A/N: Yeah, this story might not update as frequently as I thought. I also got hit by mid-year depression so I was holding this off for a long time.

I am also still looking for anyone who is willing to beta read this.

The White Serpent

Asta paced around his stone grimoire. It had been three months since the day he had received this gift from Sotek, though whether it is really a gift or not is debatable. Since that day he had been training with it non-stop.

Tehen had taught him some of the tablet's basic functions. Apparently, his stone tablet could be scrolled left and right as well. After the white-haired boy began experimenting with these new spells, he soon discovered that the incantations are separated into sections based on which side of the grimoire he scrolled toward.

The left section was for artifacts and weapons of unimaginable power. There was even a sword inside of a sword inside of a sword that shot laser for Sotek's sake!

The upward section was the more 'traditional' spells, these ranged from a variation of sunray and sun bolt to something that Asta could only describe as 'dynamite with a laser beam!'.

The right-side was composed of, what Tehen called, 'invocations'. While the white-haired teen couldn't see the different from the spells in the upward section, most invocations tended to be the more supporting oriented spells that didn't outright harm his target — though he wasn't sure that making the sky raining snakes wouldn't be classified as harmful.

Lastly, the downward section was where the summoning spells were. Asta was a bit reluctant to test these summons out. After nearly killing that chain-using wizard, the Carnosaur went on a rampage around Hage. It took him about an hour to finally catch up to it and used something akin to a 'de-summon' to stop it. Then there are the angry farmers, but let's just say he had dealt with that.

Asta shook his head.

"Dammit, I need to focus!" the white-haired boy shouted.

Asta didn't want to admit it, but he ran headfirst into the problem just a few days after getting his grimoire. The issue? He didn't know where to start his training.

There are so many types of spells for him to use, so many summonses, and so many artifacts. He could test them one at a time, but that would take too long. Yuno had almost mastered his grimoire in a mere day. He needed to catch up with his rival, but how?

A bush nearby suddenly rustled. Asta twisted his head around to see it. Within a few heartbeats, a man with red messy hair and trimmed bread emerged from the green. Asta also noticed another thing about this man.

"Ah, hello there," the red-haired man greeted. Asta only remained silent. "Umm, sorry kid, but can I ask you something?" A few things happened with the next few seconds. Asta summoned a handcuff (made of gold), restained the confused stranger with it, and led him away. "Umm, boy, what are you doing?"

"I'm taking you to the guard. Streaking and public nudity are illegal here in Hage," Asta explained with a straight face.

"W-wait, just hold on, I-I am ju-"

Asta cut him off.

"Save it for the guard."

"No!" the stranger shouted, causing Asta to pause. "I am not a criminal or a pervert! I was taking a bath in a pond when my clothes were gone!"

Asta tiled his head as he looked at the man curiously. "What do you mean?"

Seeing his chance, the red-haired man began by introducing himself as Fanzell Kruger. He then explained that he was running away from some bad guys chasing him all the way from the Diamond Kingdoms in the east because he wanted to quit his job in the army, unofficially.

"So you are a deserter?" Asta asked.

"Rude… but, yes," Fanzell admitted. "Look, just help me find my cloth and I will be on my way."

"Well, shouldn't you ask the authority for help?"

"There is a risk that the authority will either turn me over to my kingdom to avoid a political incident or my tracker will ambush them while I am restained and take me back; Clover and Diamond kingdoms ain't exactly friendly with each other, it will just be another grudge in the long list of wrongdoings between the two," Fanzell predicted.

Asta held his chin, thinking, but, in usual Asta fashion, he got nothing.

"Sorry, I don't know how I can help… besides finding you a cloth, of course," the white-haired teen apologized.

"That's more than I can ask for," Fanzell said with a soft smile.

"Say, what were your job that was so important for them to chase you?"

"I was a combat instructor."

"That's it? They want to kill you just because you teach people how to fight for themselves?"

The red-haired man chuckled. "You made it sound so noble… too noble." Fanzell cast his eyes downward. He looked lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "In any event, I am the top instructor in the kingdom, so naturally they let me in on some secrets that will be too important to fall in the hand of other kingdoms. So when I run away, they just did what they had too."

"You don't mind being chased?" Asta asked.

"Of course I mind it! Just because I understand why people do something, doesn't mean I have to accept their actions."

