Deus Necros

Dust clung to Ludwig’s cloak in a thin, gritty film as he brushed himself off, his gloved fingers working over the folds of dark fabric in absent, methodical strokes. The air in the tunnel still smelled faintly of scorched stone from his earlier spell, mingled with the sour musk of mold and something older, an ancient dryness, like parchment left too long in a tomb. His boots shifted against loose gravel, small pebbles grinding in echoes that carried down the dark throat of the passage ahead.

The tunnel where the Umbrite had come from loomed like an invitation no sane adventurer would accept. It wasn’t simply a tunnel, it was a wound in the earth, descending at a steady incline, black as ink, and with a strange hush that suggested it had not been touched by mortal feet for centuries. A breeze from within, colder than the stagnant air behind him, brushed across Ludwig’s face and carried with it the faintest metallic tang, blood long since dried, perhaps, or something stranger still.

“Maybe there could be something there,” Ludwig murmured to himself, not because he expected an answer, but because the sound of his own voice was a reminder he was still anchored, still present in this unsettling place.

“Like loot?” Thomas’ spectral form flickered into view at Ludwig’s shoulder, his faint light bobbing with a mocking little sway. “I’m down for loot. Haven’t had a good surprise in ages well, not the sort that didn’t involve something trying to eat my face.”

The Knight King remained silent, his armored silhouette only faintly visible in the half‑light, his ethereal eyes fixed on the depths of the tunnel as though measuring it, weighing it. His quiet had a gravity to it, like the hush before a verdict.

Ludwig reached behind his back, fingers brushing the hilt of Durandal, then with a fluid motion, dismissed it into storage and pulled Oathcarver instead. The heavier blade thrummed faintly in his grip, as though aware of the coming violence. He rested the massive weapon against his shoulder, feeling the familiar strain in his muscles as Limit Break’s residual power ebbed from his body, leaving him with the slow ache of Undead flesh that had pushed itself too far.

“Going for the heavier option?” Thomas asked, drifting backward a pace as Ludwig shifted his stance. “Thought you needed more mobility. All that rolling, all that darting around. You know, heroics.”

Ludwig’s lips quirked in a dry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Mobility isn’t worth a damn when they’re faster than you anyway. If they’re going to close in, I’d rather hit them with something that stops them cold.” He flexed his gauntleted fingers against Oathcarver’s hilt. “When it comes to raw strength,” he said, and felt the muscles in his arms still pulsing faintly with spent power, “I’m far stronger.”

He took the first step forward, boots scraping against the ancient stone. The air thickened the further he walked, each breath tasting of wet rock and something bitter that clung to the back of his tongue. The tunnel sloped downward, spiraling in slow, deliberate turns, as if leading him deeper into the earth’s memory. Hours passed in the shuffle of footfalls and the low hum of distant dripping water, until the passage suddenly widened.

Ludwig stepped out onto the lip of a cavern so vast it stole his breath for half a heartbeat. The ceiling rose beyond his sight, shadows swallowing the arches and jagged stalactites. Bioluminescent fungi glowed faintly along the far walls, lending a ghostly light that shimmered across an endless chasm. Across that yawning gulf stretched a bridge of ancient cobblestone, its surface cracked and uneven, its span so long Ludwig had to squint to see the far side. And there, rising like a sentinel from the darkness, loomed a fortress carved directly from the cavern’s stone. Its towers were crumbling, walls caved in, gate shattered, but even in ruin it held a grim dignity, as though it had once been a bastion against horrors like the ones Ludwig had seen.

Bones lay in mounds along the bridge and before the fortress gates, human, monster, things unrecognizable. Bits of rusted armor clung to some skeletons, while others were twisted with remnants of claws or scales, a mingling of dead locked forever in silent war. The wind across the chasm moaned through the gaps in the stone, carrying with it a cold that bit into Ludwig’s bones despite his undead nature.

“Maybe there’s something there,” Ludwig muttered, though his grip on Oathcarver tightened.

“Maybe,” Thomas said, drifting ahead, his spectral light revealing more of the carnage. “Or maybe there’s nothing but whatever killed them still waiting.”

The Knight King said nothing, but Ludwig could feel his gaze lingering on the fortress, wary and heavy.

Then, amid the silence of the cavern, a chime of system text flickered in Ludwig’s vision.

