TOS- Vol 2, Pt 4, Ch 34.5

The Overlord Saga

Vol II. Versus

Chapter 34.5: The Frozen Wasteland (Pt 2)

The Scholar stood before the entire army, a large, very frozen looking dry-erase board hung up on a tree before the ANF forces. Clearing her throat, the Scholar pointed at a rather crudely drawn map of the Between realm, pointing a metallic rod at a blob that was supposed to symbolize their forested campsite. “This is where we are,” She announced, then pointed at the square that was supposed to be the Fortress, “And here is DIB. Now, we have several miles of frozen permafrost between us and them...” She gestured to the blank space between the camp and the Fortress, “And to make things better, dragons are circulating the Fortress and a mile berth around the Fortress, rendering a foot assault impossible... I... Yes, Advisor?”


 “Why can’t we warp into the Fortress?” the Advisor asked impatiently, “Save us a lot of trouble.”

“When I was running from the Nemesis, I thought to warp. But there’s an anti-warp field he’s put up around the area,” the Overlord shook her head.

“Such spells are bound to something, usually an item of interest,” the Sorceress spoke up, “And if the item is damaged enough, or, well, destroyed, the barrier lowers. If we were able to destroy it, we could warp the entire army into the Fortress without issue.”

“A full-out attack with all of our forces would get the entire ANF decimated within minutes,” the Corporal spoke up in his rather suave voice. “We have fighters on the inside, right? Tell them to destroy the barrier.”

“We’ve no way to contact the Insurgent Leader from where we are,” the Overlord shook her head. She might’ve continued, but there was a sudden stir within the crowd. Turning to view who had stood in disapproval of their tactics, the Overlord was shocked to find the Ninja-Lord standing amidst the crowd.

“The Insurgent Leader is helping us?” the Ninja-Lord demanded, defiance in her eyes, “What? Why didn’t anyone tell me this?” The Overlord had almost forgotten the Ninja-Lord’s last run-in with the Insurgent Leader. Glancing at the Ninja-Lord’s metallic arm, she recoiled, eyes moving to the ground. There was still bad blood between the Insurgents and the Underlings, despite the fact that they needed to cooperate. She knew that she hated the fact that Sexist was sitting there, among her most loyal soldiers, as an equal when he should’ve been ridiculed and mocked for his treason. A momentary flashback to her escape from the initial Fortress attack made her hands clench Kagi’s hilt angrily- did she, too, still bear a grudge towards her brother for his underhanded tactics?

“It’s a matter of necessity,” the Overlord said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “We need all the help we can get. And he’s offered his help.”

“And what if he’s lying?” the Ninja-Lord demanded sneeringly, eyes narrowed at her leader as she continued to stand, bristling. “How do you know he’s going to help us? He could be LYING!”

“He wasn’t,” Sexist said quietly. The forces turned to view the ex-Insurgent, “He wasn’t lying. He’ll be there to help us. We all hate the Nemesis and everything he stands for. He’s a tyrant.”

“And what good is your word?” the Ninja-Lord yelled at Sexist.

“Ninja-Lord, we all know that what the Insurgent Leader did to you was wrong, but this time... We’re going to have to get his help,” the Evocator said quietly, “Please... Just sit down.”

“You idiots don’t understand. No. I refuse to accept his help. He’s an enemy and he always will be!” the Ninja-Lord declared loudly, her real hand clutching the frigid metal arm by the wrist. As the Evocator rose to comfort her, the Ninja-Lord threw a particularly rough shoulder at the magician and stalked away from the meeting angrily, Kunoichi, Shinobi, and Llama following her in obedient silence.

The Overlord stood in front of the others, quietly watching the ninjas go, “... Well then...” the Scholar cleared her throat, “We cannot contact the Insurgents and we have no way to get an entire army to the battlefield. Which means we have to send a platoon into the lion’s den in order to destroy this item... Provided that we can even find it.” She took a deep breath, then polished her fogged up glasses on her sleeve, “We’ll need a group to trek across the Wastelands and do this without error. Overlord, will you lead this attack?”

“No,” she replied, glancing at the Scholar, “In most cases, I’d allow the Ninja-Lord to have this honor, but since she’d been less than compliant, I’ll form the team myself. Swordmaster, Corporal. You’ll lead this mission. And you’ll take the Witch, the Evocator, the Sabotage Team, and Maverick.”

“A way to get through to the Fortress is necessary, by the way. I don’t know about you, but I don’t really feel like ice skating for several miles... Especially, you know, when there are dragons that could swoop down and eat me,” the Swordmaster spoke up in his usual sarcastic, bitter tone of voice.

“He has a point...” the Corporal added with a large grin.

“Let the Scholar and I plan this. We’ll get back to you once we’ve got a functional plan,” the Overlord held up a hand, “Once the barrier is down, we’ll send troops immediately. Belarus, climb to the beacon on the northwest tower of the gate and light it with your firestick. We’ll know to leave then. Twin, you’ll take the forces to the east wing. Jamie, you have the west. Soul-Keeper, I’ll give you the task of clearing out the Dungeon once we’re inside. I think there’s a young opera songstress who might want to see you...”

“Oh Christine... Christine...” the Soul-Keeper sang softly, holding himself in a hug.

“That’s what I figured...” the Overlord smirked, holding her staff in her right hand, “Once we’re inside, I’ll locate the Nemesis and defeat him myself. I was the one that started this problem. I’ll be the one to finish it. No one else needs to get hurt by him...” The shimmering image of the Theurgist could be seen next to the Evocator. Glancing from the ghostly specter to the gray skies, the Overlord felt a stinging tear eat at the corner of her eye. However she pressed it back, forcing herself to continue, “When we’ve entered the Fortress, the Insurgents will know to defect then. No one is to treat them as an enemy or they will hear from me. And you don’t piss off the Overlord.”

There was a heavy, tense silence. The Scholar rested a hand on the Overlord’s arm, then said, “We should go make our plans now. We’ve much to figure out.” With the nod of her head, the Overlord dismissed the war meeting, then began away from the dry-erase board, her red cape whipping behind her.


---

The Evocator found herself wandering the anxious campsite with not really a set destination in mind. The campfires had turned into bonfires more or less and were melting the icicles from the trees around the ANF camp. She smiled at the Sabotage team as they were polishing and repairing their weapons, specifically Russia who was having issues with her leadpipe. Holding it with gloves, the Underling tried to swing at someone, but found that the lack of friction made the pipe fly out of her hands entirely, soaring overhead... And smacking right on top of the Scribe’s head. Giggling to herself, the Evocator continued walking, taking notice of how the Grasshopper was being taught some interesting dance moves by the Apprentice. Choosing to ignore this and avert her eyes, the Evocator found herself at the outskirts of camp, particularly by where Sexist was bundled up in a blanket and drinking some hot chocolate.

“Mind if I join you?” the Evocator plopped down next to him, warming her gloved hands by the fire. Sexist nodded his head up and down and blew a twig of long blonde hair from his eyes.

“... I need a haircut...” he mumbled.

“Could always put it up in a ponytail,” the Evocator remarked with a smug look on her face. She sighed and rocked back and forth a bit on the log she was sitting on. Trying to hide the fact that her teeth were chattering, she glanced down at the fire, lost in thought a moment. She knew that if the Theurgist had still been around, she’d have had someone to snuggle. Someone to share a blanket with. Someone to talk to that she didn’t feel like a complete stranger to.

In all honesty, the Evocator wasn’t sure why she said it. But she just felt the words come out randomly, “I don’t blame you for what happened to the Theurgist.” Sexist had apparently been anticipating this, though tried not to let it show. He shifted uncomfortably, but she continued, “I know... I came off as harsh before. When you joined us... I just didn’t know what to think. Who to blame. I thought you were the one that caused all of this. But... I can see now that you aren’t.”

“I was wondering what was with the sudden attitude change...” Sexist mused to himself bitterly.

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s the Nemesis’. And he’s going to pay for what he did...” the Evocator’s voice trailed off, “And, the Overlord might hate you for what happened, but I don’t. You’re one of us now, and you’re going to be from now on. You’ve... learned your lesson...”

“I don’t regret trying to be free,” Sexist admitted quietly, “I don’t regret that I tried. I just regret what it took.”

“I understand that...” the Evocator was holding back tears, “And one day, she’ll understand it, too.”

“I wish she’d understand it now. She thinks I don’t notice? The glares. How she’s always avoiding me. She looks at me like I’m some sort of abomination,” Sexist laughed humorlessly, “In a way, it’s sort of funny.”

“One day, people will accept what happened and they’ll move along with life. But... It’s just so hard when the wounds are fresh. I could never bring myself to forgive the Nemesis. Not now at least...” the Evocator replied and the two fell silent for a moment. Sexist picked up a piece of ice that was melting from the heat of the fire and began to toss it back and forth in his hands thoughtfully. The Evocator watched him, then added, “Life here isn’t so bad, you’ll find. You were here before, you... might learn to like it.”

“We’ll see...” Sexist mumbled.

“Don’t be so emo!” the Evocator scolded lightly, “And sitting here by yourself isn’t going to solve much. Come on... You still need to be fitted for your ANF armor, right? Might as well get something productive done while we have downtime.”

“Hm. I suppose so...” Sexist stood up after finishing his hot chocolate. The Evocator joined him, then stepped over the log they’d been sitting on, walking towards the armory. Sexist followed her, catching sight of the cloaked Maverick as she sat beneath a tree, observing him silently.
‘What a creep’, he thought, trying to shrug off the sinister grin on the hermit’s face.

---

The Scholar sat at a separate campfire, arms tucked into her sleeves. Glancing over at where the other members of the Elite sat, she cleared her throat, then stated, “It’s been awhile since we were all here together.” There was an immediate, overwhelming silence. The Twin shifted in her chair awkwardly, glancing at the ground stiffly. The Swordmaster’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. Venice remained motionless, expressionless.

“There’s a giant elephant in the camp,” the Corporal remarked casually, “And I figure we might as well shove it in a corner and save it for later. When we’re not, you know, at the verge of a major crisis.”

“The fact is that we let our guard down when we split,” the Sorceress said regretfully. “Something like this should never have happened. It was our duty to make sure the Between was not harmed.”

“She’s right,” Venice’s voice was quiet, mellowed, and soft. She ran a hand through her long brown hair, then looked back at the others, remorse in her eyes. The other Elite members had gone completely and utterly still. “We fought over the stupidest things. It all seemed so important at the time. But it was stupid. And it was wrong.”

“So what happens now?” the Twin asked, arms folded, “Are you suggesting we re-start the Elite?”