A moment of silence followed. Asta was thinking about Fanzell's situation. Then something clicked in his mind. He realized something,

"Fanzell, you said you're a combat instructor, right?" The red-haired man lifted an eyebrow before nodding in affirmation. "Can you teach me? I just got my grimoire and the Magic Knight Test is coming up. I need some help preparing."

Fanzell scratched his head. "Hmm, well, maybe I could teach you a few things if you find me some clothes. What do you need help with though?"

Asta began explaining his problem. His grimoire possessed a large number of spells, which made learning all of them a difficult task. The white-haired teen then informed Fanzell of the four types of power his tome possessed: spells, invocations, artifacts, and summons.

"Hmm, I guess having so much power from the start would be a problem." It wasn't much of a guess, he had already seen an effect of people who got too much power than they could handle. He shook those memories. He would rather not remember them. So he focused back on the task at hand. "Right, I think I can help you just a bit, but I want to know first about your fighting style. Do you have fighting style, kid?" The red-haired man asked dryly.

"I just go in and start attacking!"

"Close-quarter assault-style then." Fanzell scratched his chin. "In that case, here's my recommendation." Asta leaned forward in anticipation. "Focus on your artifacts and weapons since they fit your style more. Regular spells require the certain, umm, calculation to use properly, but since that doesn't suit you I would say you should turn them into a complementary power in conjunction with your weaponry."

"What about my summons?" Asta questioned.

"From how you describe them, they will either become your main power or supporting power depending on the situation. So just familiarize yourself with what each of your summonses can do and you should be good. Now, what weapon do you have in your arsenal?"

"Mostly spears, shields, clubs, mace, and… it's this weapon that mixing a club and a sword together." Frankly, Asta had no idea how to pronounce these 'Maquahuitl', so he settled for describing. "It's kind of like a greatsword if you ask me."

"I see. Still, I can only help you with one type. Or one for each type, since you said they seem to have magical property, so just pick the ones you like. I can only help you for so long since I'm still a fugitive, especially without anything but my clothes with me." Fanzell looked down and remembered that he lost that too. Now he really wished Dominante was safe.

"What if I pay you?"

The combat instructor quirked his eyebrows. "No offense, kid, but you don't look, umm, heavy pocket. Though to answer your question, I can probably teach you a little longer if you give me some money or items to trade."

As much as he disgusted at himself for saying that, Fanzell couldn't deny any chance to make money. He was in a kingdom that had once considered him an enemy, with assassins on his trail no less. He needed whatever means he could find to survive. It didn't help either that he only had a few coins minted with Diamond Kingdom symbol, which would bring him nothing but trouble and would attract too much attention if he exchanged them for Clover's money.

Well, in any event, he doubted Asta could offer him anything. Just clothes would be more than enough to make him grateful.

"Will this do?" Asta asked and brought Fanzell back to reality.

The red-haired man looked at Asta's extended arm and the item that laid on his palm. His eyes nearly popped out of their socket in shock. Because Asta's hand was a necklace made entire of gold with about seven different types of gems embedded into it.

"W-wha-where did you get that?!" Fanzell asked in shock and awe.

Instead of answering, Asta took up his dagger and cut his hand. The combat instructor was baffled at first, but his surprise soon turned to curiosity when he saw the boy his blood dripped onto his stone grimoire. The light began to shine from the glyphs. The white-haired boy reached his hand into his own grimoire and pulled out another similar necklace.

"I-is your grimoire use gold magic?" Fanzell asked in disbelief.

"Nope!"

After this, a little explanation followed about the source of his grimoire's power, Sotek. Fanzell was somewhat skeptical about all of this, but that was the usual reaction Asta got when it came to this topic. Eventually, though, they had managed to come to an agreement and Fanzell was to teach Asta whatever he could for a month.

So, Asta had temporarily solved a problem in his life, but this was just the first one in a long line of struggle ahead.

Deep beneath the crust of the Earth, the subterranean realm of the Clover Kingdom quaked as it was being molested by the force beyond this world.

In a gigantic and dark open cavern, the sound of infernal machines and whips lashing an entire chunk of flesh off the ratman slaves raged across this dark place. Rotten wood and gnawed stone had been laid as a foundation of this new undercity of the Skaven. It had been but a few months since they had discovered this new unspoiled realm and they had already made a move to reap everything in their path.

A grey-furred Skaven clad in dark armor stood atop of the tower that overlooked the entirety of this dark city.

