Sworded Affair

Chapter 79: Welcome, Summoner

[Choose up to two options from the selection below:

1) Weapon Enhancement - Toxovolia: Epitaph can transform into a Bow, firing arrows born of anima. The more anima invested, the more powerful the shot; the arrows also apply the effects of other Weapon Enhancements.

2) Weapon Enhancement - Can I Play with Madness?: The first Wound dealt to an enemy inflicts a random Status Condition.

3) Weapon Enhancement - Cull the Weak: Enemies lower Level than the wielder suffer Instant Death when wounded.

4) Trait - Abominus: Anyone looking at you suffers damage every second, as their anima recoils in horror.]

Without the Bishop sustaining them, the golden walls surrounding Emma quickly began to fade away. Thankfully, the choices facing her were simple this time around, requiring barely a few moments of thought.

"I was just complaining about my lack of ranged options," Emma smiled. "Status Conditions are quite powerful as well, from what I've seen so far."

Locking in Toxovolia and 'Can I Play With Madness?', Emma waited patiently for the walls to fully disappear. Of the remaining choices, Cull the Weak had been passed over immediately; given that anything Emma was capable of damaging whilst also being a lower Level would be dead either way, with or without it. Abominus meanwhile was a powerful trait, but like several other examples she'd already encountered, the lack of an off-switch would have proved too detrimental over time. Emma was comfortable in solitude, but that didn't mean she intended to become a lone hermit in the woods either, shunned by polite society because she hurt even to look at.

[-1 Anima]

A bullet pinged off her helmet as the first lines of fire opened up, Emma turning to face the shooter and pointing a finger right at him.

"Oversoul!" She declared grandly, vanishing from sight and possessing a soldier - at the corner of her vision, far from the action.

"Foul demon, you'll never claim me-urk." The soldier who'd shot her died quickly, not to Emma herself but rather the blade of his nearest neighbour, convinced that he had been possessed.

That more or less confirms it; the remaining soldiers have no way of detecting me, without the priests. Emma thought smugly, hidden within the soul of a cook, knife and tongs in hand. Back to the waiting game, then.

---

Day 24

"Well this is ridiculous," Jen complained, scrolling down a long list of reports for the umpteenth time that day. "Not a single lead on Revenant yet again; despite the obvious mind control at work. Either she's a professional actor with experience in period dramas, or her abilities prevent detection the normal way."

"We're out of clerics to call on as well," Peter commiserated beside her. "After losing so many clergymen, including a Paladin and a Bishop, none of the orders are willing to send more. Damn shame, since their divination was the only thing that worked."

"We can't win this, can we?" Malcolm groused, sprawled bonelessly across his sofa. "We're out of ideas, out of allies and nearly out of time, just waiting to confirm our failure."

"...Not necessarily."

Blinking, Peter turned at the unfamiliar voice, only to be met by an equally unfamiliar face. He was one of the earliest to arrive at the Theatre, and had kept a close eye on all subsequent trials; a young girl wearing a witch hat and an eye patch would've been hard to miss, all things considered.

[Fragment of Will (Overmind) - Level 93]

"I'm not sure I follow, Miss?" Peter offered, fishing for information.

"This scenario draws upon events from six centuries ago; an utter fiasco that left a kingdom in ruins, and every noble of note dead or worse. A prosperous nation once the envy of every neighbour, overrun by magic unleashed by the desperate that quickly spiralled out of control, leaving the meagre remnants of the peasantry to be subjugated, their land carved up between those selfsame neighbours.

This simulation played out very differently to history, but some common factors still remain. The impossibility of a clean outcome in the time remaining. The early demise of the religious orders, leaving a void where moral and magical guidance once stood. The willingness to resort to unsavoury measures in order to achieve victory. You do want to win, right?"

"Of course!" Malcolm interjected - very loudly, such that it drew all eyes and ears nearby. "Gather round everyone, we've got a plan B!"

As an impromptu circle of attentive listeners formed around her, Overmind began to explain the underlying mechanics of summoning.

---

Day 30

I refuse to believe the eighth floor would be this easy, Emma grumbled, still stuck inside the same cook, now busy dishing out servings of dried meat and hardtack.

[The Bishop was a dangerous opponent, one tailored against the Undead you were, not long ago. Was he not a worthy boss for this floor?]

A boss, I can buy. But the final boss? Not a chance.

[Good, a bit of genre savvy will serve you well in life.]

The cook handed off a final plate to a thankful digger, the latter covered in mud and fresh from the trenches. Only a few broken pieces remained, of an entire barrel of salt pork and a crate of hardtack; these, the cook took for his own meal, heading out into the plains to enjoy his supper. Compared to the disciplined formations of a week ago, calm prevailed in the plains; everyone seemed resigned to not finding her, and content to simply pass the time.

Not everyone, Emma realized, noticing a campfire that seemed out of place.

A pair of scantily clad men covered in blood red paint were dancing in circles around the flame; one that burned far higher than the cooking fires she'd become used to. Plenty of bored soldiers surrounded the dancers, treating the whole spectacle as some welcome entertainment. Their movements were crisp, coordinated and constant; the dance never wavered once throughout the meal.

Odd, did the quartermaster authorise some spices for once? Emma wondered, feeling a faint burn at the throat, and sweat beading upon the brow of her unwitting host. That, combined with the dancers, is it a public holiday today? It's nice to have a bit more variety than salt, salt and more salt.

Then her vessel pitched forward off his stool, kneeling on the floor as he fought for breath.

Never mind, it was actually poison. Dammit, I knew this was going too well!.

The cook's eyes were cast downward in his struggle, but his ears still worked; allowing Emma to listen in even as his heartbeat slowed, enough to hear the dancers speak for the first time that night.

"Bought in the blood of comrade and kin. Wrought in hellfire, forged of sin. Three thousand souls denied honour in death, gasping and weeping unto their final breath. Cain, Delilah, Iscariot, cast open the tomb of your legacy!"

Emma seized control of the dying cook, having heard more than enough. Ignoring his body gasping for air, Emma pointed directly at the dancers.

"Descend, heartless angel!"

The Angel of Extinction emerged, smothering the campfire as it arrived, to twin shrieks of outrage. The sudden loss of light was very noticeable; drawing the eyes of everyone well enough to move and ensuring the Angel ensnared them all. The tension in the air faded; the rite of summoning collapsing in the absence of its focal point. All the onlookers collapsed too, as the clock struck twelve and a wave of Instant Death took them all.

"I'm glad I caught that in time," Emma sighed, emerging from the lifeless body of the cook.

"So am I, though that will be of scant comfort to you, I'm afraid."

Emma whirled around, coming face to face with a man she was nearly certain hadn't been there a moment ago.

[The Prodigal Son - Level 25 Nascent Soul]