“No. I’m suggesting that we remember what our task was,” Venice replied, glancing over at the Twin calmly. “We’ve all changed so much. But the fact is that the threats here remain the same. Perhaps we could still be Elite members... But with our own posts. Our own jobs, positions, through various parts of the world.”

“Suggests the one that ditched this Realm entirely,” the Swordmaster remarked scathingly, standing up and stretching, “I’ve been doing my job. Granted... It hasn’t been easy...”

“No. You and Woodson have been sitting around playing Halo. Not protecting the Second Realm,” the Scholar chided, “Honestly, we were given a task. We need to fulfill it to the best of our abilities. The Overlord’s trying to complete her mission, and it’s motivated me enough to start trying to complete ours as well!”

“I’ve a Fort. An army. And I’m kind of happy with the way things are going for me now that DIB is out of my place,” the Twin remarked. “I can’t just up and leave.”

“Here’s a better idea... Let’s wait and see what happens. We very well all might die in the incoming fight,” the Swordmaster pointed out, “As unlikely as it seems for us to die now, it’s a possibility. So let’s not make too huge of plans, mmkay?”

“Oh Swordmaster, always so wise and benevolent,” the Corporal beamed sarcastically, fluttering his eyelashes before laughing raucously, “Nothing’s going to happen. So don’t worry about it.”

“I... Wouldn’t be too sure,” the Scholar frowned, “You are leading a highly dangerous expedition into very dangerous territory, Corporal Woodson. Something could very well happen to you.”

“I could also take a sip of this tea...” he picked up a goblet and took a swig of the sweeted tea before setting the golden cup back down. After swallowing, he finished, “... And choke to death. Death’s all around us. It’s not like it’s that far, just a hop over to the Third Realm.”

“Hilarious as ever,” the Sorceress rolled her eyes and playfully swatted at the Corporal.

“Regardless...” the Scholar began firmly, “We’ve a lot on our plate with this battle. A lot is at stake here, and we cannot afford to slack off on our efforts any longer. Woodson, Matthew- the fate of this campaign ultimately rests on you.” She tapped her hand with her rod weapon lightly, leering at the two over her glasses. The Swordmaster had a cookie crammed in his face, but bobbed his head up and down in understanding. The Corporal merely shrugged it off casually, then leaned back, hands folded behind his head smugly. The Scholar pushed her glasses up further on the bridge of her nose, then huffed a sigh, “Well, I suppose that’s settled, then! We’ll have to wait to see what fate has in store for the Second Realm.”

“If fate has anything at all in store for the Second Realm...” Venice remarked quietly, looking across the frozen wasteland and toward the halfway-crumbling Fortress.

---


The Overlord stood in her tent once more, staring at her reflection as if trying to decipher what exactly was different about her. She checked her eyes- green as spring and alight with fire- but they still seemed unusual. Old, perhaps, aged with worry and fear. Unlike the bright eyes of the ninja that had left Tamashii that fateful night, bent on the destruction of the Uberlord’s dark army. Did she remember the old days? Yes, more vividly now, but she didn’t want to think of that now. Every time she thought of Tamashii, she thought of Warwick. She thought of what happened, and the newfound memories came flooding back once more. The funny part about it all was the coldness that consumed her, clawing at her heart and tearing into her mind. For once, it seemed like the fire within had died, the passion for fighting had been diminished...

... Replaced with a lust for death. There was such a difference between killing and fighting. One had an art. The other had mindless rage. And she was beginning to succumb to it. She clutched the hilt of her sword, pupils narrowing as she felt a brief wave of hatred overcome her. She wanted to cleave the mirror in half, forget what had happened to her, and forget that Alexi had died.

“Firebrand they call ye. Or so Maverick did,” Maverick’s voice was a whisper for once, as opposed to its typical brash obnoxiousness. “Because Maverick saw Saevio within you. The uncontrollable fury in battle. As the Vikings had their berserkers, the Underlings have you.”

“I’ll use it. I’ll tear through him and make him regret ever showing his face,” the Overlord’s voice was callous.

“Saevio will not save you. It is a blind rage. And it leads to destruction only,” Maverick cautioned, waddling over to the Overlord’s side, “The Nemesis... He has Firebrand’s scythe. The thief’s bounty hath been stolen!”

“I took that scythe from the Grim Reaper himself,” the Overlord retorted, “I have every intention of getting it back.”

“He who holds the scythe is the Grim Reaper. Is death. Caution, Firebrand... Caution...” Maverick whispered, clutching her staff with both hands, “The Vikings had Saevio in their veins, but they also had something else in their beliefs.”

“I think I know what you’re talking about. But I don’t think I like it,” the Overlord remarked, glancing down into the Maverick’s dark brown eyes, “Are you implying I ought to do something incredibly drastic and dramatic... For plotline’s sake?”

“Or for your own sake. Though... I do not recommend venturing beyond the body very long. Don’t want to end up like your father, do you?” Maverick teased, though the Overlord merely recoiled at the remark She didn’t ask how the hermit knew. She had learned long ago not to question these things. Maverick cackled, then shrugged her shoulders, “The chains that bind Firebrand... ought to break free.”

“I want to kill.”

“And so you shall.”


---

Night had fallen upon the campsite. Sexist found himself walking in the woods, bored from simply sitting and waiting with the rest of the ANF forces. He bent a few branches back as he walked, his armor clanking against a trunk he bumped into. He exhaled loudly, watching wisps of his breath drift into the air before him. It was so cold- but he felt perfectly fine. He wondered why this was, but didn’t want the answer. Somewhere, inside, he knew the answer. Passing by a frozen pond, he ran his hand over a partially frozen-through tree, recalling the woods as they usually were in the summer. He remembered when he had been the General of the Insurgents, appointed by the Insurgent Leader himself at the start of the Insurgent-Underling Army wars. He remembered how the Second Realm had been under the reign of the Dark Legion- the Uberlord’s troops. Things were so different now... So frozen.

“Fall away...
My soul wandered,
Borne by grace.
I flew on high,
Sheltered from this thunder.
Calling Heaven...”

The voice was a rustle within the leaves, startling him as he looked through the winterland. He swore he saw someone stirring amidst the trees and bushes, far-off in the distance. As any fool in any fantasy story, he pursued, moving as quietly as he could through the trees in his silver armor. He hadn’t gotten far before he heard the next set of lyrics, muttered, though loud enough for him to hear.

“Take me away from time and season
Far, far away we’ll sing with reason.
Prepare a throne of stars above me,
As the world once known will leave me...”

“What are you doing?” Someone hissed behind him. Sexist whirled around to see the Soul-Keeper, standing amidst the snowy forest with his hood down and black hair swirling in the gale. He looked different without his hood up- Sexist almost had pictured him to be so young and normal looking.

Sexist put a finger to his lips, quieting the Overlord’s second-in-command. Pointing at where someone was moving up ahead, Sexist motioned for the Soul-Keeper to follow him. The two set off in silence, the Soul-Keeper clutching his wooden staff in one hand as he followed Sexist through the woods.

“Take me away upon a plateau
Far, far away from fears and shadow
Strengthen my heart in times of sorrow,
Light the way to bright tomorrows.

Answer our call in desperate hours
Shelter our fall from earthly powers,
Temper our souls with flame and furnace,
Bear us toward a noble purpose...”

“It’s a woman,” the Soul-Keeper realized.

“It’s the Overlord,” Sexist exchanged looks with the Soul-Keeper, confused and intrigued at the same time.

“Heaven hides nothing in its measure,
Mortal men blinded by false treasure,
Formless and vanquished, we shall travel,
Shield and sword will guide our battle.”

She was standing at the edge of the woods by now, clad fully in armor. Her staff hung at her back, Kagi at her side. She was alone as far as the other two could tell. Her helmet was tucked under her arm, her light brown hair blowing in the wind as she faced the Fortress, her green eyes narrowed angrily at the enemy’s lair. The Soul-Keeper made a move to approach her, but Sexist held out an arm, shooting him a cautious, yet imperative look.

“Salvation comes in desperate hours,
Angels on high proclaim these powers,
Lead us from chaos- we shall follow,
Bear us to a bright tomorrow.”

“What’s she doing?” Sexist whispered, looking at the Soul-Keeper imploringly.

“I... have no freaking idea. But it seems important, so let’s watch,” the Soul-Keeper nodded.

The Overlord had placed her helmet upon her head, the feathers blowing in the wind as she faced the Frozen Wasteland. Sexist couldn’t quite tell what was happening, but suddenly, she was on her knees, as if having some sort of episode. Gasping for air, she held herself up with two hands, coughing and violently spasming. The Overlord was dying- Sexist was sure of it. She fell completely and he took a few steps forward to help her, but found that the Soul-Keeper was holding him firmly by the shoulder.

“No...” the Soul-Keeper shook his head, “No, I know what she’s doing... I’ve seen this...”

“She’s dying!” Sexist hissed.

“No, no, trust me...” the Soul-Keeper pulled Sexist back into the bushes.

Golden lines ran across her body, as it they were being etched in her skin. As they formulated around her chest, they suddenly shot forth, taking the shape of a massive dog creature. As the golden entity took the shape of some monstrous wolf-human, the Overlord’s body fell to the ground, a crystal shield concealing it. Sexist watched the massive biped wolf as it rose from the ground, partially clothed and wielding a sheath containing a massive curved blade. Its hair fell in some beaded and braided mane, fang tips exposed from under its lips. Its dark fur rippled in the harsh wind, and then, it surged forth, all four legs gripping the ice with each stride. A piercing howl shook the Between, slicing through the ice. Pulses of fire shot forth from the earth, spiraling into the sky and melting the snow. Cracks of lava and fire veined through the permafrost, spreading throughout the Wasteland.

Sexist wasn’t sure what he was watching, but it seemed terrifying and amazing all at the same time. “Fenrisulfr,” the Soul-Keeper was saying, watching as the dark-furred creature tore through the ice in its maddened sprint at the Fortress. “It’s her spirit unleashed. Like Ryuu. Like the Zilant.” The Soul-Keeper turned and looked at where the Twin, Jamie, and the Swordmaster had gathered behind them.

“Holy crap,” Jamie stammered, arms folded, “I knew she was going to snap one of these days.”

“The platoon! The one to disable the shield!” the Twin began excitedly, “They can get across.”

“We have a giant effin’ wolf tearing up crap right now. Do we really need that platoon?” the Swordmaster complained. He was answered with a series of glares. Sighing and shrugging, he began sulking away, muttering something about gathering the Corporal and the others for the mission.

“She won’t stay that way for long,” Maverick appeared suddenly, standing amidst the gatherers with a smug look on her features, “Enough time to clear the skies temporarily. Look...” She pointed at where Fenrisulfr had leapt into the sky, blade cleaving into a dragon. As the dragon came spiraling down from the heavens, the massive beast had moved on to another of the flying lizards, howling ferociously.

