Deus Necros

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed, the fading light of dusk catching in them for the briefest moment—a glint like a drawn blade in shadow.

That glow wasn’t reflected.

It wasn’t ambient. It was something else. Something internal.

A light that was his—and his alone.

[Inspect]

A blink later, the world shifted.

To Ludwig, the veil lifted.

Name: Redd Dos

Race: Human

Title: Bandit Leader

Level: 98

Status Effects: {Possession} {Hunger} {Psychosis}

Abilities:

[Carnophage] — Witchcraft that allows the bearer to consume part of a target and temporarily mimic or adopt its traits.

Lore:

Not much is known about this person.

Name: Naltalia

Race: Skin Walker

Title: The Phantom Feast

Level: ???

HP: N/A

Status Effects:

{Soulbound Guilt}{Miserable Company}{Thrall}

Abilities:

[Carnophage Symbiosis] — Enhances the host’s Carnophage abilities dramatically.[Demented Torment] — Absorbs the host’s pain and redistributes it emotionally, feeding their Hunger.

[Traumatic Offering] — Forcibly transfers the possessed’s negative emotions onto aggressors, dulling reaction and clarity. Can result in {Confusion}, {Desperation}, {Fear}, or {Death}.

Lore:

A Skin Walker spirit, altered by dark magic. No longer a purely instinctive killer, it now displays eerie logic and protective intelligence—mimicking the behavior of a more “human” companion.

***

Ludwig’s gaze remained steady.

He’d seen enough.

But the reaction came faster than anticipated.

“I don’t like how that young man is looking at me,” the voice whispered—ethereal and soft like wind skimming across silk—but it struck the air with strange resonance. A voice not entirely anchored in the world.

It was heard.

Ludwig’s eyes didn’t shift.

The red-haired youth in front of him—Redd—gave no reaction. No twitch. No turn of the head.

But he heard it.

Still, he said nothing.

The spirit that clung to his back—a formless darkness that vaguely resembled a woman, her limbs too long and her eyes glowing like twin sickle moons with ears that looked like they belonged to a proud wolf—hovered around him, her intangible body coiling and twining with his like a possessive specter.

“Still ignoring me, Redd?” she cooed. “You know they can’t hear me. But you can. So… talk to me.”

She drifted lazily, swirling around him like a fish circling coral. Her claws toyed with his hair, his shoulders, his cheek—possessive, but not loving. More like a child playing with its prey.

Ludwig’s eyes locked onto her.

Unblinking. Unwavering.

The Skin Walker paused mid-movement.

Her voice faltered.

“…It couldn’t be—” she stalled, confusion and worry clear in her eyes.

“Enough!” Redd’s voice cracked like a whip as he jumped down from the wooden wall in a single smooth motion, landing with practiced ease. His boots hit the ground with a hard thud, scattering dust.

The nearby bandits flinched at his arrival.

“Boss,” one of them stammered, rushing toward him, “we—we had to lead them here. That guy’s… different. We couldn’t beat him.”

The youth’s emerald eyes shifted toward the speaker.

And narrowed.

“What a waste of breath you are,” Redd spat, shoving the man aside with a harsh palm to the chest. “You brought trouble straight into our den just because you were scared? Useless.”

He turned next to the party. Each step he took was deliberate, bold, a swagger built of violence barely leashed.

“And you,” he said, his voice curling into something half-amused, half-threatening, “you’ve got a lot of balls coming all the way to my front door.”

“It was your men who attacked us,” Melisande shot back from behind Ludwig, her voice tight and sharp.

Redd’s lip twitched. “Of course they did. That’s their job. They’re bandits.” He spread his arms mockingly. “But you? You didn’t run. You walked into the tiger’s den.”

“I fail to see the said tiger,” Ludwig replied, his voice calm. Effortlessly dismissive.

It landed like a slap.

Redd’s brows twitched. His nostrils flared.

“You’re mocking me,” he said slowly, reaching forward with two fingers to flick the embroidered handkerchief in Ludwig’s chest pocket. “Mr. Noble?”

“Mockery is far beneath me,” Ludwig replied, his voice untouched by emotion. “And sadly,” he added, letting his gaze drift past Redd, past the man entirely, to what hovered behind him, “you’re not even worth the effort.”

The Skin Walker stirred.

“…He scares me,” she whispered, her form curling slightly in on itself. “It’s as if… he can see me.”

“It’s because I can,” Ludwig murmured.

Everything changed.

The atmosphere—tense before—twisted into something thick and suffocating.

The Skin Walker’s form distorted, grew. Her mass expanded around Redd like a shadow come alive, her shape rising behind him like the wings of a great predator flaring open.

She bared her teeth.

The air grew cold.

“This boy is dangerous!” she hissed, her voice no longer a whisper, but a dagger.

Redd’s body moved on instinct.

