Sworded Affair

Emma's introverted tendencies served her well, as it meant she started the surprise preliminary away from any obvious enemies. A few people glanced her way to begin with, but her position in the corner and unusual appearance, along with her growing reputation meant that nobody was keen to jump her this early into the event, giving her a chance to spectate. Instead, like the man who shanked his companion, people mostly went for supposedly easy targets. Supposedly, because everyone was hiding their capabilities to some degree, so the snap judgments of those going on the offensive were reliant upon limited information, and the results reflected that.

A handful of participants died quickly, taken by surprise before they could react. Curiously though, none of them seemed to die in the ordinary manner. The man who took a knife to the ribs burst apart like an overripe grape, splattering the floor with far too much blood for a single human body. A second man died to a rabbit punch, his skull caved in from behind by a move banned in every combat sport Emma had ever heard of. He turned to a pile of mud, while something small and intangible fled from the corpse in a flurry of white light and expletives. Those were the only two Emma saw, of the initial wave, but several other screams indicated more victims outside her immediate line of sight.

Panning across the room, Emma saw a bright red flaming burning merrily near centre stage, half of a broken nesting doll slumped against the ground, and what looked like a cloth sack filled with squirming insects, the latter starting to pour out in her direction. They were moving with a degree of coordination that suggested, well, coordination, so Emma turned Epitaph into its bow form and fired an arrow at the approaching mass. She didn't put much effort into it, just the minimal amount of anima needed to hit the mark, but that was enough to blow a big hole through the swarm, and the few bugs that remained scattered in a far more natural looking manner, so she paid them no more attention.

"Not a single regular body," Emma remarked. "All substitutions or clones of some sort, even if they looked normal until all hell broke loose. I take it none of them are actually dead?"

[This event was advertised as one where contestants take turns carving each other up. Only someone touched in the head would attend without any lifesaving measures.]

Nodding in agreement, Emma returned her attention to the crowd. Another two contestants had fallen, the first with his head splattered by an oversized hammer, subsequently turning into a scarecrow, and the writhing mass of green ectoplasm drifting out of a body missing most of its chest. The green ghost turned in place, looking for something unknown before it fixated in Emma, flying straight for her. Emma stabbed it with Epitaph, and tried to capture its soul.

[Summoned Spirit is unstable. Soul dissolved.]

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Poor quality work," Emma remarked, mildly disappointed not to have a new summon, even one that didn't look like much.

[It was a disposable creation, made in a hurry for tonight's festivities. Win or lose, it was never intended to outlast this night.]

In little more than the blink of an eye, seven contests had fallen out of the initial seventy eight. They were the weak, the foolish or the unlucky, by Emma's reckoning, brought down before they could show anything more than their life saving techniques. The remaining contestants were of a hardier sort, at least surviving for more than one hit, such that half a dozen fights had broken out around the room. Emma was amused to note that many others like her had stayed out of it, preferring to observe from the sidelines as pairs of practitioners duelled with swords, spears, and their bare fists. A few observers had even procured popcorn, likely from their storage items, and were treating the whole thing as a show.

"Now that was most foolish," Master Europe chided, drawing Emma's attention his way.

One of the practitioners had decided to try attacking him, somehow of the opinion that his youthful enthusiasm would prove victorious over a veteran warrior, one entrusted for the night with oversight over several dozen of the former's peers. Granted, he spared no effort in his attempt, wielding a flail that glowed a nauseating green, one that made Emma's head hurt in spite of her present state as a suit of armour. It wasn't nearly enough, as Master Europe held it in place with a single massive hand, showing no sign of effort while overpowering his assailant's two-handed grip, nor any sign of the conditions affecting Emma.

[Null Zone (ON)]

Emma activated her anti-magic, causing both the pain and nausea to fade, as neither had a basis in the physical world. She had a single moment to appreciate the return to normality, before Master Europe clenched his fist, crushing the head of the magical flail into fine powder.

"My plaguesoul!"

The practitioner gasped, reeling back as he clutched his chest and wept. Emma thought he was just being dramatic at first, until she noticed that his tears were very real, and tinged with black tar that writhed as they fell.

"It's one thing to want to challenge yourself, and quite another to strike at someone entirely beyond your means. Let the loss of your soulbound weapon be a lesson in prudence, young man."

The crying man's head rose, but before he could utter a single word in reply, Master Europe backhanded him, sending his head flying off into the distance. The rest of the body started to dissolve in place, though instead of the instantaneous transformation Emma had seen from others, this was a slow process, melting away from the skin down, in layers that resembled the peeling of an onion. There was something wrong about it, something that tickled the back of Emma's brain even through her Null Zone, and that was enough for her to make a choice.

"Antipode, get rid of that mess."

Emma's summoned elemental emerged next to her, angled just right so that one of his attendant fireballs landed on the rotten corpse, which proved entirely unable to resist the flames.

[Sigurd Plaguesson slain.

600 XP gained!]

"Wait, that was actually him?" Emma blinked.