Deus Necros-Chapter 370: Dissolution

Ludwig’s eyes widened, the absurdity of what he was seeing tightening his throat.

But before even a second passed, the lantern reformed its pieces whirling together, floating briefly in midair before vanishing.

Then, just as casually, it reappeared on the Piper’s belt.

"Can’t even get rid of this stigma," the Piper sighed, his voice almost melancholy.

Timur’s eyes flicked to the strange man, then to Ludwig, unease creasing the edges of his face. His hand drifted near the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t draw. He didn’t understand what was going on, after all, to him, he couldn’t see what the two apostles were speaking of. Nor was he allowed sight of such a tool.

"Sir Davon, what’s going on?" he asked, voice taut.

Ludwig’s lips pressed into a line. "Too long of a story to explain," he replied quietly, brushing some dust from his coat as he stood straighter. His mind was already turning through contingencies, escape routes, possible delays. The weight of Oathcarver at his back was a comfort, but not a solution.

He turned his gaze back to the Piper. "In case you didn’t notice," Ludwig said, gesturing lightly to his side, "mine still has its light."

"I did notice that," the Piper replied, tone sharpening. "And that’s one reason I’m hesitant to finish my job..."

"So you’ll just leave?" Ludwig asked, trying to read any hint of deception through the unmoving mask.

"Nah," the Piper said simply. "I still need to grab that kid."

There was a shift in the air then, a pause that snapped tight.

Timur’s boots scraped as he stepped forward, now drawing steel, his body a wall between the Piper and the carriage. "Over my dead body," he said, tone iron-flat. There was no need to name who they meant. They all knew. Redd.

The Piper didn’t reply with words. One moment he was standing still, and the next he was beside Timur, his flute raised like a blade, the end of it less than a breath from Timur’s right eye.

Ludwig didn’t think. His left hand flexed sharply, and with a metallic snap and sudden drag, the Soul Shackles activated. In an instant, ethereal chains erupted from his wrist, coiling around Timur’s waist and yanking him sideways with brutal force.

The image of Timur’s head lingered behind as an afterimage, the Piper’s flute piercing through the ghost-light illusion. If the pull had come even a half-beat later, Timur’s skull might have bloomed crimson.

The Piper blinked once, slowly, as if taking measure.

"Ah..." he murmured, turning toward Ludwig again. "The Soul Shackles. So that’s where they went... Interesting."

He tilted his head. "You mentioned... you met the Fanged Apostle," he said slowly, the words thick with something between suspicion and curiosity.

Before Ludwig could answer, a deep growl rolled behind them like a landslide.

Gorak charged.

The barbarian’s axe roared through the air, a brutal, overhead cleave meant to split the Piper in two from skull to navel. It met a hand instead.

The Piper’s fingers clamped around the axe mid-swing. The force should have driven him backward or at least disrupted his stance, but he stood perfectly still. No strain. No noise.

Then, almost lazily, the Piper flicked his wrist.

The axe was torn from Gorak’s hands like it weighed nothing.

In the same instant, the Piper spun, one boot planting into the dirt, the other lashing out in a crescent kick that caught Gorak full in the chest. The sound of impact was sharp, and Gorak’s body arced through the air before slamming against a tree trunk with a bone-jarring crunch.

A hiss of breath escaped from Ludwig, but he kept his stance.

Melisande immediately rushed toward Gorak, staff in hand ready to heal him up, thankfully though the barbarian was tough, a spit of blood and he was already groggily up on his feet, one hand stopping Melisande from getting closer, the other pulled his axe from the tree.

They were fighting a powerful foe, and this seemed to be the case ever since they met Ludwig.

Robin, now kneeling atop the carriage wheel, finally raised his crossbow. The string sang as it locked into place.

"Yo, creep," Robin said flatly, eyes narrowing as he aimed, "get the fuck out of here. We’re in no mood for jokes or tragedies..."

The Piper did not even glance his way.

