25. (Side story) Raising a Stronghold 2 - The Foundation

You often don't understand how precious the small things can be until they are gone. Conversely, the small things can be paradise on Earth when rediscovered, even in the midst of trial and tribulation. Emma Edmond, modern holocaust survivor, orphan, and very recently recruited supervillain minion lay on thin mattresses laid over hard stone, huddled under worn blankets, and luxuriated in heavenly bliss. For the first time in months, she had multiple layers of padding beneath her, a (somewhat) fluffy blanket, un-scratchy sheets, a pillow that wasn't an unpleasantly textured foam lump, and everything was clean and pleasantly-scented. The room was warm and dimly lit. Her belly was relatively full. Most rapturously wonderful of all, she didn't have to get up. There were sounds of grinding stone and heavy, thumping footfalls, but no ear-shattering alarm, no guards to roust her out of bed with armored boots or shock prods a few seconds after the alarm, and no getting up before the alarm to make sure Nora got up in time.

The realization that there was also no Nora, even though they had gone to bed snuggled against each other, broke Emma out of her blessed dreamland and set her flailing her way out of her soft, faintly lavender-scented nirvana. The 'women's side' of their new home, or perhaps temporary camp, was a rectangular area curtained off with more bedsheets. These hung from what used to be industrial shelving units taken from the Toolshed before servants of Lord Ainz had torn them apart and wrenched them into the form of serviceable curtain rods. A smooth stone floor and equally smooth high ceiling attested to this being an example of the ever-popular underground secret villain's lair. (There had been some speculation in the periods between getting everyone through each of the series of portals on the way here. Submarine fortresses under the icecap were quite popular with Canadian supervillains who had the necessary resources.)

Emma didn't quite have a handle on her new boss or situation but she had enough faith in his promise of sanctuary that, even when driven by her concern for her sister, she took the time to slip on a pair of the cheap-looking sandals everyone had been issued. The stone floor was cold and the sandals, along with the loose homespun-looking shirts and pants issued, were surprisingly comfortable and magically (probably with actual magic) achieved the mythological quality of "one size fits all". Staggering her way through the curtains Emma came face-to-face with a scaly, red-skinned woman with a bowl in one hand and a mug in the other. More accurately, she nearly came face-to-bosom with the taller woman who nimbly stepped out of the way of Emma's stumbling path, leaving short trails of steam from the containers in her hands.

"La Jefa!" the serpent-like lady (Stephanie-something?) exclaimed. The cheer in her greeting was clear even if Emma didn't understand the words. "Breakfast's up. Porridge beats the hell out of camp-kibble," the bowl waved under Emma's nose had little in the way of scent but the bits of dried fruit and chopped nuts on top of the white mush were tantalizing after months of 'camp-kibble' rumored to be repurposed pet food. Maybe-Stephanie took a sip from her mug. "Coffee is, hmm, coffee and that's the best I can say for it, but it's not gene-juice." 'Gene-juice' being the suspicious puce-colored liquid portion of the carefully-regulated and entirely inadequate diet provided by the Toolshed. "Watch out for the construction." She raised her mug in a sort of salute while stepping backwards into the sleeping area, moving the curtains out of the way with a practiced-looking hip-twitch.

During the conversation, Emma's capacity for conscious thought had finished booting up, if not quite quickly enough to be an active participant in said conversation. Taking in her surroundings, it finally registered that those surroundings were quite a bit larger than they had been when she went to sleep.

Last night, the 'secret lair' had been a rectangular box, sort of a long, wide hallway with a high ceiling hollowed out from inside a volume of solid stone and accessible by portal. The male and female sleeping areas had each taken up one end of the corridor. At the time, she had thought putting up curtains against bare stone walls had been a matter of aesthetics.

Today, most of the stone around them was gone. The lair was an underground expanse of open space with a regular grid of square columns supporting the ceiling. The zone beyond the original area was not well lit, but Emma could discern large, lumpy approximations of humanoid forms moving about and carrying blocks of material. The sources of the thudding footsteps and sounds of grinding stone she had learned to block out during the 'night' were now obvious. I'm sort of amazed I slept through the part when they were working right next to us. But not that amazed. I was tired enough to sleep like a…

Emma faltered as memories of the recurring gag and the times she had shared it with her family since her powers manifested welled upwards. She wiped away a single tear and blinked away the rest of the moisture as her father's voice finished the joke in her mind, sleep like a rock. Then Emma set her shoulders and steeled her heart with the last words she had heard from her mother, spoken to Nora. The words that had time and again had been Emma's touchstone in finding strength and enduring every pain and indignity.

