Chapter 22

The hot desert wind raged around Thrall, whipping up tiny cyclones of dust that danced erratically before being consumed by the arid heat of Durotar that consumed all. He sat cross-legged on a wolf skin, the thick pelt insulating him from the rough, sunbaked stone beneath him. Despite the heat, Thrall remained still, his eyes focused on the distant gates of Orgrimmar. From his vantage point atop the mountain, the city appeared almost peaceful, a sprawling bastion of strength nestled within the harsh, unforgiving landscape. But there was no peace in the spirits that surrounded him, none whatsoever. The elemental spirits residing near the capital of the Durator were still highly agitated. The two mysterious figures had frightened them to their cores.

Thrall closed his eyes and breathed deeply, attempting to reach out to the spirits. He could feel them shifting just beneath the surface of reality, disturbed by something even they couldn't fully comprehend. It wasn't just him who felt it, the tauren druids and the troll witch doctors under his employ shared the same sentiment. Ainz and Buku were akin to walking gods, beings of immense power even the wild Gods and Loa were wary about. The spirits spoke of them in whispers, in voices tinged with awe and fear and everything in between. What exactly they were, not even those immaterial beings knew.

The Wild Gods, protectors of the natural world, were beings of immense power, revered by the tauren druids who worshiped them alongside the Earth Mother, the main deity of the bovine race. For the trolls, the Loa served a similar role, most of them animalistic, ancient deities tied to nature, but some more mysterious, more dangerous, like the Loa of death, Bwonsamdi. Even these ancient and potent forces, who thrived on chaos and mystery, seemed… unsettled at their presence. They didn't understand Ainz or Buku, and that uncertainty bred a cautious fear in them, along with an increase in tension across the religious figures of the city.

Thrall's brow furrowed as he considered the implications, the situation was unlike any he had ever faced before. There was only one source left to turn to. Jaina Proudmore, the leader of the human city-state of Thalamor, and one of his closest allies. Ever since their combined forces had defeated the mighty Archimonde during the Burning Legion's invasion, they had kept in contact, keeping each other informed of any major events.

She was a brilliant mage, wise beyond her years, though still young in age. Like Thrall, Jaina was in her mid-twenties, though her youth never detracted from the respect she commanded on the field and in the office. In some ways, she reminded him of his late stepsister, Tari- strong, compassionate, and resolute. He had sent for her a day ago, hoping that her vast knowledge of magic could help shed some light on the nature of these powerful strangers.

The spirits of Durotar weren't the only ones disturbed by their presence, after all, she would probably be able to determine some information as well. The wind shifted slightly, and Thrall inhaled deeply, letting the hot, dry air fill his lungs to its deepest crevices. It carried with it the familiar scent of the desert, the dry earth, distant fires, and the faintest tang of salt from the nearby sea. Yet beneath that, there was a strange sense of anticipation, like the world itself was holding its breath for the things to come.

He tried to focus on the horizon, looking for any sign of Jaina's arrival. She was usually late, but it never worried him. Jaina was nothing if not reliable, and though she might have been delayed by her duties in Theramore, Thrall knew she would eventually come. He trusted her implicitly. She had always been there when he needed her, and she had proven time and again that she was a true ally, one who could be counted on even in the direst of circumstances. He would do the same for her.

Thrall's thoughts drifted momentarily to his childhood, to the family that had raised him. He had been a slave, owned by the cruel Aedelas Blackmore, the commander of orc prison camps who had found him abandoned in the woods as a babe and quickly peddled off to his servant to raise him. Despite his servitude, the human family had treated him well, giving him a sense of belonging in a world that sought to cast him aside for his race and origins. This human family had become his own, teaching him not just the ways of humans, but also how to navigate the complexities of their society. His knowledge of their customs had been crucial in his journey to uniting the orcish clans, and it was that very knowledge that now drew him to seek Jaina's counsel once again.

Thrall closed his eyes, unconsciously clenching his fist, as he recalled the painful memories of the day he learned of Tari's death. Tari, his surrogate sister, his protector. She had shielded him from Blackmore's worst impulses for as long as she could, and yet, in a drunken stupor, the commander had taken her life and presented her decapitated head to him like some sort of grizzly trophy. Thrall had failed her. He had almost single-handedly led the tremendous revolution that freed the orcs from their two-decade containment, but in doing so, he had failed to protect the one person who had always protected him. 'If only I had more foresight,' he thought bitterly. 'Forgive me, Tari.'

