Deus Necros

The bell’s third note faded through the palace, but nothing followed it. No guards rushed into the hall. No weapons were drawn. The featureless giants did not surround Ludwig’s group or reach for the people who had entered without invitation. Even the white cube that had once been a man was carried away with the quiet efficiency of a servant removing an empty plate from a table.

The inhabitants simply returned to what they had been doing, which was almost nothing.

The beautiful woman at the table lowered her eyes toward the food before her. Her hand rested beside the untouched bread, neither reaching for it nor pulling away. The people who had watched the resistance turned their heads back toward windows, fountains, and laden tables. Their peaceful expressions settled into place as though a man had not just screamed, fought for his freedom, and been compressed into part of the palace floor before their eyes.

There was no shock, no grief, and no fear that the same fate might await them. The event had demanded a reaction, and the palace had taught them not to give one.

Tull stared at the place where the cube had rested. ”You’re telling me all these cubes are people?” His voice came out lower than usual.

The question stretched far beyond the floor beneath his boots. White blocks formed the walls around them, the pillars holding up the vaulted ceiling, the bridges outside, the Watch Hollow, and the path they had followed across the chasm. They had seen thousands scattered throughout the Dark Continent and countless more stacked into towers or buried within the canyon walls.

Kaiser lowered the end of his staff and tapped the nearest cube. The sound was dull and solid.

”People,” he said. ”Monsters, giants, gnats, animals. Almost everything, I would imagine.”

Redd’s spectral companion pressed closer to him, her wolf-like outline dimming as she stared at the flawless surface beneath them. ”Almost?” Redd asked.

”There are always exceptions. Undead, perhaps. Beings without minds or wills to surrender. Creatures protected by sufficiently powerful Authorities.” Kaiser lifted his staff and examined the block. ”Though I would not volunteer to test which category any of us belongs to.”

Tull slowly stepped away from the cube. Cain’s ancient gaze moved across the palace, no longer regarding it as architecture. He studied it like a body whose veins, bones, and organs had been arranged around them.

”Quite the intricate Authority,” Cain said.

”This isn’t magic?” Redd asked.

”No.” Kaiser shook his head. ”If it were magic, it could be dispelled. A spell can be interrupted, deprived of mana, broken through a superior formation, or forced to obey another principle. This is something far mightier.”

He dragged the end of his staff across the floor. The wood left no scratch.

”Authority does not ask the world for permission. It tells the world what is true.”

”And Sloth’s truth is that people become furniture?” Tull asked.

”His truth is that action is unnecessary,” Kaiser replied. ”The cubes appear to be the final consequence. Once a being surrenders every desire, every intention, and every reason to act, there is little distinction left between it and an object.”

Thomas hovered just above Ludwig’s shoulder, his flame drawn tightly around his small body. ”That man wanted to leave.”

”He did,” Kaiser said.

”And the palace changed him anyway.”

”He acted after surrendering himself to the Authority for too long. Perhaps his body had already crossed the threshold, and all he managed was one final rebellion before the process completed.” Kaiser looked toward the passage through which the white entities had carried the cube. ”Or perhaps the act of resistance caused the Authority to recognize him as useful material.”

”That is worse,” Thomas muttered.

”Most answers are.”

The palace continued around them. Water ran through channels beneath delicate white bridges. Warm air moved gently between open balconies. Fresh food covered every table, and soft beds waited inside chambers with their doors left open. There were no chains, no screams, and no suffering anyone could point toward and demand be stopped.

It was a place where everything existed to make a person want nothing. The absence of hostility made it more oppressive.

Ludwig waited for a system warning, but nothing appeared. No notification declared that he had entered combat. No alert identified the inhabitants as enemies. The palace did not recognize him as an intruder, or perhaps it did not care enough to oppose his presence.

Several white giants emerged from the adjoining corridor. There were four of them. Smooth, featureless heads sat upon broad shoulders. Their pale bodies possessed the proportions of towering warriors, but there were no eyes, mouths, armor, or weapons upon them.

Tull drew half a step backward. Celine’s fingers closed around her weapon. Cain remained still beside Ludwig, though the pressure of his presence deepened.

