Deus Necros

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at his own gloved hand, fingers curled around the cup now. The leather creaked faintly.

“That though humans have enough of the seven deadly sins to drown the world,” he said slowly, “their own existence isn’t strong enough to manifest one of them. Not fully. Not without help. It takes a higher being to give shape to that descent. Something more than human. Something… like a fallen angel.”

Her silence lingered. Then, gently, she smiled.

“I see your reasoning,” she said. “But trust me… humans burn hotter than anything else. They are short-lived. Fragile. But when their passions ignite, they rival gods. It’s not that they lack the capacity… it’s that the world hasn’t suffered the right kind of madness yet.”

Ludwig lowered his eyes and drank.

The tea was warm. Metallic. Sweet in a way that made his tongue curl. And yet, the Nephilium within it didn’t taste at all, it simply moved. It joined his being with quiet, seamless force, flowing through his veins like heat through snow. His bones tingled. His fingertips felt momentarily numb.

No notification followed.

“Not here,” the woman said. “Necros cannot reach this place. And neither can his powers.”

Ludwig nodded once and finished his cup, the empty vessel resting in his hand with a strange weight. He could still feel the warmth clinging to the porcelain, though the liquid inside had long vanished. Something about it lingered, like warmth after fire, not heat itself, but the memory of it etched into the skin. It wasn’t just the Nephilium that had entered his system, it was her presence too, now curled somewhere behind his ribs. V$is^it# My V*i-r@tua@l- [email protected]#y Emp$i*r^e! (#MV!-@LE&M+P$-Y%R+) for m*or#e..

“Sadly,” she said, her voice softer now, almost pitying, “this small amount won’t be enough to push you forward. Not in any lasting way. It will alleviate the toll you’ve suffered, yes, but not reverse it. Not fully.”

Ludwig leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So I still need to find the Vestige of Darkness. That hasn’t changed.”

“No,” she said, gently. “It hasn’t. And as I told you before, I don’t know precisely where it is. My vision is vast, but even it has limits. I know, however, that if you follow my earlier advice, the threads will weave toward it.”

He gave her a narrow glance. “Submit to the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a quiet nod. “That will give you the access you need, and more importantly, fame. Your name needs to carry weight, Ludwig Heart, Though this time you go by Davon, an interesting choice. Regardless whether you understand it or not, sometimes you’ll need to let your name echo, even if at other times you’d need to silence it.”

She tapped one lacquered nail lightly against the rim of her own teacup. The sound was like glass kissing bone.

“You’ll find more than the Vestige,” she continued. “Along the path, if you choose it. You’ll find something, or someone, who can help your body rise to its next form. You are not far from it. But you are not ready yet. Also about your Knight King…” she stalled for a moment.

Ludwig exhaled and let his gaze drop for a moment, then looked up at her with sudden clarity. “What about the Knight King?”

Her veil stilled. Her fingers froze in the act of lifting the cup.

“I believe you had a thought, that the moment you got your hands on the Advanced Necrotic Rituals, that you maybe had though, just maybe you could bring him back for rea. I suppose any Necromancer worth their salt would think the same, after all he is a legendary being. Maybe you can bring his physical form to aid you, am I right?”

“I can’t say you’re wrong, the thought did cross my mind.”

A pause. Then the woman set her cup down with careful precision.

“You are not ready,” she said.

The words weren’t harsh, but they struck like a quiet judgment passed by a higher court.

“Your body, your very existence, is still too low to channel the ritual properly. If you attempt to bring him back now, you’ll fail. You’ll waste what remains of him. And worse still, you’ll damage your own soul in the process. You do not yet have the spiritual scaffolding to hold him upright.”

Ludwig lowered his gaze again, not out of shame, but contemplation. He had suspected as much. Hearing her say it only sealed the thought.

“I see,” he murmured. “Then I’ll wait.”

“Good,” she said. “You’re learning. There is strength in restraint. Remember that.”

Then, for the first time, her voice grew faint. Not softer, but distant. Like sound filtered through water, slipping away before it could truly echo.

“Then I’ll be watching over you, Ludwig Heart. May you find your path in this world…”

Her hand lifted, no grand gesture, no flare of light. Just a wave, measured, graceful, final.

The room folded in on itself like parchment crumpling into flame. There was no flash, no sound, no pain. One moment he was seated. The next, the cup was gone from his hand, the warmth extinguished.

He blinked hard. The sky was pale.

Morning had broken. Sunlight filtered down between high canopies, golden and soft as butter on fresh bread. Dew shimmered on the edges of leaves. Birds chirped somewhere distantly, their songs innocent, unaware of the world’s darker wheels turning.

Ludwig stood still for a breath, gathering his bearings.

He was back beside Gorak. The same moment in time where he separated from his group.

The barbarian glanced over at him, chewing idly on a strip of dried meat. “What?” he grunted, brow furrowing. “You look constipated. Are you okay?”

Ludwig blinked again, then smiled. The lines around his eyes tightened briefly in some expression Gorak wouldn’t be able to read. “Just felt a bit out of the weather,” he said.

Several notification windows pinged faintly to life in his mind’s eye, silent, weightless. But he dismissed them with a mental flick. His system had caught up. The world had resumed its breath.

He turned toward the road ahead and took his first step forward.

“Let’s keep moving, shall we?”

And the path, narrow and glistening with dew, welcomed him once again.

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