Deus Necros

The arc of the blade tore through the air, its edge boring down with a roar more terrifying than that of a beast. The sheer momentum of it made the earth tremble. The Paladin had only a heartbeat to look up, eyes wide with disbelief, before the blade struck.

There was no resistance.

The impact crushed him from helm to boot. Bone cracked and organs ruptured in an instant. Blood sprayed outward in a burst of red mist, coating the leaves, the soil, and the stunned faces behind Ludwig. A single, brutal stroke had turned a man into pulp.

The silence afterward was overwhelming.

A notification chimed within Ludwig’s vision.

[You have slain Templar of Order, level 65]

[You have obtained, {Hopeful Soul} -400-]

The weight of the blade settled into the ground beside him, Oathcarver now streaked with blood and bits of armor. Ludwig stood over the crushed remains, his expression unreadable. The blood had coated his coat, his gloves, even speckled his cheek. Some of it still dripped from his chin.

Behind him, the Knight stared in mute horror, face pale and slack. His breath caught in his throat, unable to voice what he had just witnessed.

The Hunter stumbled a step backward. His mouth opened to speak, but no words came. His eyes were wide, darting between the corpse, Ludwig, and the cleric.

She realized then. She had made a terrible mistake.

“Stop! Stop right there!” the cleric shrieked. Her voice cracked as she fumbled beneath her robes, drawing a staff that shimmered with pale light. Her hand trembled as she pointed it at Ludwig. The spell was forming, but neither her body nor mind was steady enough to channel it properly.

Ludwig tilted his head, the blood still trickling down his coat. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked, calm as a quiet sea. “Light my way?”

He lifted Oathcarver again. The blade whistled as it turned in his grip. With a single, sharp flick, the blood was thrown free, splattering into the dirt and staining the roots. The metal gleamed again, clean and horrible.

“Sir Da, I mean, sir,” the Knight began, then caught himself, realizing he had nearly spoken Ludwig’s true name aloud.

“Just call me Davon,” Ludwig said. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “It’s a fake name anyway.”

The cleric backed away. Her steps were clumsy, guided by fear more than control. She tripped over a root and fell backward, robes bunching beneath her as she landed hard in the mud.

“Stop, I said stop!” she screamed, raising the staff again with both hands. Her voice was high, ragged with panic.

Ludwig didn’t speed his pace. He approached her like the tide. Unhurried. Unstoppable.

“Your faith seems a little fragile,” he said softly. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

She scurried backward, legs scrambling for grip on the damp earth. But Ludwig was already beside her. His hand shot out and clamped around her throat. He lifted her from the ground with ease, her feet dangling, her fingers clawing helplessly at his wrist.

“Where is your Order now?” he asked, voice low and cold. “The one that was supposed to Purge us?”

Her kicks were weak, her staff dropped and forgotten. Saliva dripped down his glove, gruesomely mixing with her companion’s blood as she tried to breathe, her eyes bulging with terror.

“Sir Davon,” the Hunter said carefully, shifting his weight and pressing a hand against his chest. “Is this… wise?”

Ludwig did not look at him. “If I let her go, she’ll run straight back to the Order. She’ll tell them everything. And they’ll come for us. I’m not interested in fighting the entire Order right now. Nothing to gain.”

The cleric gagged, struggling to form words through an almost crushed windpipe and trembling lungs. Somehow, she forced them out. “They… know where we are…”

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. He let go.

She collapsed onto her knees, choking and coughing violently. “Ah, you damn bastard,” she spat between gasps. “You finally get it, don’t you? You’re already finished. They’ll come. They’ll rip you apart piece by piece, and I’ll watch.”

Ludwig stared at her for a long second. “Why are they always so stupid?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Speaking threats before your opponent has even left… for the lack of a better term, you are truly courting death…”

Then he stepped forward, placed a boot beneath her elbow, and kicked her arm upward. As it rose, Oathcarver came down.

The blade severed her left arm in a clean, merciless strike.

The silence lasted three seconds.

Then the scream came.

It tore from her throat with no restraint. Agonized, broken, desperate. Her whole body twisted with it, face draining of color as blood gushed from the stump. She writhed on the ground, clutching at what was no longer there.

“Holy Heal!” she sobbed, barely able to say the words.

Ludwig caught her wrist, still slick with her own blood, and halted the spell. “Where is your Order now?” he asked again, eyes narrowed to cold slits.

“Stop!” she cried. “It’s not too late! Please! I won’t say anything, just let me go, I’m bleeding too much!”

“You want me to let you go?” Ludwig asked, raising a brow. “Then heal my friend first.”

The cleric blinked through tears. Her vision blurred, her lips trembling. “What?”

Ludwig nodded toward the Hunter. “He’s been suffering long enough. His arm’s still broken.”

“Euh, I’m fine…” the Hunter said, raising his uninjured arm and backing slightly. “Really, sir Davon, I’m, “

“Quiet,” Ludwig said.

The Hunter swallowed hard and shut his mouth.

The cleric shook her head weakly. “I need to heal myself first, I can’t, “

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Ludwig summoned a fireball in his left hand. The flames flared with unnatural heat. Without a word, he pressed it against the stump of her arm.

Her shriek was deafening.

The sizzling of flesh, the sharp stench of scorched blood, filled the clearing. Her body bucked from the shock, and her head snapped back. She bit her lip so hard it split, blood spilling down her chin as she screamed again.

“There,” Ludwig said, eyes like frost. “That should stop the bleeding.”

She lay sobbing, shaking violently, tears cutting streaks through the ash and blood on her face.

“Now heal my friend.”

“P-please,” she whimpered, “I… I can’t… it hurts too much…”

“Now,” Ludwig said.

Her hand shook as she raised it.

“Heal,” she whispered.

The light of the spell flickered briefly, then surged forward, enveloping the Hunter in a faint golden glow. Bones shifted. The sound of a clean snap echoed as his arm realigned, and the swelling faded. He winced, then flexed his fingers.

“I’m… I’m good,” the Hunter said.

The Knight realized that Ludwig was looking at him, the light-bonds had already dissipated, and he was free of anything but a small wound on his forehead, courtesy of the woman Ludwig saved from that horrid curse.

He spoke quickly, “She didn’t hurt me much either. Just a cut to the head. I’m fine.”

“I guess,” Ludwig said, “she never really intended to kill any of us,” meaning the cursed woman.

He looked down at his weapon, the great blade resting idly at his side, and then back at the cleric gasping on the forest floor. His mind worked quickly now, thoughts flickering through outcomes, plans, threats.

There was a moment of stillness.

“Speaking of that woman,” the Hunter said, glancing around. “When did you put her down?”

Ludwig frowned. “Put her down? I never… “

He turned sharply.

His chains were slack. They no longer held the unconscious body of the cursed woman.

Only blood remained. Some of it, the cleric’s. Some of it, the paladin’s.

She was gone.

A new notification bloomed before his vision.

[Sudden Quest!]

Ludwig exhaled.

“Seriously…”