Deus Necros

His voice cracked halfway through the shout, raw from strain and panic, echoing harshly through the chamber. Spent mana clung to the air, sharp and unpleasant, the lingering residue of a ritual pushed past its safe limits.

Sebas’s hands shook openly now, fingers twitching as if his body still expected power to answer him. It didn’t. Whatever they had been trying to force back had refused them, and the refusal had come at a cost.

Sweat ran down his temples, breath coming too fast, too shallow, the signs of a mage who had burned himself close to empty.

“You’re nothing but a fucking foreigner! A worthless disgrace to magic! If it wasn’t for Van Dijk! If it just wasn’t for that bastard! And you meddling fucker…” Evan’s words piled on top of Sebas’s rage, louder, less controlled, fueled more by desperation than hatred.

His eyes kept flicking between Ludwig and the ruined ritual space, as if he still expected the outcome to change if he stared hard enough. The insults came out tangled and repetitive, accusations thrown without aim, grasping for anything that might hurt. Van Dijk’s name was spat like poison, familiar blame dragged out because it was easier than accepting failure.

They were almost tapped out of mana trying to revive things that didn’t want to offend Necros.

The toll showed clearly. Both necromancers were breathing hard, shoulders slumped, posture sagging in ways no amount of pride could hide.

The magic beneath them felt wrong now, unstable, half-collapsed, like a structure that had already fallen but hadn’t finished settling. Whatever they’d tried to pull back into existence had resisted, not violently, but decisively. The kind of resistance that came from breaking a rule rather than losing a contest.

“Grab them, lock them up. We’ll deal with them later,” Ludwig looked up at the hole in the ceiling. “We have a lot of spectators get this over with fast.”

Ludwig’s voice cut through the noise without effort. He didn’t raise it, didn’t sharpen it. He simply spoke, already done with the outburst. His eyes flicked upward to the jagged opening above, where dust still drifted and faint light spilled through. The reminder was clear enough: this wasn’t contained. People were watching. He didn’t like wasting time on theatrics, and he liked even less letting situations linger long enough to attract more needless attention.

Though Ludwig was neither a commander or a captain of the Knights, not a single one of them argued or disagreed.

The knights moved immediately, disciplined and efficient. Armor scraped stone as they closed in, boots planting wide for balance as they forced Sebas and Evan down. Knees pressed into shoulders, gauntleted hands twisted arms back with practiced precision. The cuffs they used were not ceremonial restraints; they were thick, heavy, designed to hold struggling mages without concern for comfort. Metal clicked shut behind both men’s backs, the sound final and unmistakable.

“I’ll never forgive this insult! I’ll get my fucking revenge and due! Just you wait!” Sebas bucked against the pressure uselessly, teeth bared, face flushed with fury that had nowhere left to go.

The threats spilled out loud and unfiltered, the kind shouted more to reassure himself than to intimidate anyone else. The knights didn’t react beyond tightening their grips when he struggled too hard.

“You have anything to do for that blabbering mouth of theirs?”

Ludwig didn’t look back at Sebas when he spoke. The question was directed at the nearest knight, tone flat, practical. Noise was a liability, and Sebas clearly intended to keep making it one.

“Yes we do,” one of the knights said, far too pleased, as he slammed what looked like a skin piece onto Evan and Sebas’s mouths.

The object adhered instantly, sealing over mouth and jaw with an uncomfortable finality. Evan’s eyes went wide as his shout died into nothing, his throat working uselessly behind the seal. Sebas tried to twist away, but the second piece was pressed onto him just as firmly. The effect was immediate silence, no words, no screams, only muffled breathing and frantic movement that went nowhere.

“Good,” Ludwig turned to the dome where Teresia was locked in.

With the necromancers contained, Ludwig’s attention shifted fully to the remaining threat. The dome stood intact, its surface faintly shimmering, enclosing Teresia in a way that felt deliberate rather than hurried. She hadn’t moved much during the chaos, and that alone made her more dangerous than the men now gagged on the floor.

“This is taking a long time to activate,” Ludwig said.

He watched the workings beneath her feet carefully, noting the pace, the delay. His tone wasn’t annoyed so much as assessing. Time mattered, and whatever was happening inside that circle was moving slower than he liked.

Her response came sharp and immediate, “You’re dealing with powers you don’t understand!” she said.

Frustration edged with something close to confidence. She didn’t shout. She didn’t need to. The barrier carried her voice cleanly.

“What? The demon? Nah, I don’t need to worry about that. Even if it accepts your soul as the price and comes here, I’ll still kill it.” Ludwig said.

He shrugged the threat off verbally, even as he stepped closer. His confidence wasn’t loud, but it was steady, rooted in experience rather than bravado. If a demon came, it came. That didn’t change the outcome in his mind.

