Deus Necros

Titania frowned, her gaze narrowing with a sharpness that belied her languid pace. The morning sun, still dragging itself over the trees, cast a slant of light that caught in her eyes, painting the blue of them with a deeper edge. Something tugged at the corner of her senses not a danger, but a change, a shift in presence that bristled faintly along the curve of her neck.

“My lady?” Misty’s voice reached her gently, laced with habit more than alarm. She had noticed too, the slight stiffening of Titania’s stride, the focused tilt of her head.

But Titania didn’t answer her. Instead, she moved closer to the source of her curiosity, the one walking at the front with that quiet weight he always carried, the one whose steps had changed just slightly, as if the very earth treated him differently now.

“You there,” she called out.

Ludwig turned his head, not sharply, but with a calmness that was in itself suspicious. “Yes?”

“How did you do it?” she asked, her brows drawing together into a line of focused scrutiny. Her voice wasn’t sharp, nor accusing. But it held weight.

He tilted his head just enough to suggest confusion, though not too much. “What do you mean?” he asked, measured.

“There’s something about you,” she said, her tone mulling it over aloud. “Changed. You’re a bit…” she searched for the word, lips thinning in faint displeasure before it came, “More.”

“I’m quite confused,” Ludwig lied smoothly, the familiar rhythm of pretense sliding into place. “Seems like there’s a mistake here,” he added with a hint of sheepish denial, enough to play at honesty.

Titania didn’t believe him. That much was clear. But she only smiled faintly. “I guess,” she said, tone unconvinced, “Mind if I walk next to you?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Ludwig replied, eyes sliding toward her briefly. “Just be careful.”

“Oh, don’t worry about this old lady,” she said, waving a hand with mock gentleness. “I’ve had my share of the road. And its dangers.”

He didn’t respond, not directly. But his inner thoughts coiled, sharp and ready. ’Yeah right,’ he thought. ’You wouldn’t have asked for help back then if you had.’

They walked side by side a moment in silence, the crunch of gravel and dry needles beneath their boots weaving between the hush of the forest. The light filtered through the canopy in long blades, spearing through dust and drifting pollen like motes caught in frozen fire.

“There’s this…” Titania began, her voice dropping to something softer, more introspective. “How can I say it, talent, I suppose. Something I’ve had since birth.”

Ludwig let the silence draw out a moment before answering. “What kind of talent?”

“She can see one’s nature,” came a voice from behind them, soft and cool.

They both turned. Melisande had stepped down from the carriage, her cloak brushing the earth. Her eyes met Titania’s with a firmness Ludwig hadn’t seen in days. A thread of old steel in her voice as she spoke again. “It’s why the Order kept her so close.”

“Oh?” Titania lifted an eyebrow, her tone still teasing, but the glint in her eyes had sharpened. “And how would you know that?”

“Because I know you, Lady Titania. Holy Maiden of the Holy Order…” Melisande’s voice held steadiness, but Ludwig saw her fingers tightening on the wooden frame of the carriage. The knuckles white.

Misty, just behind, gave a small, knowing smile. “I knew I recognized you,” she said, her voice lighter. Not reverent, just factual.

Titania sighed, long and unbothered, a touch theatrical as she gave them a glance over her shoulder. “Quite a shame,” she said, “I thought I’d get to keep my little play a bit longer.”

Then her eyes slid back to Ludwig. “Oh? And you… you don’t even look surprised.”

“Of course not,” Ludwig replied without missing a beat. “I knew you were a monster the moment you joined us.”

Titania’s laugh was low, almost amused. “Quite the rough word,” she said.

“Am I wrong, though?” Ludwig asked, keeping his voice steady but his fingers near his ring.

“Not really,” she admitted, her tone light. “Many have called me that. Still… aren’t you the real monster here?”

The words slid like a knife between ribs. Ludwig’s eyes narrowed.

“Meaning?” he asked, trying not to let it show, not fully.

“You’re strong,” she said, as if it were a fact already recorded. “Way stronger than you ought to be. Not at your age.”

“How can you even tell?” he asked, genuinely curious now, though he tried not to show it too much.

“Experience,” she said with a shrug, but it rang hollow.

Titania slowed, turning her full attention on him. “The way you move. How you watch the trail. The way your hand always hovers half a breath away from your sword, even when you pretend it’s casual. You carry that massive blade like it’s no heavier than a walking stick. And earlier, during the goblin skirmish,” she tilted her head, “, you never needed more than one swing. Every strike was efficient, ugly, deliberate. There was nothing sloppy about it. Just intent. You weren’t improvising. You were executing.”

“I would suppose,” Ludwig said flatly.

