Deus Necros

Muscle rolled under Redd’s skin as fur spread along his arms and shoulders. His fingers lengthened, nails thickening into curved claws that caught the light. His breathing deepened, chest expanding, and his posture changed into something predatory without becoming mindless. There was excitement in him, yes, but also relief. After earlier, after all that pressure, he needed something simple: a target that bled, a fight that made sense. And something that didn’t hit back harder than it got hit.

He charged up ahead in a couple of leaps, reaching the first Demonling. One blow was all it took for Redd to cleave off the creature’s head, clean off as he turned his face to the next one who he expected to come charging in.

Sand sprayed under his feet. The first strike was clean and brutal, the kind that ended things before pain could even fully arrive. The demonling’s head separated and rolled, mouth still open, expression unchanged. Redd’s body already pivoted, shoulders turning, weight shifting for the next clash he expected. His eyes sharpened, ready for the rush, ready for the swarm.

Only for reality to be quite the anticlimactic.

No roar answered him. No sudden charge. No fury.

Not a single one of the Demonlings seemed to react to the death of one of them.

They kept circling. Kept dragging weapons. Kept staring into nothing. The dead one’s body collapsed into the sand as it had always been meant to lie there, and still the others did not look. The indifference was so complete it became unsettling in its own right. It wasn’t peace. It was vacancy.

“Ah, a bit boring, isn’t it?” Redd said as he approached another one and simply tore through its chest with one blow. Ripping its beating heart out of its ribs.

Redd’s voice held annoyance now, the kind that comes when a man prepares for a hard fight and is offered a chore instead. He drove his claws in, tore, and another heart came free slick and steaming. It beat once in his hand, an ugly, stubborn pulse, before slowing. Even then, the demonling didn’t truly react; it simply toppled. Redd stared at the heart for a second, as if insulted by how little satisfaction it gave him, then tossed it aside like refuse.

“Don’t get too cocky, might never know if they’re faking it,” Tull said.

Tull’s warning was sharp, and it carried authority because it came from discipline, not fear. He kept his stance ready, eyes scanning the group for any sign of coordinated movement. His grip never loosened. He did not trust easy victories. Easy victories were how men died. The prince behind him remained still, watching with narrowed eyes, conserving what little strength he had regained.

Ludwig wasn’t about to correct Tull, he was wrong, but it was good for Redd to always keep his guard up.

Ludwig’s expression didn’t change, but the thought passed through him plainly. The demonlings weren’t faking anything. They were hollow. Still, he let Tull’s caution stand. It would keep Redd from getting sloppy, and sloppy was a sin that even boredom didn’t excuse.

Ludwig’s attention shifted past them, toward what mattered.

Each step toward the crystal made the atmosphere feel thicker, as though the air itself had rules here that didn’t exist elsewhere. The chains seemed louder up close, their faint rattle carrying a tension that pricked at the skin. The crystal’s surface shimmered with layered light, and Ludwig could sense the wrongness in it, not merely magic, but something like a law pressed into shape. A command given form.

***

[Eternal Quest Update]

You have found the Source of corruption.

[Source of Corruption: A crystalized law of the Envious Death, mixed with what feels like human magic.

Pertaining to the fated journey of the dead to their rightful place. It is currently blocking the river’s flow from this point onward. All souls that pass next to this crystal will find themselves transported back to the top of the yellow river to take the journey again. Unable to be cleansed from their former memories and emotions.]

***

The words settled into Ludwig’s mind with that cold certainty. Crystallized law. That explained the sensation. This wasn’t merely a barrier; it was an enforced rule, a loop carved into reality.

Ludwig glanced at the river and understood the cruelty of it: souls forced to relive, forced to remember, forced to drag their grief and hate through the same path again and again. No cleansing. No peace. Just repetition until meaning rotted. Food for an Usurper with a hidden hand that fed it.

It was because of the other line in the description that he became more worried. This was something that not many could recognize, unless they too have their own eyes. This crystal was created with the aid of humans. And from the sheer power and the grandeur of magic within this crystal… the helper wasn’t some nobody; this one was very powerful.

