The skies above Alcaz Island churned with the beat of numerous pairs of massive, leathery wings. Forty adult black dragons circled in an overwhelming display of power, their onyx scales gleaming like shards of obsidian rocks in the faint sunlight filtering through the misty morning sky. More than half were classified as wyrms or elder dragons, which meant they were at least five centuries old, while the remainder weren't far behind. In the midst of the herd, various dragons bore the weight of drakonids and dragonspawn on their backs - fifteen drakonids and ten dragonspawn to be exact - all snarling with bloodlust, eager to prove their worth.
At the forefront of the airborne formation was Nefarian, son of Deathwing, his colossal form exuding the faint shimmer of unholy magic. His rotting paws, partially encased in blackened bone, moved with eerie precision as he wove a massive spell at the command of his superior.
The dimensional lock spread across the island like a shadowy dome, shimmering faintly with deathly energy. Nefarian allowed himself to muse, his thoughts briefly flashing back to the humiliating day his master had used the very same magic to trap him and his sister, Onyxia. He was adamant about not letting a single naga escape to ensure there were no reports back to Queen Azshara and result in a possible untimely retaliation. The Naga queen would be dealt with in time, likely when she decided to emerge from the depths and cause trouble for his masters, but that was a concern for another day.
Floating before his assembled forces, he gave the command. "Let none escape!"
The dragons descended upon Alcaz as one, the whole stronger than the power of the individuals. Their wings carved through the air with deafening roars as the rush of displaced wind shook the leaves off the trees on the island. Naga warriors scrambled from their makeshift fortifications, their desperate shouts quickly drowned out by the roars of the dragons. The shore became a scene of utter chaos as the dragons dropped in the troops. First to hit the ground were the drakonids, their heavy armor crunching through the sand, murderously keen for the fight they got. Behind them, a couple of dragonspawn followed, their long, sinuous tails lashing out behind them as they darted among their foes, slashing with curved blades.
Searing flames rained from above them as the elder dragons detonated entire clusters of the naga below them with a coordinated volley, the sand below their feet burning to crystal glass within seconds. The sea bubbled in places where the fire reached too quickly; salt burned its way into the air amidst the smell of burning scales and flesh.
The battle, if it could even be called that, was a one-sided massacre. The naga fought valiantly, but it was a futile effort. Against such overwhelming force, their formations crumbled. The tide of battle quickly turned into a rout, and then a massacre. A rare few surrendered and were tied up by the drakonids to be delivered back to Nazarick for interrogation and experimentation. In a mere twenty minutes, the island was cleared of hostiles, and the captured and slain naga dropped into two piles in the central camp once made by human hands, stripped of weapons and hope.
Nefarian's great wings carried him over the now-desolate island, his keen eyes scanning the battlefield below. Flames still licked at the edges of the jungle, their glow casting flickering shadows on the twisted forms of slain naga and broken weapons. Satisfied, Nefarian descended toward the camp. His landing shook the earth, and the blackened sand and glass beneath his feet cracked under his weight, threatening to give. With a dismissive wave of his paw, he assumed his tall, imperious human form, dressed in a flowing black robe. He strode through the camp, his booted feet crunching against the scattered remnants of what had once been a human outpost, wood and stone alike shattering beneath his might. The smell of salt, blood, and charred flesh hung heavy in the air. The Naga captives shrank back as Nefarian approached, their coiled tails twitching in fear. His red eyes raked over them like a wolf deciding which sheep to devour first.
Nefarian stopped before the group, his gaze locking onto a still-defiant-looking naga sorceress. She was a grotesque figure - no doubt a once beautiful highborne night elf twisted into her current serpentine form by the influence of the Old Gods. Her scaly skin shimmered faintly in the firelight. There were two panting holes in place of where her nose would be, and instead of hair, she had rows of slimy fins. "Where is the captured human king?" He asked her, his tone calm and measured.