Chief Warlock Engineer Ikit Claw surveyed his domain as if to see whether there was anything amiss.

Ikit noticed a landmark that shadowed the hideous and disgusting city of the verminous ratmen, a large circular arch implanted into the wall of the cavern.

The mad-genius couldn't help but flashed a grin as he looked upon the arch, the newest masterpiece in his long list of master masterpieces; a machine that brought them to this place. It laid dormant for now, but when the time came the machine would come to life again and more slave, machine, and Warpstone would be brought to him, him.

"Great-Great Chief Warlock Engineer!" someone called from the floor below. "The representatives of other clans are here-here."

Ikit turned his muzzle away from the view of his new city and down toward the floor between. He growled. Dealing with other clans were never his specialty. He would usually leave suck tasks for his master, Lord-Warlock Morskittar, or any other Warlock Engineers wishing to advance in rank through backstabbing politics of the Skavendom.

Not him though, all he cared for was creating the ever more magnificent and destructive inventions. Still, his ingenuity had more than once drawn the attention of assassins' blades. Pathetic fools, thinking mere daggers could kill him. So playing politics sometimes had turned into something important to guarantee a quiet working environment.

The grey-furred Skaven checked behind his back. Even atop this desolate tower sprawling a hundred meters tall, one should never underestimate the skills of the assassins of Clan Eshin. Once the coast was clear, his hand reached for the lever and pulled it. With a clang and the turning of rusted cogs, the platform began to descend.

Each anxious minutes passed as the elevator took him down the tower of copper pipes and wires, the Warlock Engineer was always careful to check for sabotage and assassination. Ikit's tail waggle in relief as he had finally arrived at a large half-dome chamber, dimly lit by candles around the room. In the middle of the chamber was a round table of gnawed wood, surrounded by thirteen seats. As of current, ten seats were occupied.

All eyes turned to him when the elevator stopped. Ikit paused for a moment, casting his eyes around to see if any of the rats here would make a move. Unlike the meeting of the Council of Thirteen, there were no Albino Guards to step in if anyone decided to be a suicidal rat. Upon seeing no movement, the engineer-rat quickly walked toward his seat with his chest high to hide his cautious a few moments ago.

"What took you so long?" one of the Skaven sitting at the table asked impatiently. He was a black-furred warrior-rat clad in the infamous red armor. Only one regiment of Stormvermin wore that uniform in the entirety of Under-Empire and the notoriety of its leader was well-known to Ikit. After all, that said leader was right here.

"Am I not allow to see-look at my city? O', mighty Queek Headtaker?" Ikit said mockingly. He would never acknowledge anyone's greatness, but himself.

"Your-your city?! It was the slaves of Clan Gritus that built-built everything you see! Including this tower!" Another Skaven screamed at the Ikit. To be so openly aggressive was a rare trait for Skaven, then again, all rats chosen for this campaign in the new world were unconventional in one way or another. The heavily scarred ratmen continued. "You may be chosen-appoint as our leader, but know-know that it is the slave of mine, Great Warlord Spikulus Blackspear, and of my clan's that create-build this city for you!" the Warlord finished.

The others observed Spikulus. Everything from his size to his armor to… everything about this warlord was unimpressive, but out of every leader here, he was the only one that possessed light brown fur, a synonym for slavery in the Skavendom.

It was well-known that Clan Gritus possessed an abundant quantity of slaverats and a love for gladiatorial bloodsport. It was also common knowledge that the slaves in that Clans could rise in rank through skill in the fighting pit. But to be here, sitting with some of the greatest minds in the Under-Empire, this spoke volumes of how much of a threat Spikulus was to them; from a mere slave to a deadly warlord. Ikit had to keep an eye on him.

"Can we move-move on? I have things-things to do," a runt of a Skaven interrupted as Ikit was about to argue back with Spikulus. This was Skweel Gnawtooth, the Packmaster of Clan Moulder, renowned for his ability to tame any mutated beasts spawned from the Hell Pit laboratory. The other leaders, however, didn't understand why Clan Moulder, one of the four Great Clans, would send this runt here instead of the infamous Throt the Unclean, the true genuine of Moulder. Was Moulder planning to sabotage them? Did they not commit to this mission? Was Skweel had anything to do with this? Was Moulder plotting something back home that needed Throt?

