Deus Necros

The Red King’s screams had changed. At first, they had been roars of defiance, filled with fury, the kind of sound that came from a creature too massive to accept pain as anything more than an inconvenience.

Now, however, they had shifted into something else entirely. Higher pitched, uneven, and wet in a way that carried through the air with an almost sickening texture. It wasn’t just pain anymore. It was something breaking.

Ludwig tilted his head slightly as he listened, the motion slow and deliberate, like he was isolating the sound from the rest of the battlefield. His expression didn’t change much, but there was a faint recognition in his eyes, something that almost resembled satisfaction as the realization settled.

“…There it is,” he murmured.

Durandal dragged along the Red King’s exposed flesh as he moved forward, the blade no longer guided by efficiency or purpose. It carved shallow, deliberate lines into the regenerating surface, slow enough that each motion drew out another strained sound from the massive body beneath him.

The cuts weren’t meant to kill, nor to disable. They were drawn out, almost experimental in nature, as if he was testing the limits of what the creature could endure.

Not efficient. Not clean. But interesting.

The Red King thrashed violently beneath him, its remaining hand slamming into the ground with enough force to fracture the earth itself. The impact split the terrain apart, jagged cracks racing outward in all directions as chunks of stone shifted and lifted from the force. Dust and debris surged outward in a wave, rushing toward Ludwig with enough momentum to obscure the space around him.

He didn’t move.

The shockwave hit him directly, dust washing over his body, fragments of rock striking against him and scattering, but his stance didn’t shift even slightly. He stood there, completely unmoved, as if the force had simply decided not to apply to him. There was no resistance, no bracing, just an absence of reaction.

Then he laughed. It started low, almost like something caught in his throat, before expanding into something fuller, something that didn’t belong in the middle of a battlefield.

“You’re trying to fight back?” Ludwig asked as he stepped forward again, his tone carrying a faint edge of amusement. “After all that?”

The chain around his wrist tightened suddenly, the metal emitting a sharp, grinding shriek as it snapped forward. It pierced cleanly through the Red King’s other ankle, the impact forcing through flesh and bone before anchoring deep into the ground behind it. The tension dragged the limb back and forced the massive body to collapse again, its already unstable posture giving way under the pressure.

Its movements slowed, not because it lacked strength, but because something else had begun to settle into its frame. The inevitability of what was coming.

Ludwig raised his blade and paused mid-motion, his arm held there for a brief moment before he lowered it again with a quiet exhale.

“…No,” he said. “Not yet.”

Another scream tore from the Red King, louder this time, more strained.

Ludwig rotated the sword slightly in his hand, examining the thick layer of blood coating its crystalline surface. It was dark and heavy, still warm as it slid along the blade’s edge. His reflection shimmered faintly in it, warped and uneven.

His eyes lingered there.

Red. Too red.

“…Kaiser said something about time,” Ludwig muttered, the thought surfacing without much weight behind it.

A wet cough interrupted him.

He blinked slowly, then lowered his gaze.

Blood dripped from his own mouth, thicker now, heavier than before. It fell in uneven drops, merging with the Red King’s blood beneath him.

For a brief moment, something shifted across his expression. Awareness, faint but present.

“…Ah.”

His grip on Durandal tightened slightly, just enough for the tension to show. His forearm trembled, barely noticeable, but real.

“You’re breaking,” a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

It wasn’t Kaiser. It wasn’t Gale. It wasn’t anything external.

Ludwig exhaled slowly, steadying himself through the motion.

“…Yeah,” he admitted.

The Red King shifted weakly beneath him, its massive chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged motions. Even now, its body was attempting to repair itself. Flesh pulled together in uneven layers, muscle knitting in jagged patches that didn’t quite align, trying to restore function where there was none left.

Trying to survive.

Ludwig looked down at it, watching the process for a second longer before a faint smile formed.

“But so are you.”

He stepped forward and drove his foot into the creature’s chest, not with the intent to kill, but to pin it in place and hold it there.

Durandal rose again, and this time there was no pause.

The blade plunged deep into the Red King’s body, tearing through layers of muscle and bone as it forced its way downward. The resistance gave out under the pressure, splitting open as the strike carved through its torso.

The scream that followed was raw, unfiltered, and complete.

Ludwig’s breath hitched slightly, not from effort, but from something else entirely.

“…That’s a good one,” he said, almost approving.

The battlefield behind him had grown quieter in a strange, unnatural way. The fighting hadn’t stopped, but it felt distant, as if something about Ludwig’s presence had pushed everything else out of reach.

Another cough broke through the moment, followed by more blood.