The sorceress hissed, her forked tongue flicking defiantly, "I will tell you nothing, traitor. Old ones will make you pay!"
Nefarian's lips curled into a sardonic smirk. "The Old Ones? Oh, how quaint. I serve a master far greater than your Old Gods. Compared to the might of Ainz Ooal Gown, N'Zoth is nothing."
The naga's sneer deepened, her guttural voice laced with venom, "Fool! The arrogance of dragons knows no bounds. You will-".
"-Educate you, yes." Nefarian interrupted, his smirk widening. "I'll give you a glimpse of the master's power."
Nefarian's mask of politeness slipped as he smirked with unrestrained malice. His sharp nail, unnaturally long and glinting with a dark hue, pressed against the base of Naga's neck. With casual, almost lazy movement, he dragged it downward, slicing through the scales as easily as wet parchment. A thin, dark line of blood welled up in its wake, and the Naga's face twisted with pain and strain, though she bit down a scream.
"Now, let me show you something," Nefarian purred. His voice dropped to a near whisper, dripping with malice. As his nail stopped between her bare scaly breasts, he leaned forward, his glowing eyes locking onto hers. The air around him seemed to thicken, pulsing with the raw power of the undead dragon.
A vision unfolded in the Naga's mind. It was a glimpse of the very moment Nefarian had first knelt before Ainz Ooal Gown, the Supreme Being who had effortlessly shattered his pride, his will, and his very concept of mortality. Infinite darkness spread outward, its edges alive with an incomprehensible power that made the Old Gods seem like squabbling children in a sandbox, whilst Ainz Ooal Gown was the adult watching over. It was the kind of power that broke minds and crushed souls with ease, capable of ending civilizations in an instant.
The naga gasped, her pupils narrowing to slits as her body trembled. "This... can't... be... Such power... it's impossible!"
"Now you understand. And you will always know. That you chose wrong." Nefarian's cruel laughter filled the air.
The sorceress broke, her defiance replaced by fear. "I will serve your master, dragon," she whispered hoarsely, her voice trembling. "His power is undeniable."
"Oh, you will serve." Nefarian gleefully seized her neck, his other hand holding her in place. His clawed hand shot forward, piercing her chest with a sickening crunch. The naga thrashed, blood gushing from the wound as her gills flared in a desperate struggle.
"But not in the way you hope. Your corpse will be reanimated to do the most menial of tasks, while your mind will fully remember your mistake, unable to escape. And you will serve forever, forever to repent for your mistake of momentary resistance!" he added with a laugh, his fingers curling around her heart. He squeezed just enough to rob it of its rhythm, her body convulsing as the light in her eyes faded away. With a final jerk, he yanked his hand free, tossing her limp form onto the growing pile of corpses.
Turning to the remaining naga, Nefarian allowed his bloodied hand to drip as he addressed them, his voice casual, as if discussing the weather. "Now then, does anyone want to tell me where the human king is?" He casually lifted his blood-covered hand and wiped the blood off with a piece of clothing offered by one of drakonids, tossing it away.
"Let us serve your master and we will tell your master everything we know." Another naga sorceress offered, getting down as low as she could.
"We need assurance that we won't be killed and turned undead." A much bulkier male naga, likely a berserker beside the sorceress, slid forward with a wary glance at the corpse.
Nefarian tilted his head in mockery of thoughtful consideration. "Hmm, interesting proposal." He waved a hand toward the pile of corpses. "Or I could just raise one of them and get answers that way."
The berserker panicked, his words spilling out in a rush, "The human king! A wild god possessed him! He escaped to Theramore!"
"That is unfortunate," the smugness in Nefarian's smirk vanished, his magic flaring.
One of his wyrm subordinates stepped forward, his human form every bit as imperious as Nefarian's. "Lord Nefarian, we have the forces to assault the human city and retrieve him. Shall we proceed?
