Deus Necros

The man before Van Dijk stood awkwardly in the alley, his bandages grimy, his frame scrawny, and his presence unsettling in ways Van Dijk couldn’t quite place. The bare-chested figure shivered faintly in the cold night air, though his expression was calm, almost serene. Van Dijk’s nose twitched at the faint scent of blood and earth, buried beneath the stench of the slums.

The man spoke, his voice carrying a gravelly tone. “On a night like this… I mistook you for a monster,” he said, a small, humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “But thank the stars, you’re fairly normal.”

Van Dijk sighed, shaking off the lingering unease. “What are you doing here dressed like that? It’s freezing, and you’re practically naked.”

The man shrugged, his movements languid yet precise, betraying none of the frailty his appearance suggested. “Oh, it isn’t easy to get by when you’re as ill as I am. And being blind doesn’t help much either.”

Van Dijk frowned, skeptical. The man’s behavior didn’t align with someone blind, but he supposed the man could have spent years navigating these streets and developed a heightened sense of awareness. It was common enough among those who lost their sight.

He shouldn’t be too judgemental of people everyone is different.

“Well, you should probably find somewhere to stay,” Van Dijk said. “The fog is getting thicker, and it’s dangerous to wander in this weather.”

“Stay? Where would I go?” The man’s chuckle was deeper this time, almost bitter. “I have no home, no family. My nights are spent wandering, like tonight.”

Van Dijk’s chest tightened with an unexpected pang of pity. “I see… well, I wish I could help, but I’m lost myself.”

“You’re lost?” The man tilted his head slightly, his bandages rustling. “The fog is a nuisance, isn’t it? But for me, it changes nothing. My world is always dark.”

Van Dijk gave a weak chuckle, unsure whether to laugh or apologize. “Yes, it’s frustrating. I’m trying to get to Yoshika’s Clinic, but I’ve been circling these streets for what feels like hours.”

“Ah, Yoshika’s,” the man said. “Not far. Take this path,” he gestured with a bandaged hand, “and turn left at the first intersection. The clinic will be at the end of that passage.”

Van Dijk blinked in surprise. “Thank you. That’s… very helpful.”

He began to move, but the man’s voice stopped him. “Though…” There was a pause, and Van Dijk turned, noticing for the first time how the man’s head tilted slightly upward, as though listening to something beyond the veil of the fog. “Do you know of any safe havens?”

The question gave Van Dijk pause. He considered taking the man to Yoshika’s Clinic, but that would only burden her further. While she was a kind soul who cared for the needy without hesitation, this man didn’t seem ill enough to warrant immediate aid. And besides, the clinic was already overcrowded.

After a moment of thought, Van Dijk said, “Do you know the Bastos estate?”

“I do,” the man replied simply.

“Go to the guards there,” Van Dijk said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “Show them this—it has my family’s crest. They’ll give you food and shelter for the night.”

The man reached out and took the handkerchief, his touch unnervingly steady. “You’re too kind,” he said, his tone neutral yet somehow chilling. “May the stars guide you.”

Van Dijk offered a polite nod, brushing off the strange tension that seemed to hang in the air. He followed the man’s directions, and as promised, the clinic’s lights appeared faintly through the fog. Relief flooded his chest as he approached.

The clinic door creaked open, revealing a young woman. Her features were unmistakable, and Van Dijk froze, words failing him. Her auburn hair framed her delicate face, her eyes alight with curiosity as she took in the sight of him. It was her—the woman he had been thinking of all night.

She raised an eyebrow, confusion creasing her brow. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice as soft and lilting as he remembered.

Van Dijk opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mind scrambled for words, for any coherent thought, but all he could manage was a wide, foolish smile.

“Melania,” an older woman’s voice called from deeper inside the clinic. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Melania said, glancing over her shoulder. “He’s… stunned, I guess?”

A stout, sharp-eyed woman emerged, shuffling past Melania. Her gaze landed on Van Dijk, and a wry grin spread across her face. “Ah, the Bastos Fool,” she said. “Your sister mentioned you might drop by to help out. Get in here.”

Van Dijk blinked, confusion snapping him out of his stupor. “Help? What does she mean by that? I didn’t agree to—”

Van Dijk was bewildered, ‘Help? What does she mean by that? Did Celine say something to her? I didn’t even agree to do any help? Also help with what? I never took care of anyone sick or not, and I have no experience in that regard anyway…’

“Come on, don’t just stand there gawking,” the older woman barked, cutting him off. “Wash your hands and grab those towels. Noblesse oblige, and all that.”

Before Van Dijk could protest, Melania stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. He hesitated but ultimately followed her lead, drawn by the pull of her presence. As he crossed the threshold, he muttered under his breath, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Inside, the clinic was bustling with activity. Patients lay on cots lining the walls, their groans and murmurs filling the air. The scent of antiseptic mingled with the metallic tang of blood, creating an oppressive atmosphere that made Van Dijk’s stomach churn.

“Here,” Melania said, thrusting a stack of towels into his arms. “Follow me. We’ve got plenty of work to do.”

Van Dijk nodded dumbly, trailing after her as she weaved through the crowded room. Though he wasn’t sure what he had gotten himself into, he couldn’t bring himself to leave—not while she was here.