TOS- Vol 2, Pt 1, Ch 5

The Overlord Saga

Vol II. Versus

Chapter 5: The Third Day
(Pt 1)

The Fortress’ eastern side was, for the most part, devoted to the Underlings. It had a little hangout joint that the Overlord had decided to build in order to prevent boredom from consuming her army. Drinks were commonly passed around here, though, the Overlord seldom ventured there herself. Most of the gossip was heard at the pub, making it an incredibly desired location to be if you didn’t have orders to fulfill.

Russia and Prussia had crammed themselves in a booth with Belarus, the Animal Tamer’s Pet, the newly acquired other Animal Tamer’s Pet (whom, for the sake of clarity, we’ll refer to as ‘Fabio’), China, Sexist, Tinkerbell, Fish, and the Animal Tamer. Sexist was smashed against the wall of the booth, giving Tinkerbell a disgruntled look.

“So, how’s that promotion fitting you?” the Animal Tamer asked Belarus, squeezing between Fabio and the Pet.

“Well enough,” Belarus answered giddily, “The Overlord promised me that the Sabotage Team would all receive their own fire sticks to fight with! I suspect she’ll be sending us on a mission to attack the Insurgents soon!” Sexist’s expression darkened and Belarus promptly stretched, her foot colliding into his shin.

As Sexist fought back a string of curse words, Tinkerbell shot Belarus a murderous glare. “She’s not an Overlord...” Tinkerbell muttered under his breath. “She’s a psychopath.”

“You wanna be next, fairy boy?” Belarus challenged. Tinkerbell remained silent, and Belarus settled back into her chair, smirking confidently.

Russia glanced at Sexist, who was taking a big drink from his glass of soda. As she did, she caught his paranoid look. Glancing down at the ground, Russia frowned and shifted her weight uncomfortably. As she got a glimpse of Sexist once more, she noted how he was gazing at her oddly- suspiciously not making eye contact as she turned to glance at him. “Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sexist replied, taking another drink of soda, “It’s nothing at all...”

“If you say so...” Russia frowned.

---
The Theurgist sat alone in his room quietly, looking over the journal carefully. A note clutched in his hands, he looked it over one last time, the top reading, “To the Overlord in case of emergency”. He slipped it into the notebook’s cover, and flipped open the first page. As he looked through the carefully written down information, a stab of sorrow in his chest. ‘Everything is here, Overlord... everything you’ll need...’ He slipped it into his desk and lowered his head, unable to glance across the room at the mirror. ‘I wish you could’ve seen what I saw... We have traitors...’

“What’s going on?” the Evocator’s voice cut through the Theurgist’s thoughts. He startled, looking back at her with a horrified look in his eyes. How long had she been standing there?

“Nothing...” the Theurgist replied, glancing at the clock. “It’s almost sundown.” When the Evocator didn’t respond, the Theurgist continued, “It’s the third day since N got here. He’s not done much except sit in his room for the past few days.”

“Do you think...?” the Evocator began.

“I don’t think. I know,” the Theurgist whispered quietly, “I know... Katy, I know what is to come. I didn’t want to tell you... I couldn’t...” He was choking on his own words, unable to look at her, “There’s a journal in my desk. Take it. Don’t look at it, just take it.” The Evocator pulled the journal out silently, then walked over to the Theurgist.

“What’s going to happen?” She whimpered, clutching the journal with one hand and reaching out to rest her other hand on the Theurgist’s back. “Tell me. Tell me what’s going to happen. I’m not afraid.”

“You will be...” the Theurgist replied, “All of you will be.”

“ ‘You’...?” the Evocator asked as he suddenly straightened up and turned to face her. She stared up at him, confusion in her dark eyes. As he suddenly wrapped his arms around her and embraced her, she realized that she was fighting back tears.

“Why...?”

“I love you.”

“What’s happening?”

“You’ll understand...”

“Where are you going?”

“I love you so much...”

“Alexi!” the Evocator shouted as he released her. He began toward the door, cape swirling behind him. Whipping out his sunglasses to hide the fact that he, too, was holding back tears, he looked away, putting them on. The Evocator stood, journal in hand, and watching with silent tears as he opened the door. Stopping to cast one last gander at his girlfriend, the Theurgist felt himself sway on his feet, wondering if this was really happening.

