Chapter Text
One.
There is much to be said about the new member of Foresight’s team. Many knew that they were friendly, cordial and many agreed, popular.
But there also were many questions that puzzled the group.
Who were they exactly? Many guessed they were a foreigner, seeking employment wasn’t uncommon after all. Nor was the job of adventuring. If one wasn’t within a trade, it was most likely adventuring would put food on the table.
But if one was truly strapped for silver, then Worker jobs would do just as well, if they could turn a blind eye to some of the less savory requests that occasionally came by.
Other’s guessed they were some spy, trying to find out the Empire’s secrets. Such a guess was quickly disregarded, because if they were spying, why would they remain for so long? Unless they were a bad spy, was another reason.
Of course, they never answered directly. If anything, the different guesses were a source of amusement to them.
“What would you like to me say?” Comes a careful response, as lips curl into a grin. “I won’t spoil any curiosities if there are those willing to still guess.”
It received a range of reactions.
Imina, who refused to admit her own curiosity on their mysterious origins, furrowed her brow. Hekkeran and Roberdyck laughed in good-fun. Arche even had a hint of a smile on her face, sitting quietly.
Such good natured fun didn’t last long when a man stormed over, his armored shoes clinking against the floor of the tavern.
“Hekkeran, you cheap son of a bitch! That was our score,” The man said.
Ah yes, another fun aspect of Worker jobs. Depending on what it was, it was easy to find something to do. But if it was a high paying one, then you had to be quick, lest you risk losing it to a faster hand.
Unbeknownst to the others, their new friend had swapped a mission flyer with one that was a greater paying job. Not that they’d say so out loud, anyway. But they had seen Arche’s terse attitude after another luncheon with her delusional parents and had decided why not help the girl anyway.
Hekkeran, of course, did not take kindly to the man’s tone. As he stood, but did so in a way that almost was if he was shielding the rest of the group from the wroth man.
“Hey now,” Hekkeran began, raising his arms in a placating gesture. “You picked your flyer, we all saw it. Nothing was taken that we didn’t pick out fair and square.”
Oh how nice he is, they think, taking bites from their steak as the man in armor continues to whine. Smiling at the taste, oh what a relief- the tavern finally put some money towards some good food.
“Hey back off,” Imina snaps, moving to stand beside Hekkeran, the woman’s patience was thin enough as it is.
Roberdyck, ever the peace keeper, also tries to intervene before the man looks like he’s more likely to blow a gasket.
Well, this certainly wouldn’t do. A meal ruined by someone who didn’t know how things worked was a meal wasted.
They clear their throat. Placing their fork down on the plate as the conversation pauses. It was right on time too, as Imina looked ready to slap the man already.
The elven woman gets a reassuring nod, and quietly she sits, her eyes still set in a glare at the armored man. Arche looks concerned, but it is Roberdyck who gives her a reassuring smile. A hand pats Hekkeran on the shoulder, and he protests.
“No, no, please join the others, Ser,” Comes a calm voice.
The slighted man’s face is mottled in an angry red flush. “And what do you have to say?”
The challenging question makes their amused smile widen. It’s almost sharp. It makes the man falter, his anger abated in the face of what is to come.
Instead, a hand gently is placed on his shoulder.
“Now my friend, what’s this about? A measly job?” Their voice, jovial as ever, is quiet and measured, “You know you’d do way better than this one, why limit yourself?”
It’s a platitude as it ever was one. But the man easily seems to accept it, at least in the viewpoint of the rest of Foresight.
They don’t see the way the gentle hand suddenly tightens, the armor creaking under their grip. The man’s lips part as he sputters out his attempt to sound scary. But it’s not as effective when the armor he bragged being rare metal easily molds to the shape of the hand. It pokes at his clothes beneath the armor dully first, before the sensation of a tightening cage squeezes his shoulder.
The man’s lips part as he tries to make a pained sound. Before a finger is brought to their lips in a simple shushing motion.
“Have a good night, friend,” They say, their eyes not leaving the sputtering man’s own as they let go, making him stumble as he tries to escape.
Imina looks amused as the man walks into a doorframe, not looking back as he walks like there’s fire beneath his feet. “What did you say to him?” She asks.
