Deus Necros

The island trembled as if something ancient and enraged had stirred beneath its crust. The once calm shoreline churned with waves the size of hills, crashing into the obsidian cliffs with the sound of distant war drums. High above, the trees bent like frightened servants, their limbs twisting under the weight of a wind that howled not from nature, but from something unseen and vengeful. Ash leapt from the earth, carried on gusts, mixing with mist and fog until the world turned into a gray void. Shapes became silhouettes. Paths became whispers. The air tasted of metal and sorrow.

The Golden Armada was moving faster and with all the courage of an army of fanatics not fearing for their lives or wellbeing, trusting in the embrace and forgiveness of a holy and higher power.

The ships cruised through the high tide and massive waves, supported by eldritch power that bore and broke through the enemy’s attacks.

From afar, and from within the mist, it was visible, a massive-sized creature that moved through the layers of mist, and with each of its moves, the whole island moved along with it, as if it was an inseparable part of it.

***

But deep beneath all of that, buried in the bones of the island, down where the black stone tunnels coiled and the earth pressed like a weight over their heads. There, the shaking was little more than a whisper.

A tremor, distant, faint. The sound of the world above suffering while those below remained trapped in its forgotten gut.

Ludwig, the Baltimore Knight, and the Vampire Hunter stood over the mangled corpse of the last Perturbant that had clawed its way into the subterranean keep. Its echorous blood still steamed in the cold air. The creature’s thorne made ribcage had been torn open like a book, and bone and other wooden fragments still littered the floor like hail.

“The hell is that?” the Vampire Hunter asked, sheathing his blade as he looked up toward the shuddering ceiling.

The Knight adjusted his posture, one hand still tight around the hilt of his longsword. His head cocked slightly as if listening for something else. “Seems like it’s coming from outside,” he said, his voice steady but not without concern.

Ludwig didn’t even lift his gaze. His eyes remained fixed on the slowly dissipating glow at the center of the chamber. “We have better things to take care of right now than worrying about what’s happening outside.”

The Knight turned to him. “What do you mean?”

Ludwig’s thumb casually pointed behind him, over his shoulder, toward the center of the dome that had once pulsed with deep red energy. The space now stood cold and empty. “The barrier disappeared while we were fighting.”

Only then did they truly look. The arcane dome, the crimson veil of power that had sealed the heart of the cavern, was gone. Where once there had been pulsating magic, walls of bloodlight thick with ancient sigils, there was now nothing but bare stone and settling dust.

The Vampire Hunter’s face lit, after all this time, after the effort of so many other hunters, and an exorbitant, lavish, and even copious amounts of gold, silver, and favors spent, they’ll finally be able to witness the legacy of the once great clan of the Vampire Hunters!

However, the sordid emptiness of where the barrier was came in like a wake-up call.

And within that silence, the true realization struck.

“NOOOO!” It sounded more of resignation, pain, agony, and most of all, hopelessness.

The Vampire Hunter lunged forward, his voice splitting the silence like a blade against glass. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the empty space, fingers clawing at the dirt, at loose stone and broken metal, scraping until his nails bled. The veins in his neck strained as his mouth moved without sound before he finally screamed again, louder this time.

“This can’t be! This can’t be!”

He dug harder. Dust clung to his face like ash from a pyre. “Where is it?! Where is the legacy!” His voice cracked as he choked on breath, his hands now bloodied, red trailing down to his elbows. “We looked for years. Years…! All of us… all of them died for this…”

The Knight stepped forward, only a pace, then stopped. There were no words to comfort the kind of pain he was witnessing.

A chime. Mechanical. Cold. Familiar.

[You have discovered the source of the corruption. However, it has already fused with the body of the captive.]

[Quest Update]

You have discovered the source of the corruption that affected the Dawn Islands.

Due to the full fusion of the Wrath Core with the body of *@”==’! you cannot remove it to stop the descent.

You have obtained:

[Bonemancy]

[Detonate Dead]

[Death Echo]

1 [Umbral Malvolume: Codex Necros] Page

The spell book’s knowledge will be imparted to you once they wish for it.

You have obtained: 1 Brave Soul

Follow-up Quest Activated

Choice:

You cannot leave the Dawn Island as long as the Thorn-Wombed Queen lives.

Additional Information:

The Golden Armada is at the shore. The Holy Order has arrived on the Dawn Islands.

Ensure your survival.

