A Theory on Godhood: An Overlord Story

Chapter 2: Old Worlds Die Hard

Thankfully, the other thirty-nine members were able to leave the throne room without further incident, making their way towards the old dining room. In the past, such a room had served no true purpose other than decoration and roleplay. Some had advocated that it be torn down and replaced by something more practical, while others had been just as quick to defend its existence. Ultimately, the dining room's fate had remained undecided, as too many of the guild had left by that point.

Much to Ulbert's delight, he found it to still be standing, its marble table top gleaming as if it had just been polished. Gotta give kudos to Momonga, he really did take good care of the place while we were gone, Ulbert thought. His thoughts turned to his skeletal guildmate, as a frown downturned his lips. Every so often his goat-like nose twitched as a new smell assaulted it, most likely the natural scents of the tomb itself.

Maybe Suratan was onto something. This place really does smell rank. However, something new and pleasantly pungent hit his nostrils, and he could hear a steady sizzling from just up ahead. His mouth watered as his tongue began to hang out, the sounds of his stomach assaulting his ears. As he glanced at his other guildmates, those he supposed could hunger took on a stronger stride as the new smells reached them as well. Ulbert chose to focus instead on Momonga again to distract himself from his obvious hunger.

He noted the constant click, click, click of the staff as it struck the ground, the swishing of Momonga's exquisite robes as he moved his impressive bulk. Ulbert saw how one of his oldest friends strolled with the sort of easy-going confidence and swagger that only a prime, level one-hundred leader of a world-famous guild could manage. He felt himself blink.

When did Momonga get so...cool? Ulbert wondered, before allowing himself to refocus on the alluring smells coming from the doors up ahead. Unlike the doors of the throne room, these were far more humble, looking to be carved from an ebony-colored wood that practically blended in with the pitch and gold accents of the walls. They, too, opened on their own, allowing delectable scents to hit them all full force.

Ulbert was nearly trampled at the speed at which friends rushed into the dining room, having been closer to the front with Touch Me and Momonga, the two flanking either side of the guild leader. He felt revulsion at Touch Me's close proximity, the small hint of bile rising in the back of his throat almost ruining his appetite.

Almost.

As they entered, a crystal and gold chandelier lit the area, providing a somewhat romantic atmosphere to the dining area. It was a gigantic, circular table, with a space in the middle where octopus-like creatures awaited, donning chef hats and aprons. They stood on two, stick-like legs, which ended in suction-cup shaped feet the size of dinner plates. Rather than eight arms, they possessed sixteen, all armed with an assortment of cutlery and tools to cook with.

As the thirty-nine filtered in, they collectively noticed that each seat, carved of the same wood as the door, had a small, triangular nameplate with their player names on them.

They even planned out our seating arrangements! I already feel like one of those corp executives sitting down at one of those high-end restaurants I always hear the media blabber about, Ulbert thought, amused. The feeling of bile, however, had risen just a little more when he thought of corp executives, and he let out an involuntary bleat.

Wish III, who had been trailing behind Ulbert, had the flames surrounding his body sputter in surprise, as he turned to look at the Baphomet demon. Ulbert could only look back sheepishly. "Sorry," he said, before moving to his assigned seating. He was pleased to see that he sat directly to Momonga's left, while Flatfoot, the great bundle of assassin vines, slithered into the seat adjacent to him.