The Demon King and the Sorcerer King

The Great Tomb of Nazarick had known many intruders. None had ever walked through its halls as if they were his own.

Anos Voldigoad stepped out of a rift of violet-black energy, his black coat untouched by the tomb's chill. The Eighth Floor's traps had activated—flame, acid, spatial severance—and then, one by one, they had simply ceased to exist. Not dispelled. Erased.

In the Throne Room, Ainz Ooal Gown watched through a Mirror of Remote Viewing. His red eye lights narrowed. The guardians stood ready. Albedo's halberd gleamed. Demiurge smiled thinly. Shalltear licked her lips.

"Someone is coming," Ainz said. "Someone strong."

The doors opened without a sound.

Anos entered. He looked young, almost human, but his eyes held the weight of centuries. He stopped before the throne and inclined his head—not in submission, but in greeting.

"I am Anos Voldigoad," he said. "Demon King."

Ainz rose. "I am Ainz Ooal Gown, Sorcerer King. You have entered my domain uninvited."

"I did." Anos glanced around. "Your home is impressive. Your wards are thorough. They tried to kill me."

"Yet you remain."

"Death and I are old acquaintances." Anos smiled faintly. "I mean no harm to you or yours. I am lost between worlds. I sensed a concentration of power here and followed it."

Ainz's fingers tightened on the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown. Every appraisal spell he cast returned nothing. No level. No HP. No mana. The man before him was a void. That had never happened.

"You expect me to believe that?" Ainz asked.

"I expect nothing." Anos met his gaze. "But I would rather talk than fight. You are cautious. Wise. You have people to protect."

Ainz paused. The words struck something he rarely acknowledged. "You speak as if you know me."

"I know what it is to rule demons, to be feared, to stand above all others and still worry for those beneath you." Anos looked at the guardians. "They love you. That is rare."

Albedo bristled. "How dare you—"

"Albedo." Ainz raised a hand. "Enough."

Silence fell.

Ainz descended the steps. He stopped ten paces away. "If I asked you to prove your strength, would you?"

Anos considered. "A demonstration, not a battle."

Ainz nodded. He cast [Time Stop]. The world grayed. Sound died. The guardians froze mid-motion. In the stopped time, only Ainz could move.

Then Anos turned his head.

"You stopped time," Anos observed. "A useful trick."

Ainz's eye lights flared. He canceled the spell. Color and sound rushed back. The guardians gasped.

"How?" Ainz whispered.

"I am not bound by the flow of time," Anos said simply. "Nor by death, nor by fate. But that does not make me your enemy."

Ainz stared. For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt something close to true fear. Yet beneath it was curiosity. This being could destroy Nazarick. Instead, he spoke of protection.

"What do you want?" Ainz asked.

"A way home," Anos said. "In exchange, I will share what I know of world-traveling magic. Your library is vast. Perhaps together we can find a path."

Ainz considered. An alliance with an unknown godlike entity was dangerous. But refusing might be worse. And knowledge was power.

"Very well," Ainz said. "You will be a guest of Nazarick. Swear you will harm no one here."

Anos placed a hand over his heart. "I swear it on my name as Demon King."

Ainz nodded slowly. "Then welcome, Anos Voldigoad."

As the guardians relaxed—some more reluctantly than others—Anos glanced back at Ainz. "One more thing."

"What?"

"You are not a monster," Anos said. "You are a king. Never forget the difference."

Ainz said nothing. But as the Demon King walked beside him into the depths of Nazarick, the Sorcerer King allowed himself a rare, quiet thought: perhaps he had just made either his greatest ally or his most terrible mistake.

Time would tell.