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DCD - B3 - Chapter 51 - Soul Reaped
🕑 Added 2026-01-06 23:31:50 +0000 UTC“That power…” Asvizer murmured. “You—you’re using a God’s power.”
He stood still, several dozen meters away, clutching his bleeding arm where it had just been severed. Godly power or not—he wasn’t immortal. He only borrowed a God’s power as a member of the Godsworn.
The girl in front of him, however, was entirely different.
“H-how? How are you using a God’s power?” he shouted.
But a moment later, clarity struck him. His eyes widened. “I see. It makes sense now. You—” His gaze locked onto Enya. “You’re an acolyte. A God’s acolyte.”
“And what if I am?” Enya replied. Her voice was dark, the previous innocence gone. “Veylar. Dispose of him.”
The noble vampire turned on his heel to face her and bowed. “As you wish, Empress.”
He turned back toward the Godsworn, baring his fangs in a smile.
“It’s time for a hunt,” he murmured.
In a sudden dash, Veylar bolted forward, kicking up dirt as he closed the distance. His arm extended, claws pronged and sharp, ready to tear out Asvizer’s heart.
However, Asvizer wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
He focused his power instantly, detonating the air directly in front of the vampire. Space itself exploded into a violent gust of wind. A moment later, Veylar burst through it completely unscathed, the distance between them collapsing almost instantly.
But just in time, Asvizer warped space once more, teleporting to a completely different location.
Enya’s misty white eyes glowed, like a lighthouse in dense fog. Her brows narrowed.
The space behind her distorted. She could feel Asvizer about to appear.
And appear he did.
His hand reached out, preparing to grab Enya—
—until five separate bone spears shot up from the ground, forming a thin wall, a spiked barricade meant to protect her. The spears grazed him, puncturing part of his forearm, but they didn’t sever it.
Asvizer hissed in pain, his eyes flaring with irritation and rage. He flexed his fingers again, preparing to detonate the entire space in front of him—Enya and the still-forming skeletons alike.
That was when he heard a voice right beside him.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Veylar’s hand clamped onto Asvizer’s head from behind, slamming him into the ground and dragging his face across the dirt for dozens of meters as the vampire ran alongside him.
Asvizer warped space once more, reappearing several meters away this time. His face was grotesque—burned skid marks and torn skin where it had been scraped against the earth.
He gestured toward his face with his free hand, then hesitated before touching it. That would only make it worse.
The fight continued, with Veylar largely toying with his prey. Asvizer warped repeatedly, this time taking the offensive, launching a multitude of kinetic attacks at the vampire.
All of them were ineffective.
Meanwhile, Enya looked down at Pell and Mr. Bones.
She channeled Soul Energy, accelerating their repair. Mr. Bones’ body took a few extra seconds to reconstruct, while Pell’s was restored almost immediately.
Once his body reformed, he grabbed his jaw and clicked it back into place, adjusting its range of motion. Then he looked down at Enya.
“Hey—are you okay?” he asked, visibly concerned. He had seen this skill of hers before, back in the soul-prison, during their fight against Elria.
Something about it was unsettling—aside from the creepy appearance.
It was almost like the kid’s entire personality changed. A darker, colder gaze emitted from her eyes. One that felt almost detached from reality.
“I’m okay, Pell. What about you?” she asked.
It was hard to read her face. The lack of pupils and the fully white, faintly glowing eyes stripped much of her expression away.
Pell stretched his shoulder, rolling it in a slow circle. “I’m good to go.” He looked ahead. “But… it seems like I’m not needed for that fight anymore, am I?”
Enya followed his gaze.
“I—I give! I give!” Asvizer choked out.
Veylar had his hands wrapped around the man’s neck, lifting him off the ground.
Almost like he had done to Pell.
Enya’s eyes narrowed, focusing on them. “Here, Veylar.”
Hearing the command, despite the distance, he moved in the blink of an eye. The wind rustled as he reappeared in front of Enya and Pell, still gripping Asvizer.
Veylar threw the man onto the ground. He landed with a heavy thud, one arm shooting up as he clutched at his throat, desperately trying to draw air back into his lungs.
He coughed a few times before managing to speak. “Y-you—”
A bone spear erupted from the ground, slicing cleanly through the man’s hamstring and impaling it, lifting his leg slightly off the earth. It reminded Enya of the impaled demon rat she had finally killed back in Sable’s dungeon.
The man screamed as more and more blood pooled beneath him.
Pell’s soul flames tightened as he looked at the Godsworn. His gaze flicked back to Enya a few times, but he didn’t stop her.
