Deus Necros

Like a shooting star, the spear flew up in an arc and rushed down like the falling of a meteor.

The spear landed with incredible accuracy under the tree, after all, magic needed more calculation than brutish skill and calculating where it would land was an easy thing for Ludwig to do.

Smoke and fire rose up in the dim dark distance, but there didn’t seem to be any change in the situation.

Thomas clicked his tongue, “Missed, but he’s fully aware of your capabilities,” Thomas said, “He’s hiding now, but the bears are rushing more. And a couple are already nearby.”

The fog had thickened again, not drifting as it had before, but coiling, tightening, as though drawn toward something unseen. Even the branches above leaned oddly, their angles no longer symmetrical, as if the forest itself was bending slightly toward the soundless rhythm exhaled from the masked man’s flute. No birds stirred now. No insects murmured. Even the horses attached to the carriage, those that had not been torn apart in the earlier strike stood death-still, their eyes glazed and wide, as if something ancient had passed a hand across their minds and stolen the instinct to flee.

Thomas lingered near the Ludwig, his form flickering with nervous static. “I can’t see him play the flute anymore,” he said again, quieter now, more to himself than to Ludwig. “But the trees seem to feel it. And the grass does.” Then, he froze. His eyes, if such a thing could be said of a spirit, locked toward the dark bramble near the edge of the path. “He’s stopped playing.” A beat passed. Another. And then, from the underbrush, something shifted.

[You Are In a Hostile Environment]

The sound came first, not the howl, but the scraping. A slow, deliberate rake of thick claws against bark, heavy and uneven, like a great mass shifting through trees too narrow for its frame. The underbrush shivered in anticipation long before the branches parted, low ferns trembling at their base as if from the breath of something vast. Even the wind retreated from the treeline, as though holding itself back in fear of brushing against what followed.

Ludwig’s foot shifted half a pace to the side, his body angling slightly toward the disturbance. Otahcarver already in hand in preparation for what is to come.

He said nothing. The air had grown colder, not with chill but with a weight that pressed in beneath the ribs, an ancestral tension, something felt rather than seen. It was the kind of pressure that made the heart slow in caution rather than panic. Though Ludwig had no heart to panic or slow.

The foliage parted with the sound of splintering wood. Leaves bent backward against something that did not yield to their touch. And then it emerged, a Black Bearowl, hunched and enormous, with matted fur that clung to its body like oiled feathers glued atop muscle. Its ursine frame was warped by something owl-like in its face: a twisted beak, curved downward and split down the center by scars. Two eyes stared out beneath its ridge, glinting dull gold like moons behind smoked glass, unblinking, intelligent in their savagery.

Its shoulders rolled forward with a weight that made the ground groan beneath it, great claws dragging through the dirt with every step. It breathed in short, steaming bursts that reeked of rot and metal, as if it had fed recently on steel-clad prey. The harness strapped across its flank was taut against its bulk, the metallic straps groaning with every twitch of its limbs. Faint red mist hissed from the gaps beneath, as if the metal beneath its skin were fighting to break free.

It stepped into full view then, rising onto its hind legs with a deep, grinding exhale. At its full height, it loomed a full two bodies over Ludwig, massive and lumbering but not slow. Its limbs moved with a fluidity at odds with its weight, like a predator that had long since mastered the bulk of its own mass. The silence stretched thin.

And then it howled.

Not a roar. Not quite. The sound that burst from its chest was jagged, cracked with multiple tones, like the screech of rusted metal pulled taut across bone. It echoed through the woods and shattered the branches above, birds launching into the air in panicked disarray. The trees themselves trembled with the force of it, dust and old pollen flaking from the canopy in a sudden haze.

[As an Undead, you are immune to Intimidation]

Ludwig stood still beneath the trembling leaves. His cloak rustled at the edges. His fingers hovered near his sword hilt but did not move.

The Bearowl’s breath hitched its muscles locking, and with a violence borne of command, it slammed both clawed palms down.

The air snapped with pressure as the monster’s massive arms carved down in a brutal arc, claws open, aiming to pulverize Ludwig where he stood. The earth surged beneath its weight, its impact sending dry leaves and loose stone flying before it had even landed. The sound of its descent was like a war drum being broken mid-beat fast, sudden, inevitable.

And still, Ludwig did not flinch. His body shifted only at the last breath of a second, eyes narrowing not in fear, but in measurement.

[Inspect]

Black Bearowl

Level: 86 +{20}

Danger Level: 💀

HP: 106,000 / 106,000

Damage: 1200 – 2500

Tier: Elite

Status Effect: [Mental Corruption] [Aggressive Behavior] [Coercion]

Skills:

[Demolition]

[Disruption]

[Light Step]

[Heavy Step]

[Sun Sight]

Lore: A brown Bearowl of the outskirts of Solania forest. Usually they avoid contact with humans and any creatures that could be a potential threat to their livelihood. They’re a scavenger type beast, and rarely hunt living prey. They avoid conflict and would rather starve a day than risk dying for food.

However, for some strange reason, this specific Bearowl has a metallic harness on their back which is clouding their judgement and altering their mental and instinct making them a far more aggressive comparable to their kin.

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