Deus Necros - Chapter 445: Against The Odds

Chapter 445: Against The Odds

Ludwig was hurled through the night air like a spear, Oathcarver clutched tight in his hands. The weight of the ultra-greatsword dragged against his arms, his muscles screaming under the backlash of [Limit Breaker]. His body was already flagging, drained and sluggish, every motion carrying that leaden stiffness of an engine pushed past its limit. Even so, his momentum carried him straight toward the looming mass of the Moonflayed King. The air vibrated around the creature, each heartbeat of its ceramic core echoing like a war drum, rattling Ludwig’s hollow chest.

“EAT SHIT!” he roared, the sound ragged, half fury and half the strain of forcing his ruined body forward. He brought Oathcarver down in a savage arc, every ounce of undead strength still lingering in him poured into the strike. The blade carved through the night, trailing sparks of magic, and slammed into the King’s pallid shoulder.

The impact sent a quake up Ludwig’s arms, a shock so violent his wrists burned and his shoulders almost gave way. The King shuddered, rocked backward for the briefest instant, but the sword didn’t bite deep. The bony frame, felt like it was half stone and half living tissue, resisted the strike as though Ludwig had swung against a cliff face. Not even a fracture.

The monster’s head tilted, the sewn mouth unmoving, yet the weight of its gaze pressed down like gravity. Its arm, long as a tree and jointed like some grotesque insect, swept toward Ludwig with casual finality. The blow would have flattened him into paste.

But before it could connect, a boot slammed against Ludwig’s back. Titania’s kick sent him clear just as the claws scythed through the space he’d occupied. The wind of it nearly tore him from the air. Titania vaulted past him in the same motion, her own blade already out, glowing faintly with aura.

“Keep at it!” she barked, her voice booming like steel clashing. She scaled the monster’s body in bounding leaps, carving trenches in its skin with every strike. Sparks of aura lit the night, each slash a flare against the pale canvas of the King’s flesh.

Clutched in her other hand, ’Sister Gallows’ severed head still wailed, the grotesque thing refusing silence. “You will all die! Just give up!” The words dripped venom, mockery sharp enough to curdle blood. Titania, unflinching, seized the head by its hair and swung it like a crude mace into the oncoming sweep of the King’s other arm. Bone cracked against bone with a sickening crunch, the head silenced only for a heartbeat before beginning to cackle again.

“Seems like I need to help,” the Werewolf drawled. His voice carried amusement, but his eyes glinted with hunger as he dropped low to all fours. His muscles coiled, claws digging into the ground, and then he lunged forward. His gaze had locked onto Ludwig, judging him the weakest link.

“Not so fast.”

Mot’s words tolled like a bell rung deep underwater. The ground convulsed, and slick, writhing tentacles erupted around the Werewolf’s path. They lashed upward in arcs, trying to bind his limbs, forcing him to weave and contort his body as he sprinted. Each dodge was calculated, every evasive twist showing his animal grace, yet each movement slowed him a fraction more.

More tentacles surged toward the Moonflayed King’s base, hammering against its legs and trying to pin them. They were thinner than the ones Ludwig had seen before, weaker shadows of Azathoth’s true reach, but they still hampered the battlefield, clogging space with whipping coils.

Ludwig jumped back again assisted by his chain as he reached where his sword was still stuck at, just as he wanted to rip it out.

Titania’s voice thundered again. “HOLY FLAMES!” The words carried power, and in the same instant her blade ignited with white fire. The brilliance blinded Ludwig for a second, and his body seized. Holy flame, the purest anathema to his kind. If even a spark touched him, his disguise would melt away, his existence snuffed out.

His jaw tightened. He kicked off the King’s shoulder, shoving himself backward. In the same motion he flung his soul chain, wrapping it around Oathcarver’s hilt to keep control of the blade as he retreated. A blinding arc of holy fire slashed across the King’s torso, radiant and merciless.

For an instant Ludwig expected the monster to disintegrate. Instead, the fire fizzled against its flesh, washing over it without leaving so much as a burn. The white brilliance dimmed and vanished like smoke against stone.

“Shit, it’s resistant to holy element!” Titania’s shout carried frustration, but no despair.

Ludwig masked his own unease with a display. He summoned flame to his palm, squeezing until it sharpened to a spear. “Fire Spear!” His voice cut sharp as he hurled it, aiming for the ceramic-crusted heart within the twisted ribcage. The spell burned bright, streaking like a comet, only to gutter out the instant it neared the core, dissipating as if swallowed by unseen wards.

“Use higher tier spells!” Titania barked as she launched herself again. “Anything rank three or below is wasted!”

She dove for the heart, her flaming sword raised high. The ribs twisted in response, snapping closed like jaws, spearing toward her as though the King itself willed their motion.

Ludwig flicked his chain, the links lengthening in a heartbeat. The steel looped around Titania’s waist and yanked her clear just before the ribs could impale her. She crashed down hard, dust spraying around her boots, but landed steady. She didn’t glance his way, didn’t waste breath on gratitude. For her, Ludwig’s intervention was not favor but duty, expected, necessary. That silent acknowledgment was heavier than thanks.

Celine staggered at the edge of the battlefield, her breath shallow and ragged. She pressed a trembling hand to the ground, steadying herself as tremors ran through her frame. Her lashes fluttered, and when her eyes lifted again, they weren’t the same. One glowed faint green, dim but steady, a reminder of the woman she still was. The other had flared into a deep crimson, burning like an ember of wrath. The scarlet glow pulsed with every breath, a rhythm that seemed unnatural, as though something inside her was pacing like a caged beast. Rage swelled behind that eye, raw and uncontained, yet somehow, for now, she managed to keep it in check.

Ludwig caught the sight out of the corner of his vision. His grip on his chains tightened. That eye unsettled him, not merely because of its color but because of what it implied. The Wrath Core’s mark was still inside her, simmering, waiting for its moment. She was fighting it. She hadn’t lost herself yet. But how long could she keep it contained on a battlefield like this?

His thoughts shattered as the Werewolf burst forward, claws raised. “How about you take a rest!” he snarled. His swipe was a blur, aimed to take Ludwig’s head clean off.

The chain on Ludwig’s wrist jerked taut, pulling him violently forward. His body whipped ahead, narrowly avoiding the slash. The Werewolf’s claws raked empty air, their impact striking the ground instead. Stone and dirt exploded outward as if a meteor had struck, gouging a crater into the street.

Ludwig rolled across the rubble, chest heaving though no lungs demanded air. His mind sharpened, every instinct screaming that one wrong move against this monster would mean oblivion.

And this was just the start of this miserable battle.