“Twin, ready the troops. Captain, Lieutenant, help the Overlord take down the dragons. She’s melted enough ice so you guys can get within missile-firing range,” the Scholar appeared as well, beaming at the melting ice. “We’ll have a distraction force at the front so that the Swordmaster and Corporal can sneak in without problem. Maybe the Nemesis will take the bait and will send all his guards to the frontline.”

“Doubtful, but sure,” Jamie shrugged, “I’m all up for a butt-kicking. It’s high time we finished this dang war.”

“Her body...” the Soul-Keeper cast a glance at the concealed form of the Overlord, dormant and lifeless.

“Don’t worry. She’ll be fine,” the Twin clapped her hands, “We gonna kick some ass now.”

TOS- Vol 2, Pt 4, Ch 34

The Overlord Saga

Vol II. Versus

Part IV - Fire and Ice

“Fire and Ice
Light and Dark
Longing and Vice
Blades clash with a spark
In this never-ending fight
There are scars that can never mend
Though they are out of sight
No one knows what will happen in the end.”

Chapter 34: The Frozen Wasteland (pt 1)

The Between lay before the campsite in all of its newly frozen glory. The crimson sky, now completely blotted out by a dark blanket of blue-gray clouds, was alien to the Overlord, creating a wintery feel about the Second Realm as she cast her eyes over the icicles that dangled precariously from the branches. Reaching up and snapping a particularly large sickle from a tree, she melted it with a bare palm, smiling as the steam rose into the air.

The Insurgents’ old camp had been re-made into the ANF campsite. Tents had been erected, banners strewn among the frigid branches, and the snow had melted along the edges of their campfires. The soldiers on guard stood, shivering in their armor, which had been provided for by Jamie’s efforts on Cyrodiil. The Twin had introduced the Overlord to the new recruits the previous day, which consisted of, most notably, Jason Bourne and Chuck Norris. However, there were whispers of who DIB had recruited and the Overlord was dismayed to hear that their enemy had doubled their forces since the initial assault on the Fortress.

Previously, the ANF generals had been decided as the Overlord, the Twin, Jamie, the Witch (who insisted), Elwell (as a representative of the Wises), and Venice Vedette (as she was the oldest of the Elite). Though an attack from Fort Effort had seemed plausible, the Scholar had pointed out later on that the Twin’s forces were blocked by the mountains that separated Fort Effort from the Fortress. Travel on the ice caps would have been impossible, leading to a direct attack from the Insurgents’ forest. But a problem had been caught upon entering the Wastelands in which the Fortress lay- and that was a massive layer of permafrost and ice that stretched to the very gates of dragon-guarded Fortress. The Nemesis’ bestial followers would have picked the army to pieces from the sky, and so the ANF forces were unable to strike... Yet.

In her tent, the Overlord stood before a large mirror, inspecting the new fiery armor that had been forged for her. It was much more decorated than any previous armor set she had ever owned- all of which now were being kept by the Nemesis (though she doubted he could fit into any of them). The armor was primarily silver, with the cape resembling fire- shades of crimson intertwined with orange and yellow. The armor plates covered her vitals, but were not overbearing at all. The Overlord could still move and run as fast as ever. She wore her infamous battle boots- black, reinforced with silver. The most notable part was the helm, formed so that it resembled the head of a phoenix, with the sides curling in around her cheeks like wings, leaving her face exposed. Large red plumes fell from the crest, adding onto the decor. She placed the helmet upon her head, and grasped Kagi’s hilt tightly.

“You look...” A voice interrupted her. She hadn’t expected to have company. Glancing back over her shoulder, she spied the Evocator, dressed in a white, ornate button-up over-shirt that flowed down past her knees, opened in the center to reveal a pair of neat capris and a simple black shirt. She buried part of her mouth in a cape-like scarf that wrapped around her neck, warming her from the chilled air outside. The Evocator finished, head tilted to the side, “... Like an Overlord.”

“I haven’t felt like one for awhile,” the Overlord nodded, adjusting her gloves, “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

The Evocator nodded, watching the Overlord in silence. The Overlord removed the helmet, then began fiddling with one of the feathers, awkwardly trying to ignore the giant proverbial elephant in the room. But it was the Evocator that spoke, “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I’ve been avoiding you,” the Overlord echoed in a confession.

“Ever since Alexi died...” the Evocator’s voice was already cracking, eyes already moist with forming tears. “It’s been hard. It’s been hard to talk to you. It’s been hard... to even think about all of this.”

“I know,” the Overlord didn’t look at her. “I didn’t know what to say to you. I didn’t know how you felt. Hell, I thought you hated me.”

“I could never... Not because...” the Evocator’s voice grew very soft, almost motherly. But it changed, growing more withdrawn and quiet, “I just... want to know what happened.” She was clutching something in her hand. The Overlord made it out as a journal, leather-bound and neat looking under her frantic fingers. The pages seemed flawless, though a small scrap of paper stuck out from the corner. She could barely make-out the Theurgist’s handwriting.

“The Theurgist attempted to bind himself with God,” the Overlord’s voice was plain, almost heartless. It was the only way to keep herself from losing it. To stop succumbing into tears like she wanted to... “No one can do it. Not alone. He tried... He created an explosion big enough to stun the Nemesis temporarily. He told me to run. So I honored his last wish.”

“He gave this to me. This note,” the Evocator held it out shakily to the Overlord, who took it gratefully before glancing down to see what it said. Blotches in the ink revealed where the paper had once been wet- tears, she assumed, but whether they were Theurgist’s or the Evocator’s, she had no idea.

“ ‘Overlord’,” the Overlord began to read, uncertain, “ ‘Today is the day that I have dreamt of for years. By the time you receive this letter, you will undoubtedly be on the eve of battle and about to pledge yourself to a fight you cannot afford to lose. Your fate has been decided by the higher powers, Overlord. And you need to know that before you leave to fight the Nemesis, you will-’ ”

“Uhhhh Overlord?” it was McCoy- bandaged but in his trenchcoat. The Overlord grimaced at a particularly nasty burn wound on his cheek- a reminder of what they were up against. “Two things...” McCoy held up one finger, “Blondie escaped somewhere between leaving Fort Effort and getting here.” Second finger was raised as well now, “There’s a lady here to see you.”

“Blondie’s gone?” the Overlord scowled, “Whatever. He’s useless, he’ll die in the upcoming fight. Bring the visitor in here, McCoy. And take it easy... Tell Fish to rest, too. And see the Sorceress before you two hit the battlefront.”

“Of course!” McCoy saluted, then disappeared. A few moments later, a woman in a striped jock jacket walked in, her hair short and blonde. Viewing the tent in disdain, the lady folded her arms and stared right at the Overlord.

“Just what kind of army do you think you’re running here?” the lady demanded in a rather snippy tone. The Overlord was taken aback, the Evocator even recoiling as though she’d been hit. But nothing was said in response. “What sort of freak show are you running here?”

“Hello, I’m the Overlord, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the Overlord said blandly, her expression clearly disdainful of the newcomer. “See this, Evocator?” She pointed at the lady rather casually, “Even the mortal paparazzi is following us across the worlds. Ain’t it tough being a celebrity?”

“I beg your pardon. You think that’s hard? Welcome to the life of Sue Sylvester,” the lady retorted.

“Excuse me?” the Overlord remarked with a scoff. “Who?”

“This story is a load of crap,” Sue continued, ignoring the Overlord, “The stench of its cliche plotline is... About as overwhelming as that hideous outfit.” Sue gestured to the Evocator’s new outfit, “It looks like you took that off of a cadaver... It smells like you took that off of a cadaver.”

“... So who are you again?” the Overlord asked in confusion.

“Sue Sylvester. Cheerleading coach. Five-time champion at nationals. News reporter, Sue’s Corner, have you ever heard of it?” Sue slurped a portion of her protein shake, glaring at the Overlord and the Evocator as though they were stupid. “I’m here because no story is good without Sue Sylvester. Let me get that cleared before you think it has to do with me being a good guy.”

“You’re here to join the ANF?” the Overlord asked, incredulous. “Can you even FIGHT?”

“Of course not. I was only a POW during the Civil War, and an admiral during World War II. I liberated France from those pesky Nazis. Do you think I’m useless?” Sue Sylvester demanded, taking another slurp from her shake.

“You... What...?” Evocator frowned, “How is that...?”

“I... I don’t even know...” the Overlord sighed, “You’re obnoxious enough. Maybe you’ll scare the DIB soldiers away.”

“I resent being called obnoxious. I prefer the term pro-noise,” Sue retorted, but stalked out of the tent rather defiantly. The Overlord offered a shrug to the Evocator, then began to step out of the tent.

“So... Everything is fine between us... right?” the Evocator asked quietly, watching the Overlord as she left. “I don’t want things to be awkward. I just... Want to go home. And I want to forget that any of this ever happened. Well... Not Alexi... I don’t want to forget him.”

“I don’t think you ever could,” the Overlord responded, a hint of sorrow in her voice, “Evocator... I’ll fight for him. I’ll fight the Nemesis in his memory. There’s so much that I owe him...” She found her voice cracking. Through the partially opened tent flap, the wind blew into the tent, causing a chill to run down her spine. For a moment, she saw the Theurgist’s partially transparent form etched in the breeze, but it faded away. “... This is my way of thanking him.”

“I’ll fight for him, too...” the Evocator promised quietly, “I’ll make him proud.”

“He already is,” the Overlord smiled half-way, then glanced down at the ground, “I know he is.”

“What?” the Evocator asked, eyebrows raised.

“We’ve all... grown up a bit,” the Overlord nodded, “And when this is all over? We’ll all have learned from what’s happened. I know that I’ll be a better leader now. And that things... Things will get better from here on out. I promise.”

“Thank you...” the Evocator lowered her head, “So much...”

The Overlord walked away quietly, helmet tucked under her arm. She looked at the Grasshopper, who was sitting with the Animal Tamer and the Apprentice, warming her hands by the fire. Placing a friendly hand atop her heir’s head, the Overlord ruffled her now blonde hair, smiling to herself as she looked across the campsite. Everything seemed calm, but not peaceful. It was the quiet before the storm. She tried to lift her moods, but thoughts plagued her- how would they cross the frozen wasteland? She saw Fish sitting on a log, arm being inspected by the Sorceress. The Scholar was observing Fish’s claws, which had grown longer and were now retractable. She was busily writing things down in her notepad, excitedly bouncing up and down.

