"Annoying tricks!" Elria shouted. She flew across the sky, dodging as more bone spires erupted from the ground. Enya's magic was birthing an entire white forest—spikes of bone rising like trees, lances of ivory stretching as branches.

"Fare Lize—decay!" she chanted, voice sharp, palm outstretched toward a cluster of growing bone. Instantly, the tips of the spires cracked and withered. White dust spilled as their structure broke down, Elria's magic corroding the living bone until it crumbled back to its base.

Yet Enya's power didn't falter. Her body strained to release it, but whatever this acolyte form was—it kept giving. She didn't understand the source of this strength, only that it was intoxicating.

One after another, construct spell circuits bloomed before her, all filling instantly, casting instantly.

Digsby scrambled up the rising spires, skeletal claws sinking just deep enough into the bone to hold. It leapt from tower to tower before pouncing toward the floating Elria. It wasn't alone—the Dullahan moved under Enya's command as well.

Below, the black knight raised its greatsword and swung. A dark crescent of pressure carved through the air, racing for its former master.

Elria blasted away a wraith just as she turned, one hand snapping out to halt Digsby mid-leap. Her gaze darted through the chaos of bone and flame, catching the Dullahan's attack a moment too late. She swiped her palm. The dark wave collided—

—but not with her.

Digsby's body shattered apart as Elria redirected it into the path of the strike. Bone fragments burst outward, scattering like glass.

System Notification: Digsby has perished. Active Minions: 2/4

Enya's eyes narrowed. The mist within them deepened, swirling with a heavy, endless weight. It began to leak from the corners like cold breath in winter's air.

"Pell!" Enya shouted.

He was already sprinting. Three wraiths flanked him overhead, darting through the fog to cover his advance. "Damn witch—bitch!" Pell growled, sprinting up the bone spires. Rage twisted inside him. He felt unnaturally tense. Elria has simply done too much.

She needs to pay!

His assassin's agility carried him effortlessly across the shifting terrain. Wraiths flew ahead, swiping their claws as more poured from the mist.

Elria countered—one wraith slammed aside, bursting into powder that scattered into another. With a flick of of her hand, a wave of black flame erupted, smoldering the air. The shrieks of burning wraiths cut through the fog, shrill enough to make the air vibrate. Her red hair burned bright, lifting with power. She looked almost divine, surrounded by black fire, chains of shadow unfurling from her hands to seize the undead around her.

But there were too many. Enya had brought an army, more were still coming from the mist. Her aura had stretched far.

One wraith's claws raked across Elria's shoulder, carving twin lines of blood. Another sliced deep into her calf from behind. She hissed, eyes burning scarlet as she bared her teeth. The wounds sealed almost immediately, but her movements slowed. It was fractional, but significant enough.

Enya saw it. Her gaze stayed fixed, pupils shrinking with cold intent.

"Do it, Pell," she said, her voice deep and cold, almost absolute.

Elria's gaze flicked toward her but then darted around, realizing the skeletal merchant was gone.

The air rippled behind her. Pell blinked into existence.

Elria turned, magic already gathering, but he was faster. His scythe cut a gleaming arc through the air.

A heartbeat later, a blast of telekinetic force hurled him away, slamming him into the ground hard enough to leave a crater. Half of Ted.E's body shattered, both back legs crumpled to dust as it redirected the damage.

For Elria, however, there wasn't anything to redirect her damage. He'd hit her.

A deep slash cut across her body, from right breast down to her left hip. A thin streak of blood seeped through the wound, rapidly building in intensity. She gasped in pain, debating whether or not to clutch at the wound. Her teeth clenched; her floating hair sagged, dimming as she forced her magic to knit the gash closed.

Elria's healing faltered halfway through. The black flame pulsing from her hand flickered, guttering weakly before stabilizing again. Her skin reformed, but the color in her face didn't return. She'd sealed the wound, but not the exhaustion bleeding from her soul.

"Persistent pests…" she hissed under her breath. "Still missing… so much power…"

The air trembled. Dozens of wraiths screamed through the fog, streaks of black and white smoke slashing toward her from all sides. The Dullahan raised its sword again, armor cracking under Enya's growing pressure as it roared and charged.

"Enough!" Elria shouted, thrusting both hands outward.

The world bent around her. A shockwave rippled through the fog, hurling wraiths in every direction. The Dullahan staggered, one knee slamming into the dirt as the ground quaked beneath her magic.

"You don't understand!" Elria's voice rang sharp, half-desperate. "This is meaningless! We no longer have reason to fight—"

She didn't finish. The next instant, another surge of Enya's power screamed through the air. The Death Acolyte's aura pulsed outward like a heartbeat.

Wraiths rose again. Their bodies spun around Elria, refusing to stop even when she tried to push them back. The fog itself seemed to bend toward Enya now, drawn by her call.