The Evocator ran to the Theurgist, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. He held her tight for a moment, knowing that he would have to let go. When his arms fell away, he couldn’t bear staring into her tearful eyes. He couldn’t bear telling her what was going to happen. “I love you...” she whispered, her breathing heavy as she fought back a sob. He turned away, knowing that the tender moment could not last. There was a war to be fought.

---


The Overlord sat in her office, brooding evilly as usual. Glaring into the fire, she didn’t stir as the door to her office opened. She merely waited, expecting it to be N- the sun was in its final setting stages and she sat with her scythe in reach, resting near the hearth. However, the Theurgist was the one that appeared, standing stone-faced behind her large chair. Looking back at the Theurgist, the Overlord didn’t hide her surprise.

“This is about to be a war zone,” the Overlord mused lightly, her fingers tracing the design on the arm rest of the chair. “You know that, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Here, she planned on fending off N as he made whatever feeble attempt to bring her to justice. She was a criminal after all, a villain, a member of the SVC. To give the donation to God was to be look weak, and she could not have that issue resting on her plate. Not when Lex was already trying to find reasons to kick her from the SVC council. It was politics. Her underlings could hate her all they wanted for this. But it was all politics... Everything was politics. “What brings you here?”

“Fate,” the Theurgist replied vaguely, though his eyes were gazing directly at the Overlord, meaningfully raising his eyebrows. She didn’t look at him, but merely stared into the fiery depths of the hearth. The Theurgist stepped forward and grabbed a photograph resting on mantle near where the scythe was usually hung on the wall. He lifted the photo from where it sat, looking at the four ninjas in it. “Who’re they?”

The first ninja in the photograph seemed older. Her hair was dark brown and fell a good two inches past her shoulder, the color matching her almond eyes.The Theurgist assumed that this was the ‘Sensei’ that he always heard of. Next to her, he recognized the Overlord, albeit with longer brown hair with blonde highlights. He allowed himself a chuckle at how young the Overlord seemed- he’d have guessed this was even before she’d been given her powers. On the end, he recognized the short stature of the Insurgent Leader, his blonde hair slightly messed up because of the wind. But between the Overlord and the Insurgent Leader, there was one last figure, a tall ninja with red-brown hair. His pale arm wrapped around the Overlord’s shoulder- in a friendly manner, but the Theurgist caught something else in the stranger’s light blue eyes. At first, it was merely a hint of a thought, but it transformed into something else- familiarity.

“They were in my platoon at Tamashii,” the Overlord replied, “Before I was the Overlord.”

“The ninja next to you and the Insurgent Leader...” the Theurgist glanced up at the Overlord, still clutching the picture in his hands, “Who is he?”

“Warwick?” the Overlord asked, “He was the other guy in our platoon. He helped Thomas... er.... the Insurgent Leader pull me out of the pool. I haven’t seen him in years. I heard he left Tamashii a long time ago.”

“You two were... Close, I presume?” the Theurgist asked.

“He called me his little sister,” the Overlord said slowly, “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing,” the Theurgist replied, “It’s... Nothing.” He drew in a deep breath, his blue-green eyes casting their gaze onto where the scythe lay against the wall. As the clock struck that it was 7:00 p.m., he immediately turned to look at the door. Softly, he murmured to the Overlord, “Overlord... It’s been an honor. I want you to know that.”

“Theurgist?” the Overlord asked, turning to look at him. She rose from her chair finally, her back to the scythe. As the Overlord opened her mouth to ask the very silent Theurgist what was happening, the door flung open to reveal N, standing in full armor. The air grew cold, as if winter had suddenly emerged from nowhere. Shivering, the Overlord took a step back, fingers skirting over the handle of the scythe. ‘So he’s come after all... Just as the Theurgist predicted,’ the Overlord thought bitterly. ‘Let’s see what sort of warrior God has sent to defeat ME.’

N stepped quietly into the room, his red cape swirling behind him. The Overlord raised an eyebrow as the armored warrior drew his machete and pointed it at the Theurgist. “Now, now, let’s not get hasty,” the Overlord cautioned with cold cackle, “N... It’s time you left my Fortress. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“I gave you too much time to decide. Your heart had already consumed itself with greed,” N said, voice gentle, but something about his aura betrayed that, “You were a lost cause from the start, Overlord. Doomed for failure. Doomed for destruction, just like your father.”

