Deus Necros

The smoke took a while to disperse, curling in lazy spirals through the treetops as if reluctant to unveil what remained. It clung to the ground, stirred only by the faint rustle of breeze weaving between trunks. The scent of scorched earth and singed moss hung heavy in the clearing, sharp and bitter, laced with the acrid tang of vaporized mana. Every leaf seemed to hold its breath.

When it finally cleared, Titania stood in the center of the blast radius, her silhouette wreathed in dissipating heatwaves. Her hair, slightly tousled by the shockwave, framed a smirk that curled slowly along her lips.

“Not bad,” she said, brushing smoke from her shoulder with the casual indifference of someone dusting off an old coat. “Not bad at all. It’s been… quite some time since I was last hit.”

There was no mockery in her tone. Only a simmering thrill, the kind that came when an opponent proved just slightly more capable than expected.

Ludwig’s lips curled faintly at one side, but the gesture wasn’t triumph. It was caution. His eyes narrowed, and the sensation prickling at the edge of his senses told him what his instincts already screamed: danger. The kind that didn’t announce itself with words, but flooded the air like ozone before a lightning strike. The kind that made your limbs tense before your mind caught up.

It came from her.

Titania’s aura shifted an unseen pressure descending across the glade like the weight of a looming stormcloud. It was primal and deliberate. The air grew warmer, heavier, thick like treacle. At the edge of the clearing, Celine’s expression changed. Her nails flexed without command, claws already beginning to form. Her crimson eyes flickered.

A moment more, and she might have pounced.

But just as quickly as it surged, the bloodlust vanished.

Extinguished like a torch dipped in ice water.

Titania exhaled softly, not quite a sigh, and flicked her hand. The motion was fluid, unhurried. With it, the soul-chains unraveled and dropped away from her arm with the soft clink of spent tension. She stepped back.

“I see now,” she said, eyes still on Ludwig, though her tone had softened, not out of deference, but recognition. “Though your mentorship was clearly… lacking, or perhaps just tragically brief, you still have a good head on your shoulders.”

Her words weren’t kind. But they weren’t dismissive either.

Ludwig straightened, exhaling a slow breath through his nose. “What are you doing now?” he asked, voice neutral. Not accusatory. Just wary.

“Nothing.” She smoothed her sleeve, twirling the twig between her fingers as though it had never burned with pale blue flame. “Let’s continue our journey.”

“Just like that?” Ludwig raised a brow.

Titania tilted her head. “Is there a problem?”

There was a long moment where no one answered. Then Timur gave a grunt and shrugged, glancing at the others.

“Not really,” he muttered, “just don’t go off cutting our heads when we’re not expecting it.”

“You wouldn’t expect it anyway,” Titania said without blinking.

Her smile returned, not warm, but almost teasing. The kind that made it unclear whether she was joking.

“Regardless,” she continued, brushing past them with a sweep of her cloak, “I just needed to see Davon’s ability. And it is, I must admit… decent.”

She stopped just long enough to glance sideways at Ludwig. “Say… would you like to be the Hero’s companion?”

Ludwig didn’t hesitate. “Hell no. I’ve got better things to do with my life.”

His voice was dry, the words delivered without ceremony. Flat and final.

Titania actually laughed. “Quite a shame. I would have liked it if you were the one to accompany him. Though I won’t lie…” she paused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “the gods must be blind to have chosen such atrocity to be a hero.”

“Sounds like your heroic figure is trash,” Robin muttered from his usual lean against a tree, crossbow still resting lightly in hand.

“They always are,” Titania replied without missing a beat. “Every single one of them. Rude. Incompetent. Arrogant. Full of empty pride. Blessed by divine hands, yet shaped by none of their own will. They stumble into traps with open eyes, fall to their own machinations, or worse, take others down with them.”

Her words carried weight. Not the weight of bitterness, but of weariness. Of experience.

Melisande shifted where she stood, unease creeping into her posture. “If I didn’t know any better,” she said, “I’d swear you weren’t the Holy Maiden.”

Titania turned slightly, not looking at her directly. “Why is that?”

“Because no member of the Order would speak such things of the chosen Hero.”

There was a pause. The wind rustled the upper boughs, and somewhere distant, a bird called once, then fell silent.

“Don’t forget, little girl,” Titania said at last, tone dropping like a stone into still water, “I’m the reason the Holy Order remained a powerhouse in this Empire. Their backbone. Their edge. I may be helpful to them, but I am not their servant. And that’s one of the reasons I never mince my words around them.”

The words carried no anger. Just clarity.

“And this Hero,” she added, “is the worst I’ve seen yet.”

Ludwig glanced at her sideways. “Sounds like you’ve lived long enough to make that judgment. Or at least have seen multiple generations of these… heroes.”

She gave him a nod. “Indeed. Far too long. And far too tired to waste my breath on children who think shouting spell names makes them more imposing.”

“That’s just giving your opponent time to dodge,” Ludwig said dryly.

Titania grinned. “Exactly! I knew you’d understand. Blundering fools, all of them…”

She turned and resumed walking, voice trailing off into half-muttered disdain.

The sun drifted westward as the party resumed their march, casting long shadows across the weather-worn path ahead. Lamar’s countryside unfurled around them, rolling hills of tawny grass, interrupted by stands of crooked pines and the occasional ruin lost to moss and time. The days blurred into a rhythm of motion and silence, broken only by the crunch of boots, the soft grind of wheels on dirt, and the faint howls of distant beasts whose courage never quite brought them near.

They were on their way out of this country.