His arm shot forward like a striking snake—aiming for Ludwig’s throat.

But it never reached him.

Gorak’s hand clamped down on his wrist mid-flight.

The red-haired boy stopped dead, the veins in his forearm bulging from the force of resistance.

“Don’t do anything foolish, kid,” Gorak said, voice like stone dragged over gravel.

“Hah!” Redd barked, trying to recover the tension in the moment. “Gotta protect your young lord, huh? Shouldn’t let him run his mouth if he’s not ready to back it up.”

“You got that wrong,” came Robin’s voice, deceptively casual.

He was leaning casually against a nearby tree, unbothered by all that was going on, while he flipped a dagger through his fingers.

“He’s protecting you,” Robin said, “from the noble. If you’d touched him…” he let the blade halt, balancing it on one fingertip, “your head would’ve flown clean off.”

Redd’s bravado twitched. His smirk faltered.

“B-boss…” one of the bandits muttered hesitantly, eyes darting to the great blade still strapped across Ludwig’s back. “he’s not bluffing, I saw his sword… it’s not made for men.”

“You mean?”

“It’s a monster slayer’s weapon…”

The realization crept into Redd’s mind slowly. But it took root.

“Well now…” he muttered. “I’m interested.”

His grin widened, showing just a bit too much tooth.

“But tell me,” he said, “why’d you come here? You after a fight?”

Ludwig tilted his head slightly.

“You should ask your men,” he said. “They’re the ones who promised there’s a path to Mira through here.”

Redd scowled.

He turned, glaring daggers at his squirming underlings. A few of them couldn’t even meet his eyes.

“They’re not wrong,” he admitted after a beat. “There is a path. But this here’s Green Forest Bandit land. There’s a toll.”

Timur blinked, almost stunned at the absurdity.

“A toll?” he repeated. “You set up a bandit camp near Mira? The capital’s not even that far—do you know how suicidal that is? This place is under the kingdom’s protection!”

“We’ve been here months,” Redd shrugged, smug. “No one’s come for us. Know why? They fear us.”

“You’re an idiot,” Melisande said flatly.

Redd bristled.

“Just because we don’t snatch women,” he snapped, stepping forward, “doesn’t mean I won’t break your—”

“She’s right,” Robin cut in, voice low. “You really are an idiot. If the kingdom knows you’re here and leaves you alone, it means they’re using you. If they don’t know you’re here… the moment they find out, you’ll be wiped out. No survivors. No graves.”

“Not to mention, this area is too close to the Adventurer city Mira. Setting up a bounty or two on your head would serve the same purpose,” Timur added, shaking his head.

“Those ‘adventurers’ all run when Boss gets serious!” one of the bandits shouted, indignant.

“Show them, Boss! Show them the Beast!”

Redd’s eyes lit up.

His grin returned—wider, feral.

“Well then,” he said, and with a sudden crack, his fingernails extended—long, yellowed claws growing from his fingertips. His jaw stretched, revealing a second row of fangs, animalistic and wet.

A pulse of unnatural pressure rolled off him.

His pupils turned vertical. His muscles bulged under his leather armor.

His voice dropped an octave.

“LET’S SEE THIS BEAST-SLAYING WEAPON OF YOURS!” Redd’s body snapped violently as the transformation overtook him—muscles bulging beneath his patchwork leathers, veins crawling like vines beneath his skin, his hands splitting at the nails as long, jagged claws tore through the flesh. His mouth stretched unnaturally, rows of serrated teeth shining wet beneath a snarl that was no longer human, more like a wolf taken a human form… not a werewolf but something in between.

His irises burned red.

The soil at his feet cracked under the pressure of his advancing form.

A wave of heatless pressure rolled out from him—bestial, fevered, wrong.

Ludwig stood still.

No twitch. No draw.

His arms remained loose at his sides, relaxed.

He blinked once, slowly. Then tilted his head, mildly.

“I’m still waiting,” he said.

Redd’s eye twitched.

The crowd of bandits stepped back instinctively, forming a loose ring, some hiding behind crates, others half-drawing their weapons in case they needed to flee. Melisande stood near the back with Robin and Timur, all three watching with sharp eyes.

“Is he…” Melisande murmured, “not going to fight back?”

Robin didn’t answer. He only watched, dagger spinning between his fingers like a quiet metronome.

Timur’s arms were crossed. “I don’t know much about Davon, but he always struck me as an unusual fella, so let’s just watch.”

Ludwig’s completely relaxed posture made Redd’s rage boil some more as he howled another time.

Redd lunged, leaving nothing but the rustle of crushed leaves in his wake.

Fast.

Faster than anyone his size had a right to move. A blur of red hair and claws, low to the ground, kicking off with bestial strength. He came in with a full-body slash, his nails aimed at Ludwig’s neck.

But he struck air. Ludwig was not there.