Deus Necros

Ludwig needed to first find the entrance to the Catacombs. In a city controlled by the Holy Order, beneath the Sacrosanctum of all places, that meant dealing with sealed doors, hidden wards, secret patrols, and whatever else a paranoid religious institution used to protect its spotless image. Luckily, he had earned something from Necros back in the tower that was made for exactly this kind of unpleasant problem.

The shard looked small between his fingers, but the moment it neared the lantern, the air around it thickened. The metal beneath the Soul Letting Lantern shifted with a soft click as the compass vestige absorbed the darkness and formed a thin black needle.

“Show me the safest entrance to the catacombs.” Ludwig said. His voice stayed low beneath the hood, almost swallowed by the distant noise of forced celebration. He did not ask for the closest entrance. Closest usually meant guarded, trapped, or obvious enough that only an idiot would use it.

The needle spun once, then snapped toward a direction away from the grand streets and holy districts. Of course. Ludwig followed it, leaving Solania’s white stone avenues, banners, and patrols behind as the streets narrowed, the buildings leaned closer together, and the snow stopped looking clean.

Most people were too preoccupied with the celebration to care where he was going. Families moved with bundles in their arms, some returning with dead faces, others heading toward the noise because not appearing was likely dangerous. Priests and paladins remained near the sacred roads, leaving the alleys to hunger, cold, and opportunism.

Solania called itself a city of order and holiness, but its slums made the lie hard to respect. Clean paving stones broke into half-frozen mud paths, white walls darkened with soot and rot, and holy symbols painted over doorways looked less like blessings and more like desperate reminders that the gods were supposed to be watching.

Rats moved boldly near frozen gutters. Laundry hung stiff between buildings. Roofs sagged under snow no one had the strength or tools to clear. Children ran through the alleys in clothes far too thin for the weather, cheeks red, lips cracked, fingers tucked under their arms whenever they stopped moving. Cutthroats lingered in corners, addicts curled beneath broken porches, and beggars watched the street with eyes too tired to plead.

Holy city, Ludwig thought bitterly. Very holy.

The needle kept pointing deeper, toward a quieter part of the district where the houses barely held their own weight, let alone the snow piling on them. Some upper floors leaned at angles that promised one bad storm would turn them into coffins.

A kid running through the alley collided with Ludwig and fell into the snow. The boy bounced back more than Ludwig moved, thin as a stick beneath a threadbare coat several sizes too large. His boots did not match, and his wide eyes carried the practiced panic of someone who had done this before. Ludwig felt the brush against his coat before the boy even finished falling.

He took a look at the unimpressed Ludwig’s face and said, “Sorry uncle…” he stood up and was about to leave when Ludwig grabbed him by the shoulder, “Kid, that thing in your hand, it’s dangerous, give it back… Also what do you mean Uncle, do I look that old to you?”

The child froze. His false panic became real as his fingers tightened around what he had stolen. His eyes flicked toward a narrow passage between two leaning buildings, and Ludwig understood immediately. Someone was watching.

“Hand it over,” Ludwig said again, unimpressed.

The small kid pulled out a cube. The moment Ludwig saw the blackened metal, cold irritation moved through him. In that moment he managed to slip his hand into Ludwig’s pocket and grab the worst thing that you could take. Noctivex was not something mortals could handle. Not children, not grown thieves, not holy paladins with shiny ideals, not anyone who didn’t enjoy the possibility of being eaten by living metal because their fingers were faster than their intelligence.

“What’s going on here? Are we bullying small kids? You’re stealing from poor people I see?” one man said as he had a dagger drawn on his hand. The voice came from the same passage the kid had looked toward. A man stepped out wearing patched leather beneath a ragged coat, a scarf around his neck, and a knife held low near his thigh.

The kid’s eyes went wide when he saw him. Ludwig recognized the setup. Pickpocket child, hidden handler, if things go sour like now, then the local tough guy appearing to twist blame onto the victim. Poor little kid, cruel stranger, heroic knife-wielding bastard. A scam so basic it probably came included with the first lesson in urban misery.

Ludwig grabbed Noctivex, and turned to the man with the dagger, “If you value your life, you’ll piss off.” Ludwig said. The cube settled back into his palm, silent but somehow heavier now, as if offended by the brief theft.

“Look at this motherfucker!” he said and three more muggers came out. They emerged from different angles, carrying knives, clubs, and a short rusted cleaver. Not warriors. Not soldiers. Just men who had hurt enough people weaker than themselves to mistake it for strength.

Ludwig didn’t even turn, he simply sighed. “If I wasn’t in a hurry I would have humored you enough, be on your way.” The child stared between Ludwig and the men, then wisely started inching backward. Ludwig noticed and let him.

