Chapter 2: Gathering Storm
The silence broke like shattered glass.
"My, my! It appears I'm the first to arrive."
Shalltear's voice echoed through the vast amphitheater, sweet as poisoned honey. Her crimson eyes gleamed with predatory delight as she surveyed the space—empty save for two figures whose presence commanded the very air itself.
Momonga's skeletal form remained motionless, his crimson orbs burning with eldritch intelligence. "Shalltear, a true vampire. She guards the first and second floors of the Great Tomb of Nazarick..."
Beside him, Thor stood like a mountain carved from divine will itself. The God of Thunder's presence was a physical weight—an oppressive gravity that made the atmosphere itself seem to kneel. His crimson hair fell wild over shoulders broad enough to bear the heavens, and his eyes held the cold inevitability of an approaching storm.
"Lord Momonga," Thor's voice rumbled, deep as distant thunder. "Peroroncino always did have... peculiar tastes."
"Oh, wow! Lord Momonga!" Shalltear's composure shattered like fine porcelain. Her pale cheeks flushed with unnatural color. "The one man I could never rule above. My eternal beloved!"
What happened next defied all protocol.
Shalltear blurred—vampire speed transforming her into a crimson streak that crashed into Momonga with the force of desperate longing. Her arms encircled his skeletal frame with shameless abandon, pressing against him with theatrical passion.
"Wha—?! Hey!" Momonga's composed demeanor fractured.
Thor's laughter erupted like a thunderclap—deep, genuine, and utterly unrestrained. "HAHAHAHA!" The sound reverberated through the amphitheater, shaking dust from ancient stones. It was the laugh of a warrior who found joy in chaos, who appreciated the absurdity of even the most solemn moments.
"Stop, Shalltear!" A new voice cracked through the air. "You're starting to slobber on him."
Aura materialized from the shadows, her heterochromatic eyes narrowed with disgust. The dark elf's petite frame radiated indignation, her blonde ponytail swishing like an agitated cat's tail.
Shalltear disentangled herself from Momonga with deliberate slowness, turning her crimson gaze toward the newcomer. "Hello, half-pint." The words dripped with honeyed condescension. "I didn't realize you were here."
"Ugh...!" Aura's hands clenched into fists.
"I bet such a foolish older sister must be difficult, Mare." Shalltear's attention shifted to the timid dark elf boy half-hidden behind his sister. "However, do you manage it?"
"Ugh... Miss Fake-Tits." The insult escaped Aura's lips before her brain could stop it.
The temperature in the amphitheater seemed to plummet.
"What?!"
"Just as I thought!" Aura's voice rose with vindictive triumph. "That's why you went through the trouble of traveling using a gate! You were in a hurry, but since you overstuffed your top so much, you worried they would shift during teleportation!"
"Ah?!" Shalltear's elegant facade cracked completely. "Watch it, elf! You've got nothing but a boy's chest!"
"True, but I'm only seventy-six years old!" Aura shot back, her voice sharp as a whip. "I can still develop. Whereas you're stuck in an undead body. Maybe you should learn to accept those bug-bites."
"How dare you?!" Crimson energy began crackling around Shalltear's fingertips. "I'll make sure you regret this!"
Momonga's skeletal jaw worked silently, processing the escalating chaos. "Talk about nostalgic," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Shalltear's creator, Peroroncino, and Aura and Mare's creator, Bukubukuchagama, used to have fights like this all the time..."
Thor's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile—more like the satisfied expression of a predator watching prey dance. "Yeah, those were good old days... hmm." His voice carried the weight of eons, of battles fought and comrades lost to time's relentless march.
"WHAT A RUCKUS!"
The voice split the air like a war horn. Frost crystallized along the amphitheater walls as a massive figure emerged from the shadows—an insectoid warrior whose very presence radiated disciplined violence.
"Hmm?" Momonga turned.
"STOP ACTING LIKE CHILDREN IN FRONT OF THE MASTERS!" Cocytus's mandibles clicked with displeasure, his multiple arms gesturing with military precision.
Momonga felt a flicker of relief. "Cocytus. He's the guardian of the fifth floor—the living personification of the word 'warrior.'"
