Deus Necros

The crushed crown underneath Necors’s foot pulsed faintly, as if complaining, which won’t serve it much.

Ludwig’s memory of Pride in the Tower was that of a person standing naked in the palace, with only the crown of thorns. No armor. No robe. No shield. No weapon of his own unless he created it from authority. He had thought it arrogance. It was arrogance. But now it had shape behind it.

“He died in that prison,” Necros said. “But death did not lower him. His pride endured without crown, without kingdom, without name, without witness. In death, he rose with more than his brother could ever steal. The Tower accepted him, for all life had become too lowly for him to rule. He no longer desired to lord over men. Men had become beneath the concept of his gaze.”

Ludwig exhaled slowly.

“That’s… unpleasantly impressive.”

“It is why you struggled.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Necros turned slightly toward him. The motion made the darkness lean closer.

“You defeated Pride not by proving yourself above him. You defeated him by forcing him to descend. To answer. To defend. To adapt. To hope. Each act returned him, piece by piece, to the realm he had abandoned. And once he stood again among lesser things, he could die as they do.”

The words sank deep.

Ludwig did not like how much sense they made. It explained everything. The nudity. The rejection of inspection. The hatred of being understood. Pride’s entire existence had been built on the conclusion that anything external was beneath him because anything external could be stolen. Ludwig had made him depend on response. Depend on reaction. Depend on the fight. That was the wound.

“So what happens to him now?” Ludwig asked.

Necros looked down at the crown under his foot

It did not resist. That almost bothered Ludwig more than resistance would have. It was as if it accepted its fate.

“He returns to what he denied.”

“Death.”

“Yes.”

For a moment, Ludwig thought he heard something. Not words. Not a scream. More like the final exhale of a man who had stood too long and finally allowed himself to sit. The crown lost its lustre and soon became nothing more than a footrest for Necors.

Then the light vanished.

[The Soul of Pride has been claimed by Necros.]

[The Usurper of Death: Prideful Death has been fully judged.]

[Vanitas Fiero has entered the Silence.]

Ludwig stared at the notification longer than he expected.

“The Silence,” he said quietly.

Necros did not answer immediately.

Then, “Rest, without theft. Without witness. Without throne. And without Pride. Above all else, yet below Death.”

Ludwig nodded once. He did not know if Pride deserved peace. That was above his pay grade, and frankly his pay was mostly trauma and cursed accessories. But he understood the shape of the judgment. Pride had spent his existence rising above everything that could be taken. Necros gave him a place where nothing needed to be possessed.

The silence between them stretched, but it did not remain empty for long.

A new window formed in front of Ludwig, its edges darker than the previous ones.

[Necros’s Eternal Quest IV]

[Slay the Usurper of Death: Slothful Death.]

Current Vessel: Unknown.

Location: Solania.

Difficulty: ☠☠☠☠☠☠

Reward: Unknown

Additional Reward: Pending Evaluation.

Ludwig stared at the difficulty line.

Then looked at Necros.

“That’s one more skull than last time.”

“Yes.”

“I dislike how calm you are about that.”

“You survived the previous one.”

“I died hundreds of times.”

“You survived.”

Ludwig rubbed his eyes with two fingers, feeling the faint invisible thorns of Pride’s crown against his forehead as he did. “Death gods are terrible at encouragement.”

Necros remained motionless. “Sloth differs from Pride. Pride rose by refusing reduction. Sloth endures by refusing motion. It is not laziness, Ludwig Heart. Mortals often mistake sloth for idleness, sleep, or indulgence. Those are symptoms for lesser souls. True Sloth is the rejection of necessary change.”

“That’s interesting… Sounds a lot like Pride in a sense.”

“Far more dangerous than Pride. For mortals, and for you. You must experience it first.”

The black plain shifted again, but this time no clear vision formed. Instead, Ludwig saw distant shapes: a white city, towering cathedrals, bells without sound, a throne beneath holy light, and countless people kneeling with their heads lowered. Above them all, something heavy rested, not like a monster, but like a blanket laid over a corpse.

“Sloth does not conquer quickly,” Necros said. “It convinces the world that stillness is virtue. That delay is wisdom. That suffering endured without action is faith. That rot covered by ritual is preservation.”

Ludwig’s expression slowly hardened.

He already knew where this was going.