“Get him! This fucker will learn to fear the name of the four butchers of Solania!”

“So, you said that this house belongs to no one?” Ludwig asked.

He was inside the abandoned building the compass had pointed him toward. The place smelled of damp wood, stale smoke, mold, and old urine. A broken window had been boarded from the inside, snow slipped through gaps in the wall, and the floor sagged near the center. Beneath the lantern, the needle pointed downward with stubborn certainty.

“Yes, master, lord chief general!” The leader of the muggers blurted. He knelt with both hands raised, fingers trembling, half his face purple and blue. One eye was swollen nearly shut, and his split lip made every word wet.

“The fuck is up with that name?” Ludwig tilted his head.

He sat on the other three members of the self-proclaimed Four Butchers of Solania, who had been stacked atop one another like badly folded laundry. The top one groaned, so Ludwig kicked him in the face and returned him to blissful unconsciousness. Noise attracted attention, and Ludwig was trying to conduct an interrogation about real estate and hidden catacomb access while sitting on human furniture.

’Been dealing with guys that would literally make a imperial knight die from fear, and now I get mugged by these fuckers. But I can’t kill them…’ Ludwig thought. Killing them would be simple, but dead bodies in a Solanian slum might attract the wrong kind of investigation. Beating them unconscious was less satisfying, but cleaner.

The truly annoying part was that the entrance had been right beside them. The world had seen him approach the catacombs and decided he needed a side quest involving incompetent criminals before entering. Wonderful.

“And you just mug people? In these times, where war is close to occurring, and the world is about to end? You still do petty things like theft?” Ludwig sighed as he played around with the man’s dagger. The blade was cheap iron, poorly maintained, and nicked from bad use. He held it with two fingers and twisted. The blade snapped, and a shard cut across the man’s ear.

“Hiiii!” he screamed as blood began seeping down his ear. His hands twitched toward the wound before he remembered Ludwig had told him to keep them raised.

“Ludwig?”

Turning, Ludwig saw someone he never expected to see here. He frowned, “Redd? What are you doing here?”

The red headed half beast, half werewolf half whatever stood behind Ludwig wearing his newly acquired Imperial Knight issued clothes. The outfit looked strangely official on him, stiff in places where his body did not quite fit the expected shape of a proper imperial knight. His eyes moved from Ludwig, to the unconscious men, to the kneeling leader, then back again.

The ghostly presence around him was still with him. She became slightly more tangible. More present. Her outline had sharpened since the last time, faint features more defined, the edges of her form less transparent. She did not speak, but the air near her felt colder, quieter, touched by something unresolved.

“Who are these guys?” Redd asked. He pointed vaguely at the human pile Ludwig was using as a seat. The kneeling leader looked at Redd with sudden hope, as if an imperial uniform meant rescue. Ludwig almost laughed. Poor timing, that hope.

“These? Just people I’m asking direction, what are you doing here? You never answered.” Ludwig said. One of the unconscious men shifted beneath him, and Ludwig adjusted his weight until the groan stopped. Direction was technically true. He had asked about the house. He had also asked why they were stupid. Both were valid inquiries.

“Ah, yes, the Third Prince asked me to go to Solania and check things out, apparently Lorina had contacted them. Saying something big is happening here.” Redd stepped farther into the abandoned house, careful not to place his boot through a weak patch of floor. His expression turned more serious at Lorina’s name, and Ludwig’s attention sharpened. If Lorina had reached out to the Third Prince, If even the Elves are trying to give an assisting hand. Then the situation was already spreading beyond the church’s official story.

“Where’s Tull?” Ludwig asked.

“Still with the prince… What are you doing here though?” Redd asked. His gaze moved again to the criminals, then to the floor, then to Ludwig’s lantern. He was not stupid. An abandoned house in the slums, Ludwig present, people beaten into submission, and Solania’s political tension outside did not add up to a casual visit.

Ludwig stood up, “I guess this is fate,” Ludwig said as he turned to the leader and kicked him in the face, knocking him out instantly. The leader collapsed without even a proper final squeak, his raised hands dropping limply as he hit the dirty floor. Ludwig dusted off the front of his cloak as if he had merely finished sitting on an inconvenient bench.

“I’m hunting the Shrike, care to join?” Ludwig asked.

The moment he said the name, Redd’s expressions turned dark immediately. The casual confusion vanished from his face, replaced by something colder, older, and far more personal. Even the ghostly presence beside him seemed to sharpen, her outline flickering as if the name had stirred something in her too. Redd’s hands tightened at his sides.

“When do we move?”