DCD - B3 - Chapter 47 - Pell & Amberdean

Enya and Pell walked slowly toward the outside of Amberdean’s estate.

There were no guards posted along the perimeter. It was strange—but Pell didn’t remember there ever being guards here in the past, either. Maybe it hadn’t been necessary. Maybe the guards were stationed inside instead.

Either way, Pell bent the steel bars aside with ease and stepped through.

They reached the center of the front courtyard. Ahead of them, on the second floor, a window partially covered by blinds leaked a faint glow of light.

Someone was still awake.

“We have everything prepared?” Pell asked, glancing down at Enya.

“Yeah! I don’t think I forgot anything,” Enya replied.

Pell nodded and looked back at the mansion. It hadn’t changed much over the years. Not that he visited often—only when he had a bone to pick with Amberdean did he ever come here.

He dropped the large brown sack he was carrying onto the ground with a dull thump. Reaching into his inventory, Pell pulled out a paper talisman and tossed it forward.

The talisman flared to life, its illusionary charm activating instantly.

“Alright, kid,” Pell said. “You’re up.”

“Hehe!” Enya giggled. “This is going to be so awesome!”

The start of Pell’s vengeance had been turned into a… spectacle.

Enya flourished her hand outward in an exaggerated behold me gesture. The Grim Pullet flashed into existence before her, its pages flipping wildly.

“Oh great bone dragon,” Enya declared, “I summon you!”

The air above them shimmered and warped. White, slick, gleaming bones snapped together midair, assembling piece by piece. Hollow skeletal wings unfurled wide as the massive creature fully materialized. Its skull lowered, and two brilliant bundles of blue soul-flame ignited within its eye sockets.

From its open jaws, a disastrous—almost ominous—green mist began to spill.

It was massive. By far the largest construct Enya had ever summoned.

Bonehead had been large—an ogre skeleton standing several meters tall—but this skeletal goliath completely outclassed him. Cinnamon Bun spanned over a dozen meters wide and rose several meters high.

And aside from its size, it had one decisive advantage.

Bone density.

When Enya had summoned Bonehead, his body had been too large for the spell to fully support. She’d been forced to compensate by reducing the density of his bones.

Cinnamon Bun, however, had been constructed beforehand—organic bone, reinforced and prepared. It suffered no such limitation.

“Cinnamon Bun!” Enya pointed toward the second floor of the mansion. “Use Necroblast!”

The skeletal dragon responded with a series of deep, grinding cracks. It reared its head back as green mist pooled within its jaws, soul-flames burning brighter.

Then it snapped forward.

A blazing torrent of green fire erupted from its mouth, powered by death and decay.

The courtyard lit up as the blast streaked through the air.

It struck the estate head-on.

The explosion was massive.

“Critical hit!” Enya cheered, pumping a fist into the air.

Wood splintered. Glass shattered. Lamps, paintings, and debris were hurled outward as ash and smoke surged into the night sky, darkening it even further.

With the illusion talisman, no one was any the wiser about what was happening.

Through the rolling smoke and drifting embers, a light began to form. The haze parted as two figures emerged.

Pell’s soul-flames tightened.

One of them stepped forward first, standing atop what remained of the ruined second floor. He stared down at the intruders below, his expression twisting into a scowl.

⬥⬥⬥

“Who the hell are these mongrels?” Amberdean muttered under his breath.

He stood at the edge of the burning wreckage, staring down at the intruders. A young girl. A walking skeleton. The massive bone dragon hovering above them was clearly a summon—likely tied to the skeleton as well.

“Is that one of the children you captured?” the Godsworn asked, stepping up beside him.

Amberdean frowned. “I can’t remember their faces. I only ever see them briefly. They’re stripped down to identical tunics anyway. I don’t know who that is.”

“It seems the children escaped,” the man said. His voice was low—almost accusatory.

Amberdean straightened. “It’s too soon to draw conclusions.”

If the children had escaped, then why attack him instead of simply fleeing?

