I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord

The swarm didn't expect a flank.

Especially not from a screaming, spell-chanting, scythe-wielding army of three thousand robed maniacs, all charging down the southern slope like divine vengeance incarnate.

The ants shrieked in some alien chorus as the cultists crashed into their rear lines, spells exploding, blades flashing. The Stranger himself rode in at the front, swinging a crescent-shaped weapon that looked more ceremonial than practical—but still somehow cleaved through chitin like wet paper.

He screamed, "WITH RIGHTEOUS MADNESS! FOR THE OVERLORD!"

The cultists echoed back:

"FOR THE OVERLORD!"

"FOR THE CHAIN OF SHADOWS!"

"FOR HIS BEAUTIFULLY TIRED BUT DIVINELY GUIDED MORTAL FORM!"

…Darin closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, gods, I'm going to have to address this later, aren't I."

Then reality twisted.

A soft snap rang through the air, no louder than breaking a twig, and six figures appeared in front of Darin in a flash of violet light.

The teleportation magic sent a ripple through the nearby earth. Supply carts rocked. A few soldiers stumbled.

And in that sudden silence, the Sect Master knelt.

He bowed his head so low that his forehead pressed against the ground.

The five Elders behind him did the same, their robes fluttering like ancient scrolls, faces obscured beneath veils of magic.

"My lord Overlord," the Sect Master said, voice reverent. "Forgive us. We are late."

Darin blinked. Twice. "Oh. Um. Yeah. No worries."

The Sect Master lifted his head, old eyes gleaming with power and something deeper. Worship. "The trail left by your avatar, the Stranger, was difficult to follow through the distortion fields, but he was persistent. Devout."

"He's something, alright," Darin muttered, side-eyeing the Stranger now perched dramatically on a pile of ant corpses, pointing at random things and shouting prophetic nonsense.

The Sect Master stood, brushing dust from his sleeves. "We have arrived with the full strength of the sect. Three thousand battle-ready brothers and sisters, two hundred acolyte-tier spellcasters, and the Council of Five Elders." He bowed slightly again. "Our strength is yours, my lord."

Darin gave a weak smile. "Appreciate it. Really. But right now, I need someone to help the Sorceress."

As if summoned, she stepped up beside Darin, soot-streaked, eyes glowing faintly from prolonged spellwork, hair fluttering in the residual wind of arcane clashing.

The Sect Master turned his gaze toward her.

She turned hers toward him.

And in that moment, they understood one another perfectly.

There were no words. No need for introductions or posturing.

Only mutual respect.

And the unspoken acknowledgment that both were about to go all in.

The Sorceress nodded once.

The Sect Master did the same.

Then they both flew.

Not leapt—flew.

Straight up, robes snapping in the wind, boots trailing glimmering embers of force magic. The five Elders followed without hesitation, forming a trailing formation like knives around a whetstone.

The sky churned with unnatural clouds, heavy with magic. Spells danced like lightning across the canopy as the battle below continued—roars, clashes, explosions.

But above?

Above was a different war.

Because the Queen Ant marched closely.

And she was not pleased.

From the top of the ridgeline near the forest's northern edge, her form stood massive, eyes glowing with unnatural intellect.

She didn't speak.

But her power pulsed outward in every direction.

Cast.

A wave of burning acid rained from the sky.

Despel.

The Sorceress countered with a flick of her wrist, turning it to steam before it touched the treetops.

Cast.

An earth-splitting fissure tore toward the front lines.

Despel.

A gesture from one of the Elders reknit the land like a reversed earthquake.

Cast.

Summoning glyphs in the air, some twisted, some ancient.

Despel.

The Sect Master whispered a word older than language and burned the glyphs from existence.

It was a war of will.

A battle of nullification.

And now, the Sorceress wasn't alone.

Her fire surged brighter. Her eyes, once tired, now gleamed with focused rage. Her tornado flame that had been struggling to ignite against the Queen's spellwork now flared, pushed higher, stronger, until it carved through the air like a burning lance.

The Elders added their strength, five voices chanting in eerie harmony, casting support and barrier spells, redirecting magical flow, shielding the Sorceress from backlash.

Below, the ants felt the shift.

Their coordination began to break.

The Queen had been anchoring their power, enhancing spells, enforcing hive-mind precision.

Without her full attention? The lesser drones became erratic. Wild.

"Push now!" Darin bellowed, swinging his hammer into a cluster of ants and sending one flying like a cannonball.

"Form up!" shouted Vincent, slicing through a thick-bodied warrior with a burst of speed. "They're stumbling!"

"Finally!" Alvin growled, stabbing two ants at once with his spear, then spitting on the third. "I hate bugs!"

The cultists continued their rampage, their spells burning with wild unpredictability. Shadows leapt from beneath them. Inky tendrils coiled around ant legs and shattered exoskeletons. One cultist threw an entire ant using nothing but words and a very angry scowl.

The tide had turned.

In the sky, the Queen's spellwork began to falter.

She roared—an ear-splitting, hive-splitting shriek that made the trees themselves bend away.

The Sorceress raised both arms. A ring of flaming runes spiraled above her head. Her voice rang out, calm, cold, final.

"This ends now."

With a downward slash of her hands, the flaming runes collapsed into a single point—

then erupted into a vertical pillar of flame and force that crashed down on the Queen with the wrath of a god.

The Queen screamed as her magic shattered like brittle glass.

The Elders chained her limbs with golden threads. The Sect Master struck with a lance of obsidian fire that punctured her chitin and made her stagger back.

And the Sorceress?

She flew straight into the smoke, her final spell ready.

A spear of condensed fire.

One spell.

All her strength.

Straight into the Queen's exposed head.

The explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the air.

Darin shielded his eyes as a gust of ash and heat rolled across the field.

Then—

Silence.

And the Queen… collapsed.

Headless.

The Sorceress hovered in the air, hair singed, robe fluttering like the last page of a spellbook.

Darin looked at her—floating, trembling, barely held aloft by what remained of her magic.

Then her eyes fluttered.

And the Sorceress collapsed, falling from the sky like a burned-out star.

Darin darted forward, catching her before she hit the ground. Her skin was cold, soaked with sweat, her breath shallow.

She didn't smile.

Didn't even speak.

But as her head rested against his shoulder, her fingers curled weakly into the front of his tunic.

It was done.

At least… for now.