King collapsed to his knees, Nidhoggr's spell releasing him. Molten tears flowed freely at the raw agony of that memory. An old wound, freshly ripped open. His shattered mind taunted him with that memory, playing on repeat over and over again.
He had no one left.
No one but monstrosities. All his "peers" could not understand him, and could not relate to his pain. They had no desire to console him. They were neck-deep in the slaughter of their sacrifices, backstabbing one another for the one chance they had to ascend past their limits. There was no brotherhood. No camaraderie. There was only war.
And it was because of him.
His claws sliced the dirt deeply from the mounting hatred in his core, which only intensified when he felt the cool touch of the Black Dragon's tendrils caress him in a mockery of comfort.
"Do not fret. You will have all the opportunity in the world to avenge yourself. Peel back the veil, and bathe this world in infinite horrors. Reshape reality to your whim, while we leave this world behind to devour all others. We shall accomplish great things together, Riku Aganeia."
The floating creature behind the throne squealed just as a newborn would, the throne room dissolving into dust to reveal that where they were was just an infinitesimal section of an extensive hive.
High above, a single crystal nearly as large as an imperial palace hummed with dim light, outlining the space in which the previous throne room resided. However, this light did not extend far, only enough to hint at what other creatures might be inhabiting the underground place.
Indeed, they stood on a platform that hovered above a daunting pit, pockmarked with emerald crystals and caverns swarming with horned undead. They crawled around the sprawling walls as insects, echoing howls bouncing around the space.
In the depths below rose all number of slithering abominations, tar oozing from their broken bodies. The steady strumming of a heart heralded their arrival from the deep, giant, demonic beasts floating above in the air on tattered wings.
They wielded whips of eternal flame, lashing at their lessers to move into proper formations. With burning skin and flailing tails, their cloven hooves left deep scorch marks against the walls when they would land. The thrum of their voices was not unlike the forge of a blacksmith, passionate and unbearably hot for those nearby.
Hybrids of metal and meat scuttled around as well, spiders fueled by the same tar that held together the horned undead. They used webs to create new pathways for the others to walk on, though they were just as quickly destroyed by the sharp metal that made up their legs.
Multi-limbed goat-like beasts with faceted eyes screeched in agonized wailing, resembling the Dark Young that the Weeping King saw Ainz use in the other timeline. Unlike their Yggdrasil counterparts, they were a tenth of the size but twice as quick. Any tinier undead unlucky enough to be caught under their feet were squashed into a paste.
And this was merely a fraction of what there was to witness. Several hallways branched off from this chamber, haunting roars signaling that worse things lurked in the dark. For the few times in his life, a genuine sense of dismay filled the Weeping King.
This was his reward. This was his price. He could never escape this madness. All he could hope was that Ainz Ooal Gown, in their dash to secure their place in the world, would find him one day. That they would wipe Nodhoggr from existence forever.
Then as a final act of mercy, Ainz Ooal Gown would kill him.
Hello dear readers,
I apologize for the very late arrival of this chapter. As I am in my senior year of college and currently undergoing graduate applications, a lot of my time was eaten up recently. Thankfully I was able to get this chapter out to you guys! Poor Riku, here's to hoping that he may one day find peace/absolution for the war crimes he was a part of.
I am still working through the Ulbert side story and commission for my friend. Haven't had much time to work on those either but hopefully I get the first chapter of Ulbert goodness to you guys soonish… something else odd I've noticed is that the view counter has been down for all of October. Any ideas what may be going on there?
As always, I'd like to give thanks to my beta readers over on the Library of Ashurbanipal Discord server. Without their help, I wouldn't be able to give you all the quality chapters that you deserve. I'd also like to thank my readers for always being so patient and supportive with me as I write this epic saga of Overlord. Without you, I'd lose the drive to keep writing this tale.
Also a special thanks to ToxicNilex, who was so kind as to allow me to use some of his inspirations for the Demon Gods, in case any of you recognized the name Kim Yi. I highly encourage you all to check out his work, "A World in Turmoil: Rise of the Heroes", which is about the advent of the demon gods. It is excellent!
Until you collect the other eight!