Deus Necros

”Magic does not work on that creature,” the warrior said. ”You can beat us, but it is not enough to kill the white god.”

”It is not a god,” Ludwig said.

The chains loosened and fell away, fading back into purple motes.

The man stood slowly.

”And if it’s power you want...”

Wrath stirred beneath Ludwig’s skin.

Not fully released yet.

Only awakening.

A pressure like war remembering its own name. The air tightened. Tull felt it and stepped back despite himself. The nearby humans stiffened. The children flinched. Even the dead-living trees seemed to lean away.

Kaiser appeared beside Ludwig instantly.

His red finger pressed against Ludwig’s arm.

”Don’t do it.”

Ludwig looked at him.

Kaiser’s expression had lost all amusement.

”It’ll resonate,” he said quietly. ”They know each other. If you use Wrath here, Sloth will sense it. It was already risky when you used a thread of it to frighten the children. Doing it for real will make Sloth act.”

Ludwig held still.

Wrath wanted out.

Wrath always did.

It did not beg. It did not whisper. It simply existed with the certainty of fire near dry wood.

Slowly, Ludwig forced it down.

The pressure faded.

The humans did not relax.

The large man stared at him for a long moment.

”You do not look weak,” he said.

”Neither do you,” Ludwig replied.

The man’s eyes narrowed.

Ludwig lowered Durandal. ”So tell us. How did you survive so long here, where life is scarce?”

Again, silence.

But this time, it was not refusal alone.

It was pain.

The large man looked toward the others. The spear-holder lowered his weapon slightly. A woman in the canopy glanced away. The children clung to the adults and watched Ludwig as if trying to decide whether he was demon, fool, or both.

”We were here before the white one came,” the large man said at last. ”We lived, fought, and survived by doing anything necessary.”

Kaiser watched their faces.

For once, he did not push.

There was too much in them. Loss. Grief. Anger. Frustration packed so tightly that it had become culture. These were not people waiting to be saved. They were people who had buried too many of their own to trust salvation when it arrived with strangers and swords.

Ludwig looked north. ”Show us where Sloth, or the White One, rests.”

The spear-holder’s mouth tightened. ”It does not hide.”

Cain’s eyes narrowed faintly.

”Only the weak hide,” the man said. ”We hide. It rests deeper in the lands, far further down, surrounded by mountains of its kin. To see it is hard. To escape notice is harder. To survive it is almost impossible.”

”Mountains of its kin?” Thomas whispered.

No one answered him.

Ludwig asked, ”Then how were you able to live so long?”

The man with the spear looked at him.

Then at Cain.

Then at Kaiser.

”By submitting,” he said. ”Not to its power. To our powerlessness against it.”

Ludwig frowned.

The answer was ugly because it made sense.

”So basically,” he said slowly, ”you don’t have any intention of killing it. And because of that, you’re spared?”

No one answered.

But that was answer enough.

Tull’s jaw tightened. ”Kind of ticks me the wrong way.”

”You cannot do much about it,” Kaiser said. ”They’re afraid, weak, and they lost everything. Hiding is natural where there is a bigger, meaner predator around. I’m just surprised they didn’t go extinct with all those members Sloth has.”

The spear-holder’s gaze snapped to Kaiser. ”It is not simply because we hide.”

Kaiser looked at him.

The man’s voice hardened. ”It is because we know how to live.”

Kaiser’s eyes moved slowly around the forest.

The dry-living trees. The stagnant water. The mud-colored wraps. The poisoned darts. The children trained to shoot strangers before asking names. The adults who stood ready to die but not ready to hope. The place where nothing smelled rotten because rot itself had learned discipline.

”You know how to survive,” Kaiser said. ”Not live. This is not life.”

Several weapons shifted toward him.

Cain’s gaze moved lazily across them, and the weapons stilled.

Kaiser did not seem to notice or care. His eyes had gone beyond the trees now, past the quagmire, toward the distant white mountains they had crossed that morning.

”Why have you not simply left?” he asked.

The question struck harder than insult.

The spear-holder looked at the mountain range far behind them.

For the first time since emerging from the forest, something like fear touched his eyes.

”The snow has ears,” he said. ”Even if the red god is dead, it will eat any who walks it.”

Ludwig turned slightly.

