Deus Necros

Ludwig’s body shimmered in red hues, the glow not steady but rippling like the disturbed surface of a dark tide. From every pore and vein, bloodlike streams of Aura seeped outward, not in measured rivulets but in sudden waves, as though some inner dam had broken and released a flood too long contained. The cave mouth filled with that suffocating radiance, casting its stone teeth in the light of a furnace. The air thickened, trembling with the weight of power, and even the frost clinging to the rocks hissed faintly as though resisting the heat. The metallic tang of his own energy clung to Ludwig’s tongue, bitter and sharp, while his skin prickled with the static of it. The display was not meant to be subtle. It was dominance, raw and unrefined, enough to establish beyond doubt who was the alpha, who was the predator that stood against the guardians of this frozen threshold.

The clash came not with hesitation but with the blunt inevitability of two forces colliding. Ludwig’s sword, drawn at an angle, met the thick, furred hand of the Yeti chieftain. Yet instead of biting edge to flesh, he held the blade flat, offering resistance without intent to maim. The impact was deafening, a crack that reverberated down the stone walls and rolled like thunder into the darkness beyond. Steam burst upward where their powers ground against each other, the creature’s breath condensing in great plumes that mingled with the heat rolling from Ludwig’s aura. Force met force, a contest without words, and for a heartbeat the cavern felt suspended, every lesser Yeti frozen in anticipation of which would yield first.

“Listen up, bud,” Ludwig said, his voice pitched low but carrying over the hiss of steam. He forced a casual tone into it, though his arm strained with the weight of the creature’s push. “I got no beef with you, we’re just chilling here. How about you go back to sleep?” His lips curled faintly at his own choice of words, but his gaze never wavered from the glinting animal eyes before him. He saw not just rage in them, but the deeper instinct of something cornered, something that had family behind it to protect.

“You think they’ll understand you?” Sigurd’s sharp voice cut across the tension. She had a dagger drawn, the steel trembling faintly in her grip as though it already yearned for release. Her stance was angled, shoulders forward, eyes narrowed; her weight shifted like that of a predator waiting only for permission to strike.

“Just calm down,” Ludwig replied coolly, though the set of his jaw betrayed the tight coil of pressure in his chest. He drew his sword back slowly, letting the force of resistance break into air rather than flesh, and took one deliberate step backward. “You can see it in its eyes. It’s only trying to protect its kin.” His tone was steady, but his body hummed with restrained readiness, every muscle on edge for the smallest shift.

The Yetis did not advance. The great forms lingering in the shadows beyond the leader’s bulk remained still, their breaths heavy but measured, eyes fixed. The absence of attack was answer enough.

A notification, silent but absolute, flickered in Ludwig’s perception.

[You are no longer in a hostile environment]

The words pulsed across his awareness, and the corners of his mouth curved upward into a smile that was both relief and grim amusement. “No need to go on a killing spree for no reason,” he murmured, and the sound of his blade vanishing into the invisible vault of his inventory rang like the closing of a door. The cavern’s oppressive air eased a fraction as the steel’s aura withdrew.

“Not to mention,” Ludwig went on, stepping backward but never quite turning his back, “it’s their house first. We’re the ones that barged in.” His boots ground softly on frost-crusted stone, leaving faint marks that steamed in the wake of his aura. The Yetis mirrored his retreat with solemn gravity. One bent its great frame, claws curling around the scattered boulders that had fallen loose from the clash. With surprising delicacy, it lifted and pressed them back into the wall, a mason at work. When it exhaled, the breath came in a slow, steady stream that clung white to the stone. The frost shimmered, fused, and the cave sealed as though nothing had disturbed it.

“Good,” Ludwig said, his shoulders releasing a tightness he had not let himself acknowledge until then. He turned toward the others, his voice softer now, edged with regret. “That was my bad there,” he admitted, the confession more to himself than to them.

