Deus Necros

The first thing Titania noticed was the campfire.

It flickered through the veil of low mist and tree limbs like a sentinel’s eye, low but unwavering, casting a warm amber against the hollows of damp stone and the tangled net of gnarled roots that curled up like skeletal fingers from the forest floor. The air carried with it the faint tang of ash and charred meat burnt fat clinging to the breeze like memory. Somewhere nearby, water trickled faintly, a tiny stream burbling unseen beyond the ridge, and above them, the canopy hung heavy with dew.

The fire sat nestled in a bend along the old trail, half-shielded by stone and earth, almost defensive in its placement. There was precision in its setup: cloaks draped to dry over the arch of a low branch, angled just so to catch residual heat; a single boot placed near the coals, toe pointed outward, as if its owner had been lounging there only moments ago.

Titania narrowed her eyes. Her boots made no sound over the pine needles, and her breath steamed faintly in the chill. “Not bandits,” she murmured, her voice low and edged with certainty. “Too deliberate. Too clean. They’re camped like soldiers… or at least trained travelers.”

She stood atop a shallow rise just off the trail, arms loose at her sides, weight perfectly centered. Even in shadow, she cut a sharp figure, motionless as a statue carved from dusk itself.

Behind her, Misty stumbled up the incline, breath heaving with exertion. The massive case she lugged behind her gave a dull thump each time it struck a root or stone, and with one last wheezing gasp she let it go, letting the leather grip slide from her fingers. “Can we… can we please not engage?” she said between gasps, doubling over. “They could be just… I don’t know, normal? For once?”

Titania turned slowly. The look she gave her retainer could have cracked a paladin’s helm. “Since when,” she asked, with deliberate slowness, “have I had the luxury of normal, Misty?”

Misty straightened with a resigned grunt, swiping damp hair from her face. “Fair point,” she mumbled. She’d have taken goblins again over this case.

Titania turned her gaze back to the camp. Her nostrils flared. “Four trails,” she said, almost absently. “No, five. And one of them reeks of mana. Wild, unstable. Like spoiled wine fermenting inside bone.” A faint curl of amusement edged her voice, a touch of wry satisfaction in the corners of her mouth. “Something in that camp’s working very hard not to be noticed for what they truly are…”

Misty didn’t even bother with a sigh this time. She knew that tone too well. “You’re going to mess with them, aren’t you?” she asked, though it came out more like a weary statement than a question.

Titania’s smile widened, sharp and sly, like a blade being unsheathed. “Test, not mess. Also would be rude not to,” she said. “We’ve come all this way.”

“That’s a lot to unload, but a lot of your story is missing…” Celine’s voice was even, but there was a tension beneath it, something both curious and guarded, a reluctance born not from disinterest, but from too many truths that had already proven dangerous.

Ludwig nodded slowly, fingers resting along the spine of the worn journal beside him. The firelight danced across the surface of the page. “Like I said,” he replied, his voice low, thoughtful, “it hasn’t been long since I became Master Van Dijk’s disciple…So I don’t fully know everything about him.”

Celine’s eyes didn’t leave him. “Tell me more about these… Deaths. The Usurpers, as you called them. You mentioned meeting the Gluttonous Death at the mires of Tibari… The way you described it, even an Eight Circle black mage couldn’t handle something like that. That’s not a simple creature, is it?”

Ludwig exhaled, slowly. The memory sat in his chest like old embers. “No. They’re not simple. There are seven of them, at least, that’s what I understand. You know of the seven deadly sins?”

Celine tilted her head, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “A strange notion to me. What are those?”

“Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Pride. Wrath. Sloth. Envy,” he said, ticking each off on his fingers. “Old concepts. Mortal failings… or so they say.”

“I can understand how those… temperaments are foul,” she mused, “but what do they have to do with the Usurpers?”

“That’s the part I don’t fully get,” Ludwig admitted. “But from what I saw, the thing that crawled through Tibari… it didn’t just commit gluttony. It was gluttony.”

Celine narrowed her gaze. “Aren’t many people gluttonous? What made that creature different?”

“Because he devoured the concept itself. Gluttony for death. He wasn’t hungry for food, or pleasure. He consumed death like it was a banquet. What he did to Tibari wasn’t just destruction, it was a curse of hunger, one that spread from him like a contagion. He tore that kingdom apart because they had everything and dared want more.”

Celine frowned. “Wouldn’t that fall under Greed, then?”

Ludwig gave a small, humorless chuckle. “You’d think. But apparently not. ‘Greed was on his way,’ the thing said. ‘But Gluttony got there first.’ That was how it explained it. They meaning Tibari, weren’t lazy, or idle. They were satisfied, and still, they hungered for more, more power, more legacy, more permanence. So Gluttony came. And devoured.”

“You know,” Celine said, after a long pause, “this isn’t easy to understand.”

“Trust me, I know,” Ludwig said, shaking his head. “At the time, all I could think was: how the hell do I get out of this alive. Or at least not more… dead. Anyway… the other one I’ve heard of is tied to the Solania range. They call him a guardian, supposedly, though the term’s generous. Big fellow. Furious all the time.”

He turned slightly and pointed at Gorak, still snoring lightly beneath his cloak. “I think he might be related to those northern tribes. The Queen we dealt with, she was one of the lesser pawns of that Usurper. And the core you absorbed…”