I am the creator of (The Overlord in Orario)
this my first time writing fanfic crossover
Overlord x Danmachi fanfic tellme your opinion if you like it or not
English is not my mother language
Overlord is not mine it belongs to the rightful owner Maruyama
Danmachi is not mine it belongs to its rightful owner Hideki shirane
if you read the first that was the wrong fikes sorry for those who reads it
...
"Normal speech"
'Thought'
[Tier Magic]
{Skills}
(Danmachi magic)
...
In the heart of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, seated upon the majestic [Throne of Kings, the Overlord known as Momonga sat in solemn silence. His bony fingers curled gently around the legendary [Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown, the symbol of his guild's once-glorious legacy.
He had just finished recalling the names of each guild flag, his voice echoing softly in the vast chamber like a prayer to the past. Then, as if guided by habit, his crimson gaze shifted toward the upper-right corner of his vision.
[23:59:50]
Only ten seconds left.
The end of Yggdrasil. The end of the game he had poured his life into. Countless hours, endless grinding, joy, frustration, triumph—memories now distilled into this fleeting moment.
"It was fun," he murmured, his voice calm, resolute… nostalgic.
Before him stretched the grandeur of the Throne Room: towering, marble-like pillars rose into the distant darkness above; an opulent red carpet led to the throne itself, bordered with intricate golden embroidery; the walls were adorned with carvings that told stories of battles long past and victories hard won.
All of it—all of it—would soon vanish.
The loyal NPCs at his side stood motionless, frozen in their perfect forms. Albedo, crafted with such care and accidentally modified into a woman madly in love with him. Sebas Tian, the embodiment of butlerly discipline and grace. The Pleiades Battle Maids, each one fine-tuned with obsessive detail by his comrades.
Even the Tomb of Nazarick itself—this monument to their friendship—would cease to exist. Every item, every chamber, every boss room, every lovingly-designed line of code.
Gone.
And still… the seconds ticked away.
[23:59:55]...
[23:59:56]...
[23:59:57]...
Click… click… click…
The sound of time itself echoed in his mind
[23:59:58]...
[23:59:59]...
[24:00:00]...
"It was really fun…" he murmured, closing his eyes as the countdown approached zero. This world, this game—everything he had poured his life into—was about to end. He let the darkness wash over him, expecting the quiet hum of his computer's fan to greet him on the other side.
[24:00:01]...
But it never came.
Instead, a cacophony of unfamiliar sounds crashed into his ears—footsteps, market chatter, the clanging of metal, and the neighing of horses.
His eyes shot open—and color drained from the world for a heartbeat.
He stood not in Nazarick, nor in the real world, but in the middle of a bustling, unfamiliar city. Towering stone buildings loomed around him. A massive spire pierced the sky like a blade—the Tower of Babel.
Humans, elves, dwarves, demihumans—dozens of races moved through the streets, merchants bartered, adventurers laughed. His mind went into full alert.
"Where the hell am I? A prank? Some trash-tier new region? A skin mod? Or maybe a guild base rework?"
He yelled in panic, his voice distorted slightly by his undead tone. But before his emotions could spiral further—a green light blinked in the corner of his vision.
And just like that, calm returned. Serene and unnatural.
"This isn't normal… Emotion suppression? That's an Overlord racial trait. Did they seriously implement that lore feature?" He looked at his skeletal hand.
Then he noticed something else. Everything around him was frozen in place.
"I instinctively cast [Time Stop]...? So magic works—even in a civilian zone. That's… reassuring."
No one but him moved. He scanned the area again—adventurers in armor, demi-humans in odd clothes, even amazons in bikini-style gear mingling freely. The art style was… inconsistent.
"This can't be a game update… No heteromorphs in sight either. Knowing my luck, I'll pull aggro from the entire server if I don't cover up."
He opened his inventory and retrieved the [Mask of Envy, its twisted smile mocking all who saw it, and slipped it over his face. Along with it, he donned obsidian gloves and stored his staff. Only his towering stature—well over six feet—remained a giveaway.
Then he looked up.
No nameplate.
"That's… odd. No UI? No name? Is this a bug? Or some dev prank? YGGDRASIL 2 beta, maybe?"
He shook his head and moved to an alleyway to regroup. But turning the corner, he immediately froze—and then looked away.
"Okay! That is definitely not allowed! What the hell are the devs thinking?!"
There, locked in frozen time, a man and a woman were engaged in a very compromising act. The scene was absurd in its stillness, but its mere existence was even more concerning.
"That would get you instabanned in YGGDRASIL…"
The more he looked, the more details clicked into place. The vividness of the surroundings. The total absence of UI. The emotion suppression. The seamless casting of magic.
"Wait. What kind of isekai bullshit is this!? Those stories went out of style decades ago!" he shouted—only to feel the outburst suppressed immediately.
"Well… I guess I'm stuck here." Everything felt natural—instinctive, even. Thousands of hours of gameplay had embedded these spells into his soul.
He moved to another alley, safe from view, and released the [Time Stop].
"I suppose it's time to get familiar with this world."
He looked skyward—and froze, breath caught in awe.
A beautiful, blue sky stretched above him. Clean, perfect. Untouched by smog or screens or pollution.
"Amazing… If only Blue Planet-san could see this…"
A pang of nostalgia hit him. Blue Planet, the guild member who'd recreated the Sixth Floor with passion and detail. A man who loved nature more than anything. Who smiled, even shyly, when praised. What would he say now, if he saw this place?
Momonga missed him. Deeply.
"Why am I here…? Was I summoned? Chosen? What's my purpose in this place…?"
No answers came. Just more questions.
But first things first.
"I need to find a place to lay low. Somewhere to gather intel."
He flew over the city using [Fly, rising gently into the air, his robes flowing behind him. The city was vast, lively, chaotic—adventurers, merchants, gods and mortals mingling in a strange but functional harmony.
Eventually, he found it.
A rundown church, crumbling at the edge of the city, tucked in a forgotten cul-de-sac. Once a place of worship, now a shell of its former self. The entrance was open, roof half-gone, altar broken. A shattered statue of a goddess stood above the door—half her face missing.
Inside, weeds grew between broken tiles, sunbeams pierced through cracks in the ceiling.
He stood silently.
"This place should do." He dispelled his spells, allowing his mana to regenerate.
Looking around, he spoke softly to himself:
"This world is… very interesting."
But deep beneath the surface of this lively realm, something stirred. The gods of this world, mighty and fickle, might not take kindly to the arrival of an Overlord.