Deus Necros

He didn’t waste time aiming for a head he couldn’t see. He went for the center mass where bodies usually cared. Durandal rose in a clean, brutal line, steel biting into slick flesh with a tearing sound that should have been accompanied by blood.

He moved on reflex, because even a dead man’s habits didn’t disappear. If the thing burst, if it sprayed, if it lashed out in a final spasm, he wasn’t going to be under it. He rolled through dirt and dead leaves, coming up on one knee with the sword angled forward.

But all that happened was a simple wriggling and twisting, the entire bottom side of the Soothsayer twisted off the upper part where Ludwig cut.

It didn’t bleed. It separated. Flesh twisted like rope under pressure, and the lower half, tailing mass, and sagging weight, peeled away as if Ludwig’s slash had simply found a seam. The upper half remained over Akro; while the lower half flopped aside and began to move independently.

And then, as if it were a creature of nightmares, it began re-growing. Abdomen, hanging saggy chest, arms, shoulders, and then a face full of black swaying hair.

The regrowth wasn’t slow. It was obscene. Tissue bulged and knit itself into shape, ribs forming beneath skin that looked too fresh. A chest swelled into place with the wrong gravity, arms extruded as if pushed out by an invisible hand, and hair spilled down like a veil the moment the “face” existed again. Ludwig watched it with a cold, focused disgust. He’d seen regeneration before. This wasn’t regeneration. This was multiplication.

Now there were two of the same creature.

“That was unexpected…” Ludwig said as he turned to Akro.

He kept his voice steady, but his grip tightened. Two targets meant two angles. Two targets meant the lizardmen behind him had double the chance of being grabbed.

“Thanks!” the Champion lizardman heaved as he managed to throw away the creature from over him.

Akro shoved hard with the spear, using the brief reduction in pressure after the split. The creature slid off him in a wet tumble, and Akro rolled to one side, coughing once as he dragged air back into his lungs.

Since Ludwig had split it in half, it didn’t have the same ’weight’ applied to Akro.

“Keep running!” Ludwig howled to the other three lizardmen, who stopped to help their champion. But Ludwig’s order felt like a sip of water in a shot desert. Not refreshing, but survival.

They hesitated only long enough to make sure Akro was moving, then forced themselves forward again, claws digging for purchase as they scrambled up the slope. Ludwig didn’t allow himself to watch them for too long. Watching meant delay, and delay meant the creatures behind him would get close enough to do more than lunge.

They ran up while Ludwig clasped his hand on top of Akro’s and lifted him, “Can you run still?”

He hauled the champion upright with a single pull, feeling how Akro’s weight settled correctly, no limp, no collapse, just stiffness and pain.

“Yes, nothing feels broken, just a sore back.”

“Go then, go up first.”

With a spear clutched tight, his tail snapping once as he regained his rhythm. He asked, “What about you?”

“Someone’s gotta stop these fuckers,” Ludwig said as he backed away with his face toward the two slimy creatures.

He gave ground step by step, blade lifted, shoulders squared. The two soothsayers were already shifting, hair swaying as if sniffing for prey. They weren’t intelligent in a human way, but their attention was hungry and opportunistic.

“Alright, boss, don’t die,” he said.

“Just go, I can manage if I don’t have to take care of everyone,” Ludwig said as he held his left hand up, “Let’s see if you guys like things when they’re hot.”

He didn’t try to be elegant. He tried to be effective. His mana was suppressed, yes, but suppressed didn’t mean gone. And third-tier spells were still spells when aimed correctly.

A fireball surged out from Ludwig’s hand.

The flame lit the fog in a brief orange bloom, casting the effigies and dead trees into sharp, grotesque silhouettes. Heat washed across Ludwig’s face, and for a moment, the smell of sulfur mixed with burning air and made the mountain feel like a furnace mouth.

He had yet to use magic here. After all, the tower had sealed off most of his power, but not all of it. His magic circle, though degraded to the third circle, was still enough to create some basic spells. The fireball hovered and pulsed, bright enough to make the two soothsayers’ hair gleam like wet rope.

And the moment the two creatures saw the flames, they surged toward it, no longer caring for Ludwig; instead, they seemed obsessed with the flame itself.

Their movement changed, less hunting, more craving. The laughter stopped. The crying stopped. Only that frantic, eager rush remained, like moths to a torch. Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. They didn’t just want to kill. They wanted the heat. The light. Something about flame pulled them the way blood pulled predators.

Ludwig noticed that not only did they rush toward him, but they even fought for who went first, as one of them purposefully slowed the other by grabbing it with one hand and pushing it back so it could reach first.

The sight was almost pathetic, two nightmares squabbling like starving animals over a scrap.

Ludwig immediately hurled the fireball, not at them, but further down the slope.

He didn’t “attack.” He redirected. The fireball sailed away, bouncing light across fog and trunks as it traveled.

And like a dog thrown a ball to fetch… they charged it with all they had.

They abandoned Ludwig instantly, bodies whipping toward the moving flame, claws digging into dirt as they scrambled after it. Their obsession was so complete that Ludwig could have stabbed one in the back, and it might not have cared until the flame was gone.

“That’s… interesting,” Ludwig muttered as he turned his body and looked up the slope.

He didn’t allow himself to feel relief. Not yet. He tracked the slope ahead, expecting to see Gale’s bulk, the lizardmen’s shapes, Darma’s lead. Instead,

There was no one left up, not a single soul left. The lizardmen were gone from sight, and so were Gale and the ogres.

Only fog and dead ground remained, and the effigies watched from their frozen terror. The silence swallowed distance, making it impossible to judge how far ahead the others were. Ludwig’s chest tightened again, this time not from exertion but from isolation. Isolation in a hostile environment was how you became a corpse added to the collection.

Then there were shadows within the fog.

Those shadows weren’t just tricks of light. Ludwig could feel them shifting at the edge of perception, like something sliding behind trunks without disturbing branches. The mountain didn’t want them running as a group. It wanted them separated.

“Well, this is rather creepy,” Ludwig said as he tightened his grip on Durandal.

He angled the blade slightly upward and started moving, careful not to sprint blindly. Fire had bought him seconds.

Seconds were only useful if he spent them correctly.