Deus Necros

“What’s the meaning of this?” Ludwig’s voice came low, cold, his breath barely disturbing the silence that had begun to thicken around them like fog returning to the shore.

“That thing behind you,” one of the paladins growled, stepping forward, his weapon lifted with a trembling steadiness. He pointed at the woman in Ludwig’s arms. “Give it up.”

Ludwig didn’t flinch. His stance remained firm, not shifting an inch even as the holy light from the paladins’ weapons began to shimmer brighter, as if reacting to Celine’s presence. He adjusted her weight slightly in his grasp, instinctively tightening his arms around her. “I don’t think that’ll be possible,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “And you sure as hell have no business with her.”

“She’s tainted,” came the Cardinal’s voice. Measured, clipped, but carrying the sharpness of practiced condemnation. He stepped forward, his robes rustling, his staff glowing faintly with purification runes. “She reeks of death magic. Wrath magic. Do not let misguided sentiment cloud your judgment. You proved your worth in battle… but we cannot risk letting you fall to the same corruption.”

Ludwig’s jaw clenched. He could almost taste the hypocrisy in the Cardinal’s words, the way righteousness was twisted to justify ignorance. There was no humility in the way the Order spoke. No hesitation. Only conviction carved from dogma. And shame, if it ever existed in the Holy Order, was a tool, not a burden.

“She’s been corrupted,” another paladin said, stepping half into view, sword already halfway drawn from its scabbard. His voice lacked the force of his elder’s, but it held the same tone. Judgmental. Final. “Look at her eyes.”

Ludwig shifted his eyes toward the girl in his arms. One green. One red. The second eye hadn’t faded yet. It pulsed faintly with something otherworldly.

“That’s her natural eye color,” Ludwig muttered, letting the words drop like iron. He raised his gaze again, scanning the line of steel and faith before him. “You don’t know what you’re looking at. Not one of you understands the first thing about what’s happened here. You think you can see corruption? Then try looking at yourselves.”

The Order didn’t answer. Not with words. Their formation shifted instead. They spread wide with silent, eerie discipline, forming a half-circle around Ludwig and the unconscious vampire. It was classic containment posture, cold, methodical, rehearsed to muscle memory. The kind of stance you take when you want to preserve a creature for study. Or a weapon. Or a ritual.

Light began to circle their hands. Faint rings of glyphs spun into existence. Their prayers, once loud declarations of virtue, had dropped to hushed whispers now, soft and intimate, like lullabies meant to sedate rather than inspire. Cleansing. Purging. Not yet killing, but close.

Then, through the thickening tension, a new sound crept in from beyond the cave.

A horn.

Low. Distant. Hollow like breath from a dying god.

It didn’t come from within the grotto, but from outside, from the sea.

Ludwig tilted his head slightly. The blood moon overhead had dimmed, its red sheen beginning to flicker like a candle at the end of its wick. Mist was unraveling in slow strands, curling off the rocks like ghost-smoke. It peeled away from the sea’s edge and revealed something that hadn’t been there before.

A ship.

Its hull was dark and worn by salt and time. Black sails unfurled from the mast, stirred by magic rather than wind. A crooked lantern swung from the prow, burning an unnatural green-blue that seemed too soft to illuminate anything, and yet it caught Ludwig’s eyes at once.

Figures stood aboard, their silhouettes familiar.

One lifted a red flare and raised it high.

Recognition flooded Ludwig’s mind. The Knight Captain. The Vampire Hunter. Others, too, faces from the cave. Faces he had thought lost. Survivors. Or revenants. Either way, the message was clear.

The signal was meant for him.

He shifted Celine in his arms again. Her breath was shallow, but even. The tremors had stopped. Her body felt lighter, no longer resisting its own weight. Her skin was pale but warm.

She was waiting.

He looked back at the Order. They had moved closer. Careful now, as if approaching a beast on the verge of waking. Their blades shimmered. Their mouths still whispered.

But he had no more patience for whispered judgment.

“I’m not giving her to you,” Ludwig said, letting the words rise slowly from the pit of his chest. “I’d rather be damned for what I chose than forgiven for what you forced.”

Then, without another word, he turned and ran.

Someone shouted behind him. Orders rang out. The semi-circle closed in an instant. Light surged. Magic flared.

Bone and ash cracked beneath Ludwig’s feet as he sprinted. His breath came harsh and cold, not from effort, but from the weight of everything pressing in behind him. He conjured a fireball without turning his head, tossed it mid-run, and whispered a detonation glyph.

