Deus Necros

Celine said nothing as she moved, but Ludwig studied the way her shoulders shifted under her cloak, the tiny twitch of her left hand as she tightened her grip on Palios. He felt his own senses stretch thin, every scrape of stone against his boots, every faint sound in the distance pulling at him. A weight settled in his chest, a mingling of anticipation and unease.

They passed through a shattered archway. The fortress opened around them into a hall so large Ludwig’s breath caught for half a second. Moonlight, or something like it, filtered from cracks far above, catching on drifting motes of dust. The place was strewn with bodies. Not just fallen adventurers but ancient warriors, their armor still bearing insignias no living scholar would recognize. Some lay with swords snapped in their hands, others sprawled as if dragged.

But nothing of them remained but bones and the remains of what was once a struggling force, perhaps an invading one or perhaps people who just wanted to live.

Ludwig crouched near a fallen shield, its surface eaten through by rust. He ran a hand along its edge, feeling the texture of decay. “So many deaths… makes you wonder, what pushed them to go this far, and to die here, somewhere so far away from any eyes… Quiet the lonely death, and quite the pointless one…”

He rose when Celine paused at the threshold of the largest chamber yet. Melted wax puddled thick on the floor, the remains of long‑extinguished candles leaning at odd angles like broken teeth. The air here smelled faintly of old tallow and something acrid beneath. His eyes swept over the carnage: torn limbs scattered like branches, the hulking remains of beasts with spines split wide, skeletal husks still clutching weapons.

And then, at the center, he saw it. A circle etched in blood, fresh despite the ages. The lines were clean, too clean, not even a film of dust dared settle on them. The hum emanating from it was low at first, almost inaudible, but as Ludwig stepped closer it thrummed through his bones like a heartbeat.

Celine’s voice was quiet when it came. “It’ll happen soon. The time of day should be right.”

Ludwig’s brows drew together. He tore his eyes from the circle to glance at her. “What do you mean by that? We’ve only been here a day…”

Her head snapped around, disbelief in her gaze. “What?”

“It’s barely been a day,” Ludwig said, his hand unconsciously flexing near Oathcarver’s hilt. “How do you know when this thing is going to activate again?”

Celine’s lips parted, and for a heartbeat she simply stared. “I’ve been stuck here for seven days… and I’ve seen it activate seven times… I used it seven times…” she whispered, as though confessing something terrible.

The air between them stilled, thick and heavy. Ludwig felt the old instinct to distrust coil in his chest, but then she moved. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her hand. Her nails elongated like blades as she drove them through her own palm. Crimson blood welled instantly, dripping to the stone.

“They can’t bleed,” she said softly, her gaze unflinching.

Ludwig studied her, then without ceremony drew Durandal and drove the edge through his own palm. Pain flared briefly, then faded as the wound closed itself, leaving nothing, no smoke, no blood. “Not that it matters,” he murmured, flexing his fingers. “The Lantern hides what I am. I’m an undead so I don’t bleed…”

Her eyes softened, understanding dawning. “So we were really separated… by both time and space.” Her voice was distant now, heavy with the weight of what she had endured. “Tell me. What did you do to get this deep? I thought you perished for some time…”

Ludwig shrugged slightly, scanning the shadowed edges of the chamber. “Followed one of those Umbrites. Led me here, though it wasn’t easy…they can put up a fight. And are impossible to kill. Almost”

A faint huff of a laugh escaped her lips. “That’s an interesting name for them. I also found them unkillable, well I solved that…”

“Chasm?” Ludwig tilted his head,

She only smiled back. An answer that told enough.

Before Ludwig could respond, a subtle vibration rippled through the stones beneath their feet. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He felt the shift in the air, the deepening hum from the blood circle. Both of them turned toward it in unison.

The circle brightened, lines glowing as though lit from beneath. A low chant seemed to reverberate from nowhere and everywhere. A dark veil began to rise from the edges of the circle, folding inward until it formed a dome, a curtain woven of shadow, pulsing like the surface of a black lake. Inside, the world shifted. The floor, the walls, everything within the curtain seemed to ripple and twist, taking on a strange otherness that made Ludwig’s stomach knot.

“Hurry up and get inside,” Celine said, urgency creeping into her voice. Her grip on Palios tightened. “It’ll start soon.”

“What will start?” Ludwig demanded, eyes darting between her and the trembling veil. “Explain!”

“The hunt,” she said, already stepping toward the circle. “This… this is what killed them all adventurers and the people who were here before. And this circle, it’s the only safe spot in this cursed place.”

Ludwig’s jaw clenched. “I see.” He strode forward, boots striking the stone with purpose. The hum of the circle vibrated through his bones as he approached. He lifted one foot to step through,

And agony ripped through him.

It was fire that wasn’t fire, light that burned through shadow, a holy flame that seared deeper than any wound. His foot seared as though plunged into molten metal, his face scorched from within. The pain stole his breath and a ragged, guttural howl burst from him, raw and jagged. He staggered back, clutching at the stone floor, his vision swimming.

For Ludwig who was undead, most pain was simply an echo of its self, mute and distant, he never felt it since he came to this world. But right now, this was all too real, all too painful, and all too alive.

A notification seared across his sight, cruel and final:

[You cannot enter the Shadow Curtain. Only the Living Are Permitted.]

Ludwig fell to one knee, shoulders heaving, his fingers clawing at the stone as the pain ebbed. “Fuck…” The word was a rasp torn from the depths of his throat.

The shadow curtain pulsed softly, indifferent, as Celine turned back to him, her eyes wide with a flicker of horror. “Ludwig…”

And far behind them, somewhere in the dark, the first echoes of movement stirred again, soft, relentless, like the approach of many feet.