The Floating City Erygenthar – Council Chambers
Princess Renner—formerly of the Re-Estize Kingdom, currently a Demon of Nazarick—sat in a chair that was far too large for her.
She wasn't bound. There were no chains. The view from the window showed the clouds beneath them, a dizzying drop that made escape impossible for anyone without wings.
Climb stood behind her. He was catatonic, his eyes glazed over, standing at parade rest like a loyal statue.
"He's broken," a voice wheezed from the shadows.
Renner smiled politely. She adjusted the folds of her dress.
"He is perfect," she corrected. "He requires no thought. Only obedience. Is that not what every ruler desires?"
The Sleeper—the ancient woman in the wheelchair—rolled forward into the light. Her skin was like parchment stretched over bird bones. She smelled of dust and ozone.
"You have the blood," The Sleeper rasped, studying Renner with eyes that held too many pupils. "Faint. Diluted. But it's there. The 13 Heroes... my uncle... he laid with the Vaiself line. Disgusting."
Renner's smile didn't waver. "Is that why you kidnapped me? To discuss my genealogy? I'm afraid I didn't bring my family tree."
"I brought you," The Sleeper coughed, a wet, rattling sound, "because He will come for you. And when he does... I want to see if a Player can feel loss."
Renner laughed. It was a sweet, tinkling sound, innocent and terrifying.
"Ainz-sama coming for me? Oh, grandmother, you misunderstand. I am a pet. Ainz-sama might come to retrieve his property on principle, but he won't come out of love."
She leaned forward, her demon eyes flashing briefly magenta.
"He's coming because you annoyed him. And Ainz-sama doesn't just kill pests. He fumigates the house."
The Sleeper gripped her armrests.
"We possess the Hammer," she whispered. "The Nameless Book. The Wild Magic of five Dragon Lords. Let him come. The ocean will be his phylactery."
A tremor shook the floor.
"Report!" The Sleeper snapped at a hovering attendant—a Dragonoid guard.
"Madam! The Southern Scrying Network... it's blinding!"
"Blinding? Explain!"
"A massive negative energy reading has entered the Azure Expanse! It's... it's displacing the water!"
Renner clapped her hands together.
"Oh, look, Puppy," she cooed to the brain-dead Climb. "The Master is here. Try not to wag your tail too hard."
The Southern Ocean – Coordinates: The Maw
The ocean wasn't water anymore. It was soup.
Ainz Ooal Gown stood at the helm of The Last Light. The Ghost Ship was now the flagship of a fleet that defied the laws of buoyancy.
To the port side: Two Ghost Galleons captured from the "Ghost Sea" encounter.
To the starboard side: A massive, flat platform made of ice, courtesy of Cocytus, ferrying three thousand Death Knights.
Rearguard: The Abyssal Lord (Summon), swimming like a necro-whale, pulling a train of loot barges.
"Speed?" Ainz asked, the sea wind whistling through his ribs.
"Forty knots, Ainz-sama!" The Ghost Captain saluted. "The currents obey us! The sea cowards before your might!"
Ainz nodded majestically.
Internal Monologue: I'm freezing. Why does wind chill affect skeletons? Is it psychological? [Status Check]. No cold damage. Just mental. Also, forty knots on a wooden ship is terrifying. If we hit a rock, we turn into splinters.
"Ainz-sama."
Albedo stepped up to the quarterdeck. She was wearing a modified outfit—her armor was gone, replaced by a swimsuit that looked more like bondage gear than swimwear, overlaid with a sheer black robe.
"The sensor net has detected a barrier ahead."
"The Seraphim barrier?"
"No. Wild Magic," Albedo sneered. "Crude. Primitive. It's a storm wall."
Ainz looked ahead.
On the horizon, the sky was black. A wall of hurricane-force wind and lightning stretched from sea to clouds. It looked impenetrable.
"The Vampiric Dragon Lord," Ainz deduced, remembering the intelligence reports. "Cure Elim? No, he's dead in the other timeline... Wait, different continuity. This is probably a localized warden."
"Shall we go around?" Cocytus asked from the ice barge via [Message]. "I. Can. Attempt. To. Freeze. A. Path."
"No," Ainz said. "The 'Satoru' message... it called me a crybaby. It dared me."
He gripped the helm.
"If I go around, I prove them right."
Ainz raised his staff.
"All ships! Ramming speed!"
"RAMMING SPEED!" The undead crews shrieked.
The fleet surged forward. The winds howled. Rain lashed against the bone-hulls like buckshot.
Flash.
A bolt of red lightning struck the main mast of The Last Light. It didn't burn the wood; it turned the spectral sail into blood.
"Vampiric Magic!" Shalltear yelled from the crow's nest. "It drains HP instead of durability! Ainz-sama, the ship is bleeding!"
Blood poured from the wood, slicking the decks.
"Undead Ship Repair," Ainz cast quickly, patching the damage with mana. "They're trying to drain the fleet before we even arrive. Smart."
"Ainz-sama! Look!"
Albedo pointed.
Emerging from the storm wall weren't ships.
They were islands.