"Stay with Emma, she will protect you."

Time to find Nora.

The space between the two sleeping areas was crowded with stacks of supplies looted from the Toolshed and mutants having breakfast. A man who looked much like a skinny hippopotamus-person was tending a sizable pot of porridge set over a floating orb of green flame. A desk from someone's office held bowls of toppings for the porridge and a large coffee maker being fiddled with by a woman with oversized ears. A standard office watercooler stood nearby, looking a little too mundane for its surroundings. A yellow-green woman anointed her porridge with sugary, maple-derived sweetness of the sort Emma hadn't tasted in forever, but Emma overrode the urgings of her stomach and taste buds because of a lack of Nora in the vicinity.

Head on a swivel, Emma wove her way through the haphazard arrangement of tables, chairs, and benches looted from the Toolshed, receiving far more nods and waves than she would have in days past when everyone was focused on keeping their heads down. People were staying in, or at least near, the brightly lit area of the original lair's floor space, but she spotted a cluster of children towards the edge of that area. From the looks of things, the construction efforts in the increasingly distant shadows may have been one of the few available sources of entertainment. However, a number of the youngsters had realized that their new freedom, even if it was in a sealed artificial cavern, included the freedom to chase each other around. They were still, Emma noted sadly, doing so far more quietly than one would expect in more normal circumstances.

Murphy, or some other inevitable law of the universe, decreed that one of the common results of such games would occur just as Emma drew near. Two boys, a couple of years older than Nora, entered a shoving match. Weeks and months of repressed tension that didn't need to be fully repressed any more may have contributed to how quickly it escalated from shoving to fists flying. One of the nearby adults, a purple woman whose name Emma had never caught as she was mute and everyone just called her "The Purple Woman", moved in to break things up. Then more underlying tension chose that moment to erupt.

For an armored giant, Mr. Litterbug could be amazingly quiet and inconspicuous. Then again, he was a sort of human-cockroach so sneakiness may have been part of the package. However, he was far from any of those qualities as he rushed in, snarling and chittering, to intercept the woman. Had Emma been suddenly confronted in such a manner, she would most likely have stumbled back and fallen down. The Purple Woman pulled back to keep her distance but did so in a controlled, almost practiced manner, wary but balanced and ready to move. This didn't change the fact that Litterbug, even with a power-control collar and implants, had a hard armor shell and more than three times the woman's mass.

As usual, Mr. Cell was not far behind his friend, translating for him. According to Mr. Cell, the rasping and chittering sounds his friend made were more like a very thick accent than the animal-noise most people heard. But Emma had never picked up the trick for understanding the larger man. Understanding the smaller man wasn't always effortless either.

"LB says we don't need no gov'ment goon watchin' tha kiddies," Mr. Cell explained. "From stories 'bout yo' daddy, I say we don't need you watchin' da kiddies." Like everyone else after time in the camps, Mr. Cell was a bit thin and worn down, made especially visible since he wasn't wearing a shirt. However, his condition moved his facial features from the category of 'sharp' to downright 'knifelike' and he was plainly making a statement that he was ready and capable of violence. He stepped into the Purple Woman's personal space with an exaggerated swagger, flanking her as Litterbug held his position 'guarding' the children. "What the fuck r' you doin' here wit' us anyway? You ain't no mutant. Yo' goddamn daddy got hit wit' chemical-whazit n' you got dat purple ass from his purple ass."

Most of the mutants out and about at this time were edging away. In the camps attracting attention in any way, or being near anything that attracted attention, was always bad news. However, a few were drawing closer, realizing (not necessarily consciously) that the rules had changed.

Mr. Cell turned to address the tiny but growing audience, scratching the side of his neck where part of a tattoo showed just above his collar. Habits and tics of that sort were common among the inmates as pulling on the collar activated its 'disciplinary functions' but the desire to get it off was hard to repress. "Datz right people. This here be a genuine Alpha Flight supa-hero. A bona fide mind-fuckin' supa-fed, gov'ment issue costume n' all, workin' fo' da fine folks dat done slapped deez collars on us. Dey may have taken her costume, includin' tha jackboots, but dat don't make her one o' us. N' dat don't even start in on her asshole daddy da rapingest rapist eva. So no, we ain't trustin' her n' we sure as hell ain't trustin' her round tha kids."

