Deus Necros

"Release them," the man said.

His voice did not shake.

That was the first thing Ludwig noticed.

The man had every reason to be afraid. His people were surrounded by monsters wearing polite shapes. A vampire woman held one of their girls. A beast of a man had one boy pinned beneath a hand. A mighty warrior held another by the collar. Ludwig stood in the center with Durandal drawn, poison still wet on the broken dart he had spat into the mud. Thomas glowed faintly on his shoulder like a small ember with eyes, and the forest itself had already warned Ludwig that the place was hostile.

And yet the man was careful, not afraid. You could sense it in him, that he was careful, ready to die but willing to draw blood for it.

The same was true for the others.

They kept distance. They used cover. They aimed at throats, eyes, joints, and gaps in armor. They were ready to fire or vanish at the slightest wrong movement, but panic had no place among them. Even the ones crouched on thin branches breathed slowly. Their weapons did not tremble. Their eyes measured.

People who lived here did not survive by fear alone.

Ludwig lowered Durandal slightly.

"Your children shot at us first," he said.

"They were watching," the man answered.

"With poisoned darts?"

"In these lands, watching without poison is asking to be eaten."

Tull muttered, "I hate how reasonable that sounds."

The man’s eyes flicked toward him for a brief second, then returned to Ludwig. "Who are you?"

Ludwig tilted his head. "Funny. I was about to ask the same thing."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"Again, same question."

The man’s grip tightened around his spear. Around him, the other adults shifted in tiny increments, each movement disciplined enough to be almost invisible. None fired. None retreated. The children had gone silent, eyes wide as they looked between the adults and Ludwig’s group.

Then the man asked a different question.

"How do you not fall to the sleep?"

The forest seemed to quiet around the words.

Ludwig understood immediately.

The sleep.

Not ordinary sleep. Not exhaustion. Not rest.

Sloth.

His fingers tightened around Durandal’s grip. "Because I already fought the one you’re talking about."

The man’s eyes narrowed.

Ludwig continued, "The pale giant. The white one. The thing that makes moving feel pointless. I fought him at Solania. I chased him back here."

The reaction was not what he expected.

Anger moved through the gathered humans like fire beneath dry grass.

Several bows drew tighter. One of the spear holders took a step forward before another placed a hand on his shoulder. The children looked at Ludwig with sudden horror, and the man before him showed his teeth beneath the black cloth around his face.

"You chased it back?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You returned it to us?"

The words were quiet.

That made them worse.

Ludwig said nothing for a moment.

The man’s voice rose. "We were finally rid of that abomination. For ages, it rested far from our paths. The black army moved less. The white sleep pressed weaker. We could breathe without counting the cost. Then the army returned through our forests, through our marshes, through our shelters, and we lost brothers because the white one came back angry."

Another man spat into the mud.

"You had it before you," the first man said. "You fought it. You lived. And you did not kill it."

Ludwig’s jaw tightened.

Tull’s eyes shifted toward him.

Celine said nothing, but her gaze hardened toward the humans, not in denial, but warning.

The man continued, each word carrying years of hatred that had nowhere else to go. "You drove it home and call that victory?"

"I don’t, I’m here to finish the job." Ludwig said.

That made the man pause.

Ludwig looked at the children first, then at the adults hidden among dead branches and black leaves. "I didn’t have the power to kill him then."

"Then you should have died with him."

Tull stepped forward. "Careful."

The spear points shifted toward him.

Ludwig lifted one hand.

Tull stopped, though not happily.

Ludwig looked back at the man. "How did you survive him all this time?"

No one answered.

Ludwig waited.

The answer did not come.

Only then did two figures appear behind the group.

Cain arrived first, walking through the trees as if the forest had failed to make itself worth avoiding. He held the first poisoned dart between his fingers, examining it with mild interest. Kaiser followed several steps behind him, brushing mud from the hem of his clothes and looking vaguely disappointed that no one had started screaming yet.

The humans reacted instantly.

Weapons shifted.

Several arrows turned from Ludwig to Cain.

