Deus Necros

Back at the Dawn Islands, the air had stilled into something oppressive, like breath held too long. What remained of the Thorn-Wombed Queen had sunk into the pale soil, the grotesque bloom of her ruin now inert, crusted over by ash and silence. A few scattered rays of morning light filtered in from the broken cavern above, illuminating fragments of shattered armor, dried root, and the charred remains of twisted limbs.

Many paladins and clerics were moving around, tending to the injured and wrapping the dead in white cloth to return them to their families. The toll was heavy, and the gains were minimal.

The Cardinal stood over the site like a man who had expected more. His red and golden robes, once pristine, were now singed at the hem and darkened with smears of ichor and soot. He flexed his left arm slowly, turning it at the wrist. The new flesh was smooth, seamless, but still foreign. It had been regrown entirely, tissue, bone, and all, under the touch of the boy-saint beside him.

“Anything yet?” he asked, his voice hoarse, the irritation in it poorly veiled.

“No, your grace,” came the answer from a paladin kneeling nearby. The man rose as he spoke, adjusting his gauntlets. “It’s been calm so far. Even those mutated creatures are no more. The entire cavern is… quiet.”

“It has to be somewhere,” the Cardinal muttered, his fingers tightening into a fist. “The damn core. It couldn’t have just vanished.”

Several paladins were actively turning the place upside down looking for whatever the cardinal was asking them of. Only a great many of them were reluctant and unable to understand the reason behind such a request. Nor were they too keen on disturbing this island anymore.

The cardinal turned and looked to Mot, who stood not far off, his expression unreadable. The boy-saint had just finished his work on the Cardinal’s arm. Now he gazed at the Queen’s remains, his eyes taking on that strange, dream-fogged milk-white sheen. His gaze did not rest on the surface, but pierced it, beyond the flesh, beyond the rot, into something more ethereal.

“There is no more dreaming for this thing,” Mot murmured, voice quiet as a prayer. He extended a finger and gestured toward the Queen’s cadaver. “No essence. No echo. It is completely gone. Drained.”

The Cardinal’s jaw tensed. He sucked in a breath between clenched teeth.

“Was it that young man from earlier? The one we thought was just another hunter?” he asked. “He must’ve taken it…”

Before Mot could respond, another voice chimed in, hesitant and nervous.

“Your grace…”

It was a paladin, younger than the rest, still marked with soot from the earlier skirmish. He stepped forward from the perimeter with one hand raised halfway in deference.

“What is it?” the Cardinal snapped without looking. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something important with the saint?”

“I, just wanted to inform you of something that happened while no one was paying attention…”

The Cardinal turned, his eyes narrowing. “Then it had better be relevant,” he said. “Or I’ll have you in the flagellation chamber before nightfall for interrupting.”

The paladin swallowed visibly. “Y-yes, your grace. It’s just… that creature. The werewolf. I saw him. He took something from the corpse.”

Mot tilted his head faintly to one side, intrigued. “Come here,” he said softly.

The paladin approached, tentative. Mot gestured downward.

“On your knees.”

The man obeyed without hesitation, dropping to the ground in front of the boy-saint. What followed was almost imperceptible to those standing nearby. Mot placed his hands gently on either side of the man’s head, fingertips brushing his ears.

Unseen to all and hidden behind his young and pure looking hands, two thin tendrils, like strands of smoke turned solid, slid from Mot’s palms and disappeared into the paladin’s ears.

The paladin gasped. His body froze, his back straightened unnaturally, and his eyes rolled upward into white. His mouth fell open, but no sound came. No scream. No protest. Just a long, voiceless silence.

Mot’s own eyes closed for a moment. A breath passed. His lips barely moved.

Then the tendrils withdrew, vanishing like fog. The paladin collapsed forward for half a second before jolting upright as if waking from a nightmare. He blinked several times, confused, looking around with no memory of what had just occurred.

“You may go,” Mot said, his tone unchanged.

The paladin scrambled to his feet, saluted, and retreated without another word.

“What did you see?” the Cardinal asked.

“He didn’t have a clear look,” Mot answered calmly, brushing dust from his sleeves. “But he was right. The wolf took something. A relic, I’d guess. It was embedded inside the Queen’s remains. Hidden.”

The Cardinal opened his mouth, then shut it again. His lips parted once more, as if preparing a justification, but no words came. Only after a long second did he speak.

“I needed to bring it to the Pope,” he said, voice shifting into something rehearsed. “As proof. Of our success in hunting down the creature. It would’ve served as a… seal of victory.”

Mot raised an eyebrow. “You have the corpse, Clementine. A whole one. There’s no shortage of proof.”

The Cardinal hesitated. “Y-yes. Of course. But something like that, left behind, it could fall into the wrong hands. Imagine what it could do in the hands of a heretic or a cultist. I merely wanted to prevent such misuse.”

A silence fell between them. Not long. But long enough.

And then,

“YOUR HOLINESS! URGENT NEWS!”

A cleric came barreling down the inner path of the cavern, robe hiked up in one hand, scroll clutched in the other. His boots sent flakes of bone and ash scattering with every step. He stumbled to a halt before the two men and immediately unfurled the scroll in his grip.

“What is it this time?” the Cardinal grunted, barely keeping the irritation from boiling over.

The scroll shimmered gold, and as the cleric tore the seal, a circular glyph burned into the air between them, pulsing once before stabilizing. In its center appeared the image of a figure draped in gold. A man, elderly and skeletal in frame, with heavy lines beneath his eyes and thin lips twitching from the effort of breath.

The Cardinal immediately dropped to one knee.

“Your Eternal Holiness…”

The figure coughed violently, his face briefly vanishing into a shuddering haze. Then his gaze steadied. His voice came low, gravelly, but still sharp.

“Clementine… Did you find the core…?”

Mot stepped forward without waiting for the Cardinal to reply. His presence drew the Pope’s gaze immediately.

“Ah… Saint of Dreams,” the old man said, voice less formal. “I trust your light guided them through darkness once again.”

“We were victorious,” Mot said, his tone polite, but not deferent. “But I doubt that such a high-grade spell was invoked just to confirm something you would’ve known tomorrow.”

The Pope offered a thin smile.

“No,” he admitted. “It was not. I have called because at last… we have found him. The one you must now assist.”

Mot’s brow furrowed slightly.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Who?”

“The Hero,” the Pope said, with finality. “The Hero is revealed.”

(To be Continued!) Red author’s note! a lot of you guys miss it!