Emma could see a couple of people respond to the words, embers of resentment against the Canadian government and anyone associated flaring up now that they were free to do so. She also saw what was really important here, even if everyone else was distracted.

"If you're so concerned about the children," she asked while skirting around Mr. Litterbug, his red eyes flickering between her and the Purple Woman, "then why isn't anyone actually paying attention to the children?" She bent down next to one of the boys who had been fighting and who had been quietly crying and pressing his hand over his eye since the end of the fight. "Let me see," she said, holding out her hands and trying to imitate her mother in similar incidents.

Hesitantly, the boy lowered his hand, revealing a blue eye shot through with red. As in the 'white' of his eye was robin's egg blue with a red iris and shot through with red veins. She would have assumed the prominence of the veins was a result of taking a blow to the eye, but his other eye looked just like it. Having no reliable visual cues to go on she just said, "There," in as motherly a tone as she could while wiping away tears. "Can you see alright?" Receiving a sniffling nod in reply, she stroked his brown hair which was long and unkempt, like everyone else's. "Now, I think you and the rest should go play somewhere else for now." Standing straight, she addressed those of the younger crowd who hadn't already slunk away. "Everyone be careful and try to get along, alright? Let's not make trouble for our," she waved vaguely at the shapes moving about in the gloom, "hosts."

Adjusting her still surprisingly comfortable shirt, Emma turned towards the adults and the camp in general. She saw Dr. Garrison making his way over, but he seemed to be moving a bit slow after the excitement of yesterday. Need to buy some time, she thought. "Mr. Cell-"

He abruptly cut her off, one hand up in a 'stop' gesture with the other folded across his chest. "Nuh-uh missy. Don't be thinkin' you be tha boss just cuz you jumped the fuck in n' joined-up first."

"I'm thinking, Mr. Cell, that you are a better person than this."

"Really? Huh? Dat ain't how dis conversation usually goes fo' me. N' I ain't no 'mister', just Cell. But letz hear what you got."

"I think that all through our time at the Toolshed, you never let anyone else take advantage of your friend," she gestured at the large cockroach-man, "when he couldn't speak for himself or because of his appearance." This statement completely overlooked the many ways the guards had belittled Mr. Litterbug, but they did that with everyone and there wasn't anything the prisoners could have done about it, so they didn't count. "And now you are stirring things up against a woman who can't talk to defend herself. Do you want to be like the people who locked us away without a trial or anything?"

Mr. Cell (no, just Cell) sneered, but then shifted to looking stricken and anxious rather than arguing the point. Not sure what sort of psychological point she might have scored, Emma pressed on. "They locked us away because they decided we weren't people, or that we were inherently evil people. No lawyer, no judge, just guns, armor, and people like Francis. Do you want to be an asshole like Francis or do you want to be a person like they said you weren't? We have a chance now to be people, not things. Good people who are kind to each other, not dangerous animals. We owe it to ourselves, to each other, and to Lord Ainz for saving us to be the people we can be, not the beasts they tried to make us into."

The small crowd stood silent and still, staring at her. With the exception of Dr. Garrison, those who had been making their way towards the excitement had found somewhere else to be. The doctor had carried onward, but stood at the edge of the group, his expression more considering than the shocked and wary faces of the rest.

Why are they…?

"Well said Miss Edmond," came the answer to her unspoken question. The words weren't the answer but the voice, coming from behind her, was. To call the voice 'commanding' would be like calling the Yukon in January 'cold'. Accurate, but completely failing to capture the scale of the quality being described. The voice was deep without rumbling. It rolled smoothly, conveying elegance and confidence in every syllable. She had only heard a handful of sentences spoken by that voice, but it was unmistakable.

Turning slowly, she first beheld a skeleton, but not the one she was expecting. This one had a thin layer of gray, withered flesh over its bones, an ornately decorated hat in the form of a cylinder that was wider at the top than where it circled her brow. And it was clearly female despite the lack of curves or other biological indicators. She had adorned her sunken features with black eyeliner around her empty sockets with eyebrows drawn in above them and lips painted red around her unchanging rictus grin. She wore an ankle-length white sleeveless dress, with many bracelets and armbands that hovered in place over her withered arms. The overall style suggested something from ancient Egypt, but Emma wasn't enough of a history buff to judge. A scroll hovered in the air beside this skeleton along with some sort of pen and inkpot.

