Sworded Affair

Chapter 13: The Empty Throne

“What a waste,” Elizabeth Knight lamented as she floated freely over the crater that, until recently, was known as Greater London.

A monolithic force boasting a full sixth of the English population; the undisputed political and economic heart of the nation, a thousand years of history erased in less than a day. The heads of every major government body, the top of every chain of command, all were wiped out in a single decapitating strike. There was a clear trend, observed by her colleagues, that the greater the population density, the stronger the demons that emerged during the terminus. Whilst most of the countryside received weaklings that even a resourceful human could deal with; the cities had faced their lords, and that was the kind of battle that unfortunately only had one outcome.

Whilst Elizabeth had no confirmation of the same beyond Great Britain, her scrying unable to cross such a distance of open water whilst more mundane measures remained unavailable, she had few hopes their neighbors had fared any better. True, of the other Western European powers, only France had a similar concentration of strength in a single city, but the terminus was hardly limited to an arbitrary number of targets per nation. For all she knew, there were no major population centers left anywhere in the world.

“If there’s one silver lining here, it’s that I actually persuaded Noah to move to the suburbs.”

It hadn’t been easy, but she’d managed to get through to him in the end, winning the argument that the suburbs were a better place to raise two young children than bustling London. As her thoughts drifted, Elizabeth began a rite she'd invoked every hour since terminus, pulling lightly upon the red string of fate to seek out her family. Felix was the easiest to find; fully embraced by the weave and safe for the foreseeable future inside a fortress of his own making. Noah, meanwhile took a bit longer to find; his soul simply didn’t burn as brightly as it used to, but she soon found him resting at home, stressed but alive. Emma, on the other hand, returned the only message she'd received since her very first attempt.

[Access denied.]

The System had never truly accepted Elizabeth; she was a Knight by marriage, not blood, and only the latter counted under the old laws. Even a formal certificate of familial adoption had failed to move the intractable guardian, who did not recognize the government of the United Kingdom, and thus she was left completely unable to track the movements of her most willful child.

“I’m done on my end. How’s it looking south of the river?”

“Working on it!” Elizabeth replied, shaken out of her reverie by her squad leader’s broadcast.

Diving low, she put thoughts of her family to one side and refocused on today’s emergency mission; disposing of any surviving nuclear weapons before some imbecile found them and did something deeply unfortunate. Even now, two decades and an apocalypse since first taking her contract; the duties of a magical girl never truly ended.

—

“Just one trial left to go then?” Peter whispered, having waved down Emma the moment she returned to the theatre, a hint of anticipation across his usually calm features. “Glad to hear you got the nod from the boss; would’ve been bloody awful to make it all that way, just for him to say no at the finish line.”

“I don’t think the fourth trial is meant like that,” Emma shook her head. “It’s more a safeguard, I think, in case someone really isn’t the sort you’d want to let back outside. The Imperator seemed serious about making this a good place to live; law enforcement has to be a part of that somehow.”

“Well, can’t deny that.” Peter shrugged. “God knows I’ve met a few blokes over the years I thought were better locked up. Never mind that; what’s the plan when you finally get out?”

“Keep looking for my family, I suppose. Dad was meant to be at his office, and mom was at some charity gala, so at least I have some idea where to go. After that? Probably look for more Dungeons, to try and figure out just what’s going on in the world, and why it all went crazy.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jen grinned. “Hey, maybe if the internet ever comes back up like the Imperator is hoping, we’ll be able to follow you along? Revenant, the biggest streamer in post-apocalyptic Earth, has a ring to it right?”

Is that even possible? Emma wondered, mentally poking the System to stop playing music as it cycled back round to yet another rousing rendition of Rick Astley’s ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’.

[Who knows? I haven’t detected any signals since rebooting; but there could be engineers working on repairs as we speak. Honestly, I’d be very surprised if every trace of advanced communications was wiped out, rather than just temporarily unavailable. The damage we’ve seen so far has been sporadic and piecemeal, and the world’s just generally too intact for me to assume that level of thoroughness.]

Buoyed by the idea of someday reuniting with her collection of cat videos, Emma headed to the sign-up sheet with a spring in her step. The rest of the theater’s occupants formed up around her, an impromptu guard of honour for what was to be her final battle in the Colosseum, one way or another. This time, surrounded by strangers, she simply wrote down ‘Revenant’, trusting that Felix wouldn’t begrudge her hiding her given name. Sure enough, she was seized by the telltale distortion of teleportation seconds later, leaving the theater behind for good.

This time, the arena was silent as Emma took the stage. The Gate of Life itself was covered, a thick cloth in tyrian purple concealing the portal entirely whilst twin braziers burned on either side, filling the air with incense a hundred times more potent than her mother’s favorite blend. The smoke, Emma noticed, did not merely dissipate into the air; instead coalescing into a cloud that slowly but surely took on the shape of a person. His was an ordinary stature, smaller than the shield-bearer of the second trial and dwarfed by Neptune’s blessed after transforming. He wore a simple tunic, more befitting a picnic than a battle, and in his hands lay a simple spear, indistinguishable from any held by a hoplite in a thousand depictions across a hundred museums. All of that passed Emma by, her being far too busy trying to keep upright as a truly monstrous pressure crashed down upon her, threatening to drown out her mind altogether.

I’m sure you’ll succeed my ass, Emma cursed her brother. Isn’t this a bit much for my first final boss?

[Avatar of Romulus, Son of Mars - Level 9]