Chapter 12

Guiding the mannequin, I pushed it to its feet. It was a strange sensation, like puppeteering a figure in a dream. In doing so, I found that I could maneuver both my bodies -- the dragon and the mannequin -- separately, each moving to its own rhythm while still harmoniously in tune with my singular consciousness.

In the midst of testing my new body, Pandora's Actor materialized seemingly from thin air. His face, an egg-like visage devoid of any discernible emotion, was nevertheless alive with an awe-inspiring reverence.

He stood there for quite a while, staring at my massive form without moving an inch. After looking his full, he sank to his knees, not minding the fluid of gold that had melted from my transformation earlier. His gestures, although exaggerated and theatrical, spoke volumes about the respect he held for me.

His voice echoed throughout the treasury, each word resonating with genuine admiration, "Ohh, my esteemed creator, the progenitor of all Dragons. I heartily congratulate you on your triumphant return."

He continued as his voice booming with energy, "The 'Supreme Being' who towered over Ainz Ooal Gown, instilling awe to those who dared to gaze upon you... The 'Fallen One', whose very name struck fear into the hearts of the 31 World Enemies... The 'Glutton', who consumed the root and the very essence of the World Tree... The 'God', the divine architect who birthed the True Dragons into existence."

He paused, adding more drama to his display, "...The 'Law', whose name is so sacred, it cannot be uttered. The 'Primordial Dragon Monarch' -- Theós Ianthinis Vasilikós Ignis-sama."

His words hung in the air, like a tribute to my power and legacy. His body language showed nothing but a grand spectacle of reverence and loyalty.

"Your words fill me with a sense of pride and great honor, Pandora's Actor," I responded, my voice resonating within both my avatars. "Rise, for we have much to discuss and even more to achieve in the times that lie ahead."

"Understood, Theós-sama."

...

//Flashback//

--(3rd PoV)--

In the southwest direction, relatively close to the Great Underground Tomb of Nazarick, situated an inconspicuous and impoverished village. The houses are simple, constructed from wood and thatch, reflecting the limited resources available to the villagers.

The village is surrounded by a wooden fence, which serves as a rudimentary defense against potential threats from the forest, such as monsters or hostile entities. However, the defenses of this village are not particularly strong, and the villagers live with the constant risk of danger from outside forces.

Despite the sun's retreat behind the horizon, a buzz of activity hummed through the air. The villagers were engrossed in their sundry tasks. Some fortified the makeshift barriers that shielded their modest plots of wheat and vegetables, while others attended to the needs of their livestock, the cows and sheep, providing sustenance. A few, equipped with the modest spoils from a day's hunt, wearily made their way back from not too deep within the forest. At the village's edge, the carefree laughter of children punctuated the evening as they darted around the communal well, their games simple yet filled with the unburdened joy of youth.

Amidst the scarcity that defined their existence, each face was adorned with a smile, a serene acceptance and genuine contentment with the simple life they had carved out in this forgotten corner of the world.

A man in the prime of his life, with the sun having etched its history into his tan skin, approached the frolicking children. His arms, robust from the relentless toil of years, bore the marks of laborious days. With a gentle authority, he called out to them, "Hey, kiddos. It's getting dark, time to go home and clean yourselves."

The sound of his voice, as familiar to the children as the rhythm of their daily games, brought their movements to a halt. Expressions of disappointment washed over their youthful faces, a silent protest to the end of their play. One child, his voice tinged with a playful whine, spoke up for the rest, "Aww, man. We're just getting started, Biller-san."

"Eyy, eyy, eyy. You know that monsters are lurking around the forest, right? If I were you, I would go home and shut the windows before those beasts bite my butt." Biller-san said, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of seriousness, in an attempt to scare the kids.

Unconvinced, another child retorted with a mix of skepticism and familiarity, "That's too overused, Biller-san. You're always saying that, but nothing really happened." The words hung between them seem to challenge the credibility of the well-worn warning.

It was indeed a small miracle that the village had been graced with the presence of only weak monsters, which dared to enter their domain under the light of day and were swiftly dealt with by the able-bodied villagers. But the collective memory of the village held a grim chapter from more than three decades past, a time when the hunters ventured too far into the dense, whispering forest.

It had been a massacre. The forest, usually a silent witness to the passage of days, had echoed with the chaos of that ill-fated hunt. When the silence returned, it bore with it a horrifying scene—trails of blood that seeped into the earth and scattered body parts that told a tale no survivor could recount. The villagers, upon discovering the aftermath, were left only with their imaginations to reconstruct the horrific events. This dark legend served as a perennial reminder of the forest's true nature, a treacherous expanse that could turn from serene to savage in a heartbeat.

Biller-san could still remember that day when he was still at their age, 5 years old. His father was one of those unfortunate souls, whose body wasn't recovered completely. "Alright, alright," Biller-san conceded with a sigh, recognizing the children's skepticism. "However, once your parents get home after finishing their work, you will have to go home as well. Or else," he added with a mock sternness and a playful way of his finger, "I will be the one to bite your butts, understand?"

His words were met with a chorus of giggles and mock gasps from the children, the light-hearted threat doing more to tickle their sense of humor than to instill any real fear. They knew Biller-san's bark was far kinder than his bite, and his presence was one of safety, not danger.

Before another kid jokingly mock Biller-san in response, the children suddenly stilled, their playful demeanor evaporating into the evening air. It was not unusual for children to be startled by even the most lighthearted of threats, but the looks that now painted their young faces were of genuine shock and an atypical, visceral fear.

Oblivious to the cause of the transformation in the children's expressions, Biller-san stood unaware of the chilling presence that had materialized behind him.

Towering above him was a grotesque figure, stretching to a height of two meters. Its skin, a sickly green, was marred with bulbous lumps oozing pus. One of its eyes dangled precariously from its socket, while the other side of its face was a horrific void, exposing the ghastly innards and a glimpse of its brain.

The creature was naked, its skin a canvas of tormented human faces that seemed to press out from within. Each face was contorted in agony, their mouths agape, cycling through expressions of pain and horror. From these gaping maws protruded long, red tongues and teeth as sharp as razors, dripping with a viscous, unidentifiable fluid.

The children, frozen by the sight of the monstrous apparition, could do nothing but stare in mute terror, hoping against hope that Biller-san would sense the danger that loomed ominously over them.

…