Continuing to turn, she then found the expected figure of Ainz Ooal Gown in his magnificent black hooded robe edged in violet and gold. His hands spread outward palms up, in what might have been a sign of praise. Behind him stood some sort of light blue insect-man, even larger than Mr. Litterbug and standing erect with a long-handled axe and a curved sword in two of his four hands. In the gloom beyond that, work on the expanding cavern had ceased and every head was turned in their direction.

How the hell did all of them sneak up behind me?

"Now then," Ainz said as he gracefully stepped forward to stand beside Emma to her left, the other skeleton maintaining position to his left and the blue bug-guard following behind him. "There seems to have been a bit of a disagreement? Is there a," the pause was short but intensely foreboding as a sense of inescapable doom filled the air, "problem?"

A handful of seconds dragged on for a seeming eternity, all those nearby frozen while many fearful eyes peered from behind stacks of supplies or the curtains of the sleeping areas. The chill in the air was more than metaphorical as cold mists wafted off the new bug-person.

"You. Should. Answer. Lord. Ainz. When. He. Asks. A. Question." The blue insect man had no visible mouth-parts that moved when he spoke, but there was no doubt regarding the source of the booming, echoing, monotone.

Mr. Litterbug snapped from his normal hunched posture to something as close to military attention as his body could manage. He replied with a clipped staccato chattering and hissing that went on for a while. A few seconds into this, Mr. (just) Cell swallowed nervously and spoke up. "He sez-"

Lord Ainz interrupted with a raised hand, palm out, and a flare of the red lights in his eye sockets. He spoke no words, apparently listening intently to the insect-man before him, but the meaning was clear, backed up by the insect-man behind him shifting his grip on his weapons while chuffing a white mist from the sides of his lower face.

Mr. Litterbug came to a stop. Ainz answered conversationally. "I am aware of Miss Killgrave's employment record, though my information on her father is fragmentary. Umu. I'm afraid I picked up quite a few of you yesterday, and I haven't finished going through all the files recovered from the facility. What is your name?"

"Liiichchcheeeruuug," was the almost-intelligible reply.

"Well then Litterbug. I grant you that her history is something that should be examined. However, on that subject, might I ask what you did in your time with the United States Army?" Eyes among the crowd were drawn to emblem on Mr. Litterbug's shoulder plate, a Stars-and-Striped heart in a shield with 'Army' written above it.

Silence stretched for a few seconds before Ainz spoke again. "I'm sensing some reluctance. You wouldn't be trying to devise some sort of pleasing deception for me, would you?"

"It. Is. Both. Pointless. And. Dangerous. To. Dissemble. Before. The. Supreme. One," chuffed the blue behemoth. "You. Will. Answer. All. Questions. Quickly. And. Truthfully."

Mr. Litterbug straightened even further, in a way that would have fit a human soldier but looked like it put uncomfortable strain on his non-human body, and chittered on some more.

"Well, you may have noticed my focus tends more towards the arcane, but with a whole world of technology out there, I'm sure your skills as a mechanic will prove quite useful. What sort of equipment did you work with?"

Cell twitched but did not speak as his friend gave a shorter reply of, "Shechchulllssss."

"And what are Sentinels?"

The small crowd remaining, aside from Cell, drew back with exclamations of fear, disgust, or hatred. Dr. Garrison stood his ground quietly but even his television-handsome features took on an ugly expression for a moment. Meanwhile, Mr. Litterbug chattered on a bit more.

Lord Ainz cupped his bony chin in an equally bony hand. "Umu. How interesting. I thank you for your input, however, Miss Killgrave's history and former loyalties, like yours, only matters insofar as how it affects her ability to provide the service in my name that has been promised. I would appreciate it if there were no more disruptive arguments on this or other subjects. You may go now."

The skeletal supervillain pivoted towards where the Purple Woman (Miss Killgrave?) had been steadily but warily holding her ground. Mr. Litterbug collapsed to the ground, huddled and shivering. Cell hovered over him, whispering, "LB? Buddy? We gotta move." They crept backward slowly as the remaining crowd, minus Dr. Garrison and the Purple Woman, took the dismissal as a general order and dispersed to take refuge amongst the supplies or in the sleeping areas.

"Now then, while I don't appreciate the disturbance he did raise some points that should be addressed." The Purple Woman (Killgrave) stood firm as Ainz drew closer. "I did read in your files that you are mute, but those files are rather extensive and haven't been properly collated or organized yet. Is this a result of mutation or injury?"

Dr. Garrison brushed a hand through his shaggy, unwashed blond hair, "They burned out her tongue, your Lordship." His smooth voice turned sarcastic as he clarified, "They called it a security measure."