Elria's eyes went wide. She refocused on Enya below. She couldn't see it clearly before, but now she could.

"You… that power… why are you using the gods' power?!" she shouted, as though her greatest enemy had just strolled into her home.

"Enough?" Enya murmured to herself, tone hollow. "No. This isn't enough." An echo followed her voice as she spoke to Elria. "You tried to kill me in that painting. This time, I'll kill you back."

Enya's hand lifted.

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Every undead around her responded.

Elria's eyes widened as the air thickened—dozens of wraiths forming a spiral of motion, orbiting her in a violent storm. She spun, outstretching her arm in a sweeping arc.

Invisible force caught the wraiths mid-charge, scooping them upward like dust in a whirlwind. The ground tore beneath her feet as she pivoted, spinning once more. The wraiths followed her rotation, caught in the grasp of her telekinesis, whirling faster and faster until they blurred into streaks of gray. Her reopened wound dripped anew, red drops scattering into the air. Her hair no longer floated.

"Stop this!" she screamed, voice cracking through the chaos. "You'll attract their attention, you stupid child!"

Her spin halted. Power snapped outward like a whip.

Six wraiths were hurled at once, their bodies crashing into the earth with a sound like thunder, bone and ectoplasm bursting into pale light.

The remaining undead froze for half a breath.

Then Enya spoke again, softly.

"I don't care."

Her voice was different now. Detached. Almost regal. Like a verdict delivered from a higher power.

Pell moved, urged by an unfamiliar command that forced him upright. Upon hearing Enya's words, his soul flinched. The tone she used… it wasn't hers. It was something older, much darker. He'd never seen her like this before. Her fury bled through the tether that bound them, flooding him with her rage until his own soul-fire quivered.

Ted.E, half broken, began to move as well. It dragged its body forward, bones scraping against stone. The boarbear reared its head, and despite the cracks webbing through its skull, it bellowed another thunderous shout.

Elria's head snapped toward it. Unlike before, when she'd resisted the taunt with ease, her will and strength now had drained too far. Her gaze locked onto Ted.E against her will.

The Dullahan's armor creaked. It leapt forward, the ground cracking beneath its weight. In a blur, it seized Elria by the neck and slammed her into the ground, leaving a crater in its wake.

Pell appeared beside them, scythe drawn.

Around them, the remaining wraiths and those still gliding out of the fog—they all stilled. They floated in silence, forming a vast ring around the fallen witch, a colosseum of ghosts watching as a single soul stood on the brink of death.

The Dullahan's gauntlet closed on Elria's throat. It lifted her off the earth as if she weighed nothing, then smashed her down. The impact drove the wind from her lungs; the ground shuddered where her back hit. She lay there—naked, skin pale in the fog—hair splayed like a red halo across the mud.

One iron hand pinned her left arm to the ground. It's other gauntlet opened a fraction, exposing a thin strip of her throat—a clean line, a place for a scythe to finish a life without fuss. Pell's scythe hovered over it.

Elria struggled, legs kicking weakly. She wheezed once, glaring up at Pell.

"Alright—alright! I surrender!" she barked, voice raw. "You win! I'm done!"

Pell gave a hollow huff. The scythe tilted, its edge gleaming in the pale as he lifted his arm away.

"Kid," he said, voice low but tight. "She's giving up. You hear that? It's over."

Enya didn't reply.

Pell felt his body move before his mind agreed. The scythe rose, bone joints creaking as if someone were pulling him up by ropes. His voice tried to push through. "Alright, kid—that's enough."

His arm creaked as it rose higher, joints popping, bones trembling under invisible pressure. It wasn't him moving—it was entirely Enya. The connection that bound them pulsed hot and cold through his core, filling him with a fury that wasn't his. Even he wanted to kill Elria and decapitate her.

"Kid, what the hell are you doing? Stop it."

His shoulder joint popped as he wound back. His jaw clenched, voice straining as his body fought itself. "I said stop!"

Elria struggled against the Dullahan's grip, one eye cracked open. "You stupid pile of bones—tell her to stop this!" she hissed. "I already surrendered!"

Her words only made the air thicken. Enya's aura pulsed again—cold and absolute through all the surrounding dead. The wraiths began to emit a low screech, all expectant for the final blow.

Elria coughed, still glaring at Pell. "Without me, you'll die in this prison anyway! You can't use the witchcraft inside the voidlight bomb without me! You won't be able to reclaim the cauldron or athame!"

Pell's body didn't react. His scythe arm jerked up again, ready to strike. He growled under his breath. "Kid… listen to her, damn it!"

But his voice sounded distant, even to himself. The fog pressed in around him, muting the sound of everything but Enya's breathing.

