fan fiction The Journal of Zap, A Real Minion Account of the 2nd Keirdan War

[Musical-Mettaur 41]

So, this is a story I was thinking of when I finally finished Overlord, Overlord Raising Hell, Overlord Dark Legends, and Overlord 2. What better time for an Overlord to rise up, than in the middle of chaos and war? I just felt this would be a good setting. Since I don't feel like selling anything, and just want to get this funny lil' tale out of my head, here it is. The journeys of an ADD Demon. Three chapters to start, and no, no Keidran or Humans appear yet. Or Basitin. Resources taken from Overlord and Two Kinds. Credit goes to due authors and junk like that.

 

CHAPTER ONE, ADD DEMON

 

Okay, lets set things straight. I don't have amnesia, magical or otherwise. That's how these hero story things start, right? Well, I'm no hero either, I'm a minion. You could call me a demon, lizardman, imp, or gremlin, but if you're polite you'll call me Zap. I don't know the technicalities of it and don't care either, but I think I'm some sort of subspecies of gremlins or imps, but that ain't important. I just don't feel like spilling my past out on the first page. So yeah, you can tell I survived my later detailed adventures if I wrote all this, right? Sorry, gets way more complicated than that. I suppose we should go to the start, with dear old Mr. Grayson, or as the defeated called him, the Seventh Overlord.

 

So, all our tribes got split up, and usually us Blue Healers are free pickings for over-ambitious birds or mega frog...things? But our ability to restore life to the dying or very recently dead balances out our fragile nature. You see, this is one of the few things I know well. For lack of a better, scientific name, like imp or gremlin, because getting it wrong might offend some people, gremlins- whatever. Lets just call us minions. Everyone already does that. Well, we can heal and seal. What does that mean? We can take your soul, slowly drifting from it's body, slap it in the face, shout at it, and shove it back in your cooling body. Then we heal whatever is causing you to die, and there you go, good as new. Since we die so easily, it's good to have that ability in our species. Since most other minions don't deal in magic, they're much more hardy. Like Stench, he's a Green and thus immune to poison, but this makes alcohol little more than water for him. Or water with fruit juices. Damn it, I always get distracted. The point is, the Brown Fighters, who I like to call bone headed weapon whirlers, lent us a "squad" of thirteen Browns. Those guys can wrestle wolves and lions together and not get a scratch on their muscles. You could sharpen a sword on their sergeant's teeth, but he'd probably shove your own arm through your appendix in return. Want to know why it's important our tribe got the protection of these muscle-maniacs? I finally got some free time. To me, that was a foreign concept, and I explored it. Eating slowly, napping, reading, napping, just...swimming! And not in fear from a giant hydra either, just regular swimming! With protection "fire teams", I spent less time reviving dolts who wandered into a sheep pen and more being my own...minion. I promise, this is going somewhere.

 

So, I was scouting this path with Corporal Gloob...yeah, the Browns like to organize. Us Blues organize too, but they're more...ultra organized. No matter how mixed up their platoons or whatever are, they always manage to shape up into individual fire teams, squads, or anything. Even when you throw in different sub species, we get ranks and placements. But when we form up with Browns, they tend to assign us something low level. I'm a little late on this warning, but I tend to wander in my storytelling. And everything really. Gloob used to say I'm just slow, but I'm not. I just focus on everything at once. So, me and the Corp were scouting this path to find a new home for the Blues and our protection, but we found something entirely else. Usually this is where the hero with memory loss finds something that strikes him familiar, right? Like his magical weapon, nun-chucks or glowing sword, or maybe even an apparent ally/friend, eh? Well, sorta close, I guess. This guy was a living magical weapon. And I don't mean a golem either. No hebrew life prayers, and he wasn't made of clay. No, this was something that churned my gut, made me gulp, and could possibly mean an end to my free time completely. This guy was...a hero.

 

I could tell right then. Ramshackle armor, runic giant axe in his loose fist; the eyes of a destined bloodline hero tend to glow brightly, like a flaming torch, when they cast magic or are just real pissed. His eyes were closed as far as I could see. He had this big 'ole helmet over his head. A hero is bad news for minions like me, almost all the time. Either option A, they attack us minions on sight assuming we're "dastardly, evil spawn of hell, who deserve a good thinning of numbers!" (And believe me, I'll tell you about that later.) or option B, in my opinion worse than A. The hero turns out to be a bloodline Overlord and takes command of us. They can be good or evil, but almost always they end up taking over the land surrounding their start-off territory. Sadly, for us minions, many past Overlords just sweep us forward in a tide of leathery flesh and scavenged weapons. So, while Gloob poked him with a stick, I considered my options. We could jump him while he was down and steal his gear, maybe sell it in that human town nearby. Or we could help him and hope for the best. As I flinched at my own thoughts, my face took on a "wandering" expression, as Gloob called it, and I realized my third and safest option.

 

I could just leave him. I could abandon this ticking magical time bomb the Corporal was so intent on poking to anger. We could continue our mission, find a nice wetlands to set up in. But this is where my conscience stabbed me in the back with a guilt dagger. No, a guilt...claymore. This warrior had a big 'ole gash in his guts. And at this stage, no human or Keidran could heal him without killing themselves. But me, I could. I looked at my webbed claws, pondering this newfound feeling of guilt. Should I really give up our secret existence in Mekkan for one stranger? Us healin' minions can help a bloke if he's still mostly in one piece, and no pieces were missing as far as I could tell. But whatever did the slash was crude in design, and poisoned. Maybe stone, used by a Keidran? Made more sense, those beast people were attacking humans randomly more and more often. But that was no problem to me, he just had one wound in his torso. I could still save him, in fact, he might just be a town guard! He might not even be a hero, just a guard...a really big guard...that didn't look anything like Templar. His soul was an inferno of power, definitely a hero. Damn. Damn. Damnity darn damn! Us minions, we were new to this Mekkan place. But hero or not, this oaf would owe me. Yeah, good excuse, right? I shoved the Corporal aside and struggled to force the confused soul back into it's body. Then I plunged my claws in his gut slash and the blue sparks flew out, healing and knitting things up, even vaporizing some dirt on his large intestine.

 

I just about finished when he started throttling me. See? What'd I just tell you? Save a hero, get choked to death, real heroic gratitude. His eyes popped open. They weren't bright due to his almost dying, but glowed like embers, or coals. As he started throttling me, good Corporal Gloob started stabbing the choking arm. When his eyes opened, he stopped wringing my neck to knock Gloob into a nearby tree. I went and healed the stabs, almost without thinking. At that, he released me. So, a grateful hero? Well...first time for anything, I suppose.

 

I'll continue once I get some feedback.