TOS - Vol 2, Pt 2, Ch 19

The Overlord Saga

Vol II. Versus

Chapter 19: Cursed

“Look who decided to show up,” the Ninja-Lord remarked, dislodging the dagger from the tree. Jester responded with a harsh, melodramatic laugh, a second knife twirled deftly in his hands. Behind him, shadows and silhouettes of his brigand soldiers could be seen, bearing arms and standing at attention obediently. The Ninja-Lord caught the wavy blonde hair of Blondie just a few feet behind Jester, wielding a large spiked mace.

“Ha! I said that I’d come back,” Jester gloated, “And I brought company with me.”

“We’re here to smash you ANF losers and take the Overlord. The Nemesis has a couple of things to say to her,” Blondie shouldered the mace, careful not to accidentally hit the footsoldier behind him in the head.

“Blondie!” the Ninja-Lord stepped forward, brandishing her silver katana.

“Another day,” the Twin rested a hand gently on the Ninja-Lord’s arm, “This isn’t the time for rivalries and rash charges, Ninja-Lord. Centurion! We’re bouncin’ to Fort Effort.”

“Grasshopper! Captain! Find the Overlord!” the Advisor shouted, machine gun in hand, “The rest of us can defend the campsite!”

“Aye, aye!” the Captain threw a smart salute to the Advisor, grabbing his bazooka and slinging it over his shoulder. His free hand carried an assault rifle, loaded and ready for action. “Lieutenant! You’re in charge of the Faction while I’m gone!”

“Got it!” the Lieutenant saluted the Captain, prepping one of the bazookas for battle as quickly as possible. As the Captain and the Grasshopper vanished into the bushes behind the Soul-Keeper and the Ninja-Lord, the Soul-Keeper stepped up, his staff in hand. Jester took this as a signal to attack and waved his hand, sending a second dagger flying at the Soul-Keeper. Knocking the knife away with his staff easily, the Soul-Keeper sent a blast of lightning magic back at the DIB soldiers as they began pouring into the ravine.

“Wises, Ninjas, Fish, Ifills, Jamie, and Witch, go help Fort Effort. I’ve got everything under control here!” the Soul-Keeper shouted firmly, for once taking a serious note. “Smurfs, defensive positions, now! Lieutenant, back up the melee fighters with ranged weapons. Sabotage Team, don’t let them near the tents!”

“Are you sure you can take these guys?” Centurion Ifill asked, quirking an eyebrow at the Soul-Keeper.

“He’s got it covered, I think...” Elwell inclined her head, then opened a portal into Fort Effort. As she began sheltering the others into the portal, the Animal Tamer had climbed aboard Fluffy, and was issuing commands from there.

“FLUFFY! Let’s get some lunch!” the Animal Tamer pointed a rather dramatic and probably useless finger at the DIB soldiers (only useless because Fluffy had already classified the incoming enemies as his next meal).

The Evocator bounded forward, sending a bolt of blue lightning into the nearest DIB soldier. She spun around, aiming a well-placed high-kick into another enemy’s face. “Whoa...” she stumbled a bit, her hands glowing. As she lifted them to the air, she closed her eyes, the ground embedded with a black symbol, “Conjure, chaos spirit! Loki!” As the ebony wolf thudded to the ground before her, it howled- a screeching discord that shook the battlefield. Directing it at a cavalry unit thundering through the trees, the Evocator watched as the semi-transparent wolf tore a rider off of his mount, landing with a skid on the ground.

“Jester!” the Advisor lifted her hand, summoning a whoosh of wind. As it spiraled around her arm, it formulated into a small whirlwind, and she shot it at him. He sent a dagger through the spiral, cutting through it perfectly. She ducked, the knife sinking into a tree behind her, then fired a few bullets at him.

“INCOMING!” the Lieutenant yelled and launched a missile at the soldiers as they came down the ravine, sending a blast of dirt and leaves into the sky. As dust settled, the Evocator stood up, having been thrown down from the impact. Picking a stick delicately from her hair, she looked at where the Jester had been and found only a crater. But as she lifted her gaze, she saw him standing back on the ridge, completely dumbfounded as to how he’d gotten there. And then, it occurred to her that the writer must’ve only made Jester appear there for mysterious and awesome effect, and proceeded to direct Loki into the another DIB soldier, as if nothing bizarre had happened.

----


The Overlord ran down the road, undaunted by the missiles being fired directly at her. Dashing to the right, she heard a deafening explosion behind her, echoed with a blazing heat at her back. Did they endeavor to burn the whole forest to the ground? This was her homeland, and she would not let DIB have that. As she gained momentum, she fired a blast of green magic.

Ahead, the Rebel Commander was reloading his weapon, though, had accidentally misplaced his missiles (how he managed this is completely unknown- how hard is it to lose missiles?). Eric gestured for McCoy to stand back, moving out ahead of the rest of the army while drawing two blades from his back- the larger, blue-pommeled sword he had been using and a smaller, lighter blade. McCoy, knowing that Eric was prone to stealing the spotlight, loaded his machine gun for good measure, aware that he might have to face the Overlord alone. Eric lifted the two swords so that they glinted in the sunlight, displayed for the Overlord to see. Her mouth curled into a small smirk, and she jumped into the air, staff still in hand.

