Deus Necros

Chapter 880: Birthday Chapter

"Cross," he said, and the tribesmen erupted in protest. Ludwig let their objections wash over him without changing his decision.

Ludwig ignored them. "We know the path is a trap. We know the palace wants us inside. That is more than we knew before."

Tull frowned. "That is not an advantage."

"It’s all we got right now..." Ludwig replied. They had survived worse situations with less knowledge.

Kaiser stepped onto the bridge first. "Try not to sit down."

Redd eyed the long white path. "That specific warning concerns me."

"It should." Kaiser continued without waiting for them.

Ludwig followed, and the others came after him. Cain and Celine stayed close to the tribesmen, while Tull and Redd walked near the center. Thomas perched on Ludwig’s shoulder, his glow reflected by the flawless cubes beneath their feet.

The bridge was wider than it had appeared from the tower. Five people could walk side by side without approaching either edge. The mist moved far below as they took the first hundred steps without difficulty.

Then the air changed. Warmth touched Ludwig’s face.

After days of bitter wind, stagnant marshes, cold forests, and snow that seemed capable of remembering hatred, the warmth felt unnatural only because it was pleasant. A scent crossed the bridge, carrying fresh bread, roasted meat, and sweet fruit split open at perfect ripeness. Somewhere beyond the forest, running water whispered.

Tull’s pace slowed as he looked toward the palace. "I could eat."

Celine glanced at him. "You ate this morning."

"I know." Tull kept staring ahead.

One of the tribesmen began to relax his posture, his mind starting to fade, but Cain caught him beneath the arm before he reached the cubes. "Move."

The man obeyed, though his legs trembled beneath him. They continued, and with each step, the palace grew clearer.

The dead forest surrounding it began changing. Gray trees gave way to green leaves, streams ran between pale stones, and the air became warmer, carrying the scent of clean soil instead of rot.

It was the first place in the Dark Continent where they could genuinely rest. No hostile presence waited beyond the trees, and no black army moved along the horizon. There was only shelter, food, warmth, and peace.

Redd stopped halfway across the bridge. The spirit of his sister stood beside him, its spectral body reflected faintly from the white cubes.

Redd stared toward one of the palace balconies, where pale figures walked slowly among hanging gardens. "She could be whole there."

His sister looked toward him, and her outline brightened. For a moment, she appeared less spectral and more solid. The shape of fur formed along her back, while the wounds that had defined her spirit faded.

Redd’s breath caught, but Ludwig seized his shoulder and the image vanished. The spirit returned to the wounded, spectral shape he knew.

Redd blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"Move," Ludwig ordered. His hand remained on Redd’s shoulder until Redd took another step.

Redd looked toward the palace again, his expression tightening as he understood what had happened. He forced his attention back to the bridge and resumed walking.

Tull had fallen several paces behind. The captain’s hands hung loosely at his sides, his sword remained sheathed, and the hard line of duty that usually shaped his posture had softened.

"I’m tired," he said, barely louder than the wind. There was no complaint in his voice, only a confession.

"So are all of us," Celine replied. She slowed until she was walking beside him.

"No." Tull looked down at the bridge. "I mean I’m tired of having something to do."

His words came quietly as he continued. "Orders. People. Fights. Someone always needs something. Even when one thing ends, another begins."

He closed his eyes. "It would be nice if nothing needed me."

Celine took his hand and pulled him forward. The contact helped, but her own pace was slowing. A flush of warmth had entered her pale face. Her eyes remained open, yet her breathing grew deeper, as though her body had decided they were approaching a safe bed after years without sleep.

Ludwig looked toward her. "Celine."

"I’m moving," she replied without meeting his gaze. Her steps had grown shorter despite the insistence in her voice.

"Remain aware," Cain warned. Cain he closer in case her legs failed.

"I said I am." Her irritation lacked its usual force.

