Deus Necros

The sound of bootsteps clicking against the stone was too deliberate to be a passerby. As Ludwig and Celine stepped out of the Adventurer’s Guild into the midday haze of Peltora, they found themselves approached by a figure draped in a tattered hood, the fabric worn enough to blend with shadow, yet not so worn to seem destitute.

“Psst.”

Ludwig turned, recognizing the familiar but unwanted voice. His brow furrowed slightly, an eyebrow raising in skeptical irritation. “Didn’t you say you wanted to disappear?” he asked, his tone more exasperated than accusatory.

The hood shifted slightly as Redd shrugged, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lip. “Things changed,” he said quietly, scanning the street behind him before leaning closer. “I have some news… from a few acquaintances.”

“Of course you do,” Ludwig muttered, arms folding across his chest as Celine arched a brow beside him. “What’s going on?”

Redd’s expression darkened. “I may or may not have heard that something bad is going to happen in the capital,” he said, eyes flicking between them, “and I came here to warn you not to go. That was the plan. But now… I might have to go there myself.”

Ludwig’s brows pinched tighter. “Stop speaking in riddles, Redd,” he said, voice low and firm. “Tell me plainly.”

Redd exhaled slowly, and even the Skinwalker at his back seemed to tense. “A couple of days ago, I caught wind of a village being completely eradicated. I’m not talking about raided or burned no. Every living thing was wiped out. Not a soul left. Chickens. Cows. Children. Elders. Everything.”

The muscles in Ludwig’s jaw tightened, though he remained silent. His eyes flicked to Celine, who was listening with a keen intensity, arms loosely crossed, her body held still.

“And that was just the beginning,” Redd continued. “It’s happened again. Three more villages over the past week. Each time, closer to the capital. Same signs. Same horror.”

Ludwig grunted, skeptical. “That doesn’t mean anything. The capital has Titania. The Hero. A full war host for the tournament. You really think whoever’s behind this is insane enough to walk into the hornet’s nest?”

“I do,” Redd said, voice grave. “Because if it were anyone else… anyone sane… I wouldn’t care. I’d stay far away. But it’s her.”

A beat of silence followed. Ludwig blinked slowly. “Who?” he asked. “For crying out loud, don’t make me sound like an owl.”

Redd’s hands clenched at his sides, fingers curling into half-fists. “The Sister Gallows. The Shrike,” he spat. “The one who murdered my younger sister and twisted her into… this.” His hand gestured toward the hovering Skinwalker, its form quivering slightly as if in response.

Celine narrowed her eyes. “How do you know it’s her?”

Redd nodded grimly. “A man she spared told us. She doesn’t usually leave witnesses. But she let him go, only after he said the Hero would avenge his people. She laughed. Said she’d go to the capital, see for herself if this Hero of theirs was worth the faith. Then left him there… to crawl out.”

Ludwig rubbed at his brow, muttering. “This complicates things. But I don’t think we can afford to change course. The capital is our next destination. Whether we like it or not. I got things to handle with the adventurer’s guild…”

Celine inclined her head. “There’s too much pulling us there now.”

“Also, why not reach out to the authorities? I mean the imperial army should have stationed some troops there, or even the Holy Order… they need to be notified.”

“Ah I wouldn’t do that,” Redd said.

Ludwig grimaced then thought for a moment. “Right. No authorities. True that… might be an issue.” He cast a glance at Celine. “One’s a bandit. One’s a True Vampire. And I’m…” He gave a humorless smile, he didn’t speak the last words out. “A wanted undead”. “Yeah. No, I see your point.”

Celine nodded solemnly. “We’ll keep our heads low.”

“I’ll leave a tip for Titania,” Ludwig added. “I can probably do it using her insignia.”

He then turned to Red and exhaled slowly, “Last I remember you can’t just waltz into Talmud’s capital. You were escorted by the Imperial Army not even two days ago.”

“It was two weeks man, not two days. Are you good?”

“Ah don’t mind me, had some time issues in a dungeon…

Redd nodded as he remembered they just got out of the Adventurer’s guild, must have been a quest, “Right, and don’t worry. I know someone. Good with disguises. Expensive, but trustworthy.”

Celine tilted her head. “Crook?”

“A damn good one,” Redd replied. “He’ll get us into the capital unnoticed.”

“Perfect,” Ludwig said. “We need him too. We’ve got something that needs hiding.”

And with that, the three vanished into the alleys of Peltora, their shadows pulled long under the waning sun, as the storm on the horizon grew ever closer.

***

Meanwhile, far from the back-alley whispers of Peltora, the capital of Tulmud basked in gilded sunlight and roaring celebration. The grand coliseum at the heart of capital trembled with cheers that rolled like thunder across its stone tiers. Banners of gold and crimson snapped in the wind, casting dancing shadows across the arena floor where the final contenders of the Hero’s tournament now stood in their full, boastful glory.

A flamboyantly dressed commentator, his robe laced with blue fire runes for dramatic effect, stood center stage atop an arcane podium, his voice magically amplified to a thundering boom that echoed through the stands. “And there you have it, citizens of the Empire! Our final eight champions! Let us offer them a round of thunderous applause, these are the chosen few who will walk beside our Grand Hero in his divine mission to purge the darkness from this world!”