Behind her, the Theurgist had leapt from her shoulder, in his natural, wispy form despite being unable to be seen by anyone else. As she brought her staff down onto Eric’s dual swords, she saw the Theurgist’s image in one of the blades, watching her calmly and quietly. ‘I suppose there’s not much a dead guy can do in a living person’s battle,’ she thought grimly, then hopped back to give General Eric some room. The Overlord spun her staff around to catch him in the back of the head, but was blocked. Instead, Eric sent a wave of glossy, crystalline water into her chest, causing her to fly back a few steps. She was instantaneously on her feet, adrenaline pulsing through her bloodstream. As Eric send a second wave, she leapt over him, sending a blast of green magic into his back. The glint of McCoy’s gun caught her attention and she grabbed it as he tried to fire from behind, moving it enough to where the spray of bullets whizzed past her ear and over Eric’s head.

As McCoy reached back to sock the Overlord in the face, the flick of a katana knocked his hat down (which was strictly forbidden- you did not mess with McCoy or his hat as it was a prized possession). The Overlord cleared such close proximities with McCoy, ducking as the Rebel Commander had finally found his missiles and was back to firing once more. The Grasshopper had thrown the tail end of McCoy’s trenchcoat over his head, temporarily stunning him.

“Aha!” the Captain barreled into the Rebel Commander, forsaking his assault rifle and bazooka for a pistol. As the two fell to the ground, they began a series of hardcore punches, slamming into each other with tremendous force.

General Eric turned to face the Overlord, some deranged gleam in his light blue eyes. As the Overlord glared back at him, she felt a stinging familiarity in his gaze, her hands tightening around the handle of her staff. She twirled it once, then lunged forward, trying to fight the urge to continue to stare into his almost glowing eyes. Eric, almost nonchalantly, blew a twig of hair from his eyes, fired three spurts of water, which froze upon mid-flight at the Overlord. As they each sank into her shoulder and chest, the Overlord’s charge was halted, small trickles of crimson staining her shirt. She grimaced, staring at the ice embedded in her, and her footing faltered.

“How did he...?” she stammered, wandering moreso to herself than to the Theurgist’s spirit. The Overlord’s eyes moved to the General’s, narrowed in a mixture of loathing and confusion. There was something so peculiar about the way his eyes seemed to be ablaze in wrath- something beyond the rage of a normal human being. His eyes were on fire, despite their cold color. His pupils were dilated, the whites of his eyes bloodshot completely. It was horrifying... Horrifyingly fascinating... Horrifyingly familiar. A brief mental image of the Nemesis popped up- the very same piercing eyes and maddened gaze sending a shudder down her spine.

“Nemesis!” She shouted, grasping one of the icicles with a hand.

“Overlord, he’s been Cursed. His eyes! Look at them!” the Theurgist whispered frantically, drifting somewhere behind her. As the Overlord inclined her head slowly, she pried out the other two icicles, throwing them to the ground seemingly devoid of emotion. “The Nemesis must’ve laid a Curse on him. He looks awful...”

“Naw, maybe he’s just a naturally awful-looking person,” the Overlord muttered under her breath.

“He might be doing this against his will. You never know,” the Theurgist added.

“Might be. Doubt it, but okay,” the Overlord retorted, “I assume he’s been Cursed to bring me to the Nemesis?”

“More or less... What do you have in mind? Unless he’s killed, the Curse won’t go away,” the Theurgist warned her.

“No good. We need information out of him...” the Overlord grabbed her shoulder wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Eric paced back and forth, watching her with maddened eyes. “I have an idea. It’s crazy, but it’ll work,” she added quietly.

“Are you...?” the Theurgist began, but the Overlord ran forward suddenly, staff in hand.

Eric waited for her, patiently standing with the blades in hand. As she came closer, he tried to swipe at her, edge coming dangerously closed. In a pincer-like move, he made an attempt to strike, but the Overlord was faster. Jumping up, she kicked out with both legs, hitting him square in the chest. The impact sent both Eric and the Overlord tumbling into the trees on the side of the road, the Overlord losing grip of her staff and falling down the slope that lead into the woods.

When she had ceased rolling, the Overlord pushed herself up, glancing at where Eric, too, was rising but with no swords. As he pulled out his two flails, he cackled under his breath, “I must capture you, False One. It’s time to end the game of cat and mouse.”

“Yes. Yes, I agree,” the Overlord replied, closing her eyes and retrieving the staff with the snap of her fingers. “And this time, I’ll be the cat. Better start running, mouse.”

“You think so?” Eric’s voice was light and whispery, as if controlled, yet distant. The Overlord pointed her staff at him, smirking in satisfaction.

“I do think so.”


----


The Nemesis sat on his throne, eyes closed in reflection. Still frozen amidst the pillars was the Theurgist’s body, preserved perfectly. Pale blue eyes opening, the Nemesis cast his gaze at the deceased Underling, a smile playing about his lips. “Do you see my creation?” the Nemesis’ voice was smooth and calm as he rose from his throne. “A world built upon ice. So fitting for this wretched existence.” As the Theurgist did not respond, the Nemesis only felt more compelled to continue. Armored boots thudding against the stone floor, the usurper’s eyes lifted to look at the frozen corpse.