The tribesmen suffered worse. Two needed to be supported, while another repeatedly tried to sit, mumbling that the palace had waited for him long enough. The elder continued walking through sheer fear, though every step became smaller than the last.

Ludwig felt none of it. The warmth touched his body but found no exhaustion to soothe. The scent of food held no meaning to something that did not hunger, and the promise of rest carried no weight upon one who did not tire.

Never Hunger. Never Tire. Never Fear.

The principles of the undead were not merely conveniences here. They were armor.

Kaiser walked beside him with the same unaffected pace. Cain slowed slightly but did not falter. His age and blood carried enough weight to resist the pressure, though even he watched the palace with growing caution.

"It wants us to surrender," Cain said. Nothing in the pressure demanded it, which only made the danger more difficult to resist.

Ludwig looked toward the open gates waiting beyond the forest. "Yes."

"It does not compel the body," Cain observed. He watched one of the tribesmen struggle against the urge to stop.

"No," Ludwig agreed. Compulsion would have been far easier to recognize and oppose.

"It makes resistance appear unreasonable." Cain’s eyes remained fixed on the inviting entrance.

Kaiser smiled faintly. "The most effective chains are the ones a prisoner thanks you for."

They reached the far side, where the bridge led directly into a white road winding through the forest. Fruit hung from the trees beside it, and clear streams passed beneath shallow arches. No wall surrounded the palace because no wall was necessary. Its gates stood open, spilling warm light across the path.

Ludwig entered first. Inside, the palace was even more beautiful.

Water flowed through narrow channels cut into the white floor, and gardens filled the spaces between immense halls. Gentle lamps hung overhead, their glow soft enough that no shadow appeared harsh. The air smelled clean.

No servants greeted them because there were no servants. Food rested on every table and replenished itself without anyone carrying it. Cups filled slowly from streams of water that climbed through the air and poured themselves without spilling.

People sat everywhere. Some watched Ludwig’s group enter, though most did not. A man reclining beside a fountain smiled as they passed.

"You can stop now," he whispered, his eyes calm as he looked at Ludwig. "You have done enough."

Another voice came from a nearby table. "Sit with us."

A woman held out a piece of bread. "There is no need to fight here."

The offer was genuine, which made it worse. None of them wanted to deceive Ludwig. They believed what they said and were grateful for the palace. They were grateful that no one asked them to suffer, work, choose, or struggle.

Tull stared at an empty chair until Celine pulled him past it. The elder tribesman entered the main hall and stopped when he saw the people he had recognized through the Watch Hollow sitting only a few dozen paces away.

His wife remained at the table, and his former chief sat beside her. Neither of them rose.

The old tribesman moved toward his mother, but Cain caught him before he could break from the group. "She knows me."

His mother turned her head, and a faint smile crossed her face. Then her gaze returned to the untouched fruit before her.

At another table, someone moved. It was not the slow turn of one of the palace’s surrendered inhabitants. His fingers scraped against the white surface once, then again.

The man appeared younger than many of the others, though exhaustion had hollowed his eyes. His hair was clean and his body well-fed, but sweat covered his forehead as though moving a single hand required every fragment of strength he still possessed.

His gaze fixed on the elder tribesman, and recognition ignited. "You..." The unfinished word emerged like the first sound he had made in years.

The elder stiffened as the man’s fingers curled. "You came back."

His chair scraped against the floor, drawing several people’s attention, though they lost interest before completing the motion. The man pushed himself upright, his legs shaking violently. For one moment, he almost sat again.

Then he saw the tribesman beside Ludwig. Whatever memory connected them gave him enough strength to remain standing.

Two entities emerged from the far end of the hall, and Ludwig recognized them immediately. They were enormous, white, and featureless. Their bodies resembled giants carved from smooth stone, without eyes, mouths, or clothing. They moved with the same heavy patience as the beings that had carried Sloth’s throne into Solania.

Neither raised a weapon. One of them carried a tray holding bread, fruit, warm meat, and a cup of clear water.