A cold gust of wind swept through the mountain, pulling Thrall from his thoughts at the change. His connection to the elements had sharpened over the years, and he could feel the water spirits stirring, agitated by the familiar magic they were sensing. Jaina was near. The air itself seemed to shimmer, growing dense with the crackle of magic, and within seconds, she appeared, just three meters away from him. She had specialized in frost magic; the sorceress was familiar with water elementals often summoning them to aid her in battle, and they too were familiar with her for her prowess on the field.

Clad in a white and purple robe, with a grey corset that pinched her slender waist, Jaina Proudmoore stood with the grace and poise of a leader who had seen more than her fair share of battle. Her long golden hair fluttered in the wind, catching the setting sun's glittering light, and her piercing blue eyes met his with warmth and familiarity. Thrall could easily see why she was considered beautiful by human standards.

"Thrall, good to see you," She greeted, her voice light yet full of concern as her lips curved into a soft smile.

"Likewise, Jaina," Thrall rumbled, standing up to his full height, towering over the human woman. "A lot has happened," he began, his voice steady, though beneath it lay the weight of concern, "and I am in need of your input."

Jaina's expression shifted as she listened, her brows furrowing and her lips pressing into a thin line of worry. She waited for him to continue without uttering a word, her eyes searching his for the depth of the issue.

"Have you heard about Ainz Ooal Gown and Buku Ooal Gown?" Thrall asked, hoping beyond hope that she knew about the pair and could provide the much-needed insight as a mage who dabbled far more in the magics than he.

Jaina frowned, shaking her head slowly, her confusion evident, "No. Those names don't ring a bell. I can't even guess where they could be from if they are humans. This is the first time I've heard such strange names."

Thrall nodded grimly. "They are not human," he explained, his tone carrying a hint of trepidation as he continued. "They are some sort of shape-shifting race. These two… nearly killed Sylvanas when she tried to detain them and when they visited Orgrimmar, they were attacked by a black dragon. They killed the beast in only three blows. Ainz is a powerful magic caster and Buku … well, she was impossibly strong for her size and skilled in combat. They supposedly traveled through Alliance lands without any problems, and what intelligence we can get only supports what we know about the duo."

Jaina's eyes widened slightly, the wheels of her mind clearly turning. Her knowledge of magic was vast, and yet even she seemed perplexed by the nature of these beings. "That sounds like… nothing I've ever encountered," she admitted, her voice thoughtful but tinged with urgency. "Give me a few hours. I will try to find out who… or what they could be," Jaina hastily replied and teleported away before Thrall could say another word.

Thrall exhaled deeply as he returned to his seated position, the wolf skin beneath him soft yet coarse, a reminder of his connection to the wilds and his people. The sweltering heat of the Durotar desert was relentless, but Thrall barely noticed it. His mind was preoccupied with soothing the agitated elemental spirits that writhed around Orgrimmar, still hectic about the duo they had encountered and feared.

With his eyes closed, he focused inward, letting his thoughts and concerns slip away as he communed with the spirits, coaxing them into calmness, soothing them with assurances that things would come out fine. Time, usually something that gnawed at him, became insignificant in his meditative state as he worked, spirit by spirit. Patience was a virtue Thrall was familiar with, one born of long years spent waiting for the right moment to grow, to strike, to unite, and to lead. Now, as the sun moved through the sky, drawing closer to the horizon, Thrall waited again for his work to finish and Jaina to return. His mind touched the ebb and flow of the elemental forces around him, their fury simmering but contained.

Finally, the familiar crackle of magic filled the air, and Jaina reappeared beside him. Her arrival was abrupt, and the moment she materialized, Thrall noticed the change in her immediately. Her breath was ragged and her skin looked noticeably paler than before. She seemed worn, her usual aura of calm control diminished by the urgency of the situation.

"No one knows," she declared without preamble, her voice tinged with frustration and a hint of something darker… fear, perhaps. "My contacts in Stormwind had no idea who they were. These two mysterious figures just appeared out of thin air and performed impressive feats that earned them even the attention of Stormwind's royalty. Even the mages of Dalaran… they had no answers. Their best guess is demons in disguise but it doesn't make sense…" She trailed off, shaking her head as if trying to make sense of her own words.

Thrall furrowed his brow. "Why doesn't it make sense?" he inquired, his deep voice calm but curious, already sensing that the explanation wasn't that simple.

