The Little Necromancer [LITRPG]

B3 - Chapter 17 - A Prison within a Prison



Elria straightened from her crouch, turning away from Enya. She walked toward the great portrait above, her bare feet whispering softly against the wood. The canvas continued to vibrate and ripple within the gilded frame as she approached. Each second spent gazing was another second of intensity.

"You know," Elria said, her tone almost wistful, "if it weren't for this canvas, the three of us might have made it out of here together. Happy little friends. But no. Things aren't that simple. It demands to be painted. It needs something within to clear the puzzle. And now that Lyssia is gone…" She glanced back at them, her red eyes gleaming. "…only one of you will do. To take her place."

Pell's jaw clenched, his soul-flames flaring hotter. "So you broke your daughter out of that painting—killed her—just to throw one of us in instead? This doesn't make a damn bit of sense!"

Elria tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "She wasn't my daughter."

Enya's voice cracked as she forced the words past the binding magic. "B-but… she called you mother."

Elria's gaze lingered on the broken doll scattered across the floor. For a heartbeat, her face softened. "She believed it. And for a time… I let myself believe it too. I let her call me that. I wanted it to be true." She drew a slow breath, her voice tightening. "But the truth was always in front of me. Lyssia was crafted, not born. A fragment of me, dressed in skin and voice and will. A poppet to serve as the daughter I could never have. No matter how much I pretended, it wasn't the same. She was mine in spirit—and spirit alone."

Her jaw tightened, and for the briefest moment she looked almost weary. "Letting her go… hurts. But with her gone, I am a step closer to freedom."

Pell strained against the Dullahan's gauntlet, bones grinding under its crushing weight. "Freedom? What the hell are you talking about? If you could touch her—touch anything—then you could've done this centuries ago! Why wait? Why us?"

Elria didn't turn. Her fingers slid along the portrait's frame like she was caressing a lover's cheek. "Because this mansion isn't mine. It was built by Moon's little sycophants—Lyssia for one, and another woman named Carolyn, though that doesn't matter much now. Every stone, every riddle, every lock in this place is theirs. I remembered the puzzles. I remembered the answers. But this final portrait…" Her voice dropped, low and reverent. "…it's strong. Enchanted with too much witchcraft. It requires a tribute. A real, full soul. A fragment like Lyssia could never satisfy it to complete the puzzle. It worked enough only to serve as a temporary vessel."

Enya's eyes widened, her voice thin. "Tribute? You mean… someone has to be inside it? Always?"

Elria finally turned back toward them, her smile thin, sharp. "The enchantment demands a soul. That is the 'beauty within.' That was the design. A cruel piece of art meant to trap what is fair, what is bright, behind glass forever. Lyssia was never enough to appease it. And though the craftsmanship is tacky… I admit, their witchcraft is flawless. Not even I could break it without abiding by its rules. Not the me as I am now."

Pell snapped, rage boiling through his hollow frame. "So all this time—you've been dragging us around, pretending to help, just to fill your damned picture frame?!"

Elria's laugh was quiet but sharp, cutting like glass. "Not pretending. You were useful. You solved what I didn't have to. You proved to me that you could survive until this point. You brought me exactly what I needed to finish this prison." She rose, smoothing her hand over her arm as if she were savoring her flesh again. "But in the end… it was always going to end like this. Once a soul is removed from the painting, it can't go back in. Me pulling Lyssia out sealed the deal."

Elria's bare feet carried her closer. She crouched, the red of her hair spilling forward as she caught Enya by the collar of her dress. Enya stiffened in her grip, but Elria held firm, lifting her like a doll plucked off a shelf.

"Stop!" Pell roared, soul-flames blazing. He thrashed, but the knight's weight held him pinned. "Put her down, witch!"

Elria glanced over her shoulder, smirking faintly. "One of you must stay in the portrait. That's how this prison was made. I couldn't complete it alone… and so I waited. Centuries, buried near the entrance, watching. Hoping." Her smile widened. "And then you came through my door. Lucky me. You came here, and not anywhere else in this massive prison."

Enya squirmed, her small hands gripping at Elria's wrist, but her body locked up again as the binding force clamped down. Panic filled her chest, but the words still tumbled out. "S-stop it!"

Pell thrashed beneath the Dullahan's gauntlet, bones cracking under the unyielding weight. "Let her go!" His voice echoed across the balcony, sharper and louder than he'd ever yelled before. "Elria—damn it, let her go!"

Enya kicked and twisted, her arms frozen stiff at her sides but her small body still straining against Elria's grip. Her eyes locked on Pell, wide and frightened.