“That kind of style,” she said, stepping ahead slightly, “is designed to kill beasts. But I wonder…” She stopped by a tree, eyes glinting. “How will it fare against someone who knows how to use a blade?”

Before Ludwig could ask what she meant, she moved. In a fluid, effortless motion, she tore a branch from the tree, long, straight, bark still wet, and turned. She pointed it at him.

“Draw.”

Ludwig stared at her. The branch in her hand swayed slightly, angled not like a weapon, but with the stance of someone who didn’t need one. Her fingers held it with relaxed precision, the balance exact. It wasn’t a challenge, not quite, not yet. It was an invitation, spoken in the language of warriors who knew what waited at the end of hesitation.

He blinked. Once.

“Lady, are you good?” he asked, voice flat, masking the weight shifting behind his eyes. “What reason would I have to fight you? Also, that’s a damn branch…”

“You better draw, Ludwig.”

The voice came from behind, not loud but sharp with warning. The Knight King’s tone had changed. All pretense of amusement gone, leaving only solemn steel.

“PULL YOUR SWORD OUT!”

Melisande’s shout cracked like a whip. No grace, no restraint. Panic? No, something else, urgency, like a scream hurled to stop a carriage barreling toward a cliff.

Ludwig hadn’t even turned before the world around him snapped. The forest twisted. Air bent. The trees blurred past in a violent smear of motion, and then he was airborne, legs trailing above, cloak fluttering, his body tumbling like a tossed doll.

Then, impact.

He struck something solid. The base of a tree slammed into his back like a stone anvil. The world whirled, flipped. And he hung there for a split second, upside down, breath caught mid-thought.

[-1 HP]

He blinked.

His boots swayed in front of him, dirt trickling from where bark had scraped his heel. The tree creaked, annoyed by the intrusion. Slowly, with care, Ludwig pushed himself upright, one palm on the mossy trunk.

“The fuck was that?” he muttered, brushing leaves off his chest. He rolled a shoulder. Nothing broken. Not even bruised.

’How the hell did I get flung like that… and only lost one health point? No wounds, no tear, what sort of joke is this?’

Titania hadn’t moved from where she stood.

The twig, still just a twig, rested loosely in her grip. Pale blue light shimmered faintly around it now, licking at the bark like cold flame. She didn’t seem winded. She didn’t even look like she had moved. And yet…

Behind him, the camp had exploded into motion.

“Oi, are you insane, old woman?” Timur’s voice boomed as he reached for his blade. Gorak mirrored him instantly, his axe already in hand and half-raised. Robin, half-crouched on the roof of the carriage, had his bow drawn, arrow knocked and trained squarely on Titania’s throat.

Even Celine had risen. Her eyes, not red, not yet, but tinged. The flame beneath the green had stirred, and she stepped forward, one slow stride that suggested she was one word away from release.

“Stop,” Ludwig ordered.

His voice was calm, but firm enough to carry through the rattle of breath and drawn steel.

They paused.

“None of us here can take her on.”

He said it plainly, like stating the time of day. And it landed.

“Oh, you know that?” Titania’s lips curved, amused. “Impressive.”

The twig still burned quietly in her fingers, though she made no move to strike again.

“Why do you always do this, Lady Titania?” Melisande’s voice was rising again now, cracking at the edge of her restraint. “Just because something isn’t to your liking? You just keep pushing things…”

Titania glanced at her. Barely. As if the voice didn’t warrant the full turn of her head. A flicker of acknowledgement, and then dismissal. Inconsequential. Insect-like.

Ludwig stood fully now, brushing a streak of dust from his shoulder. His eyes locked onto the glow crawling up the twig’s spine.

“Aura,” he said simply. “Quite unfair. Can’t use that yet.”

“Don’t worry about it… I won’t harm you. I just need to check something…”

And even so, he raised his right hand. A ripple of light spiraled at his ring finger, and with a shimmer that pulsed like blood through parchment, Oathcarver emerged into his grip.

The blade was dark. Heavy. Its presence pressed against the forest, quieting the birds, dimming the air. It didn’t gleam. It consumed light.

He dropped into a stance, left hand pressed low to the ground, fingers curled like claws against the dirt, knees bent, spine coiled. Oathcarver rested diagonally across his back, the hilt angled past his shoulder. His breath was slow. His eyes steady.

“Then, if it’s a fight you want,” Ludwig said, “let’s have it your way.”

The edge in his voice was unmistakable.

Titania’s grin widened. “Such a bestial stance!” Her eyes glittered. The twig in her hand flared once with pale blue heat, bright enough to cast faint shadows across her face.

For a heartbeat, the forest held its breath.

“Limit Break.”