"No," Nefarian snapped. "That is out of the question. The Emperor has made it abundantly clear that an open conflict with either the Horde or the Alliance is off the table. We'll return to Nazarick and report. Drain the captives' mana for now, we move only as they command."
"Bring us before your Emperor! we will serve him!" The naga sorceress wailed pleadingly.
"Perhaps. If you are lucky, he might find you amusing. Or maybe you'll just clean the floors for eternity. Either way, you'll serve," Nefarian replied. As he turned away, his cacophonous laughter mingled with the despairing cries of the Naga and the roars of his fellow kin.
Neferian returning without the king of Stormwind wasn't the news he expected to receive. Since Varian supposedly didn't know about Onyxia's involvement in his capture, Ainz and Buku had planned to present Onyxia as the one who found Varian and request Nazarick to free him, painting the picture of the dragoness looking out for the Kingdom of Stormwind despite her ruse. Now that plan was out of the window and it was only a matter of time before Varian returned home, meaning new schemes had to be concocted.
Ainz and Buku sat on their thrones atop an elevated dais at the head of the hall deep within the mountain. Once jagged and crude, the stone walls now glimmered with smooth, polished stone, their perfect surfaces reflecting the cold light of the chandeliers suspended above. Each chandelier glowed with magical lights, casting long shadows that danced across the marbled floors. A red rug ran the room's length, its edges embroidered with gold patterns hinting at grandeur craftsmanship.
Before them, the twenty-two naga prostrated themselves in submission, their scaly bodies pressing deeply against the thick silken rug. Each one trembled visibly under the weight of the situation, fearing for their lives. Nefarian and Onyxia stood to the side of the dais, towering even in their human forms above the captives. Rows of drakonid honor guards flanked the walls, their scaled armor gleaming as they gripped their halberds with stout discipline.
Buku broke the silence, "Hmm, do you think we even need these creatures?" She gestured vaguely at the naga with one hand, her tone carrying the air of someone considering whether to keep a mildly interesting trinket or toss it away, turning to her husband.
The naga had surprising variety in both size and attributes. The males were a lot bulkier than females, but some stood out even among their peers, making orcs appear unimpressive by comparison. The females on the other hand had either two or four arms, some having fins on their heads while others had snakelike protrusions that seemingly moved on their own. What was most curious was that they had breasts despite all sources on Naga stating that they laid eggs and didn't breastfeed their young. Ainz could only write it off as a remnant of their origin as night elves, left for unknown reasons.
Ainz steepled his bony fingers before him, the motion slow. "They may have their uses. We may one day acquire lands by the sea or regions with large bodies of water," he replied.
"Good point. Fine. I guess I'll cleanse them and bind them." Buku glanced over the scaly creatures with disinterest, weaving a small magic circle. Her disinterest was a careful performance; she knew Ainz's collector's instinct well. He would never allow such exotic creatures to easily slip through his grasp.
As if on cue, one of the naga-a female with four arms and a more refined air than the rest-raised her head slightly, her voice urgent but deferential, "We have uses, your Imperial Majesty. Please spare us."
Ainz tilted his head as he regarded her. "Are you the leader of this group?"
"I will lead them for you, Your Imperial Majesty. I was second in command of the clan," She replied, her voice steady despite the intense tremor running her coiled body.
Buku leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. "What's your name?" she enquired as she prepared to use the light. Her proficiency was growing daily and she now could use the binding ritual on masses without affecting Ainz or any of his undead servants.
"Ral'es, Your Imperial Majesty," the naga replied, pressing her four arms firmly against the rug in a gesture of complete submission. Her voice wavered just enough to betray her desperation.
Buku stood from her grand throne, her halo and the golden wings briefly appearing. The Naga recoiled slightly, their eyes wide with awe and fear as the magic threatened to course through their bodies.
