Deus Necros

The Knight King strode forward, his every step resonating with the weight of centuries, each footfall cracking the ancient stone floor beneath him. The sound echoed like thunder, a testament to the sheer power contained within his armored form. A dark, smoke-like aura emanated from his figure, swirling and latching onto Van Dijk and Ludwig like a predator claiming its prey. The air grew heavy, suffused with an oppressive energy that seemed to sap the very life from the surroundings. It was as if the Knight King’s presence alone was enough to drain the vitality of the world around him.

Immediately, a stream of notifications materialized before Ludwig’s eyes, glowing ominously in the dim light. The translucent screens hovered in his vision, each line of text a stark reminder of the danger they faced.

{You have been affected by [Cursed Resonance]}

Your Stamina, Health, and Mana regeneration has been reduced by 20%.

[Never Tire!] As an Undead, you have unlimited Stamina. [Cursed Resonance] Stamina reduction effect has been nullified!

{You have been affected by [Tibarian King’s Will]}

A fear effect will be applied upon you!

[Never Fear!] As an Undead, you have no sense of fear or terror. The dead fear nothing.

Ludwig’s hollow eyes flickered as he processed the information. The latching aura recoiled from him as if repelled by his very nature, retreating like a wounded beast. But his master, Van Dijk, was not so fortunate. The aura clung to him, its malevolent energy seeping into his being, a cold, invasive force that sought to weaken him from within.

Van Dijk scowled, his sharp features twisting in disdain. “Wretched thing,” he spat, snapping his fingers with a sharp, decisive motion. A cleansing wave of blue light washed over him, glowing brilliantly for a moment before dispelling the debuffs—not just from himself, but from Ludwig as well. The aura shattered like glass, its remnants dissipating into the air. The arena seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the oppressive weight lifting ever so slightly.

“Undead thing!” the Knight King bellowed, his voice echoing with a regal fury that seemed to shake the very foundations of the chamber. “Die! For your presence is an abomination upon this world!” With a thunderous roar, he charged forward, his massive blade gleaming with an otherworldly light. The ground trembled beneath his advance, each step a declaration of his unstoppable might.

“Oi, Oi!” Van Dijk interjected, his tone dripping with mockery. “You dare go after my student when I’m here?” With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed his magic. “Blood Vines!”

A single droplet of blood surged from his fingertips, exploding into a writhing mass of crimson tendrils that lunged at the Knight King. The vines wrapped around his legs, slowing his advance, but the king’s strength was immense. With a single, powerful slash, he severed the vines, their remnants falling lifelessly to the ground. The severed tendrils writhed for a moment before dissolving into pools of blood.

“Your parlor tricks will prove nothing but their futility!” the king declared, his voice dripping with contempt.

“Parlor tricks?” Van Dijk snorted, his lips curling into a sly grin. “That’s rich, coming from a puppet.” He raised his hand, his fingers dancing through the air as he uttered a series of commands. “Burst!”

The severed vines exploded in a shower of crimson, the force of the blast sending shards of blood flying in all directions.

“Burn!” The blood ignited, engulfing the king in flames that roared with a ferocious intensity.

“Ensnare!” Chains erupted from the ground, coiling around the knight’s limbs with a metallic clatter.

“Anchor Dead!” Ethereal anchors materialized from the heavens, slamming into the king and pinning him to the ground with a resounding crash.

“Bounds of Latvia!” More chains burst forth, their jagged links tearing through the king’s thick armor as if it were paper.

“Crucify Dead!” A massive stone pillar erupted behind the knight, the chains snapping to its corners and pulling the king’s arms wide, binding him to the cross.

The Knight King was now bound, burning, rooted, and crucified—a spectacle of Van Dijk’s mastery. The flames licked at his armor, the chains groaned under the strain of his immense strength, and the stone cross stood as a grim monument to his temporary defeat.

“Parlor tricks, he said,” Van Dijk taunted, his voice laced with venom. “Show me how you can get rid of these parlor tricks.”

Ludwig, standing to the side, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease. “Is it a good idea to taunt him?” he asked cautiously. Unlike Van Dijk, Ludwig had seen the Knight King’s skill set firsthand. One ability, in particular, stood out: [Devourer’s Edge], a power capable of cutting through magic itself.

“RGHAAAAA!” The Knight King’s roar shook the arena. With a surge of strength, he released his grip on his sword, and the weapon flew into the air, slashing at the base of the cross. The stone shattered, the chains snapping as the king broke free. He rose to his feet, the flames around him dying down as if extinguished by his sheer will. His armor, though scorched and battered, still gleamed with an ominous light.

“I have been arrogant,” the king admitted, his voice calm but laced with menace. “Excuse my ill-mannered behavior… I’ll be more serious now, grand mage.”

Van Dijk’s expression darkened. “That’s not good…”

“What is it, master?” Ludwig asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“When did you ever see a king apologizing?” Van Dijk replied, his tone grim.

“Well… never,” Ludwig admitted.

“Exactly,” Van Dijk said. “That just means this guy has integrity. And if he has integrity, it means he wasn’t being serious before.”

The tension in the room grew palpable. Van Dijk’s demeanor shifted, his playful taunts replaced by a focused intensity. He began tapping the air with his fingers, each tap leaving behind a shimmering droplet of blood suspended in midair. After ten droplets had formed, he exhaled sharply.

“Let’s dance! [Blood Dirge!]” Van Dijk called.