The red god.

Wrath.

Kaiser’s smile returned, but only at the edge. ”We just came from there. Didn’t get stopped at all.”

The man looked at him as if he had said something childish.

”That is because it allowed you in,” he said. ”It will not allow you back.”

The words settled into the mud between them.

Tull slowly turned his head toward Ludwig. ”I dislike that sentence.”

Redd looked back toward the mountains, ears low. ”Yeah. Same.”

Celine’s expression tightened.

Thomas’s flame dimmed slightly. ”Does that mean we’re trapped?”

No one answered quickly enough.

Ludwig looked past the forest, toward the pale ridges behind them. They had crossed without resistance. No barrier. No roar. No Wrathful remnant rising to challenge them. He had thought that meant the guardian was gone, its domain broken with its death.

But perhaps domains did not die cleanly.

Perhaps Wrath had left teeth in the snow.

Perhaps the path had opened not because nothing remained, but because whatever remained had wanted them inside.

Kaiser’s gaze sharpened with genuine interest.

Cain looked less surprised than Ludwig liked.

Ludwig exhaled slowly.

”All right,” he said. ”That’s important.”

The spear-holder gave a harsh laugh. ”Now the strange man understands.”

Ludwig’s eyes moved back to him.

”I understand enough,” he said. ”You’re going to show us the way.”

The large man shook his head. ”You heard him. To see the white one is hard. To survive it is almost impossible.”

”I’ve done almost impossible.”

”You failed to kill it.”

”Yes,” Ludwig said. ”Once.”

The simplicity of the answer quieted the forest again.

Ludwig sheathed Durandal.

It was not surrender. Everyone there understood that. Somehow, putting the sword away made the moment heavier.

”I’m not asking you to fight him,” Ludwig said. ”I’m asking you to point us toward him. If you want us gone, if you want the white one gone, if you hate that I brought him back to your lands, then stop wasting time proving how hopeless everything is and show me where to start.”

The spear-holder studied him.

The large man who had challenged Ludwig looked toward the others, then to the children, then back toward the north. His jaw worked once, as if chewing through anger.

Finally, he said, ”There is a place where we watch without being seen.”

The spear-holder turned sharply. ”No.”

The large man did not look at him. ”If they go blind, they die before reaching the first still field. If they die there, the white one does not care. If they reach him unprepared, he wakes more fully. If he wakes, we lose more.”

The woman in the canopy lowered her bow by a finger’s width.

The spear-holder’s eyes burned, but he did not argue.

Ludwig waited.

The large man looked back at him. ”We take you to the Watch Hollow. From there, you see the road deeper. You do not enter our shelters. You do not follow our children. You do not speak the red god’s name in the snow. You do not call the white one god where it can hear.”

Kaiser opened his mouth.

Cain said, ”Agree.”

Kaiser looked offended. ”I was going to say something helpful.”

”No,” Cain said.

Kaiser closed his mouth.

Ludwig nodded. ”Fine.”

”And if you bring the black army back through our paths,” the spear-holder said, voice cold enough to belong to the mountains, ”we will not fight you.”

”That sounds comforting,” Tull muttered.

The man’s eyes turned to him.

”We will bury every track, poison every pool, collapse every shelter, and leave you walking in lands that know your scent. Then the white one can have you.”

Tull swallowed. ”Less comforting.”

Ludwig looked at the adults around them.

Careful. Angry. Not afraid.

Important, then.

Not allies.

Not yet.

But not enemies either, unless he made them so.

”Lead,” Ludwig said.

The large man turned.

The forest shifted around him as the others began melting back into leaves, branches, mud, and shadow. The children vanished first, pulled behind the adults into hidden paths Ludwig still could not see even while staring directly at them.

Redd moved closer to Ludwig. ”These people are going to be difficult.”

”Everyone interesting is.”

”I hate that that’s true.”

Thomas leaned near Ludwig’s ear. ”What if the snow really doesn’t let us back?”

Ludwig looked once more toward the distant mountains.

Then north.

Toward Sloth.

”Then we make another way.”

Kaiser chuckled softly.

Cain said nothing.

Celine walked beside Ludwig, silent but close.

And under the watch of bows, spears, and unseen eyes, the group followed the humans of the Dark Continent deeper into the forest.