The Little Necromancer [LITRPG]

The door groaned open on rusted hinges, spilling the faint Carrier's Light across a large chamber.

Enya blinked, then stepped inside.

The room was vast—larger than any she'd seen yet. Four pillars climbed toward the high ceiling, but one was broken through the center, leaving the upper half dangling askew like a snapped spine. The walls were dotted with mirrors and half-rusted pipes. Metal veins of what was most likely showers, Enya thought.

And in the center of it all sat the tub.

If it could even be called that.

It stretched almost wall to wall, wide enough to fit a house. Deep enough that, if someone needed it to, they could drown an entire family. Multiple, families.

Its cracked rim sagged under fallen stone, jagged pieces littering near the water's edge. The surface was a soupy, opaque brown, rippling faintly as though it were breathing. It was filled with grim, dirt, and whatever other atrocities were similar to mold.

"This is really big," Enya murmured. It would take some time to search through the room. At the very least, it was very open, and everything was in plain sight. Her carrier's light was much weaker now, and she could barely see a couple of meters in front of her.

She walked through the center, eyes drifting along the support pillars, before moving over to the closest wall where the pipes were exposed. She looked up and inspected it. Water had long since ceased running through them, as the passages were now even blocked with some solid she couldn't even describe.

Something then clattered behind her.

She turned, flinching at the sound.

Bacon, her pig skeleton had trotted to the water's edge. And after some careful inspecting, its hollow feet slipped on the cracked stone. It slid in with a splash, the sound rattling through the chamber.

Enya squinted her eyes and walked over to the tub.

The pig sank awkwardly, legs kicking, skull bobbing up just enough to scrape for air that wasn't there. The bones clattered hollowly, grinding as if trying to squeal. For a moment, Enya stared at it thrash, arms at her sides.

"Bacon, you're being really loud," Enya said. "Can you please quiet down." She put her hands on her hips.

Bacon, however, wasn't really responding. Its body was sinking in the murky water, the thrashing splish-splash of its bones drowning out any words Enya was saying.

Enya flicked her fingers. Bacon flashed with a light, then disappeared, the pool swallowing where it had been just a moment ago in a ripple of murk. Silence settled again.

Enya blinked once, then looked away. "Guess he can't swim."

Her light bobbed as she moved on.

Mirrors lined the far wall. Their glass was cracked in spiderwebs, edges spotted with mold, silver backing peeled into black patches. She approached one. The Carrier's glow revealed her pale face… a second late.

Enyna had to do a double-take while looking at it. It had lagged.

The girl in the glass turned her head a half-second late, hair fluttering out of sync with her. Then her lips spread wider, tugged into a smile that didn't stop, didn't belong.

Enya tilted her head. "Hmm." She leaned close until her nose almost touched the fractured surface. "You're very pretty."

The reflection kept smiling.

She stepped back, turned away, and walked on.

Dust shifted under her shoes as she checked behind a broken pillar. Nothing. Her pace quickened, hands trailing the walls, pulling open whatever fixtures she could reach. A rusted pipe clattered loose, but revealed no clue. Every few seconds, the manor shook overhead; the dull crunch of iron boots came as Pell dodged another strike. Or perhaps the hollow tremor of the Dullahan's greatsword smashing into wood.

"Faster, faster," she whispered to herself.

She circled back to the tub. The water rippled once more, though nothing touched it this time. A single bubble rose and popped with a faint hiss. Enya crouched, watching it. Then, with a small shake of her head, she stood again and hurried to the exit.

There was nothing here.

Maybe there was something in the water, but she didn't want to check it out. It was very dirty. Not to mention, hard to see. Maybe Elria could float through it and spot something.

Enya stepped back into the hallway, her Carrier's Light guttering weakly, its glow shrunken to a pale halo. If the next room didn't hold its own source of light, she'd have to recharge it soon.

She turned toward the last door, then froze.

Something glowed at the edge of her vision.

Down the hall, where the corridor opened into the foyer, a fire burned low and steady. Not the warm pulse of her lantern, nor the gentle flicker of candlelight. This flame was sharper, wild, violent. A flickering violet.