The Corporal was with the Captain and the Lieutenant, exchanging war stories, no doubt. The Swordmaster was with the Ninja Squadron, each polishing their katanas in respectful, almost sacred silence. The Overlord glanced at where the Twin was sitting in a tree, leaned back and texting on her phone quietly. Centurion Ifill was leaning against the trunk below, sitting with Jamie, the Scribe, Belarus, and the Advisor. The Witch was trying to bend some of the fire from the campfire into the shape of an alligator- the Overlord was unsure what had brought this about. Maverick sat in a corner of the campsite, silently watching and waiting. The Overlord felt her eyes on her and looked away, trying to brush it off.

The Soul-Keeper was standing guard, quiet for once, as he looked out at the Fortress. Sexist was not far away, leaning against a tree in his usual brooding position. The silhouettes of dragons stood out against the dark sky, their large forms circling the upper towers.

“You’ve grown up,” Venice stood behind the Overlord, hands on her hips, “I remember when you were just a small little fledgling of a fighter.”

“We’ve all changed,” the Overlord glanced over her shoulder, looking at her old idol with placid green eyes, “The Fatal Duelist they call you now. It’s rather fitting,” the Overlord sighed, seeing her breath in the air before her. She grabbed at it, watching the wisps as they danced around her fingers and vanished.

“And you, the Phoenix General,” Venice smiled, “It’s good to see the younger generations stepping up where the Elite left off. I just hope that what we have is enough.”

“I know the feeling,” the Overlord said bitterly. She breathed in, then exhaled slowly, “I’d like to say we have more spirit than the Dark Ice Brotherhood. But even our spirits seem low in this weather.” She reached out with a toe and nudged a chunk of ice, sighing as it rolled over limply.

“Come on. I know you’re not going to give up that easily,” Venice replied, “You’re supposed to be my ‘little me’. Isn’t that what the others used to say?” The Overlord glanced down and smiled, closing her eyes and nodding her head vigorously. Venice laughed, then added, “Then you’ll find a way. No doubt about it.” The Overlord watched as Venice walked away, left with her thoughts.

---


Fish and McCoy sat near the fire, quietly watching as it settled down. Taking a small stick, McCoy prodded at the flames, other arm still in a sling kept close to his chest. There was silence for a moment, before the former Insurgent said, “The Insurgent Leader is planning on betraying the Nemesis.” Fish’s head bobbed up and down silently. He flexed his claws, watching as they glinted off the firelight. McCoy fell silent a few moments, then asked abruptly, “What do you think will happen when this all ends?”

“That depends...” Fish replied, “Will things go back as to how they were before? Or maybe the question is... could they?”

“The Insurgent Leader will accept me once things have changed. Back into the army. Back into my old position, too,” McCoy prodded the flames some more and an odd silence fell over the two. “Come with me. I’d hate to see you sit here and rot under her rule.”

“I swore an oath...” Fish said uncertainly, looking up at McCoy, “Just as you swore an oath to the Insurgent Leader. I’d... rather not break it.”

McCoy was quiet, pensive as he stared into the roaring crimson and orange. He tilted his hat to where it rested further back on his head, itching his brow. Offering a shrug, he fought to keep the disappointment from his voice, “I suppose I can’t argue with that. If it’s a matter of honor and all.”

“We’re friends. And we’ll always be such...” Fish sighed, “Why are we even talking about this? We don’t even know if we’ll win.”

A stirring shadow roused McCoy to his feet, crouching down and moving his hand for his machine gun. Maverick merely slid into view, tucked into her hooded robe and concealing her face. A twig of dark hair could be seen from beneath the smooth cloth, but that was all. Her voice, slightly slurred with exhaustion, creaked through the air ominously, “Careful, careful, should the footsoldiers speak. Maverick hears all. Even the doubts. Doubts that the generals need not hear. Morale is as low as the temperatures.”

“What say you about the upcoming battle?” McCoy asked, changing the subject abruptly. There was no sense in arguing with her.

“Fanged flames and clawed ice
Willpower surpassing all.
God hath rolled His dice
To see which shall take their fall.”

As the small poem ended, Maverick rose from the earth and began to carry herself away, but not before uttering above her shoulder, “The ANF has spirit that no ice can freeze. Take heart in that, says Maverick, or else ye shall be as happy as an emo donkey.”

“A donkey?” Fish and McCoy asked simultaneously.

“No. Not a mere donkey, but an emo one, says the Maverick,” Maverick scolded lightly, a finger wagged at both the Insurgent and the Underling. She tucked her hands back into her sleeves, gazing at them with her dark eyes momentarily before fading off into the shadows.


---


The Captain and the Lieutenant sat in silence, the latter taking a soiled looking rag to the barrel of his rifle. He allowed the rag to caress the gun, tenderly looking down at the black gun as though he was viewing a baby. While the Captain sat with a stern, disgruntled, yet thoughtful look on his face, his left hand stroked the small dark head of a kitten, who seemed rather disgruntled at being shoved in the Captain’s coat pocket. As the kitten gave a grumpy ‘mrrw’ at its owner, the Captain merely placed a finger on the cat’s head and shoved it back into the pocket with a very firm, “No.”

Having nothing else better to do, the Animal Tamer was walking through the campsite, bundled in a hat and a large coat. She had been forced to leave Fluffy at Fort Effort, as the temperatures were too extreme for a cold-blooded reptile, so she’d become rather used to riding Otto around the camp. However, after she’d accidentally toppled her sister’s tent, Otto had been put ‘time out’ and she was left without a steed. Taking notice of the two Zombie Headhunters, the Animal Tamer had bounced over to them, rather bored with the rest of the army. “... Is that a cat in your pocket?” she inquired, dark brown eyes wide as she stared at the Captain in disbelief.

“Jon, why is Ding in your pocket again?” the Lieutenant asked in his typical ‘almost-scolding-but-not-really’ voice.

“He’s quite terrifying,” Jon fished into his coat pocket and brought out the little black kitten in his palm, holding him up for the Animal Tamer to see. “DJ Dingler Esteban Catastrophic! ... Or just Ding.”

The Animal Tamer glanced from the small kitten to the large, camouflage-suited, bazooka-bearing Underling, and stifled a giggle, “I didn’t think you liked kitties, Captain!” There was a squeal of pure amusement in her voice.

“He is not a kitty. He is a kitten,” the Captain corrected her, in time for Ding to reach up and attempt to bite his nose. However, before the feline’s fangs could make contact, the Captain opened his mouth and placed the cat’s head inside. The Animal Tamer stopped laughing- immediately, and replaced her smile with a look of sheer horror.

“OH MY GOSH, DON’T EAT HIM!”

“Relax!” the Lieutenant began in an attempt to reassure her.

“HE’S GONNA EAT HIM!”

“No, no, Robin, he’s just-”

“OH MY GOSH! AHHHHH!”

“... It’s a sign of dominance!”

The Captain removed Ding’s head from his mouth and the kitten sat in his hand, perplexed and stunned looking. With a smug look, the Captain replaced Ding in his coat pocket, and shrugged the entire incident off casually. “He’s fine,” the Captain sounded incredibly apathetic, despite the amusement in his eyes. The Lieutenant chuckled at the Animal Tamer’s horrified expression, laughing even more as she began to walk away, stunned and appalled by what she saw.

“C-come on, Nard... let’s go find Ichy and warn him to stay away from the Zombie Headhunters!” the Animal Tamer muttered, looking down at the little white, fluffy dog as he stared at her, tongue sticking out. “It’s a miracle your tongue hasn’t frozen over!” She added, scooping him off, and walking back toward her tent.

---


Blondie reached the Fortress, unsure of how this happened. Grasping his bleeding side (his previous, healing wounds had opened up in the flight from the campsite), he leaned against the gates into the inner gardens of the Fortress, his nails scratching against the stone. Voice hoarse, he threw his head back and called out, “HEY! OPEN THE GATES!” His shirt was bloodied, with stains from where he’d fallen in the wet, freezing snow. Blonde hair matted and in his eyes, he inhaled deeply, feeling incredibly light-headed. “In the name of the Dark Ice Brotherhood... Open... the... Gates...” He wheezed, coughed, then bent over, sinking to a knee.

As the gates creaked and cracked open, the snarl of a dragon could be heard overhead. Blondie ignored this, knowing that the Nemesis’ pets would not harm him. Standing on the other side of the gates, Blondie recognized the Insurgent Leader, his former leader before the Dark Ice Brotherhood had started. Grabbing the wounded soldier’s arm, the Insurgent Leader silently began to help Blondie into the safety of the Fortress’ inner grounds, the freezing gale blowing through his short, spiked blonde hair. Insurgent Tinkerbell and Insurgent Batman could be seen on the steps into the Fortress, both armed and looking on as the Insurgent Leader brought Blondie towards the building.

“They’re in the woods... your old campsite...” Blondie coughed, “They’re going to attack soon...”

“I see...” the Insurgent Leader cast a glance at Tinkerbell, who merely inclined his head ever so slightly. Batman folded his arms into the nook between his upper arm and chest, shivering as he did so. The three exchanged knowing looks before the Insurgent Leader added onto his response, “Who is there? How many?”

“There are many. Enough to... kill us all...” Blondie was fighting for the strength to speak. “If they get past the dragons...”

“If.” Tinkerbell remarked, “We still have a chance.”

“McCoy is with them. So is Eric. They’ve been stealing our soldiers...” Blondie’s voice was faint and far-off. The Insurgent Leader helped him into the doors, walking past a few masked and stoic soldiers that the Nemesis had employed. As usual, they remained still, as statues did, unmoving and uncaring. The Insurgent Leader glanced at one of the still warriors, fairly convinced that they were not even human.

“Fetch Agent and Norris from the training grounds,” the Insurgent Leader nodded to Insurgent Batman, then glanced at Tinkerbell, “Help me get him up the stairs.” Tinkerbell nodded and took Blondie’s other side, careful not to let the wounded DIB member see the hint of a smirk on his features. The Insurgent Leader began up the stairs slowly, weighted down heavily by Blondie’s much taller form. As they fought up the flights of stairs, the Insurgent Leader cast a glance back at where the almost soulless DIB soldiers stood at each hallway, their icy blue armor reflecting off the cold lights that illuminated the corridors.

Upon reaching the Insurgent Leader’s room, Tinkerbell and the Insurgent Leader set Blondie upon the bed. Tinkerbell immediately went to the door and locked it, a hand moving to a curved blade at his side, smirking to himself as he looked at the Insurgent Leader. Rather relieved that they had made it this far without interrupting, the Insurgent Leader bent over Blondie, examining his wounds. Blondie was observing a small kennel and water dish that lay unused.

