TOS - Vol 2, Pt 3, Ch 30

The Overlord Saga

Vol II. Versus

Chapter 30: Of The Coldest Hearts

The doors creaked open, revealing the ice-infested main hall of the Fortress. In silence, the Insurgent Leader walked, flanked at either side by Agent and Norris. Behind him, lingered the Rebel Commander, a bit more wary of the slick floors that seemed almost impossible to traverse without slipping. Though it had taken him much longer to be swayed to joining the ANF, the Rebel Commander was now adamant that joining DIB had been a poor decision, the preserved, shielded body of the Theurgist still remaining within the span of two pillars confirming his decision. But the time was not ripe to turn his back on the Nemesis. Not yet, at least- he’d wait for the Insurgent Leader’s move before ever making his own. Perhaps if the ANF failed, he could say his treason had been a charade. Then again, he presumed the Nemesis already knew all of the tricks in the game they played.

Surprisingly, the throne was empty. But the throne room was not. As the Insurgent Leader came to the foot of the throne, his head turned to the right, spying where the Nemesis gazed out the fogged window, stoic and silent.

“You’re not at the battle?” the Insurgent Leader questioned quietly, Agent and Norris both tense in the freezing room, “I thought Pharisee and Blondie would have more aid than that.”

“Pharisee is a weasel to be skinned,” the Nemesis replied, airy voice containing no sentiments. “And Blondie an incompetent, fickle fiend to be dealt with.”

The Insurgent Leader’s gaze darkened considerably, “So you mean for them to die at Fort Effort.” The Rebel Commander stirred uncomfortably then, but not so much as Norris. Agent remained confidently silent, next to the Insurgent Leader’s right side. The statement echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and leaving an eerie trail of voices behind.

“I mean for nothing to happen. What happens, happens,” the Nemesis retorted with a scoff-laugh tinging his voice. He turned and looked at the Insurgent Leader from behind his helmet, his pale eyes glowering ever so slightly in the shadows, “You’ve learned a bit more about yourself, I see.” He moved his head back away and looked out at the frozen landscape once more, the room quiet except for the sounds of breath, but even that seemed silent every now and then. The Nemesis would be the one to break it after what felt like an eternity to the Insurgent Leader, “There is no room for fakers. Posers. Weakness. To prevail against even a fatal wound is to be strong enough to be a part of the Dark Ice Brotherhood.”

“You’re asking for the impossible,” the Rebel Commander began in protest.

“The impossible is what drives this insane world,” the Nemesis hissed, cutting the Rebel Commander off. He tensed, hand clasping the hilt of a machete strapped to his side. But, reluctantly, he calmed, fingers loosening and relaxing from their iron grip. “Besides. Fort Effort must fall if we are to win.”

“That seems backwards,” the Insurgent Leader remarked, arms folded.

“The Overlord will come to the battlefront once she sees the opportunity to strike back at me... effectively,” the Nemesis’ voice was stoic, yet calculating, “And that is my goal. To be on the defensive and crush the offensive. Once the Overlord arrives at our doorstep, she’ll be driven to the point of fury. Insanity, even. Bloodlust and empowered by vengeance. And you know what that means, Thomas.”

“... How do you know these things?” the Insurgent Leader asked, taking a sudden step toward the Nemesis. “How do you know...?”

“The Overlord is... inflicted with various powers. Some are God-given. Others are fate-given. She’ll tear the foundations of this Fortress apart until she finds me. And that is where the game will really begin,” the Nemesis cut the Insurgent Leader off with a steely tone. Leaning against the window sill, the Nemesis gazed at the Insurgent Leader with a half-amused smile. “I can see you’re thinking, Thomas, mulling these past few weeks over... I’m surprised it’s taken you this long.”

“This long...?” the Insurgent Leader demanded, hand moving to Muramasa’s hilt.

The Nemesis held up his hands, a sign of peace, but the Insurgent Leader didn’t move an inch. In response, the Nemesis seized either side of his helmet, and began to pull it off, his light voice ringing through the stunned silence, “... To understand what this war is truly about.”

---


Several things had happened to make the fight for Fort Effort change to an increasingly interesting battlefield. The first of these things was that the ANF forces had overrun the courtyard and outer wall, pushing the DIB forces back into the inner portions of Fort Effort. The second of these things is that the inner catacombs had opened, revealing a plethora of the original Fort Effort guards, led by a woman in an elegant dress-robe that went by the title of the Scholar. This had caused immense chaos as the fleeing DIB soldiers found themselves within a pincer-like formation of Fort Effort soldiers and ANF warriors. The third of these things was that the Lieutenant had accidentally altered the settings on his bazooka to opt for friendly fire, creating massive destruction even to the ANF soldiers.

