OVERLORD: OVERTHROWN VOLUME 1 - The Angels in Red
PROLOGUE
It's about time I try being a hero.
This was the thought that brought the mage Émile to the dark and narrow tunnel where he now stood, less alone than he knew.
There was a sudden sound from the darkness like several wooden spoons clicking off one another, followed again by silence.
What was that? he thought, looking for the source of the sound. The only vision he had was the limited sight from his Goggles of Lesser Darkvision, an heirloom his family had not been happy with him taking.
This made it all the more devastating when from just out of sight what seemed like a tail flew into Émile's face, shattering the enchanted lenses entirely. He was knocked from his feet and landed on his back, utterly winded. Ugh.
"Crap, uh, Second Tier Magic: [Invisibility]!" he groaned, roots of panic beginning to spread through his mind. Starting with his long coal-black ponytail, his entire body faded from sight.
He scrambled backwards, his bare hands scraping on a rock as he went. Curse that damnable Rogue.
He had been travelling with another party known as Grey Parade, from the city of E-Naeurl to the country town of E-Mortis. He had gotten into a drinking contest with their mischievous Rogue. The loser had to give up one article of clothing, and she did not lose. She chose his gloves, teasing that her hands were cold.
He really started wishing he hadn't split off from them to take a shortcut through bandit territory they hadn't wanted to take right about then.
He pulled himself to his feet, and broke into a run, his footfalls on the rough cavern floor echoing off its walls. The light of the sinkhole he'd come in through was in sight. Father was right, you do run from all of your problems.
Well maybe I don't have to, he thought, stopping for a second and gripping his red crystal-topped staff tightly. He pivoted on one foot and planted his second behind him, drawing a rune between him and his pursuer.
"First Tier: [Magic Arrow]!" he yelled, sending a volley of three bolts of bright blue energy toward his pursuer, lighting up the hall as they went. As they struck home on the creature, what was revealed to him, what he saw made him nearly drop his staff. A sizable entity of innumerable bones and a long coiling spinal column was momentarily lit up, before disappearing from sight as the arrows landed. What the hell IS that?
"Again! First Tier: [Magic Arrow]!" he yelled again, sending a second volley in a panic, blowing through another chunk of his body's mana reserves as his instructors had always chastised him for doing.
For a moment, besides the sound of Émile's heavy breathing, there was perfect silence. How is it seeing me? He wondered, maybe… hearing?
"Second Tier Magic: [Silence," he whispered, his rune invisible under his spell. A bubble of silence extended from him about 5 metres in all directions, quieting even the faint dripping of water from above.
He stood perfectly still, trying to quell the tremors his fear was sending through his legs. Surely he had to be hidden now, right? He couldn't see the creature, but he knew it was lurking just out of sight.
He squinted his eyes through the darkness, trying to make out a shape barely lit by the sinkhole's light. A dead goblin. The same goblin whose trail had led him here, mistaking the claw marks down the side of the sinkhole for being a child trying to keep themselves from being dragged in. Sister, I thought I could save another child from suffering how you suffered at the hands of those goblins, but I…
The creature's telltale rattling echoed again, like a dozen cartwheels turning through gravel at once. It was uncomfortably close this time, maybe 15 metres away if he was lucky, and it was moving fast. His hands still stung from the crawl as he gripped his crystal-topped staff even tighter.
He held his breath, in case it could sense it, and leaned carefully against the cavern wall. Come on, just move past me…
If there was no kid, there was no need to fight this thing. He could prove his father wrong when he made it to town, joined up with the rest of his party, and became a proper adventurer. Besides, who would warm that rogue's hands when she's cold if I died here?
He looked back towards the dead goblin, or rather, where there had previously been a dead goblin. In its place was now only a trail of gore leading off into the darkness in front of him. Reaching up and gripping his chain necklace meant to soon hold a copper adventurer's tag with white-knuckled fervour, he prayed silently for some god, any god, to save him.
But Émile heard nothing. It was all on him, and him alone.