"I'll stop when this elf bitch begs for her life!" Shalltear's fangs elongated, her body tensing for combat.
"Try it, fiend!" Aura's hand dropped to the whip coiled at her waist.
Thor moved then—not quickly, but with absolute finality. One moment, he stood beside Momonga; the next, his presence filled the space between the combatants like an approaching thunderhead. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The air itself grew heavy, crackling with latent power that made the hair on every neck stand rigid.
"This has gone far enough," Thor said quietly. Each word carried the weight of divine judgment.
Momonga seized the moment. "That's enough! Shalltear, Aura—we don't have time to be playing around!"
The effect was instantaneous. Both guardians dropped to their knees with military precision, heads bowed in perfect synchronization.
"Forgive me, my lord!"
"I'm glad you're here, Cocytus." Momonga's relief was palpable.
"Same here, Cocytus." Thor's voice had softened fractionally—the closest thing to approval the Thunder God typically offered.
"I'll always come when you call, my Lords." Cocytus's declaration rang with absolute conviction.
Thor's crimson eyes held Cocytus's gaze for a moment—warrior recognizing warrior. "Much appreciated, Cocytus."
"Hmm, good work." Momonga's skeletal fingers tapped against his staff.
"Sorry, everyone. I hope you weren't waiting too long."
The new voice was silk over steel—cultured, intelligent, and utterly confident. Demiurge emerged from the shadows with the fluid grace of a predator who'd already won the hunt. His tailored suit was immaculate, his round spectacles catching the dim light as he surveyed the assembled guardians with calculating precision.
Momonga felt his metaphorical heart settle slightly. "Demiurge. He's an insanely powerful demon and the guardian of the tomb's seventh floor. If Nazarick is ever in crisis, he would lead the other NPCs in its defense."
Thor's gaze swept over the archfiend with the dispassionate assessment of someone who'd fought countless demons across endless battlefields. "Ulbert did fine work creating Demiurge." The compliment was grudging but genuine—high praise from the God of Thunder.
"My lords, we the guardians pledge our fidelity..."
Albedo's voice cut through the tension like a cathedral bell—pure, resonant, and absolute in its devotion. She swept into view with regal bearing, her obsidian armor gleaming like liquid midnight. Golden eyes burned with fierce intelligence and barely restrained passion as she beheld the two Supreme Beings.
As she made her declaration, all the Guardians took a knee in perfect unison, heads bowed in submission to Momonga and Thor.
Thor's lips curved infinitesimally—not quite a smile, but perhaps its distant cousin. "Good. Very good." The words rumbled like satisfied thunder after a successful storm.
"...Raise your heads." Momonga's voice carried forced confidence. Geez! Could I look any more depressing and hopeless?! "We are very pleased that all of you have come."
"Your thanks are wasted on us." Albedo's response was immediate, fervent. "We have pledged ourselves to you and live to obey you, lord. I fear that our abilities may not meet your expectations."
Thor's eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the assembled guardians. Strange. Rossweisse is not here. She is the guardian for the third floor, but where is she? The Valkyrie's absence gnawed at him like an unhealed wound.
"Despite this," Albedo continued, her voice rising with religious fervor, "we will strive to meet the honors of the lost Supreme Beings, our blessed creators. This we vow!"
"THIS WE VOW!" The guardians' voices united into a single thunderous declaration that shook dust from the ancient amphitheater's vaulted ceiling.
Thor's expression remained impassive, but something flickered in those crimson depths—satisfaction, perhaps, or the closest approximation a god of his nature could manage. "Haha... Fantastic."
"...Most excellent, our guardians!" Momonga's confidence grew with each passing moment. "We do not doubt that all of you will fulfill your duties without fail!"
"Ahh...!" The guardians' collective sigh carried worship and devotion in equal measure.
"Now then." Momonga's tone shifted, becoming businesslike. "The situation outside the Great Tomb of Nazarick is, at present, entirely unknown to us. With this in mind, I've had Sebas survey the surrounding area."
As if summoned by his name alone, Sebas materialized from the shadows with butler-like precision. His distinguished features remained composed, though his white hair seemed to gleam with inner light as he stepped into the amphitheater proper.
