Deus Necros

“Follow.”

[A Command Has Been Given]

Ludwig’s skeletal body moved with a mind of its own, each step deliberate yet devoid of the fluid grace that living beings possess. His bones clinked and jittered with every motion, the eerie symphony echoing through the silent corridors as he trailed behind the Dark Tower Master. The mage’s presence was palpable, an oppressive aura that weighed heavily on Ludwig’s very essence.

It was a darkness that transcended mere description, a palpable force that could only be felt deep within the soul.

The souls of the damned whispered incessantly around them, their voices a haunting blend of torment and despair. Some cursed at the dark mage, their ethereal forms writhing in silent agony, while others wept tears of sorrow that never fell. A thick canopy of death enveloped the man, intensifying Ludwig’s fear and unease.

The air was thick with the scent of decay and unspoken dread, each step forward a reminder of the peril he was entangled in.

The system, or rather the Quest giver, showed no concern for Ludwig’s desires or fears. It had bestowed upon him an Eternal Quest—an unyielding mission to outgrow Bastos Van Dijk’s formidable control. Ludwig knew, with a sinking certainty, that this task was nearly impossible. Bastos Van Dijk was a master of necromancy, a sorcerer whose command over the dead was absolute and terrifying.

The very notion of defying such power seemed to border on the miraculous.

Deep within his spirit, Ludwig recognized the grim reality: he was ensnared by a force far too mighty and fearsome to challenge. His intellect, though sharp, felt inadequate against the overwhelming darkness that held him captive. Yet, bound by the unbreakable chains of his quest, he had no choice but to comply.

So, Ludwig followed.

They navigated the labyrinthine passages of the temple with methodical precision. The corridors twisted and turned, each corner revealing another stretch of ominous stone and shadow. The man walked with a slow, steady pace, his presence commanding silence and obedience.

Ludwig’s skeletal footsteps were the only sounds that broke the oppressive stillness, the clinking of his bones resonating through the echoing chambers.

After what felt like an eternity of endless lefts and rights, they arrived at a vast, empty room. In the center stood a rip in space, a jagged tear that seemed to defy the very laws of reality. Through the rift, Ludwig could glimpse the outlines of another realm, a swirling vortex of colors and light that beckoned with an otherworldly allure.

The Dark Tower Master, fully clad in black, took a confident step into the rift. His form shimmered and distorted as he vanished into the unknown, leaving Ludwig to process the significance of this portal. Just as quickly as it had appeared, a notification materialized before Ludwig’s ethereal vision.

[The Control of Bastos Van Dijk has waned, you are free to move as you see fit.]

The message was cryptic yet enlightening. It indicated that traversing the rift had somehow diminished Bastos Van Dijk’s grip over him. Moreover, the mage’s effortless passage suggested a familiarity or even mastery over such spatial anomalies. Ludwig pondered the implications—if Bastos could manipulate space so effortlessly, the task ahead was not just daunting but seemingly insurmountable.

Despite the notification’s promise of newfound freedom, Ludwig understood the precariousness of his situation. He knew he had to follow the mage through the rift, lest his partial liberation be exposed. Any hint of his semi-autonomous existence could spell disaster, exposing vulnerabilities that Bastos Van Dijk could exploit.

With a deep, unspoken resolve, Ludwig stepped into the rift. The transition was instantaneous, the world around him warping and shifting until he found himself in an entirely different location. He shook off the initial confusion—magic was beyond his understanding, yet the pressing need to follow took precedence over all else.

[The Bind with Bastos Van Dijk has been reestablished.]

Ludwig’s surroundings transformed into a grand study, its vastness accentuated by towering bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and arcane artifacts. The window beside him offered a panoramic view of the sprawling city below. Where few huts and houses were built sporadically everywhere, the whole area looked grim and mostly devasted.

A quite thematic view that fit perfectly with the ‘Dark Tower Master’ while the whole view conveyed one more thing. The place they were in was incredibly high. Compared to the modest abodes scattered around, the building itself stood as a testament to dark grandeur and architectural prowess.

The Dark Mage resumed his stride, waving a hand dismissively and that caused the entire rift to close in a second disappearing as if it was never there in the first place. “Let those two walk back all the way here, this should at least teach them a lesson… or death.” His clap echoed through the room, a grim proclamation of his twisted sense of justice.

Without missing a beat, he adjusted his glasses and fixed his penetrating gaze on Ludwig.