A green mass of flesh cut through the light, engulfing his vision as it collided with him, completely silenced by his aura. The goblin's body, torn open and stripped of its bones, hit him with enough force to knock him off his feet again, saved only by the wall behind him.
How can they see me? He panicked, turning to make a desperate sprint for the sinkhole. His one light, his one salvation.
He could barely see anything not within the small circle of light from above, but he knew something was out there. Something silenced by his own doing.
He raised his staff and ended his own [Silence] spell as quickly as he could, his heavy breathing suddenly audible. He winced at the unforeseen arrival of a ringing in his ears. The other new sound was the sound of things breaking and snapping into place as that thing did whatever it was doing with the bones of the goblin. But, if it could still see him he thought it better to at least be able to hear it coming and speak the words to cast his spells.
The darkness that had made Émile feel so comfortable during his years of thieving felt oppressive and choking as he scrambled up the pile of dirt towards the roots he'd climbed down. Towards the one thing he could see.
He threw his staff aside and used every bit of training, every ounce of energy, and every measure of willpower he had left to clamber from root to root before whatever that thing was caught up to him.
He barely noticed the wounds on his hands tearing further, blood spilling over the dirt and roots below him, fading out of invisibility as it left contact with him. He prayed [Invisibility] would at least be enough to buy him time to escape the pit.
He had to escape. He hadn't even started his process of redemption! He had a name to pull out of the gutter, a life of mistakes left to make up for.
He pulled himself up beyond another root, halfway there! It got easier from this point onwards, the slope relaxing into a gentler angle. His little sister was the only one who had any faith in him when he decided to clean up his act and become an adventurer. He couldn't let her down again, not after everything she'd been through.
The final few metres were a blur of scrapes, bruises, and panic. As he finally reached one hand onto the ledge he breathed a sigh of relief. He had lost both his staff and magic goggles down there, but he was alive.
It was in that moment when he finally had hope, that suffering - as it always seems to do - decided to rear its malevolent head.
The sound of something long grinding against coarse upturned earth came from below, and as he looked to see what the sound came from, he bore witness to the truly unholy full shape of his pursuer.
A huge serpent of grafted bones, its hulking form made of the skeletons of countless species. Cattle, swine, hounds, goblins… and even men.
He didn't have time to analyze it, rushing to whip out his backup wand. A simple oak thing he'd stolen from a 1st tier mage, it would serve his needs. He traced a rune in the air with the wand, one hand stabilizing him on the wall of the pit.
"First-tier magic: [Magic Arrow]!" he called, heart filled with fire. Every hair on his body stood on end and bright light spread from the rune at his fingertips, glowing blindingly as he poured every ounce of mana he had into the spell.
And then nothing happened. He felt the hairs fall flat. He didn't have enough mana.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Émile called out, fumbling for the dagger on his belt, but it was too late. A bony maw engulfed his leg, biting down hard. His fibula and tibia both shattered under its crushing bite, his leg becoming a rubbery tendril tying him to the creature. He screamed out at the top of his lungs, his throat burning from the effort. "SOMEBODY! PLEASE!"
"HELP ME!"
But there was no one for kilometres. He had left them to go out on his own. He hoped maybe the bandits could hear him, but he knew even if they could and cared enough to help, they would not make it in time to save him.
His fingers gave up on the knife and dug into the soil and roots to find purchase. His grip was such that one of his fingernails tore back from his hand, blood mixing with dirt, but he kept trying. But the effort found no reward, nothing he could put forward was a match for the creature's overwhelming weight.
It dragged like an alligator returning its kill to the water, and his fingers raked through the dirt, tracing the very markings the goblin had left before him. The very markings he'd mistaken for a little girl's and had gotten him into this situation.
And for the last time, Émile's [Invisibility] faltered, revealing his pale and desperate form to the creature. As his leg's blood pooled in the creature's eye sockets and it paid no heed, he realized with horrible resignation his critical error.
It could never see him to begin with, nor could it head him. It smelled his blood.
