Between Albedo and Demigure as enemies.
The Great Tomb of Nazarick stood silent, a monolith of power and darkness that had swiftly become the epicenter of awe and fear in the New World. Within its ancient walls, the denizens of this labyrinthine fortress went about their duties with mechanical precision, driven by the unyielding will left behind by the Supreme Beings.
Albedo, the radiant overseer, glided through the hallowed halls with a grace that belied her growing unease. She had been crafted to serve and adore Ainz Ooal Gown, her love and loyalty for him etched into the very essence of her being. Yet, as the days passed without a sign from their supreme overlord, a seed of doubt took root in the depths of her soul, threatening to bloom into something perilous.
Meanwhile, Demiurge, the inscrutable tactician, worked tirelessly on a mysterious new venture. His chamber was filled with maps, tomes, and arcane instruments that even the most learned of Nazarick's denizens could scarcely comprehend. There was a meticulousness in his method—a grand design being woven with threads invisible to those who were not privy to the inner workings of his mind.
The air between the two guardians had grown thick with a tension that could not be seen but was felt as surely as the weight of the air. They were both pinnacles of devotion and intelligence, yet their paths had begun to diverge, silently, one clandestine move at a time.
It was during a routine meeting of the Floor Guardians that the initial spark of conflict would be struck. Albedo, with her usual poise, presented a set of orders supposedly left by Ainz before his mysterious silence. The instructions were clear—Nazarick was to halt its outward expansion and refocus on internal strengthening. However, Demiurge cast a discerning eye on the parchment, his mind racing with suspicions.
"I do not recall Ainz-sama mentioning such a strategy," he said coolly, his sharp gaze fixed on Albedo. "Moreover, to cease our expansion now—it is not in line with the elaborate plans he entrusted to me."
Albedo's expression remained unreadable, yet the slightest flicker of indignation passed through her otherwise impenetrable gaze. She had anticipated Demiurge’s questioning; the tactician had always been meticulous. However, she was unprepared for the hints of accusation that seeped through his words.
"Doubting the words of Ainz Ooal Gown, Demiurge? That sounds perilously close to insubordination," she countered, each word laced with a frost that could freeze over the hottest of flames.
The other guardians exchanged wary glances, sensing the undercurrents swirling beneath the surface of the conversation. Cocytus shifted uncomfortably, while Mare clutched at his staff, anxious. The air was crackling with a tension that threatened to escalate, and only one thing was certain— the unity of Nazarick was fraying at the edges, pulled taut by the guardians who aimed to serve their lord with unwavering dedication, yet found themselves at an impasse that could shatter the bedrock of their existence.
In the Sanctum of Suspicion, a game had begun. A game, that if not played with the utmost care, could very well lead to the undoing of them all.