“I had a dog,” the Insurgent Leader said awkwardly to break the silence. He remembered the hellhound that had been staying with him- his own dark summon that had faded several days ago. A glance at his hand would reveal that the dark magic mark had faded, though still could be seen vaguely etched into his flesh. “... He died.” Darkness had become his element- permanently. His sister’s disapproval would do nothing to change this now, because it was impossible to let it go. Black magic had bound itself to his bones, his very blood- and this had even been done against his will. But there was nothing limiting him to use this for evil... The Insurgent Leader still had his morals in check. And that was why he was doing what he had to.

“I’m sorry,” Blondie responded, equally as awkward.

“The Anti-Nemesis Faction has surpassed everyone’s expectations and will be marching to our doorstep any day now,” the Insurgent Leader pulled up a chair and sat next to where Blondie lay, reaching a hand out to touch a large gasp on his arm. As he began to heal the DIB member, the Insurgent Leader continued, “It was a mistake, Blondie... To join DIB.”

“I left your pathetic group when I knew we had no chance,” Blondie’s voice was venomous to the extent that the Insurgent Leader recoiled slightly, but kept the healing magic flowing, “The Nemesis offered me power if he said I could get the famous Insurgent Leader to help his cause...”

“So that’s why a peon like you got such a high rank,” Tinkerbell scoffed, despite the Insurgent Leader’s warning glare.

“The Insurgents will march once more, but this time, against DIB,” the Insurgent Leader replied, “You can either re-join us as your old rank- a footsoldier- or die with the Nemesis. The Overlord and I have forged a contract that surpasses the Dark Ice Brotherhood’s.”

“You’ll team up with that bitch just to make things how they used to be? Where you lived in a damn forest and continued to fail to complete your mission every day? You want to be a failure, Insurgent Leader?” Blondie said scathingly, “You traitor!”

“Things were better back then. Better than they are now. I cannot pledge my sword to a dishonorable wretch like him,” the Insurgent Leader’s voice had gotten cold. He had stopped healing Blondie and rose, Muramasa in hand, “You will commit your blade to my cause or to no cause entirely. Be grateful I’m allowing you the chance to live.”

“The Nemesis will do you in just like he’ll do the Overlord in!” Blondie roared. Tinkerbell seized him by the arms suddenly, pinning him down against the bed. The Insurgent Leader dealt a blow to the former Insurgent’s head with the hilt of his sword, rendering him unconscious.

“At least the Rebel Commander decided to join us,” Tinkerbell remarked, “Where should we keep this guy?”

“The Dungeon. No one ever goes down there anymore,” the Insurgent Leader nodded, “Bind his hands. Put a bag over his head. No one has to know who he is. Get Agent and Norris to help you when they get here. Finish healing him, too... I don’t want the moron to die because he’s stupid.”

“I figured you’d have killed the asshole,” Tinkerbell retorted, “But I guess he used to be one of us. Might be one of us someday.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” the Insurgent Leader nodded, moving towards the door. He took another glance at his hand and the symbol vaguely visible anymore, inhaling deeply as he turned the knob to leave the room. Over his shoulder, he added, “Be prepared for the upcoming battle. I’ll find the rest of the army and see to it that they’re all ready for war.”

“This is going to be a big fight, isn’t it?” Tinkerbell asked, arms folded.

“Bigger than any fight we’ve seen before,” the Insurgent Leader answered quietly before slipping into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

TOS- Vol 2, Pt 3, Ch 33

The Overlord Saga

Vol II. Versus

Chapter 33: Puzzle Pieces

The Overlord stood in her office, back to the door as she stared into the churning flames. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the fire against her face. “Who was he?” she heard his voice from behind, deep and rumbling. A faint smile on her lips was replaced by a troubled, distraught expression on her features- but she tried to hide it with a simple shrug.

“He was like the brother I never had,” the Overlord said simply, her green eyes casting their gaze onto the picture above the fire. She swept her gaze quickly to the final person in the portrait- the one she hadn’t seen in years.

“What happened to him?”

“He just left one day...” the Overlord found her voice quivering. “Gone...” She turned and looked at the Theurgist, her green eyes fighting to keep their usual calmness.

“Did you love him?”

“No.”

“Why did he REALLY leave?”

“What...?”

“You’re lying to yourself, Overlord.”

Her gaze moved to the door as it swung open. Standing in his full suit of armor, the Nemesis loomed in the doorway, machete in hand. With each menacing step, he drew closer to the Theurgist, who stood calmly still. Eyes locked onto the Nemesis, the Theurgist didn’t even seem to budge as the Nemesis pulled his machete back and impaled him- directly into the heart. The Theurgist sank gruesomely to the ground, dead before he hit the wooden floors.

Drawing back in terror, the Overlord held up her hands, trying to summon her scythe, but feeling hopeless- powerless. The Nemesis’ eyes bore into hers, and she felt her entire body become rigid- frozen in horror. As he drew closer, she felt the warmth in her body leave- replaced with an unexplainable chill. He reached out, a gloved hand snagging her neck and lifting her into the air.

---

She couldn’t take it anymore. Bolting upright, the Overlord sat in her room, breathing heavily in comparison to the silence that surrounded Fort Effort. Stumbling from her bed, the Overlord grabbed her staff from where it leaned against the wall, using it to support herself. Hands still trembling, she forced herself toward the window, sliding open the door to the balcony and stepping out. One hand clasping the railing, the Overlord leaned forward, closing her eyes in an attempt to blot out images of the Nemesis.

“You’re not getting much sleep nowadays, are you?” the Theurgist was drifting just a few inches from the window, arms folded rather casually. “You got these nice raccoon rings under your eyes...” he gestured with a glowing finger to his own eyes, a chuckle in his tone.

“Give it a rest,” the Overlord didn’t fight to keep the coldness out of her voice.

“Rest. I’m sure that’s something you’d like to do,” the Theurgist remarked rather lightly. The Overlord turned to face him, brow furrowed in a scowl. He held up his hands, whistling a little tune to himself before continuing, “You know... Dreams always happen for a reason? Did you know that? Sometimes, they’re bits of your subconscious you forgot about. Or things you’re trying to forget about.”

“Well, thanks for that helpful nugget of information,” the Overlord retorted with a huff, returning to glaring down at the barren landscape surrounding Fort Effort, “I’ve been dreaming of your death for weeks now. And I’d rather like to forget it...”

“Is that what you’re trying to forget?” the Theurgist raised an eyebrow, “I think you’re horribly misguided, Overlord Emily Caroline-”

“Enough!” the Overlord glared over her shoulder, “You’re beating around the bush, I can tell. You know something. Now spit it out.”

“That’s not very polite,” the Theurgist remarked.

“It’s three in the freaking morning.”

“Noted...”

There was a pause, simple, yet meaningful. The Theurgist’s eyes flitted about the room, his transparent self wavering before her. He seemed perplexed a moment, debating between various logics, before stating, “There’s something you’re missing. A piece to the puzzle. And it’s very important that you see this.”

“Oh goodie,” the Overlord retorted, “What’s so important that it has to be shown to me immediately?”

“You’re not going to like it. You’re going to hate it. Trust me,” the Theurgist added with a tinge of sympathy in his voice.

“That’s reassuring,” the Overlord’s voice was flooded with sarcasm.

“You’ll learn to accept it...” the Theurgist remarked, “You’ll have to.” He extended a glowing hand, as if to offer her a handshake. The Overlord hesitated, then made a move to grab the Theurgist’s hand, though the instant her palm made contact with his, she was thrown back by a blindingly green aura, her back slamming into the ground.

Senses jarred, the Overlord lay on her back momentarily, blinking a few times and staring at the empty, slightly blurred navy sky. A veil of gray seemed to cloud everything around her, creating an effect as though she were looking through a fogged window. The Overlord sat up, leaning back with her hands propping her up. The gardens were a well-known place, a place of her youth in Tamashii. It was the old training grounds, littered with small pools filled with koi. Bamboo and trees scattered about the hollow, framing it and occasionally sprouting in clumps around the meadow. The Overlord ran a hand over the wispy, unclear blades of grass, feeling how unnaturally smooth it was.

A shadow in the grayed settings caused her to whip around and stand in one fluid motion. She looked at the enigmatic figure as it strode forward, slowly taking a clearer stance in the fogged version of the training gardens. “Theurgist,” the Overlord realized, lowering her guard. As he came closer, his image became brighter, clearer, contrasting as she did against the Tamashii gardens. She held up a hand, as if trying to grab wisps of the gray fog that drifted through the air. “It’s like everything’s smeared. Like we’re in a painting.”

“Well, it’s your mind. You get to decide how things work,” the Theurgist retorted, “Maybe you should lay off the acid, Overlord.”

“This is Tamashii. Why am I here?” the Overlord asked, arms folded, “Why are WE here? ... And if this is MY mind, why are YOU in it?”

“I’m your spirit guide, I can do that,” the Theurgist replied with a toothy grin. His demeanor grew serious, however, and he gestured to the fogged gardens, “Your memory isn’t as sharp as I’d had hoped. You can’t even remember your own training grounds? Try describing them to me. Maybe it’ll clear everything up.”

“It’s been awhile...” the Overlord remarked, “There were little pools everywhere. Stones to walk across them. Frogs. Fish. Bamboo everywhere. Lily pads, the fresh scent of cut bamboo. Every now and then, you could hear the sounds of katanas clanging against each other as people practiced. It was still one of the most peaceful places in Tamashii. I’d come here a lot with my platoon just to hang out...”

“Your platoon,” the Theurgist moved on rather abruptly, “The Ninja-Lord was in it for a short period of time?”

“Toward the end, yeah. But usually, it was me, Thomas, and Warwick,” the Overlord glanced over her shoulder at the Theurgist, “Why do you-”

“The night you fell into the Overlord’s Sanctum... What happened?”

The Overlord noticed that the gardens were growing clearer, brighter- as though she were truly in the training grounds of the Ninja Academy. She held up a hand, noting how the contrast between her image and the rest of the parallel world was nonexistent anymore, “We were chasing the Operatic Werewolf,” She began, drawing in a deep breath, “I wasn’t paying attention. I fell in- tripped over a branch, misguided a leap to a tree, I don’t remember which. But the important part? I wake up underwater, and all I can hear is a voice telling me that ‘destiny had selected me’ or something like that. Then I saw Jesus Christ. No joke. He was looking pretty good. So we talked. Then he said something about ‘powers awakening’, and the next thing I knew, I was on the shore of the pool, coughing up a lung with Thomas next to me. Warwick said he’d tried to pull me out but fell in himself. Warwick had waded in to get us.” She paused, taking in a small breath before exhaling loudly, “We were all given powers that day. Or something happened to us. None of us were the same.”