Jaina sighed, sitting down on her cloak with a weariness that seemed to seep into her very bones despite having only spent a day investigating, a short span considering she could spend months at a time on a subject if she found it interesting. She uncorked a small bottle filled with a softly glowing liquid and took a long drink, the light of the liquid casting a faint, otherworldly glow on her tired face as she drank in silence.

"Demons of such power," she began after a moment, "Would need to be summoned with the help of incredibly advanced rituals, and it would require the coordination of a lot of mages. We are talking about the kind of power that leaves unmistakable marks on the land, demonic taint, dark magic residues… And even then, demons of that caliber would be far from subtle. They would have wreaked havoc and possibly tried to start another demon invasion by the Burning Legion upon arrival, causing chaos wherever and whenever possible."

Thrall nodded thoughtfully, "Some of them are cunning and cautious," he remarked quietly, his voice deep with contemplation. "They could be waiting for the right time, choosing not to reveal their full hand."

Jaina shook her head, her expression tight with worry. "If that's the case, then I hope they are not demons, or if they are, that they don't have malicious intent. Azeroth has been through too much already… Another cataclysm might be more than we can handle," she remarked with a tired sigh.

Her words hung heavily in the air, and Thrall couldn't help but think of all that had been lost—of all the countless lives destroyed in the wake of endless wars, of demons, and of the undead scourge. Jaina's pain was palpable; it was etched into the lines of her face and the weariness in her voice. She had endured more than her fair share of heartache… watching Arthas, her beloved, postpone their marriage indefinitely, and then descend into madness, seeing nations consumed by the undead and him killing his own father, and much more. The Burning Legion invading and causing unimaginable damage to her people. Finally, she had to look away as her father, driven by blind hatred and desire for vengeance, attacked the horde and lost his life for it. If only he had listened to her. The weight of all that loss was ever-present, always lurking behind her sharp, determined gaze, weighing on her shoulders.

Thrall's own memories of loss flickered at the edges of his mind. His parents' homeworld, Draenor, shattered and destroyed by the folly of demonic corruption. It was a warning etched into his soul, a constant reminder of what could happen when power was misused and when the thirst for destruction went unchecked. He glanced at Jaina, who sat quietly now, staring off into the distance as the last light of day painted the sky in hues of gold and violet, her bottle empty.

"I hope you're right," Thrall muttered quietly, his voice carrying the weight of his fears. "Azeroth has suffered enough. We can't afford another calamity… My people had seen what happens when a world is pushed to the brink of destruction," His thoughts drifted to Draenor once more, now a husk of its former self, all because of reckless power.

Jaina turned to him, her eyes soft with understanding. "We've both seen too much, Thrall," she softly replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But we have to believe… that we can still protect this world. We've done it before. We can do it again."

A moment of silence passed between them, heavy with unspoken fears and shared burdens. The world they fought so hard to protect was always on the edge, teetering between salvation and ruin. And yet, here they were, still standing, still fighting for their nations, their people, and themselves.

<X >

It was time to become the overlord. Ainz stood in the dimly lit room, the air thick with a palpable sense of power from the many preparations he had done. The temperature dropped a few degrees the moment he donned his midnight black robe, its fabric rippling as if alive, charged with dark magic that emanated power and fear. Shadows writhed around the stone floor with every movement, as if in awe of his existence, eager for his attention. His skeletal frame, though devoid of flesh, carried an undeniable weight, one not of bone and marrow but of complete dominion and absolute power. The robe's long sleeves fanned out, black as the night sky, engulfing the light as if it could never break free from his grasp.

He placed his hand next to the ring collection and slid the rings onto his bone fingers, each one sparkling with arcane light. His guildmates' stored powers were contained in each ring, mementos of a time when Nazarick was more than just his realm but also a place he shared with his now-lost allies. He couldn't help but get a little homesick for them as he decked his fingers with the glittering gems, embedded in the game's finest metals. But that moment of nostalgia was short-lived; sentimentality cannot exist in the mind of a king who is about to seize control of the world.

Finally, Ainz grasped for his reign's most powerful symbol which had been sitting in his inventory since he arrived in Azeroth - the Guild Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown. The item gleamed with an unearthly brilliance, like gold but far more terrible, as if it had been made in a fire that no mortal had or should have ever seen. The staff's head was formed like seven writhing snakes, with their bodies twisting and intertwining as they rose to the summit in unison. Each snake clutched a unique gem in its jaws, each one glowing softly with forbidden magic. They pulsed as if they were alive, their eyes flashing with the ferocity of a predator about to strike upon those who opposed their wielder's might.