She clicked her tongue, then sighed. The sound was small but sharp, irritation made audible. She retreated just enough to put distance between herself and the dome’s edge, her posture shifting from confrontation to calculation.

“I’d rather not pay a portion of my soul here. Fine, you win this round,” she said as she flicked her hand and a curved dagger appeared in it.

The weapon formed cleanly, already gripped with familiarity. There was no flourish, no hesitation. The decision had clearly been made before the words were spoken.

“Just so you know, though I can’t see your future, I can see the future of those around you.” She said.

Her gaze fixed on Ludwig through the barrier, calm again, deliberate. The words weren’t rushed. They were placed carefully.

“Is that a threat?” Ludwig tilted his head as he approached the dome. The magic underneath her was working rather fast.

He watched the circle accelerate, the energy shifting in response to her movement. His tone stayed neutral, but his eyes didn’t miss the change.

“You’ll realize it soon enough,” she said and simply slit her own throat.

There was no hesitation. The blade flashed once, clean and decisive. Blood followed immediately, spilling freely as her body collapsed backward onto the circle.

The blood spread quickly, soaking into the lines carved beneath her, disrupting their structure.

But instead of the magic circle activating, the dome cracked and fractured.

The surface split apart with sharp, brittle sounds, fractures racing outward.

Teresia’s body disappeared from the area and the ritual simply became useless.

Where she had fallen, there was suddenly nothing, no corpse, no presence, only a ruined construct and dead magic.

“Tsk,” Ludwig clicked his tongue, “Smart bitch. She realized that since I switched the offering from Dead to Alive, all she needed was to Die to cancel the ritual… unfortunate.” He sighed.

The irritation was real but brief. He didn’t need to kill her, but if her soul was offered to a demon it would account for the destruction of her immortality and will clear his quest of Daggers in Shadow. But since she chose suicide, she would probably have to pay a price to return to life. Like all the other former Servants of Necros.

The thought settled in with mild frustration. Suicide wasn’t an escape, not for someone like her, but it complicated things.

Everyone so far had their own means of immortality from Ludwig could remember.

The Shrike could regenerate endlessly.

The Faceless was able to reconstruct his dead body as long as pieces of it remain.

The Piper was able to change bodies of the many ones he has.

And the Marrow King was a lich that couldn’t easily be killed.

The pattern was familiar. Death didn’t stick the way it should.

Teresia probably had something like clones and bodies she could control and puppet all over the world.

While so far, he has yet to understand what the Fanged Apostle has in terms of immortality.

That unanswered question lingered longer than he liked.

’Necros, there are too many things that refuse to die in this world, man…’ Ludwig could only speak this complaint to the god of death.

He let the thought pass, not expecting an answer.

He looked up at the ceiling finding a few noble faces peaking Ludwig said, “Move out the way for a bit please.”

The request was polite, but it carried expectation. The faces vanished quickly.

He placed the mace on the ground, and simply jumped up once the nobles cleared the area.

The movement was effortless, practiced.

He landed softly in the imperial hall. And looked around, back at the hole and to the Emperor.

Dust still drifted lazily in the air above.

“Sorry for that… A couple rats infiltrated the palace.”

The apology was casual, almost dry.

The emperor snapped a finger and an old man drabbed in brown colored robes. The type that felt cheap and worthless, the same type of cloth you use to bag potatoes and the sort.

The man’s appearance was unremarkable, intentionally so.

However, even with his ’poor’ looks, Ludwig realized that he was probably the strongest mage that he has seen besides his master so far in this world.

The realization came quietly, instinctively.

The old man simply tapped the bottom of a wooden staff on the floor, and all the cracks, fissures, broken pieces of hard marble and stone that Ludwig broke to go to the bottom floor had all come together and affixed and fixed themselves. Repairing the damage and returning to how they were a few moments ago.

The repair was seamless, effortless, reality snapping back into place.

The old bearded man looked at Ludwig and nodded, then turned and left the room. Not a single word spoken.

No acknowledgment beyond that.

“For the emperor to enlist an Eight Circle mage to repair and redecorate… this is proof of the power of the empire, I learned something new today,” Ludwig nodded toward the emperor.

The observation was genuine.

“Money and power make everything possible,” the Emperor said. “So, Ludwig Heart. What did those two mean, when they said you were a dark user?” The Emperor asked.

The question landed cleanly, and the room waited.

Ludwig felt it, that he needed to answer this question no matter what. Especially with so many eyes on him, with a lot of expectation from him. Irritation was once again gnawing at his mind from the absurdity of all that happened. And the worry that the captured prisoners might just say the wrong thing.

Ludwig looked at the Emperor and opened his mouth to answer.