“It’s probably someone who managed to track the children here,” Amberdean continued. “A child trying to play hero.” His gaze flicked over the courtyard. “They don’t even have guards with them.”

With that, he stepped off the ruined second floor, landing smoothly in the courtyard below. The Godsworn followed just as easily.

Amberdean clasped his hands behind his back and began walking forward, eyes locked on Enya. Once he was close enough for his voice to carry, he spoke.

“Who are you, child? Why have you come here?” He gestured vaguely toward the ruined estate. “That is a considerable amount of damage you’ve done to my home. I hope you have an explanation.”

Enya crossed her arms and turned her head slightly away from him, pointedly refusing to answer.

“Hmph.”

“Frankly, your mansion was just asking for it,” Pell said. “The whole thing’s uglier than a goblin’s loincloth. She did you a favor, honestly.”

Amberdean’s gaze slid down to the skeleton. “What a lively mouth for an undead pile of remains.”

He looked back at Enya. The girl was starting to seem familiar now. Maybe she had been among the children in the basement. He couldn’t be certain.

Footsteps echoed as several guards rushed out from the estate.

Four of them. Two wielding swords, two carrying spears. All dressed in black uniforms.

“Sir! Are you alright?” one of them asked.

Amberdean raised a hand without looking back. “I’m fine. But it seems we have rats in the courtyard.”

His attention returned to the skeleton. “Why are you here, skeleton?”

Pell crossed his arms. “What? You don’t recognize me?” he mocked.

Amberdean’s eyes widened theatrically. “Ah—you must be the undead bones of my great-grandmother!” He slammed a fist into his open palm. “You sound just like her!”

Pell let out a hollow chuckle. “Ah… I can see the resemblance. I do look a lot like your grandmother. Must run in the family.”

His soul-flames burned a little brighter.

“I wonder if you’ll look like me too,” he added calmly, “in a few hours.”

Amberdean’s smile faltered. “You sure have a funny bone in you, skeleton.”

His gaze drifted to the brown sack on the ground.

It was moving. Something inside was struggling.

“What’s in the sack?” he asked.

Pell smiled. He gave it a light kick. “This thing? Oh—you’d recognize it quite well.”

He crouched and untied the knot, opening the top just enough—careful not to reveal what was inside.

The sound alone was enough.

“F-father! Help!”

As quickly as he’d opened it, Pell tied the sack shut again.

The courtyard fell silent.

Amberdean’s face darkened. He growled, baring his teeth. “You… you dare kidnap my son? You dare bring him before me?” His voice trembled with fury. “Is this your leverage? My son as a hostage?”

The audacity of it—blowing apart his mansion, abducting his child—made his fists clench until they turned white.

Pell chuckled. “Oh? You recognize him? That’s good. I was worried you might’ve forgotten what people sound like.”

Sound like?

“You—who are you?” Amberdean asked slowly. There was something beneath those words now. Something familiar. The voice wasn’t a child’s. It was too rough. Too worn.

It almost reminded him of—

“No…” Amberdean said, his fists loosening. “No…”

Memories. Recognition. He had a guess. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed plausible.

His eyes softened for a heartbeat—then widened. A grin spread across his face as a low chuckle escaped him, quickly swelling into booming laughter.

“Pell Meltere?!” he shouted. “Hahaha! There’s no one else unruly enough to be you!”

Pell’s soul-flames tightened.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to six or seven years ago,” Amberdean continued, laughing. “So you died and became a skeleton? How fitting! Oh, how I wish I could’ve watched you die with my own eyes!”

“You really shouldn’t be laughing, Amberdean,” Pell said coldly.

His harvester materialized in his hand.

In a flash, Pell swung downward, using the outer curve of the scythe. The blade sliced into the edge of the sack, tearing fabric and scraping the stone beneath.

“AAGH!” screamed the voice inside.

“YOU!” Amberdean roared. “You fucking dare injure my son?!”

His eyes burned red with rage.

Pell lifted the harvester, resting it against his shoulder. “And I’ll fucking do it again, asshole.”