The person who has the Wrath Core fused into their body is nearby.

The Thorn-Wombed Queen’s presence is greatly supported by the fused core of the sealed entity. Killing the sealed entity will weaken the Queen significantly.

Reward for killing the sealed entity:

1 Weak Soul

Alternate Reward (Optional Objective):

If you find a way to defeat the Thorn-Wombed Queen without killing the core-infused person, you will obtain:

[Advanced Necrotic Rituals] (Legendary)

{Advanced Necrotic Rituals will allow you to learn the proper method of resurrecting the dead while keeping almost all their memories and physical abilities, with a chance of enhancing their power beyond death.}

***

The text disappeared in the corner of Ludwig’s vision, but the weight of it lingered heavily in his chest.

“Guys…” Ludwig’s voice came low, nearly buried beneath the grief still echoing from the Hunter’s sobs.

The Knight turned his head. “What is it, Sir Davon?”

Ludwig took a breath. Cold, stale air filled his lungs, heavy with the scent of blood and rot. “I don’t think the Hunter’s completely wrong.”

The Knight narrowed his eyes. “Meaning?”

“There might not have been a ‘legacy’ in the way he thought,” Ludwig said slowly, “but I think there was something here. Something ancient. Powerful. And we were so busy… we didn’t notice it slip past us.”

“How are you so sure about that?” the Knight asked, and the hunter’s gaze barely left the ground to land on Ludwig, a questioning gaze planted clearly on his face.

Ludwig didn’t have to say much, only gesture with his head.

The Knight followed Ludwig’s gaze as his hand lifted again, this time pointing at something small on the ground, just beside the Hunter’s knees. A pair of cuffs, mostly buried beneath the rubble and ash, one half broken open, the other snapped clean through.

“What about it?” the Knight asked.

The Hunter, still kneeling, followed their eyes and reached out. His hand closed around the metal. He held it up.

“What’s different about this?”

“Where’s the rust?” Ludwig replied.

The words hung in the air like a nail through the heart.

All around them, the ruins were corroded, pitted, aged by centuries. Every chain, every latch, every nail showed signs of time’s slow, cruel erosion. Yet the cuffs in the Hunter’s palm gleamed. Untouched. Recently used.

The wind screamed louder, no longer distant. It wound its way through the cavern halls, too focused now to be natural. Ludwig’s mind quieted, instinct snapping to the surface like a blade unsheathed.

The fog wasn’t just mist. It moved like breath. It circled like thought. And in the corner of Ludwig’s vision, the air shifted, just slightly, like something was there and gone in the same heartbeat.

He turned.

His whole body tensed.

He didn’t see it. Not fully. Just a wrongness in the shape of the air. A suggestion of motion where there should be stillness. A whisper without voice.

The Hunter stopped crying. His head tilted, confused. “Did either of you…”

There was no warning.

A blur struck the Hunter with such speed and force that his entire body lifted from the ground and slammed into the wall with a heavy, wet crunch. There was no scream. No shout. Just the slap of flesh against stone. The cuffs clattered from his hand and rolled to the ground again, spinning lazily to a stop.

A presence loomed.

Ludwig did not blink.

It was here.

The shadow moved again.

No wind stirred the cavern, and yet something slipped between the spaces of the red-lit chamber, a silent flicker that warped perception for an instant. The creature’s movement was not a step nor a lunge, it was a tearing of space, a blur that left the eyes aching and the mind struggling to reconcile what it had just witnessed. The knight reacted on instinct alone, his sword rising in the nick of time, the steel catching the incoming claw with a shriek that cracked across the chamber. Sparks burst in wild arcs from the impact, and blood followed, a bright slash torn across the edge of his helmet as the beast skidded past.

“Move!” Ludwig’s voice was harsh and sharp, but too late.

The creature, now in full, launched again. Its form was obscene, a malformed mockery of humanity wrought in blackened flesh and sinew, stripped of most of its flesh, skin and sanity alike. Its body, lean and skeletal, was scorched beyond recognition, as if every nerve had once been flayed open and set alight. Filth clung to the muscular frame, clinging in mats of soot and dried ichor, as if it had clawed its way out of a furnace and never healed from the journey. Rusted nails were embedded into its back like some crude punishment, pounded deep between vertebrae and ribs, each one humming faintly in unnatural resonance.

Whatever this thing was… it didn’t feel welcoming, nor friendly.

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