Deus Necros

“Oi,” Ludwig called, his voice cracking across the clearing like a snapped branch. “Oi.” He stepped forward, the heels of his boots digging into the damp earth as he planted himself between Celine and the rest of the camp. The tension in his stance was unmistakable rigid shoulders, jaw clenched tight, and one hand resting firmly on the hilt of Durandal. “Oi!” he barked, louder now, the sharpness of the final word carving through the air like a drawn blade. “You can’t do that. They’re not some sort of cattle,” he said, voice laced with disbelief and rising unease. The flicker of torchlight played across his coat, casting faint gold along the silver trim as he stood his ground.

Celine didn’t speak. She simply tilted her head to the side in a slow, graceful arc, her pale hair sliding like silk down one shoulder. Then, quite suddenly, her lips parted. A sound bubbled up from her chest, a light, breathy snort at first, then a soft chuckle, and then something more. Her face broke into a full smile, wide and disarming, her fangs just barely showing behind parted lips. For the space of a heartbeat, Ludwig felt as if the forest itself had gone quiet, as though the wind had held its breath.

Then she laughed.

Not a dry or restrained sound, but a full-bodied, heartfelt laugh that shook her shoulders and sent her arms wrapping around her stomach. It erupted from her with such force that it seemed to catch even her by surprise. The night itself trembled with the sound of it, free, joyous, and utterly genuine. Her laughter spilled into the air, echoing through the trees and bouncing off the rocks, turning the fire’s steady crackle into little more than a background whisper. She laughed until tears clung to the corners of her eyes, until her breath came in short gasps, until she was visibly trying, and failing, to stop.

The rest of the group froze, bewildered. Heads turned. Eyes locked on her in stunned silence. Robin blinked slowly from his perch, one eyebrow raised; Gorak stopped mid-chew, his jerky hovering halfway to his mouth. Even Melisande, who had seen more than her share of miracles and madness, tilted her head with mild surprise. No one had expected it, from the solemn woman who, until recently, had barely spoken and carried the weight of seven centuries behind her gaze. And yet, here she was, laughing with abandon under the pale gaze of moonlight.

Ludwig didn’t lower his hand. He stared at her, wary, his other fingers still coiled tightly around Durandal’s hilt. “What?” he asked, the word escaping him more as a breath than a statement. “Why are you laughing like this? Did I say something funny?”

Still catching her breath, Celine slowly straightened. The glow in her eyes had softened, the red now tempered with glimmers of green, like dying embers dulled beneath soft ash. “You poor lad,” she said at last, wiping the corner of one eye with the heel of her hand. Her voice, though amused, held a note of fondness that hadn’t been there before. “After reading through my brother’s diary… after calling yourself his disciple, and claiming to know my family, do you really believe that I, a true vampire of noble blood, would stoop so low as to feed on humans who have offered me sanctuary?”

She stepped forward, her movements fluid, almost lazy now. “No, Davon. You think too lightly of our pride,” she added, her tone softening into something more formal. Then she turned on her heel, her cloak swirling behind her like a second shadow, and began walking deeper into the forest. “Just stay here,” she called back, her voice growing fainter with each step.

Timur wandered over, shaking his head slightly as he stopped beside Ludwig. His boots crunched softly on the pine needles scattered across the forest floor. “What was that about?” he asked, glancing in the direction Celine had disappeared.

“Oh,” Ludwig muttered, letting out a sigh and slowly releasing his grip on Durandal. “I misunderstood her.” He shook his head once, more at himself than anyone else. “Vampire and all. I thought she needed human blood.”

Timur gave him a look. Then, slowly, a crooked grin spread across his face. “And you worried for us?”

“Of course I did. I mean, we’re companions…”

Timur laughed and slapped him on the back, the sound of it echoing in the stillness like the crack of a drum. “Remember, we all knew she was a true vampire. And if she were dangerous, we wouldn’t still be riding with her. We’ve seen their kind before, far too proud to drink the blood of those who haven’t offered it freely. Besides,” he added, nudging Ludwig with an elbow, “if anyone should’ve been worried, it was you. You were the closest to her. If she had needed blood, your neck would’ve been the first to taste her fangs.”

Ludwig scratched at the edge of his collar and looked away. “Ah… right. True. Yeah.”

But inwardly, he knew better. She had already tasted his blood once. And once had been more than enough. She’d found what lay beneath, what coursed through him now like a rotted current, and she would never return to that cup. No vampire would.

From across the fire, Melisande raised her voice, hands on her hips as she stepped away from the bubbling pot. “Alright! Get yourselves cleaned up and wash your hands. Food’s ready!”

The scent of broth and cooked rabbit meat thickened the air, mingling with the soft perfume of pine smoke and damp earth. It wasn’t a pleasant aroma, closer to stomach-turning than mouthwatering, but after a day like this, no one was about to complain.

The group joined in and gathered around, while Ludwig began thinking deeply of what is to come.

After all, whatever awaited them didn’t seem like it was all fun and joy. They haven’t even made it to Tulmud yet and they’ve already met enough trouble.

‘Man, I never expected to think like this, but damn do I miss Van Dijk…’

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