“That’s an excellent observation,” the Theurgist inclined his head. The Overlord thought to chide him for his snarky remark, but she didn’t. Instead, she allowed him to continue, “You heard of the Uberlord then. You heard that there were forces to be rallied- this was your destiny. To thwart his plans to take over the entirety of the Between so that Death was inaccessible.”

“Thomas, Warwick, and I all knew. We... decided to fight him together,” the Overlord’s voice was very faint, as if recollecting the day when she had spoken to the other two Tamashii ninjas.

“Why did Warwick leave?”

“He wanted to go solo.”

“That’s a lie.”

The Theurgist’s voice was sharp, cold, even a tad menacing. Glancing at him, the Overlord found herself braced, as though prepared to take some sort of physical blow from the spirit guide. The words ‘why can’t you remember’ were being repeated, over and over again, but barely audible. The Overlord drew back a step in fear. He clenched his fist in frustration, pacing, then, almost shouting, “The night he left, where were you?”

“I was in my room!”

“No.”

“I wasn’t here?”

“No!”

“I was... in the gardens?”

The Theurgist stopped, looking at her as though she’d made some sort of break through. Shuffling her feet, the Overlord glanced at the ground, her boot nudging a twig that lay in the midst of the jade grass. “I was in the gardens...” She repeated, glancing up at the Theurgist uncertainly, as though she was some child getting scolded, “He was telling me about how... He was strong. And we could all get stronger. He was telling me about his plans. His dreams.”

Wavering before the two were images, fuzzy and blurred, but growing ever clear. A youthful Overlord stood, Kagi slung in her belt and her long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. Adjacent to her, stood Warwick, his dark burgundy hair cut short with a slight poof atop his forehead. He was clad in black as she was, a katana on the left side of his waist.

“Ems...” Warwick glanced at her, voice light and airy, “The Between... What do you think it’s like?”

“I’d imagine that it’s... Well, not like here,” Emily replied with a light-hearted laugh, glancing up at Warwick fondly, “I mean, it’s a whole different realm, right? Maybe... The people that live there are blue. And have really long legs. And fangs. Or something.”

“That’d be freaky,” Warwick laughed, shaking his head, “I’m concerned, though, about our cause.”

“Well, I think we all are,” Emily replied, maintaining the same nonchalant attitude. “I can’t believe we’re going behind Sensei’s back and doing this. It seems... Wrong. But at the same time, it feels like it’s the right thing to do, you know?”

“So even wrong things... Can be right?” Warwick asked, one of his eyebrows quirking.

“I guess it’s just a matter of perspective,” Emily shrugged, gazing up at a flickering, halfway clouded full moon. She and Warwick stood for a few moments, the Overlord and the Theurgist watching, invisible to the memories before them. There was the subtlest creep of Warwick’s hand onto the hilt of his katana, so liquid-like that it seemed natural. Emily was oblivious, “Kinda like how the glass is either half empty or half full.”

Warwick chuckled coolly, “I suppose you’re right.” He turned, effortlessly drawing his katana and pointing it at her, the blade giving off a pale blue shine as the moonlight struck it. The Japanese character for the word ‘ice’ glinted especially bright, causing Emily to draw back.

“W-what are you doing?” Emily asked, grabbing the hilt of Kagi as she drew back a step, “We’re not supposed to be training this late.”

“This isn’t training,” Warwick replied, “This is me establishing my dominance over you now, then Thomas later.” At Emily’s confused look, he added with a laugh, “What would have happened if all three of us stood at the Uberlord’s throne together? A peaceful reign of two Lords and one Lady? I don’t intend to share power once I’ve taken it.”

“You can’t do this to me,” Emily scoffed, “You... You called me your sister!” She argued, pulling out her katana reluctantly. Warwick shrugged callously, offering an unsympathetic.

“Well, things change. I get the Between. You’ll just be... the tool in which I carve my empire with.”

“And how do you suppose you’re going to do that?” Emily snarled suddenly. The Overlord was shaking where she stood, drawing back even further. The Theurgist planted a firm hand on her shoulder, urging for her to stay and watch.

“Your soul is mine.”

The two katanas clashed at once, Warwick propelling himself forward and knocking Emily back. She backflipped, then counterattacked quickly, Kagi’s blade emitting a trail of flames with each strike. Warwick’s own sword was pulsating, clumps of frost spraying out from his strikes. It became evident immediately to the Overlord that her past self was relying on a series of speed attacks to thwart the heavier-set fighter, who was merely focused upon blocking the onslaught of strikes. As Emily moved to strike Warwick’s head, he took this moment to grab her by the sleeve, throwing her to the side with relative ease. She turned, his blade stabbing the air next to her side, then kicked him in the stomach, sending him back.

A few more blows were exchanged- a cut to Emily’s side warranted after making a miscalculation in her dodging techniques. Blood sprayed the grass from her side, trickling down her hip and onto her leg. Warwick suffered a stunning blow to the forehead from Kagi’s hilt, then a slice to the leg. He hobbled a few moments before unleashing a blast of ice at the lithe girl. She countered by sending an orb of flame, the fire blocking his attack entirely. More strikes were given back and forth, the occasional spell only lighting up the gardens. Evidently, Warwick was thrown back by Emily, her blade dripping crimson as she prepped to impale him through the chest.

“I don’t want to kill you!” Emily screamed, her entire body trembling. “You’re my-” She was thrown back before she could finish the phrase, an icicle cutting through her shoulder, and traveling to strike the trunk of a nearby tree- a clear hole in the midst of her flesh. She grabbed the gaping wound, gasping in a concoction of shock and horror.

Her foe rose from the ground casually, though his pale eyes were full of malice. “You stupid little girl,” Warwick snapped, “Clinging onto your delusions of family and love. You should really learn to let that go, Ems. It makes life a hell of a lot less painful.”

“No one... Betrays me... And gets away with it,” Emily replied vehemently, her eyes clouding over to where her pupils were, at first, dilated, then almost invisible entirely.

“Saevio,” the Theurgist breathed. But as Emily lunged forward, a jet of ice consumed her left leg, pinning her to the ground. Her blade was alight in fire, stabbing through the ice but it was too late. Though she shook with unmatchable energy, Warwich was faster, his katana plunging into her stomach. The Theurgist winced, “... Or so you tried.”

Pupil-less and writhing on Warwick’s sword, the young ninja’s scream tore through the air, cutting deep into the Overlord’s chest. She found herself rooted to the spot, unable to look away as Warwick whispered, “You will bow to me.” He slid the sword from her effortless, not even watching as the blood began to spill from the gaping wound. The half-crazed Emily lay on the ground, panting and trembling uncontrollably, her fingers gripping the earth so tightly that she ripped blades of grass from their roots. “You will worship me...” Warwick walked away, boots tapping lightly against the ground. Emily forced herself to stand, sword discarded on the ground. An orb of fire, mixed with strands of black essence, danced within her palm secretly. She breathed heavily, angrily, as if she were a maddened beast. “... And you will serve me.”

“Vereor!” The orb was fired at Warwick in a deafening explosion. Warwick flew back, unmoving for a few moments as he lay facing the clouded sky. Emily stood, slightly bent over in exhaustion. Grabbing her sword from where it lay, she ran at Warwick, leaping up and angling her blade down to stab him. Warwick’s hand raised and a bolt of ice knocked her from midair, causing her to flip and land on her back just a few feet above his head.

“No!” the Overlord yelled, finding something was stinging at the corners of her eyes. Tears? She couldn’t believe it- and she’d never admit it.

Warwick crawled over to where Emily lay, some golden orb coming into view just above her chest. Her pupils had returned to normal, the bloodloss beginning to effect her. She twitched, spasmed, and writhed, hands shaking to the point where she could not hold her sword.

“You have lost... Sister,” Warwick hissed, reaching down to grab her soul as it wavered before him. She gasped, a few droplets of blood running down from her nostrils and landing near the corners of her mouth.

“No...” Emily whispered. “No... Please...”

“You can’t beg... It’ll happen either way,” Warwick laughed, tinges of insanity creeping into his voice. His fingers wrapped around her soul, and she began to feel a tug.

“NO!” the Overlord screamed, covering her eyes and sinking to the ground. “Damn it!” Feeling tears flood from her eyes onto the wooden floor of her room inside Fort Effort, the Overlord was unable to look up, even though the grass from the Tamashii gardens had faded from view. A few moments were spent on the ground of the room, shaking and clutching herself as though she’d seen her worst fears come alive. As she looked up at the Theurgist, she saw that he had become transparent again, and merely watched her sympathetically.

Silence ensued, and the Overlord forced herself to sit in a chair, though was unable to speak. Her eyes were tearful, blotchy, and she felt weak- weak for crying in front of her spirit guide. But still, there was one question that remained, “... So what happened?”

“You refused to see the ending. So I’ll tell you...” the Theurgist said calmly, “Before he could take your soul... Thomas arrived. With Sensei and a few others. Warwick fled that night. No one had seen or heard of him since. You were unconscious for half of a week after that. They didn’t think you were going to make it.” The Overlord felt sick to her stomach- sick at how calm he sounded, and sick that she hadn’t been able to remember. “When you awoke, they asked you if you remembered what had happened to you. I’m sure that’s even fuzzy still...” The Theurgist’s voice grew softer, “The experience was apparently too traumatic for your mind to accept- his betrayal, especially. So the Tamashii elders lied and said that Warwick had run away from home to seek a different life. They lied to you so that you wouldn’t have to remember.”

The Overlord sat there, absorbing the information. Staring out the window at where the sun was creeping on the horizon, she asked absent-mindedly, “Why did you tell me this?”

“Because now you know what you face when you return to the Fortress, Overlord. The same thing you faced that night, but this time...” the Theurgist replied, “You’re both stronger.”

“Warwick is the Nemesis,” the Overlord stated hollowly, “... Damn it, Thomas, why didn’t you tell me?” She whispered, eyes closed and head bowed. “He wants my soul. Just like before. He wants the Fortress and the Between. Just like before. Why didn’t I see it earlier?”

“You didn’t know. You didn’t remember,” the Theurgist replied calmly, “And now you do. Now you know why you must be the one to defeat the Nemesis. You’re the only one that can, Emily.”

The Overlord stood up and walked to look out of the window, “He’ll pay for what’s he’s done to me. He’ll pay for what he’s done to you.” Her fist shook, and she slammed it against the window pane in frustration, “Today... We rally all of the ANF forces. We begin our assault against the Nemesis. And when I’m done with him...” She let her voice trail off, emotionlessly as she gazed at where Kagi lay on a desk, blade concealed by a sheath.

“Hell hath no fury... Like the Overlord.”