And, well, the fourth of these things was that Pharisee had fled up a massive flight of stairs, and McCoy and Fish were having difficulties as they neared the tenth flight. Huffing and puffing, McCoy doggedly sprinted after Fish, his legs sore from the intense stair-climbing. “He doesn’t have anywhere to run!” McCoy yelled, “What a jerk... Challenges us to a fight, then goes running off...”

“The fort is basically ours...” Fish commented as he pulled himself up and around the rail, starting his next set of stairs, “Why doesn’t he just surrender?”

“Probably scared of what we’ll do to him. He’s all talk!” McCoy scoffed. Fish didn’t respond, but merely finished off the last flight of stairs before barging through the small wooden door at the end of the stairs, ignoring the sign that decreed you could not open the door unless it was an emergency. Staggering out onto what looked like some helicopter landing pad, he held up a hand, brushing his hair from his eyes. McCoy was at his side a few moments later, his trenchcoat blowing wildly in the wind.

Pharisee was on the far side of the rooftop, leaning over the rail in desperation. Fish calmly began strolling toward Pharisee, an elaborate hand gesture creating a long, snaking chain that appeared at his side. As Pharisee turned to look at the two ANF members, McCoy lifted his gun, finger caressing the trigger gently, but not firing. In panicked silence, Pharisee began to climb onto the rail, his staff still in hand.

“He’s gonna jump!” McCoy shouted and Fish shot the chain out instinctively. Pharisee, a glint of a smile in his dark eyes, did indeed jump, but out and away from the rooftop, his staff clutched in both hands. The orb at the top began to tremble and explode, releasing some large sphere of colorless magic that struck the rooftop. As the world began to explode around Fish, he held up his hands, a wall of chains shielding him from the blow, but still knocking him across the platform, his head striking the concrete.

The last thing he remembered was McCoy’s scream.


---


“What was that?” the Twin demanded from the bottom floor of Fort Effort. As she looked to the Ninja-Lord for an answer, she found herself temporarily caught off-guard as something slammed into her, the world spinning and blurring as she hit the ground, her attacker landing on top of her. A dagger hidden in her belt was suddenly revealed as the Twin snatched it and pulled it out half-way. A myriad of curses coupled with a few kicks only fueled the Twin’s anger even further.

“... Ifill?”

Her fear and rage ceased immediately. Eyes focusing on the person sitting on her stomach, the Twin’s eyes widened in recognition of the Scholar. Mind you, this would be a tad easier to depict if the author had bothered to give you a description of the Scholar’s appearance to begin with. The Scholar had frizzy, yet pleasant hair, draped several inches past her shoulders with a bubbly demeanor. Her glasses were tucked neatly atop her ears, her body slim and perfect. Much like the rest of her, her robe was fancy, albeit simple in design, a book tucked beneath her arm, and a medium-lengthed rod in the other- more likely used as a magic channeling force for combat.

“Oh... Hi!” the Twin said, emotions flowing from shocked, to abashed, to overjoyed. The Scholar helped the Twin to her feet, a sunny smile gracing her features. A hug was exchanged, passionate, but brief as the Twin noticed that her younger sister was present as well, more or less with the status report.

“There’s been an explosion on the rooftop,” Grim news. Centurion Ifill’s voice was quiet, soft, and frightful. “Fish and McCoy were there...” The Twin’s gaze darkened with the news, her heart freezing momentarily before plunging into a panicked race.

“What-”

“Pharisee got away. The Ninja-Lord is tracking him as we speak. Blondie is in custody,” Centurion Ifill finished, then slipped into a dead silence, her eyes veiled with worry, “Pharisee no doubt will alert the Nemesis of our victory.”

“... And come back to take the Fort. We can’t hold out against the DIB forces. I’ve seen what they have planned for the final battle. Ifill, it’s not good,” the Scholar spoke up, clearing her throat in a very professional manner. “You need to call all of the ANF forces here. I’ve a lot to tell you...”

“But the Overlord needs more time! She can’t have found the rest of the Elite yet!” Centurion Ifill argued.

“What news?” the Twin asked, hands on her hips.

