The Overlord Saga
Vol I. Past, Present, Future
Chapter 2: War Council
The Overlord had a morbid fascination with stealing peoples’ souls, but there was another fascination that surpassed even that. As she stared into the fires that churned in the fireplace, she felt herself move in and out of reality, as if reminded of something long ago. The Soul-Keeper had not yet returned from his mission of gathering everyone, but she didn’t necessarily mind. Silence was always welcome as she brooded, observing the flames as they devoured the logs whole. As they waved and danced, she felt her fingers twitch and her eyes moved to the scythe that hung on the mantle, delicately resting to where she could grab it if necessary. She glanced back down at the fire, then closed her eyes, feeling the invisible tendrils of warmth against her face.
Some days, it was so easy to forget all of the past conflicts, even though they were the cause of the present’s strife. She could hardly remember what the Insurgent Leader looked like before his betrayal- just that he was some blonde, faceless munchkin that looked like he belonged in Oz. The Overlord supposed he’d aged since the ‘good old days’, but did any of them age at all after leaving the realm of the living? True enough, they weren’t dead, so they weren’t decaying, but would she’d wake up one morning and find herself all wrinkly and feeble? She touched her face softly with a hand, trying to imagine ordering her Underlings around while propping herself up with a cane. Somehow, the image didn’t seem fitting and the Overlord cringed to herself. Some people just weren’t meant to get old, she figured, and if she ever died, she figured she would die with style, grace, and preferably in battle. The last thing she wanted was to rot away in her bed because of sickness...
And that left more questions. Who would take up the mantle of Overlord next? True enough, she was the first and the only Overlord that had ever existed, and she supposed all of the rules technically started with her. Was an heir required? She pondered these things with the stroke of her chin, briefly wishing she had the capabilities of growing a classy evil genius goatee so that she could stroke it. Perhaps she could order the Soul-Keeper to grow one and could frequently borrow it when she was in the mood to stroke a goatee.
The door opened, interrupting the Overlord’s thoughts as she stared mindlessly into the flames, and she rose to her feet to greet the Advisor as she walked in, followed by a group of other highly decorated officers in the Overlord’s army. The Soul-Keeper took up the end, carrying multiple boxes of what looked like orange chicken. The officers sat in the chairs that the Overlord had brought up by a few lower-ranked underlings specifically for them. The Soul-Keeper happily began munching on his Chinese takeout, though, seemed to have difficulty utilizing the chopsticks.
“I hear we have a crisis,” the Advisor began in her matter-of-fact tone of voice, arms folded, “Is it the Insurgent Leader?”
“Naturally,” the Overlord replied, “Our beloved hero thinks he can destroy us all with that ragged rabble of his.”
“I don’t think it helped that you took his second-in-command,” the Animal Tamer piped up from where she was watching the Soul-Keeper as he messily dropped a few scraps of chicken onto the floor.
“Simple. We set up tazer guards and we wait for him to attack,” the Master of Tazers explained, playing with a strange of her hair, “Stupidity is an automatic taze in my book. He shouldn’t try to oppose us.”
“Agreed,” the Overlord replied, shifting her weight as she looked at the Ninja-Lord, who frequently led the battles when the Overlord was unable to. “What do you think?”
“We ninja him,” the Ninja-Lord said firmly, “Once and for all.”
“Once and for all?” the Advisor asked, “We’ve been trying to do that.”
“Well, yes, but we find another way...” the Ninja-Lord insisted.
“What way?” the Advisor asked, impatiently stamping her foot.
“His forces are weak. I sense this. We all sense this,” the Overlord cleared her throat, “He wants his second-in-command back, he can try to get him. We’ll use him bait.”
“Bait? Like a fish?” the Soul-Keeper asked.
“Yes, like a fish,” the Overlord answered patiently before snatching one of the orange chicken pieces while the Soul-Keeper wasn’t looking. She shoved it into her mouth, then looked away, attempting to be discreet.
“Underling Sexist will not go quietly,” the Advisor warned.
“Of course he won’t. Operations like this are never easy,” the Overlord responded rather nonchalantly, “There wouldn’t be a story if everything that was supposed to happen just happened like that.” She snapped her fingers, then said, “So we use our newest underling as bait. What if he doesn’t take it?”
“Then we ninja them?” The Ninja-Lord asked.
“And if that doesn’t work?” the Overlord asked.
“We should find a way to disable most of their forces,” The Advisor frowned, then asked, “But how can we do that? Poison their water supply...? Hmmm...”
“You’re evil,” the Animal Tamer commented.
“Advisor, I have a plan,” the Overlord said in a flash of brilliance as she rose from her chair. “Listen, I need several things to happen. Soul-Keeper, finish your orange chicken, then fetch Sexist. Bring him to the main gates. Ninja-Lord, gather your swiftest and most cunning soldiers and stand on the wall top. Master of Tazers, I need you to buff the defenses in case our plan does not work. Turn your tazers to the highest setting! Advisor! Come with me!”
“What about me?” the Animal Tamer asked in curiosity.
“Take Nard outside. He needs to go potty,” the Overlord pointed to the large bed in which a small, fluffy white and brown dog lay, his ears perked at the sound of his name.
