Sworded Affair

The wait until midnight passed largely in silence, as Felix vanished soon after greeting Emma, presumably to tend to the other contestants. Edith wasn't in the mood to talk either, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts. The sole disturbance to this routine came at five minutes to midnight, courtesy of the Weave.

[You are cordially invited to the 147th Coven of Lords Temporal. If you wish to attend, please make your way to Tent 101, 5 hours 55 minutes in the past. Festivities end at midnight, so don't be late!]

"Is this another spam message?" Emma asked, her mental cursor hovering perilously close to the Delete button.

[That one is real, unfortunately. It rarely sees more than a handful of participants, since very few practitioners have any meaningful way to engage with Time Magic. It's a very time-consuming art to learn, pun intended; usually, people are at least a magi by the time they get a grip on it. This year, there were only two attendees.]

"If that's the case, couldn't they wait until later in the week to hold the event?" Emma replied, vaguely baffled. "Two people doesn't even qualify as a party."

[Mm, it's a tricky one. Holding events in the first three nights guarantees that only practitioners can take part. Whilst this does narrow the pool of attendees, it also keeps the playing field relatively equal. Once you get into nights four and beyond, whilst practitioners are still welcome to participate, any serious event will be dominated by magi, who are often decades if not centuries more experienced in any relevant areas. Very rarely does a practitioner acquit themselves well in such circumstances, only I can count on my fingers the number of times a practitioner has defeated multiple full-fledged magi to win an event outright.]

"You're a ghost right now," Emma pointed out. "You don't have any fingers."

[Precisely.]

Emma didn't have too long to ruminate on that, as the clock struck midnight and Felix returned to his spot in the mirror.

"Alright, the door has closed, the decoy entrances are being dismantled, and all the contestants are ready to go!" Felix declared, throwing his arms to the side in glee. "We've got a good crop of contenders today, ninety six strong in fact! Now, we don't want this to take too long, so the generated map will be on the smaller side, to keep things nice and exciting for everyone. Additionally, the boundaries of the map will shrink once we're down to fifty survivors, and then again at twenty five, ten, and five, because there's nothing I hate more than games of 'Where's Waldo?'"

"You never did like any game you're bad at," Emma snarked, but Felix showed no reaction to her needling, most likely because he was broadcasting to all the contestants, leaving no time to break character and respond.

"A doorway will open at the end of this explanation. Once you step through, you'll be placed within a human body with standardised physical parameters, and absolutely no magic. Those who die will remain behind as ghosts, and get to watch the rest of the event from above. Once a winner has been declared, you'll be returned to a communal area to go over the results, meet your fellow contestants, and receive any rewards as applicable. That's all from me folks, good luck everybody, and have fun killing each other!"

On that slightly creepy note, Felix vanished from the mirror, which immediately began to glow in the aftermath. Recognising a hint when she saw one, Emma placed one hand through the portal and disappeared from the cell.

—

Emma came too on a cold metal floor, enveloped by a profound feeling of weakness. Brushing it off with her ample experience possessing others, she stood upright to take a better look at herself. Helpfully, the floor was mildly reflective, enough to show her new body, much like her old one. Same height, same red hair, the only true difference to the homunculus was the loss of her demonic strength, along with the change in clothes.

"It feels like I'm back in PE," Emma scoffed, pulling on her black t-shirt and exercise shorts with morbid amusement.

A pair of black trainers completed the set, until Emma took her first step forward and winced at the loud thump they made on the floor. They were quickly tossed aside, shoes and socks both, leaving her barefoot. It was a much quieter way of walking, though not the most comfortable in the cold, but Emma had no time to care about that when she had a battle royale to win.

[Mini-map loading.]

Much like the colosseum that had been her first exposure to a Dungeon, the arena this time was circular, with Emma occupying a small section on the very edge, south southeast, with nobody else immediately visible. The entire arena was metal, as far as her eye could see, set in the style of an abandoned factory slash warehouse. Metal floor, rusty shipping containers stacked up high, alongside the odd pipe, grille or mini crane for a bit of variety. The ceiling was easily five metres high, with no visible means of reaching it, barring the miraculous availability of some sort of flight. Emma reached for her inventory, which didn't work, much as she expected, but she had to give it a go.

With her weapons of choice unavailable, Emma turned her attention to the surrounding shipping containers, mindful of the occasional scream that could be heard, as her fellow contestants began to get to grips with each other. One small crate nearby looked as good as new, making it quite out of place, which is exactly where she headed. Pulling the lid off with only moderate effort, Emma found eagerly pulled away the wrapping, hopeful for something good.

"That's not quite what I had in mind," Emma remarked, giving her brand new crowbar an experimental swing. "I'll take it though. Here's to you, Mister Freeman."

A faint scuffing of boot on metal alerted Emma to a new arrival, so she spun on her heel to swing for the fences.