Sworded Affair

Chapter 11: Eleventh Hour Superpower

I wonder if Felix is going to intervene, Emma thought, watching her brother who remained immobile on his throne, head in his hands. He never did like it when games went off the rails, the dining table never recovered after our first and only game of Monopoly.

[He might not have that degree of fine control. It’s very difficult to gauge the exact arrangement between the Dungeon and its Master; quite frankly, we’ll never be entirely sure unless we hear it from them directly.]

Whether or not it was due to such a restriction, Emma didn’t know, but no immediate changes were forthcoming from the Imperator's throne. After a minute of silent contemplation, Felix regained his usual posture, and as isolated boos signaled the watching crowd’s impatience, Neptune’s blessed began to move. Raising his trident into the air, puffy white rain clouds grew overhead at his command, developing in seconds what usually took at least a few minutes to form. A slam of his trident against the floor followed, and rain fell across the entire arena, some of it naturally landing on Emma.

“Now we’ve got some proper English weather,” Emma deadpanned as the drizzle washed over her, lowering her mood slightly but otherwise having no real effect.

She continued to watch her adversary carefully, expecting some sort of water based elemental attack to follow the obvious setup, but nothing materialized after another ten seconds of staring.

“Was that meant to do something?” Emma asked, raising Epitaph to prepare to go on the offensive, only to pause when the fisherman charged at her the moment her arm moved.

“He can only detect movement.” Emma laughed, immediately turning Epitaph on herself and severing her left arm below the shoulder.

[-50 Anima]

Catching the limb with the flat of her blade, she flung it away to the side. As expected, the fisherman immediately followed, chasing after the detached limb and skewering it with impressive precision. Unfortunately for him, it was a simple matter for Emma to strike his now exposed back, stabbing him through the heart and twisting at the wrist to cause the maximum amount of damage. A bellow of surprise and anger turned to a rattling gasp as Neptune’s blessed sank to his knees, shock already beginning to set in. He wasn’t down yet though, as despite what crime dramas might lead one to believe, loss of consciousness wasn’t instant even in the event of a mortal injury to the heart.

In reality, it could take as long as fifteen seconds for the victim to sink into torpor: that was a long time where a hydrokinetic was concerned, one who naturally commanded the water in his arsenal to avenge him. There wasn't much available, given he still needed the rain to detect her movements so he could aim, but it was sufficient for one pressurized stream to form and go on the hunt. Unfortunately, it was bound to the same weakness as its creator, so as it neared Emma simply tossed Epitaph to the side, diverting the water's flow as it registered and chased the new movement. Once the water had reached Epitaph, found nothing and began doubling back to her previous position, Emma simply re-summoned the blade and tossed it again, uncaring for the cost in Anima given it was always calculated at half her current value. She ended up repeating this trick twice more; at which point her opponent finally died and the rain ceased.

[…50 EXP gained. Anima restored to full. Can I have a refund for that last fight please?]

This time as Emma vanished from the arena, it was to a chorus of deafening boos, which she honestly agreed with given the trial's anticlimactic ending - clearly some bug testing was in order where the Dungeon was concerned. Reappearing in the theater however, the reaction was very different as a raucous cheer broke out, Peter and several others raising mugs of beer towards her in an alcoholic salute.

“Well done!” Chainsaw woman congratulated her, bucking the trend by raising a glass filled with something very strong, given that Emma could smell it even from several rows away. “Glad to see someone has a chance of getting out of here!”

“Thank you,” Emma nodded politely back. “I saw you down in the town earlier, but I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Jennifer Hert, but you can just call me Jen. Best lumberjack this side of London; or was at any rate. Doubt there’ll be many trees needing to be cut around here.”

“Maybe it ain’t the best idea to say that?” One of the others yelled back in reply. “The boss might get mad.”

“Eh, he doesn’t seem the sort.” Jen shook her head. “Seemed an honest kind when we haggled, not the sort to mind us speaking a bit of truth to power.”

“You haggled over your continued survival?” Peter interrupted incredulously. “Did you want an extra few days off or what?”

“I tried!” Jen laughed. “Got the same deal as everyone else in the end, of course, but I always try to haggle at least once for any job. Not cause I need it, but cause it's the principle of the matter as a proud tradesman.”

That prompted a few laughs, and another round of toasting, though Emma noted that none save for Peter and Jen seemed eager to approach her for some reason.

[Could it be the ominous plate armor, the glowing orbs for eyes, or the fact your left arm is regenerating as we speak? No, no, I’m sure they’re all just shy.]

Shy sounds good. Emma snarked back, before quickly excusing herself as Jen launched into a detailed play-by-play of her trial, complete with gestures and sound effects.

[Not going to stay for the festivities?]

“Everyone there’s at least ten years older than me; and most look well over twice my age,” Emma pointed out. “Not the best crowd for me to socialize with. Besides, you saw how nervous most of them were just being near me; let them have their fun without the nasty Revenant looming over them all.”

Having justified her exclusion from the party, which was definitely not motivated by any semblance of social awkwardness, Emma headed straight down the corridor in the back towards her assigned bedroom. It was, by and large, exactly how she’d left it; a cleaning service was supposedly available, but Emma hadn’t felt the need after a single night and so had left the sign on ‘Do Not Disturb’. Despite that however, there was a newfound note on her bed, written in a sloppy cursive that she knew very well.

“We need to talk, big sis, use the bathroom door,” Emma read aloud, lip quirking. “Well it’s about time.”

With nothing left to do at the moment anyway, Emma immediately turned to the door she’d neglected all this time, twisting the handle before giving it a firm push.