Deus Necros

Ludwig smiled as he stood forward.

The movement was slow and deliberate. Not a rush, not a lunge, just a step that said I’m not pressured. The knights didn’t move. They didn’t need to. The threat in the room wasn’t Ludwig being harmed. It was what Ludwig might do next.

“Or is that your attempt at framing me in the Imperial Palace? You think the emperor and the people here are fools?”

He let the implication hang. Framing. Treason. The fact they were under the palace at all, with forbidden spells and missing souls, already wrote their guilt into the air.

“What are you talking about? You’re a fucking undead!” Evan howled.

“Hah!”

The sound was sharp, almost delighted.

“Did you really lose your mind? Or did your own spell hit you so hard it made you a fool?” Ludwig said.

He didn’t need to overstate, all he needed to say was that they were lying.

Who would ever believe a terrorist even if they told the truth? Especially if the truth implicated the very hero who everyone here came to greet and meet?

Even if Ludwig was undead, even if Evan screamed it loud enough for the palace above to hear, would they even trust him? Never.

“Stop talking, you’re only making it worse for yourselves,” Teresia said.

Her voice was quieter now, but it carried weight. Not fear, control. Like she was trying to steer the room back into shape.

Ludwig turned to her, “And you’re being awfully carefree.”

“You cannot even harm me, but still, tell me, how did you know? Not even other Apostles could figure that out.”

Ludwig smiled as he pulled aside his regalia’s coat.

The cloth shifted, exposing the inside seam, the hidden place where he kept what mattered. His fingers slid beneath it with familiarity.

“You don’t have it on you. The Lantern that is.”

“Ah…”

It was the smallest sound, but it spoke volumes. A crack in her composure that no blindfold could hide.

“And also, who said I cannot harm you?”

Ludwig’s eyes were pure purple right now as they’ve been locked with her for a long time. “You do realize that just a small part of you is all that I need, right?” he said as he grabbed her by the neck.

His fingers closed around her throat with clinical precision, tight enough to assert control, not tight enough to waste strength. There was no trembling in his grip, no anger spilling into it. It was the same way a craftsman held a tool: firmly, confidently, as if the outcome had already been decided.

The blindfold didn’t save her from the weight of his stare. If anything, it made it worse. She couldn’t see those eyes, but she could feel them, pure violet heat pressing into her existence, pinning her in place more effectively than any chain. The air between them felt thinner, stretched, like it might tear if either of them breathed wrong.

“I’m immortal.”

She said it plainly. No bravado. No pleading. Just a statement, like she was reciting a law she’d proven a hundred times over.

“All of you former usurpers are. I know that already. Though your immortality is fake.” He said as he raised her above the ground.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, boots scraping slightly as her feet left the stone. The motion pulled the fabric of her robes taut, and for a second the only sound was the faint creak of leather and cloth under strain. Ludwig’s posture didn’t change; the effort didn’t show in his shoulders or jaw. It was effortless on purpose, a message as much as an action.

She refused to utter even the smallest sound of pain.

Not even a hiss. Not even the involuntary tight inhale most bodies gave when the airway was threatened. Her chin stayed level, her lips set, as if she’d rather choke in silence than give him a single syllable he could enjoy.

“A waste of time, I can easily separate myself from this body.”

Her words came steady despite the angle of her neck. Like she was reminding him that he wasn’t holding her. He was holding a coat she could drop whenever she pleased.

“I know.” Ludwig said.

The reply was almost bored. That was what made it dangerous, he wasn’t arguing her point. He wasn’t trying to dominate the conversation. He was letting her know he’d already accounted for her best exit.

“But,” he turned to the magic circle. “What if I do this first,” and threw her toward the circle.

The shift was sudden. Ludwig’s arm snapped forward, and her body became a projectile. Cloth fluttered, hair and blindfold tails whipping behind her. The throw wasn’t fueled by rage, it was measured, accurate, aimed like a spear.

She didn’t understand as she fell onto the circle’s center.

She hit the stone with a dull impact, palms skidding slightly on the slick, stained surface. The sigils beneath her were cold for a heartbeat, then they noticed her, like a throat recognizing food.

“Everyone back away from her…” Ludwig said to the Royal Knights.

His voice cut through the chamber like a command carved in steel. The knights, already tense and coiled to strike, hesitated only long enough to confirm it was Ludwig speaking, then obeyed. Boots shifted. Steel scraped. Their formation widened, pulling away from the circle like it was a pit about to open.

They weren’t about to argue with Ludwig, not here. Not beneath the palace. Not with forbidden ritual magic humming under their feet. Not when Ludwig’s calm suggested he knew exactly which stone would explode if they stepped wrong.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

Now there was a crack in her composure, not fear exactly, but the first hint of alarm. Her head tilted slightly, as if she were trying to listen to the circle itself, trying to hear what Ludwig had changed.

“Think about it, you were summoning a demon underneath the palace… you have the medium which is the blood you used. And you have the ritual which are the words used. But you’re lacking the sacrifice. Which I suppose why you brought these fools since they’re shitty necromancers.” Ludwig said.

As he spoke, Ludwig’s gaze slid across the ritual lines, tracing them the way one might read a map. Blood, fresh enough to still glisten in some grooves, old enough elsewhere to have turned sticky and dark. The words, etched, spoken, reinforced by intent. The structure was there. The logic was there.

But the center, what fed it, had been missing.

“And?”

Her tone sharpened. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t correct him. That alone was an admission.

“You do know that demonic rituals don’t really need a dead soul?” Ludwig smiled as he slid his foot forward.

The smile didn’t reach warmth. It was the kind that belonged to someone about to pull a lever and watch a machine do exactly what it was built to do.

Only then did she notice, only then did she realize that Ludwig didn’t simply ’smear’ the magic circle before to disrupt it.

No, he changed it, he changed a simple word. From dead to alive.