That was probably the smartest thing they had done so far.

Cain glanced at them, unimpressed.

Kaiser looked at the gathered people and smiled. "Oh, this is better than I expected."

The man with the spear stared at Cain, then at Kaiser. Something in his expression changed. Not recognition exactly, but instinct. He did not know what they were, but he understood enough to dislike both.

Cain stopped beside Ludwig. "We need them to show us where Sloth went."

The humans murmured at the name, though most of them seemed to know the creature by another title.

The man’s spear lifted a fraction. "For what reason?"

Cain looked at him. "To end this."

The man stared.

Cain’s voice did not change. "To end Sloth."

For a heartbeat, the forest held still.

Then someone laughed.

It was not loud. It was not joyful. It was bitter enough to sound like a cough dragged over stone. Another laugh followed from above. Then another from somewhere behind a tree. None of them sounded amused.

"The man who commands sleep cannot be killed," the spear-holder said. "He cannot be harmed. He is a walking god."

Ludwig’s gaze sharpened.

"It is not a god."

"To us, it is."

"I already slew three of his brothers," Ludwig said. "I won’t fail to kill the fourth."

The laughter stopped.

This time, the silence had weight.

The man looked at him more carefully, studying his face, his sword, his posture, the strange calm of the companions beside him. His eyes moved to Cain, then Kaiser, then Celine, then back to Ludwig.

"You speak like a corpse that forgot humility," he said.

"I get that a lot."

One of the humans stepped out from behind him.

This one was taller, broader, and bare-armed despite the damp chill of the forest. Muscle corded under scarred skin. Several weapons hung from his body, daggers strapped across his chest, a crude curved sword at his hip, throwing knives near his ribs, and a blowdart tube bound against one shoulder. His hair was tied back with strips of black cloth, and his eyes carried challenge more than anger.

"If what you say is true," the large man said, "prove it."

Ludwig looked at him. "How?"

"A challenge. Show us the strength of the one who claims he can kill the white god. If you cannot afford to kill it, there is no reason to poke the bear. We will not lead fools to its rest."

Ludwig looked around at the weapons still aimed at him.

Then at the children.

"Fine."

He turned to Celine first and nodded toward the girl. Celine released her carefully, placing her on her feet instead of pushing her away. The girl stumbled, then ran to one of the women near the trees, who pulled her behind cover without lowering her bow. Redd released the boy under his hand, and Tull let go of the one he had been holding by the collar. The children ran to their people, though the boy who had shouted at Ludwig looked back with hatred burning through fear.

Ludwig stepped into the open space between roots and mud.

The large man stepped forward.

His curved sword remained sheathed.

Instead, he drew a dagger in one hand and lowered into a prowling stance. His feet spread over the mud with perfect balance. A thin layer of aura covered his soles and ankles, almost too faint to see, but enough to keep him from sinking. He began circling Ludwig slowly, shoulders loose, eyes focused, every weapon on his body positioned for quick access.

Ludwig watched him.

The man was strong.

Not imperial knight strong in the polished sense. Not academy-trained. Not clean. This was a survivor’s strength. His body had learned from swamps, ambushes, hunger, and things larger than him. He did not waste movement. He did not posture for the crowd. Every step asked a question.

Ludwig answered with a snap of his fingers.

Purple chains burst from the ground.

They wrapped around the man’s arms, legs, waist, and shoulders before he could complete his next step. The chains tightened, dragging him halfway down to one knee. Panic flashed across his face for the first time, fast and human, but it did not own him.

He dropped the dagger.

Not by accident.

The blade fell toward the mud, but before it landed, the man’s foot moved. He caught the dagger between his big toe and second toe, twisted his hip, and hurled it upward with his leg.

The dagger shot toward Ludwig’s face.

Ludwig tilted his head sideways.

The blade hissed past his cheek and vanished into a tree behind him.

He lifted Durandal and pointed the tip at the man’s throat.

The forest went quiet.

The chained man breathed hard, but there was no surrender in his eyes.

"Now what?" Ludwig asked daring the man to speak.

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