Sworded Affair

Chapter 59 : Bad Romance

As the vision ended, depositing Emma back in her body slumped over the visitor's chair in Marcus' office, she could feel a most jarring sensation scrambling her brain. