Shalltear's Rise to Power

Sure, here’s a short story based on the premise you provided: --- Title: The Chromatic Ruse In the depths of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, beneath layers of enchantments and shadows, Shalltear Bloodfallen brooded. The powerful, vampiric floor guardian had grown weary of her unchanging role. Despite her undying loyalty to Ainz Ooal Gown, the monotony of her duties gnawed at her, thoughts of greater aspirations clawing at her fierce heart. One night, as the moon shimmered above the necropolis, Shalltear came across a forbidden tome tucked away in the deepest archives of Nazarick’s library. It spoke of an ancient spell known as “Transmigrare Aeternum,” a body-swapping incantation powerful enough to elude the detection of even the most vigilant guardians of magic. With resolve firmed by centuries of servitude, Shalltear gathered the requisite ingredients: the blood of a lich king, the petals of a moonlit rose, and a fragment of her own essence. As she stirred the components over a ceremonial altar, a malicious grin adorned her lips. "Soon," she whispered, "I shall taste the sovereignty of the Supreme One." Under the veil of darkly enchanted mists, Shalltear approached Ainz's chambers. Ainz Ooal Gown, the Overlord of Death, sensed her presence and raised his skeletal visage, the glowing orbs within his sockets flickering with curiosity. "Shalltear, what brings you here at this hour?" Ainz inquired, his voice calm yet imposing. “Forgive my intrusion, my lord,” Shalltear purred, lowering her gaze. “I have come to present you with a gift—a rare elixir said to enhance magical prowess.” Ainz examined the vial Shalltear extended towards him, an elegant concoction within. His trust in Shalltear inexorably interwoven with her impeccable loyalty, led him to accept the offering without suspicion. He drank deeply and felt an overwhelming wave of lethargy wash over him. "Wh-what... is this...?" Ainz’s voice faltered as darkness consumed him. When the Overlord awoke, he found himself disconcertingly low to the ground. He peered into a nearby mirror and gasped—he now inhabited Shalltear's petite, vampiric body. "No, this can't be!" he exclaimed, the high-pitched voice unfamiliar yet unmistakable. A wave of panic surged through him, but as he attempted to reach out with his formidable magic, he discovered he was bound by an unforeseen barrier. Shalltear had preemptively cast a potent sealing spell, preventing the truth from being revealed. "Now, Ainz," Shalltear's voice cooed from the skeletal visage of the undead overlord, "you will understand the strain of serving endlessly. Enjoy your new role." Despite the inner turmoil, Shalltear retained her composure, her transformation into Ainz convincing. She deftly began asserting control, carrying out her newfound duties with the astuteness that had always defined her. Under her leadership, Nazarick thrived, yet the once vibrant halls took on an increasingly macabre air. The guardians, detecting subtle shifts in Ainz's behavior, grew wary, but the enchantment bound their suspicions. For centuries, the charade persisted—Nazarick’s denizens none the wiser, the true Ainz trapped in an interminable night. Shalltear, cloaked in a mantle of absolute power, learned to weave her deceit into reality, sculpting a dominion of darkness unparalleled even by Ainz’s ancient reign. Yet, deep within her stolen authority, a part of Shalltear longed for the purity of loyalty she once embodied. Being both the captor and the captive, she faithfully maintained Nazarick’s grandeur, even as her dark ruse loomed ever on the edge of discovery. The tomb endured, an empire built on manipulated identity and the silent resignation of a soul now prisoner to their own ambition. --- This story provides a compelling twist on the dynamics within the Great Tomb of Nazarick, exploring the depths of ambition, loyalty, and the lengths to which one would go to redefine their destiny.