"Excellent!"

Emma stared at her boss's back. I know he's a villain, but why would he be happy about that when she hasn't done anything?

"Lupusregina!"

"Yes, Lord Ainz!"

"Ah!" Emma stumbled as a taller than average woman with brown skin and red hair in twin braids under a white-brimmed black cap appeared, nearly brushing against Emma as she skipped past her right shoulder from somewhere behind. Is this a thing they do around here? Is this a Team Ainz thing I need to learn how to do? The redhead bounced up to Lord Ainz's side, her black and white outfit emphasizing the 'bouncing' part along with her athletic curves and a fair amount of white-stockinged leg through a slit in the side of her dress. Slung across the woman's back was a black and silver thing that looked like it came off the steeple of a church, except for the handle positioned over her shoulder in such a way that she might grab hold of it. It seemed impossible that a woman that slender might swing something that large, but she showed no strain at all in carrying it.

Lord Ainz pointed a slender finger adorned with an enormous jeweled ring at the Purple Woman. "Begin your duties with this one."

"Yes, Lord Ainz!" she responded enthusiastically, stalking up to Miss Killgrave. As she circled her at what seemed like an uncomfortably close distance, Emma saw wide yellow eyes and a broad grin in a gorgeous face. Coming to a stop with her back to Emma once more, she raised one hand in greeting. "Hello, I am Lupusregina Beta, Maid of the Great Tomb of Nazarick and Lord Ainz Ooal Gown. Call me Lupu. I am," the newly identified 'Lupu' dropped her hand and recited the following words as if they were unfamiliar to her, "your appointed healthcare service provider. Now say 'ah�� for nurse Lupu."

Glancing between the newcomer and the skeleton, the Purple Woman opened her mouth wide with a drawn-out, "Aaaaaaah."

Lupu eagerly peered inside. "Ooooh. That looks like it hurt." The tone of the words was friendly, even cheerful, but somewhat inappropriate for the subject matter.

Lupu slid around to the woman's left while remaining well inside her personal space.

"[Heal]"

Something about that single word was soothing, like a lotion made of sound. As the woman was briefly bathed in green light that shed drifting motes. Emma saw the little scrapes that life in the Toolshed gave you disappear from the woman's face and arms. Even her hair looked cleaner and more lustrous.

"Oh, wow," the Purple Woman said softly, then froze except for her widening eyes.

"Oh, wow!" she shouted to the heavens, dancing in place and words spilling out of her with increasing haste. "I can talk. I can talk. I can taste food properly. I can eat without having to tilt my head to get the food into my teeth." Lupu hummed while bobbing along to the accelerating cadence of the words.

"I can ta~alk," she sang, followed by, "I can si~ing. I have soooo much to get off my chest. I can-I-I…" She ground to a halt, then fixed a much more focused and serious gaze upon Lord Ainz. "Can you save my girls?"

Lord Ainz did not reply, merely cocking his skull slightly to the side and somehow giving the impression of raising an eyebrow that did not physically exist.

"I have a couple of girls. Adopted. I'm not sure if I should say they're my babies or my little sisters but they took them and they weren't at the Toolshed with us. I don't know if they're alive or dead or something worse, but if they're out there can you save them? You saved-you saved her," She Killgrave, I shouldn't keep calling her 'Purple Woman' began to cry as she pointed to the side. Emma followed her finger to see Nora standing among the supply pallets, but not hiding behind them like most others. "You saved her. Can you save my girls?"

Lord Ainz glanced at Nora and straightened his neck. "Umu. It seems presumptuous of you to be asking for such things when I have done so much for you and you have already sworn to serve me in payment. Nora was fortunate enough to be at the right place and time to provide me with valuable information. What makes you deserve such favor?"

Should I…Should I speak up here? I mean… Emma glanced between her sister and the tears running down purple cheeks. Emma Edmond once more steadied her soul upon the foundations that had carried her through the camps, her mother's last words, and bowed low. "Lord Ainz."

Her gaze fixed on a vein in the stone floor, Emma could feel the red embers of her Lord's 'eyes' upon her. "If you have something to contribute Miss Edmond, you may do so."

"Family," Emma began, then swallowed. "Love for family can push people to do things they didn't believe they could do. Reach levels they didn't know they had. Give more than what they thought was their best."

The blue insect man produced a sound between a snort and tire deflating, along with a wave of deeper cold and a drifting cloud of mist shedding small ice crystals. "The. Honor. Of. Serving. Lord. Ainz. Should. Be. All. That. Is. Needed. For. Such. Things."