“Really? The ‘just like your father’ jokes are so out of date, it’s not even funny anymore,” the Overlord caught the Theurgist’s confused look. She grabbed the scythe discreetly, staring at N as he shut the door behind him. The Theurgist’s hand was sparking every now and then with electricity- the Overlord knew he was ready to fight. The light from the fire began to die away as a harsh wind swept through the window, sending an uncontrollable shiver down the Overlord’s spine.

N giggled, a chilling and eerie sound that almost matched the frozen air, “You allowed greed to devour you. So you must pay the price.” He lifted the machete to the sky and tendrils of ice began crawling about the floor of the room, eating at the desk and the chairs. “I am Nemesis!” he declared, “The one sent to dethrone the usurper!”

“Usurp the usurper? Oh my, we’re just full of contradictions!” the Overlord laughed, “Come on, see if your little butter knife can cut me. I won’t bow to you. Theurgist! Allow me to fight this jokester myself. I’d rather not bother you with him.”

“No, Overlord. I won’t allow it,” the Theurgist replied, “You’re not going to fight all of your battles alone. Not this time.” He lifted his hand and shouted, “Storm spirit! EVOKE!” From his palms, a large eagle shot forth, made of entirely thunder magic.

‘How did he do that? The Theurgist can’t summon by himself!’ the Overlord’s eyes narrowed, but she ignored it. ‘He better not be straining himself for me. I won’t allow him to!’ She took her scythe and lunged forward, swiping at the Nemesis’ feet. As the Nemesis ducked and rolled out of the way of the storm spirit, he clashed blades with the Overlord. She turned and tried to stab the Nemesis between the breastplate and the shoulder plate but found that he had surrounded himself with a shield of ice. As ice shards sprayed throughout the room, the Overlord covered her face with a hand, eyes narrowed as the Nemesis emerged from the ice shards, unharmed.

The thunder spirit struck him once in the chest, but the Nemesis merely reached up and snatched the eagle by the foot. In one fluid motion, the Nemesis slammed the eagle into the wall, freezing it as it did so. The spirit shattered into thousands of chunks of ice, the summon fading away. The Theurgist angrily lifted his hands to the sky, “Flame spirit, invoke!” As a dragon shot forward, the Overlord jumped back and out of the way, wincing as her desk caught fire. The Nemesis lifted up a hand, which, upon impact with the fiery dragon, sent waves of ice throughout the burning surface of the spirit. As the fire was trapped in ice, the Theurgist’s eyes stretched wide in pure horror. The spirit shrieked in its icy prison, and faded away.

“That is a nifty summon trick. But it is ineffective,” the Nemesis said to the Theurgist rather blandly, turning and blocking a blow from the Overlord as she tried to come in from behind. He grabbed her by the collar and tossed her into the air. As she did a flip over his head, her scythe collided into his helmet, denting it badly. He winced as a trail of blood ran down the side of his face.

“Oh really? Then... Earth Ender!” the Theurgist yelled as the Overlord landed next to him, scythe still in hand. She smirked as two spirits surged forward from the Theurgist’s hands, a white, blinding light and a dark spiraling form. As they charged at the Nemesis at a blurring pace, the Nemesis merely lifted his machete, sending a light blue jolt into its blade. Turning and slicing horizontally through both spirits, the Nemesis offered the Theurgist a pitying smile as both spirits faded instantly.

“How is he doing that?” the Overlord asked, then held out a hand before the Theurgist, “I guess... The question is... How are YOU summoning?”

“It’s difficult to explain...” the Theurgist stammered, glancing at the Overlord’s hand as it crossed his chest, “What are you doing?”

“This is my fight, I told you already. Stand down until otherwise.”

“But Overlord-”

“That’s an order!” the Overlord yelled. ‘His methods are ineffective and he knows that. The Nemesis has fought summons before, he knows how they work. And the Theurgist isn’t as strong of a summoner as the Evocator. He knows he can’t do much help like this!’ the Overlord turned and charged at the Nemesis. As she knocked him against the wall, he gritted his teeth, his grip around his machete weakening. She turned and elbowed him in the chin before going for his machete. As the Theurgist rushed forward with a glowing palm, the Overlord ducked, allowing the Theurgist to slam the Nemesis’ head into the wall. A few jolts of magic was sent through the Nemesis, but he merely shrugged it off, grabbing the Overlord by the neck and tossing her toward the dying fire. She landed with her hands holding her face from the floor by two inches, scythe sliding away. As she leapt onto her feet, she saw the Theurgist back away from the Nemesis, a large gash in his chest.