Elria emerged from the haze.

She drifted leisurely, almost gliding, the light coiling around her in restless patterns. In her hand she carried something heavy, swinging low from her grip. She held it by the hair—like a butcher hauling off waste after the slaughter.

A head.

The Dullahan's severed head.

Its eyes burned with a violet harshness that made Pell's soul-flames seem like candles in comparison. The ragged stump of its neck spilled fire that curled upward in constant, hungry licks. Each flare threw shifting shadows across Elria's pale face, distorting her features second by second. Her cheeks seemed to hollow, her lips stretched into a shadow-born smile that didn't belong to her.

Enya's lips parted. Relief rushed in all the same. With the head in hand, this nightmare could finally be over. They could finish the puzzles, unlock the door, and leave.

She ran toward Elria, slowing once she neared. "You found it!"

Elria raised the head a little, tilting it lazily, as though it were nothing more than a trinket picked up off the ground. "Mm. Right where it should be."

"Should be?"

The firelight rolled again over her face, hollowing it into something skeletal before softening once more. Her grip never loosened. She only clenched tighter on the fistful of hair, dragging the head along like a trophy as she approached the balcony rail.

Enya managed a small smile, though her eyes lingered too long on the shifting shadows that played across Elria's expression.

Then came the thunder. The Dullahan's greatsword struck below with another booming crash, wood and stone splintering, shaking dust from the beams. Pell burst into view, sprinting full-tilt, scythe clenched tight. His soul-flames blazed hot as he vaulted over another crater.

"You got that damn thing yet?!" Pell roared up at them, voice ragged, echoing against the rafters.

"Yeah! We have the head!" Enya cupped her hands to call back.

"Great!" Another thunderous boom rang out as debris rained from the floorboards. "I'm coming up!"

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Pell thundered up the stairs, feet pounding against the wood that groaned under the strain of the pursuer behind him. He cleared the last step and veered toward them, fires flaring in his sockets as he ran along the balcony.

"Quick!" he barked, pointing at the head swinging from Elria's hand. "Give me that thing so I can toss it in my inventory!"

Elria tilted her wrist, holding the head up like a lantern, violet fire spilling shadows down her face. She didn't hurry. Didn't look the least bit rattled.

"No need."

She turned her wrist, angling the head outward as though she were trying to read the flame. "Stop."

The word left her lips as casually as a sigh.

Behind Pell, just before it reached them with its blade, the Dullahan's gait faltered. The heavy clamor of its armor staggered once, then slowed, then ceased altogether. Its massive frame locked in place, the purple fire in its neck guttering low.

Pell skidded to a halt, staring. "Shit…" He looked between the knight and the head in her hand, disbelief edging his voice. "You can control that thing?"

Elria tilted her head, eyes alight in violet gleam. "Yes," she said simply. "Always could have."

And then, with a flick of her wrist, she hurled the head—not away, but forward.

Pell and Enya's voices collided at once.

"Elria!"

"Wait—!"

Pell reached out to grab it, but he reacted too late.

The Dullahan's gauntlet shot out, catching it in one smooth grip.

Immediately as it entered its grasp, the knight turned. Its other hand which held its greatsword launched forward; a fist slammed Pell against the floorboards in an instant, pinning him there with the weight of a mountain. The wood cracked and bowed beneath the impact.

Pell grunted, soul-flames flaring wide from the sudden weight. "Tch—damn it—" He tried to blink, forcing the Assassin's trick to trigger, but nothing happened. His system screen flared briefly before his eyes, cruelly red:

System Error: Ability is unavailable.
Blink has been restricted by a natural force.

"How—?!" His sockets widened. He kicked and shoved, but the Dullahan's weight was immovable, pressing him deeper into splintered wood.

"Pell!" Enya shouted, panic rising sharp in her throat. She dropped the Carrier's Light to the floor; her right hand snapped up, palm facing toward Elria. She began to form a spell circuit instantly, just a half second away from driving a spear through Elria's ghostly body. Traveling companion or not—no one was allowed to hurt Pell. Not like this.