"Wait." Thor's voice cut through the expectant silence like a blade through silk. His eyes had narrowed to crimson slits, and the air around him began to crackle with barely contained power. "What did you just say, Sebas?"
"Grasslands?!" Momonga's skeletal jaw worked in disbelief.
"Yes, lord." Sebas's response was measured, professional—the perfect servant delivering impossible news with unshakeable composure. "I'm afraid the swamps that once surrounded the Great Tomb of Nazarick are nowhere to be seen."
The words hung in the air like executioner's blades.
Both Momonga and Thor fell silent, minds racing through implications and impossibilities. The weight of unknown variables pressed down like a physical force.
"Furthermore," Sebas continued, his aged features betraying nothing, "I could not confirm a single building, human, or monster within one kilometer from here. It would seem we are completely isolated."
"Very good, Sebas." Momonga recovered first, his voice steady despite internal chaos. "You served us well."
"I agree with Momonga." Thor's words carried the finality of a divine pronouncement. "You have done well, Sebas."
As I suspected, both Supreme Beings thought simultaneously. It appears Nazarick has been transported to an unknown land by equally mysterious means.
"...Floor guardian leader Albedo, and defensive leader Demiurge." Momonga's voice hardened with command. "I have a task for you."
"Lord!" Both demons straightened with military precision.
"Fortify our defenses and work on a way to strengthen our information gathering. The rest of you, follow their lead."
Thor's slight nod confirmed agreement. He was the enforcer, the blade—where Momonga planned, Thor executed with divine brutality.
"Lord!" The guardians' voices rang as one.
"Mare." Momonga's attention was fixed on the timid dark elf. "Is there any way to conceal the Great Tomb of Nazarick?"
Mare fidgeted under the weight of both Supreme Beings' attention, his fingers twisting nervously. "Y-yes, though it would be difficult if I only use magic. But if we cover the walls with dirt and vegetation, I think it would help camouflage us. As for truly—"
"YOU WANT TO SMEAR THE GLORIOUS NAZARICK WALLS WITH DIRT?!"
Albedo's shriek echoed like breaking glass. Her golden eyes blazed with outrage, her wings flaring wide in an unconscious display of fury.
The change in Thor was instantaneous and terrifying.
One moment, he stood beside Momonga, seemingly relaxed. The next, he materialized directly before Albedo with the inevitability of a lightning strike. His presence expanded—not physically, but metaphysically—until it seemed to fill the entire amphitheater. The temperature plummeted. Frost crystallized on the stone. The very air grew heavy with divine authority that pressed down like the weight of worlds.
Albedo's breath caught in her throat. Her wings folded involuntarily, her body responding to a primal instinct that recognized an apex predator.
"Albedo." Thor's voice was quiet—terrifyingly quiet—like the moment before a storm breaks. Each word fell like hammer blows against reality itself. "Don't make needless remarks. They are unnecessary at the moment. Keep them to yourself."
"Y-yes!" Albedo's voice cracked—actually cracked—with fear. "Forgive me, lord! I was careless..."
For a long moment, Thor simply stared at her. His crimson eyes held the cold inevitability of an approaching storm, the pitiless judgment of natural law made manifest. Albedo trembled under that gaze—actually trembled—this proud succubus reduced to quaking submission before divine authority.
Then Thor's expression shifted.
The oppressive presence receded like a withdrawing tide. He reached forward with surprising gentleness, his calloused fingers lifting her chin with the care of someone handling precious porcelain. The gesture was paradoxically tender, coming from hands that had shattered gods and ended civilizations.
Albedo's golden eyes went wide. Crimson bloomed across her pale cheeks—a genuine, uncontrolled blush that had nothing to do with her succubus nature and everything to do with the intimacy of the gesture.
"Please do not make that sad expression, Albedo." Thor's voice had softened to something almost human. "It makes me feel guilty for what I did."
"Y-yes, milord." Albedo's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, thick with emotion. "I'm sorry for making you feel that way."
"Good." Thor's thumb traced her jawline once—a gesture both possessive and comforting—before he released her and stepped back.
"Ahem." Momonga's awkward cough shattered the intimate moment like a dropped crystal.
