Deus Necros

It stopped a few steps away.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The city remained silent around them, reflections holding their positions as if waiting.

Then the other Ludwig spoke, voice identical, but lacking the weight Ludwig had grown used to carrying behind his own.

“This place doesn’t care how strong you are,” he said, tone even, almost observational. “You already read that, didn’t you?”

Ludwig tilted his head slightly, studying him.

“I figured as much,” he replied. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of floor that lets you solve things by hitting them.”

“That would have been too easy,” the copy said.

A brief pause followed, not awkward, but measured, like both were taking stock of the other.

Ludwig’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary. There was no distortion here. No inconsistency. This wasn’t like the reflections scattered across the city.

This one was… precise. Meant to be. And on purpose.

“So, what are you supposed to be?” Ludwig asked, his tone steady, more curious than confrontational. “A mirror? A test? Or just something the Tower threw together to waste my time?”

The copy didn’t react to the wording.

“I am the version of you that makes sense,” it said simply.

That drew the faintest shift in Ludwig’s expression, not quite surprise, but something closer to interest.

“…That so.”

“You act without restraint,” the other continued, still calm. “You rely on things that are not yours. Power you took. Power you survived. Power that could just as easily be taken back away from you.”

There was no accusation in the tone. Just statement.

Ludwig didn’t interrupt.

“You call it necessity,” the copy said. “But you’ve never actually stopped to consider what remains when you remove all of it. Who are you, when you have nothing but yourself?”

A short silence settled between them.

Ludwig let out a quiet breath, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at his counterpart.

“And you’re here to tell me what that is?” he asked.

“No,” the copy replied.

Another pause.

“I’m here to see if you even can. If you can see it yourself.”

A loud trashing and explosive echo howled through the city. Smoke and fire erupted from far away. Looking at it, Ludwig frowned, “I thought that there were no hostilities in the city…”

“Indeed, for you that is. You cannot use power. That doesn’t mean you cannot use power…”

“Thanks, that’s very… explanatory…”

Ludwig’s gaze lingered on the rising smoke, his expression tightening as another distant impact rolled through the city and sent a tremor crawling up through the ground beneath his feet. Closer this time.

The sound carried more than destruction; it was excessive in a way that made his jaw set, too loud, too frequent, too uncontrolled to be anything but deliberate chaos.

There was no rhythm to it, no restraint, just raw force being thrown around without care for what it touched. It felt wrong in a way that was immediately, uncomfortably familiar.

“…That’s me,” he said quietly.

The copy didn’t answer immediately. It simply watched him, its expression unchanged, eyes fixed in a way that suggested it was waiting, not to respond, but for Ludwig to arrive at the rest of the conclusion on his own.

“That’s not some illusion, is it?” Ludwig continued, his eyes narrowing slightly as another distant detonation flared against the skyline.

“That’s not this place trying to scare me. That’s actually happening.”

Another explosion tore through the city, much closer this time. The sound hit harder, sharper, followed by the groan of something massive giving way.

A building folded inward on itself with a deafening roar, its structure collapsing in stages as flames burst outward from within, spilling into the open air like something alive and hungry.

The copy finally spoke.

“You tell me.”

Ludwig exhaled slowly, a faint irritation surfacing as he dragged his gaze away from the destruction and back toward the figure in front of him. “You’re really not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No,” the copy said again, just as calmly as before. “Because if you need it explained, you’ve already failed.”

That answer lingered longer than the others. It didn’t hit immediately, but it stayed there, pressing at the back of his thoughts as he turned his attention outward again.

Ludwig’s eyes tracked the distant fires, his mind moving faster now, piecing things together whether he wanted to or not, assembling the rules of this place through absence rather than instruction.

“No hostilities… for me,” he muttered, his voice lower now, more focused. “No weapons. No power.”

His hand flexed instinctively, fingers curling as if reaching for something that should have been there. The absence of [Noctivex] and [Nightbreaker] felt heavier now, not just inconvenient, but intentional. Not something taken away randomly, but something removed with purpose.

Durandal remained, however. So, how does no hostilities work if he had a weapon?

“…But that thing out there…” he continued, his gaze sharpening as another shockwave rippled through the skyline, “…it’s not bound by those rules.”

“Correct.”

Ludwig let out a short breath through his nose, something caught between a laugh and annoyance, the sound dry and restrained. “So I’m mildly disarmed, restrained, and stuck in a city where I get to watch myself tear everything apart.”

The copy tilted its head slightly, the motion subtle, almost curious.

“You’re not just watching.”

Another distant scream echoed through the streets, cut short abruptly by the sound of something collapsing in on itself, the noise swallowed by the ongoing chaos.

For the first time, Ludwig’s expression shifted. It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t fear. It was something else entirely…something sharper, more deliberate. Focus.

“…Then what exactly am I supposed to do?” he asked, quieter now, his tone losing its earlier edge in favor of something more measured.

The copy’s gaze didn’t waver.

“What you’ve never done before.”

Ludwig frowned slightly, the reaction small but genuine as he turned the words over.

“And what’s that?”

There was a brief pause, just long enough to make the silence feel intentional.

Then:

“Win without power.”

The words settled into the space between them with weight, not loud, not forceful, but impossible to ignore.

Another explosion followed shortly after, closer than the last. Heat flickered faintly at the far end of the street, the glow reflecting off shattered surfaces as shadows stretched and twisted along the walls.

Something large moved within the smoke, its presence hinted at through shifting silhouettes and the way the destruction seemed to follow it.

Ludwig didn’t look away this time.

“…That thing out there,” he said slowly, his voice steady as his eyes tracked the movement, “it’s not just a copy, is it?”

“No.”

“It’s me without limits.”

“Yes.”

Ludwig’s jaw tightened slightly, the tension settling in as the implication finished forming.

“No restraint. No control. No consequences.”

The copy didn’t correct him.

That was answer enough.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city burned in the distance, the sound of chaos inching closer with every passing second, each impact louder than the last, each tremor stronger than before. The air itself felt heavier now, carrying heat and ash in slow, drifting currents.

Then Ludwig moved.

He took a step forward, not toward the copy, but toward the destruction itself, his posture settling into something more certain.

“…Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than anything else, his voice low but steady. “Let’s see what kind of mess I’ve made.”

The copy watched him go, its expression unchanged, its presence unmoving even as Ludwig passed it.

But its voice followed him.

“Careful.”

Ludwig didn’t stop.

“Why?”

There was a slight pause behind him, just enough to stretch the moment.

Then, almost thoughtfully:

“If it notices you…”

Another building collapsed in the distance, the sound rolling across the street like thunder.

“…it won’t hesitate.”

Ludwig’s lips pulled into a faint smirk despite everything, the expression brief but real.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

And with that, he continued forward, walking straight toward the version of himself that had never learned how to stop.