In Yggdrasil, this staff had been more than just a weapon. It had been the very heart of Nazarick - a symbol of the guild's essence and unity. To lose it was to lose everything the guild had stood and fought for, and so, during the game, Ainz had never dared to wield it on the battlefield, only ever in private matches and ceremonial situations. It had been the anchor that secured the guild's base, the protection of their entire domain. But now, in this new world of Azeroth, its status had changed. The staff was no longer an intangible entity bound by the game's rules; it had become a physical object, and its limitless power could finally be realized before his very eyes.

He gripped it tightly in his right hand, feeling its power pour through him like a raging river. It was thrilling to see how much the staff could do. Ainz knew he could summon five types of elementals of immense power, construct a near-impregnable magic shield around himself, cause massive earthquakes, and shoot down pillars of fire from the sky that could burn towns to ashes. The downside was that each spell could be used only twice a day, resetting every midnight. Lastly, the staff let him use [Dimensional Lock, a spell that isolated an area from the rest of the world, preventing the opponent from fleeing. These were no longer abstract game concepts - they were actual, physical tools of devastation, tools at his command and disposal.

He admired his reflection in the mirror-like surface of the staff. The burning crimson flames in his eye sockets flickered as they focused on the image. The spotless white skull stared back at him, devoid of human expression but filled with dreadful majesty. The staff tapped the floor with a loud thunk, a resounding echo vibrating off the thick walls. His dark robe swirled around him, the hem brushing the floor with the grace of a monarch surveying his dominion.

"A proper look for an Emperor," Buku gushed, her voice full of approval as she praised her husband. She was surrounded by a sea of discarded plate armor, their metallic clatter echoing through the room as if a war had just been fought over fashion choices alone. The rejected sets of armor, despite their divine origins, lay strewn about like casualties of a war against fashion, each piece deemed unworthy of the upcoming event.

Ainz, dressed in his midnight-black robe that appeared to soak up the light, nodded in agreement. The robe, together with the ominous Guild Staff in his right hand, emanated a sense of absolute power and darkness. Ainz couldn't help but feel proud of the appearance he'd created for himself. "Thank you. I did have a sense of style when it came to this form."

Buku, meantime, was preoccupied with her own war, "Some," she countered, her voice full of faux modesty. "But I will shamelessly take some credit for helping you pick this look back in the game," Her lips and cheeks twisted in a smug smile.

"Credit where credit's due," Ainz replied, his tone gracious. "You did help. But you should do the same with your new look. You know we have only about half an hour left before the fortress fades," He reminded her.

"I am trying!" Buku grumbled, her frustration clear as she ripped off yet another set of armor. The sound of metal screeching against the floor reverberated throughout the room, adding to the frenzied atmosphere. "I need to pick carefully, you know." The array of divine-tier sets, each more powerful and elaborate than the last, only served to confound her decision. They were Artemel's gifts, but even divinity couldn't protect them from Buku's harsh examination of functionality and fashion.

Ainz observed with a little sense of enjoyment as Buku threw away a particularly intricate armor set. "What was wrong with the last one? It did look good on you," he asked in a perplexed tone.

"The shoulder plates were ugly and the boob plate was unflattering," Buku explained with an exasperated sigh. "Picking a badass look is so hard."

"Boob plate?" Ainz eyed her with increasing amusement, "Isn't it impractical?"

Buku shot him a glare, though there was a hint of a smile playing on her lips, "It's about style, Ainz. I need to look great in my main set. It would have been so much easier if I was a caster., I could pick a flowing robe dress with a split." she paused as if reading his thoughts in real-time. "Not a word!"

"I wasn't thinking anything bad," Ainz swiftly responded, offering his free hand in mock surrender. The idea of Buku as a caster in a flowing garment was humorous, but he prudently kept his ideas to himself. Besides, a little part of him delighted in that only he would now ever see her in such a form.

"Aha, now what do you think of this one?" Buku inquired, entering the light wearing a black plate set with red embellishments. The metal hugged her body wonderfully, actuating both her femininity and power as it shimmered when she spun around.

"It looks great on you," Ainz remarked, clearly impressed.

"You say that about… nope you're right on this one," Buku agreed with a chuckle, turning slowly in front of a mirror. She inspected herself from every angle, her armor sparkling as if it were more than simply a protective shell but also a fashion statement. "It's perfect. Now it's onto just the weapon and shield."