[Variant Skeleton Bob has died.]

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. “Finally,” he breathed, his tone unreadable.

Thomas floated back toward him, confused. “You’re glad your summon died? That’s… new.”

“No,” Ludwig said, voice low and steady. He rested Oathcarver across his shoulders, scanning the distant fortress. “It means information. Now I’ll know what killed him and how, and if lucky, why.” His eyes fixed on the fortress gates, on the corpses sprawled beneath them. “Trust me, I don’t want to walk into that place without knowing what I’m walking into.”

He gestured with one gloved hand, and Thomas followed his gaze, pushing his glow further down the bridge until the scene unfolded in stark relief: a battlefield frozen in decay.

Thomas drifted closer to the edge of the bridge, his pale light gliding across ancient stones as though afraid to touch them. “That’s… a lot of bodies,” he murmured. “Even for you, that’s a bad sign.”

“Bad sign means high risk, and that also entails high reward,” Ludwig said, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the bridge. His tone carried no fear, only a faint, cold focus. “But it also means something killed them. Both man and monster…that’s the worst sign…”

The wind across the chasm stirred his cloak, the leather whispering against his armored legs. Ludwig crouched low, testing the first few steps of the bridge with slow, deliberate pressure. Each stone was cold under his palms, slick with a thin film of moisture, but they held firm. Still, he found himself glancing at the drop beneath, dark, endless, a depth that seemed to pull at the eyes if he stared too long.

A metallic rasp broke the silence as Ludwig drew the Codex Necros from his side. The book’s blackened cover gleamed faintly under the bioluminescent glow, its pages rustling of their own accord as he opened it to the marked page. “Rise Undead,” Ludwig intoned, his voice calm but edged with command.

The air rippled as dark energy bled from the Codex, curling like smoke around Ludwig’s boots. The earth beneath him split with a sound like cracking ice, and from the fissure emerged skeletal fingers, clawing their way free. Stone fragments skittered across the bridge as a shape pulled itself from the earth.

Bob straightened to his full height, bones creaking faintly. His eyes, lit with cold blue flame, settled on Ludwig with immediate recognition. “Yes, Master,” Bob said, his voice hollow but steady, as though each word was pulled from somewhere deep beyond death.

“Tell me what you saw,” Ludwig ordered, stepping closer. His voice carried easily across the cavern, cutting through the wind.

Bob’s jaw shifted, an unnatural motion in a face that should not speak. “We were ambushed, Master. A horde of shadows… they took forms we did not know. Monsters, men, all at once. They struck from the dark, from walls, from beneath the stones. We fought, but they kept coming.”

“I see,” Ludwig murmured. He cast a glance toward the fortress. His hand flexed on Oathcarver’s grip, the memory of the Umbrite still sharp. “Looks like we’ll need to hurry.”

Bob’s blue-lit eyes darted back toward the tunnel they’d come from, sockets tilting as if sensing something unseen. “Indeed, Master,” he rasped. “Because they are coming this way.”

Ludwig turned fully toward him, cloak shifting. “How do you know?” His voice was even, but his posture tightened, the hunter in him ready to pounce.

“They hunt the living,” Bob said, his voice low, words echoing strangely in the cavern. “The one who can draw out the Vestige of Darkness… they seek that one.”

Ludwig’s brow furrowed. “And how do you know that? Don’t tell me they just confessed all that to you.”

“No,” Bob replied, his voice steady. “I heard them. They argued over it. Fought over it. I was but a head then, discarded. They thought me deaf. They thought me dead.”

Ludwig studied him, silent for a beat. The wind whistled through the broken arches of the fortress, carrying with it the faint rattle of loose stones. Then he spoke. “Speaking of… the living. None of us here are alive. You know that, don’t you?”

Bob’s skull inclined, as though nodding. “I do. But I sense life, Master. There.” He lifted a bony finger and pointed across the bridge, toward the distant fortress gate. His hand trembled faintly as though resisting some memory of pain.

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. He followed the direction of the finger, gaze tracing the broken walls, the piles of corpses, the looming shadow of the fortress itself. “Is it alone?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Bob answered, voice certain. “Alone.”

Ludwig exhaled slowly, a sound closer to a growl than a sigh. “I see.” He shifted Oathcarver on his back, testing the weight. “Then we head there.”