Thor turned, and something that might have been embarrassment flickered across his divine features—so brief and unexpected that it seemed almost imagined. A slight tightening around his eyes, perhaps. The faintest darkening of his complexion.
"Well..." Momonga seized control of the conversation with desperate efficiency. "Are you confident that dirt will be sufficient, Mare?"
"Y-yes, I am." Mare's voice was small but certain. "As long as you allow it, of course. Except..."
"Right." Momonga's skeletal fingers tapped thoughtfully against his staff. "One round mound would look unnatural. Sebas, are there any hills around the tomb we could blend in with?"
"No." Sebas's response carried the weight of unfortunate certainty. "The area's barren. Nothing but flat land as far as I can see."
"Fortunately," Momonga mused, "the land can be molded to suit our needs. Would making dummy hills suffice?"
"Yes." Sebas inclined his head with butler-like precision. "I do believe it will blend in with such surroundings."
"Excellent. Then that is what we shall do." Momonga's confidence grew with each decision. "Afterward, we will use illusion magic to hide the open areas we cannot cover."
"Of course, lord." Mare's small voice carried absolute determination. "It will be done."
"Fantastic." Thor's single word carried the weight of divine approval. "Now we should finish this, Momonga."
"Of course, Thor." Momonga turned to face the assembled guardians, his crimson orbs sweeping across each face with calculated precision. "Lastly... there is a question I would have each of you answer. First, Shalltear—in your own words, tell me what kind of persons we are to you."
The vampire straightened, her expression transforming into something reverent. "Lord Momonga, beauty incarnate. Nothing living or undead could ever compare with your magnificence." Her crimson eyes shifted to Thor, and her voice dropped to a worshipful whisper. "Lord Thor, Death incarnate. The Destroyer of any disgusting lower lifeforms. The storm that purges the unworthy."
"Cocytus."
The insectoid warrior's mandibles clicked with satisfaction. "Lord Thor, whose strength remains unrivaled by any guardian. Lord Momonga is truly a worthy ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. Always and absolutely."
"Aura."
"Compassionate, and always three steps ahead of the game." The dark elf's heterochromatic eyes sparkled with genuine affection.
"Mare."
"B-both are leaders who are kind as well as merciful." The timid boy's voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Demiurge."
The archfiend adjusted his spectacles, crimson light glinting off the lenses. "Both Milords make wise decisions, then act upon them efficiently without any hesitation. Also, both of your enigmatic natures make it impossible to fathom your true intentions—a quality that inspires both terror and absolute devotion."
"Sebas."
The butler's distinguished features softened with emotion. "Lord Momonga is the head of all the Supreme Beings. And even now, though the other creators have left us behind, you and Lord Thor mercifully stayed at Nazarick until the very end."
"And lastly, Albedo."
The succubus's golden eyes blazed with fervent devotion. "Lord Momonga, you are the highest-ranking member of the Supreme Beings. Our master and ruler of Nazarick." Her gaze shifted to Thor, and her voice dropped to something intimate, possessive. "And Lord Thor—our Destroyer, Conqueror of Death, the storm that never relents... as well as the man to whom my heart belongs."
Thor's lips curved into something that might have been a smirk—predatory and satisfied. "I'll cherish your words, Albedo. I cherish all your words, Floor Guardians." The declaration rumbled like distant thunder, carrying warmth that few ever heard from the God of Thunder.
"U-uh, y-yes..." Momonga struggled briefly with composure before rallying. "I have heard your thoughts and am now giving you your orders. Go work faithfully in our name!"
"LORD!" The unified declaration shook dust from ancient stones.
Reality twisted—space folding like paper—as both Momonga and Thor teleported away, leaving the Floor Guardians alone in the vast amphitheater.
The air in Momonga's personal chambers felt thick, oppressive—like breathing through wet wool.
"Ugh..." Momonga's skeletal form collapsed into his throne with uncharacteristic gracelessness. "I'm beat. Why the hell did they have such glorious views of us?! They're so... serious!"
