Deus Necros

Once the group reached Solania, the sprawl of the city opened beneath them like a frozen sea of rooftops and towers, the air heavy with the bite of early winter. Smoke curled thin from chimneys, half-swallowed by the pale fog rolling off the mountains. The streets were busy but subdued, every step echoing with the presence of soldiers whose armor gleamed dull beneath the gray sky. The group paused at the crossroads just beyond the northern gate, and here they parted ways, Sigurd’s party heading directly toward the cathedral district where the Sacrosanctum’s monument statues and massive building was still visible even from so far away.

The city itself looked like a holy city for all sort of people, from the commoners, to the noble and pilgrim, and the mix of guards and paladins in it gave it a surreal feel, though tension could be felt from all over it. After all the pope had passed away and new monsters are threatening to pour down the city.

Sigurd’s group disappeared among the crowds, their cloaks snapping against the wind, while Ludwig, Kassandra, Celine, and Joana turned their path toward the teleportation gates that loomed farther in, tall arches of blackened stone veined with faint light.

As they approached, Ludwig kept his gaze forward, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed Celine slowing, her head turning slightly over her shoulder. She did not look frightened; her stride remained steady. But there was a certain tension in the set of her jaw, in the way her hand brushed once, deliberately, against the hilt at her hip. It was not fear, it was caution sharpened into habit.

“What’s going on?” Ludwig asked quietly, lowering his voice beneath the chatter of merchants and the hollow call of bells.

“Van told me not to loiter too long here,” she said. Her tone was low but certain, each word measured. “He might be my younger brother, but he doesn’t give warnings without reason. Notice how the guards are moving?” She tilted her head, subtle, not wanting to draw attention to her observation.

Ludwig followed her hint and turned. At first he thought nothing unusual, but then he noticed it, too many guards, spread not with order but with unease, their eyes sweeping over the crowd in quick, repeated motions. Boots struck the stone with a heavier rhythm than patrol should demand. Their focus wasn’t the crowd at large; they were hunting. Searching.

“Mm,” Ludwig muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. The smell of oil and steel was sharper now, the tension in the air cutting through the ordinary bustle.

By the time their group stepped onto the teleportation platform, Kassandra had already taken a step forward to speak with the officials manning the gate. She adjusted her glasses and began with her usual polite efficiency, but Ludwig cut across her words before the exchange dragged.

“Are we going to stay here for long? Hurry up!” His voice carried command, too sharp to be mistaken for anything else. The gatekeeper, a weary man with ink-stained gloves, turned with a frown prepared, but the expression died as soon as Ludwig raised his hand. The token he displayed gleamed with quiet authority, its etched surface unmistakable in meaning. The man’s eyes widened, the arrogance in his posture folding into instant deference.

“Ah, Lady Titania’s token! Please, right this way!” The manager’s voice bent with hurried respect, his hands already working the mechanisms of the gate.

“I didn’t know you had something that handy on you.” Celine allowed herself a small smile, half admiration, half reproach, her noble bearing softened by the moment.

Just then, as the gate’s light began to swirl, one of the patrolling guards finally caught sight of them. His eyes narrowed, recognition flashing. He lifted his hand and barked across the crowd. “Wait! Hold on for a moment!”

But the words came too late. Ludwig had already stepped into the circle, one hand gently pressing Kassandra forward. The glow surged, the air bent, and the world folded around them before the guard’s command could find weight. Their silhouettes dissolved into the current, leaving the man staring at nothing but fading light.

The portal unfolded them into a hall vast and familiar, a space that smelled faintly of parchment and dust, warm compared to the streets outside. The teleportation hall of the Black Tower Academy, Ludwig thought immediately, the memory strong enough to make his chest tighten. The stone floor echoed with the hurried steps of students, fresh faces, green with youth, cloaks still stiff with new dye. Their voices carried the excitement of lessons not yet dulled by hardship.

On the dais near the gate, an old figure sat with the patience of years. Silva’s posture was as Ludwig remembered, one leg crossed, a quill resting lightly in his hand though he was not writing. His eyes lifted when he saw them step from the light, and a brightness warmed the old lines of his face.

“Good to see you back, Ludwig,” Silva said, his voice a mixture of relief and sly humor. “How was your… vacation.”

“Utter shit, but thank you for asking,” Ludwig answered with a grin that did not quite reach his eyes. It felt good, though, to spar in words with someone who had seen him before all of this.

“Please head onwards. Your master is waiting for you.” Silva rose with a small flourish and activated another portal, his motions practiced, almost ceremonial.

“I’ll head off,” Joana said, her hand already resting on the strap of her satchel. “I have some work to do before I meet the Dean. Ludwig, it’s good seeing you back.” She offered him a smile, quick but genuine, then stepped into the crowd, her figure soon lost among the robes of students.

The three that remained passed into the new gate. Its pull was smoother, quieter than the first, as though it knew their destination and welcomed them. When the light cleared, they stood in a room Ludwig knew as well as his own shadow.

The upper chamber of the Black Tower. Van Dijk’s study.

The place was unchanged and yet altered, rows of shelves still lined the walls, but many of the books Ludwig once remembered were gone, their places filled with newer volumes. The air smelled of candlewax and old ink, but it lacked the weight of centuries that had once pressed here. The library felt refreshed, replenished, but to Ludwig it seemed thinner, as though some piece of its soul had been taken with the old tomes now in his possession.

[Your binding to Van Dijk had weakened, you grew stronger, but not enough to thwart his control.]

[As you are a Living Vessel, Fakery of Death cannot activate]

The words burned briefly in his sight, invisible to the others. His jaw tightened. The Heart of Wrath pulsed faintly at the reminder.

“Seems like master is here somewhere,” Ludwig said, scanning the room. The shadows pooled heavy in the corners, expectant.

“Incredible.” The words rose from nowhere, the air itself bending into speech. And then, as if the atmosphere itself pulled into shape, Van Dijk manifested out of the nothingness, his form stitching itself into reality like a shadow finding flesh.