"Well, both those arguments have their merits," answered the great skeleton. "Do you have anything further to add, Miss Killgrave?"

Miss Killgrave wiped away her tears while saying, "Right. Villain. I'm doing this wrong." Going to her knees, she sat back on her heels and bent forward, hair falling around her face and arms outstretched towards Lord Ainz to place her palms on the floor. "Oh great and generous Lord Ainz Ooal Gown, your servant is awed by your munificent benevolence and is ready to enact your will. This wretched one can bend your enemies to your purpose, provide you with useful information on the masters of those who have dared stand in your path, and even-" she drew a shuddering breath, "even on the champions of this land who will certainly stand against you. Though I have yet to be so honored as to act in your name, this lowly one swears to prove herself worthy of your consideration."

"Mmm." Ainz cupped jeweled fingers around his pointed chin. "I shall reflect upon this matter and give you your answer later. For now, I should introduce Nitocris." He waved the Egyptian-themed skeleton, who had been overshadowed by events and her companions, forward. "She will be addressing your needs and any further requests should go through her. Good day, ladies."

Lord Ainz swept back into the darkness, along with his titanic bug-bodyguard. Nitocris swept her 'eyes', pink pinpricks of light in contrast to the red of Lord Ainz, over Emma a few times in silent judgment, ignoring Miss Killgrave entirely. Dr. Garrison had already retreated back towards the men's sleeping area.

"A work crew will begin erecting showers and toilets in an hour and a half." Nitocris's voice was not dry, rasping, or croaking as one might expect, but instead was cultured, meticulously precise in the enunciation of each syllable, and had an accent that was partly British and partly something else. "Everyone shall give thanks to Lord Ainz and begin using the showers as soon as they are ready." Consulting the scroll floating by her side, she continued, though she gave the impression she might be addressing a point in space in Emma's general vicinity rather than Emma herself. "Pallet number seventeen includes three boxes of nametags. Use them."

She then turned and glided away. Emma looked to Miss Killgrave, who looked back and said, "Thank you," before Lupu scooped the purple mutant up from the floor and into a sideways hug.

"Now, I need to get everyone healthy to serve Lord Ainz properly," said the dark-skinned redhead, "but I also need to," she paused and her yellow eyes drifted up and to the left as she picked her way through another set of unfamiliar words, "establish a record of medical history. So tell nurse Lupu all about what happened to your tongue." Miss Killgrave, emotionally drained and quite helpless in the grip of the 'maid', shuffled along with her interrogator deeper into the camp. "What did they use? Did they start at the tip or go right to the back?"

Turning back towards Nora, her original goal before being swept up in things, Emma noticed Nitocris levitating one of the more expensive-looking looted desks and pushing it into a brightly lit clear area. "Where have you been?" Emma asked as she finally came close enough to lay a hand on her sister's shoulder. Physical contact had become very important as one of the few reassurances and comforts available to the recent past.

"I had breakfast," Nora answered as she watched Nitocris rummage through the drawers of the desk that had been carefully aligned with the rows of pillars and begin placing note pads, writing implements, and other office supplies on the desktop in fastidious order. "And then I went to say thank you for breakfast."

"Well that was nice of you," Emma said, patting Nora's hair while noting that the instructions regarding the showers were probably for the best. "I'm sure they appreciated being thanked."

Nora beamed up at her big sister. "I think he did."

---

AN:

To explain some of the events and abilities displayed here:

The folks from Nazarick are all benefiting from an auto-translation function built into the YGGDRASIL game. Ainz is hearing a Japanese translation of what Litterbug is saying, which bypasses his speech impediment.

Cocytus has 10 levels in a racial class called Vermin Lord. No details of what the class does are given, but I imagine the flavor text revolves around a Vermin Lord being a leader and commander of 'vermin' type creatures. The flavor text is manifesting in the real world as him being particularly intimidating towards such beings and such beings instinctively see him as a leader of some sort. Litterbug had other reasons to do as told and fell back into his military training. Cocytus wouldn't be able to mind-control Spider-Man, but most of the Spider-People would see him as imposing to a degree that goes beyond his conventionally formidable appearance.

When Ainz showed up, he praised Emma for taking command of the situation and then stepped up so that Emma was at his right hand. Emma and Ainz both missed the symbolic significance of this. No one else did.

If you wonder where Nora went and who she talked to, reread the chapter "A Warm Place" for a hint.