Sworded Affair

In the end, it only took Emma a second to make her choice. Whilst the active abilities available were both powerful, each granting a significant new option in battle, she simply didn't feel it necessary at this early stage of her development. After all, she was still learning to fight with just her blade and her wits, and saw no reason to complicate matters instead of continuing to build on what she already knew.

[Trait selected!

The Wolf: Your strikes are preternaturally sharp, tearing through flesh and steel with equal ease.]

Emma felt the difference immediately; a surge of strength filling her frame alongside an undercurrent of ferocity, urging her onward to maim and kill. As Dies closed the distance, Emma dodged to the opposite side she'd chosen in their initial exchange and swung downward once more. The difference in outcome was stark; whereas before, Emma had only managed a thin cut down the lion's flank, her latest blow carved deep through fur, flesh and bone alike. Wasting no time, she followed that first blow with a second and third, hoping to finish the fight before Dies showed any more hidden abilities. Keeping constantly to the lion's flank, out of reach of his jaws, Emma slowly and steadily whittled Dies away, repeated blows landing again and again at the initial injury until he was nearly cut in half.

Fortunately for Emma, there was no burning glow this time, Dies unable to make full use of his abilities without his partner being present. In the end, the sole surprise to emerge was a desperate tail swipe attempting to trip her up. Desperate; because whilst it could have reaped dividends had it worked, a tail was an easy target once noticed, and a single slash severed that threat for good. His final effort stymied, Dies collapsed to the floor, bursting into wisps of flame as the arena spontaneously erupted in cheers.

"That wasn't so bad." Emma boasted, striking a classic victory pose with her sword held high.

[Anima: 83]

She'd healed a decent amount from the final, one-sided exchange, and was no longer at risk of keeling over to a light breeze, leaving her altogether feeling quite confident.

"What's next?" Emma asked nobody in particular, although her eyes drifted back towards Felix as a matter of course.

"Clear the arena for the next contestant."

A soft voice whispered, somehow cutting through all the deafening cheering to speak directly into her ear. Before Emma could even blink, she vanished from view, Epitaph lingering just a moment longer before fading away into the shadows, awaiting its next venture into the waking world.

—

"Where am I this time?" Emma wondered as her vision cleared, refocusing now that the rigors of teleportation no longer infringed upon her senses.

Looking around, the Roman motif of the arena was entirely absent, replaced with what looked to be a modern movie theater. The big screen up front depicted the arena she was in just a moment ago, allowing her to witness Epitaph vanishing for the first time. The rows of plush seats meanwhile were mostly empty; only a dozen or so individuals scattered across them with plenty of space between each. Most had food and drinks on hand, considerably better fare than the overpriced popcorn and soda that Emma associated with trips to the cinema. In another departure from convention, Emma could see food stalls built into the sides of the theater rather than being out in a foyer somewhere nearby. The staff were well-dressed, blank-eyed and soulless as they waited for orders; the ideal retail worker in the minds of a business consultant who'd never worked a single shift in their life.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

[NPC - Level 0]

"Really?" Emma deadpanned. "A bit on the nose, isn't it?"

[The Dungeon didn't deign to assign them names; I'm doing my best with the cards I'm dealt.]

"Fair enough," Emma nodded, as curiosity compelled her to head to the nearest drinks stall.

"One black americano please," Emma ordered as the attendant stared at her unblinkingly.

A full cup of coffee appeared immediately on the table, piping hot with steam still wafting off the top. Emma left it there for a few moments, continuing her impromptu staring match with the staff, but when a minute later the attendant still hadn't asked for payment or anything else she decided enough was enough. Unbothered by the heat after her recent experience against Dies; Emma extended her armor's feeding tube with a mental command and took her first sip of coffee since her rebirth.

"Not bad," Emma decided. "It's no barista coffee, but much better than the instant stuff mom loved to stock back home."

The usual kick of caffeine was absent of course; being unable to affect the undead despite the long-running stereotype of the 'coffee zombie'.

[Oh, is that still a thing? Might be a funny enemy type to introduce; I'll include a suggestion for it in the next performance review.]

"Say what now?"

[You don't think anyone can be selected to manage a System, do you? It's a prestigious position, and like every such position, I have my targets and performance reviews to meet if I want to keep it.]

"Huh," Emma blinked. "You're not wrong, but I guess I just wasn't expecting the whole setup to be so… Corporate."

[Life's full of disappointments, you'll get used to it.]

That got a laugh out of Emma; the quip being far too similar to what her dad would often say after a long day in the office. Finishing off her cup of coffee, Emma was strongly debating asking for a second serving when the cry of horns drew her attention back to the big screen. A massive man wielding a sledgehammer of all things had taken to the stage; his head and chest both bare and sporting only a pair of tattered shorts. As Dies and Nox emerged once more from the Gate of Life, identical to the specimens she'd fought earlier, the man responded with a roar fit for any jungle predator, the veins on his neck pulsing as he hefted his hammer skyward.

"Come get some, yer pricks!"

[Crackhead - Level 1]

"That's awful!" Emma protested, bursting into a fit of giggles at the name tag, despite the level indicating that the man in question was actually strong enough to potentially pose a threat.

[Substance abuse is indeed an awful thing. You get a short-term burst of strength and the ability to ignore pain, but it doesn't actually prevent any damage to the body. Crackhead Strength is very much not a superpower, despite what YouTube would have you believe.]

"Huh, Lenny actually survived this long?" A man sitting in the back row commented, the first time Emma heard anyone else speak since arriving. "Wonder if he'll make the cut."

"You know him?" Emma couldn't resist asking, taking a seat herself on the same row, just a few chairs down. "Does he actually use crack?"

"Oho, you can see the signs eh?" Her fellow spectator sighed. "Yeah, yeah he does. It's what got him drummed out of the forces, back in the day. Never recovered from it, and only doubled down on bad habits after that; I'm honestly surprised he's still alive, even discounting everything going on outside right now. Ah, how rude of me; Lance Corporal Peter Brown, British Army reserves, at your service."

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