Deus Necros

Celine lingered for only a breath, eyes flicking toward the whirlwind that Titania and the Shrike had become, an erratic dance of silver and crimson, of steel ringing and sinew mending. It was a spectacle soaked in dread, and yet Celine showed no hesitation. She glanced toward Ludwig, who had already begun to vanish between the alleys, his form shrinking with each rooftop he cleared. He nodded at her, a silent exchange of trust, or perhaps burden. She didn’t return it, but she moved. With a burst of ethereal speed, her form blurred into the southern mist, vanishing like a ghost in pursuit of fire.

Behind Ludwig, Redd followed albite a bit slower paced, intentionally so.

His eyes hadn’t left the Shrike. Something in the way his fists curled and loosened, again and again, betrayed a conflict no one voiced. He followed Ludwig briefly, then halted mid-step, his body resisting its own forward motion.

“What’s wrong?” Ludwig called without looking back, slowing only slightly when he sensed the absence of Redd’s shadow behind him.

Redd didn’t answer at first. His face was a map of fury buried under hesitation, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as though words might splinter coming out. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t go with you.”

Ludwig stopped, turning around. His expression was unreadable. “Why not?”

Redd’s voice grew tight, his throat working around the weight of memory. “She killed my sister. That woman… that thing. She turned her into what she is now. I need to take revenge.”

Ludwig’s shoulders dropped slightly, as if the confession had pulled something heavy from the air. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Buddy,” he said, softly but firmly, “you’re not him, man. You’re not strong enough. She’ll rip you apart.”

Redd’s gaze snapped up. There was no fear in it now, only defiance. “I don’t know who this ’him’ is you keep referring to, but just because I never showed my real strength doesn’t mean I’m weak.”

Even as he spoke, his body began to tremble, not with fear, but with something older, something primal. His skin rippled, as though stirred by something underneath. Bones shifted. Muscles twisted unnaturally.

And then it began.

His entire form warped, reshaping as though he were clay made animate. His frame thickened and grew, scales rising from the surface of his skin like ridged armor. A tail burst from his spine in a fluid motion, his limbs lengthening. The transformation was swift, almost violent in its completeness. And when it ended, a Lizardman stood where Redd had been, hulking, formidable, though the eyes remained sharp, unyielding, and unmistakably his.

Ludwig stepped back slightly, a frown creeping across his face. “What the hell is this?”

“Skin walking,” Redd replied, voice lower now, resonant with something deeper, something inhuman.

Then, without another word, he turned and launched himself toward Titania and the Shrike.

The women had barely paused in their savage duel, but Titania sensed the new arrival. Her footwork shifted slightly, not retreating, merely repositioning. She didn’t feel any immediate killing intent from the beast now leaping toward them. Its focus was honed, not on her, but on the apostle. That was enough.

Redd landed with a heavy thud, claws already outstretched. He didn’t hesitate. One wild swipe aimed for the Shrike’s face.

The shrike twisted, breaking the lock with Titania’s sword, and brought one of her sickles around with a shriek of metal. It cut through Redd’s arm at the elbow, severing it cleanly.

But Redd did not scream.

Instead, Ludwig, watching from a distance, momentarily frozen, watched in disbelief as the severed limb grew back almost instantly. Not just flesh, but muscle, bone, scales, all reforming mid-motion. The regenerated arm shot forward, claws finding the Shrike’s face and tearing into it with a satisfying, wet crunch.

The apostle howled, reeling back. Her mouth opened too wide, fangs glistening as she screamed in fury and something close to pleasure.

“This bitch!” she shrieked, stumbling, her face a shredded mask of blood and twitching flesh.

Redd wasn’t done. His mouth opened wide, wider than humanly possible, and from it erupted a glob of thick, violet mucus. It struck the Shrike dead in the center of her ruined face and immediately began to sizzle. Her skin bubbled, her hair smoldered. Pieces of cloth and sinew melted as though doused in acid.

Titania didn’t waste the opportunity. With a single, brutal kick, she drove her armored foot into the Shrike’s gut, sending her sprawling across the blood-slick stones. The apostle writhed, screaming as smoke coiled from her body.

Titania turned to Redd. Her gaze was calm, appraising, with the faintest hint of respect in it. “You might actually be useful,” she said. “Stick with me.”

Redd didn’t answer with words. He just nodded once, already shifting his stance, claws twitching with anticipation.

Ludwig, still on the outskirts, took a final glance at them. He gave the faintest nod, both to himself and perhaps to Redd, and then resumed his sprint. He didn’t look back again.

He had a different target. And he didn’t have to guess where the Piper would be.

You simply followed the screaming.

The city was alight with it. It echoed through the ruins, layered over the sound of crumbling stone, guttural growls, the occasional high-pitched sob. But deeper still was the rhythm, the distant wail of a flute, high and sharp, that threaded through the din like a beckoning whisper.

Ludwig followed that sound.

And before long, the signs were clearer than any trail. Several buildings up ahead had been reduced to rubble, flattened as if stomped by titans. Fires clung to wooden support beams like parasitic vines, painting the smoke with red. The closer he got, the more bodies he passed, strewn across alleys, slumped over barrels, curled in corners. Men. Women. Children. Some whole, others… less so.

Then the street opened.

It was a long, unnaturally clean strip, too clean. The cobblestones were however smeared in blood. But there was no debris. No bodies in the center. All of it had been arranged, corpses stacked to either side in uneven mounds like grotesque barricades, their faces frozen in death, their limbs contorted as if placed by something with no understanding of reverence or dignity.

Ludwig slowed, eyes narrowing.

A field. Perfect for an ambush.

He had just enough time to reach that conclusion when the air near his left shoulder shimmered, distorting with unnatural sharpness, like a mirage gaining teeth.

And then the jaws struck.

Massive, white, and filled with bloodstained fangs, the maw of a White Bearowl emerged from nothing, clamping just short of his side. A claw followed, slicing across his back with the force of a battering ram.

[You’re in a Hostile Environment]

The message blinked to life too late.

The hit launched Ludwig into the air, his body tumbling end over end. Stone shattered as he crashed through the cobblestones, skidding across them with a thunderous crack. His shoulder hit the base of the corpse mound first, then his legs, folding him awkwardly into a heap of the dead.

For a second, everything blurred.

Then he heard it.

“Well well well,” a voice cooed through the settling dust, soft as velvet and cold as iron, “Look what the cat brought in.”