END OF PART THREE

TOS - Vol 2, Pt 3, Ch 32

The Overlord Saga

Vol II. Versus

Chapter 32: Impromptu

The Apprentice was having trouble sleeping. Though she couldn’t erase the events from the previous day from her mind, she found that her dreams actually didn’t involve the brutal slaying of the blacksmith. No, instead, they involved being watched. Everywhere she turned, there was a man in a black robe. And he was watching her. Always watching. She couldn’t shut her eyes without seeing him, his emotionless gaze locked on her. The second night since the murder, the Apprentice was resting easier, however, than she had the night before. Previously, she’d spent the majority of the night counting up the armor and weapons that had been stolen from Skingrad. There was quite the collection now, and she suspected that they would be bidding Cyrodiil farewell soon. And she was glad- perhaps she’d leave behind the dreams of the eerie robed man, too.

Sitting up in her bed, the Apprentice rubbed her eyes, glancing over at where Jamie was snoring softly in the bed next to hers. And beyond her was the Evocator, curled up with a book under her arm- the Theurgist’s journal. The Apprentice sighed, then looked over to her other side, at where the Animal Tamer was sleeping. However, her view was blocked... By a large, black form. Slowly craning her head back, the Apprentice found herself staring at a partially concealed face- the face of a man draped in black robes.

“You sleep soundly for a murderer,” the man whispered excitedly, eyes alight with emotion, but a kind that the Apprentice did not want to see. There was a scream. There was a bolt of lightning. And then, the Apprentice was looking down upon the robed man once more, her eyes wide in shock and her hands clinging onto the railing of the bed frame.

That night, Jamie decided it was best if they departed from Cyrodiil at once.


---


Fort Effort was bustling with activity the following morning. Fish and McCoy were still in poor shape, though the Sorceress had arrived and had begun seeing to the two injured ANF soldiers. The Twin had taken charge of the ANF alongside Jamie, and both had come to the agreement that they needed to begin equipping the soldiers, despite the Overlord’s absence. This caused a tremendous amount of chaos, as the waiting line to receive better armor grew as the hours went on. Rather annoyed with the mayhem in Fort Effort, the Ninja-Lord walked alongside the Twin and Jamie, listening to their concerns.

“No contact. In about a week now,” the Twin remarked, glancing at Jamie worriedly, “I’ve half a mind to send the Ninja Squadron after her. Ninja-Lord, would you protest?”

“Of course not,” the Ninja-Lord replied, “If she’d not answering her cellphone...”

“It’s not just that, it’s the Soul-Keeper’s, too. And the Advisor’s,” Jamie explained. “Then again, the Sorceress said that she’d talked to them yesterday at her lair. They have to be okay.”

“But they didn’t come back from the base. What if DIB has them right now?” the Twin sighed, “What if the Nemesis has her? I would... No. I would not allow that.”

“Maybe wait a day...?” the Ninja-Lord suggested with a simple shrug.

“OY!” a loud voice boomed down the hall. All three girls spun around to see the Lieutenant waving his arms about in the air. “The Overlord’s at the gates! Captain’s letting her in now! She says she hasn’t found the last Elite member yet!”

“Venice,” the Twin groaned, “Of course.”

“Who?” the Ninja-Lord inquired.

“She was a grand warrior a long time ago. Used to lead the Elite, but she vanished right after the Great War. She taught the Overlord a few special tactics with a sword. No one’s seen her in ages,” the Twin explained rapidly, “The Scholar mentioned that she’d last been seen on a world called Spira. But that was a long time ago.” Looking at the Lieutenant, the Twin nodded, “Tell her to meet me in the meeting room. We’ll go over our plan then. It’s high time we strike the Nemesis.”

“Will do!” the Lieutenant saluted her smartly, then vanished down the corridor.

“Well, she’s back now,” Jamie nodded, “That solves one crisis.”

“And opens a lot more problems. I hope she’s okay. You know she’s been acting odd ever since the Theurgist died,” the Twin remarked. “It’s like she’s distracted.”

“No. She’s not distracted, trust me,” the Ninja-Lord replied, “If anything? She’s focused. But she... Doesn’t want to face the Nemesis. Not yet. Why? I don’t know. I suspect she’s scared. Because something happened when the Nemesis attacked. Something she hasn’t told us.”

“She said she almost died,” Jamie said with a shrug, “That’s more than enough motivation to be scared.”

“Hm. But not for her,” the Ninja-Lord remarked, “That’s not the Overlord I know.”

---


The meeting hall was crowded, yet quiet. The Overlord sat at the head of the table with Jamie, the Twin, Elwell, and a few of the other ANF leaders. She rested her chin on a clutched fist, elbow pressing into the table. Down the sides of the table rested the Overling Council, each armed adequately and adorned with new armor. The Overlord eyed the fresh robes that the Soul-Keeper was sporting, the ANF insignia on his cape.

“I do approve of the new uniforms, by the way,” the Overlord remarked lightly, straightening up, then glancing down at where the Scholar sat. She and the Scholar had already discussed the Nemesis’ plans- though the Overlord couldn’t say she was surprised. It seemed cliche, almost to the point of flat-out ripping off from other criminals. The Overlord had told herself that she would not allow the Nemesis to win, and she knew she was going to stand by those words, even if it took years to take him down. Clearing her throat, the Overlord began, “You said you’ve heard from Venice?”

“She’s on Spira, so I’ve heard,” the Scholar replied, “She regularly attends concerts, specifically ones performed by the new pop sensation Yuna. There’s actually a concert that Venice has tickets for that’s in the next day.”

“So we find her at this concert?” the Overlord asked, leaning back in her chair, “Easy enough.”

“Not so fast, there’s a catch.”

“Of course.”

“Concert’s sold out. And there’s no way to get in unless you’re the songstress yourself,” the Scholar shuffled a few papers around in front of her. “Now, Spira is reliant on a type of technology called ‘Dresspheres’. Dresspheres are outfits that have been made from memories, right? I merely extracted a few memories from hardcore Yuna fans, and received a dressphere of my own. She always performs in the same dress.”

“I don’t think I like where this is going,” the Overlord’s voice dropped to monotone and dull, staring at the Scholar from across the table.

“Let’s face it. You look kinda like her. Granted, your hair needs to be cut and dyed a bit, but you could easily pass for her. In the right outfit, the right lighting- you’ll be a perfect Yuna,” the Scholar folded her hands rather politely, staring at the Overlord evenly.

“Uhhh there’s no way I’m doing this. I can’t even sing!” the Overlord exclaimed.

“I’ve made arrangements. The Captain and the Lieutenant will nab the real Yuna. The Apprentice has karaoke powers? She can cover the singing and the music will be live. We have an instructional video for choreography, so you can learn that today. All you have to do is look like you’re her,” the Scholar shrugged, “And then, you find a way to get Venice backstage with you, then explain the situation.”

The Overlord stared across the table at the Overling council members. ‘This might be fun’, she thought for a brief moment, rubbing her forehead, ‘But this is something that the Soul-Keeper will never let me live down’. She glanced at the Twin, “What do you think?”

“It’s the only way. Either we do it and get Venice, or we don’t and fight DIB without her,” the Twin shrugged.

Sighing, the Overlord stood up from the table, glancing sideways at the giggling Evocator, Soul-Keeper, and Animal Tamber. “... As long as no one films this and puts it on Youtube... Eh, why not?”

“That’s the spirit!” the Scholar threw an arm around the Overlord, “Now, we need to get your hair cut, a Garment Grid for the dressphere, and you need to start learning the Real Emotion dance! This’ll be fun!”

The Overlord immediately felt a pang of regret.

---

Spira proved to be an odd world indeed. Though the previous night had been spent at Fort Effort, the Overlord had been doing some hardcore research on Spira and its inhabitants, concluding that anyone in their right mind would steer clear of the place. Such thought made her fear for Venice’s sanity. What if her old friend and mentor had lost her mind completely? Walking the streets of Luca, some harbor city that seemed to be the hub of sports and entertainment, the Overlord found herself running her hands through her now significantly shorter hair. It had been weeks since she’d spiked it last, letting it fall straight and down. Her hair was now lighter as well, with a more burgundy tint to it, though it was hardly different than Yuna’s own hair color. A few blonde streaks ran through it, contrasting to the dark brown it had been.

“The fashion here isn’t the greatest,” the Ninja-Lord was in a disguise as well, though had shirked the more skankily clad Spira clothes. She wore a yellow suite of some sort, decorated with buckles and red plates of armor. A set of goggles sat atop her head, adding onto the oddness.

“What beggar did you take that get-up from?” the Overlord snorted, though, knew her own elegant robes were a little out-of-fashion.

“Funny. The Scholar told me to give you this,” the Ninja-Lord handed the Overlord a small circular device with a few gaping crevasses in its middle. “It’s a Garment Grid. Apparently, you put the dresspheres in them... There’s four in there now. I don’t know what the other three are, but this one...” she pointed at the one in the middle, “... Is the Songstress one.”

“Great...” the Overlord took the Garment Grid, then pocketed it, “Any word from the Captain and the Lieutenant?”

“They have, as they call it... ‘bagged a ho’,” the Ninja-Lord grinned, “Looks like we’re on for tonight.”

“Great,” the Overlord nodded, “I’ve about had enough of that song and the dance to last me awhile. Guess I’ll be ready for the big performance.” She sighed running her hand through her spiked hair one last time, “I haven’t had enough Monsters for this.”

“The Scholar wanted me to remind you that we’ll have extra body guards around the place. She’s stationed the Soul-Keeper and Sexist at one entrance, me and the Twin in another, and the Captain and the Lieutenant are guarding your dressing room. Jamie is running security on the second floor. The Apprentice will be out of sight somewhere near you. Your back-up dancers are the Witch and Kunoichi.”

“Fitting,” the Overlord nodded, “Let’s hope this works... Why so much security?”

“Just to be safe,” the Ninja-Lord shrugged, “Wouldn’t want you to get trampled by a thousand dedicated fans, now would we?”

“Oh, you’re so funny,” the Overlord scowled, “Why did I sign up for this?”


---


The day had flown by rather quickly for everyone. Patrolling the halls, Centurion Ifill walked in her guards’ outfit, pike in hand. She glanced around the corner, looking at where some of the fans were flooding into the concert hall. On her walkie-talkie, she discreetly said, “Centurion Ifill, in position. It’s about to be showtime. I have a lot of fans coming in from the north.” She stopped, taking note of Belarus and China on the far side of the crowd. “Security staff is present and prepared for anything. How’s the second floor?”

A few seconds later, there came a reply, “Quiet,” it was the Animal Tamer’s Pet, “Well, not quiet... but there’s no trouble. Just a lot of fans.”

“I hear ya.” It was Underling Willma who spoke next.

