Deus Necros

“Incoming,” Ludwig said as several fire projectiles were sent their way, it looked like fire arrows at first, but the closer they got, the bigger they became. The first streak arrived as a hiss through dry air, the second as a thrum that shivered the rigging, the rest as a flock of burning seeds falling out of a moonless patch of cloud. Heat licked the face before the light reached it. The smell of pitch and something chemical rode the wind a half breath ahead of the flames.

Without wasting a second, Ludwig swung his left arm, the Soul Chain rocked forward like a snake angered, whipping at all projectiles in the skies, blowing them up and for a brief second, lighting his face to his enemies. The chain cracked, bit, and snapped back with a metallic hunger. Shards of burning clay wheeled away into the dunes and died with short coughing pops, scattering embers that smoldered in little rings and then sank under drifting sand.

As he stood at the edge of the ship, those who had seen him swat away their explosive shells saw something far too terrifying. At this dark hour, in this far away place, where nothing but sand and darkness prevailed. Where even the crescent moon’s light failed to pierce through the thick clouds, the face of a man in black showed not that of a man of flesh, skin and blood. But like the crackling of lightning on one’s face, it revealed the skeletal structure of death itself. Cheekbone and hollow, a grin of ivory that was not a grin at all, eye pits that took the light in and did not give it back. A lantern’s unseen will tugged the veil aside and then let it fall again, a cruel blink that branded itself into frightened minds.

Not even Ludwig realized that his own lantern, for but a brief second removed the illusion from his face and placed it back in one breath. The returning shadow slid over his features as if nothing had happened, though the sand itself seemed to remember that brief flash and whispered about it in the wind.

The effect was sudden, and fast, and stuck to the mind of those who were on the incoming ship a second too long. Hands that had been steady on bowstrings forgot their lesson and trembled. A man who had been counting the beats between shots lost the number and had to start again. Someone muttered a ward against djinns and spirits and dropped a torch that burned his boot.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING! DESTROY THAT DAMN WENCH AND HER SLAVES!”

The voice was familiar as it was the only sound echoing in the desert. It carried that same oily insistence he used at the market, a coin-clink arrogance that thought the night itself could be bought. The wind threw it back at him thinner and meaner.

“Seems like I was right, he did have bad intentions,” Ludwig said.

“It’s that damn merchant!” the Guard howled finally realizing who their assailants and stalkers were. His gauntlet clenched until leather creaked.

“To dare and ambush a ship with a royalty in it…” the priestess grit her teeth. Her eyes did not leave the darkness where the shapes were coming from. She placed one palm on the deck and whispered a short prayer that smelled of myrrh and iron.

“Oi, captain,” Ludwig said to the man who was fanatically trying to get the final pieces of the engine together. The engine space glowed a sickly orange, heat rolling out of it like panting breath.

“Yes sir!” he replied without even looking back. Wrench, bolt, curse under the breath, another wrench, a little hiss of steam.

“How long till you fix that thing?”

“If they keep shooting, not in this lifetime, sir!”

“Good to know,” Ludwig said as he jumped out of the ship and onto the sand, without wasting a breath, he flew forward, one large step at a time. The rail dipped under his heel and sprang back. Sand did not take him, it only kissed his soles and let him go. Every stride left a shallow crescent that was already filling as he took the next.

His speed was far faster than before, and his agility was so great he didn’t even need to fully step on the sand to push himself forward. It was, for a second, like those stories he read about where men and women would run across lakes of water without even disturbing the surface. The night took his shape and moved it, a dark figure unbuttoning the space between ship and prey. Wind tunneled past his ears. The world narrowed to breath, beat, distance, target.

That’s how it felt for Ludwig with his newfound strength after upgrading his body. and this was limited due to his lack of ’existence’.

Power coiled in muscle and bone like a second heart that had not yet learned its full rhythm. The cap pressed down at level two hundred tugged at his sleeve and reminded him he still owed the world a completed quest.

If he were to finish the quest which has yet to appear to him, he’ll probably be able to do much more. Perhaps being on the level of Titania, Joana, or even his master might not be a simple impossibility after all. The thought passed through him like a coal carried by tongs, bright and quickly set aside. There was work first.

“TAKE HIM DOWN! RIGHT NOW!”

Just as the one handed merchant howled, Ludwig placed Durandal back in his inventory. They were far away, not near any people, and there didn’t seem to be any possible collateral if he were to use it

here. The dunes stretched open in every direction. No walls to worry about. No stalactites to turn into spears above a friend’s head.

So, instead of Durandal, Nightbreaker came out. In the depth of this dark night, the weapon that bore the eternal hatred of the man who was betrayed by his kingdom. The weight spoke through his arm like an old oath remembered. The haft drank the heat from his palm. The air around the head went tight and thin, as if it already feared the next sound it would have to carry.

“NIGHTBREAKER! HOWL FOR ME!” Ludwig roared out as he finally let the weapon that was being suppressed ever since it came to his hand. The giant hexagonal mace that was the size of a man, and had spikes that could easily pierce though two people at once, roiled out. Form the ground up, coupled with an infused aura from Ludwig’s heart, the mace rose without even landing on the ship itself, and behind the follow up, what looked like a tide of pure ravaging red shot up to the sky. The color of wrath took the clouds by the jaw and forced them to look. The sand under his feet stiffened like hammered metal for a heartbeat, then shuddered as the aura passed.

An arc of pure and raw energy like no other bled and coated the clouds red. It bent over the desert like a scythe laid across a field. The sound arrived a half beat late, not a thunderclap but a tearing, as if the night had been cloth and someone had pulled it apart.

