Deus Necros

Ludwig’s instincts screamed at him to act. He focused on the knight, muttering under his breath.

“[Inspect]”

The status screen appeared before him, its letters glowing faintly.

Name: The Fallen King Knight of Tibari

Third Resurrection: The Restored Tyrant.

Danger Level: ☠☠

Level: N/A

HP: 25,000

Additional Skills:

[Tibarian King’s Will] Fear Aura will reduce the enemies’ abilities to cast spells or dodge.

[Devourer’s Edge] The Knight King’s Sword can shred through magic.

[Shield of Domination] Can periodically reflect spells upon the caster.

Addendum:

The form of the corrupted knight finally revealed, the king’s insignia and armor are now visible as the corruption wanes. The King of Tibari, the one who fought against the Gluttonous Death to free his kingdom from corruption and failed to do so, is now nothing but a puppet to the very thing it abhorred. A fate worse than death for a king that only sought to protect his people.

Ludwig’s breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t just a knight—it was the king. The ruler of Tibari, reduced to a hollow shell of his former self, enslaved by the very corruption he had tried to destroy. The weight of that realization settled heavily on Ludwig’s shoulders.

For a king to fail so, for him to be nothing but a walking puppet, what a depressing and sad existence. Something Ludwig never wanted to be. A mere puppet. Even though technically he was bound to Van Dijk, the latter never treated him as a tool though his words said so at the beginning. Just the concern Van Dijk showed when Ludwig’s arms were cut was enough of a tell that Van Dijk, the Vampire did have a heart.

“I see,” Van Dijk said, his voice low and grim. He raised his hands, black flames flickering to life around his fingers. “Ludwig, let me introduce you,” he said, his tone dripping with irony. “To the former king of Tibari…”

Ludwig nodded, his expression grim. He had already pieced it together from the status screen, but hearing it from Van Dijk made it all the more real. They weren’t just fighting a knight—they were facing a fallen monarch, a being of immense power and tragic history. And they were deeply, utterly screwed.

The Corrupted Knight King charged forward, his shield raised and his sword gleaming with deadly intent. Van Dijk reacted instantly, his hands moving in a blur as he chanted, “Bounds of Latvia!” Chains of pure magic surged from his palms, wrapping around the knight. But the king was ready. He ducked behind his shield, the chains bouncing off and ricocheting back toward Van Dijk.

Van Dijk’s eyes widened in surprise, but he reacted quickly, his body dissolving into a mist of blood just as the chains slammed into the gatehouse behind him. The impact sent debris flying, but Van Dijk was unharmed, his form reforming a moment later.

Ludwig seized the opportunity, pointing his palm at the knight. “Enfeeble!” he shouted, the sigils of dark power manifesting on the ground beneath the knight.

“Careful, he’ll reflect it!” Van Dijk warned, but Ludwig shook his head.

But that didn’t happen, the sigils immediately materialized on the ground and latched onto the knight causing the curse to latch onto him. Ludwig shouted immediately at the materializing Van Dijk, “Master, he only reflects projectiles!”

Van Dijk’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Good catch!” he said, slamming his hand on the ground. “Blood Grasp!”

A surge of blood erupted from the ground, latching onto the knight and manifesting into hands that dragged him down. The blood hands ravaged through the knight’s armor, tearing at the metal with a ferocity that made the knight roar in pain.

“Burn!” Van Dijk chanted, his voice low and commanding. The blood surging from his palm ignited into black flames, surging toward the knight like a serpent. The flames engulfed the knight, twisting and writhing as they consumed him. The knight howled in agony, its armor melting under the intense heat, but it couldn’t shake off the flames. It couldn’t reflect or deflect them.

The fire burned hot and long, reducing the knight to a pool of black sludge once again. The third time this knight had died.

“The Hunger calls! The hunger will prevail! I must…” the knight’s voice trailed off into silence as its form dissolved completely into black sludge on the ground that slowly seeped through the ground.

But the victory was short-lived. The city around them seemed to shift, the air growing heavier, more oppressive. The guards that had been advancing toward them now moved with even greater speed, their swords drawn, their eyes filled with a feral hunger.

“Master…” Ludwig said, his voice tense. “I think we might be cooked here.” His grasp on his sword tightening.

Van Dijk chuckled, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You have the strangest expressions,” he said. “Also, it’s been a while, but how about I teach you a thing or two about Necromancy?”

Ludwig blinked, surprised. “You know necromancy?”

“Of course,” Van Dijk replied, his grin widening. “I’m the Black Tower Master, after all. Necromancy is a given.”

Van Dijk raised both arms to his side in an extravagant and exaggerated manner, “You know, necromancy is all about style,” he said. “Rise Undead!” he said.

Suddenly, the cobblestone began shuddering and shaking, boney arms erupted out from underneath the hard stone, ripping through it with ease. Like a scene from a movie, the dead rose up, pulling themselves out from the dirt. Men and women alike easily moved out of their everlasting rest back to the world of the living.

Undead in incredible numbers all came to Van Dijk’s service, “Go forth,” Van Dijk ordered.

In a heap of growls and guttural voices the dead moved forward, numbering at least three to one against the guards. Each one of these undead seemed to be wearing clothes that awfully looked similar to the attendants, and some others that were summoned carried the broken armors of the city guards.

Ludwig could only watch, one day, will he too be capable of such feats?