Elria's arm didn't waver. "Unfortunately, it has to be the little one. I still have use for the other," she whispered, almost to herself. She continued back to the painting and pressed Enya's back against the canvas, and the surface rippled at once, spreading outward in concentric waves. The portrait pulsed hungrily, tendrils of faint light reaching for the girl, tugging her in.

"Pell! Help"! Enya screamed. Her arms kept trying to flail even as her body was sucked in, dragging her beneath the water of the frame inch by quick inch.

"Stop!" Pell shouted again, his voice breaking into something hoarse. "Don't hurt her! Please—" His jaw clicked, the words grinding out like they cost him. "Please, don't take her."

Enya's cries soon became illegible. Words and screams blurred with cries and whines. Tears filled her eyes as half her body was now submerged. She couldn't feel her body from the other side.

"Pell…" Enya whimpered.

For just a second, Elria faltered. Her mouth pressed into a line, and her dark eyes softened. The faintest frown broke her otherwise steady expression—regret, almost enough to sway her hand. Almost.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, almost to herself. Then her fingers clenched again, dragging Enya harder against the rippling surface. "But I can't stop now."

Enya's legs disappeared, and soon her left arm and chest were swallowed. Now was just her neck and right arm, outstretched, trying to reach toward Pell.

Damn it, think! Think! Pell shouted in his mind. His fingers were clenched to the point that he was cracking and fracturing his own bones. The Dullahan's weight above him wouldn't budge at all.

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Pell's mind whirled through every scrap of memory, scheme, trick, possibly plea for desperation or appeal to emotion. But if Elria still hadn't given up, even with a child who believed she was dying, crying out in front of her wouldn't do it—then nothing would.

A thought struck him. She had whispered something important. How she only needed one of them inside the painting. That it had to be Enya, and specifically not him. Because she needed him for something.

But there was nothing that Pell could offer. But…

Thats it! He thought.

If her goal was to escape the prison, she would need the cauldron and athame. But she had already admitted shes weaker now. And if a prison that held countless of unimaginable criminals was anything, it was all but weak. That's why… that's why Felicity had given it to them.

Pell locked onto the thought. He had no other plan. Maybe it was defiance. Maybe it was just to spite her. Maybe he thought something would happen. Possibly the mansion would blow up. Maybe Enya could use it in the last second, somehow. He didn't know. Instead, Pell just acted.

Pell growled and forced his inventory open. The spatial dimension flared open in the air away from him, nearly at the maximum distance it could be summoned. It was angled sharply at the portrait, directly pointing at Enya's grasping hand. The rest of her body had already been pulled in. Her shouts were gone.

"What?" Elria called out, seeing the spatial distortion.

Junk of all sorts fell out. The coins he had, extra bones, emergency potions, some basic gear, and a treasure he bought at Talo's market he hoped to sell here down in the first layer. It all fell out, tumbling toward the painting and falling it, while others dropped to the floor.

And among them, was the key to the prison.

The Voidlight Bomb. The creepy teddy bear spilled out of the portal, and in the midst of panic, it reached Enya's hand, and she grabbed it, purely by instinct.

"No!" Elria snapped, her composure breaking for the first time. She lunged forward, but it was too late. The bear was pulled in through the ripple, and she had to force her hand back as the canvas finalized its masterpiece.

She whipped her head around, locking onto Pell, her eyes red and blazing with anger. "You!"

The Dullahan's fist slammed hard into Pell's body, splitting his bones into fragments and splinters in an instant. His body broke apart into jagged pieces, head disconnected from his shattered spine.

Elria strode forward. She bent down and plucked Pell's skull from the ruin of his frame. Her fingers curled around it, nails digging against the bone as she lifted him up to her eye level.

"Did you do this just to spite me, Pell?" Elria's voice cut cold. But almost as quickly, her expression shifted—her gaze sharpening, regaining its poise. "No. This doesn't matter. Not at all. All you've done is lock her away with the only key to my freedom." Her lips pressed into a thin line, her tone flattening into calm neutrality. "All I need to do now is swap you with her. Dead or not, you're still sentient. Still carrying a full soul."

Pell cursed inwardly. And then, a ping. A system notification flickered across his vision. He caught it in the briefest glance, and that was enough. One second was all he needed to read it. A plan formed instantly, sharp and reckless.

Elria turned back toward the canvas, cradling his skull firmly in her hands. The portrait was calm again, the surface mostly white, but Enya's outline was already beginning to ink across it.

"Wait—wait!" Pell's voice cracked sharp, urgent. "I've got something to say."