“What do you want, Pell?” Amberdean demanded. “That girl with you—she’s one of the children I captured, isn’t she? You already know, don’t you? That I’ve been kidnapping children. Are you here just to play hero?”

“Hero?” Pell scoffed. “I don’t give a damn about the children.”

“Then why are you here?” Amberdean shouted.

Silence stretched between them.

Pell used it to gather himself. To steady his thoughts. To ask the question he needed answered—the one he feared hearing.

“What…” His voice lowered. “What did you do to Elara?”

The courtyard went still.

Then a chuckle broke the silence. A chuckle that turned into a twisted, disbelieving laugh.

“Hahaha… you—you came back for her?” Amberdean said. “For Elara?”

Pell didn’t respond. His soul-flames never left Amberdean’s face. He carved the man’s image into his memory, every line and expression.

“I know you made your move after I ascended to the second layer,” Pell continued quietly. “I know she’s dead.”

Behind him, Enya felt a sudden weight settle in her chest.

It wasn’t her own emotion—it was Pell’s. Their bond carried it cleanly. The grief. The rage. The hollow, widening ache beneath it all.

“Pell…” Enya whispered.

“What. Did. You. Do. To. Elara,” Pell said.

Each word was spoken individually, stretched thin and heavy.

Amberdean laughed a few more times before answering. “You think I keep track of all my used goods?”

The pit inside Pell grew wider. Deeper.

“Used… goods…?” Pell repeated slowly.

Amberdean’s grin twisted. “After you left, Pell, it didn’t take long for me to claim what was mine. The debt she racked up was too much for her to pay. After some extensive… water damage to the building, she was forced to shut it down.”

Pell said nothing.

“I offered her a choice, actually. How kind of me,” Amberdean continued. “To become mine. I would take over the orphanage in her stead. She could still oversee it—but her life would belong to me.”

Pell felt his jawbones grind together, a sharp crack echoing faintly.

“At first, she was a simple maid. A servant,” Amberdean said casually. “Later on—my mistress. She refused my advances for the longest time…”

His eyes locked onto Pell’s burning soul-flames.

“But after some convincing—that the children would have nowhere to stay if I shut the place down—she happily agreed. She truly did love those children. Her greatest love became her greatest downfall. It took months before she gave in completely. Those first few nights were my greatest joys in years.”

Pell’s bones creaked violently. “That’s enough…” he growled.

Behind him, Enya felt the abyss widen. Even she couldn’t see the bottom anymore.

“In the end, her tears became tears of joy,” Amberdean continued with a sinister smile. He spread his arms wide. “She worked under me and continued managing the orphanage. But alas—after nearly a year under my employ, I caught her one night trying to write a letter in secret while I slept. A request for help to the Information Guild.”

He smiled. “Luckily, I happened to wake up in time.”

“Shut up…” Pell snarled.

“Unfortunately, she never sent that letter,” Amberdean said. “I felt so betrayed—after giving her everything she wanted, and more. Yet she still had the gall to defy me. I couldn’t keep her alive after that.”

Pell lowered the arm holding his harvester to his side. “Amberdean…!”

Amberdean smiled wider.

“I made an example of her. A public execution. Stripped, chained, and tied to the gallows. I informed everyone in Eiyuria that she was a gold digger—that she had married me to steal my money. That the orphanage failed because she pocketed everything herself.”

His voice remained disturbingly calm.

“And they believed me. The rich nobleman who took over the orphanage, the one who gave the children actual filling meals. Of course they would. On the day of her execution, even the children she once loved—once cared for—threw rocks and tomatoes at her. They couldn’t believe that their caretaker had been siphoning funds and acting innocent.”

He chuckled softly. “It was truly a sight.”

Enya’s eyes flicked between him and Pell. Things were going to become dangerous. The playful atmosphere she created when she summoned Cinnamon Bun was completely gone.

“With the criminal executed, I took full control of the orphanage,” Amberdean continued. “I had my men bury her somewhere. Even now, I don’t know exactly where she’s buried.”

Pell’s soul-flames burned hotter than ever before.

