Pell's scythe cut low, scraping against the dirt. The sound was sharp. It wasn't like the clean slice of reaping wheat or pulling weeds in a field. Each swing was similar to hacking into metal. Enya watched him strain, his grip flexing on the long handle until the root finally gave way.

The plant he sliced from the earth looked like a lily, but not quite. Its petals glowed faintly, pale veins pulsing with a soft light that breathed in and out, like it was alive. The stem twisted slightly in his skeletal hands, shivering in the faint fog.

He grunted, holding it up. "Hells. This thing's stubborn." His soul-flames flickered as he tilted once over. "My appraisal says this thing is called an Etherbloom. Some type of rare plant. Says here it feeds on natural soul-energy in the area."

Enya tilted her head. "So it's a soul-flower?"

"Guess so." Pell crouched, tugging at another sprout nearby with a jerk of his scythe. "Well, doesn't matter to me. Rare means valuable. Might fetch something good with the right hands." He continued straining, trying to slice another out of the ground.

Curious, Enya lifted her hand and called forth the Grim Pullet. The tome fluttered into being, its pages already riffling like it knew what she wanted. Words scratched themselves across the surface, forming lines of text in neat script.

Enya's eyes flicked over them as the list appeared. The first one caught her attention.

Etherbloom Mix (Gold Tier)

Description: A drink formed by the combination of an Etherbloom lily, and the chilling touch of condensed soul-ice. Boosts energy and stamina, equal to one hundred cups of coffee, along with providing increased mana regeneration. User will undergo a severe crash after the effect wears off.

Materials Required:

Etherbloom Lily (One petal per cup)

Frozen and condensed Soul-Energy. (One cube per cup)

Chilled Soul-flames

Enya mouthed the words. "One hundred cups of coffee."

Pell's skull tilted toward her. "What?"

"There's a recipe that says it can be used for energy and mana regeneration. Says its like 100 cups of coffee."

"That much? That could be worth something. If it doesn't have a crash, then maybe some adventurers could use this for—"

"It says it has a… severe crash once the effect is gone."

Pell winced. "Damn. Nevermind. Could still be good in certain situations though."

"Mm. Depends on who drinks it. The mana regeneration might be useful."

"Or it might put you face-down in the dirt and kill you right after." Pell snorted hollowly, already working on prying another Etherbloom from the ground. "Still, rare plant, rare material, more coin."

Enya closed the book and let it vanish into dust. Her pale eyes lingered on the glowing petals, waiting for Pell to finish.

The fog pressed heavier the farther they walked. Enya's skin prickled, a faint shiver rippling through her as if the air itself whispered against her bones. She slowed.

"Wait," she murmured.

Pell's scythe scraped to a halt beside her. "What is it?"

Enya's pale eyes closed. She steadied her breath and pulled on that thread of deathly awareness thrumming under her skin. Her lids fluttered open again, and the white mist of her gaze sharpened. Behind it, faint streaks of yellow flickered before blooming. Absolute focus activated behind the mist of white in her eyes.

Her senses tunneled forward, stretching beyond the fog. Threads of soul-light wove in every direction, faint sparks pulsing in the mist. Most were weak, scattered—remnants of the wraiths that trailed behind her. But ahead, straight ahead, was a beacon. Something for her to latch onto. Someone, to latch onto.

Enya's eyes narrowed. The mist inside her gaze glowed brighter, yellow streaks flashing through the white as she pushed her perception further.

The figure ahead stiffened. It paused mid-step, then turned. Enya didn't see a face—just the flare of recognition as their auras brushed against each other.

The vision snapped. Enya's chest huffed as she fell back into herself.

"She's ahead," she murmured.

Pell's skull tilted, his flames sharpening. "Who?"

Enya's hand tightened over her robes. "…Elria."

The name sat between them like a blade. Pell's scythe lifted from his shoulder in the same breath, the blade scraping a line across the dirt as he readied it. "I see."

The wraiths behind them shifted as one, their silent bodies stretching tall, claws curling in anticipation. Enya didn't hesitate. Her aura pulsed outward, a leash tightening around every one of them. The line of specters spread wider, fanning out behind her like the tail of a cloak.

She raised her hand again. "Ted.E."

The earth split beside them. A hulking figure of bone and armor heaved itself free, the boarbear with its armored shoulders and tusks curling outward like giant scythes. It stomped into line with a rumble; the ground quivered beneath its weight.

"Digsby," Enya whispered.

Bones clattered, and the rat the size of a wolf skittered from the fog, its ribs arched high like blades, its skull sharpened into a biting wedge, plated and armored, segmented tail like a reinforced spine of heavy steel. It squealed low, circling about, before darting forward a pace to scout.

Pell let out a dry rasp. "This'll be dangerous, kid. She didn't hurt us before, but there's no guarantee she won't try to kill us now."

Enya looked back up at him after a short pause. "Then we'll just have to kill her first."

They walked forward, step by step, fog thinning and parting.

After a couple of minutes, she appeared.

