Deus Necros

There was no expression on her face. Her lips were parted only slightly, her brows smooth, her eyes hollow. She wasn’t fighting out of vengeance or fury. She was simply moving. Functioning. Attacking as though guided by a rhythm beyond memory.

Like a forgotten machine beginning to stir again.

Ludwig moved forward, Oathcarver in hand at first then hoisted over his shoulder. Almost too comfortable as he was feeling the rush of [Limit Breaker] second usage filling his limbs with unnatural strength.

He looked up, blinked slow, as if taking in all the scenes of the upcoming fight and took a deep breath, and suddenly he advanced.

He read the Queen’s next move, a wide left-hand swipe that would blow Celine away. And he immediately acted to stop it.

He launched himself into the air, twisting in a forward flip, preparing a strike that fused both [Summersault Slam] and [Steadfast Leap]. The power behind the move surged through his body like a current, and when he brought the weapon down, the cavern shook with its arrival.

Oathcarver slammed into the Queen’s left elbow. The jagged blade cleaved through bark, flesh, and root alike. A pop, a scream of cracking bone, a blast of thick sap filled the air.

-150,477!

Critical! Dismemberment!

Durandal tore with blinding power and complete ease through the arm and landed powerfully on the ground breaking it apart.

Ludwig was surprised by the high damage value. It blinked before his eyes, a bright crimson notice amidst the chaos, and for a fleeting second, he allowed himself to wonder if perhaps this time the tide had shifted in their favor.

The Queen’s cry was shrill, unnatural, resonating not only through the air but in the very marrow of his bones. Her massive limb, now cleaved from the body, landed with a heavy, wet thud against the moss-covered earth. Yet, as soon as it fell, twitching fibers began to slither and twist like worms, thin tendrils wriggling out from the severed stump as if compelled by a desperate, ancient instinct. They crawled through the dirt like blind serpents seeking warmth, stretching toward the Queen’s body in search of reunion.

But Ludwig had no intention of allowing that reunion to happen. He inhaled sharply though he needed not any breath. He focused his mana, and with a growl, summoned a crackling fireball to his palm. The heat was immediate, licking at his undead skin, dancing along his fingertips. He pressed his hand shut, forcing the fire into shape, squeezing it until it molded into the form of a spear, long, narrow, seething with ember-light. Without delay, he hurled it toward the mass of tendrils. The spear spun as it flew, slicing through the air with a hiss before embedding itself deep into the torn joint.

A moment later, flame erupted, searing through the flesh and bark and blackened sap. The tendrils recoiled violently, writhing like burned leeches, then shriveled into ash.

Celine, meanwhile, was still engaged in her gruesome excavation. The Queen’s body convulsed under her assault, shivering not from fear but from the sheer volume of damage being inflicted. Bark cracked, sap exploded, and foul ichor spilled freely with each of the vampire’s strikes. Her movements were not wild but precise, machine-like, methodical, terrifying in their clarity. She moved with the rhythm of someone who felt nothing, driven by instinct or memory rather than purpose. Her face remained blank, her mouth slightly open as if perpetually exhaling, her jade eyes empty and cold.

Roots slammed into her sides. Bark-wrapped tendrils lashed at her arms and back. The Queen, even in agony, was not without her strength. Still, Celine endured. She barely flinched, her feet dragging slightly in the muck as she clawed deeper into the Queen’s torso.

But Ludwig knew it wouldn’t last.

Her body had been through too much. The tortures the pain, the centuries without proper feeding, and the barely healed up wounds… She was like a straw doll, one wrong move, one untimed attack and she’ll break apart.

As he watched, he saw her falter, a slight pause in her strikes, the smallest stumble in her footing. The Queen sensed it too.

With a guttural roar that sounded like stones grinding together, the Queen violently expanded her ribcage. Roots burst outward, bark splintered, and thorn-covered plates of hardened flesh exploded from within. The blast was sudden, like a living detonation. Celine was flung backward by the force, her body tossed like a leaf in a hurricane. She hit the ground with a sickening roll, skidding across the dirt and leaving streaks of blood in her wake.

Ludwig’s eyes widened.

The Queen wasn’t done. She raised her remaining arm, thick as a tree trunk and bristling with jagged spines. Her hand opened, clawed fingers stretching like the talons of a bird of prey. She brought it down with a force that would shatter stone, her aim true and merciless, right at Celine’s motionless form.

There was no time to think.

Ludwig didn’t move toward the Queen. He didn’t try to meet her hand with steel. Instead, his hand snapped outward, chain already uncoiling with a snap of metal. It writhed through the air like a living serpent, reaching not for the Queen but for the unconscious vampire. It caught her at the last second, the hook of the chain snagging around her hip just as the Queen’s clawed hand slammed into the earth, missing her by centimeters. The impact cracked the ground and sent a shockwave through the grotto. Dirt, moss, and fragments of ancient stone flew into the air.

Celine sailed toward Ludwig, limp as a doll. He caught her, his left arm wrapping around her waist as he dug his boots into the earth. Her weight hit him hard, but he gritted his teeth and held fast. Her skin was cold, slick with blood and sweat. He didn’t have time to check if she was conscious. He only shifted his stance, drew a breath, and pointed with his Oathcarver holding hand toward the Queen.

“I haven’t tried this one before,” Ludwig muttered, his voice barely audible over the rumbling cave. “Bone Spears.”