Thor stood by the window, his broad back to Momonga as he stared out at the tomb's interior architecture. His crimson hair caught the dim light like captured fire. "Because to them, we are their gods." His voice carried the weight of eons of worship received and burden accepted. "All-powerful creators of life and destroyers of anything that disrupts our peace."
"I believe you're right, Thor." Momonga's admission was quiet, vulnerable. "It just frightens me to know their serious devotion."
Thor turned, and his crimson eyes held something that might have been understanding—or perhaps just recognition of a shared burden. "Stay calm as best you can." His massive hand clasped Momonga's shoulder briefly—a gesture of solidarity between warriors. "If you need me, I'll be on the Third Floor."
"Oh." Something knowing entered Momonga's voice. "You are going to see her, aren't you?"
Thor's expression remained impassive, but something flickered in those crimson depths—too quick to name, too complex to define. "Yes. As her creator, I must."
Reality folded around the Thunder God, and he vanished like dissipating storm clouds.
The Amphitheater of the Sixth Floor seemed larger now—emptier without the Supreme Beings' overwhelming presence.
"I thought I was going to faint." Mare's voice trembled with residual fear. "I was so scared..."
"Seriously?" Aura's heterochromatic eyes sparkled with adrenaline-fueled excitement. "I thought that pressure was precious! Did you feel how powerful they are?!"
"To think both Lords would be this amazing..." Cocytus's mandibles clicked with something approaching awe.
"Agreed." Albedo's voice carried a dreamy quality, her golden eyes unfocused with memory. "When Lord Thor shows his true power and authority, he's even more glorious than I imagined! That presence... like standing before an avalanche and knowing it could destroy you but choosing mercy instead..."
"Indeed." Demiurge's calculated precision cut through the emotional atmosphere. "Most fascinating."
"Both of our Lords seemed pleased with our fidelity." Cocytus shifted his massive frame. "I hope that is the case."
"Lord Momonga and Thor acted completely different when they were alone with Mare and me." Aura's voice carried wonder. "In fact, both were super kind and gentle. Not at all like just now."
"Aah..." Albedo's sigh was pure contentment.
"They even gave us something to drink because they thought we looked thirsty!" Aura continued, her enthusiasm building. "Such true rulers, through and through! Their power and mercy make them amazing!"
"It's just as you say, Aura!" Albedo's composure cracked with genuine emotion. "Thor was incredible, wasn't he? He sensed our feelings and acted on them accordingly... Just as an absolute ruler should! That moment when he lifted my chin..." Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "I could feel his strength—enough to shatter worlds—yet he touched me with such gentleness..."
"If there's nothing more," Sebas interrupted with professional efficiency, "I'll return to my duties."
"Eh?" Albedo blinked, dragged back to reality.
"I do not know where Lord Momonga or Lord Thor has gone within the Tomb, but I should stay by their side."
"Very well." Albedo's voice regained its authoritative edge. "If anything happens, please inform me immediately, Sebas. Especially if Lord Thor calls for me personally—I will rush to his side! No matter what, I have to sacrifice!" Her voice dropped, taking on a heated quality. "But if Lord Thor wants me to join him in his bed chamber, then I will need time to prepare! I would need to bathe first... Of course, if he wants me without bathing, then I'll be happy—"
"You've made yourself abundantly clear." Sebas's interruption carried the faintest edge of exasperation. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I must take my leave."
"Nn..." Shalltear's soft sound drew attention.
"Hmm?" Demiurge's calculating gaze fixed on the vampire. "Is there something wrong, Shalltear?"
"Are you hurt? I'll—" Cocytus began.
"No, I'm fantastic." Shalltear's voice emerged breathless, her crimson eyes glazed with something between ecstasy and obsession. "I just got a little overstimulated, is all... Lord Momonga's power was so intense..." Her pale fingers pressed against her abdomen. "My underwear went through a small crisis."
"DISGUSTING BITCH!" Albedo's shriek echoed through the amphitheater.
"What?!" Shalltear's eyes blazed with defiance. "Don't pretend you weren't thrilled by the gift he just gave us! He showed so much of his power! If something that incredible doesn't make you wet, you must be—"
"You filthy parasite!"
"To the Supreme Beings, maybe that's what I am." Shalltear's smile was pure venom. "But I take pride in it! And a big-mouthed idiot gorilla like you won't change that!"
