Deus Necros

Chapter 411: Evolve and Overcome

Without hesitation, he placed his boot on the first proper stone of the bridge. The surface was uneven, cracked in places, but sturdy. He gave a few testing stomps, feeling for any hollow vibrations. Nothing gave way, so he stepped forward.

“Looks safe enough,” Ludwig said, though his own tone seemed to be not too trusting of his own words.

The bridge groaned faintly under his weight, as though complaining of the intrusion. Each step echoed into the dark, the sound swallowed by the chasm. Thomas hovered close, spectral glow faint but steady, his nervous voice breaking the quiet. “This feels like a bad idea, Ludwig.”

“Everything down here’s a bad idea,” Ludwig replied, his tone dry. “Keep your eyes open.”

The further they moved, the more oppressive the cavern felt. A wind rose from the abyss below, cold and damp, bringing with it the coppery tang of old blood and the faint reek of decay. Ludwig’s undead senses didn’t recoil, but even he felt the weight of the place pressing in on him. Behind them, the tunnel yawned like a mouth, and ahead, the fortress loomed larger with each step.

Halfway across, Thomas muttered, “I don’t like this. Too quiet. No traps, no resistance. That’s worse than anything.”

Ludwig said nothing, but his eyes scanned every shadow, every crevice in the stonework. His grip on Oathcarver tightened, the massive blade resting easily across his shoulders, ready to be swung in an instant.

The rest of the bridge stretched ahead like a scar across the darkness, the fortress at the far end growing with each step until its broken towers clawed at the cavern ceiling like fingers frozen in mid-reach. The closer they drew, the more details emerged from the gloom. Ludwig could make out statues long defaced, their faces eaten away by time or something far less natural. The shattered remains of what might have once been braziers jutted from the sides of the bridge, their metal warped and fused with stone as if melted by a great heat.

Thomas drifted closer to Ludwig’s shoulder, his faint light trembling. “Look at those bones,” he whispered. His gaze lingered on the mounds that lined the edges of the bridge. They weren’t just scattered remains, they had been arranged, piled deliberately, as though to warn intruders or perhaps feed something that had come before. “They’ve been here for ages. Some of those skulls… they’ve got claw marks on them. Something chewed through.”

Ludwig did not slow. His own eyes catalogued every detail, every piece of the battlefield long passed. “These are all messages,” he murmured. “We keep walking.”

A sudden sound drifted from below the bridge, a long, low groan, as if something enormous shifted deep within the chasm. Ludwig paused for a fraction of a second, tilting his head. His undead senses stretched outward like invisible wires. There was movement far below, something sliding across rock, too distant to see, but too close to ignore.

Thomas caught the motion in Ludwig’s eyes. “Something down there?”

“Maybe,” Ludwig said, tone unreadable. “Or maybe it’s just the stone settling. Either way, we’re not here to sightsee.”

They pushed on. The last stretch of the bridge seemed steeper, the stones slicker with a thin sheen of moisture that clung to Ludwig’s boots. He tested each step, feeling the weight of Oathcarver on his back, the reassuring press of his grip on his ring, ready to draw Durandal for quick dispatching work if needed. Behind him, Bob followed silently, his bony feet making no sound on the ancient stones.

At last they reached the other side. Up close, the fortress was worse than it had appeared from afar. The main gate was a ruin, the massive wooden doors long gone, leaving only jagged stumps of rusted iron hinges with a smattering of rotten wood of what perhaps might have been the door. The walls were scorched in places, blackened streaks running like old tears down the stone. And everywhere, bones. Crushed under fallen masonry, jammed between cobblestones, tangled in ancient barbed wire that had rusted to a deep, ugly red.

Ludwig crouched by one pile, brushing aside a cracked helm with the back of his hand. “Too many bodies for a single battle,” he muttered. “This was a slaughter. Looks like they were the last defendants, and were made an example of…or worse…”

Inside, the air was colder still, heavy with the scent of mildew and something else, something sour, like rot left too long in a sealed room. The hallway beyond the gate was lined with alcoves, each one holding remnants of what might have been statues or weapon racks. Now, they were broken, shattered, the stonework gouged by claws or blades.

Thomas floated near the ceiling, his light casting shadows that crawled and danced. “I don’t like this,” he said softly. “Feels like we’re walking into a throat.”