Ainz resisted the urge to sigh, a familiar sensation rising within him - one of the many remnants of his once-human self that still occasionally surfaced despite his undead state. Time was slipping away like sand through an hourglass and while he possessed untold power over reality, patience was a resource that even he found challenging to gather when his wife was involved. As many husbands and boyfriends had described, of their valiant tales while their significant others went shopping for new fashion. His [Create Fortress] spell was about to expire, yet Buku stood before the mirror like an artist before a blank canvas, shifting through weapons with the intensity of someone deciding the fate of the world.

Buku's gaze shifted between a flurry of swords, her fingertips brushing over the hilts of at least twenty swords before she picked a large flamberge, hefting it in her grip. It was an intimidating piece of metal, the kind of weapon that would look more at home in the hands of a brute giant than someone slender like Buku. The wavy blade looked impossibly sharp and the reddish hue surrounding the weapon gave it a sinister look, complimenting her overall appearance. Additionally, it held a permanent fire enchant, not only giving it a fiery glow but adding fire damage to each strike, burning what it touched upon command. Despite its imposing size, Buku swung it as if it weighed no more than a feather, the blade ripping through the space around her with deadly accuracy.

"That one's a bit much, don't you think?" Ainz couldn't help but quip, his bony visage failing to convey the delighted smirk that would have accompanied the remarks in his previous existence.

"Too much?" Buku echoed, raising an eyebrow as she admired the dreadful weapon, holding it above her head. "I prefer the term 'just right.'"

She coupled the flamberge with a kite shield crafted in a similar style: black with red accents and a large threatening spike jutting from the middle. It was the ideal match to the flamberge, emphasizing her image as a symbol of strength and authority, of power and destruction. Ainz had to admit, that despite her occasional moments of indecision, she had an affinity for the dramatics.

"All set!" She proudly announced, her lips curled into a delighted grin. To finish the look, she tossed a white fox coat over her armor, its thick, pale fur a stark contrast to the smooth, dark metal beneath. The coat elevated her appearance, reminding Ainz of ancient queens who led armies into battle in media. The freezing mountain breeze nipped at them, but the fox fur kept her warm, a practical and stylish touch.

As they left the fortress, the bright morning sun greeted them, its light showering the snow-covered peaks in a brilliant light. The air was crisp, the kind that could cool one's lungs with a single breath, and the fortress that had been their refuge faded before their eyes, leaving no trace that it had ever existed, not even the snow where it stood moments before being disturbed.

Buku looked at the fading stronghold before turning to him with a sarcastic smile. "You know, as beautiful as that view is, I wouldn't mind a little less snow next time."

"Have you picked the gate location?" She continued, casually twirling her flamberge with one hand, her other hand absentmindedly patting down the fox fur cloak.

"Not yet. It's unwise to appear in one of the human cities dressed like this." Ainz glanced at their intimidating appearances - Buku, clothed in threatening armor, and himself, a skeletal overlord bursting with power. "We'd cause a panic. So… I'll try to locate a remote area somewhere in Westfall. According to some more recent sources, the leader of the crime cartel was hiding out somewhere in the fertile plains. The border province is far from Stormwind, making the local farms easy pickings for criminals."

"Just pick an empty spot at random," Buku suggested, kneeling down in the snow to mold it into some sort of figurine, quickly forming a mini snowman. "We'll sniff out the lowlifes soon enough, and from there, it's just a matter of persuasion, right?"

Ainz activated [Remote Viewing, zooming his vision high above the cloud line and moving his point of vision southwest. The landscape of Azeroth unfolded underneath him like a living map. Soon enough, the green, rolling fields of Westfall came into view, stretching forever with golden wheat flowing in the breeze, orange pumpkins and a rainbow of other crops dotting the landscape in their splendor. Small houses littered among them like forgotten remnants of a once-thriving land, occasionally congregating into small villages. His eyes swept across the plains until he came across an isolated area of grass far removed from civilization.

"This will do," he declared out loud and cast [Gate]. The swirling portal sprang to life, shimmering with arcane energy, and within moments, the cold, snowy mountain peaks were replaced by the endless sea of grass.

They stood in the heart of Westfall now, surrounded by the warm hues of the countryside. The sounds of nature greeted them: Small animals moved around subtly disturbing the vegetation, birds of prey flew above their heads searching for prey. But the local nature wasn't their concern. Now Ainz needed to locate the Defias members and get the location of their leader out of them by any means necessary.

EDITED BY: NabeisWaifu and aidan_lo.

Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, Malguis, and aidan_lo, I AM THE STRING CUTTER

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