The new addition smiles, “Nothing too serious, we just talked out this little misunderstanding, is all.”
Arche watches quietly, before she looks down at her plate, attempting to ignore the unease that settles inside of her.
And One.
It wasn’t meant to end this way. None of it was. And yet, everything went wrong. So terribly wrong.
Hekkeran expected he would’ve died. Died with Amina in his heart, the safety of his team in his mind. Even theirs. They couldn’t join the expedition into this tomb, citing another pressing matter that required their utmost effort.
But, in private, they’d handed Hekkeran a small piece paper, easily concealed in one’s gauntlet or glove. There was a sigil on it, and while he couldn’t say he was an expert in that sort of thing, it made such a small piece of paper weigh heavily in his palm.
“If you ever find yourself in a bad situation, just one drop of blood,” Was the beginning of the instruction, “Right on the paper and I’ll be there in a flash.” They smile, it feels like he’s making a deal that he can’t come back from.
“Of course,” He had replied, “But whatever you’re dealing with, you stay safe too, you hear?”
They blink, momentarily surprised by his well wishing. Before a chuckle leaves them.
Who would have thought that a drop of blood from one of his many wounds would do exactly that. The skeleton that was fighting him- Ainz, was his name, stopped, his weapon falling, the blade sinking into the dirt.
Hekkeran swallows, it wasn’t hard to imagine that such a weapon would have skewered him in an instant.
But it’s not the newbie. It couldn’t have been…
Instead of their worn leathers and old armor that he often insisted they borrow some of his own if they needed new ones, they were dressed rather, opulently.
Adamantium glints, but it is not armor they wear. They wear it as though it is something to accessorize with. The chrome laurel sits like a crown amongst their hair, longer than it had been when they’d presented as some worker. Fabric that would take years worth of jobs to get even an inch of frame their form, as eyes inspect this colosseum with a knowing gaze.
With eyes so sharp, focusing on him in a way that makes his heart stop, his breathing catches.
“You used my sigil,” Comes a voice, familiar despite the new look, rings out. “I’ll admit I expected you all to use it sooner to escape.”
The lich shakes his head, sword raised.
“Run away!” His hoarse voice screams, but they remain unperturbed. Roberdyck, despite his injuries, fails to stand as though to use his shield to protect their comrade.
A clang echoes. It silences his attempt to scream, shocking those who also witness. The sword is caught by one hand, as the other is inspected like one would check a nail for chipped paint.
They disappear. Only to reappear moments later. Arche is shaking, her eyes wide as she grips her staff with a white knuckled grip. Your voice sounds calm, and yet that’s when another sight startles the miraculously conscious man.
It’s a… monster that leaps out of the woods, its mouth full of sharp teeth that promise a death full of agony. A monster in a red dress. With one pointed finger, a crushing sound is heard. Hekkeran realizes it’s the earth, cracking beneath the weight of gravity magic as the creature is all but slammed down.
He knows that he never be able to defeat such a thing.
They have an arm around Arche’s waist, as hers rests on their shoulders. She trembles, a hiccup of a sob leaving her lips as Imina and Roberdyck are gathered too. Tears roll down the blonde’s cheeks, defeat was so cruel.
“You won’t die,” Comes their voice as though they smiling beneath the half mask on their face, “Certainly not here.”
The lich raises a hand in protest. One that is quickly ignored.
Hekkeran watches as Imina gasps, coughing as she rolls over to promptly get sick, her eyes blown wide as she realizes how she nearly died. (They won’t tell her, to Hekkeran’s relief, that her heart had stopped beating for a moment.)
Roberdyck was similar in that regard. As he inspected himself for any injuries that no longer existed.
“How did you-?” He tries to ask. Only for you to bring your finger to your lips, shushing him.
”I wouldn’t worry about that,” Their response comes light, jovial, as though they didn’t just save the entire group. “For now, let us go, I think you all will get a nice promotion for bringing back your experience.”
Those who seemed to live in this Tomb are watching Them. Just as surprised as their master to their arrival.
The sigil that had been on the paper begins to glow beneath them all. Imina leaning against him as she remains still shaken from it all, Arche’s tears drying with her reddened eyes staring at the floor. Roberdyck swallows heavily, his shield, broken, still in his hands.
They leave the tomb in an instant.