Deus Necros

Ludwig couldn’t feel a thing. Everything turned black for a second, a void so complete it felt as though he had been swallowed by the abyss itself. His thoughts echoed in the emptiness, loud and disjointed.

‘Did I just die? Just like that? I didn’t even see the sword swing.’

The darkness was suffocating, a vast, endless expanse that stretched in every direction. There was no sound, no light, no sensation—just the oppressive weight of nothingness. Ludwig’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what had happened. He had been standing there one moment, and the next, he was here, in this void. Was this death? Was this what it felt like to be truly gone? Where is Necros?

But then, a voice cut through the silence, cold and commanding, yet tinged with an otherworldly resonance.

[Rise if you would, for that is thine duty!]

The words reverberated in Ludwig’s mind, shaking him to his core. Before he could process them, another notification followed, its letters glowing faintly in the darkness.

[You have lost half the souls in your lantern, remaining souls: 12.]

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He had died. Again. And the cost was steep—half of his precious souls, the very essence that fueled his existence, were gone. The weight of that loss settled heavily on his shoulders, even in this formless void.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and he was back. Back at the entrance of the third sector, standing beside Van Dijk, who was speaking as if nothing had happened.

“Sure we did, we made it out!” Van Dijk said, his voice calm and confident.

Ludwig blinked, disoriented. His mind was still catching up, but his body acted on instinct. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to move, to act, to survive. Before he could even fully process what had just occurred, he saw it—the glint of steel, the massive sword arcing through the air, aimed straight for Van Dijk’s chest.

“MASTER!” Ludwig shouted, his voice raw with urgency. He lunged forward, shoving Van Dijk to the side with all the strength he could muster.

The sword struck true, but not its intended target. Instead, it cleaved through Ludwig’s arms with horrifying ease, severing them cleanly at the shoulders. After all that sword wasn’t meant for cutting, but for crushing, it was so heavy it dislocated his arms instead of cutting them. His undead limbs clattered to the ground, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

Van Dijk’s eyes widened in shock as he watched his disciple take the blow meant for him. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, the Corrupted Knight raised its sword again, its hollow eyes gleaming with malice as it prepared to finish the job.

“BEGONE!” Van Dijk roared, his voice filled with a fury that seemed to shake the very air. A torrent of black flames erupted from the ground beneath the knight, surging upward with a ferocity that was almost alive. The abyssal fire engulfed the knight, its heat so intense that Ludwig could feel it even from a distance. The force of the blast sent the knight hurtling backward, crashing through the wall of a nearby house like a cannonball.

Van Dijk turned to Ludwig, his expression a mix of relief and concern. “Ludwig, are you okay?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Ludwig grinned, though his face was pale and drawn not from the loss of blood but probably from having just ‘revived’. “Yeah, tis but a scratch!” he said, his tone light despite the severity of his injuries. He glanced down at his fallen arms, which lay on the ground like discarded tools. “Can I have a hand? No pun intended—I can’t pick up my arms without… well, arms.”

Van Dijk let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He bent down and picked up Ludwig’s arms, carefully reattaching them to his shoulders. Ludwig focused, channeling his mana into the joints, and with a faint click, his arms locked back into place.

“You sound awfully calm for someone who almost died,” Van Dijk remarked, his tone dry but tinged with admiration.

“I’m already dead,” Ludwig replied with a shrug.

Van Dijk frowned. “How did you notice it? That knight, because clearly I haven’t.”

“Just had a hunch,” Ludwig said, his expression turning serious. “Also, I think it’s not over yet.”

Van Dijk’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, believe me, it’s over,” he said, turning toward the broken-down house.

Ludwig followed his gaze, finally taking in their surroundings. They were standing in the third sector of the city, a place far grander and more imposing than the areas they had passed through before. Behind them loomed the massive gatehouse that separated the first and third sectors, its towering structure a testament to the city’s former glory. Ahead, the pathway widened, leading to a sprawling layout of elegant buildings, each one more regal than the last. The houses were adorned with intricate carvings and surrounded by lush gardens, a stark contrast to the decay and corruption that permeated the rest of the city.

But the beauty of the place was overshadowed by the danger that surrounded them. Guards were streaming toward them from every direction, their swords drawn and their eyes filled with hostility. The notification in Ludwig’s vision was still clear:

[You are in a greatly hostile environment!]

They were out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The Corrupted Knight emerged from the ruins of the house, its armor now cleaner and more defined. The corruption that had once marred its form was receding, revealing runic carvings and golden symbols etched into the metal. Its cape, though still stained with dirt and grime, bore a royal blue hue that hinted at its noble lineage. The knight’s shield was now almost perfectly intact, and its sword—a massive ultra-great sword—gleamed with a deadly sharpness. Each step the knight took resonated like a thunderclap, its presence more imposing than ever.