Deus Necros

Her smile carried a faint, ancient patience. She sat as though time did not press her, lifting her tea with ease. Her attention returned to Ludwig, watching him closely, as if the struggle inside him mattered more than geography or suspicion.

“I don’t understand how we got here,” Tull said, “But this doesn’t feel right, something’s missing… this forest is inhabited by the dark witch… and I doubt she’d let you remain here for free… this must be an accomplice of hers…”

Tull’s suspicion sharpened into a structured accusation. Something’s missing, he meant it in the way a trained soldier feels when the air is too quiet, when a trap is too clean. He didn’t believe in free safety, not in places with reputations like this.

Redd was also worried that this might be the case. The Witch of the Mare, who lives in the Dark Forest, wasn’t so kind as to allow something with this much ’power’ to live here for free.

Redd’s instincts agreed, even if he hated agreeing with Tull. Power didn’t sit unchallenged in a territory ruled by something else. If the Witch of the Mare was real, then any presence stronger than hers implied either alliance or conquest.

Unless this person killed that witch. Which is even more of a concern, meaning that she is beyond powerful.

That possibility was worse than the first. If she had killed the witch, then she wasn’t a guest here; she was the reason the forest still existed at all. The thought made the room feel smaller again.

Everyone seemed worried; they had no idea what sort of trouble they got themselves into, or if this situation was even better or worse than fighting the Lustful Death.

“FUCK!” The curse made everyone rattle besides the woman.

The sudden outburst snapped tension into motion. Tull and Redd shifted instantly, weapons ready. Alex stiffened, eyes snapping toward Ludwig. The woman remained calm, unmoved, as if such words were nothing to her.

They turned to see Ludwig finally awake from his petrification,

“That was so damn frustrating,” he said in a long, exasperated sigh.

Ludwig’s irritation was immediate, raw in a way that felt almost comforting because it was familiar. He flexed his fingers, shoulders rolling as if shaking off the memory of paralysis. The sigh carried exhaustion, but also resentment, resentment at being forced to endure helplessness while death approached.

He didn’t even look at the rest of the group as he walked up to the nearest chair, pulled it back, and sat down. His action felt as if he’d already decided this was not the time to panic. The scrape of the chair against the floor sounded too normal. His posture settled, controlled, reclaiming command over his body one motion at a time.

“You woke faster than I thought,” she said.

There was mild surprise in her voice, but no alarm. She watched him with attention that felt strangely personal, as if she had expected to sit with his transformation longer.

“Yeah, wouldn’t have happened if I kept struggling, so I just let that thing do whatever it wanted. Tell me, I’m not gonna turn into one of you guys if I consume too much of that stuff, am I?” Ludwig’s tone stayed dry, but the question carried real caution.

He didn’t want unknown consequences hitching themselves to his progress. The phrasing “one of you guys” added just enough snark to keep the worry from sounding like fear.

“Ludwig, you know who she is?” Tull asked.

Tull’s suspicion shifted toward Ludwig now, because Ludwig’s calm did not fit the situation. Familiarity was information, and Tull didn’t like information he didn’t have.

“Of course I do,” Ludwig said and waited for her to reply.

He let it hang, unhelpful on purpose. The pause felt deliberate, as if he wanted her to speak for herself rather than be explained.

“No, you cannot turn into an angel, no matter how much blood you consume.” Her answer was immediate and firm, like a fact that did not allow debate. It landed with certainty that implied she knew Ludwig’s body better than Ludwig liked.

“An angel?” Redd asked as he took a step back.

Redd’s step was instinctive, his eyes narrowing. The word “angel” didn’t sit comfortably with the air of this hut, or with the way she bent reality.

“Well, more like, what you guys call an angel, she is different,” Ludwig said as he looked her in the eyes, “How does it feel?” Ludwig asked her. “Now that your hope has returned?”

Ludwig’s gaze held hers without flinching. The question about hope was pointed, loaded with context the others didn’t have, and it made Tull’s distrust sharpen even further.

She merely smiled, “It is far more comfortable than I thought. Merely being able to touch something without feeling agony is bliss enough. My hope is far better than that of your foes… dearest guest.”

Her smile was quiet, not triumphant. The mention of agony gave her beauty a harsher edge, hinting at a long suffering beneath the calm. Her words made the simple act of touch sound like a gift earned through torment.

“Who is she, man?” Redd asked.

Redd’s impatience returned. He wanted the name because names turned fear into something you could at least point at.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, I’ve heard all you guys were talking about, and I gotta say, you guys suck at understanding your situation, not a single one even thought of asking her about her identity before you started judging…”

Ludwig took a sip of the tea. “This is some good stuff…” Completely ignoring the group.

“Who are you?” Alex asked, though he began to have an inkling of who she is.

His tone was controlled, but there was a faint tightening beneath it, recognition forming. He asked plainly, because if his inkling was correct, then they needed the truth said out loud.

She smiled, “I’m what you all call, the. The witch of the Dark Forest… The Witch of Nightmares”