This man was their enemy. He had been prepared to traffic children for gods knew what reason. But Pell didn’t care. Not really.
Asvizer wasn’t his priority.
He turned back to Enya. “Kid. Where’s Amberdean? Where’d you toss him?”
She looked up at him. “He’s in the underworld right now. Did you want him back?”
“Hell?” Pell repeated. He brought a finger up to his jaw. “That’s… a pretty convenient place for him. But yeah. Send him back here if you can. I’ve got some things I want to finish with him.”
Enya nodded.
She glanced back at Asvizer, who was still screaming in pain. “Veylar. Shut him up.”
“As you wish,” he replied.
He bent down, grabbed the man’s head, and slammed it face-first into the dirt, muffling his screams with the earth itself.
Enya gave a brief, approving nod before turning back to Beatrice.
“Bring Amberdean back.”
“Certainly,” Beatrice replied.
The portal within her swirled and warped.
In the next moment, a figure was hurled out of it, landing body-first on the ground in front of them.
Amberdean groaned as he pushed himself up—only for Pell’s skeletal foot to plant firmly on his chest, forcing him back down. Pell leaned over him, summoning his harvester and placing the bladed edge directly against his neck.
“You’ve lost, Amberdean.”
Pell didn’t rush it.
The harvester hovered beneath Amberdean’s chin, steady as a guillotine held in patience. Bone toes pressed into the man’s chest, pinning him there, every shallow breath rattling against Pell’s weight.
Amberdean’s eyes flicked sideways.
Not at Pell.
But at his hand.
A faint shimmer crawled along one of the rings still wrapped around his fingers—mana gathering, slow and desperate.
Pell noticed.
The instant Amberdean tried to move, the blade dropped.
There was a sharp crack, wet and harsh. Fingers hit the ground in pieces, blood spraying across the dirt as Amberdean screamed, his voice breaking into something shrill and animal. The ring clattered uselessly beside the severed digits, its glow sputtering out.
Pell brought the harvester back up, resting it once more beneath Amberdean’s jaw.
“You’re done trying things,” Pell said quietly. “From now on, you answer. Or I start taking more parts you won’t get back.”
Amberdean sucked in air through clenched teeth, his body trembling. Then he laughed—a thin, ugly sound dragged out of pain and spite.
“So this is it,” he rasped. “All this power… all this spectacle… just so you could play executioner? That’s a noble’s job Pell. You’re not cut out for it.”
Pell leaned closer.
“You’ve been a bastard for as long as I’ve known you,” he said. The words came evenly now, but there was weight behind every one. “You never fought your own battles. You used your name, your money, your influence—always someone else’s hands doing the dirty work.”
He tilted his head slightly, angling the blade toward the dirt where Asvizer lay broken and silent.
“And look at you now. Even now, you’re still hiding behind someone else.”
Amberdean spat, blood streaking across Pell’s skull.
“So what do you want?” he snarled. “Coins? Status? To crawl back into the world you were too weak to survive?” His lips peeled back in a grin. “Say it. You want something? Beg.”
Pell didn’t flinch.
“I don’t give a shit about power or wealth,” he said. He looked him straight in the eyes. “I want answers.”
Amberdean blinked.
“…Answers?”
“What did you do with Elara?”
For a heartbeat, the courtyard was silent.
Then Amberdean laughed.
At first it was soft, disbelieving. Absurdity. A joke. Then it grew. Loud, breathless, unhinged. All until it bordered on hysteria.
“That’s it?” he wheezed. “That’s actually what this is about?” He shook with laughter. “I thought you were joking earlier. A facade, hiding your true reason of stopping the Godsworn. Thought you’d finally grown a spine. But no—”
His eyes gleamed, cruel and delighted.
“—you’re really trying to burn the world for some useless woman.”
The harvester came down again.
Amberdean’s scream tore through the air as the remaining fingers on his other hand were severed cleanly, blood spilling freely as the blade arced back into place beneath his chin.
Pell leaned in, close enough that Amberdean couldn’t look away.
His voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
“Where is Elara?”
“Her body’s buried behind the courtyard, near the forest past the orphanage. Good luck gravedigging. I’m sure she’s all bones now.”
Pell’s eyes didn’t flinch. His tone stayed cold.
“How did Elara die?”
“Like a pig,” Amberdean said.
Pell’s harvester cut off his right hand this time, sparing none of the digits.
He screamed. “Argh!—Fuck!” He writhed, trying to clutch at his severed limb, but Pell’s foot kept him pinned in place.
“Hurry up and tell me, Amberdean. I don’t have to cut off specific limbs either,” Pell said. “Next time, I’ll just take an inch of your arm.”