"Fine-fine, let's start," Ikit ordered. He would get to the bottom of these issues at a later date, as with all the issue he was having. Being the leader was fun until you realized there were assassins sent your way almost daily. "Scribe-Slave, come-come forward."

Stepping out of the shadow was a small Skaven, around the same size as Skweel, with circular glasses and dressing in worn-out robe and a purple scarf.

"Yes-yes, Great Chief Warlock Engineer," the scribe, Sneek Scratchett, asked with his head low.

"Write-record everything in this meeting. It will be gift-given to the Council," Ikit ordered.

"Wait-wait!" Another interruption, Ikit had to suppress a sigh. "This meeting must be private-secret! No-no enemies should hear-know!" The others eyed the only horned sorcerer ratmen, a Grey Seer, in the room.

"And why shouldn't we tell-tell the Council of this meeting, Grey Seer Thanquol? Perhaps you are planning to betray the Council?" Another black-furred ratman, this one clad in stained steel (pun intended) armor and helmet that was gleam enough to reflect the candles' light, accused. "Failure, after failure, you are either stupid-incompetent or try-try to kill everyrat."

"You dare-dare insult me, Vaskol!" Thanquol screeched, but others just looked at him accusingly. It was no secret that Grey Seer Thanquol had a long list of failed missions to his name; he could jeopardize this mission as well. The Grey Seer continued to defy their collective glares. "Clan Mange wouldn't survive to this-this day if it weren't-weren't for us Grey Seer!"

"Enough!" Ikit yelled and slammed the end of his Storm Daemon halberd onto the floor. "We're waste-waste time! Let start! The Scribe-Slave will record this meeting unless you want-want to talk-explain to the Council why they don't know about this-this meeting, Grey Seer," the grey-furred Skaven threatened.

Thanquol clenched his musk gland. The prospect of being ousted to the Council was enough to make him silent.

"Good-good, now first things first." Ikit turned to the most unimpressive Skaven in the room, a dark brown fur ratmen with a simple tunic and a spyglass strapped to his belt. "Warlord-Captain Skiv the Saltmaster. What do you find-find?"

"Of course, great-great Ikit Claw," Skiv bowed silight and laid a large map on the large table; a map of Clover Kingdoms. Several 'X' marks were drawn on the map, signifying the others of their important.

As Skiv began explaining, Ikit looked at the rest of the Council. He was half-listening, but the Scribe would catch anything he had missed. In truth, he wasn't concerned much about informing the Council as just to have an excuse to observe the others while remaining informed.

So far in this meeting, four members didn't argue with him yet.

Tretch Craventail, the dark-brown fur Grand Chieftain of the Deep Warrens of Clan Rictus. Tretch was famous for his ridiculously good luck and that Skullhelm he wore even now. Rictus and Mors, Queek's Clan, would be providing this expedition with Clanrats, the rank and files in Skaven warfare, and Stormvermin, the elite troop of the Skavendom. Their rivalry would keep their claws at each other's throat, and not on Ikit's back. Clan Mange, Vaskol's Clan, would also be presenting this operation with their warriors, but they would be utilized differently; they had a certain sought after quality.

Moving on, Ikit laid his eyes on none other than one of the most notorious Plaguelords in all of the Under-Empire, Lord Skrolk. The plague-ridden rat dressed in torn and ragged sickly pus green rope. His eyes were no longer there, clawed out by Skrolk himself according to the legend, and only the empty sockets remained. While silent so far, Ikit knew Skrolk was the biggest threat he would have to deal with. Skrolk belonged to Clan Pestilens, the largest of four Great Clans, and the most zealous. It was so vast to the point that the Council had to forbid any Thrall Clans to come on this mission due to the fact that Pestilens possessed the largest number of Thrall Clans. But Pestilens was not the only Great Clan he was worried about.

Ikit's eyes subtly shifted to the empty seats, belonging to Clan Eshin most prominent member in this expedition, Deathmaster Snikch. Ikit had only caught glimpses of the Chief Assassin, but never his full form. No doubt though that Snikch could kill most of the ratmen in this room without a problem. The Deathmaster, however, was but an instrument, not the player. If Deathmaster ever acted, someone in this room had to be involved, and Ikit feared that Skrolk would be that someone. Clan Skyre was not ready for an all-out war with two Great Clans at once.

