Deus Necros

Elsewhere, far from the forest trail and firelit hush of Ludwig’s camp, a loud and unapologetic sneeze echoed through the marbled corridors of the Sacro Sanctum’s east wing.

The Sacrosanctum seemed to be bubbling with people from all over the place, having gathered for what looked like a holy event.

The priests, nuns, clerics, and paladins were all moving like worker bees, tending to the matters of the sanctum. While deeper into the sanctum in a far-away dining room, an overly large man was in the company of a few clerics who seemed to wish to be anywhere else but here.

“Gods above,” Hiro muttered, sniffling into the sleeve of his opulent tunic, which was gold-threaded and slightly stained near the cuffs from some forgotten lunch. He dabbed theatrically at his nose, wincing. “Why is the wine so sour here? I told them to chill it, not boil it.”

The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of overripe fruit and incense that had long overstayed its welcome. Velvet drapes muffled the wind outside, and the crystal chandelier above flickered with everlight that made everything appear more dramatic than necessary.

A young cleric, standing a respectful three paces from Hiro’s padded reclining chair, offered a smile that was more grimace than comfort. The boy’s hands were clasped tightly in front of him, as if bracing for an insult.

“It’s… the same wine you had this morning, sir Hero.”

Hiro groaned, slumping further into the cushions, legs draped dramatically over one armrest. His boot scraped against a decorative table carved with sigils he had never bothered to learn. “Then it’s clearly gone bad. Ugh. This place is so damp. Why can’t the church assign me a proper chef? You’d think getting blessed by a literal god would earn me a hot meal, at the very least. Or a bath that doesn’t smell like old lemon peels.”

Another cleric entered, this one older and thinner, his robes more dignified but wrinkled from haste. He carried a scroll tucked beneath one arm and a nervous stiffness in his step.

“Your next appointment with High Cardinal Renair is set for, “

“Ugh. Cancel it,” Hiro waved his hand dismissively, knocking over a fig from his fruit plate. It rolled across the floor like a tiny escapee.

The older cleric blinked. “But sir, the prophecy, “

“Let’s be honest,” Hiro interrupted, sitting up just enough to snag a grape between two fingers. “Unless I go on my hero journey and get stronger, we all know there will be no Demon King for me to slay now, so why not just take it easy. Why rush? Let’s enjoy the moment.” He gobbled down several grapes at once, from the vines.

The cleric looked like he’d bitten his tongue and was now suffering for it. “Sir Hero, with respect… the council has made it clear that appearances matter. The people are expecting to witness your divine potential. Many have traveled from across the Empire to see you wield power, any power. A display of might would do wonders.”

“Do I look like a clown for them to come watch?”

“I’m talking about The same companions you just mentioned.” said another voice, this one younger, more exasperated, belonging to yet a third cleric who had arrived without ceremony. He stepped in quickly, a bit of parchment still clutched in his hand, his eyes a little too wide from trying to keep up with bureaucracy.

“Companions… isn’t it too early?” Hiro raised an eyebrow, more intrigued by the word than the speaker. “Also, Isn’t that guy, euh… Clemn-whatever… taking care of it?”

“Yes, Cardinal Clementine is handling some of the logistics,” the young cleric stammered. “But you still need to show up for the people. They need to believe in your cause. To see you lead. And then to volunteer to be your companions…”

Hiro picked at a piece of dried cheese and sighed. “We need a show of power, you mean. Yeah, yeah. I can already use minor blessings. Also haven’t I already shown you that I can sniff out a demon a mile away? Spy, monster, corrupted soul, whatever. One look at a guy and I can tell you if he needs a smiting. Should I take a glance at you? Perhapse?” he said with an all-knowing smile, a clear threat.

“Sir…” the elder cleric began with the resignation of a man who had seen this argument circle the drain a dozen times. “Lady Titania is the only person currently in this region capable of cutting down a heretic on association alone. And even then, she is blessed with divine permission to do so. You are not. You’re the Hero, yes, but…”

“But what?” Hiro said, sitting up straighter now, flesh straining against the ornate embroidery of his tunic. “I’m the Hero. Chosen by the gods themselves. Surely that gives me some room to improvise.”

The elder cleric’s face was very still. “With respect, sir… those were some of the last words spoken by the previous Hero to lady Titania…”

Hiro blinked. “There was a previous one?”

The cleric’s hand rose and pointed quietly to a shelf along the far wall, where a small, humble urn sat beneath a golden alcove. It was unassuming, save for the faded inscription etched beneath it.

“Those,” the cleric said, his voice level, “are his ashen remains.”

For a long beat, Hiro stared at the urn. Then, slowly, a grin broke across his face.

“You’re telling me she actually turned him to ash?”

The cleric said nothing.

Hiro leaned back, whistled low. “Damn. Granny Titania really doesn’t mess around. Shame she left. She’s easy on the eyes too.”

The young cleric let out a sound somewhere between a cough and a whimper.

“I must advise, sir,” the older one added firmly, “never to mention her age. Not here. Not ever.”

Hiro waved a hand, still grinning. “What? I’m the Hero. I’m invincible.”

The elder cleric sighed and turned away. “Trust me, sir. That’s exactly what he said, too.”