“Now, what shall we do with you?” Bastos Van Dijk inquired, tilting his head thoughtfully as he rested his chin on one hand, the other arm crossed over the other. His demeanor was one of calculated authority, a master contemplating the next move in his dark game.

Ludwig stood frozen, gratitude mingling with fear for the mysterious force that prevented him from acting without explicit commands in Bastos Van Dijk’s presence. Otherwise, his rational mind would have been in turmoil, grappling with the sheer terror of his predicament.

“Let’s see now, Unravel Memories!” the Mage declared.

As the words left Bastos Van Dijk’s lips, his hand swiftly moved to Ludwig’s skull, fingers brushing against the hollow sockets. A new notification flashed before Ludwig’s eyes:

[Your Memory is being read. You cannot resist.]

[Necro’s Blessing had interfered.]

Bastos Van Dijk’s lips curled into a sinister smile, reminiscent of the one Ludwig had seen when the mage obliterated the two necromancers. A chill ran down Ludwig’s spine—would the same fate befall him?

The interference of Necro’s Blessing provided a sliver of hope, yet Ludwig was uncertain of its true effect. Did it fully conceal his memories, or only obscure them partially? The possibility that the Tower Master might be aware of his transmigration weighed heavily on his mind. In every tale he had ever read, such secrets were sacrosanct, guarded fiercely and never to be revealed.

“Damn those two fools,” Bastos Van Dijk spat through gritted teeth, forcefully withdrawing his hand from Ludwig’s skull. “They did such a terrible job bringing you back that they ruined your mind. You’re nothing but an empty, mindless husk that cannot act without being told what to do… What am I to do with you? Send you to the dungeon, perhaps? At least you’d serve a purpose.

Maybe use you as a training dummy for novice black mages… Argh, what a waste! To squander the soul of a summoned hero this way! It breaks my heart,” he lamented, letting out a heavy sigh as he sank into his ornate chair.

Bastos Van Dijk’s desk was a sprawling expanse cluttered with endless stacks of papers and research notes, many written in a cryptic language that the system failed to translate for Ludwig. The mage’s eyes remained fixed on Ludwig’s lifeless form, deep in contemplation about how to utilize this failed experiment.

“Clean up this place,” Van Dijk commanded abruptly.

Ludwig, accustomed to a life of opulence and ease within the gilded confines of his former existence, found himself thrust into menial labor. Despite never having performed such tasks before, his spirit’s innate discipline took over. He moved gracefully, beginning to gather the scattered papers, his skeletal fingers deftly collecting them into neat piles before disposing of them in the bin.

Grabbing a dirty rag from the cluttered desk, he dipped it into a jar containing a pair of rotted eyes—likely remnants of one of Bastos Van Dijk’s dark experiments. The decayed eyes stared blankly, a macabre reminder of the mage’s twisted pursuits.

With meticulous care, Ludwig began wiping the stains and tidying the study, his actions precise and methodical despite his undead state. The Black Mage observed with a growing sense of intrigue, a light grin creeping onto his lips.

“You’re a strange fellow… Usually, skeletons would never understand a direct command such as ‘Clean up the Place.’ How come you understood it? Is it possible, or within the realm of possibility, that you still retain sentience after death?”

The mage’s questions were laden with suspicion, each word probing deeper into the mystery of Ludwig’s existence. Ludwig could feel the figurative sweat pooling beneath his ribcage, a sensation he couldn’t entirely comprehend. After all, the command “Clean Up The Place” was straightforward, something no mere skeleton would be capable of understanding beyond its literal interpretation.

Skeletons were meant to be mindless servants, executing simple commands like follow, attack, or defend without question.

Yet, here stood Ludwig, demonstrating a level of intelligence and autonomy that defied Bastos Van Dijk’s expectations. This deviation from the norm was precisely what made Ludwig a problematic asset. The Tower Master’s mind raced, calculating the implications of this anomaly. Had the necromancers truly failed so spectacularly, or was there something more at play?

Ludwig had only just begun his journey, yet he had already committed his first significant error—displaying intelligence beyond his supposed capabilities. This revelation could jeopardize his very existence, exposing the depths of his sentience and the hidden threads of Necro’s Blessing woven into his very being.

As Ludwig continued his futile attempts to tidy the room, he couldn’t shake the realization that his presence here was far more complex and perilous than he had initially comprehended. The balance between his constrained obedience and the flickers of autonomy presented a delicate dance, one that could determine his fate in the hands of Bastos Van Dijk.