The entities stopped beside the struggling man and presented the food. There was no threat and no command, only an offer.

The man stared at it with trembling hands, then struck the tray away. Fruit rolled across the floor, while the cup shattered and spilled water over the flawless cubes.

"No!" The word tore itself from him. "No, I don’t want it!"

The featureless giants did not react. The man stumbled away from them, breathing as if he had run for miles.

"I don’t want any more!" he shouted before turning toward the woman seated beside him.

She was beautiful, with long dark hair resting cleanly across her shoulders. Her hands remained folded beside a plate she had not touched.

The man seized her shoulders. "Wake up."

Her body shifted beneath his hands, but her expression did not. She offered no resistance, yet made no effort to rise.

"Please." He shook her harder. "Get up. We have to leave."

She slowly looked at him, and a peaceful smile touched her lips. "Sit down."

The man recoiled. "No."

"You’re tired," she told him gently. Her tone carried the tenderness of someone offering comfort.

"No." He shook his head again.

"There is food," she said, glancing toward the table. To her, that answered every reason he might have for leaving.

"I don’t want food!" His voice broke with the effort.

"You should rest." Her peaceful smile never changed.

He released her and staggered backward. Something inside him broke as he stared at that placid expression. Then he turned toward Ludwig’s group and began moving closer.

The two white entities watched without pursuing or restraining him. Their stillness made it clear that they did not expect him to escape.

"You should leave," the man whispered, keeping his gaze on the tribesmen. "You shouldn’t have come back."

The elder stepped toward him. "Come with us."

The man shook his head. "You don’t understand."

"We can take you out," the elder insisted. Hope made him step closer despite everything he had seen.

"There is no out." The man moved past the group, heading toward the open hall and the bridge.

Each step came faster than the last as panic lent him strength the palace had spent years taking away. Then white appeared around his ankle.

At first, Ludwig mistook it for reflected light. Then it began to climb.

A smooth layer spread over the man’s foot and moved up his leg. It did not burn or tear his flesh. It covered him with the same flawless substance as the palace walls.

The man stumbled. "No."

The whiteness reached his knee, and he clawed at it, but his fingernails left no marks. "No, not again."

The elder tribesman ran toward him, but Ludwig caught the man before he could approach. "Wait."

"We have to help him!" the elder shouted, fighting Ludwig’s grip.

The whiteness passed the struggling man’s waist, and he fell to the floor. The white entities remained still. They had not touched him. The palace itself continued its work.

The man dragged himself toward the exit with both arms. "You have to leave."

The white layer reached his chest, and his movements slowed. His fingers pressed against the smooth floor. For a moment, they continued pulling, but then they stopped.

His body began changing. Limbs drew inward with soft cracks, his shoulders folded, and his torso compressed without blood or visible injury. The smooth white substance swallowed his face last.

His eyes remained fixed on the tribesmen, terrified and aware, until they disappeared. That terror was the last part of him the palace concealed.

The rearrangement continued. Where a man had fallen, a flawless white cube settled onto the palace floor. No seam marked its surface, and no trace of the person remained.

The featureless giants approached. One lifted the cube while the other collected the fallen fruit and replaced the shattered cup. Together, they carried the block away.

No one seated in the hall reacted. The woman the man had tried to awaken reached calmly toward the new tray placed before her. Her fingers stopped halfway to the bread, then lowered again.

Kaiser watched the giants disappear into a passage lined with white walls. His gaze shifted toward the palace floor, the pillars, the tables, and the distant towers. Then, slowly, he looked toward the bridge they had crossed, a bridge built entirely from white cubes.

For once, Kaiser did not immediately write anything in his notebook. His empty hand remained at his side.

Ludwig looked down at the flawless block beneath his own feet. The palace had given the man everything. When he finally wanted something again, it had turned him into part of the place that taught him not to want.

Across the hall, the surrendered inhabitants continued smiling. The water continued running, the food remained warm, and somewhere high within the citadel, a bell rang for the third time.

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