Floating islands of corpse-flesh. massive mounds of stitched-together whales, krakens, and sailors, propelled by blood-magic turbines.
Enemy Designation: Corpse Carrier Class: The Necro-Flotilla.
"They use undead too?" Ainz was offended. "That's copyright infringement!"
Standing atop the leading island of flesh was a creature in a tattered aristocratic suit. He was pale, gaunt, and holding a wine glass filled with seawater.
The Vampiric Dragon Lord (Humanoid Form).
"Guests!" The Vampire amplified his voice over the storm. "I am Draudillon's nightmares made manifest! You bring skeletons to a blood fight? How dry."
"Vampire Dragon," Shalltear hissed, her eyes glowing red. "He thinks he's top of the food chain?"
"Shalltear," Ainz said calmly.
"Yes, Ainz-sama?"
"You have been stressed lately. The 'Imposter' incident. The brainwashing trauma."
Ainz gestured to the flesh-island.
"Consider that," Ainz pointed, "a stress ball. Go pop it."
Shalltear didn't bow. She vibrated.
"Thank you, Ainz-sama!"
She launched.
Shalltear Bloodfallen didn't use [Fly]. She used [Force Explosion] against the air itself. She became a red meteor.
The Vampiric Dragon Lord raised a hand. "Blood Wall."
A barrier of pressurized blood rose up.
Shalltear smashed through it.
"Spuit Lance!"
She rammed her lance into the flesh-island. The lance's ability—HP Drain—activated.
But the island was made of HP.
"Infinite drink!" Shalltear screamed, her body glowing as she siphoned massive amounts of vitality.
The island groaned. The Vampiric Dragon Lord frowned.
"Rude."
He transformed. The human form burst apart, revealing a skeletal dragon draped in wet muscle and blood vessels.
"Breath of Rot!"
A cloud of red mist engulfed Shalltear.
"Ainz-sama! She'll get debuffed!" Albedo warned.
"Watch," Ainz said, crossing his arms. "Shalltear is a divine caster. Vampires are usually weak to rot, but she has the class 'Cleric'. She can cast Cure Disease on herself."
Inside the cloud, golden light flashed.
"Purify! Purify! Purify!" Shalltear chanted, slicing the mist apart. "You call this rot? My room smells worse after a Friday night!"
She landed on the Dragon Lord's back.
"Implosion."
She cast a 10th Tier spell directly onto the Dragon's spine.
BOOM.
Vertebrae shattered. The Dragon Lord roared, thrashing. The flesh-island began to capsize.
"All ships," Ainz commanded. "Fire main cannons."
The Last Light didn't use gunpowder. The "Cannons" were rows of Elder Liches strapped to the gun deck.
"Fireball Barrage!"
Hundreds of fireballs arced through the storm. They hit the flesh-islands, igniting the methane gas building up inside the rotting corpses.
It was a chain reaction.
Pop. Pop. KA-BOOM.
The enemy blockade didn't sink. It detonated. Chunks of burning whale meat rained down from the sky.
Ainz watched the fireworks.
Beautiful. In a gruesome way. This is way better than fireworks at the Sumida River festival. Though, the smell is... regrettable.
"Barrier breached!" The Ghost Captain yelled.
The storm wall collapsed. The Last Light sailed through the gap, riding the wave of the explosion.
Ahead, the water cleared.
And there it was.
Coordinates: The Sanctuary.
It wasn't a ruin. It wasn't a cave.
Floating in the center of a calm, tropical lagoon—in the middle of the hostile ocean—was a structure.
A massive, white geodesic sphere. Half submerged.
It looked sterile. High-tech.
And emblazoned on the side, in holographic letters fifty meters high:
SERAPHIM: OUTPOST 7
"A guild base?" Albedo gasped. "Another one?"
"No," Ainz said, reading the sub-text.
Status: QUARANTINE.
Population: 1.
"It's a prison," Ainz realized.
"And I think," Ainz tightened his grip on his staff, "our friend Satoru is the warden."
The Sanctuary – The White Room
Inside the sphere, a man sat at a pristine white desk.
He wore a plain grey hoodie and jeans. He looked Japanese. About thirty years old. He had dark circles under his eyes.
On the monitor in front of him, he watched the burning wreckage of the Vampiric Dragon Lord's fleet.
He watched the ghost ship break through.
"He's here," the man whispered. He took a sip of instant coffee. "Fast. Reckless. Classic Momonga."
He picked up a microphone.
"System," the man said. "Activate the welcoming committee."
"Unit confirmed. Deploying 'Project: Grief'."
The man swiveled his chair around.
Behind him, in large preservation tubes, stood figures. Not robots.
Bodies.
One looked like a ninja (Nishikienrai).
One looked like a slime (Bukubukuchagama).
One looked like a hulking insect warrior (Cocytus's creator, Warrior Takemikazuchi).
They were dead. But they were moving. Wires connected to their skulls.
"Sorry, guys," the man in the hoodie said to the tubes. "We need to see if he's really our Guild Master, or just the Lich who ate him."
He pressed a red button.
"Deployment in T-Minus 10 minutes."
"Welcome to Hell, Ainz."