Elria stood at the edge of the mist. Her pale skin gleamed faintly in the ambient light, her red hair falling loose across her shoulders. She was human now—still naked, but she carried herself like something ethereal, half wraith, half witch. At her side loomed the black-armored Dullahan, greatsword gripped tight in its gauntlets.

"How…" she muttered. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "How did you two escape? I thought I felt something just now—maybe another wandering spirit. But for it to actually be you two—just… how? You can't escape that canvas unless something else is in its place."

"Yeah? Well, we did exactly that. Something took our place," Pell said. He stepped into a defensive stance, scythe leveled, shielding Enya. Behind them, the wraiths fanned out, drifting to either side. Digsby and Ted.E stalked outward as well, ready to intercept.

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Elria stayed quiet for a moment, her red eyes flickering over the army Enya had gathered. "Yeah… necromancer. That's my fault. I should've guessed you'd have some way out. A lost soul? Something you'd been carrying?" Her voice edged toward self-mockery.

Then she straightened, brushing her hair aside, and spoke brighter, more confidently. "Well—that's great!" she said with a smile. "You two are out! The puzzle of the manor's already complete. The cauldron's further ahead. If you've got the Voidlight Bomb, then we can all escape now!" She spread her arms wide, body open, no guard raised—as if showing she had no intent to fight.

"Don't play innocent and pretend this makes everything okay, Elria," Pell snapped, voice grating. "You nearly killed her. Because you wanted out of this prison, you tried to take her life. And I won't even mention killing your own daughter to get back your 'stupid flesh.'"

Elria's smile curled. "Ah, but weren't you the one staring at my stupid flesh?" she teased coyly. Then her face hardened, voice even. "I can tell you're both angry. But I don't want to fight. It's not like I had a choice. I've been trapped here for millennia. I'd do anything for freedom. I already told you—I was reluctant. If there'd been a way to escape together, I would have taken it. But there wasn't. Not then. Now—" she gestured toward them, "—now it seems I was wrong."

Her arms lowered. She straightened, chin lifting. "And you don't get to dictate my life. Lyssia wasn't even my daughter. She was a fragment of my soul. Her dying has no impact on anyone, so keep your lectures. As for the girl—" she gestured at Enya, "—she seems fine enough."

Her eyes narrowed, scanning the pale robes, the white misted eyes. "What happened to her?"

Enya's gaze sharpened. Her voice was flat. "I got a new skill."

Elria raised a brow—then her instincts flared. She spun aside just in time as the Dullahan's greatsword came crashing down where she had stood.

The Dullahan's blade slammed into the dirt, cracking soil where Elria had stood. She twisted back with a hiss, her pale hands snapping out, fingers curling into jagged sigils of light.

"Wait—!" she barked, voice cutting sharp through the fog. "We don't have to do this. We can still—"

Her words were drowned beneath the roar of death.

The wraiths surged forward. Dozens howled through the mist, spectral claws outstretched, their faces twisted into eternal screams. Ted.E thundered beside them, armored tusks gleaming as he barreled into the charge. Digsby darted low and fast, a streak of snapping bone and sinew, while the Dullahan raised its greatsword once more. Even it fought against Enya's aura, movements sluggish, every step heavy as if chains dragged behind its limbs—just like inside the manor.

Elria's palm flared with light. The blast struck the Dullahan square in the chest, its black armor cracking as the knight staggered back with a guttural roar. She retreated, bare feet skimming over the dirt, crimson eyes darting across the tide of summons rushing at her.

Digsby reached her first. The skeletal rat launched upward, jaw unhinged, fangs snapping for her throat.

Elria's other hand swept through the air. Black fire erupted in a spiral, engulfing Digsby in a torrent that roared like a waterspout. Flames coiled upward, swallowing him whole. His bones cracked and blistered, marrow hissing as they blackened. Yet he burst free regardless—torched, half-melted, but still lunging with the feral instinct of a striker.

His fangs clamped down on empty air.

Elria's body lifted gracefully from the ground, flames wreathing her frame as she floated higher, her red hair streaming like a banner in the heat. With a clenched fist she called the soil itself against him—earth splitting, shadows surging up in cords that lashed around Digsby's limbs and spine. The skeletal rat thrashed, screeching, but the shadows pressed him down into the cracked earth while the fire licked and burned what little remained of his body.

Then came the wraiths.

The first dozen broke through the ring of fire, their smoky forms clawing at her from every side. Their levels varied wildly—some little more than drifting shades at thirty, others sharp and dangerous near seventy. Their shrieks merged into a piercing chorus as they rushed in together.

Elria spread her arms wide, her voice breaking into a guttural chant not shaped by any system. Even Enya couldn't sense any mana or energy from it. The air warped—light, shadow, and fire twisting in a storm. A wave burst from her body, jagged and violent. The front rank of wraiths tore apart instantly, their essence shattering into streaks of smoke scattered into the mist as the storm ripped them apart.

Still, more surged in from the flanks, heedless of the danger. Dozens crowded closer, their claws raking, their faces screaming silently as they pressed forward like a ravenous horde. By now, Enya and Pell had passed by nearly a hundred wraiths, and now—they were all under her control.