Solania.

The Holy State. Popes, Saints, and cardinals. Holy Knights and powerful enforcers of the Holy Order. The antithesis of something like Ludwig.

where holy authority shaped politics, law, and public faith. The place ruled by Clementine.

Necros’s pale eyes seemed to look through him.

“To kill Sloth, you must recognize its seat.”

A second notification appeared.

[Clue Acquired.]

[The Slothful Death is deeply intertwined with the ruling authority of Solania.]

[Investigate Pope Clementine.]

Ludwig stared at the words.

Then stared harder.

“Of course,” he said. “Of course it’s the freaking Pope.”

The sentence left him with a tiredness that belonged in old bones. He had barely finished fighting a Sin who lived in a tower outside normal logic, and now the next target was apparently tangled with the religious ruler of a nation where even looking suspicious could get him bathed in holy light. Or worse. Mot.

He took a deep breath, almost hating the fact that he had to do this.

Wonderful. Perfect. Why fight monsters in caves when he could walk into the political and spiritual heart of Solania and accuse the Pope of being connected to a Usurper of Death? Very practical. No possible complications there.

“You are not commanded to strike blindly,” Necros said.

“That is the most comforting sentence you’ve said, which is depressing.”

“Clementine may be vessel, jailer, mask, servant, victim, or throne. You must discern which before the blade falls.”

Ludwig went still at that.

Not the target, then. Not necessarily.

That made it worse in a different way. Killing monsters was simple. Killing corrupt rulers was manageable. Investigating holy politics while a dream god threatened to wake and monsters prepared to cross borders was the sort of task that made him want to find a quiet hole and politely die in it.

Unfortunately, death had his address.

“So I have to go to Solania, again…” Ludwig said.

“Yes.”

“Find out what the Pope has to do with Sloth.”

“Yes.”

“Without exposing myself, Kaiser, Gale, Necromancy, Return by Death, the Tower rewards, the Sins, or the fact that the world is probably about to be chewed open by a dream god.”

Necros said nothing.

Ludwig nodded slowly. “Fantastic. Very reasonable. Honestly, why even call it impossible anymore? We’re clearly past that. This is just scheduling.”

“You have become very… brash. Yet, it is understandable. You now know pride…”

Ludwig opened his mouth, then closed it for a second.

When he killed Wrath, he didn’t feel it, but only when Envy was added to the mix. Now, he added Pride, and even the way he talks changed.

’Shit…’

The darkness did not react.

A final window appeared.

[Warning.]

[The Slothful Death cannot be forced into revelation through urgency alone.]

[Delay strengthens Sloth.]

[Reckless haste strengthens Sloth.]

[Discernment is required.]

Ludwig read the warning twice.

“That’s disgusting.”

Necros’s gaze remained fixed on him.

Ludwig sighed. “So if I move too slowly, Sloth wins. If I move too fast, Sloth also wins. Great. A sin that punishes both procrastination and panic. That’s not annoying at all.”

“Balance is not comfort.”

“Neither is death.”

Necros lifted his hand, and the plain began to thin around Ludwig. The meeting was ending. The black horizon faded first, then the empty ground beneath his boots, then the overwhelming silence started peeling away from the edges of his hearing.

“Ludwig Heart,” Necros said.

Ludwig looked back toward him.

“The Crown of Pride will protect you from those who would name you beneath them. But beware the desire to name yourself above consequence.”

The warning settled cold across his forehead, right where the invisible thorns rested.

“Yeah,” Ludwig said, quieter this time. “I figured that part out.”

“Then go.”

The world folded again.

This time, when Ludwig returned, the air was real. Cold wind struck his face. The distant walls of Politia stood ahead, layered in wards he could now see through the Ring of Vanitas as fragile arrangements of temporary permanence. Kaiser was still nearby, turning toward him as he reappeared.

Kaiser’s brows rose. “You look like someone just handed you a shovel and pointed at a mountain.”

Ludwig took a slow breath.

“No,” he said, staring toward the direction of Solania. “This time they handed me a holy nation, a suspicious Pope, a sleeping disaster, and told me not to rush or delay.”

Kaiser said, “That sounds on brand.”

Ludwig laughed once, short and bitter, as the invisible tattooed Crown of Pride prickled faintly against his brow.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s one word for it.”