"Right." Demiurge's voice cut through the brewing conflict with surgical precision. "Aura? I'll let you deal with this woman's issue."
"Oh?!" The dark elf's protest was immediate. "Not so fast! You can't dump this on me!"
"Um..." Mare's timid voice went unheard.
"Goodness." Cocytus's mandibles clicked with genuine confusion. "Is this really something worth fighting over?"
"You too, Cocytus?!" Aura's betrayed cry echoed off the stone walls.
"I'll be quite interested to see the result of such a union." Demiurge's voice carried calculating satisfaction.
"What?" Mare blinked in confusion.
"It will be a great addition to our forces." The archfiend continued as if discussing military logistics. "And it will pave the way for Nazarick's future."
"I'm not sure I follow you..."
"Hmm..." Demiurge adjusted his spectacles, light glinting off the lenses. "Every great ruler needs an heir. Don't they?"
"Huh?"
"Lord Momonga and Lord Thor stayed behind until the end. However, one day they may leave to join the other Supreme Beings... wherever they go." Demiurge's voice took on a distant quality. "Therefore, it would be nice if they left an heir we can pledge our loyalty to. Agreed?"
"Um..." Mare's face flushed deep crimson. "So, you're saying that one of them should give birth to an heir?"
"BLASPHEMY!" Cocytus's roar shook stone. "If we do our job, that won't be needed!"
"Yes, of course." Demiurge's agreement was maddeningly calm. "But instead of just serving two lords, we could pledge ourselves to their bloodline. Imagine it—a child carrying Thor's divine strength and Momonga's brilliant intellect..."
"Oh?" Cocytus's tone shifted dramatically. "That would be kind of nice... No! It would be wonderful! I can see it so clearly now! I will be Uncle Cocytus!..." The insectoid warrior's voice took on a dreamy quality as he imagined teaching combat techniques to divine offspring.
"By the way, Mare?" Demiurge's attention shifted with predatory precision.
"Eh?"
"Is there a particular reason you are wearing female garments?"
Mare's face achieved new depths of crimson. "A-actually, this is something that Bukubukuchagama chose for me. She said I was a crossdresser or something like that... Maybe when I'm in these clothes, it makes it easier for me to cast my magic spells?"
"Hmm..." Demiurge's calculating mind filed away the information. "Interesting. Perhaps it would be fruitful to investigate gender-based magical affinities at some point... later. Cocytus! Come back to reality, please!"
"What a magnificent scene!" Cocytus's voice carried childlike wonder. "That is truly a future we wish for. Little Lord Thor Jr. learning to wield Mjolnir..."
"I'm happy if you're happy." Demiurge's tone suggested he was anything but. "Aura, have Albedo and Shalltear finished their little spat?"
"Yeah, the cat fight is over." Aura's disgust was palpable. "But now they're arguing about something even stupider."
"We are deciding who will be the best wife to our Lords." Shalltear's declaration carried absolute seriousness.
"Obviously," Albedo interjected with matching gravity, "each of us will marry our beloved—Shalltear to Lord Momonga, and me to Lord Thor. So we need to decide who will be the superior wife."
"Yes, that's... fascinating." Demiurge's voice dripped with barely concealed exasperation. "But don't you think we should focus on the task the masters gave us?"
"Hm, yes, of course." Albedo's demeanor shifted instantly to professional efficiency. "Back to work. But Shalltear, we will discuss this later in private."
"Looking forward to it." The vampire's smile was pure predatory anticipation.
"Now then." Albedo's golden eyes swept across the assembled guardians, and her voice rang with absolute authority. "It's time to begin planning. We have much work ahead of us, and failure is not an option. The Supreme Beings have spoken—and we will not disappoint them."
Meanwhile, in the depths of the Third Floor, reality twisted as Thor materialized like gathering storm clouds. The Valkyrie's domain stretched before him—orderly, efficient, and currently empty of its guardian.
Thor's crimson eyes narrowed as he surveyed the vacant space.
Where are you, Rossweisse?
The question hung in the air like unspoken thunder, ominous and full of gathering portent.
To Be Continued...