“Then keep your eyes open, and pay attention to our back let’s not get ambushed by whatever it is that’s left here.” Ludwig replied, his voice low. He shifted Oathcarver forward, the massive blade scraping faintly against stone as he carried it at his side.

Farther in, the destruction grew worse. Walls had collapsed inward, leaving heaps of rubble that Ludwig climbed over with careful, deliberate steps. The faint sound of dripping water echoed through the corridors, though there was no visible source. In one shadowed corner, he caught sight of movement and froze, hand already gripping Oathcarver from over his shoulder, ready for whatever it is that’s foolish enough to try and jump-scare an Undead

The movement solidified into a figure, a woman, crouched low, a sword drawn and pressed to the ground. Her hair fell over her face in damp strands, her robes battered and dark. And then the blade flicked upward, catching the light, and it was at Ludwig’s neck before he could speak.

Instead of panicking or swinging down, in that moment when her sword was at his neck, Ludwig had already thought of counter measure.

His other hand was already raised, a fireball spinning inches from her chest. The glow painted both their faces in stark orange light.

The woman’s eyes widened, and in a voice ragged but familiar, she breathed, “Ludwig?”

Ludwig didn’t lower the flame. “Celine?” His voice was measured, careful. He studied her stance, her breathing, the tiny movements in her shoulders.

Her sword lowered an inch, her brow furrowing. “It’s really you…” she said, her voice softer now. “I thought… I thought maybe…”

“You sound normal this time,” Ludwig said, still watching her carefully. “No strange pauses. No broken tone.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Same for you. I… I ran into one of those things.” Her sword trembled slightly before she steadied it. “It wore your face. I fought it until I couldn’t anymore.”

“Yeah, figures, they’re kinda immortal, how did you deal with them?” Ludwig relaxed his hand on Oathcarver, giving the woman in front of him semblance of ease.

However his other hand was still burning hot between them.

“Yeah, It wouldn’t die. So I just threw it into the chasm.”

Ludwig’s grip on Oathcarver relaxed. “Efficient,” he murmured, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. But he didn’t lower the fireball. Instead, he cast a glance to Bob, who stood a few steps behind him, silent but alert.

“That life signature,” Ludwig asked, voice low, “where is it?”

“Life signature?” Celine asked.

Bob’s glowing eyes turned slowly toward the far end of the corridor. His skeletal finger lifted, pointing deeper into the fortress. “It is there, Master. Farther in.”

The words had barely left Bob’s jaw when Ludwig acted. The fireball in his hand flared, then shot forward in a blazing arc, striking Celine square in the chest.

She screamed, a sound that twisted and warbled, overlapping itself in layers of broken voices, as her form melted into black smoke, shadow peeling away like ash in the wind. Her shape stretched, distorted, and then solidified into the writhing, faceless silhouette of an Umbrite.

“Almost fooled me,” Ludwig said, stepping forward, Oathcarver raised high. His eyes gleamed in the firelight, cold and sharp. “You’re improving. Quite scary” Ludwig said, though his tone betrayed feeling any ounce of worry.

The shadow hissed, its voice a chorus of tones. “Cursed undead!” it howled, lurching forward with claws like blades.

Ludwig stomped his foot, purple sigils spiraling outward across the cracked stone. “Bounds of Latvia!” he shouted, but the Umbrite was quicker this time. Its body liquefied into smoke, seeping into the nearest wall and vanishing without a trace.

“Damn, this one was quicker on his feet.” Ludwig growled, lowering his blade but keeping the firelight in his palm. He scanned the walls, every shadow a potential threat. “Annoying creatures… this will only get worse and worse.”

“Ludwig…” Thomas’s voice trembled slightly.

“Not now,” Ludwig snapped, eyes still scanning the surrounding and also thinking up countermeasures for all the bullshit the Umbrites might come up with to try and fool him.

“Ludwig,” Thomas repeated, more urgently this time. He drifted toward the fortress entrance and pointed back across the bridge. “You might want to… see that.”

Ludwig turned. His eyes narrowed.

From the darkness of the tunnel they had left behind, shapes poured forth, dozens at first, then hundreds. Shadows coalescing into forms, some monstrous, some grotesquely human. The Umbrites surged forward in a tide, their footfalls echoing like a heartbeat across the stone bridge.

“Well,” Ludwig said, shifting Oathcarver into both hands, the blade humming faintly as his hands wrapped around it. His lips curled into a grin that was equal parts grim and eager. “Guess we’re not getting bored today.”