“This world is cold. You’ve discovered this, no?”

There was a small cackle that followed- he was quite amused with himself. With a sigh, the Nemesis departed the room, cape swirling ominously after him. A gander down the hall and he caught glimpses of paintings, halfway surprised to see a portrait of the Uberlord still hanging on a wall. The founder of the Fortress, the Uberlord stood with pride beaming in his eyes. And in his hand, the Uberlord carried Muramasa- the blade that the Nemesis recognized as the Insurgent Leader’s.

“They do look alike...” the Nemesis murmured under his breath, “Albeit vaguely.”

A few more steps down the hall and the Nemesis caught a glance of the Overlord’s portrait, partially frozen over by the ice that had overrun the Fortress. She carried her scythe in one hand, her other hand clasped in a fist that rested above her heart. The Nemesis’ lip curled, disgust evident in his eyes. She looked so pompous- arrogant and ignorant. Her eyes gleamed with their usual life, vigorous and passionate about her job. ‘So egotistical...’ the Nemesis thought coolly, a hand resting on the hilt of one of his machetes.

Still, a small portion of the Nemesis smiled- a blissful memory flashing before his eyes. He remembered the trees, the carefree days. Before this entire mess had begun, he, too, had been a normal person. But that time seemed as though it had happened forever ago. Removing his glove, he stared down at the dark emblem that branded the back of his hand, the mark of demon on Earth. Replacing the glove, the Nemesis whispered out a sigh, his pale eyes returning to the portrait of the Overlord.

“I wonder, Overlord... Do you remember...?”

“Do you enjoy talking to yourself?”

The voice was snarky, full of arrogance. It disgusted him. Fighting back a gag, the Nemesis peered over his own armored shoulder, catching sight of the robed man. “Pharisee. Not off to play with your little comrades in the Overlord’s Sanctum?” the Nemesis asked, but was secretly thinking, ‘Why the hell aren’t you where you’re supposed to be?’

“I was wondering why you weren’t off smashing them as well,” Pharisee remarked, hands resting on his hips. The Nemesis turned, glancing at the white-garbed magician, then beckoned him in silence. Stealing down the hall quietly, the Nemesis trusted that Pharisee would follow him. He flung the door opened to the stairs leading to the Overlord’s old office, not slowing down for his minion.

“You think I’ve been here twiddling my thumbs, do you?” the Nemesis barked over his shoulder, “You’re a disobedient little wretch, Pharisee.”

“You sure as hell aren’t doing anything useful,” Pharisee sneered back, venturing into warmer waters with his superior. The Nemesis ignored the comment and continued down the hall, reaching back to snatch Pharisee by the front of his robe. Pulling him up the stairs and into the office, the Nemesis literally tossed the much smaller DIB warrior towards the windows.

“Take a gander outside and you’ll see why I’ve not joined the battlefront,” the Nemesis’ voice dropped to a much quieter level. As Pharisee sulked over to the window, he looked outside... Then down.

Legions upon legions of soldiers stood in the courtyard, practicing their battle moves and tactics. Pharisee blinked a few times, unable to grasp how many warriors that the Nemesis had gathered in such a short time span. “What... are they?” Pharisee whispered, ducking down as a group of large birds swooped by the window. Glancing up at the winged fiends, he noticed their humanoid faces, matched with long, raven-black hair.

“Harpies. Armored soldiers. I’ve even been keeping a few dragons in the Dungeon. That stupid opera singer won’t stop screaming,” the Nemesis retorted, “And this isn’t all of them, Pharisee...” His voice trailed off momentarily as he looked out the window behind Pharisee, “And so... I ask what you are doing so far from the rest of the DIB council? Or have you not been contributing to our faction?”

“I-I...” Pharisee was at a loss for words.

“That’s what I thought,” the Nemesis purred softly, “Get out of my sight. You disgust me.” The words were so quietly spoken that Pharisee was unable to hear them very well. The Nemesis then added a more stern, “Now.” As Pharisee scrambled away from the Overlord’s office, the Nemesis stepped out onto the balcony, undaunted as a flock of harpies soared past him. Instead, his eyes searched for something in the sky. Head tilted back, he caught a glimpse of some bestial silhouette outlined by the sun.

Dropping in altitude, the mighty winged beast tilted its wings, veering towards the balcony that the Nemesis was standing on. He allowed himself a smile as he watched its sleek form, its serpentine neck stretched out in full length. Its malevolent, pupil-less eyes shone in the sunlight as it landed, muscles rippling under its scaly skin as it crouched on the railing of the balcony, talons gripping the bars cautiously. As the reptilian creature reached out with its fearsome, round head, the Nemesis reached up and stroked its forehead gently, almost lovingly. Its jawline bore the fringe of something that resembled a fin and a beard, odd antennae protruding from its forehead, next to a set of horns. Its leathery wings wrapped around the Nemesis in a strange hug, crooning softly.

“It’s time for dinner, my faithful little Jabberwocky.”