Elria paused, tilting her head. She lifted his skull higher until his burning sockets were level with her gaze. "What now? More begging?" Her tone wasn't cruel this time—it carried something closer to regret. "Trying to guilt me won't work. Not anymore. My heart's too cold for that. Maybe once, long ago… but not now."

Pell's soul-flames narrowed to pinpricks, then flared wide again, exaggerating their glow. With deliberate care, he angled them downward, unsubtle, blatant—locking his gaze square on her chest, where her long red hair spilled down to cover, but also, accentuate.

"…Seriously?" Elria blinked.

"Just… noticing it now," Pell said, casual as tossing a stone into a still pond. "You've got a great figure."

A surprised laugh slipped out of her, low and throaty. "Only realizing that now?" With an almost playful flick, she swept one curtain of hair aside, baring one curve to the open light. "What is this—your last request before eternal imprisonment? A final look to burn into those sockets?"

"Of course," Pell said without the faintest shame. "Earlier, I only told you to cover up out of respect for the kid. But if I'm going to be locked away forever… might as well make the last memory worth it."

Elria's smile lingered as she toyed with her hair, letting it fall like liquid silk behind her shoulder, framing her curves. "All men are like this," she mused. "Centuries pass, civilizations rise and fall, and still they can't help but stare."

Elria's smirk lingered—then thinned into a sharper line. She leaned his skull closer, her eyes examining him. "You're being lecherous. I don't really mind showing you… but you're being uncharacteristically crude. More than normal. What're you trying at?" She leered at him.

"Trying at?" Pell leaned into the role, his soul-flames tilting back up from the eyeful innocently. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Just… realizing something." His tone dropped lower, almost confessional. "Between all the bickering, the insults, the way you never shut up… you're basically just like me. And I think I came to like you. Maybe more than I wanted to admit. Never even liked the kid anyway."

Elria's head tilted, her expression unreadable. "Strange. Because you were just begging me to let her go. You sounded… almost like you were about to cry."

"Skeletons don't cry," Pell deadpanned.

Her lips curved, not in amusement this time but in suspicion. "You're stalling."

She lowered his skull, turning her focus back to the canvas. Enya's form was now entirely on the canvas. She was sitting down on an invisible chair like a real artist' rendition of a sketched painting, hands neatly folded in her lap. Elria approached, and her hand was mere inches away from its surface.

"Wait!" Pell blurted. "I want to propose."

Her hand froze. "…What?"

"I'm serious." His voice softened, low and even. "I love you. And I want an answer, here and now." Inside, Pell was already throwing up.

She lowered her free arm, and her brows drew together. "…You're proposing? Now?"

A system notification flared in his vision. Pell caught it, skimmed it, and dismissed it instantly. Five seconds, he thought. His soul-flames steadied. Five seconds is all I need.

"Listen." Elria shook her head, her hair spilling forward again like a curtain. "If this is more stalling, you're wasting breath. I already told you—if I escape, I might even come back for you both. But right now, one of you has to rot. It's the only way forward for me."

"Ah," Pell said softly, his flames curling higher, like smoke in the wind. "Rotting for some time, huh? Well… I suppose you'll have all the time in the world to think about my proposal."

Elria frowned. "What?"

The system prompt was before him. It stayed there, floating, yet only Pell could see it. Only he could see what was happening.

Then his skull flared white-hot in her hands. Light seared out through every seam, and his form turned weightless. Before Elria could react, he slipped from her grip entirely. His jaw clacked sharply one last time, his voice echoing in the blaze as an ethereal whisper:

"You know… the system you witches hate so much has its perks," Pell said. He stared at her one last time, defiance in his soul-flames. "You can take that Dullahan's sword and shove it straight up your ass as you wait for eternity. Oh—and thanks for the view."

The glow consumed him, his bones scattering until only air took its place.

Summoner connection severed.
Unsummoning in 0 seconds.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.

Elria froze, staring at her empty hands. Pell's voice echoed in the air silently. Then her gaze whipped toward the painting, frantic.

"No…" she breathed, before the word tore loose, louder—"No!" She started forward, arm raised, about to slam her fist into the canvas—then stopped herself, trembling, her hand hovering just short of the frame. If she touched it, the witchcraft would activate.

Once a soul left the portrait, it could never be offered again. If she pulled Enya out now to reclaim the bear, the canvas would devour her instead.

Elria's teeth ground together, fury and desperation knotting her face. Pell had outplayed her.

Her fiery red hair lifted as she clenched her fists, screaming at the top of her newly formed lungs.

Yet within this manor, no one else could hear her screams.


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