The ship which was in its way was only grazed by the arc, but the part that was touched vaporized and turned to cinder dust, molten and fumigating, embers of a ship that was supposed to carry an assault at night. Deck boards divided into sparks and went their separate ways. A mast coughed light and then was not there. A man’s shout cut in the middle and did not finish. The smell of burned pitch and roasted rope leapt in and clung to the throat.

The ship which had no flags was clearly that of either pirates or hired hand, mercenaries that the merchant hired to get his revenge on Ludwig and the priestess, only for the ship’s entire front side to turn to ash. The hull tried to remember its shape and failed, folding in on itself with small groans. Crates spilled open with a jangle of metal and a scroll of cheap cloth.

The arc rose higher and higher until it pierced the clouds, only then did it subside. The red bled out of the sky in slow threads. The darkness closed again, shaken and thinner, as if it would remember the shape that had cut it.

For a second, Ludwig felt as if the mace in his hand had finally relaxed, as if it was pent up and frustrated for not being used for so long. Only now did it get the chance to release some of that anger, albite small and pitiful, it was relaxing enough for the mace to vibrate a couple times in satisfaction. The haft hummed low in his bones. Nightbreaker’s old grief settled like a beast lowering its shoulders.

Ludwig placed the mace on his shoulder and looked up. Several bodies that had nothing but smoldering bones were sprawled all over the ship, while surprisingly the merchant was still alive, only this time, he lost both legs and had severe burns on his body. Flesh had blistered and split. Silk had melted into his skin in ugly ripples. He clung to the stump of a railing and left streaks.

The reason they knew it was him was the same pitiful wailing scream. The voice could have belonged to no one else. Greed sounded the same even when pain chewed it.

A thud echoed next to Ludwig, turning, he saw the stiff faced Guard Knight, “You had something like that all along?” The knight’s visor lifted a finger’s width. His gaze was very flat. His boots sank and rose with small sighs from the sand.

“Yeah… why you asking?” Ludwig kept his eyes on the ruined deck. He rolled his shoulder once to settle the ache where Nightbreaker’s weight had woken old bruises.

“I mean, you could have used that against the man in the cave…”

“Would have brought the whole cave down your head, you can’t just use a strong weapon because its strong…” Ludwig looked at the ship, “Also, seems like that guy’s still alive, how about you handle him…”

“Oi sir! WAIT!” the voice was that of the captain, he came rushing, slow and boringly, for a normal human the distance Ludwig crossed took the man several minutes just to reach, huffing and puffing, “Ah, if I knew you had that much power, I would have asked you not to damage that ship…”

“What do you mean?” Ludwig turned half an inch. The captain’s hat had bitten into his forehead and left a red line. Grease made careful rivers down his temple.

“We could have used their ship to travel…” He pointed with the wrench as if that would reassemble the bow by sheer desire.

Ludwig thought for a second and said, “Can’t cry over spilled milk, salvage whatever you need from their ship and lets get going…” He scanned what was left. Rigging lines that had not burned.

“Oh you’re right I can do that,” the man said as he looked up, there were a bunch of surprisingly still alive mercenaries there. They lay where the blast had dropped them, eyes round and mouths open, as if they were waiting for permission to breathe again.

“Would be hard if they get in the way…” the captain said.

“You heard him, if you want to live, piss off,” Ludwig said, low enough but at the same time loud enough for it to travel across the cold desert and land upon their shivering spine and ears. The words went out like stones thrown across water, skipping and sinking. The silence that followed was quick and obedient.

In an instant, several mercenaries jumped out of the ship and began sprinting the way they came not daring to look back. The sand took them ankle deep and then let them go. Pack straps slapped ribs. Someone lost a shoe and did not stop to pick it up.

“S-stop!” the merchant said as he begged for life. He clawed at the deck and left blackened smears. The word came out wet and small, like a bubble rising through mud.

But the knight didn’t, he immediately grabbed the wounded man, and climbed up the main mast of the ship, he roped him there, tying him tight at the highest point of the ship and came down while the merchant cried and wailed for help, bloodied bleeding and burnt. The rope bit into blistered skin and made him keen. The knot was a soldier’s knot, quick and pitiless. The mast creaked with the added weight and then settled.

“What was that for?” Ludwig asked. He already knew, but he asked anyway. It placed the act in the open air where it could be named.

“The priestess had mentioned a few days ago that she would skin him and put him to dry… I don’t like skinning people so that should be enough punishment for him.” The knight’s tone did not change. He brushed a flake of ash from his gauntlet with two fingers as if that were the end of it.

“Once morning comes, he’ll get cooked by the sun.”

“If he is lucky, Desert Blood Locusts are a thing, he’ll have nothing but bones left when the sun rises.” The knight looked toward the east as if he could already see dawn sharpening a blade. His mouth did not move, but something in his eyes suggested he hoped for locusts. Mercy was a matter of speed.

The captain soon got into the engine room and the sound of clanking became louder and louder that it overshadowed the moans of the unfortunate merchant. The ship’s belly took on a steady rhythm again, a metal heart learning to beat after a small death. Heat flushed out and then leveled. A thin ribbon of pale smoke rose and unrolled into the night, pointing the way they would go as soon as the bolts held and the plates stopped arguing.

Behind them the dunes shifted in little avalanches that sounded like whispering. Ahead the dark opened its mouth and waited. The priestess rested one palm on the railing and shut her eyes for a breath, then opened them again with something like iron behind the worry. Ludwig rolled Nightbreaker along his shoulder and let the mace’s head thud once into his palm. The weapon purred in its own wordless way and quieted. It finally had seen action, and it felt like there was much more of where that came from very soon.