***

Final Quest in [Existence II]

Mission rank F

[Destroy the source of Corruption.]

Reward: The Heart of a Fallen.

***

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed at the reward, not with greed but with that wary calculation born of experience. Hearts in this world were never simple things. Still, the Mission was clear, and the Quest did not care about comfort or curiosity. It demanded completion. Ludwig exhaled once, slow, and let the decision settle.

He called out [Nightbreaker] and swung it down.

The pentagonal tree-sized pronged mace answered instantly, weight settling into his palm with familiar menace. Ludwig’s stance planted, shoulders aligning, undead strength gathering without strain. He swung with intent, not testing, not probing, but striking as though he were trying to shatter a skull that had insulted him. The impact rang out through the chains, through the air, through the sand beneath his feet.

The crystal was surprisingly tough as it didn’t blow up into several tiny pieces. The resistance traveled up the mace into Ludwig’s arms, a hard recoil that told him he wasn’t dealing with ordinary matter. The surface fractured in thin, sharp lines, cracks spreading like lightning frozen in place. It was insulting in a way to hit with that kind of force and receive only a reluctant answer. Ludwig’s gaze tightened. He had crushed an Usurper’s face with less effort than this.

“Emm Ludwig…” Redd said as he, for the first time, dodged a blow.

Redd’s tone shifted, annoyance draining into alertness. Ludwig heard the change before he saw it. Redd moved differently now, no longer carving through idle bodies but shifting his weight, dodging a strike that came with real intent. The demonlings had changed, eyes sharpening, mouths closing into snarls, weapons lifting with purpose.

“Seems like these guys are waking up… what did you do?”

Redd’s head snapped toward Ludwig even as his body stayed in motion, claws flexing, breath heavier now. There was an edge of accusation in the question, not truly blaming Ludwig, but demanding the truth: what had triggered this? What had flipped the switch back on?

“I guess blowing up the object they were tasked to protect woke some form of command in them. Don’t mind me, just kill them off.”

Ludwig didn’t look back when he answered, because the crystal was the real enemy, and he would not grant the demonlings the respect of full attention.

It should have been obvious that they would act, of course. They were guard dogs, and he had kicked the door they were chained to.

Ludwig lifted [Nightbreaker] again, already preparing the next strike.

Redd nodded and began hurrying.

Redd’s posture lowered, predatory again, but this time with focus. He moved faster, closing distance with the demonlings that had finally remembered what they were. Claws flashed. Sand scattered. The dull chore became a fight again, and Redd seemed less bored immediately.

“Help him,” The prince said.

Even exhausted, the prince’s command carried weight. His voice cut through the clash, and it wasn’t a request. It was the voice of a man who refused to let his people bleed while he stood idle, even if his body begged him to.

“But sir.” Tull’s protest was instinctive, protective to the bone. He half turned, torn between obedience and duty, eyes darting to the prince as if checking whether the command was wise or stubborn.

“Just go, I recovered enough,” Alex added.

Alex’s words were calm, but there was strain in the steadiness. He held himself upright with effort, jaw set, eyes bright despite the fatigue. He was not fully recovered. He was simply refusing to be treated like glass.

“Yes, sir,” Tull replied, and moved forward.

Tull didn’t waste another breath. He moved like a shield given legs, stepping into the space where Redd fought, blade rising. The change was immediate: the demonlings that had begun to coordinate met a wall of disciplined violence.

Steel rang. Sand kicked up. Tull’s expression hardened, purpose narrowing to the familiar, clean task of killing threats near his prince.

The dozen or so demons didn’t last longer than a dozen seconds as they were taken out. While Ludwig raised his mace once again and struck.

All felt too easy, however. Felt too ’safe’ and too anticlimactic. The battle with Envy was tough, that was certain, and the aftermath felt deeply and tensionly unwinding. He wasn’t used to that.

He felt it deep down. Something was wrong, as if he missed something big or forgotten something important. He couldn’t shake the feeling, no matter how hard he tried. All he could do was blow the mace again and again until that feeling either went away or realized itself in the worst time possible.