The fireball erupted mid-air, laced with [Explosive Mine] runes. The blast hurled bone dust and debris backward, blinding light and fury collapsing into the path behind him.

It bought him seconds. That was all he needed.

Spells flew past his shoulders. Cleansing waves scraped his heels, clawing at his robes.

But he didn’t slow.

At the mouth of the cave, the vessel loomed like a promise. A line shot from its deck, a rope anchored to the mast. It unfurled across the beach like a lifeline drawn in haste.

Ludwig didn’t hesitate.

Still cradling Celine in one arm, he grabbed the rope with the other. The knight and the hunter pulled it taut, dragging Ludwig forward, his boots skidding along the sea water at first and then against the hull taking in the full force of the blow instead of sharing it with the now dozed off Celine.

He slammed onto the deck in a pile of grime, and sweat, Celine still in his arms.

“Go!” someone shouted.

The ship shuddered. Its sails caught unnatural wind, glyphs along the wood beginning to glow as old enchantments reawakened. The prow broke through the water, carrying them from the shore at a speed that no mortal wind could offer.

Behind them, the Order stood still.

Blades lowered. Faces uncertain.

Too late to catch up, and too pointless to do anything anyway. All of the Order’s ships were on the other side of the island.

Ludwig lay on the deck, eyes turned to a sky that no longer held stars. Only mist. The blood moon had vanished.

They were gone.

Farther out, the Dawn Island was shrinking behind them, its black cliffs fading into memory.

…

“You think it’s wise?” the Knight Captain asked, his voice low. He stood near the railing, looking not at Ludwig, but at the receding island.

“About what?” Ludwig answered, not looking up as he adjusted the cloak around Celine’s still form. He had propped her gently against the ship’s inner railing, shielding her from the sea wind.

“The fact that you’re probably wanted by the Order now. Us too, by association,” the Knight said.

“Nah, me maybe, but they don’t know me, you guys were doing as told by the Baron, so if they got anything to say to you they’ll have to talk to him,” Ludwig muttered, his voice dismissive as he raised his hand and pointed at Celine. “Cleanse.”

A pale-blue light rippled from his palm, washing over her like moonlight. The grime on her body melted away under the spell’s soft warmth. Mucus vanished. Blood dissolved into nothing. Her breathing eased.

“Here,” said a woman’s voice.

One of the Knight’s companions approached, holding a long coat folded in her arms. Her face was unsure, her stance stiff.

Ludwig blinked, then looked at the coat, and then at the woman. “What am I supposed to do with that?” he asked flatly, tilting his head.

“For the lady,” she said. “I don’t know if you’re noticing, but she’s barely covered.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to let a woman help?” the Knight offered, raising an eyebrow.

The woman hesitated for a second and the knight quipped, a smile tugged on his lips.

“I mean, Lord Davon here is clearly a noble and chivalrous man, but still he is a man… isn’t he?”

The woman took a step back and shook her head. “I’ve got no problem with lord Davon’s chivalry, but…I’ve heard things. She’s no human. I’m not going to be alone with her, not below deck.”

Ludwig sighed and took the coat. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’m not a creep.”

He picked Celine up once again and descended to the lower level of the ship.

Leaving behind him a few of the sailors and the rest of the Baltimore Baron’s entourage laughing and snickering

He took the stairs down to the quarters which were dimly lit, the air thick with salt and old wood. The ship’s slow rhythm thrummed in the planks as Ludwig set her down gently.

She didn’t stir. She was dozed off again.

Worrisome, she’s been in and out of consciousness for the past few hours. Too much battle and fighting and clearly never having had a proper time to rest yet is one of the reasons.

Her body remained limp in his arms, her skin cool to the touch, her expression unreadable.

He worked methodically, removing the soaked and shredded cape she wore. Her old garments peeled away like dead skin, clinging more to her than they should have. Whatever the Queen had wrapped her in was designed more for gestation than dignity. Even the Cleanse magic didn’t get all the grimy hidden bits, so he used it again, “Cleanse.” This time more sure of his magic to the point that nothing resembling filth or dirt remained on her.

Then, without warning, her eyes snapped open.

Both of them.

Red.

Not warm. Not furious. But still, two crimson coals set into a porcelain face.

And they stared at him.

Cold. Silent.

Waiting.