The giants did not attack, nor did they carry trays this time. One raised an open hand and gestured toward a broad corridor at the far end of the hall.

”They want us to follow,” Ludwig said.

”Obviously,” Kaiser replied.

”Any reason we should?”

”Several reasons we should not.”

”That isn’t what I asked.”

”No, but it is the more interesting answer.”

The giants turned and began walking. Their steps were heavy enough to carry through the floor, yet the sound held no aggression. They did not look back to ensure the group obeyed. Like the open bridge, the gesture was an invitation made with complete confidence that refusal would accomplish nothing.

Ludwig glanced toward the palace entrance. The white road remained visible beyond the open hall, stretching through the gardens toward the chasm. No wall had risen to block it, and nothing physically prevented them from turning around.

Yet the tribesmen stood unsteadily beneath the growing influence of Sloth’s territory. Tull’s knees trembled. Redd kept glancing toward the food and empty chairs despite himself. Celine’s expression had tightened with the constant effort required to remain alert.

Retreat would mean crossing the bridge again while resisting a pressure that only strengthened the closer they moved to the palace’s heart.

Ludwig adjusted his grip around Durandal. ”We follow.”

The featureless giants led them deeper into the citadel. The halls widened as they advanced. Some contained gardens where trees bore fruit in every season at once. Others held pools warmed by channels beneath the floor. There were libraries with books arranged in flawless rows, music chambers filled with untouched instruments, and balconies overlooking the gray forest beyond.

Everything anyone might desire had been provided, yet most of it remained unused. People sat beside shelves without reading. They rested near instruments without playing. Several stood beneath trees and watched fruit fall to the ground without bending to collect it. The palace replaced every piece before decay could stain the white floor, ensuring that even waste required no one’s attention.

The group passed more cubes. Some were built into the lower walls. Others formed benches, tables, and decorative arches. Ludwig could no longer look at the palace without imagining something trapped inside every block.

A person. A beast. A creature that had once moved through the Dark Continent before accepting one final invitation to stop.

The thought made the structure feel alive. There was no heartbeat beneath the floor or breath passing through the walls, but every corridor had been built from surrendered lives, each one stripped of will and arranged into part of a system that continued without effort. Walking through the palace felt like entering the body of something enormous.

The giants reached a spiral staircase. It wound upward through the center of a vast circular chamber, its white steps unsupported by any visible column. Water flowed down the outer edge in a gentle stream, disappearing beneath the floor before reaching the bottom.

The giants began climbing, and Ludwig followed.

The higher they went, the quieter the palace became. The murmur of running water faded. The scent of food weakened. The open halls below disappeared beneath layers of white stone.

Tull struggled first. His hand closed around the inner edge of the staircase, and he pulled himself up one step at a time.

A white chair slid from the wall beside him.

It assembled quietly, the back rising from one cube while another moved beneath it to form a seat. A small table followed. A cup of water appeared upon it.

Tull stared. The chair was positioned perfectly. It offered a view of the gardens below, enough support for his aching back, and water close enough that he would not need to lift his arm far.

”No thanks.”

The chair remained, but Tull forced himself past it.

Redd placed one hand beneath his arm and helped him climb, though his own movements had begun to slow. Celine walked behind them, watching both while fighting the same exhaustion.

Cain remained mostly unaffected, but his gaze repeatedly moved toward Celine. ”You may remain below,” he told her.

”No.”

”You are struggling.”

”I’m aware.”

”You do not need to prove anything.”

Celine gave him a tired look. ”That sounds suspiciously like something this palace would say.”

Cain’s mouth tightened. Kaiser gave a quiet laugh.

”She learns quickly.”

They reached the uppermost floor. The staircase opened into a vast chamber that occupied the entire summit of the central tower. Tall windows surrounded the room, offering an uninterrupted view of Sloth’s territory. The gray forest stretched toward the horizon. White structures rose from distant valleys, and cube roads crossed the landscape in straight, impossible lines.

There were no tables, inhabitants, or food. Only the featureless giants standing along the walls and an enormous sofa-like palanquin positioned before the widest window.

Sloth rested upon it.