Deus Necros

Ludwig moved through the manor’s crumbling halls, his footsteps echoing hollowly against the warped floorboards. Just when he thought he’d explored every rotting corner of this place, one last door revealed itself—massive and imposing, nearly the size of Dante Bastos’ study. The sight of it made his fingers twitch with anticipation.

“Now that’s a door,” Thomas remarked, his spectral form bobbing excitedly beside Ludwig’s shoulder. “Must be one of the higher nobles of the house for them to have a room this big.”

Ludwig ran a hand along the barricade’s weathered planks. “Only one way to find out.” With a few sharp tugs, the centuries-old wood surrendered, splintering apart like dry kindling. The door groaned open on rusted hinges, releasing a puff of stale air that carried the scent of mildew and something faintly metallic.

What lay beyond was a corpse of a room—the skeletal remains of what might have once been the manor’s master bedroom. Sagging beams wept flakes of rotten wood onto the floor, where scraps of moth-eaten fabric clung to the ground like dead leaves. A shattered four-poster bed dominated the space, its canopy reduced to cobwebs and dust. But it wasn’t the decay that caught Ludwig’s attention—it was the feeling. Not danger, but… invitation.

His boot crunched through a weakened floorboard, revealing a hidden cavity beneath. Thomas immediately swooped down, his translucent face pressed eagerly against the opening. “Treasure!” he crowed. “Please tell me it’s treasure!”

Ludwig knelt, brushing aside debris with careful fingers. The chest that emerged was pristine, its metal edges gleaming with faintly glowing sigils that defied seven centuries of neglect. “Preservation magic,” he murmured, tracing a finger along the arcane markings. “Strong one, too.”

Thomas vibrated with excitement. “Open it! Could be gold, jewels, maybe even—”

“I don’t think it’s treasure,” Ludwig interrupted, his undead instincts humming. There was weight here beyond coin. The lock surrendered with a soft click, as if relieved to finally yield its secrets.

Inside, a large parchment covered the contents like a shroud. Resting atop it was a sealed letter bearing the Bastos crest. No names, no addresses—just wax and silence. Ludwig’s fingers itched to read it, but the neatly folded fabric peeking from beneath the parchment stole his attention first.

He lifted the bundle with reverent care, and garments unfurled like shadows given form: a long overcoat of supple black leather embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like starlight, a pinstriped formal suit beneath, and gloves segmented like armored vertebrae. A brooch shaped like a skeletal hand clutching a rose completed the set.

“…Fancy,” Thomas whistled, uncharacteristically quiet.

Ludwig held up the coat, watching how the silver embroidery caught what little light remained in this tomb of a room. “I expected to be wearing slime for months,” he admitted. “You think this will fit a walking corpse?”

Thomas floated in a slow circle around him. “Only one way to find out, oh mighty fashion icon.”

Piece by meticulous piece, Ludwig dressed himself in the relics of what would be a dead nobleman. The clothes settled against his skeletal frame with unsettling perfection—the coat’s weight comfortable across his shoulders, the gloves flexing seamlessly over his bony fingers. As he fastened the final button of the cravat, the entire ensemble seemed to sigh, as if awakening from a long slumber.

[You have worn the full armor set: Regal Inoculation]

Ludwig stiffened. “Wait, this was a set?” He flexed his hands, feeling the subtle thrum of power in the gloves. “These aren’t just clothes.”

Thomas snorted. “Obviously. That embroidery is moving when you’re not looking at it directly.”

A quick inspection revealed the truth:

Name: Noble Presence

Category: Cape [Overcoat]

Rarity: Epic

Condition of use: High Nobility – Or 100 Charisma

Level 1

[Passive Effects] Self-Repair

Bonus Effects: +20 Charisma

Lore: Forged from the wing membrane of a manticore slain during the Bloody Waxing Moon. The silver thread is spun from a lich’s discarded bindings. It remembers its former glory and seeks to return to it.

Name: Noble Essence

Category: Formalwear [Suit]

Rarity: Epic

Condition of use: High Nobility – Or 100 Charisma

Level 1

[Passive Effects] Self-Repair

Bonus Effects: +20 Charisma

Lore: (Same as before)

Name: Noble Grasp

Category: Gloves

Rarity: Epic

Condition of use: High Nobility – Or 100 Charisma

Level 1

[Passive Effects] Self-Repair

Bonus Effects: +20 Charisma, +20% Casting Speed

Lore: (Same as before)

Ludwig turned his hands, watching how the gloves caught the light. “Sixty charisma total,” he murmured. “That’s gonna be helpful in commanding even more undead. Neat”

“Well?” Thomas prompted, floating backward to take in the full effect. “How do you feel?”

Ludwig spread his arms and executed a slow turn, the coat flaring dramatically. The clothes seemed to enhance his every movement, making even this simple gesture feel like a performance.

“This feels rather nice,” Ludwig said as he tightened his coat. “How does it look? I don’t have a mirror,” he added.

Thomas whistled. “You look like the final act in a tragedy. The kind where the handsome villain monologues before burning down the kingdom.” He circled Ludwig with exaggerated appraisal. “All you’re missing is a skull pommeled cane and a wine glass in the other hand,”

Ludwig’s laughter was a dry rasp, but for the first time since his death, it carried something like genuine amusement. “Then they fit perfectly.”

In that moment, standing amidst the ruins of a dead noble’s sanctuary, clad in the ghosts of another man’s power, Ludwig felt something shift. The clothes weren’t just armor—they were a mantle. One that settled onto his shoulders with the weight of inevitability.

“Now that that’s done,” Ludwig said as he picked up the sealed letter, “I think I should see what’s this thing is all about,” he added.

Ludwig carefully opened up the letter, though he felt that he was violating someone’s privacy, whoever this thing was destined to is probably already dead.

However, he was proven wrong as he read the first few lines.

Addressed to: Lord Van Dijk of House Bastos

“To my dearest brother Van…”