Amberdean growled, glaring at the skeleton. But he was powerless now, unable to resist.
“That fucking bitch committed suicide. There—are you happy?” he spat. “She took her own life after realizing the kids I sent away to other orphanages were being transferred to Asvizer instead.”
Pell’s soul-flames constricted into tiny pebbles.
“You…” His voice darkened. “You tormented her so much that she took her own life?”
His grip tightened around the harvester, bone fingers splintering from the force.
“Tormented?” Amberdean chuckled. “I gave her everything she ever wanted. A home. Money. Power. A lover. She didn’t have to live in poverty anymore. She had anything I provided. After a while, she even began to enjoy our time in the bedroom toge—”
Pell’s harvester came crashing down, severing the man’s entire right arm this time.
A howl of pain tore from Amberdean’s throat.
“Lies,” Pell said coldly. “I told you not to lie to me, Amberdean. She would never resort to that kind of life. Nor would she ever be happy about it.”
Amberdean’s words dissolved into incoherent screams as the pain overwhelmed him, his voice breaking into manic, meaningless noise.
Enya stepped forward. “Pell—I can make him tell the truth.”
He turned to look at her. His face held no emotion at all—somehow even less than usual, despite being a skeleton.
“What do you mean?”
“I have a skill,” Enya said. “I can force him to answer one question truthfully. It has a cooldown of thirty minutes, but I don’t think he’ll live that long anyway.”
Pell was silent for a moment. Then he slowly turned back toward Amberdean, who was writhing beneath him.
“Use it.”
Enya nodded and activated the spell. The circuit flared to life as her mana pulsed into Amberdean.
The magic unraveled immediately, prying into his mind.
“There,” Enya said. “Ask him anything you want, Pell.”
Pell didn’t nod. He simply leaned down closer, pressing more weight through his foot.
Past the shrill screams, he asked one final question. The man wasn’t going to answer anything truthfully otherwise. That’s just the type of person he was. Lying to his deathbed. He was simply too prideful and arrogant.
“Elara—did she ever try to escape?”
The screams died in Amberdean’s throat as something took hold. His mouth moved against his will, vocal cords straining to force the words out.
“She tried to escape nearly weekly,” he grunted. “She wrote many letters to information guilds—some even addressed to you. Every letter said the same thing. She begged for someone to rescue her and take her away. But I intercepted them all and burned them. Elara had no hope from the start.”
The instant he finished speaking, the screams returned.
Pell’s body shook.
She had actually tried to escape.
Numerous times.
And even begged for help.
From him.
He—who had gone up a layer, leaving her alone. In the pursuit of treasure and money, Pell hadn’t been there in her final moments, leaving her trapped in a prison.
If he hadn’t been greedy… if he had never gone to Sable’s dungeon… if he had cared more about her—he might have come back in time. Might have stopped him.
Pell slowly stood, lifting his foot off Amberdean’s chest.
“I’ll see you in hell,” Pell said slowly. He didn’t need to hear anymore. Elara had suffered, and it was all Pell’s fault for leaving her. That’s all he needed to know.
He raised his harvester, ready to cleave down at Amberdean’s neck—to erase the oldest, most troublesome problem of his life. The source of his agony for as long as he could remember.
He swung—
—but his body froze mid-motion.
His skull turned, glancing at Enya.
“What are you doing?” he asked. There was no accusation in his voice, only confusion.
Enya shook her head. “Don’t kill him. I think I have a better idea.”
She stepped forward slowly, stopping before Amberdean’s body. He could finally writhe now, clutching at his shoulder as blood poured freely from it.
She raised her hand, palm facing his body, and activated her new spell.
Skill: Banshee’s Call has been activated.
Target: Amberdean Hainsworth
“Die.”
It was a simple word. She spoke it casually. It didn’t seem out of place, given the circumstances.
But to Amberdean… it was something else entirely.
His screams stopped.
His eyes widened in pure horror. Words died in his throat as he clawed at his ears, desperate to block out the sound.
Die. Die. Die. DIE!
The word reverberated inside his mind. Inside his soul.
It grew louder and louder, echoing endlessly. His body convulsed as the command began to rot him from within, stripping layer after layer from his soul.
His eyes rolled back, turning white.
A transparent purple mist seeped from his body, condensing into a small bundle of soul-energy.
Enya summoned The Grim Pullet, its pages already flipping to a familiar entry.
The purple mist was drawn into the book instantly, absorbed between the pages.
Skill: Banshee’s Call has captured a soul.