His vision flickered briefly. Darkness crept in at the edges before giving way to red, then clearing again just as quickly.

“…Still standing,” Ludwig said as he rolled his shoulder, testing the movement. “Good enough.”

The Red King twitched beneath him, its movements reduced to weak, uncoordinated shifts. It wouldn’t last much longer.

And yet, Ludwig didn’t finish it.

Instead, he pulled the blade free slowly and watched as the wound attempted to close. The flesh struggled, failed, then tried again in uneven cycles, never quite succeeding.

“…You’re not done yet,” he said quietly. “And neither am I.”

He stepped back, then again, putting distance between them.

Not mercy. Opportunity.

“Get up,” Ludwig said.

The words weren’t a command. They were a promise.

Because if it stood again, he would break it again. And this time, he would listen even closer.

The Red King stopped struggling. For the first time since the battle began, it didn’t roar, didn’t thrash, didn’t even attempt to rise. It simply lay there, its gaze fixed on Ludwig.

And then it laughed.

The sound was low, wet, and wrong in a way that didn’t belong to something dying. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t desperation. It was something closer to satisfaction.

Ludwig’s grin faltered slightly.

“…What?”

The Red King raised its massive hand, not toward him, but toward its own throat. The movement was slow, deliberate.

For a fraction of a second, everything seemed to pause.

Then it dug in.

Flesh tore apart under its own strength. Bone cracked audibly as blood erupted outward in a violent surge. The force of it sent thick streams spilling down its body as it ripped into itself without hesitation.

“…OI!” Ludwig barked, stepping forward. “The fuck are you doing?!”

The Red King’s laughter grew louder, though it was now choked and uneven, drowning in the blood filling its throat.

“WE… RETURN…”

Its voice broke, each word dragged through damaged flesh.

“WITHOUT… YOU…”

And then it stopped.

The body went still.

Silence followed. Heavy and suffocating, pressing into the space where the noise had been.

Ludwig stood there, staring down at the corpse. His grip tightened slowly around Durandal.

“…No.”

The word came out low.

“…No, no, no…”

The ground beneath him cracked as his aura erupted outward, thicker and more violent than before. The pressure warped the air itself, forcing everything around him to react.

“YOU DON’T GET TO DO THAT!” Ludwig roared, his voice distorting under the weight of Wrath. “YOU DON’T GET TO JUST DIE! YOU ONLY DIE WHEN I SAY WE’RE DONE!”

Crystalline growth surged along his body, spreading and twisting across his form. His hands dug into the corpse, tearing into it as if trying to force something back out of it.

But there was nothing there.

No resistance. No response.

Just a body.

Several notifications appeared in front of Ludwig, but he was too blind to see them. Too Blinded with red.

Slowly, Ludwig turned his body.

Kaiser felt it immediately, the shift in pressure hitting him like a wall.

“…That’s bad,” he muttered.

The air itself felt hostile, pressing down in a way that made even standing feel heavier. Nearby undead began to crumble under the pressure alone.

“…He’s gone,” Kaiser said quietly.

Gale didn’t respond, but his hand had already shifted slightly, preparing.

Ludwig took a step forward, then another. His eyes were completely red, unfocused, carrying something hungry behind them.

“Ludwig…” Kaiser called out, though he didn’t expect a response.

He didn’t get one.

The aura spiked again, sharper and more unstable.

Then something inside Ludwig shuddered. The movement was small, but violent, like something had misfired internally. He staggered slightly, a sound catching in his throat.

“…Tch,”

His hand rose, not toward them, but toward himself, grabbing one of the crystalline horns protruding from his forehead.

“…Get the hell… out of my head…”

His grip tightened as cracks spread across the structure.

Kaiser’s eyes widened.

Ludwig ripped it free. The sound was sharp and wet as the horn tore loose, fragments scattering across the ground.

He didn’t stop. His other hand grabbed the second one.

“I said, GET.THE FUCK. OUT!”

Another snap followed.

His aura surged wildly, spiking in unstable waves before stuttering, then collapsing inward all at once.

Ludwig dropped to one knee, Durandal slamming into the ground to keep him upright. Its crystalline form breaking apart along with all the hardened aura and growths that surrounded Ludwig’s body.

“…Son of a bitch…” he muttered, breathing heavily. “Almost had me…”

The red glow in his eyes flickered, then faded, then stabilized.

Silence returned. Real silence this time.

Kaiser stared, disbelief clear in his expression.

“…That… should not be possible.”

Gale exhaled slowly, his gaze still fixed on Ludwig.

“…No,” he said quietly. “…It shouldn’t.”

But it happened.