The Scholar’s expression turned grim as she cast her gaze out of a nearby cracked window, “The Between is just the beginning. We all know that it’s the smallest of the Realms- nestled JUST between Life and Death. Why should anyone be satisfied with just owning the Second Realm? The Nemesis intends to conquer the Second Realm, but soon after, move his forces to the First Realm- Life. To put this all into simple terms that you could understand... He doesn’t want to dominate the world. He wants the three Realms.”

“Such a power would make him a god,” the Twin remarked, scorn evident in her voice. “How stereotypical.”

“If he controls the Between, he controls the passage between Life and Death, throwing off the balance of the universe. It sounds far-fetched, but if he conquers the Second Realm, he could feasibly obtain that power. Which is why we need to hurry,” the Scholar warned them both, “Because he will not wait to strike forever.”

---


Skingrad was a relatively peaceful, calm city that looked as though it had been built many centuries ago. The stone archways were quite impressive as the group entered the city-state, framing the roads as though they were massive, ceiling-less corridors. Jamie was quite taken with the city upon the first glimpse within its gates, her eyes shining in awe. “I knew we should’ve gone here first! There must be a bunch of things to pilfer here!” She breathed.

“So what do we do?” the Evocator asked, head tilted to the side.

“There’s magic shops here. It says so on the map,” the Scribe pointed at a newly-acquired brochure he’d received from the information stand by the city gates. “There’s also weaponry and shields... Ooh, armor too! We could equip an entire army here! Even better, there’s a stable outside. They have to have more warhorses, right? We’ll be able to get everything we need here!”

“And I’m sure the guards will just LET you do that...” the Animal Tamer retorted sassily, hands on her hips.

“Speaking of guards... One seems to be taking quite an interest in us...” the Evocator murmured to Jamie, nudging her in the side with her elbow gently. Jamie glanced up from where she and the Scribe had been looking the map over, eyes widening as she took note of two thickly-armored guards. Their helmets concealed half their faces, but their eyes gleamed mercilessly down at her.

Immediately, there were stirrings of awkwardness and uncertainty among the group. Jamie and the Witch exchanged brief glances before Jamie realized how much they stood out from the other inhabitants of Skingrad, who were constantly sending them odd glances. There was a series of ‘uh ohs’ coming from the Apprentice, albeit very quietly. A particularly odd looking bipedal lizard was eyeing them from afar as well, hand straying to a sabre at his side. The Scribe’s hand moved to his claymore, etched with sinister designs on its blade, but he did not draw it from its sheath.

“Let me see your identification,” one of the guards demanded, his shield decorated far more colorfully than that of the other guard’s. Jamie suspected that this guard was the captain, as he seemed to walk with a far better attitude and demeanor than his comrade.

It was Maverick who spoke, a wave of her usually concealed hand catching the guard’s eye, “You don’t need to see her identification.”

As, as if robotically, the guard responded, “We don’t need to see her identification.”

“These are not the bandits you’re looking for.”

“These are not the bandits we’re looking for.”

“She can go about her business.”

“She can go about her business.”

“Move along...”

“Move along! Move along!” The guards waved them along, almost in pure ecstasy. Jamie shot Maverick an odd look, eyebrows raised, but the hermit said nothing but limped along harmlessly, heavily leaning upon her staff. She figured it was best not to say anything to the strange woman, and decided to focus on the map once more.

Tracing her finger down the market, Jamie narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out the battle plan. “We’ll take the supplies from these stores,” Jamie pointed at the armory, weapon store, and magic store. “The Evocator and the Witch can deal with the magic store. I’ll take the weapon store with the Apprentice. The Animal Tamer and the Scribe can take the armory. We’ll meet back here in an hour.” She looked at the Maverick, who had continued walking despite the fact that the rest of the group had stopped and shrugged. ‘Whatever floats her boat’, Jamie figured silently, then began down the road with a bit of a bounce to her step. The Apprentice scurried along beside her, cloak trailing after her.

“So we’re going to raid a weaponry?” the Apprentice asked excitedly. Jamie put her finger to her lips, anxiously glancing at a few guards standing by a ritzy looking house. She pulled the sleeve of the Apprentice’s cloak and walked faster, eyes locked on the sign above a small shack-looking building with a sword painted on it. She smiled to herself, then opened the door, casting a gander behind at where the Witch and the Evocator were maneuvering down the street as well, attempting to look innocent. Pushing the door open, Jamie vanished into the run-down looking shop, the Apprentice catching the door with a hand and following quickly, quietly, and attempting to look ominous (though, her cloak got caught in the door and she was forced to re-open it in order to enter the shop successfully).

