Deus Necros

“Stop that foolishness,” Ludwig’s words came before he even turned or saw. He already predicted it, that Tull would once again draw his weapon.

“You’re not at her level, none of us is. If she wanted us dead, none of you would know how you met Necros.” Ludwig finished his words by sipping again on the tea.

“You really have to give me some of this, this is really good stuff.” He added.

Tull’s fingers froze near his earring as if the metal had suddenly burned him. The hut remained calm around them, wood that smelled faintly of resin, a quiet warmth in the air, the steady presence of a small room that had no business being safe, yet the four of them carried battle into it like mud on boots.

Ludwig’s sip sounded loud in that contained space, a deliberate insult to panic, and the tea’s scent, dark, bitter-sweet, something green underneath, rose between them as if it had any right to be part of this moment.

The Witch smiled. “You can have as much as you like, I’ve been gardening it here for centuries.” She said as she saw Tull’s hand slowly and embarrassingly move away from his earring where he hid his sword.

There was no bite in her smile, only the kind of ease that made authority feel effortless. “Centuries” slid into the room as though it were a casual unit of time, like days for ordinary people.

Tull’s withdrawal was controlled but not dignified, the sort of motion that made clear what he’d meant to do before he was checked. His eyes avoided hers for a moment, then returned with stubborn caution, as if refusing to be shamed into trust.

“What is your next goal, Ludwig?” She asked it like it was the natural continuation of their reunion, like the previous seconds of near-death and impossible travel were mere interruptions. Her gaze settled on Ludwig with a strange weight, not predatory, not worshipful, simply attentive, as though she were watching a candle she’d once protected from wind.

“Two down, five more to go.” He said.

Ludwig didn’t dress it up. He spoke like a man counting debts, like a man who had already accepted that the list would cost him.

The words hung with the quiet implication of bodies and close calls, and even the tea’s warmth couldn’t soften the edge of what “five more” meant.

“You realize that you are far from powerful enough to fight the rest?”

Her tone didn’t mock him. It measured him. It made the statement land heavier than insult would have, because it carried the unspoken sense that she understood the scale of what remained far better than any of them did.

“Yeah, big time, had a talk with the boss about that…” he added as he drank more.

He didn’t bristle, just accepted it with a tired sort of humor that didn’t quite reach the eyes. The second sip came quicker, as if Ludwig was using the tea to ground himself.

“And how did Necros reply? It is quite surprising that your existence didn’t simply perish upon the meeting.”

For the first time, her curiosity sharpened into something almost human. Necros was not a name spoken lightly, and her phrasing made it clear that even surviving the notice of such a being was an exception, not a rule.

Alex’s gaze flicked to Ludwig at that, and even Redd’s expression tightened, because the Witch didn’t sound impressed, she sounded genuinely surprised.

“That was my second meeting with him, he was cool, kinda dig the guy now. Still he said the same thing, can’t just go on swinging my mace around. I think the concept of Envy and how she gave up your skin was the reason she died, I doubt any of the other Usurpers have that sort of weakness.”

Ludwig’s casual phrasing did nothing to make the content less absurd. Second meeting. Cool. He spoke like he’d bumped into a difficult neighbor rather than brushed the gaze of death itself.

Yet when he mentioned Envy, the air shifted, the memory of that fight, the way the Usurper had come apart when her protections were gone. The Witch’s skin, the “concept of Envy,” the surrender that had cost Envy her invincibility, Ludwig named it without flourish, but the others could hear the importance in the shape of his certainty.

“Indeed, you caught her at a good time too, her alliance with the Demon King had just fallen due to her actions, she was too weak to compete against you.” The Witch replied.

The explanation arrived like a missing piece sliding into place. It reframed their victory into timing and fracture rather than raw superiority.

Alliance broken. Weakness and timely assault. The Witch spoke of it as though she were reading a ledger of consequence. Tull’s brow furrowed deeper at “Demon King,” while Alex’s attention sharpened, hero tales and holy doctrine colliding with this calm, matter-of-fact reality.

“That, was something I didn’t know, care to tell me more?” Ludwig asked.

His voice stayed light, but the question was serious. Ludwig didn’t like hidden variables, especially not when they came wrapped in titles like Demon King. He leaned slightly forward, cup in hand, as if the movement itself could pull more truth out of the room.

“Wait,” The Prince interjected, “Demon King? Wasn’t that the one that the hero is supposed to fight? Is he another Usurper?” Alex asked.

Alex spoke with the careful intensity of someone trying to fit a living contradiction into a rigid story. He didn’t sound naive, he sounded like a prince who had been raised on the narrative of threats and counters, and who had just learned the narrative had more layers than the court allowed.

“No,” she shook her head, “He’s far from it, Demon Kings are the way this world balances itself. Many of you believe that humans are the race that is supposed to inherit this world. But in reality, you are merely a pest, a very hard to get rid of pest.”