Deus Necros

The air outside the cave was colder than before. The mist hadn’t lifted, it only thickened, curling like smoke between the trees, clinging to bark and stone like a living thing. The forest felt narrower somehow, tighter than it had earlier. Whether it was the growing dark or the curse in the land itself, Ludwig wasn’t sure. He only knew the change felt… intentional.

The Vampire Hunter walked ahead, his steps brisk and sharp, but not loud. He knew how to move through this terrain, his footing was sure, confident even, but there was something coiled beneath it. Something bitter and festering. Anger, perhaps. Or guilt.

Beal followed at Ludwig’s side, his posture tense. He kept glancing at their guide like one might eye a snake that hadn’t yet chosen to strike.

“If he tries anything,” Beal muttered under his breath, “I want you to give me two seconds. I’ll carve him from neck to groin.”

Ludwig said nothing. His fingers curled slightly, and with a faint shimmer of force and weight, Oathcarver manifested over his shoulder. The sword’s presence changed the air. Not in noise, not in light, but in pressure. The sheer mass of the weapon, resting silently in his grip, felt like the edge of a coming storm.

The hunter looked back once and froze at the sight. “That thing…” he said, eyes narrowing. “Where the hell were you hiding that?”

“Same place I keep my patience,” Ludwig replied evenly. “I just thought now was a good time to use both.”

They walked for another ten minutes, ducking beneath low-hanging boughs, twisting between gnarled trunks. The forest shifted as they moved. Not geographically, it was the texture of the world that changed. The soil underfoot became soft and spongey, the trees more deformed. Some no longer looked like trees at all, warped silhouettes half-melded with humanoid forms. Roots that clutched at earth like hands frozen mid-prayer.

Soon, the Hunter began taking small turns between low hanging trees and twists, to the point that it was getting suspicious, Ludwig was about to speak, almost using his weapon.

“What are you doing?” the hunter asked as he saw Ludwig hoisting his massive weapon over his shoulder.

“We’re getting closer to the spot we were chased from, I have a feeling that we might get attacked, better be ready,” Ludwig said.

“I told you, I’m no idiot that would want to get myself killed, also we’re already there.”

They stood in front of what looked like a shallow dip in the ground, overgrown with moss and tangled weeds. A scattering of old leaves covered something rectangular beneath it. The hunter kicked the leaves aside, revealing a trapdoor, iron-braced and rusted at the edges.

He knelt beside it, pulled a small crystal marble from his belt pouch, and shook it twice. The inside glowed faintly. He dropped it down the metal grating. A few seconds passed before the dim orb landed and cast its cold light into the dark below.

“Stairs are mostly intact,” he said. “We built reinforcements last time, after a few of the old rods collapsed.”

Beal crouched beside him. “This isn’t natural.”

“No shit,” the hunter replied. “But you wanted the truth. So here it is.”

Beal didn’t wait for an invitation. He grabbed the rusted handholds and began his descent without another word.

Ludwig followed last.

His descent was quiet. Deliberate. The scent of rust and mildew grew stronger the deeper they went. The stone walls were slick and lined with old growths, luminous moss that pulsed dimly as they passed, casting the tunnel in shifting hues of pale green and dead blue.

It didn’t matter for Ludwig. His vision pierced through the dark as if it were day.

He was the first to see the runes.

They were everywhere. Faint at first, simple etchings on the stone, like claw marks or forgotten prayers. But as the path sloped deeper, they grew more numerous. Organized. Language without letters, form without sound. Circular patterns spiraled over the walls and floor, layered with a precision that could not have been accidental.

Red. Every rune glowed the same shade of blood.

Ludwig frowned.

[You lack runic language understanding]

The message appeared silently.

“You guys see this?” Ludwig asked, breaking the silence.

The hunter paused mid-step. “See what?”

“The writing.”

“What writing?”

That was enough of an answer. Beal looked between them, clearly unnerved.

“Never mind then,” Ludwig replied briskly and simply kept moving.

This caused more worry to the knight and a frown on the Hunter, but they didn’t argue much and continued their path.

The incline sharpened, and the air grew colder. Finally, the tunnel opened into a larger chamber.

The marble light hovered just off the ground, casting long shadows across the space. What it revealed was not comfort.

The floor was carved into a massive set of grooves, circular, layered, descending toward a central platform like the rings of a ritual pit. In the middle of the platform stood a barrier. A dome. Transparent but shifting, its surface shimmered like oil on water, refracting the light into wrong angles.

More runes floated in the air above and around it. Runes carved into stone, into steel, into bone. Some hovered midair, flickering like candlelight. Others were embedded into the surrounding architecture, spires, shelves, even the ruined remains of ironwork that lined the outer chamber. Books lay torn on the ground, their pages blackened, ink still wet after who-knows how many centuries.

Beal stood frozen.

The hunter stepped forward and pressed a silver medallion to one of the seams. A faint pulse echoed from it, a sound Ludwig felt more than heard.

With a low hum, part of the wall drew inward. The barrier remained, but the hidden room behind it was revealed.

And it was worse.

Ludwig narrowed his eyes.

Behind the final veil, deep in the heart of the structure, the runes weren’t just carved, they were alive. They pulsed, throbbed, spread. The barrier was not protecting the room from intrusion. It was containing something inside.

Beal’s voice cracked when he spoke. “This is… our legacy?”

The hunter’s tone was proud. “Yes. This is the heart of the Old Hunters. The true power our ancestors once had. Buried. Forgotten. But not lost.”

Ludwig didn’t answer. His gaze had locked onto the final layer of grooves.

There was only one circle left.

One final tier before the barrier was opened.

One last seal before whatever waited inside would be unbound.

And whatever was inside that dome… did not feel like a legacy.