He swung his harvester down again, striking the opposite edge of the sack.

Amberdean’s son voice rang out. “AAGH!!”

“You!” Amberdean roared.

Pell struck again at another edge.

“ARGHH!!”

“You fucking dare!” Amberdean stepped forward, ready to charge at Pell—but was stopped.

He turned sharply to see the Godsworn holding him back by the shoulder.

“It seems your past ghosts have come to haunt you, Amberdean,” the Godsworn said calmly. “I do hope this problem of yours won’t grow large enough to interfere with our operations.”

Amberdean clicked his tongue. “Of course it won’t. He’s just some unruly farmer I should have killed years ago. Undead or not, he’s no threat to me.”

That was when Pell attacked.

Without warning, he hurled his harvester through the air. The scythe spun end over end, screaming toward Amberdean—

A guard stepped in immediately.

Steel echoed as the blade was knocked aside by a raised sword, sparks bursting from the impact.

Before the harvester could even hit the ground, it vanished. Silently, it reappeared back in Pell’s hand.

Amberdean’s eyes stared back at him, but then flicked downward.

Near the center of the courtyard, half-buried among broken stone and scorched grass, a paper talisman glowed faintly.

His lips curled into a slow smile.

“Ah,” he said. “An illusion talisman. That explains it.”

He glanced around the ruined estate. There were no curious villagers rushing in after an explosion that should’ve shaken the entire district.

“If this weren’t here,” Amberdean continued pleasantly, “the town would’ve come running by now.”

He looked back at Pell, amusement creeping into his expression.

“It seems you’ve already prepared the perfect graveyard for yourself.”

Amberdean turned slightly toward the Godsworn. “I’ll handle this.” Then, as an afterthought, “But if the skeleton has any tricks up his sleeve… I wouldn’t mind some assistance. Aside him, there’s no one else who holds a deep grudge against me.”

The Godsworn regarded the courtyard for a moment longer before giving a faint nod. “Very well. But let us make this quick. I still have several more locations to go to.”

Pell gripped his Harvester tightly. His soul-flames were tightly condensed. All that remained was pure focus. He spoke without taking his gaze off Amberdean’s figure. “Kid, this is it. No holding back, you hear? Mutilate or tear their bodies apart all you like.”

A second passed before he added, “But leave Amberdean to me. He’s mine.”

Enya’s eyes glowed golden yellow as she focused, spreading her senses across the entire field. Pell’s determination and animosity spilled over to her. She could feel the bloodlust radiating from him.

“I’ll help you as best as I can,” Enya said.

Amberdean noticed that Pell wasn’t backing down. He really did want to fight him.

His grin sharpened.

“Guards!” he barked. “Apprehend them! Bring me the skeleton’s head and capture the girl alive!”

Three of them surged forward.

The one who remained behind was a spearman. He planted his feet and channeled mana into the tip of his weapon. Pressure built as the spear began to glow.

Enya felt it instantly.

“That one!” she shouted. “Cinnamon Bun—Necroblast!”

The spearman launched the attack. A concussive blast tore through the air as a condensed ball of energy.

Cinnamon Bun was already in motion to answer.

The skeletal dragon snapped its jaws open and unleashed a necroblast toward the center of the courtyard. Green fire collided with the incoming mana, the impact erupting into a violent explosion that swallowed the field in smoke and debris.

Before the haze could settle, one of Amberdean’s swordsmen burst through it, blade raised and angled low. He made only a few steps before instinctively slashing forward.

His blade met another—one far bulkier than his own.

The clash rang out like thunder, the swordsman staggering backward several paces as sparks flew.

Ahead of him, a skeletal horse galloped past, turning and circling back toward him. Atop the skeletal beast sat a giant knight.

“Go, Mr. Bones!” Enya screamed.

Reinforced bone armor. Several layers of calcified plating. A massive white greatsword made of bone. It was a cavalry unit of undeath.

“Tear him apart!” Enya commanded.

Mr. Bones made the equivalent of a acknowledging grunt, his bones creaking along his body. He charged straight back for the swordsman.