Instead, he took a step forward.

"Everyone! Calm down," Ludwig barked, stepping between them with arms spread. His voice cut across the tension like a blade. "We’re outclassed..."

That silenced the others. Even the trees seemed to listen.

The Piper chuckled quietly. "Oh... someone who can see his situation clearly," he said, amused. "True. You are outclassed. And outnumbered." He tapped the flute against his mask. "Don’t do anything foolish, please?"

His tone was mocking. But not condescending. He was enjoying this, like a man watching a cornered mouse try to solve a maze.

Then he pointed, directly at Ludwig.

"Now," he asked, "how did you not get split into bits and pieces after you met that murdering psychopath?"

Ludwig didn’t flinch. His voice came quiet but cold. "Why else would you think that?" he replied. "Also, who said that didn’t happen to me already?"

The Piper fell silent.

A faint hiss clicked behind the mask, a tongue against teeth. He clicked it once, an impatient gesture.

Everyone else stood in paralyzed confusion, save for the two who shared that strange understanding, Ludwig, and the Piper.

"What an annoyance," the Piper muttered, voice thickening. "This is frustrating. Necros is giving out too much power... too freely..."

He sighed again, hand drifting to his coat as if the very thought of it was exhausting him.

"Not only that," Ludwig added, tone harder now, "Who said this is our first time meeting?"

Ludwig wanted to use the same tactic against the werewolf, throw him off.

It didn’t work.

The Piper’s mask turned slowly, body stiff.

"It’s clear this is our first time speaking," the Piper said, and now the mask’s smile felt crueler. "Your way of speech, your motions, actions, and how you almost lost a comrade, you haven’t spoken to me before. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have foolishly thrown some third-rate magic at me earlier, expecting me to be hit."

Timur blinked, mouth parting. "What are you talking about...?" he asked, but no one answered him.

Ludwig didn’t have time to explain, didn’t want to. He was already scanning the woods behind the Bearowls, measuring the slope of terrain, the weight of magic in the air. His thoughts moved fast now, sharp and precise.

It would be tempting to fight, to throw spells, to summon undead, to test his newly attuned powers, but it would be pointless. Not just a high-risk gamble, but death for them all. He wasn’t a fool, nor a hero. He’d never seen himself as one.

Those who called themselves heroes had fate woven into their footsteps. They triumphed through prophecy and divine cheat. But Ludwig had no such crutch. He had only his choices. And this one was clear.

"You got me there," Ludwig said finally, exhaling. "But what of a next time?"

He paused.

"What if we decide to go another path? Another way."

The Piper tilted his head again, birdlike. "Wouldn’t make much of an issue for me," he replied. "I’ll still achieve my goal... of obtaining that boy."

"That is, if I don’t get here before you."

The Piper went still. His next breath was audibly sharp, a hiss through the mask’s laughter lines.

"I was hoping," he muttered, "you wouldn’t come to that conclusion..."

"I’m not that stupid," Ludwig said flatly.

There was a long silence.

Finally, the Piper exhaled, long and weary. "I guess you aren’t," he said. "Fine, fine. Take him."

Ludwig frowned. "That easy?"

The Piper’s shoulders rose in a shrug. "What? You expect me to fight? Waste of time. Worthless, too. I’ll just have to wait until the eventual happens anyway. I’m not the one who’s carrying a ticking time bomb."

His words were accompanied by a slow step backward.

"I also don’t like fighting those holier-than-thou types." He looked toward the general area of Rima, there were some faraway lights that were getting closer and closer towards them, probably holy order.

The Piper shook his head, "Zealots who have no idea what they’re worshipping," the Piper said, hopping lightly onto the white Bearowl’s back. The beast didn’t flinch under his weight.

He settled there like a king on his throne, flute in hand, mask gleaming.

"Till we meet again, freshman..." the Piper said, his voice fading into the dark as the Bearowl stepped back, into the mist.

The woods swallowed him whole.

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