"Very well, Ral'es," Buku stated, "Let us see if you are worthy of the power I am about to expend." Light cascaded from her palms, her divine energy rapidly enveloping the naga. The holy light washed over them, burning away the corruption of the Old Gods and binding their wills to her. The naga writhed and hissed as the radiance coursed through them, replacing the only energies they had only ever known. When the light faded, the hall fell silent once more. Ral'es lifted her head to meet Buku's gaze and declared resolutely, "We are yours to command, Your Majesty!"
"Now then, Ral'es. You will have to prove I didn't waste my power on you and your kind. Rise."
The leader of the naga slowly stood up, her snake-like lower half coiling in excitement. "We can find more of our kind and bring them into your service," Ral'es suggested, her voice resonating with newfound determination. "We could build an army to ambush ships and the coast in your name." Her lower half curling and uncurling, as if to punctuate her resolve.
Ainz's red orbs glowed faintly. "Tell me," he began, "do Naga cultivate fish as a food source?"
"Yes, but all of us here are combat-oriented. We do not possess the appropriate knowledge. I personally specialize in nature magic. However, We can capture Naga civilians for you - those with the required expertise." She replied, bowing deeply as she spread her four arms.
Ainz leaned back, "Then you will bring back naga who can populate Nazarick's lakes and rivers with fish. Nefarian," he turned his crimson gaze toward the black dragon, "assign a dragon capable of casting Gate to oversee this operation."
"As you command master." Nefarian inclined his head deeply. He gestured for the naga to follow and with a hiss of compliance, they slithered out of the throne room under his watchful gaze.
The heavy stone doors closed with a resounding thud, leaving only Ainz, Buku, and the drakonid honor guard in the room. Buku let out a small sigh, folding her arms as her eyes flicked to Ainz, "So what's the plan for Stormwind?"
"For now, Onyxia will maintain her role. She will keep watch over the current king. If her cover is blown, she's to retract without causing excessive damage. We already need to deal with the Dark Iron Empire first; having another war would only complicate matters at the moment."
Onyxia, who had remained silent, shifted slightly. She bowed her head in understanding, her raven-black hair spilling over her shoulders. "Then I would suggest ceasing hostilities in Redridge. Varian is a complete moron as a king, but he is a great warrior and frontline commander. Add a wild god to the mix and even he might cause some trouble for many among our ranks." She spoke cautiously. Despite being Buku's second in command, she remained wary of Ainz's impassioned pragmatism. Should she lose favor, other female dragons would step up to create the new generation of dragons; she too could be turned into an undead or, even worse, dinner if she went too far. Buku had told her gorey details how she and Ainz feasted on Firemaw to make a point that she should never grow too arrogant to think there weren't other uses for her.
"Yes…" Ainz stroked his pointy chin, "You're right. We should fortify our position in the Redridge Mountains and halt all regional raids. I'll speak to Nefarian about this upon his return."
"Then, with your permission, I'll be on my way," Onyxia requested, "Bolvar and Shaw are growing increasingly suspicious of me as it is."
"Before you go," Ainz interjected, pulling a small scroll and a folded note from his inventory before continuing, "check on the gnomes we contracted for the air purifier. The Pipegear family has an engineering shop in the Dwarven district of Stormwind. Convince them to work directly for Nazarick if possible." He handed her the items.
"Of course, Your Majesty. I will see to it promptly." Onyxia accepted the papers with a nod and teleported away.
"I hope they have a working model. Even with magic, the air in the spire is stale and freaking stinks," Buku remarked.
"Icuz already had a blueprint, so he likely has built a working model and is just waiting for us to show up. Hopefully they agree to work for us directly. A well-managed science department is what we're missing right now."
"And you know," Buku added, "things like coffee machines and TV and computers. They should be able to build all that."
"We'll see. You know where our priorities lie."
"I know, I know." Buku sighed dramatically, "Not turning the world to shit takes precedence over luxury."
Editing by NabeisWaifu and aidan_lo.
Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, fvvck, and aidan_lo.
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