“Okay!” the Animal Tamer beamed and picked the dog up obediently.
“Where are we going?” the Advisor asked as the Overlord swiftly walked down the hall. “You walk so fast!”
Abruptly, the Overlord stopped and turned to look at the Advisor, “We are going to a special place, Advisor. Take my arm!” Her voice was very commanding and the Advisor knew to not disobey. Quickly, she grabbed her arm and the Overlord snapped her fingers (which came quite difficult as she was wearing gloves). As a blinding light surrounded both of them, the Overlord called, “To... Taco Bell!”
----
Brendy O’Harris had worked at Taco Bell for as long as anyone could remember. She cut a classic fast-food waitress figure- somewhat plump, in her late fifties, with little square glasses that rested on her crook of a nose, and she constantly smacked gum. Her hair was a bird’s nest of tangles- with a salt and pepper look to it. It was similar to a ball of wire, but with a bit of bounce to it.
Taco Bell loved Brendy almost as much as Brendy simply loved Taco Bell. She’d been on her shift during the craziest times that the fast-food chain had ever seen, even bragging about working there during the Great Depression (most of the waitresses believed this, but didn’t realize that the Great Depression occurred before the first Taco Bell opened in 1964). Brendy had seen an assortment of folks, having taken the orders of clowns, a few mass-murderers, and a man who looked suspiciously like a pirate, but the two people standing in line even caused her to squint one of her already beady eyes.
The first one was a semi-tall figure with sharp eyes, carrying herself with an air of authority. She might’ve seemed normal (though, her spiked brown hair was slightly odd) if her outfit hadn’t been something out of the latest Dungeons & Dragons. Brendy eyed the cape, which bore some insignia that made her wonder if she should call the cops on this one or not. All they needed was some attack from those Neo-Nazis that were supposedly everywhere, waiting to strike...
The second one looked a bit kinder than the first, with wavy blonde hair that fell past her shoulders. Her robe carried the same insignia, though, something about her seemed more graceful and less authoritative than the first. Still, she had to admit that she’d never seen a couple of freaks like these before, but nevertheless, Brendy figured she was obligated to taking their order, so, with a smack of her bubble gum, she asked, “Hello, what can I get for you?”
“My advisor and I would like the nastiest thing you have on the menu,” the first one said with a hint of bravado about her words.
Brendy looked at them both over her glasses, studying them carefully. They didn’t appear to be armed, but one could never tell these days. She smacked her gum a few more times, then asked, “How many orders?”
“Everything you have in the back, please,” the first one nodded.
“That’s a lot of money,” Brendy remarked, still watching the two, “You have that much?”
“In return for this, you are allowed to keep your soul. I suggest you give me the food immediately,” the first one folded her arms.
“Uh huh...” Brendy commented skeptically, then called into the back, “Hey! Bring out all of the bean burritos!”
The first one smirked devilishly, then began muttering something to her friend, followed by a sinister cackle. As the chef brought out a tray with a mountain of burritos, Brendy turned and said, “Let me calculate your total.”
“No need,” the first one waved carelessly and took the tray of burritos and promptly handing it to the advisor. “Goodbye...” She looked at the name tag, then nodded, “Brendy. I’ll remember you.” She snapped her fingers and grabbed the Advisor’s arm, disappearing in a flash of light.
“What just happened?” a chef from the back called.
“I haven’t got a clue,” Brendy called back, still smacking the over-used piece of gum in her mouth.
---
“What was that about?” the Advisor asked, looking at the Overlord quizzically.
“Burritos. They’re essential to my plan,” the Overlord said firmly, taking a wrapped burrito into her hand “We feed these to the Insurgents.”
“Great, we’re giving them food? Isn’t that counter-productive?” the Advisor asked.
“If this was good food, this would be counter-productive. However, this is a nasty burrito,” the Overlord replied, “Beyond the confines of this ridiculous, yet handy Mexican styled wrapped paper is an atrocity so great that I believe it will spell the end of the Insurgents.”
“A burrito?” the Advisor asked.
“Not just any burrito. A bean burrito. A nasty bean burrito,” the Overlord explained, “Anyone knows that if you get a bad bean burrito, your stomach’s gonna hate you for the next day, yes?”
“So we’re giving them bad bean burritos?” the Advisor asked.
“It’s like diarrhea in gift wrap. Isn’t it lovely?” the Overlord asked, holding it up, “The Insurgents cannot hope to win if they’re too busy having major stomach pains.”
“It’s brilliant!” the Advisor agreed, “Why didn’t I think of it?”
“Because you, my dear friend, are not the Overlord,” the Overlord replied and then began toward the door, “Now, I need you to figure out where we can put those without it looking too suspicious. And I want you to write a note stating that we have the Insurgent Leader’s top general and are parading him atop the main gate until he comes over here and gets him.”
“Okay...” the Advisor nodded, “I’ll get to it!”
“Good!” the Overlord slipped out of her office and whistled a jocular tune as she strode down the hallway. The first step into completing her goal was complete. ‘Bad burritos. I’m getting more and more clever each year.’ The Overlord chuckled to herself, then thought darkly, ‘Now, to deal with Underling Sexist...’
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