Deus Necros

“Quite a lot to unpack there,” Ludwig said, his voice slower now, more measured as he leaned back into the strange, too-comfortable chair. The wood beneath him didn’t creak. It simply adjusted, silently, unnervingly yielding to the shape of his body as though molded by will alone. “But we’re back to ground zero, aren’t we?” he continued, watching her with faint suspicion. “What do you need from me, or as you said, what do I need from you? Because frankly, I’m pretty fine with what I’m doing right now.”

His eyes drifted toward the steaming cup before him, catching the faintest curl of vapor rising from the rim. It smelled faintly of lavender, or something akin to it, clean, herbal, but tinged with something sharp. Metal, perhaps. The scent clung to the air like dust in old sunlight.

The veiled woman sat across from him, calm as stone carved by centuries of stillness. “Yes, dear,” she said at last, the words almost affectionate but never quite crossing into warmth. “You may feel fine for now. But that will change, and soon.”

Her fingers moved with slow, deliberate grace as she adjusted the folds of her silken sleeve. “You’ve met the Piper,” she continued, as if stating a foregone conclusion. “As you call him. Did you truly think victory was possible if you were to fight him there and then?”

Ludwig let out a breath through his nose. The exhale misted faintly in this timeless pocket of reality. He shook his head once, just enough to let the admission carry weight. “Seems like you already know the answer.”

“And even,” she said, “if you were to return back to a time where you might avoid him, sidestep the encounter, take another route, it would not save you. Not truly.”

Ludwig’s brow furrowed slightly. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” she said, lifting her gaze, “deep down, you’ll always know. That you ran. That you turned away instead of facing what was before you. You may tell yourself it was a tactical retreat, that you were too weak, that you’d return stronger later… but that’s the lie people whisper to themselves when they fear the price of truth.”

Her tone never sharpened, but it cut all the same.

“If you truly wish to commit yourself to Necros’s quest, if you mean to carry it to its end, you must walk toward your challenges. Not circle around them. It’s the only way to grow.”

Ludwig’s fingers drummed softly against the armrest. Once. Twice. Then stopped.

“It’s not like I’ve been fooling around,” he said quietly. There was no anger in his voice. But there was something else. A tremor beneath the surface. Weariness, perhaps. Or the memory of having tried. And failed. Too many times.

“Indeed, it is not,” the woman said. “Many others would have fallen into despair long ago. After all, it took you eighty-six loops before you could finally defeat the Wombed Queen. Eighty-six lives. Eighty-six deaths. And what did it cost you? At points, you were running on the fumes of your soul alone, breaking your soul items just to hold yourself together. One more attempt, valiant, but pricy.”

Her voice grew softer.

“How many soul items do you even have left right now?”

Ludwig paused. His eyes lowered for a breath. “Not enough,” he murmured.

“No,” she agreed. “Not nearly. And what’s worse, those that remain will serve you little. You’ve crossed a threshold, Ludwig. You are too unstable now to use Necros’s Souls as you once did. They’ll only add to your essence… not your strength.”

His jaw tensed faintly at that. But hearing it said aloud had the weight of finality. He was just too damn weak. Everything that he faced, from Van Dijk, the Glutenous Death, the Wrathful Death, the Piper, the Flayed King, the Wombed Queen, the Treacherous Fanged Apostle… They were all far, far stronger than Ludwig. If it wasn’t for luck, he’d still be stuck there, trying, again and again, and again…

“One of the reasons we’re going to Tulmud, is to solve that.” he said, brushing a hand back through his hair. “And I suppose you already know that.”

The woman inclined her head slightly, veil shifting as she moved. “Indeed. The Vestige of Darkness. That is what you seek. But tell me… do you know what it is? Or where to find it? Or who might guide you toward it?”

Ludwig said nothing.

Silence lingered. Heavy, but not accusing. Need character sheets and glossaries? Visit MV^LEM^PYR.

“Then let’s start from there,” she said at last, and folded her hands atop the table. “In Tulmud, you will not find what you need simply by asking. Even if you shouted the name aloud in the streets, no one would answer. Not truly.”

She leaned back slightly. “But you’re already with a party. So take advantage of that. Submit to an adventurer’s guild. Like your companions.”

Ludwig lifted a brow. “What would that serve?”

“Nothing,” she said, “at first. But in time, while you reach the capital of Tulmud, things will shift. People speak more freely to those they deem useful. Or familiar. The guild will open more doors than your name alone. Trust the process, Necros won’t give you a task without purpose.”

Ludwig glanced aside, considering that. “I’ll take note of that advice, I guess.”

She didn’t nod. But her fingers tapped gently once against the table’s edge. The sound was barely audible, but somehow final.

“It isn’t all,” she added, as if brushing away an invisible thread in the air between them.

Ludwig gave a slight tilt of the head. “What else?”

“Your teacher,” she said, “hasn’t taught you much.”

That made him sit back more upright. “He’s taught me plenty,” Ludwig said. “I guess.”

She gave him a look through the veil that almost felt like a raised brow.

“To use the Vestige of Darkness,” she said slowly, “you need a stronger vessel. Your current form… it’s insufficient. Unstable. Too raw. Too brittle.”

She lifted a hand, letting it hover briefly over the table.

“Your body, Ludwig Heart, is a draugr.”

“A what now?”

“You wouldn’t know the term, perhaps, but it means a higher existence than a simple undead, yes. But not high enough. Still below that of a lich. Or an Undead Knight. And mind you, an Undead Knight, not a Death Knight. The latter is beyond you. For now.”

Ludwig leaned forward slightly. “So this… Vestige… is supposed to make me… more.”

“Exactly,” she said. “More than what you are now. But to accept it, your body must first be prepared. Strengthened. And for that, you need a catalyst. One you already possess. But not in sufficient quantity.”

“Nephilium,” Ludwig said softly.

A smile curled her lips. Her index finger elongated with unnatural grace, the nail shifting into a slender golden claw. With it, she pricked the pad of her thumb. A slow, deliberate motion.

Silver blood, thicker than water, glowing faintly like molten starlight, welled from the wound and fell in three drops into Ludwig’s untouched cup.

Each drop struck the surface with a soft hiss, like dew on hot stone.

After a pause, the wound sealed itself without a trace, the claw withdrawing and the silence resettling like an old shawl over both of them.

The cave if it could still be called that, shuddered faintly. The air itself seemed to tense, vibrating along invisible chords stretched too tight. The stone walls pulsed once, as if the very space had flinched at the offering.

“Sadly,” she said softly, “that’s all I can give. For now.”

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed as he watched the steam rise from his cup. He could feel the weight of the blood within it, like a coiled snake resting beneath the surface.

“I guess I understand a bit more about you,” he said at last.

She tilted her head slightly, not unkindly. “Please do share”