Captured Soul: Amberdean Hainsworth
Enya turned back to Pell. “I have his soul now. Maybe in the future, you can take out your anger on him. Maybe… endless torment.”
Pell’s body was released, movement returning to him as Enya’s control over the dead loosened. Her authority was immense—nearly absolute.
He glanced at the book, seeing the small bundle of purple mist sealed within, the name Amberdean Hainsworth etched clearly on the page.
He remained silent for a moment.
Then he sighed.
“Thanks, kid. It means a lot.”
Enya offered a small smile. Even in her acolyte form, where emotion was muted and distant, she felt genuine joy—and compassion—for Pell.
But in that moment, they both froze.
They recognized it immediately.
A vision.
The world shifted before them. The courtyard vanished, replaced by the sky.
She was looking through the air itself from high above. There was only empty space, with forests and mountains far below. At the bottom, she could almost make out the edge of a town. Perhaps it was directly beneath them. She couldn’t be sure.
A moment later, the space cracked.
Like glass, it tore apart, splintering and crackling as a fracture cut through the air—thin at first, then widening.
Two figures stepped out. They looked tired and covered in sweat, yet hyper-vigilant. One wore frilly clothes and moved with flamboyant energy. The other was a woman dressed in tight-fitting black garb, like a classic assassin. A feathered hat obscured her face.
They both looked down.
Then the air exploded as they shot downward, as if they had spotted something below.
She couldn’t tell what it was—but those two were dangerous. Extremely dangerous.
And just as quickly as it started, the vision ended.
Enya staggered as the courtyard rushed back into place.
Pell shook his skull sharply, as if trying to dislodge the image from his mind. “The hell was that?” he demanded. “That skill never fails to give me a headache.”
“I—” Enya hesitated. “I’m not sure what that was. But I think… something is going to happen near us.”
A familiar buzzing sound cut through the air as Elria fluttered up beside them, wings vibrating rapidly.
“Oh,” Elria said flatly. “That.”
Pell turned on her. “That?” he repeated. “What do you mean, that?”
Elria hovered between them. “It’s the kid’s fault. It’s the consequences of her actions.”
Pell stared at her tiny, floating body. “Consequences? The hell are you talking about?”
Enya, however, understood. Her eyes widened. “It’s… the Godsworn.”
“Bingo,” Elria said. “You used that power, and now the world knows you’re here.”
“Godsworn?” Pell said. “You mean the guy with his face in the ground?” He gestured behind him without looking.
“I… I used my acolyte skill,” Enya said. “It’s power from the gods. Now they know where I am.”
Realization swept through Pell’s skull. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but it was enough.
“We can’t stay here,” Enya said. “We need to leave, now—”
Before she could finish, a shrill scream tore from her lips.
Something sharp and sudden wrapped around her body, forcing her Acolyte form to disperse instantly. Her robes reverted to her regular dress, the tiara above her head vanishing. Her eyes returned to normal—yet her body remained frozen in place.
Pell’s soul-flames flared violently as he lunged forward, reaching for Enya.
Behind them, Asvizer laughed, face half buried.
It was wet and broken, but triumphant.
He had lifted his head, just enough to peer and aim his attack at Enya.
Veylar’s eyes widened. “Empress—!”
He was moving instantly, crossing the distance in a blur as Pell rushed forward, Elria buzzing frantically at Enya’s side.
“Enya!” Pell shouted. “Are you okay?!”
Asvizer coughed, blood bubbling at his lips as he grinned. “Haha… looks like I got you after all.” His eyes gleamed. “A lifeless husk. That’s what you are now.”
Pell spun on him. “What did you do?!”
Asvizer wheezed, savoring it. “Sealed her soul. A Godsworn art. Made just for acolytes who borrow power they can’t keep.” He laughed again. “If you want her back, you’ll let me go and—”
Enya blinked.
Once.
Then again.
“…Uh?” she said, looking around. “What happened?”
Silence slammed into the courtyard.
Pell froze. Elria hovered mid-buzz. Veylar stared at her, stunned.
Asvizer’s smile collapsed.
“What?” he croaked. “No—that’s not possible. How are you—”
He never finished the sentence.
Veylar was suddenly there.
Claws flashed once, clean and precise, and Asvizer’s laughter died in a wet gurgle as his throat was opened from side to side. His body slumped, finally still.
Veylar turned immediately, kneeling beside Enya. “Are you harmed, Empress?”
Enya tilted her head, thinking. “…Uh. No. I think I’m fine?”
She looked down at her arms and hands. “Yeah. I think I’m fine.”
Pell, Elria, and Veylar all sighed with relief.
