A Theory on Godhood: An Overlord Story

Chapter 55: The Black Dragon, Part One

Outside the Tomb of Nazarick

Momonga observed Linnormr before him. The way he presented himself, the way he spoke, the way that he made his declaration. All of it set his nerves on edge. The only reason he wasn't full-blown panicking was because of his emotional inhibitor.

Albedo and Bukubukuchagama leaned in defensively to him. His guildmates made a protective fortress that no one should be able to pass. A literal army of summons stood between him and his imposter, as well as a plethora of spells to cover most of his weaknesses.

So why did he feel so on edge? Why did he get the sense that despite being among his friends on their home turf, they were not the dangerous ones here? The mental presence of the guild staff was reassuring but did little in the way of truly calming him.

"We have no time for any brand of entertainment you have to offer," Ankoro spat, baring her teeth. "I know who you are, Lindwyrm. Though that makes about as much sense as me calling myself Wolf or my brother Chimera!"

The one who wore Momonga's face tilted his head. "You have done well to preserve your knowledge, Daughter of the Harbinger. You are correct in that my name is not indicative of the whole being, but names rarely are. It was merely... A substitute to help you better understand."

"Not like it matters anyways," Suratan snarled, "We're gonna beat the shit out of you and your lackey there anyways. Make this easier for us and just roll over real quick."

The Weeping King jumped in front of Linnormr. "No! You will not harm Lord Ainz! This was not the plan! None of this is going according to plan! My lord, what is going on here?!"

Despite the shared bloodlust all of his friends shared, Momonga could feel their curiosity win out. The summons grew antsy, waiting for some kind of order. Linnormr watched them all with an amused twinkle in his eye.

Earlier, he called me his "creator". Like an NPC? I never made an NPC outside of the tomb.

Linnormr held out a hand, an emerald flame flashing into existence. It spread into roughly the shape of a projector-size screen. Out of those flames emerged an image; That of Momonga sitting upon the Throne of Kings.

"In every place, in every time, there is only one constant. The King of Nazarick. Regardless of the circumstances, no matter what that king may do, whether he is beloved or hated by all, the result is the same. He is alone."

Momonga sat alone upon the world item in the image, the NPCs bowing before him in a show of fealty. The image quickly shifted to him standing before different groups of people. Humanoids, Demi-humans, Heteromorphs. It did not matter, for whatever species they may be, they all knelt to him the same.

"He is a conqueror. He is a betrayer. He is a philosopher, a diplomat, a warlord, and a hedonist. Among all these roles, he wears a mask to hide away from the true pain of what he experienced. A soul-crushing loneliness left behind by the hole in his heart. Nothing could fill it. Not the love of his devoted creations, not the worship of his fanatical followers, nor all the material riches of that world. For you see, this king was a king of no one."

The image shifted again, showing the Momonga in the image hovering over what he assumed was the New World itself. He was dressed in black armor, and Demiurge flew next to him, listening intently to something he was saying.

It was surreal to see, and many of his friends glanced confusedly at him. He shrugged helplessly, unsure what to make of things so far. For the moment, he was just as lost as they were.

"He embodied all aspects with but a single wish, drawing upon a cauldron of creation with stolen talents. The Sea of Possibilities provided answers, but to questions he did not think to ask. Among these prophecies, he saw visions of ancient foes, forgotten realms, and theoreticals that existed only to torment him. He saw only what had occurred, and what may lie in wait."