Deus Necros

The climb toward the peak carried none of the weight of a battlefield, yet it pressed on Ludwig in a different way.

The higher they went, the quieter everything became, as if the world itself had no interest in what waited above. Wind passed through jagged stone, cold and steady, tugging at cloth and armor alike, but even that sound felt distant, muted, like it belonged to somewhere below.

Behind them, the gathered forces had stopped at the natural boundary where the mountain narrowed into a single path.

Orcs, lizardmen, the remnants of everything that had followed Ludwig this far, they did not step forward. Whether by instinct or by some unseen limit imposed by the Tower, none of them tried.

Ludwig slowed slightly, not stopping, but enough to glance over his shoulder.

There was no speech waiting there. No grand farewell. The kind of moment stories liked to stretch didn’t exist here. They all understood what this was.

“You don’t come past this point,” Ludwig said, his tone even, more like a confirmation than an order.

A few of the orcs shifted, some out of frustration, others out of habit, but none argued. The lizardmen remained still, their eyes following him in silence. They had seen enough of the Tower to know when something was no longer theirs to interfere with.

Kaiser let out a quiet scoff from beside him, arms folded as he looked back at the halted group. “They look like you’re about to walk into your own funeral.”

“They’ve looked worse,” Ludwig replied.

“That’s not reassuring.”

Gale said nothing at first. His gaze lingered on the army below, then returned forward, toward the peak. “They will persist,” he said eventually, voice steady, as if stating something already decided.

Ludwig didn’t question it. There was no need to.

He shifted his attention forward again. “Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

The three of them continued the climb together, the distance between them and the rest growing until the figures below blurred into shapes, then into nothing.

The peak revealed itself without ceremony.

There was no gate, no structure carved into the mountain. Just space, and within it, a vertical tear that distorted the air around it. The portal did not glow or pulse like something meant to draw attention. It simply existed, quiet and absolute, as though it had no need to announce itself.

Ludwig stopped a few steps away from it, eyes narrowing slightly as he took it in.

“…Fifth floor,” he murmured.

Kaiser stepped up beside him, looking at the tear with open curiosity. “No guards, no monsters, no dramatic entrance. That’s either a good sign… or a terrible one.”

“It’s the Tower,” Ludwig said. “So assume the second.”

Gale remained just behind them, his posture straight despite the lingering damage from earlier. His gaze rested on the portal for a moment longer than necessary, as if measuring something beyond what could be seen.

There was no hesitation after that.

He stepped forward first.

The transition was immediate.

There was no sensation of movement, no distortion, no pull. One moment the mountain existed, the next it did not.

Silence settled around him.

Not the kind that followed battle. Not the quiet of exhaustion or aftermath. This was something cleaner, emptier. A silence that didn’t feel like it had replaced sound, but like sound had never existed here to begin with.

Ludwig stood still for a moment, letting his senses adjust.

The ground beneath his feet was smooth stone, polished to a degree that felt unnatural. It reflected light softly, but not clearly enough to be a mirror. The air carried no scent, no temperature worth noting.

Ahead of him stretched a city.

It was vast, but not imposing in the way fortresses or capitals usually were. The buildings stood in perfect alignment, their surfaces uniform, almost sterile. No wear. No damage. No sign of use. It looked constructed, but not lived in.

And yet,

Every surface reflected him.

Windows, walls, even sections of the ground. Not perfectly. Some reflections lagged behind his movements by a fraction. Others shifted slightly out of sync, as if they were following a different rhythm altogether.

Ludwig’s eyes moved across them, taking it in without reacting outwardly.

“…So that’s the theme,” he muttered.

A faint pulse passed through the air, subtle enough that it could have been missed if not for the way the reflections stilled for a fraction of a second.

Then the notification appeared.

[Entering Fifth Floor: Court of Self]

[All Hostilities are Forbidden]

[Noctivex – Unusable]

[Nightbreaker – Unusable]

Ludwig read it once, expression unchanged.

His hand moved slightly at his side, more out of habit than intent, then relaxed.

“No weapons. No fighting,” he said quietly. “That narrows things down.”

He turned around, and frowned. The Portal that brought him here had already disappeared. But Kaiser and Gale were absent. The Communication crystal that someone had brought to him after he threw it away was unresponsive.

“Guess we got separated…” Ludwig sighed.

He exhaled slowly, the breath steady, controlled. The absence of Kaiser’s commentary and Gale’s presence was noticeable now, not in a way that unsettled him, but enough to register. The separation had already happened.

Which meant this was his alone.

There was movement ahead.

Not sudden, not aggressive. Just… present.

Ludwig lifted his gaze.

A figure stood further down the empty street, positioned directly in his path. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, or perhaps it had, and the city simply hadn’t allowed him to notice it yet.

The distance between them closed gradually as the figure began to walk.

Step by step, measured, unhurried.

Ludwig didn’t move to meet it. He stayed where he was, watching.

As it drew closer, the details became clear.

Same height. Same frame. Same posture.

Same face.

The only difference lay in the expression.

Where Ludwig’s carried a constant edge, something sharp beneath the surface, this one was… still. Not empty. Not emotionless. Just composed in a way that felt deliberate.