Deus Necros

“What’s going on here?” Van Dijk asked, his voice tight with unease as he peered out of the carriage window at the coachman. The city around them was unnervingly silent, the streets empty and the windows of the buildings dark. Not a single light flickered in the distance, and the air felt heavy, almost oppressive.

The coachman, a grizzled man with a weathered face, shook his head. “I don’t know, Master Van Dijk. I haven’t been to the Bastos March in a while, but the last time I was here… it was much livelier than this.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Van Dijk muttered, his eyes scanning the darkened streets. “I’m the guy who spent more nights out of the house than in it, so why is the city completely shut down? Not a single light is in sight.”

The coachman had no answer, his hands tightening on the reins as he guided the horses through the cobblestone streets. The only sounds were the rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves and the occasional crackle of the torches mounted on the sides of the carriage. The silence was deafening, and Van Dijk’s unease grew with every passing moment.

“Is everything alright?” Van Dijk asked as the carriage jolted slightly, the ride rougher now that they were inside the city.

“Yeah, the horses are a bit skittish,” the coachman replied, his voice tense. “I guess with everything so dark, they’re on edge. Oh, old man, wait a second!” he suddenly shouted, his voice cutting through the stillness.

A figure darted out from the shadows, yelping in surprise before vanishing into the alleyways of the city. The coachman cursed under his breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins.

“The hell is going on here…” the coachman muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Van Dijk didn’t respond, his mind racing as the carriage continued its slow progress through the city. The streets remained eerily empty, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the carriage wheels and the nervous snorts of the horses.

Finally, they reached the gates of the Bastos mansion, and Van Dijk’s unease turned to outright dread. The massive iron gates, usually guarded by at least two men, stood wide open. The mansion itself was dark, not a single light visible through its windows.

“Where the hell are the guards… and why is the house unlit?” Van Dijk said, his voice low but filled with tension. He jumped down from the carriage, grabbing one of the torches to better see his surroundings. The metallic gate of the mansion loomed before him, its intricate designs casting long, twisted shadows in the flickering torchlight.

“Master Van Dijk… I don’t know what’s going on here, but since I got you here…” the coachman began, his voice trailing off.

“Yeah, you can leave,” Van Dijk said, his tone dismissive as he moved toward the gate. His mind was already elsewhere, focused on the unsettling silence and the absence of the guards.

“Gilbert! Fredrick!” Van Dijk shouted, calling out the names of the two guards who always stood watch at the gate. His voice echoed through the empty courtyard, but there was no response.

“Stan! Dior!” he tried again, his voice growing more urgent. Still, nothing.

“Milli… what’s going on here?” Van Dijk asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned to his shadow maid. The woman in question was a mystery for Van Dijk, she was never next to him but whenever he asked for her she’d immediately appear. He was always wondering why his father assigned him such a person of this caliber, but thanks to their incredible wealth, the Bastos could easily afford someone like her.

“I don’t know,” Milli replied, her voice calm but tinged with concern. She had been tasked with staying by Van Dijk’s side for the past two months, protecting him from any threats. Though her presence had only been needed a few times—when a couple of foolish nobles had tried to eliminate him as competition—little was known of the fate of those who dared cross a Bastos.

“Let me check first,” Milli said, her tone firm. Before Van Dijk could respond, she darted forward, her movements swift and silent as she disappeared into the mansion.

Almost instantly, a loud crash echoed from within the mansion, followed by a sharp cry of pain—a woman’s scream. Van Dijk’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the voice.

That was Milli.

Van Dijk’s mind went blank, his thoughts consumed by the image of his wife and daughter. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the mansion, his torch held high. The doors were wide open, and as he stepped inside, the metallic smell of blood hit him like a wall, strong enough to make him gag.

Blackish streaks of liquid were splattered across the entrance, and the floor was slick with something viscous and slimy. Van Dijk’s torch flickered and then went out, plunging him into near darkness. The only light came from the waxing moon, its pale glow filtering through the open windows.

Crouching down, Van Dijk touched the slimy substance on the floor, his fingers coming away dark and wet. He raised his hand to the moonlight, his stomach churning as he realized what it was.

Blood.

A lot of blood.

Van Dijk’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. His mind raced, torn between the need to find his family and the growing terror of what he might discover.

A low, guttural growl echoed through the mansion, sending a chill down Van Dijk’s spine. He froze, his eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the sound. Then, he saw it.

A massive, hunched figure loomed forward, its weight pressing into the blood-soaked floorboards with a sickening creak. The dim glow of the waxing moon caught on its matted, tangled fur, a shifting, writhing mess that seemed almost alive—like a twisted fusion of muscle, sinew, and something darker, something wrong.

Its red eyes burned like embers in a sea of black, fixed on Van Dijk with an unnatural intensity. Each breath it took was a ragged snarl, air wheezing through its twisted, jagged maw lined with gnashing teeth, their edges slick with something too thick to be only saliva.

Its arms were grotesquely elongated, ending in claws that twitched with a predatory impatience, each talon the size of a dagger, glistening wet. One of its arms held half of Milli’s unmoving body, her form limp and lifeless.

The beast’s body twitched and convulsed as if struggling to hold its form, its flesh bubbling and tearing in places, revealing glimpses of raw, pulsating muscle underneath. Heavy, fresh scars were carved into its body, scars that seemed unwilling to heal. Though its wounds bled not, the wounds themselves felt as if they were cursed to remain like that forever.

Then, as if acknowledging the moment, it grinned—a horrible, stretched expression that split its face wider than any human jaw should allow.

“I see you’ve returned later than promissssed…” the voice slithered forth, carrying that inhuman hiss, a sound that sent a deep, primal terror through Van Dijk’s bones.

The mansion itself seemed to shrink under the weight of the creature’s presence, the walls pressing inward, suffocating, trapping him with the monstrosity standing between him and his family.

And then, it took a step closer.