Deus Necros

A ways off the cragged coast of Mira’s hamlet, where the water deepened into brine-slick trenches and the morning mists still hung low like a gauze over the tide, two fishermen rocked gently in a small iron-clad boat. The rhythm of the sea lulled the older one into a near-trance as he lazily pitched another baited cage overboard, the dull metallic splash swallowed by the heaving swell.

They had done this so many times it felt like their hands moved independent of thought, a routine carved into muscle and sinew. The older man scratched at his sun-leathered neck and broke the silence with a grunt.

“You think we’ll net some good octopus today?” he asked, tossing another cage over with a practiced jerk of the wrist. “Everyone’s been saying we shouldn’t be out here, what with the Holy Order sniffing around and all. Bad luck, they say.”

The older man, lean and raw-faced, snorted, slouching against the side rail as he worked his rope. “You see, Jun, that’s exactly why we should be out. You know what I heard? When the Order sails through, they bless the waters. Fish swarm like it’s a bloody pilgrimage. They say the Order’s ‘presence’ attracts miracles, but the guild boats tell us to stay ashore so they can haul in the bounty first.”

Jun wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, casting a wary glance toward the faint silhouette of Mira on the horizon. “Well, I haven’t seen any blessed fish yet.”

Before the elder could reply, one of the lines went taut with a sudden, angry jerk, the wooden post creaking as it took the strain. The older man leaned over it, his fingers curling instinctively around the thick rope.

“Just had to be patient,” he said with a grin as he braced himself. “Oi, Jun! Give us a hand, will ya? This one’s heavy! Might be our month’s haul!”

Both men began pulling with grunts and staggered breaths, sweat dampening their shirts as the rope scraped across the deck, the strain building until the surface broke, and with it erupted a wet thrashing mass.

Out of the churning sea came a hulking octopus, twice the size of their cage, its curling limbs twisting furiously as they tried to escape their iron trap.

“Didn’t I tell you!” the older man crowed, already reaching for his blade. “We’ll eat like lords this month!”

He pressed the octopus down with his knee, fighting the strong, rubbery limbs that flailed for purchase. With a swift jab of the knife between its eyes, the creature’s color drained from a dusky brown to a lifeless, cloudy white. Its resistance ceased.

Jun’s laugh faltered, his eyes drifting away toward the coastline. “Emm… I don’t know, but, have you ever seen anything like that before?” he said, lifting an arm to point.

Still wiping the slime from his blade, the older man looked up. “What are you on about?”

And then he saw it.

Far in the distance, the sea was breaking, not with tide or foam, but with something far more violent. Geysers of seawater, enormous columns of it, launched skyward as if the ocean floor had been struck by cannon fire. Worse still, they were coming fast, carving a furious path toward them.

“What the hell is that?” Jun muttered, stepping back as the distant roar of crashing water reached them.

The older sailor’s instincts flared. He flipped the knife into a reverse grip and without hesitation began slicing through the anchor ropes still tethered to the bait cages.

“What are you doing?!” Jun cried out, stumbling forward.

“Getting the fuck out of here!” the older man barked, sawing through the last line with a quick, decisive pull. Then he turned and stomped on a hidden switch built into the deck. A glow sparked beneath the boards, a faint shimmer of etched runes, and the engine activated. With a choked hiss, the boat jolted, spun, then surged away at speed, leaving their traps behind.

The geysers came close, towering walls of seawater exploding upward in their wake.

But when they looked again, it was not geysers at all.

It was a creature.

Not of water. Not of this sea. A beast that ran, not swam, across the sea, its paws hammering the ocean’s surface with such ferocity it split the waves apart in walls of spray and foam. Fur gleamed slick and dark in the sunlight, muscles bunched like coiled rope beneath its hide. It left behind it a path of thunderous destruction. Water parted in its wake as if the ocean feared to touch it.

A monster. No other word would do.

The beast did not look at them. It passed them in a heartbeat, and with it came a scent, faint and metallic, like scorched copper and lightning-split wood.

The boat rocked violently in its passing, buffeted by its aftershock. Spray soaked the two men to the bone. They huddled low, eyes wide, clutching at anything solid.

Then, silence. The waters slowly calmed. And the sea was still again.

Jun was the first to speak, his voice hollow.

“I… I think staying off the water for a while might be smart.”

The older man wiped his face with trembling hands and cast a long, shaken look at the glimmering path left behind. “I think I need to lay off the drink,” he muttered. His eyes flicked to the empty bottle rolling at their feet. “Because no one, and I mean no one, is going to believe we saw a dog running on water.”

“Dog? That… that was no dog.” Jun swallowed. “That was a wolf.”

A long silence settled between them. The kind that only dawns after seeing something sacred, or something cursed.

They didn’t fish again for the rest of the week.

***

The Queen’s arm rose without warning. Slowly at first, like a bloom unfurling in the dark, the joint bending upward with a hollow creak that echoed across the clearing. Her fingers stretched, then twisted, knuckles popping and elongating, bones snapping into unnatural shapes, until each digit curved into a barbed javelin of dark thorn and glistening sinew.

Then she hurled them.

They fired all at once, her fingertips breaking free with a sickening crack, streaking through the air like bolts launched from a divine ballista.

The forest answered with silence, save for the breathless whistle of death.

The Hunter and the Knight dove apart, their bodies moving on pure instinct, not thought. Leaves exploded into the air behind them as the spears ripped through the underbrush. Branches splintered. Bark screamed. One javelin missed the Knight’s head by a hand’s width and embedded into the trunk behind him with a resonant, wet thunk.

Ludwig stood firm.

He cursed aloud, voice sharp and furious. “For crying out loud! I got better shit to do!”

Oathcarver was already in his hands, summoned mid-motion. The blade’s edge hummed like thunder trapped in steel. With a snarl, Ludwig brought the weapon down in a diagonal arc, and the first incoming spear met it head-on.

The impact cracked the air.

The Queen’s javelin split in two, pieces of splintered thorn spinning off into the air like shrapnel. The rest of the barbed spears sailed past, missing him by inches. One scraped the edge of his coat and seared through the hem like fire through silk.

The paladins surrounding the Queen stared.

They had seen these javelins tear through shields. Through armor. Through prayer-forged barriers designed to withstand demon kind. For them to be cut down in midair, by brute force, by an unnamed stranger, left the nearest warriors rooted to the spot, their chants faltering.

The Cardinal’s voice thundered across the glade.

“You!” he barked, pointing from atop the rear embankment. His voice was thick with fury, not just at the spectacle, but at the defilement. “Have I not made myself clear? Your impurity already seeps into this sacred ground! LEAVE!”

Ludwig turned slightly, just enough to glance in the Cardinal’s direction. His teeth were bared under the mask of the blind witness in a crooked grin.

“Would be my damn pleasure,” he called back, “if you can keep that thing off my back. But since none of you are helping, maybe don’t blame me for not dying quietly.”

The Cardinal’s jaw clenched. His grip tightened around the gilded staff he held, the veins on his hand rising like roots beneath the skin.

“Insufferable bastards,” he hissed. “Insufferable bastards, everywhere I turn.”

He raised his staff high.

“Paladins! Form ranks! Prepare to engage! We are cleansing this cursed grove and ridding the world of this blasphemy once and for all!”

The soldiers began to move, but it was clear they moved slower now. None wanted to be first.

The Hunter stumbled to Ludwig’s side, still catching his breath. “What now, Sir Davon?” he asked, eyes scanning both Queen and Cardinal, as if unsure which was the greater threat.

For Ludwig, however, his eyes were focused on the Window that showed up in front of him.

[The Wrath Core beckons from the north!]