“What do you mean?” Gehrman’s deep voice carried from behind, steady as ever, but edged with faint incredulity. He stepped forward, the dim light drawing sharp lines across the worn grooves of his face. His hand still lingered on the haft of his weapon, the knuckles pale, as though he had not quite convinced himself to let go. “They attacked us unprovoked. Don’t blame yourself.” His eyes searched Ludwig’s, almost as if trying to wrestle the guilt away by sheer force of reasoning.

Ludwig shook his head slowly, his black hair brushing against the back of his collar. “Nah,” he answered, quiet but firm, “they realized there was threat at their doorsteps. A dangerous one.” His gaze flicked back to the place where the wall had closed, the faint shimmer of frost still visible in his Aura’s afterimage. “They knew they couldn’t win, but they had heart. They weren’t just beasts lunging without thought. They chose not to give up even when the weight was against them.” He paused, the memory of the surge of his Aura heavy in his chest. “I lost my composure earlier. I should have seen it sooner.”

The admission hung in the air, heavier than the steam dissipating from the clash. Sigurd tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in brief reflection. The edge of combat had not yet left her; her dagger was still poised between her fingers, the light catching its edge like a restless flame. At last she exhaled, lowering it with a faint flick of her wrist. “Ah, that… I see,” she said, her voice less sharp now, touched with reluctant agreement. After a moment of silence, she added, “We’ll need to go back to the Sacrosanctum and inform them of what happened.”

Before Ludwig could respond, another voice broke through, weak and rasping, yet clear enough to silence them all. “I don’t think… they’ll have time for that…”

The sound was like the crack of thin ice beneath their feet. All heads turned toward the source. The cleric who had lain pale and unmoving earlier now stirred faintly, his breath shallow but no longer absent. His eyelids fluttered as though torn between waking and slipping back into darkness, and his lips curved with a weary smirk that belied his condition.

“Danny,” Gehrman said quickly, his tone gentler than it had been even a moment ago. He crouched near him, scanning the cleric’s face for signs of strain. “How are you feeling?”

Danny gave a faint laugh that turned into a cough, though his eyes opened with a glint of humor. “Like a million Krona,” he rasped, his voice cracked with dryness, “but in another person’s pockets. We’re fucked…” His words trailed with a bitter kind of mirth, the kind that comes only when hope feels thin.

Sigurd blinked, lowering herself a little closer as though doubting what she had heard. “That’s the first time I heard him swear,” she said, surprise softening her usual tone. Her brows drew tight. “What is going on?”

The cleric’s hand shifted, slow and trembling, until it emerged from the folds of his robe. In it was a crystal, faintly luminous, the light within shifting in measured pulses. Ludwig’s eyes sharpened immediately, recognizing the resemblance to one he himself had borne before. Yet this one was refined, its facets cut sharper, its glow clearer, and encircled by thin metallic rings that rotated faintly of their own accord. It hummed softly, a sound both mechanical and arcane, like a heartbeat encased in glass.

Danny’s voice, though strained, carried a weight heavier than his frail body. “The Pope just died…”

The words seemed to strike the cavern itself. Ludwig felt his brows lift instinctively, though his mind stilled in sudden gravity. Around him, silence pressed tight, the kind of silence that feels too vast to be contained by stone.

“They won’t even give a rat’s ass about us,” Danny went on, the hand with the crystal shaking faintly as he adjusted one of the rings with his thumb. His eyes gleamed with something between defiance and despair. “Look.”

A click sounded, small yet distinct, as he shifted the mechanism. The crystal’s light pulsed faster, burning a steady red, a beacon throbbing against the shadows.

“You’re calling a distress?” Ludwig asked, though his voice came softer than before, the question half rhetorical, half weighed with suspicion.

The crystal blinked and blinked, crimson light reflecting in each of their eyes. Yet nothing answered. No voice stirred from it, no projection, no ripple of distant acknowledgment. Only the steady rhythm of rejection, each pulse a silence returned.

“They’re not even replying,” Danny muttered, his voice hoarse but certain. He let the crystal lower slightly, the fight momentarily leaving his shoulders. His gaze turned toward Ludwig, steady though dulled by pain. “We’ll need to leave this place if we want safety…” His lips parted with a breath before he continued. “How about you escort us out. We’ll pay you handsomely.”

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