Her breathing.

Slow. Shallow. Cold.

She didn't answer. She couldn't hear him—the sound of his words was tiny against the thrum of her own thoughts: anger and the need for death. Months in the painting echoed behind her mind: endless white, no floor, no sky, no time—a void so huge it taught her sadness, despair, and hatred. She had screamed into that silence. She had cried for days on end. She had begged for Pell. He hadn't come, all because Elria had separated them. Pell thought it had only been a few hours, maybe a day. Only Enya knew how long it had truly been.

Why…?!

That memory was a deep, dark blade. It twisted cold and hollow inside her chest. The ache curdled into something harder, a hunger that tasted like rot. Enya thought of Lia—the warm hands, the tutor's back, the griffins that nuzzled the girl's palm. Lia had a life stitched to her bones. Lia had family and rooms and songs and a name that fit. Enya had nothing where that should have been. She was sewn over someone else's happiness.

Why couldn't Enya have what Lia had? Why couldn't she have the same small, ordinary joy? Why had she been left to rot in that white for so long?

She was in control now. Maybe she could do what she wanted. Maybe she could take her life for her own. Lia had enough; it felt selfish not to take some. She should be allowed to want. She deserved it all, too.

"Do it." Her whisper was small, but the dominion around her bent and answered. The fog tightened around Pell, forcing his arm up into the pinnacle of its arc.

"Kid—stop!" he rasped, teeth grinding so hard his jawbone clicked. The rope of will pulled at his body and refused to relent.

The weapon crept down. Pell could see real panic in Elria's eyes—but the scythe didn't care about pain. It answered the cold weight of Enya's will instead.

"Kid!"

She did not hear the tremble in his voice. She was inside the white again, the nothing pressing in, and each memory pushed her deeper: I begged. I cried. They left you. They'll all leave you. Impostor. Faker. Who actually loves you?

Pell's words dulled, muffled as if heard from underwater. He became a distant bubble trying to rise through cold depths—faint, remote.

The scythe's arc descended, the blade catching a sliver of moonlight. For a heartbeat, Pell's vision snapped between his hands and Elria's throat and the child who used him like a puppet. He could feel the bond unspooling—her fury pouring into him, a slick river soaking his marrow. His own anger made the river taste sweet. He felt both satisfied and horrified at once.

Let me be more than a shadow. Let me be more than a fake. Make her pay.

Enya was in control. Not Lia.

Elria's face blurred into a single point. Everything else went dark; only the tunnel of light from Enya's eyes to Elria remained. The wraiths all screeched. The Dullahan pressed down, breaking Elria's arm. Pell's scythe swung.

Her whisper came as a shout. A command. One from the Empress.

"Kill her!"

"ENYA!!"

The shout cracked through the fog like a boulder dropped into a lake. Everything convulsed.

The scythe froze mid-arc, blade ringing in the air. The Dullahan's gauntlet clenched, then loosened an inch as if someone had slapped the knight awake. Every wraith shuddered, a hundred silent mouths opening and closing, the storm of screeches halting immediately. Fog collapsed inward like breath taken back.

Enya blinked.

For the first time since the white void had swallowed her, sound returned whole, completely sharp, real, and inescapable. But when she turned, when she looked toward the noise—

—all she saw was Pell's fury.

His jawbone had split down the seam, his soul-flames blazing hot and enormous in his sockets. That fire wasn't for Elria. It was for her.

The Empress of Death fell away in an instant. Shadows tore loose from her robes. The pale crown of mist above her head disintegrated into dust. The glow in her eyes faded to ordinary color, small and frightened.

"I told you to fucking stop!" Pell roared. His scythe dropped from his hands and clattered across Elria's bare chest, the blade nicking her skin as it landed.

Enya staggered. Her knees hit the ground. Both hands went to her chest, gripping her dress as though she could hold herself together by force. She tried to speak, but the words caught, breaking into a trembling sob. "I—" Her breath hitched. "I didn't mean to—"

Pell's glare didn't soften. The fury in his burning sockets held her in place more than any spell could.

She had forced him to move. Forced him to try to kill. He had already told her plenty of times that he disliked fighting. Of course he didn't want to kill people.

He's angry with me.

He hates me.

The thought ripped through her like claws.

Enya crumpled forward, shoulders shaking. "I—I'm sorry—" she managed, voice small and thin. Tears streaked down her cheeks, smearing dirt and ash into gray trails.

"Please," she choked, her voice cracking as she pressed her forehead to the ground. "Please don't hate me."

Around them, the world had gone still. The Dullahan loomed frozen above Elria's battered body. The wraiths hovered at the edges of the clearing, watching with empty eyes.

And in the center of it all, Enya sobbed alone—her cries echoing faintly through the dead mist, fragile and human again.

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