But her fingers never finished the cast.

Her body locked. Every muscle froze mid-channel, her circuits flickering and dissolving into ash. Her chest tightened like invisible chains had hooked into her ribs.

"What—?" Enya gasped, eyes wide. She tried again, but even her voice cracked short, strangled at the edge of her throat.

Elria didn't even look at them. She only lifted a hand and gestured lazily, as if shooing a pair of bothersome pets. "Stay there for a moment," she said, voice carrying no malice—just a simple command.

Elria turned and stared up at the pale portrait. The violent flames from the Dullahan spread flickering shadows over its surface. Slowly, she reached forward, her fingers pressing against the painting.

The canvas rippled.

At first, it was just the painted woman's eyes shifting, then the faint bend of her lips as though she were trying to breathe. The ripples widened, the paint liquefying into gray swirls, and then the figure pushed through.

The pale woman tumbled forward, spilling out of the frame and collapsing onto the balcony with a hollow thud. She lay on her side, head bowed, shoulders heaving with shallow breaths.

After a few moments, her lips moved. "…Wha… what is going on?"

Slowly, she raised her head. Her eyes darted from the Dullahan looming behind Pell, to Enya frozen mid-gesture, to the violet fire still flickering from the knight's severed neck. Then her gaze lifted, and she saw Elria.

She stilled.

"…Mother?"

Pell's soul-flames flickered wide. He twisted his head toward Elria, then back to the woman, sockets narrowing in disbelief. You have a daughter?!"

Elria only glanced sidelong at him; her expression was unreadable. She paid him no further attention.

Instead, she stepped closer, extending her hand down to the woman on the floor. Her voice softened, calm, almost tender. "It's been a long time, Lyssia."

The pale woman's eyes trembled. She reached up—hesitantly, but reached nonetheless—and her hand met Elria's. Solid to solid.

Pell's jaw dropped, and he mumbled quietly. "…She can touch her?" He'd seen Elria pass through walls, through objects, unable to touch so much as a drawer handle… yet here she was, steady as flesh, touching what shouldn't have been touchable. She had an excuse for the Carrier's Light, but this?

Enya's chest tightened, unease creeping to her mind. Something was wrong.

Elria drew Lyssia to her feet and, without hesitation, folded her into an embrace. For a heartbeat, it almost looked like a reunion.

Lyssia clung to her, her voice faint and confused. "Mother… what is going—"

Her words cut short.

Elria's arm coiled tighter. Then, without warning, her other hand speared straight through Lyssia's chest.

The sound was wet. Shredding.

Both Pell and Enya's eyes went wide as the pale woman convulsed, mouth frothing with blood. She stared into her mother's face with horror and incomprehension.

"Mother… w-why…" she gargled.

Elria's voice was steady. Almost tender. "I'm sorry, little one. But I need my power back."

Lyssia's half-screams were strangled into gurgles as her body began to wither. Flesh was pulled taut, color draining like ink spilled into water. Her cheeks collapsed, eyes hollowing as blood, breath, and soul alike were consumed and drawn into Elria's waiting frame.

Seconds later, what had been Lyssia's body gave one last shudder—and broke.

Not into a corpse.

But into a doll.

Her shriveled flesh cracked open, splitting into pale porcelain plates. Her limbs fractured into clean, jointed sections like a mannequin disassembled, scattering across the balcony floor in a hollow clatter. The painted eyes of the doll stared blankly upward, empty of life, while her chest lay gaping open, hollow where her heart had once been.

Elria rose, straightening her spine.

The change came all at once. Her ghostly edges tightened, vapor sealing into form. The hazy trails at her ankles pulled up, weaving into solid legs. Her arms knit together, flesh blooming over bone as her pale figure reassembled piece by piece.

Then the light struck her skin.

Gone was the ghost.

