Deus Necros

The mage tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t understand why the emperor insists on sending fodder after fodder. So many needless sacrifices at the frontlines. If he deployed his real forces, this war would look very different.”

“Beats me,” Hiro answered with a shrug. “But I don’t mind. As long as we keep the caliber low, they’ll do the same. No need to escalate when everyone’s still testing each other’s patience. And frankly, the lull these past months has been a blessing. Both sides are holding back, preserving their strength.” His smirk returned, sharper now. “And the longer the war drags on, the stronger we become.”

“True enough,” the mage said, his grin widening. “I’ve had plenty of time to test a few new spells. Learned one recently that can cook a man’s insides right where he stands. The blood boils, the organs shrivel… imagine it.” His eyes gleamed with excitement, morbid and unrestrained.

Hiro laughed, clapping him on the back with a gesture that was almost brotherly. “Now that is something I want to see. When you try it, let me know. Don’t you dare cast it before I’m watching.”

“Of course.” The mage’s grin broadened further, pleased by the shared anticipation.

Their mirth carried down the corridor like the voices of boys planning mischief, though their intentions were soaked in cruelty.

Behind them, Hoyo followed silently. His steps were steady, his eyes unreadable. He watched Hiro and the mage with a calm detachment, but inside, his thoughts were sharper, colder. The Hero’s growth had surpassed what he had first anticipated. Not only stronger, but smarter. Calculating. And that was dangerous. A dull brute with unchecked power could be manipulated, pushed, disposed of when needed. But one who had begun to think, to scheme, that was something else entirely.

Still, Hoyo did not despair. He adjusted the collar of his cloak, his mismatched eyes catching the torchlight in a brief shimmer. As long as Hiro remained within his grasp, as long as the Hero’s system could still be stolen, could become his… There was still hope. For power. For change. For something darker yet to come.

They had barely stepped beyond the shadow of the catacombs when the floor beneath them shuddered. At first it was a faint vibration, like the rumble of distant thunder muffled through stone. Then it grew, rolling through the foundations of the Sacrosanctum itself. The walls groaned. Dust drifted down from the ceiling in fine streams. Candles and torches flickered wildly, throwing shadows that stretched and twisted across the stone.

Servants staggered in the corridors, clutching at walls to keep from falling. Novices cried out in surprise, some dropping their books or rosaries as the ground shifted beneath their feet. The deeper bells of the fortress tolled once, not by any hand but by the quake itself, the iron tongues striking in their housings with hollow resonance.

The young mage grabbed at his ridiculous hat as it threatened to tumble from his head. “What in the hells was that?” His voice carried the edge of alarm now, laughter gone.

Alva froze, her hand instinctively dropping to her sword. Her gaze lifted to the vaulted ceiling above as though she could see beyond it, to the sky outside. “That was no ordinary tremor.” Her voice was quiet, almost drowned in the echoing rumbles.

Hoyo’s mismatched eyes narrowed, scanning the corridor like a predator catching the scent of something unfamiliar. He did not speak. He did not need to.

Hiro, however, had already gone still in a way the others did not notice. His pupils dilated, his breathing sharp, as though his attention had been dragged elsewhere. And then it came. A familiar flicker in his vision. Letters seared into the back of his eyelids, the voice of the system that had bound him since the day of his summoning.

[The Wrathful Death has been slain.]

[The beasts of the Dark Continent will be pouring down from the mountains of Solania.]

[Inform the higher-ups of the Sacrosanctum of this change.]

[Reward: 1,000 EXP]

Hiro’s lip curled, his fists clenching at his sides. “Making me run errands for scraps,” he muttered under his breath. His companions did not hear, but his tone carried enough venom to sour the air.

Another notification blinked and faded, the words burned into him like an insult. The so-called gods, those that had once empowered him, seemed now to treat him like a messenger boy. Fetch quests. Busywork. Shackles disguised as destiny. His jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. He felt like he was abandoned and relegated to menial tasks.

That’s why he began to rely on himself more. Instead of waiting for quests, he went and killed others, though going out of his way to kill monsters and fiends of epic power was not something he was keen on doing as it involved great risk to his life. Killing criminals or wrongdoers or simply those who were apprehended by the church, unwanted and without any family to ask for them was enough for him to gain more power than he could imagine, not to mention far safer.

The tremor subsided, but the air did not settle. There was a heaviness now, a dread pressing down on the fortress itself. The others began murmuring, soldiers calling out in the distance, priests rushing through the halls with robes flaring.

“Let’s go,” Hiro snapped, his voice louder, sharper than before. “Frontlines will wait. Something just killed the Guardian of Solania, and the mountains are no longer holding back the beasts. If we don’t move, the empire will drown in monsters. ”

Though his words sounded like what a hero would say, inside he was stressing over the fact that he might eventually have to risk himself. Still with the power he currently has surely it will be enough.

The mage’s eyes widened, his earlier smirk returning in warped excitement. “If the Guardian’s dead? That means…”

“It means every abomination that was kept in check is already on the march,” Hiro interrupted, already striding down the corridor. His steps were quick, almost eager. “Didn’t you say you wanted to test your new spell?”

The mage’s grin broadened. “I did.”

Alva followed, her expression unreadable, though her knuckles tightened around her hilt. Hoyo drifted behind them, silent as always, but his thoughts churned like a dark tide.

They pushed into the main hall of the Sacrosanctum, a chamber vast enough to house hundreds of clergy. Its vaulted ceiling soared above, painted with fading murals of saints and angels, though the candlelight only revealed fractured glimpses. At the far end, seated upon a high chair that resembled both throne and coffin, was the Pope.

He was a husk of a man, his frame draped in ceremonial robes that seemed to hang on him like funeral cloth. His skin was pale, parchment-thin, his hands trembling even as they rested on the arms of the seat. Eyes clouded with exhaustion looked down on the approaching figures. His lips parted with effort.

“W… hat is… it… Hero…” The words rattled, barely audible, each syllable dragged through a throat that no longer had the strength to sustain them.

Clementine stood beside him, sharp as ever, his robes immaculate, his eyes cold. His expression soured the moment Hiro entered, though the faint crease of his lips betrayed a satisfaction he could not quite contain.

“The Guardian of Solania is dead,” Hiro said flatly. No hesitation. No ceremony.

Clementine’s gaze flickered to the Pope, as though savoring the moment. His smile curled, subtle and vile. He watched closely, and was not disappointed.

The Pope’s eyes widened, his frail chest heaving once, twice. “Ah… no…” His hand clawed weakly at the arm of the throne. “The heart… no… no!” His voice cracked into a thin wail. His mouth opened again, but no words followed. His head tilted forward, his breath escaping in one last sigh.

The silence that followed was cavernous.

Clementine reached out, calm as though this moment had long been anticipated. He touched the Pope’s throat with two fingers, felt the absence of a pulse, then gently closed the man’s eyes with his palm.

He turned to the assembly, voice smooth, almost reverent, though his eyes gleamed with triumph. “Quite the news, Hero. His poor heart could not take it.” He straightened, his tone sharpening as his gaze swept across the bishops and attendants gathering in the hall. “Well then. It seems the time has come. We must elect a new Pope, must we not?”

The chamber filled with uneasy murmurs. Fear. Ambition. The tremors that had shaken the stones moments before seemed mild compared to the quake Clementine had just unleashed.

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