Deus Necros

Van Dijk’s calculating gaze lingered on Ludwig before flicking back to Olim. “Interesting things must have happened in the trial grounds,” he remarked, his voice calm but laced with intrigue.

Olim smirked. “Oh, you could say that. I have a complete recording of everything that transpired. It’s a monitored dungeon, after all.” His expression turned slightly more serious as he looked at Ludwig. “But your actions beg a clear question, Ludwig. You used Necromancy—a practice considered foul and forbidden by the Empire’s laws. Yet, you did so to save others, an act that commands respect. A morally just use of an immoral art.”

Olim crossed his arms, his tone shifting to a mix of authority and begrudging approval. “Seeing the state of your arm, however, I’ll refrain from chewing you out for now. Get yourself fixed up. Once you’re done, I want a detailed written report on my desk. Explain why you chose to use necromancy and justify its application in this scenario. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” Ludwig replied, his tone flat and resigned.

“Come with me, Ludwig,” Van Dijk said, his words more of a command than an invitation. He placed a hand on Ludwig’s shoulder, and before the latter could react, the world around them vanished.

The two of them reappeared at the pinnacle of the Black Tower—the Tower Master’s sanctum.

Ludwig instantly recognized the circular room, a space that seemed to defy logic and time. Walls were lined with towering shelves crammed with ancient tomes, forbidden manuscripts, and curiosities of the arcane. Jars containing preserved organs and creatures of grotesque anatomy lined the darker corners, while alchemical tools and strange artifacts were scattered across workbenches. The room felt like a blend of library, laboratory, and museum—a place where knowledge and experimentation danced on the edge of madness.

Van Dijk closed the portal with a wave of his hand and moved to his ornate chair, sitting with the poise of someone used to authority. He steepled his fingers beneath his nose, his gaze sharpening as it settled on Ludwig.

“Now,” he began, his voice carrying a weight that silenced even the ambient hum of the room, “do you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

Ludwig stood silently for a moment, his skeletal arm hanging awkwardly at his side. “I do not,” he replied flatly.

Van Dijk’s lips curved into a slight smile, though it carried no warmth. “I have little patience for those who hide things from me—especially when they do it poorly. Tell me, Ludwig… how did you manage to convince a Sixth-Tier mage like Olim that you’re human?”

The question was a dagger aimed at Ludwig’s carefully constructed façade.

Before he could form a response, a cold sensation swept through his body. A familiar notification appeared in his mind:

[Necro’s Blessing has activated.]

Ludwig’s limbs went limp, his entire frame slumping as if life itself had drained out of him. His grip on his severed arm faltered, and it fell to the ground with a dull clatter.

Van Dijk immediately sensed the change. His instincts screamed of danger. He leapt from his chair, his hands moving in a blur as he chanted a rapid string of incantations.

“{Ensnare}, {Bounds of Latvia}, {Anchor Dead}, {Vow of Silence}!”

Four spells burst forth almost simultaneously, their energies intertwining as they enveloped Ludwig. Invisible chains of magic wrapped around his form, rooting him to the spot and immobilizing his limbs. A glowing sigil formed beneath him, anchoring him in place and suppressing any chance of teleportation. Finally, a veil of silence wrapped around him, sealing his ability to cast or speak incantations.

Van Dijk’s aura shifted dramatically. The calm, collected mage was gone, replaced by a man radiating pure, controlled hostility. His crimson eyes narrowed as he studied Ludwig, whose body was now unnaturally still.

But then Ludwig spoke.

His voice was not his own.

“The arrogance of mortals… to wield magic so freely upon the very source that grants it. No wonder you lack true piety.”

The words were laced with an otherworldly resonance, echoing as if spoken from the depths of eternity.

Van Dijk’s eyes widened in alarm. “How are you speaking? You shouldn’t be able to move, let alone talk. Breaking these spells would require the power of an Eighth-Tier mage. And yet…” His voice trailed off as realization dawned. “No… this isn’t Ludwig. Who are you?”

A chuckle emanated from Ludwig’s lips, though it was laced with something far more sinister. “A smart one, I see. You’re correct—who you’re speaking to is not the one who stood before you moments ago.”

Van Dijk’s mind raced, formulating contingencies and escape plans. Whatever force now occupied Ludwig’s body had obliterated his restraints in a fraction of a second—a feat that no mortal should be capable of.

“I’m certain I was speaking to my student earlier,” Van Dijk said cautiously, testing the waters.

“You were,” the voice replied. “But now, you face another. I am the Inevitable. The One whom all shall meet, without exception. The same as your dearest Melania.”

The mention of that name froze Van Dijk in his tracks. His entire body stiffened, his eyes blazing crimson as raw fury surged through him. The temperature in the room plummeted, frost forming on the edges of the bookshelves as his aura darkened.

“Calm yourself, Vampire,” the voice commanded, its tone sharp and unyielding.

The words were enough to douse Van Dijk’s raging anger, though his expression remained tense. “How… how do you know that name?” he whispered, his voice trembling. He was more interested of the fact that this ‘thing’ knew of Melania more than his hidden identity as a Vampire.

“If we continue this pointless exchange of emotions, you’ll gain nothing of value. I suggest you focus.” Ludwig’s possessed form shifted slightly, its eerie gaze locking onto Van Dijk. “I will grant you three questions. Use them wisely, for once they are asked, I shall depart.”

Van Dijk took a moment to collect himself, though his mind raced. He had countless questions, but he knew he had to prioritize.

“Where is my wife?” he asked, his voice steady but heavy with grief.

“She is dead,” came the flat reply.

Van Dijk closed his eyes, suppressing the wave of anguish that threatened to consume him. He had known this truth deep down, but hearing it spoken aloud shattered any lingering hope.

“What is your purpose in using Ludwig?”

“To achieve a goal of mine,” the voice replied, devoid of elaboration.

Van Dijk’s frustration mounted. The answers were painfully vague, and he only had one question left. He needed something concrete, something actionable.

He took a deep breath. “Where can I find the Blood Hound?”