“What...?” the Overlord stammered, horrified as blood splattered against the carpet.

“Fool!” the Nemesis hissed, “This is a battle between titans! You are an unwanted nuisance!” He closed his eyes and a series of dark tentacles arced from his back, flying forward and plunging into the Theurgist’s chest.

“No!” the Overlord screamed, holding out her hand. Her scythe flew into her hands, and she leapt forward, swinging the scythe at the tendrils. As the blade sliced through them, she heard the Theurgist fall to the floor, his breath ragged and unsteady. The Overlord barely had time to recover as the Nemesis threw himself onto her, slamming her into the ground. She sent a wave of fire magic into the Nemesis, but his armor deflected it. Kicking the Nemesis off of her, she spun around, grabbed her scythe and blocked a blow from the Nemesis’ machete. She shoved him away with the handle of her weapon, then rose to her feet. The Theurgist seemed dazed, his eyes drifting in and out of focus.

As the Nemesis reached back with the machete to impale the Theurgist a second time, the Overlord slammed the butt of her scythe into the Nemesis’ knee. She twirled it around and dug the scythe into the Nemesis’ flesh, between his shoulder and torso armor. She dragged it diagonally, to his hip bone, then pulled it out of the flesh.

“Leave him alone!” the Overlord yelled, blood dripping from her scythe.

The Nemesis staggered forward, though turned away from the semi-conscious Theurgist. The Overlord tried to move forward but found herself unable to. Her green eyes stared into the Nemesis’ pale blue eyes, captivating, chilling, and devoid of emotion. As she realized that ice had wrapped itself around her calves and past her knees, the Overlord struggled to make even a half-step forward. Glancing down, she felt her heart quicken, her vision blurring as she concluded that she was stuck- literally frozen in place.

“He’s not the one I wanted anyways,” the Nemesis walked toward the Overlord, swiping a hand through her brown hair, “You’ll do just nicely... Emily.” As the Overlord’s eyes snapped wide open in horror, she swung the scythe at the Nemesis’ head. He grabbed the scythe by the handle, sending an electrifying jolt down the weapon into the Overlord. She gasped, releasing the scythe and allowing the Nemesis to toss it away. The ice had crawled up to her hip at this point, snaking around up to her stomach.

The Nemesis stood, face less than an inch from the Overlord’s. A calculating smile crossed his features and he merely reached forward and pressed his hand over her heart. As he leaned in, he whispered into her ear, gentle, but horrifying words, “You’re mine.” A single, tendril of black magic shot into the Overlord’s chest, sending a wave of agony throughout her body.

She hated admitting what happened next. She hated how the tears of pain stung her eyes. The Overlord hated, above it all, how she screamed. She screamed something at the top of her lungs, something incoherent, but full of pure meaning. There was no doubt that even Christine, yes, even Gabriel could hear her cry of utmost pain. She felt her willpower fall away, her energy disintegrate. But above all, she felt her pride, her ego, and possibly even her mind take a hefty blow. She lurched forward, pressing her head against the Nemesis’ cold, dark shoulderplate, trying to see through the tears of pain. Her hands reached out and grabbed the Nemesis’ wrists but to no avail.

As he backed away, the ice shattered, sending the Overlord to the ground, face-down. She reached forward to summon her scythe but found not even an ounce of magic in her fingers. Confusion flooded her mind, panic arising in her mind and clouding her senses. As the Nemesis lifted his hand to the sky, the scythe flew into his grasp, its handle glowing with a series of light blue symbols. With a triumphant laugh, the Nemesis pointed the scythe at the fallen Overlord, the blade touching the back of the Overlord’s neck. As the Overlord looked up at the Nemesis, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something so familiar was about the entire situation. ‘If only I’d listened to the Theurgist!’ she thought angrily, looking at where the Theurgist was still slumped over.

‘Damn it... What have I gotten myself into!?’