The grey-furred Warlock then gazed at the two remaining Warlords who were not of much importance. Gachak the Lucky-Drawer, a slightly obese black fur Warlord in a lavish robe (likely of Dwarf-thing origin) from Clan Grutnik, a Clan famous for their Warpstone production. They were invited to this campaign due to their expertise in planting, growing, and harvesting Warpstone, a necessary component in every aspect of Skaven's existence.

The last noteworthy Skaven in the room was Tyklich Dwarf-Burner from Clan Volkn. This one covered himself entirely in dark red cloak, only allowed his glowing red-eyes to be seen. Despite Clan Volkn friendship with his Clan, Clan Skyre, due to the constant supply of Warpfire Thrower they purchased, Ikit wasn't sure if he could count on the Warlord to back him up if the need became arise. Clan Volkn were pyromaniac and if given a chance they would burn anything and everything to ashe, including themselves and their allies. Still, their underground fighting skills were second to none and they could operate in a condition harsher than most Skaven could withstand.

"So what is the next step, Lord Ikit?" Skiv asked, bring Ikit back to reality. While he was barely listening, the Warlock Engineer knew precisely how to answer that question.

"For now, we expand-expand the tunnel network and establish-built warrens at important locations. Let all Clans settle down first-first," the Chief Warlock Engineer ordered. "Scribe-slave, sent this message to the Eshin as well."

"Yes-yes, great one," Sneek obeyed and wrote something down on his paper.

"If I may suggest, Lord Ikit," Skiv suddenly spoke up again.

Ikit narrowed his eyes, trying to determine what courage or stupidity compelled the Warlord to go against his wish just a mere moment after it was issued. Skiv was from Clan Sleekit, a very small Sea Clan with little territories and a small Clanfleet in comparison to other Sea Clans. Clan Sleekit, however, was renowned for its skill in logistics, navigation, sailing, and exploration, which were an essential part in this operation. So were they now trying to use that fact to push their own agenda? [1]

"Speak-speak then," Ikit permitted. He would hear them first, then judged if Skiv would be filled with Ratling Gun bullets or not.

"In this world, we do not-not exist." Just the very first sentence and confusion had already spread throughout the Council.

"Are you mad-mad? We have-have enough mad-thing with Queek," Tretch insulted. Ikit could hear the Headtaker growled.

"Explain better, Skiv," Ikit demanded.

"In this world, we are not known to man-thing, or even dwarf-thing and elf-thing if they exist-exist. We don't need to sneak-hide from them, we can blend-blend in and strike-kill when the time come-come," Skiv finished.

"Very-very risky, this plan of your," Thanquol pointed out. "But it might-might work." In truth, the Grey Seer didn't believe this idea in the slightest, but it could serve to weaken or even get rid of one or two Clans here, which would leave a vacuum of power for him and his Clan to fill in.

"Then-then let me be the one to test this out," Vaskol suddenly offered. This display of brevery earned him the ire from some of the Warlords, but none spoke up.

"How-how will you help?" Ikit asked.

"War is business-money, even here, no-no?" Vaskol turned to Skiv, who nodded. "Then me-me and the best of Clan Mange will offer-fight for man-thing and observe-see if they will fall for our trick-scheme."

Ikit started to believe Tretch's word a little, perhaps he was indeed surrounded by mad-things that wanted to die in one way or another. No other member on the council spoke up, however, meaning that they all agreed, or at least didn't bother to stop Vaskol to go on a suicide mission. Ikit, in contrast, liked to give things the benefit of the doubt.

"Fine-fine, you may try," the Warlock agreed. Vaskol bowed his head and showed his neck, a sigh of obedient. "But-but," Vaskol looked up. "Skiv and the chosen of his Clan will go-go as well, he did suggest-present the idea after all."

Vaskol's face twisted in anger a little. Ah, so he was hoping to curry some favor by doing this then. Skiv tagging along would do nothing but hinder that goal.

The Captain-Warlord, on the other hand, looked a little panic. He seemed like he wasn't expecting to be put in the frontline. But he could not deny a direct order either.

"V-very well, great-great Ikit Claw," Skiv affirmed in defeated and glared at Vaskol. The two would be at each other's throat now. Good.

With that, the first meeting of the Skaven had concluded, but the scheming and planning were far from over.

A/N: Yeah, this chapter is more of a set up for Skaven rather than on Asta. Some OCs minor warlords here and there, but Warhammer is always about OCs.

[1] A little made-up name since there is no classification for Clan that specializes in navy combat, like Clan Skurvy or Clan Skuttle.