“Argh... Quit slamming the door! Some of us have a headache around here!”

Halfway passed out and slung over a chair was a woman with tied sandy hair- which could have potentially looked exceptionally gorgeous if it did not have a greased look to it. Wearing neutral, dull colors alongside an apron, the woman seemed to be the typical less-than-fortunate civilian of Skingrad. Jamie slowed her steps a moment, almost halting as a strong pang of alcohol hit her nostrils- the woman was either drunk or recuperating from it. The Apprentice made a face, but Jamie spoke, “Er... Hi. I’m here for weapons... I hear you’re the greatest in the city...”

“Agnete... the Pickled, they call me...” the woman forced herself on her feet, then stumbled over to Jamie, looking particularly green in the face. Jamie winced, but refused to step back, even though the thought of being puked on horrified her. “What can I do for you?”

“You’re hungover, aren’t you?” the Apprentice said quietly, eyes wide.

“Two Sisters Lodge has some nice wine... It isn’t cheap. But I can’t do ale or beer anymore. And that’s saying a lot... Especially since I’m a Nord,” Agnete replied. Jamie wasn’t sure what a ‘Nord’ was, but she didn’t particularly care at the moment. Pulling her pistol from its hidden sheath on her belt, Jamie pointed the barrel at Agnete.

“Then my job will be easier,” Jamie remarked, but Agnete seemed unafraid.

“What’s that?” A curious finger was pointed at the gun.

“A gun,” Jamie retorted, “Oh wait. I forgot. You don’t know what that is, do you?” She pointed the barrel at a nearby glass and fired, shards flying everywhere. Agnete’s eyes were stretched wide in awe, her mouth agape in horror and fascination. Jamie returned the barrel back at where it drifted at chest-level, pointed at the Nord. “Now... Give me your weapons.”

“Take it. All of it...” Agnete stammered, still clearly not fully herself. Jamie nodded to the Apprentice, who departed into the back of the store to begin taking the weapons. Jamie lowered the gun as Agnete sank to the ground, barrel pointing to the dirty floor. Agnete wept openly, sobbing and rocking back and forth in some awful mess. Jamie sighed and began to bend down to touch the crying Nord’s shoulder. In a flash, a dagger had been drawn, aimed at the pirate and thrown. Jamie knocked it away in midair with her gun, a deafening clang echoing throughout the shop.

And then Jamie realized that she had not been the only one to react so swiftly. Agnete sat hunched over, blood pooling around her skull. A frying pan lay partially broken a few feet from the unconscious blacksmith. And in the doorway leading to the back room, stood the Apprentice, horrorstruck. Jamie, who had crouched down, stood up slowly, looking down at the Nord questioningly. The Apprentice stepped forward, too, looking at the crumpled figure on the floor. “Oh God... She’s DEAD!” the Apprentice shrieked at the top of her lungs.

---


From the Corporal and the Swordmaster’s hidden home, the group had decided to embark to Earth to find the Sorceress, the next target of the Elite. Following the Corporal’s advice, the Overlord had trailed a series of rumors to a far-away desert on some remote world that had no name (that she knew of). All she knew was that the world was divided into two- the Mortal World and the Spirit World, and she currently was on the Mortal World portion, although she was not sure if she was fond of it. Swirling sands stretched as far as the eye could see, except for their destination- a very far away looking tower halfway submerged in sand. The Theurgist had vanished as far as the Overlord knew. He had been with them when they had appeared at the desert, but had left soon after- without a goodbye or explanation. She knew he would be back... Eventually. He had a knack for sticking around.

“Got a text from the Twin!” the Soul-Keeper announced proudly, waving his cellphone into the air.

“What’s it say?” the Overlord asked, glancing over her shoulder at her second-in-command.

“I haven’t opened it yet,” the Soul-Keeper admitted sheepishly, then began fiddling with his phone. A few moments later, he said, “She wants us to come back to Fort Effort. They took it over, but Fish and McCoy are badly injured. They found the Scholar!” The Soul-Keeper jumped nearly out of his skin as the Overlord took the phone from him, reading the text message herself.

“We can’t go back!” the Advisor huffed, arms folded, “We’re almost to the tower. We might as well see if the Sorceress is here, right? She’ll just have to wait.”