“Main entrance is clear.” Sexist, no doubt with the Soul-Keeper somewhere by the front. Centurion Ifill nodded to herself, glancing up at the fans as they entered. Something caught her eye, however, a particular uniform. Dark eyes narrowed, she began to follow the crowd in, stepping into the auditorium as a particularly slender man started down the stairs. Fighting back a gasp of surprise, Centurion Ifill turned, fought her way through some of the fans, grasping her walkie talkie.

“Code Red. I have a visual on Jester,” Centurion Ifill whispered. “Red hair, skinny as can be, jeans that cling onto his butt like a girl- it has to be him.”

“What floor?” the Twin asked, “Hold on... Ninja-Lord, those are DIB soldiers!”

“Ohhhhh boy,” Centurion Ifill remarked, “DIB soldiers are here? What for?”

“Probably know what’s up,” Jamie sighed from her end of the walkie talkie. “Sexist, Soul-Keeper, shut off the doors once the last fans are in. We’ll trap them in here. We have half the army in this concert hall, we can fight them off here.”

“There’s innocent people here!” the Evocator protested suddenly, “We can’t just...!”

“We can. And we will if we have to,” the Twin said firmly, “But only if we have to. Don’t go charging into a fight. And don’t tell the Overlord. She’s nervous enough already.”

“Don’t tell her? That sounds like a GREAT idea,” Sexist remarked sourly.

“The show must go on!” the Soul-Keeper said dramatically, “And WE have to make sure it does!”

“... Colby, you’re insane,” the Evocator stated flatly, and the conversation ended.

---


It was show time before she knew it. Glancing at the Garment Grid, the Overlord activated the central orb, causing her outfit to alter into a sleek purple and white dress. She glanced down at the outfit, noticing her mid-drift was showing. In the mirror, she looked at herself, feeling very unnatural in the dressing room. Turning to leave, she caught a glimpse of something from the corner of her eye. Spinning around, grabbing her sword, unsheathing it, and pointing it at the person, she yelled something, but it was incoherent.

“Relax,” the Theurgist sounded amused, “I just got here. I haven’t been watching you change, promise.”

“Not helping,” the Overlord retorted, but sheathed Kagi. “Where’ve you been anyways? I was looking for you.” She was suddenly reminded of the haunted mansion and shuddered, recalling the twisted version of the Theurgist she had seen at the end of her venture. “Off on some spirit thing?”

“You could say that,” the Theurgist stroked his facial hair thoughtfully, “We need to talk, but after you’re done with your...” He eyed the outfit skeptically, “... Thing.”

“My thing? That’s very eloquent,” the Overlord retorted.

“Well, for once, you’ve rendered my vocabulary useless. I have no idea what to call whatever it is you’re wearing,” the Theurgist retorted.

“Try ‘dress’, Alexi,” the Overlord responded with her usual cynicism.

“Okay. Dress,” the Theurgist chuckled, arms folded.

From outside, the Captain could be heard, “HEY! You talkin’ to yourself in there? It’s about time to go! Witch and Kunoichi are already on the stage!” The Overlord glanced from the door to the Theurgist, shrugging. The Theurgist grinned then waved at her.

“Break a leg.”

“Oh you know it.”

Opening the door and stepping out into the hall, the Overlord didn’t look at the Lieutenant and the Captain, “I feel like I’m about to go poledance,” she remarked, then continued down the hall with a rather sullen expression. When she reached the door to the stage, she cast a glance back over her shoulder at where the Theurgist was giving her a partially see-through ‘thumbs up’. She flashed him a very fake, very sour looking smile, then stepped onto the circular stage.

It was then that the Overlord realized that Spiran technology was more advanced than Earthian technology. The stage, a brightly-lit circle, ascended into the air, poised several feet above the first row. The Overlord wondered, briefly, if they could look up her skirt, and felt extremely self-conscious. ‘But it’s not me they’re looking at. It’s Yuna... So that makes it better... Right? Right?’ The more logical half of her answered, ‘Wrong.’

She knew the music was about to begin. Glancing at where the Witch and Kunoichi were both in their own disguises, she offered a half-smile, catching sight of Apprentice just below them. What happened next, the Overlord was unsure, but some glow in the Apprentice’s eyes caught her attention, transfixing her entirely.

“Overlord?” the Witch asked very quietly, but her voice was lost in the screams of the fans.

“It’s showtime!” the Overlord announced, and the roar of the crowd filled the auditorium.

---

Sexist and the Soul-Keeper had shut off the entrance to the stadium, and were standing in the doorway on the first floor. “What is she wearing?” the Soul-Keeper snorted with laughter, arms tucked into the sleeves of his guard outfit. Sexist, who was leaning passively against the doorway, shrugged carelessly, though watched in interest as the music began playing.

“There’s a place downtown where the freaks all come around
It’s a hole in the wall
It’s a dirty free-for-all
When they, they, they...”

“That’s not the right song!” the Soul-Keeper’s eyes widened in horror. Sexist perked up and looked at the stage in confusion.

“What is she doing!?” Sexist muttered, brow furrowed.

“When the dark of the night
Comes around, that’s the time
That the animal comes alive
Looking for something wild.”

“N-now we lookin’ like pimps
In my gold Trans-AM
Got a water bottle full of whiskey in my hand bag
Got my drunk text on
I’ll regret it in the morning
But tonight, I don’t give a, I don’t give a, I don’t give a-”

“There’s a place downtown
Where the freaks all come around
It’s a hole in the wall
It’s a dirty free-for-all
And they turn me on
When they take it off
When they take it off
Everybody take it off!”

“There’s a place I know
If you’re looking for a show
Where they go hardcore
And there’s glitter on the floor
And they turn me on
When they take it off
When they take it off
Everybody take it off.”

“Oh my God, what is she SINGING!?” Sexist added incredulously. He gazed across the crowd, but they all seemed to be enjoying it... Except... “The DIB soldiers...” Sexist grabbed the Soul-Keeper’s arm suddenly, pointing at where Jester was watching the Overlord perform in suspicion. As Jester’s eyes swept across the area, Sexist ducked, dragging the Soul-Keeper with him. “This isn’t good. They’re going to realize it’s the wrong singer.”

“She’s really rocking out up there...” the Soul-Keeper remarked.

“Will you focus!?” Sexist hissed angrily, grabbing the Soul-Keeper’s arm.

“Lose your mind
Lose it now
Lose your clothes in the crowd
We’re delirious
Tear it down
‘Til the sun comes back around.”

“Now we’re gettin’ so smashed
Knockin’ over trashcans
E’erybody breakin’ bottles
It’s a filthy hot mess and
Gonna get faded
I’m not the designated driver so
I don’t give a, I don’t give a, I don’t give a-”

“There’s a place downtown
Where the freaks all come around
It’s a hole in the wall
It’s a dirty free-for-all
And they turn me on
When they take it off
When they take it off
Everybody take it off!”

“There’s a place I know
If you’re looking for a show
Where they go hardcore
And there’s glitter on the floor
And they turn me on
When they take it off
When they take it off
Everybody take it off.”

“Oh, oh, oh
Everybody take it off
Oh, oh, oh
Everybody take it off
Right now- Take it off
Right now- Take it off
Right now- Take it off
Oh!”

As that was repeating, Sexist caught a glimpse of the Twin on the far side of the concert, looking as confused as he was. He tried to catch her attention, but realized that Jester had seen her as well. As Jester grabbed a knife, Sexist launched an icicle at the DIB member, pushing over a Spiran as he did so. The Soul-Keeper pulled out his staff and began firing bolts of lightning at the DIB soldiers as they drew their weapons. The Twin drew her bowstring back and fired as Jester recovered from the blow. He knocked the arrow aside with a dagger, then launched a throwing knife at the Twin.

“ANF members! Attack!” Jamie yelled through the walkie talkie.

As the DIB members rallied, the ANF members began to take their battle positions. Jamie jumped from the second floor, grabbing onto a nearby railing with lights and slid down, drawing her pistol and firing at Jester as he rushed at the Twin. Sexist pinned a soldier to the ground with his claymore, then looked up as the Overlord finished off the song.

“There’s a place downtown
Where the freaks all come around
It’s a hole in the wall
It’s a dirty free-for-all
And they turn me on
When they take it off
When they take it off
Everybody take it off!”

“There’s a place I know
If you’re looking for a show
Where they go hardcore
And there’s glitter on the floor
And they turn me on
When they take it off
When they take it off
Everybody take it off.”


“You’ll never find her!” Jester sneered, drawing a sword from its sheath at his side. “She’s ours!” He turned to face Sexist, gnashing his teeth together angrily.

“You have Venice!?” the Twin aimed another arrow at his back.

“Took her as she entered the concert. Probably halfway to the bottom of the ocean by now,” Jester spat at her, moving to where he could see both Sexist and the Twin. “Stupid ANF... Can’t even set up a proper security system...”

“No. The Venice I know wouldn’t be caught by a scrawny-ass punk like you,” the Twin sneered back, releasing the arrow. Jester turned and sliced it in half, but was unprepared for Sexist’s charge. A gush of water struck him in the side, knocking him away into the crowd. By this time, the crowd had begun to panic in the midst of the battle. Gunshots were being fired, and mayhem was starting to ensue. The Overlord was partially collapsed on the stage, halfway dazed and watching the events from above in horror and fascination.

“The ‘Venice’ you know? She’s sorta standing right behind you,” a voice added. The Twin turned and looked at a slender figure as she stepped from the shadows, sword drawn in one hand and covered to the handle in crimson. Her medium brown hair was tied back into a ponytail, her armor smeared with sanguine as though it had been splatter-painted. “Sorry. Had to rough a few guys up in the alley,” She didn’t sound remotely apologetic.

“Damn it!” Jester swore, holding his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Ugh... Why can’t I ever do anything right?”

“Hey emo bitch, go cry yourself to sleep,” the Captain had appeared, rocket launcher over his shoulder. As he fired, Jester vanished in a puff of smoke, warping out of the way. Venice and the Twin threw themselves to the side, Sexist moving behind a pillar to avoid the missile as it hit the side of the stadium.

“We should... Probably go now...” the Soul-Keeper stammered. “Someone grab the Overlord, she looks lost.” He gestured with his staff to where the Overlord was standing on stage still, a far-off glint in her eyes.

“W-what happened?” the Overlord stammered as Jamie began guiding her away from the stage gently. “Why don’t I remember...?”

“Shhh... It’s quiet time, Emmy,” Jamie patted the Overlord’s head gently with one hand, snatching the Apprentice’s hood with the other. Although attempting to give her a scolding look, Jamie couldn’t help but crack a smile. Hissing under her breath, Jamie remarked, “You could’ve at least picked a decent song.”

“Eh. What can I say?” the Apprentice retorted with an uncertain chuckle.