Deus Necros

Chapter 409: Evolution

“Seems like your army is almost gone,” Thomas remarked softly, his tiny form gliding beside Ludwig’s shoulder. His voice was low, as though even in this lifeless cavern and as a ghost that only Ludwig can see, he still feared rousing something unseen. The faint luminescence of the fungi above barely outlined his expression, but Ludwig could imagine the way Thomas’s lips pulled into that habitual wry smile.

The spectral companion’s words came on the heels of a cascade of red notifications drifting across Ludwig’s vision. They floated there like ominous lanterns, each one a record of a death. A death Ludwig felt, distantly, in the back of his mind. The necrotic link severing.

“From the looks of it,” Ludwig said after a moment, his voice calm but weighted, “I still have all the ghouls and variants.” His eyes narrowed at the list, scanning for patterns, searching for some hidden meaning. “The only ones that died are the skeletons.”

He let his gaze sweep the tunnels, finger lifting to indicate a shadowed path veering left. The air seemed thicker there, as though the darkness pooled deeper. “And all the skeletons went that way.”

Durandal shifted on his back, the scythe’s haft pressing against his shoulder as if urging him forward. He wrapped his fingers around it and drew it with a smooth motion, the faint rasp of metal against leather whispering through the still cavern. The blade caught what little light there was, its edge dull in hue yet heavy in presence.

Thomas hovered closer, his translucent form shedding a ghostly blue glow on the uneven walls. “Are we…” he hesitated, glancing down the path Ludwig had pointed out. “…really going right where the enemy is?” His words wavered slightly, a trace of incredulity mixed with reluctant respect.

Ludwig’s boots crunched over the fine dust as he began walking, each step deliberate. “What else am I going to do?” he asked quietly, not looking back. “We can’t just wait here.”

He paused then, letting the silence of the cavern sink in before adding, with a humorless twist to his lips, “It’s not like they’re dangerous.”

Thomas floated in thoughtful silence for a heartbeat, then sighed a sound that was almost too alive despite his spectral nature. “I hope what you’re saying is right then…” His voice faded into the low hum of distant dripping water.

Ludwig continued forward, his footfalls echoing softly along the tunnel. The path ahead was narrow, lined with jagged protrusions where stone had shifted and cracked over centuries. Every few steps a droplet of water would fall from the ceiling into some unseen puddle, the sound sharp in the quiet. The air smelled of old earth and something metallic, faint, like the tang of blood left too long on stone.

He walked for several minutes, scanning carefully, expecting to see splintered bones or abandoned scraps of armor, some remnant of his fallen minions. Instead, the tunnel stretched on, pristine and undisturbed, as though nothing had ever passed through.

Ludwig’s grip on Durandal tightened, the leather biting faintly into his palm. His eyes swept the darkness again, slower, more intent. “Looks like something’s different here,” he murmured, his tone more to himself than to Thomas.

Thomas tilted his head, glancing at the faint glow of fungus clinging to the rock overhead. “Different… how?”

“Too clean,” Ludwig said softly. His voice was a low rasp, thoughtful, as he crouched to touch the stone floor with the back of his gloved knuckles. “Not a trace of what went through. Like they were never here at all.”

The oppressive silence made his shoulders tense. He could almost feel the weight of the mountain pressing down, the ancient stones watching. His eyes caught on the wall to his right, a span of cobblestone that should have been crumbling but instead looked intact, almost deliberate.

He took another cautious step.

And the world exploded.

Without warning, the wall beside him detonated outward. Cobblestones became shrapnel, jagged projectiles launched with terrifying force. The sound was deafening, like a thunderclap contained within the stone.

[ -1871!]

[ -1600!]

Pain flared through Ludwig’s shoulder and foot as the stones struck, his body thrown violently into the opposite wall. Dust erupted around him, the taste of earth and copper flooding his mouth.

[Your Left Foot is broken!]

[Your shoulder has been dislocated!]

“God fucking damn it, !” The curse ripped from his throat as he forced himself up, his breaths coming sharp and shallow. He dragged a potion from his belt, The cork came free with his teeth, and he gulped the bitter Bastos Wine down, feeling its alchemical warmth surge through his veins. His broken foot began to knit itself back together, and with a painful wrench he popped his shoulder back into place, the joint grinding as it settled.

Stone still rattled to the ground as Ludwig steadied himself, his eyes darting to the breach now yawning in the wall. Through the swirling dust, a shape emerged, massive, wrong, and all too alive.

A deep tremor rippled through the ground as the figure stepped fully into view, ducking beneath the jagged edge of the shattered wall. The faint bioluminescence of the fungi above licked across its form, revealing a silhouette that made Ludwig’s stomach tighten with instinctive recognition of danger.

The creature was tall enough to brush the ceiling with the spines that jutted from its back. Its shape was a blasphemous melding of predators: the angular muzzle of a wolf, elongated and lined with cruel fangs, flanked by a pair of blackened horns that curved back like the crescents of a nightmare.

It moved forward on two legs that were far too muscular to be called merely humanoid. Each step made the stone tremble, taloned feet gripping the uneven floor with a screech of claw against rock. Scales gleamed like dark steel under the faint light, overlapping in a pattern that spoke of natural armor honed by something far more sinister than evolution.