Elria stood fully human, filled with flesh. Her bare feet touched the balcony, no longer ethereal, no longer incorporeal. Her body, the pale skin, her heaving chest as she breathed—her entire being was whole again. The mist from her head was now gone, and instead, red, long strands spilled down her body.

Elria Nightrose had returned.

Elria stared down at her hands.

Her fingers trembled, curling slowly into fists, then unfurling again as if she didn't trust what she was seeing. Her arms shook faintly, skin prickling as the warmth flushed across her for the first time in countless years.

"How long…" her voice cracked, then steadied, low and reverent. "How long I've waited to feel again…"

She crossed her arms and leaned forward, clutching her shoulders with a tremor that rattled through her frame. Her breath hitched—something caught between a laugh and a sob—as her nails bit into her skin. She savored the sting. After centuries of nothingness, even pain was ecstasy.

The same motion pressed her chest closely together, and with every breath she took, only made the rise and fall more vivid, and all the more, more shameless.

Pell's jaw clicked. His soul-flames narrowed to slits as he forced his gaze aside. Better the cracked wood than the sight she was flaunting so freely.

When she finally lowered her arms, her expression was calm again, unnervingly neutral. To Elria, there was no shame in any of it. No indecency. She stood tall, the burning glow of the Dullahan's flames painting her skin, etching every stark contour, curve, and highlight of her body, into being. It was proof now, that she lived.

She was unabashed. Unapologetic. And unmistakably, alive.

Pell forced his sockets back to her, jaw tight. He tried to bury the unintentional provocation beneath his anger, to focus on the betrayal instead of the obvious. Fury weighed heavier than shame, but the sight still gnawed at him.

"How about putting some clothes on, you harlot," Pell growled.

Elria only smiled, tilting her head down at him. "Sorry. Regaining flesh doesn't exactly come with a wardrobe included."

She shifted, gathering her long red hair in both hands and dragging it forward over her shoulder. She let it spill out across her like a silken curtain, draping it loosely across her chest. "There. Better?" she asked sweetly.

No. No it doesn't, Pell thought bitterly. If anything, the attempt of lazily using her hair as a veil to conceal herself only emphasized what it pretended to hide.

His jaw clicked. Hard. He forced the thought aside, soul-flames narrowing into thin, sharp points. "Why?" His voice was iron now, stripped of every trace of the begrudging tolerance he'd once shown her. "Why are you doing this? Why betray us?"

He strained against the Dullahan's crushing grip, bones creaking under the pressure. The knight's gauntlet pressed him flat into the boards, his scythe just out of reach. He felt his spine grind under the weight, soul-forged segments groaning as if they might snap apart at any second.

"It was never my intention to betray you," Elria said smoothly, casting a glance down at his struggling frame. Then she turned her gaze to Enya. "If I could have done this without harming either of you, believe me—I would have. I really like you two—I really do. But there's no other way."

Enya managed to force her voice through the invisible bindings holding her still. "What… are you trying to do?"

Elria waved a hand, and Enya's arms came free. Her legs, however, stayed locked in place. She lurched forward and almost toppled, barely catching herself with a flail of her arms. Anger flashed onto Enya's face as she glared back at her. She felt betrayed. It was an awful feeling.

"My goal all along," Elria said, her voice warm, almost indulgent, "was to escape this prison—and to regain my body. Being stuck inside here… it's honestly made me go insane. Though, maybe you've caught on to that?"

She smiled faintly, fingers trailing up to stroke her bare shoulder, savoring the texture. "Flesh feels so much better. Being without a body for so long made me crave the feeling. Because of Moon, I was left here to rot. But now that you two are here, I can finally free myself."

Beside her, the painting rippled. A faint tremor spread through its surface, the canvas shivering as though it were a pool disturbed by stone. The trembling grew stronger with each second, a low hum rising in the air.

"There's the time limit," Elria murmured, eyes flicking to the portrait. Her smile returned as she looked back to Enya. "Beauty within, is beauty without."

She stepped close—too close—and bent down until they were face to face. The firelight was caught in her red eyes as she stared.

"It's not art," she whispered, "if it's unfinished. Don't you agree?"