[You are immune to Fear effects and hallucinations.]
A thud. Ludwig turned.
The hunter was on his knees, his hands clawing at his throat. His eyes bulged, the whites visible all around his irises, his mouth working soundlessly. Tears streamed down his face, cutting tracks through the grime. When he finally managed to speak, the word was a sob:
“I-It… hurts—!”
His body convulsed. Then, like a marionette with its strings cut, he collapsed.
Ludwig stared down at him, then at the forest beyond. The trees were breathing, their trunks expanding and contracting like the ribs of some great beast. The vines pulsed in time, their thorns glistening with something too thick to be sap. And beneath it all, beneath the creaking wood and the shuddering earth, was the sound of something approaching.
The howl still echoed through the forest when the first of them emerged from the trees.
Not one. Not two.
Dozens. Perturbants, and infected…
They moved in unison, their too-long limbs swaying like reeds in a breeze, their thorn-laced fingers twitching in eerie harmony. Some still wore tattered remnants of their past lives—a healer’s robe, a soldier’s pauldron, the frayed edges of a scholar’s sash—now fused to bark and root. Their faces were gone, replaced by roses that bloomed where eyes should be, petals trembling as if breathing.
These were all once humans, infected with [Bloomrot] right now, something similar to what happened to Vick. He became one of them.
And they all cried out, “Mother! Mother is calling!”
Ludwig’s grip tightened around Durandal.
Fight?
No.
Not here. Not in the heart of her domain, where every vine could turn against him, where the earth itself might open up and swallow him whole. And certainly not while dragging an unconscious man through a forest that wanted them dead.
Ludwig wasn’t sent here to protect and save these self centered hunters, but the problem was if he were to meet other hunters, in case they were still alive, he’d rather have someone like this man with him than not.
The closest to Ludwig was a Perturbant that lunged his way, its clawed hand slicing through the air where Ludwig’s throat had been a heartbeat before. He pivoted, Durandal flashing in a silver arc, severing the creature’s arm at the elbow. Black sap spurted from the wound—but already, the vines beneath its skin were writhing, knitting themselves back together.
Persistent.
Behind him, the hunter groaned, his eyelids fluttering. Useless. If he woke now, he’d be more liability than ally.
An Infected darted forward, this one was a smaller malformed man, faster, its movements jerky like a marionette on tangled strings. Ludwig sidestepped, letting it rush past him—then drove Durandal through its back. The blade erupted from its chest in a spray of thorns and petals.
[Critical Hit: -9,342 HP]
The creature shrieked, a sound like splintering wood, before collapsing into a heap of twitching roots.
[You have slain an [Infected Construct]
[No soul gain from Moon Constructs]
One down. Their health was low enough thankfully, but the Perturbants themselves were far tankier.
A rustle to his left. Ludwig barely had time to yank the hunter out of the way before a second Perturbant’s claws gouged deep furrows into the earth where his legs had been.
Enough.
He couldn’t kill them all. Not like this.
Grabbing the hunter by the collar, Ludwig hauled him upright, slinging the man’s limp form over his shoulder with a grunt. The Perturbants hesitated—just for a second—as if confused by his retreat. Then, as one, both the Perturbants and their infected surged forward.
Ludwig ran.
The trees themselves seemed to twist, branches lashing out like whips. Vines slithered across the ground, coiling around his ankles, only to shrivel away when Durandal’s edge found them. The air thickened with pollen, sweet and cloying, but Ludwig’s undead lungs ignored it.
Behind him, the Perturbants gave chase, their movements unnervingly silent save for the occasional creak of bending bark.
A root lashed up from the soil, aiming for his throat. Ludwig ducked, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle his hair. Another shot toward his legs—he leapt, the hunter’s weight throwing off his balance just enough to make the landing awkward.
Damn it.
He couldn’t keep this up forever.
Then—there.
A break in the trees. A rocky outcrop, half-hidden by ferns. And nestled within it, a jagged maw of darkness: a cave.
Ludwig didn’t hesitate.
He sprinted for it, Durandal flashing in a wide arc to clear the last of the grasping vines. The Perturbants’ hisses rose to a crescendo, their steps quickening—but they stopped short at the cave’s entrance, their rose-eyed faces tilting in unison, as if listening to a voice only they could hear.
One took a single step forward—then recoiled, its thorns bristling.
They didn’t follow, this was good, but also worrisome, why would they not chase?
Ludwig adjusted the hunter’s weight on his shoulder and stepped into the dark.
The cave was colder than it had any right to be, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and something faintly metallic. Torchlight flickered ahead, casting long shadows against the walls.
Voices.
“—don’t care what you think you saw, we’re not going back out there!”
“And I’m telling you, we can’t stay here forever! That thing is still—”
The speaker—a broad-shouldered man with a blue boar crest stitched onto his tunic—cut off as Ludwig emerged from the gloom.
Silence.
Then, all at once:
Swords drawn. Spells flaring. A dozen pairs of wide, terrified eyes locked onto him.
The only one who didn’t react was the vampire hunter slumped against the far wall, his face pale beneath the dirt and dried blood. His gaze flicked from Ludwig to the unconscious man slung over his shoulder.
“Hells’s bells, someone was still alive out there? Also is that Carlo?” he said.
Ludwig dumped the hunter unceremoniously onto the ground.
“I guess this might be everyone left on this island?”
The man with the boar crest stepped forward, his sword still raised. “Who the fuck are you?”
Ludwig met his stare, unblinking.
“The reason you might get to live this place, so drop the attitude.”