A roar rose from the crowd, wild and deafening, drums beating from behind the noble stands, horns blaring in sync. The air crackled with heat and anticipation, confetti raining down from unseen vents above. It was an orchestrated spectacle of devotion and power, designed to stir hope and awe alike.

But not everyone was clapping.

In the raised VIP gallery overlooking the field, three figures sat under an awning veiled in white silk and guarded by the Order’s elite. Mot, the Saint of Sight, lounged with his fingers steepled beneath his chin, lips curved into a half-smile that never touched his eyes. Beside him, Titania sat like a coiled blade, arms crossed tightly over her immaculate armor, every line of her body tense despite the feigned indifference. And the third, slouched gracelessly on a plush chair too small for his frame, was none other than the Hero himself, Hiro, whose mouth hung slightly open as he dozed off in broad daylight, woken only when the commentator’s final shout blasted into the sky.

“Huh, wha? Did I miss something?” Hiro mumbled, blinking like a stunned fish.

Mot’s voice, low and silken, broke through the cheers without strain. “Quite interesting, wouldn’t you say? That Dreamless One made it this far,” he mused aloud, eyes narrowed on the figure still standing casually on the arena sands. “He’s been pretending to struggle in every match. But none of those fights truly tested him. Not really. He could’ve crushed them at any moment. And yet…”

Titania didn’t look at him.

“Should we disqualify him, Saint Mot?” asked one of the bishops seated nearby, his voice overly polite, tinged with uncertainty.

Mot didn’t blink. “No. That would be a waste,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Let him writhe a bit longer. Let him climb. I want to see just how far a desperate little ant can crawl.”

He let the words linger, then added, “Though I will say… I’m not fond of a few of the others either. Mercy is one thing, but slaying a defeated opponent outright?” He let his voice trail off with deliberate judgment.

“No, a hero that shows mercy is no hero,” Hiro interrupted suddenly, cracking his neck as he leaned forward with a yawn. “You spare someone, they stab you in the back next week. Better to crush them clean the first time.”

Titania turned her head slowly toward him, the movement deliberate, surgical. “Excuse me?” she asked, her tone sharp and cautious.

“What?” Hiro blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she said after a moment, frowning more deeply. “That’s exactly why I’m disturbed. It’s the first time you’ve said something correct, and it makes my skin crawl.”

Her fingers drummed lightly on the armrest. “Compassion is a weakness. Mercy a luxury. A hero cannot afford either if he wants to win. You think there’s ’good’ hiding inside evil? That’s how people die.”

“Exactly,” Hiro said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t gamble with lives.”

Titania’s eye twitched. He’s agreeing with me. Why is he agreeing with me?

The discomfort writhed under her skin. For all her loathing of Hiro’s boorish arrogance and idiocy, it was somehow worse when he made sense. He wasn’t supposed to make sense.

Then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted. A ripple of murmured confusion spread across the clergy as a figure clad in robes of red and gold appeared at the entrance to the reserved section. His presence alone silenced the air around him.

“Cardinal Sutros?” one of the bishops said, half-rising from his seat. “What are you doing here?”

The man’s steps were even and solemn, his face unreadable as he approached the gathering. “I heard disturbing rumors and came to verify them myself. Where is Cardinal Clementine?”

Titania snorted. “Last I saw him, he was praising the church with one hand and lifting donations with the other. He’s out there ’fundraising’, from the poor.”

Sutros gave her a sharp look. “Lady Titania, kindly refrain from tainting the image of our higher clergy.”

She shrugged. “Hard to stain what’s already rotten.”

He sighed but did not argue. “Regardless, something is happening. In Tulmud’s outer regions, several villages have gone silent. When we sent our investigative forces, they found nothing but corpses, massacres of complete populations.”

Titania straightened. Her fingers stopped drumming.

“The scenes match what happened in Lotostra, eighty years ago,” Sutros said gravely. “But the culprit then was killed.”

“I killed her,” Titania said, her voice low and flat. “I remember it. Not to mention eighty years she should be long dead by now even if I didn’t kill her…”

Sutros nodded. “Then it seems we have a copycat. Or worse, someone following in her footsteps, or cultist ways…”

Titania stood, her shadow falling long across the dais. “I’ll go.”

“No need,” Sutros said, raising a placating hand. “I already dispatched two of my Holy Knights. Capable men. Let them confirm and handle the matter.”

Titania’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t argue.

“There is something else,” Sutros continued, eyes narrowing. “We received a revelation yesterday. One that concerns this whole event going on here, that’s why I needed Clementine.”

Every head turned toward him now. Even Hiro looked more awake.

“The message was cryptic, as they often are,” Sutros said. “But its intent was clear. There will be death. Much of it. The Hero will be tested. And only after that trial, will he be worthy of the banner.”

His gaze settled, sharp and heavy, on Hiro.

“You will have to prove yourself, boy.”

Hiro blinked. Then swallowed. “…Fuck.”