"Stop!" Elria's voice cracked through the fog, sharp and furious. Her body flared with light as more wraiths clawed toward her. "Enough! This is meaningless! We no longer have reason to fight—none of us!"

Still they came, shrieking and endless. Elria twisted, hair snapping around her face, one hand outstretched as she spun. Power surged outward, raw witchcraft magic, invisible, but with tangible force. The wraiths nearest her were scooped from the air as if caught in a giant unseen spoon. They spun with her, dragged helplessly in wide circles until she snapped to a halt.

"Begone!" she roared.

Six wraiths slammed into the ground at once, the impact cracking dirt and kicking fog into the air. Their forms unraveled into tatters of smoke, scattered and broken.

Enya's pale eyes did not flicker. Her voice was low, detached, carrying the weight of a decree rather than a child's anger.

"We have every reason to kill you. I will not tolerate betrayal."

Her aura thickened, pressing outward in a wave of killing intent. It rippled across the battlefield, not just chilling the wraiths but tightening around Pell and even Ted.E. Pell's flames burned sharper, his scythe trembling in his grip. Ted.E's tusks gnashed, a guttural bellow rattling in his armored chest. Both felt it—the demand for blood.

Pell snarled, soul-flames flaring. "Fine by me!"

He bolted forward, scythe sweeping into ready stance. Elria hovered above, red hair flaming against the mist. Pell crouched low, readying himself to blink.

Ted.E thundered past him, charging directly beneath Elria. The guardian's maw opened wide—

A deafening thunderous shout split the air, rattling the bones of every summon. Elria's head snapped down instinctively, crimson eyes flaring in irritation. The taunt lasted barely half a heartbeat—her will and level towered above the construct—but it was long enough.

Pell vanished.

He reappeared midair, scythe raised high, momentum snapping down in a deadly arc. The blade whispered across Elria's chest, slicing clean through a curtain of red hair but missing her flesh. The strands scattered in the air like bloodied silk.

Her head snapped toward him, fury igniting her eyes. Red eyes burned hot as coals.

"You insolent—"

Her palm slammed out. Invisible force cracked against Pell's chest like a hammer. The telekinetic blast hurled him downward, smashing him into the dirt hard enough to crater the earth. Dust and shards exploded outward in a ring.

"Elria!" Enya's pale voice cut sharp.

But before the witch could press her advantage, a heavy sound rang out.

CRACK.

Ted.E lurched, a great bone plate shattering across his back, fragments scattering. His field had triggered—the protective zone that diverted damage from allies onto his own frame. Pell staggered upright within the crater, soul-flames blazing stubbornly. Not a scratch touched him.

Above, Elria glanced down, lips curling in disbelief. The scythe had nearly grazed her throat. The guardian's intervention had blunted her retaliation.

And from the fog, more wraiths were coming. Their shrieks built again, dozens upon dozens clawing closer, drawn in by Enya's aura.

Elria's hands lashed outward, threads of flame and shadow weaving together into ragged spirals. Wraiths shrieked as the blasts tore through them, their smoky forms unraveling into streaks of fog. Another dozen fell, bodies scattering like ash in the wind.

Still, one slipped through. Its claws raked across her side.

Her cry was sharp, guttural, and more importantly: human. Crimson sprayed across the mist.

Elria's eyes went wide for a heartbeat, teeth clenched as she clutched her waist. Then, with a hiss, she pressed her palm flat against the wound. Flesh rippled under her touch. The blood stilled. Skin sealed. Within moments, only pale smoothness remained.

"Damn you…" she hissed.

On the ground below, Enya's pale gaze narrowed. The white haze in her eyes flared—faint yellow burning at the core as she focused. Her hand lifted, a bone spear circuit spinning into place.

But then she stopped.

It wouldn't reach her. Elria hovered too high, drifting above like a phantom flame. And even if it did—Bone Spear was weak. A low-tier spell with a fixed limit. No matter how much mana she forced into it, the spell itself would never grow stronger.

Her lips pressed thin. Then how about…

Her thoughts raced. She had practiced this before—forming the bone bridge, shaping constructs from nothing. Summon Skeletons. Bone Spear. She was more familiar with those than anything.

Her palm lit with cold blue mana, swirled through with pale-gray soul energy. The ground trembled.

A spike of bone erupted upward, spiraling in jagged layers, each coil reinforcing the last. It tore toward Elria like a hundred hands reaching for the same rope, stretching higher and higher.

Elria's red eyes sharpened. She slashed her palm outward—mysterious magic—witchcraft, whatever that exact magic was—her power flared, shattering the spear's tip. The weapon's point fractured, collapsing into a blunt edge.

But this was no ordinary Bone Spear.

It was a construct, alive in its building.

Even as the broken pillar recoiled, Enya diverted her mana. Another spike burst from the side, stabbing up like a lunging fang. Then another, and another—branches growing like grasping vines. Dozens of sharp tendrils rose, twisting and writhing toward the witch, a forest of bone lashing upward to impale her.

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