Its arms, thick as young trees, flexed with a rippling lattice of muscle as it spread clawed hands wide, the claws themselves glinting like obsidian blades. Behind it, the long tail swayed slowly, deliberately, its vertebrae tipped with jagged bone extrusions that glimmered faintly with some inner sheen, each movement whispering of power coiled and ready to strike.

Ludwig’s heartbeat slowed or he felt it did as he has no heart, a deliberate focus washing over him. He rolled his newly mended shoulder, feeling the dull throb of lingering pain. “Looks like you’re the reason,” he murmured, his voice calm, though his mind raced with tactical considerations.

The beast’s eyes, twin coals of seething red, locked onto him. For a moment, neither moved, predator and prey caught in a silent standoff. Then, slowly, it grinned, lips peeling back to reveal those serrated teeth.

It lunged.

The motion was deceptively fluid for its size. Its bulk swept forward in a blur of muscle and scale, and Ludwig’s instincts screamed a warning. He drove his barely healed foot down. “Bone Spears!” he roared.

The earth answered. The ground in front of him burst apart as jagged spears of pale bone thrust upward in a vicious fan. The monster barely slowed. It crashed through them, splinters of bone scattering like brittle twigs.

Ludwig saw the creature’s arm rise, saw the impossible tension coil through its frame. Accentuating every muscle from his pectoral, dorsal, deltoids, biceps and all the way to his finger muscles. Each and every one of them brimmed with untold power ready to crumble down upon Ludwig’s frame with endless fury.

Ludwig dove to his right. The claw slammed down where he had been a heartbeat before, the impact cracking the stone floor, sending tremors shuddering through the tunnel.

He didn’t stop. Even as he hit the ground, he rolled again, instinct overriding thought.

The second roll saved his life.

The tail, a blur of scaled muscle and sharpened bone, whipped through the space his head had occupied, the force of its passing alone enough to sting his cheek with wind and grit. The tail struck the wall with a sickening crunch, sending a rain of debris down in its wake.

Ludwig came up on one knee, dirt smearing his face, breath steady despite the chaos. “Eat dirt,” he growled, and thrust out his hand.

Flame bloomed in his palm, bright and hungry. He hurled it without hesitation, the fireball screaming through the air.

The creature twisted with uncanny speed, its massive frame ducking low, claws scraping the floor as it dropped onto all fours. The fireball detonated behind it, the shockwave washing heat and smoke over Ludwig’s face. The monster skittered forward like a cockroach that you missed with your sandal. Only this one was far deadlier. It came at him with tail lashing wildly, and Ludwig felt the rush of air as it closed the distance.

Its jaws snapped open, the fetid stench of whatever unnatural essence animated it hitting him full in the face. Ludwig pushed off his back foot, springing upward just as those jaws clamped shut where his torso had been.

Durandal sang as he flicked it into its scythe form, the haft sliding into his grip with practiced ease. As the monster reared its head for another bite, Ludwig’s arms swung in a wide arc, the scythe’s blade glinting before it bit deep into the creature’s snout. The cut ripped through flesh cartilage bone and scale, the weapon bursting out through the upper jaw with a wet crack.

The monster shrieked, a horrible sound that rattled Ludwig’s teeth. He gritted his own, planted his feet, and leaned his weight against the scythe to keep it pinned. The creature writhed, claws tearing furrows into the floor as it tried to free itself, tail whipping wildly behind it.

[Limit Break!” Ludwig howled as his own muscles flared up, expanding underneath his regalia and giving him a burst of power to contend with the massive creature in terms of strength.

No matter how it flailed, it found Ludwig comparable to a mountain, an immovable object.

Ludwig didn’t let go, after all, no matter how strong the creature in front of it was, how much muscles it had, and how much explosive power it could release, against the muscle fibers of the dead, which have no reason or purpose to limit their functionality. Ludwig held the upper hand when it came to pure brutal strength.

Ludwig’s left hand flared with light, mana compressing, twisting. He clenched his fist, and the light warped into the shape of a spear wreathed in violet fire. “I said eat dirt,” he hissed through his teeth, the words low and furious.

He drove the spear forward…and the monster was gone.

In an instant, its hulking form collapsed into a swirl of black smoke that hissed and writhed before dissipating entirely. The scythe sliced through nothing. The firelight sputtered against empty air.

Ludwig froze, his senses straining, waiting for the counterattack that didn’t come. The silence of the dungeon closed around him once more, heavier than before.

“Son of a bitch,” Ludwig muttered under his breath, lowering the crackling spear, the glow fading as he let the spell unravel. He scanned the corridor, eyes narrowing, listening for the faintest scrape or shift of movement.

Thomas hovered closer, his voice uneasy. “That… that wasn’t just some beast, was it?”

Ludwig exhaled slowly, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “No,” he said. “It was them.”

He tilted his head back, letting the darkness press down on him, the familiar weight of the dungeon settling in his chest. “They’re changing forms. That’s not good.”

His mind flicked through possibilities, countermeasures. He tightened his grip on Durandal, feeling the weapon’s weight steady him. “Can’t blow them up with Detonate Dead if they don’t take one of my skeletons. And that thing… it was built to kill.”

He straightened, brushing the dust from his coat with his free hand, and sighed. The sound echoed softly through the hollow corridor. “This dungeon,” he muttered, eyes hard as he turned back toward the dark path ahead, “is going to be a lot more trouble than I thought.”