The planet trembled.
Ainz Ooal Gown—Overlord of Nazarick, Supreme Being, newly crowned accidental Orcish Warboss—stood atop a jagged scrap-metal watchtower that looked one stiff breeze away from catastrophic collapse.
Below him, the ork camp prepared for battle with all the organization of a panicked kindergarten class, but significantly more explosions.
Everywhere he looked, orks were:
Painting their armor bright colors because "it makes ya luckier!"
Arguing about which gun should be attached to which other gun.
Punching each other for motivation.
Punching themselves for extra motivation.
Asking whether the new boss, being a skeleton, could actually bleed (followed by several unwise experiments).
Ainz observed all of this with the calm posture of a man who had once run a guild HR department.
'These creatures would give Demiurge an aneurysm.'
Still, he needed them. For information, for mobility, and possibly because they were too stupid to fear him appropriately—and thus too stupid to betray him effectively.
A Nob stomped up the rickety tower, each step creaking the metal in ways that suggested a fatal plunge was only a sentence pause away.
"Boneboss!" the Nob bellowed, saluting with a gesture that might have been respectful or might have been an attempt to swat a fly. "Da spiky alien fing iz gettin' closer!"
'Tyranids.'
Ainz nodded.
"Very well. Assemble the troops."
The Nob grinned, all tusks and enthusiasm.
"Already did! Dey'z fightin' over who gets da front row!"
Of course they were.
Ainz cast Message. He wanted to see if the tomb came with him.
"Aura. Are you there?"
No reply.
He hadn't expected one. He was very clearly alone in this universe.
But as he gazed out across the chaotic swarm of excited orks, he felt something peculiar—almost like nostalgia.
'Managing stupidity is… strangely grounding.'
**********
The wasteland beyond the camp rippled.
At first, Ainz thought it was heat distortion.
Then he realized: the horizon itself was moving.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of Tyranid Gaunts sprinted forward in a chittering tide, claws gleaming, eyes reflecting a single hive-minded purpose:
Consume.
Somewhere behind them, a massive Warrior screeched—a sound like a violin being murdered.
The orks cheered.
Ainz lifted a hand.
'Maximize Magic: Black Hole.'
A sphere of absolute annihilation appeared in the midst of the Tyranid swarm.
Several things happened at once:
The front ranks of Tyranids stretched, bent, and vanished with a wet schlurp.
The Warrior tried to run, realized it couldn't outrun relativistic suction, and died angry.
Orks screamed with delight, thinking their new boss had invented the galaxy's largest vacuum cleaner.
"BONEBOSS GOT A HOOVER OF DOOM!"
"IT SUCKZ GOOD!"
Ainz subtly adjusted the spell to stop before consuming the planet's crust.
The orks charged into the aftermath, weapons raised, morale at maximum because their enemy had just been partially deleted from existence.
Ainz followed more slowly.
After all, he was a magic caster.
And also, he refused to trip and fall while maintaining the dignity of an undead monarch.
************
Ainz surveyed the battlefield.
The orks were currently engaging the Tyranid remnants in what could generously be described as strategy, if one defined strategy as "run straight at the enemy while screaming a catchphrase."
Ainz tapped a nearby ork.
"What is your plan?"
The ork yelled:
"PLAN IZ WAAAGH!"
"That is not a plan."
"DA BEST PLAN!"
Ainz's emotional suppression kicked in just in time to prevent despair.
Still… their enthusiasm was impressive. Even admirable, in a deeply misguided way.
One ork attempted to grapple a Gaunt taller than he was.
Another tried to bite a Tyranid.
A third attempted diplomacy before remembering he couldn't spell it.
Ainz raised his staff.
"Boosted Magic: Nuclear Blast."
A golden sphere detonated across the battlefield.
Tyranids cooked.
Orks laughed.
The scrap-metal watchtower collapsed behind him, crushed under the recoil of orks celebrating too hard.
Ainz lowered his hand.
'This universe rewards overkill.'
He could get used to this.
*************
After the final Tyranids were reduced to biomass and the orks finished arguing over who got the most kills (a math problem fundamentally beyond their capabilities), Ainz sensed something else.
A psychic ripple.
A presence.
A mind.
'Human.'
He turned toward the eastern horizon.
Smoke billowed.
A convoy of armored tanks rolled over the dunes.
Banners fluttered.
A loudspeaker crackled.
"ATTENTION XENOS AND UNIDENTIFIED SKELETAL WIZARD!"
Ainz froze.
"BY ORDER OF THE HOLY INQUISITION, YOU WILL STAND DOWN, LAY DOWN ARMS, AND SUBMIT YOUR SOUL FOR PURIFICATION!"
The orks cheered.
"NEW FIGHT!"
"HUMIES LOOK SHOOTY!"
"CAN WE KEEP DA BIG TANK?!"
Ainz slowly lifted a hand.
'Inquisitors. Wonderful. Exactly what he needed.'
He enhanced his voice with magical amplification.
"Greetings, humans! I am Ainz Ooal Gown, newly appointed—regrettably—leader of these orks."
A moment of silence.
Then the loudspeaker replied:
"THAT IS WORSE."
"TARGET ALL UNITS! EXTERMINATUS PROTOCOL—"
Ainz instantly cast Silence on their command vehicle.
The loudspeaker cut out mid-zealotry.
The orks laughed.
"BONEBOSS MADE 'EM STUPID!"
"HUMIES CAN'T WAAAGH NO MORE!"
Ainz raised his staff.
"We will not attack unless provoked."
Which, considering the 0.0000000000000001 probability that the Imperium would not provoke them, meant war was inevitable.
*************
A basilisk cannon roared.
A shell arced across the sky.
Ainz tilted his head.
"Ah. Negotiations have failed."
He flicked a finger.
The shell froze in midair.
Then turned around.
And flew back toward the basilisk at triple speed.
There was an explosion.
Orks cheered louder.
The rest of the Imperial convoy opened fire.
Ainz prepared spells.
The orks prepared to sprint.
Tyranid corpses twitched ominously.
Somewhere, the Chaos Gods laughed so hard Khorne nearly pulled a muscle.
'I need to take control of this situation.'
'I need a base. Resources. A plan.'
A nearby ork screamed happily as he was launched out of a tank turret like a living cannonball.
'I need something… significantly less Orkish.'
He tightened his grip on his staff.
For better or worse, this was his new battlefield.
A universe of endless war.
Where his power faced no limits.
Where he could act freely.
Ainz felt a spark of emotion try to rise.
His suppression dampened it.
But he recognized it:
Excitement.