“She said the Scholar has to tell us something important,” the Overlord said levelly, but handed the phone back to the Soul-Keeper, “But the Advisor is right. We’re already here, my boots are sand-logged, and there’s no sense in going back.” She cast a glance at where the Grasshopper was trudging doggedly on, beads of sweat trickling down her face. Behind her, Sexist plowed on through the sand, looking worse for the wear. With a sigh, she merely hoped that they reached the tower before someone had a heat stroke.

“I’ll send a message back,” the Soul-Keeper, who had yet to shed his cloak, nodded to the Overlord and began texting swiftly. There seemed to be a decade of silence before someone spoke again. And this time, it was Sexist.

“I found a cactus.”

The Overlord wasn’t sure why he wanted to announce that. “That’s great, Sexist,” she replied with absolutely no enthusiasm. “Anyways, let’s keep-”

“No. We can open up the cactus and get water from it. I saw it on Discovery Channel once,” Sexist insisted. He took his claymore and promptly sliced through the cactus, bending down cautiously and seizing one of the chunks that had fallen into the side. Brushing off some of the sand with a finger, Sexist cringed as a spike prodded his finger and he lifted the cactus to his face, his free hand making a squeezing looking motion.

“Oh that’s awkward looking,” the Overlord snorted with laughter. The Advisor had facepalmed, though, couldn’t help but giggle. Sexist shot them a dirty look, then flicked his wrist, a swirling mass of greenish water twisting from the plant, forming into an orb drifting less than an inch from Sexist’s hand. Rather nonchalantly, he split the orb into half and directed part of it into his mouth.

“Ew...” the Grasshopper made a face.

“It... Actually doesn’t taste that bad,” Sexist replied, blinking a few times, “A little strong, though...”

“I want some! Oh! Oh! Pick me!” the Soul-Keeper flailed his hands about. Sexist obliged, guiding the remainder of the liquid into the Soul-Keeper’s gaping mouth. The Overlord sighed, shaking her head, and began toward the tower, the Grasshopper close behind. She had walked about a yard when she stopped, looked back at Sexist and Soul-Keeper, and had suddenly realized that they were not following her. Instead, they were staring up at the sky, both dumbfounded.

“What is going on back there?” the Overlord demanded harshly.

“The sky,” the Soul-Keeper replied airily, “It says hello.”

“Hello,” Sexist nodded in agreement.

“... Uh... What?” the Overlord asked, glancing up at the sky. There was nothing wrong. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a sky- complete with a few puffy, white, cotton candy clouds and a blazingly hot sun.

“So pretty...” the Soul-Keeper suddenly began flailing about, “OH MY GOD. THE FAIRIES! SEXIST! LOOK AT THE FAIRIES!” He began making grasping motions in the air with his hands, tripping over his cloak and falling onto his face multiple times.

While the Soul-Keeper seemed excited about the new fairies (which, the Overlord concluded must’ve been invisible), Sexist did not share his enthusiasm. “THEY’RE GOING TO KILL ME!” Sexist screamed, sinking to his knees and rolling over into the fetal position. “HELP! HELP! THEY WANT ME TO JOIN THEM! I WILL NOT JOIN THEM!”

“... What the hell,” the Overlord blinked at few times, exchanging confused looks with the Advisor. Trudging over to where Sexist was rolling about in the dirt, the Overlord reached down and touched his shoulder lightly. As he looked up at her, their eyes locked for a moment- and that was when she realized that his pupils were dilated. The Overlord’s expression darkened to annoyance. Sexist grabbed her arm and whispered urgently.

“Unicorns. Don’t be fooled by them. They will come out of no where...”

“Mmm hmm...” the Overlord gently pulled Sexist’s fingers from her arm, rising to her feet and glancing at where the Soul-Keeper was swinging his staff around, singing about catching fairies. “Advisor, what do you make of-”

“BEHIND YOU!” Sexist screamed, pointing at the sky behind her. Thinking that the maddened Underling was hallucinating, the Overlord did not turn. Instead she merely glanced into his fearful eyes, a pitying expression on her face.

“This is pathe-” before the last syllable could be uttered, the Overlord felt a pang of agony in the back of her skull, and she fell forward, semi-conscious, landing atop the shrieking Sexist. As her vision faded in and out, the Overlord caught glimpses of boots- several of them in fact- and a few muffled voices could be heard. Bits and pieces were beginning to fade away now- she could only tell that something was clinging onto her and that they had been attacked. After making this realization, the world faded out entirely.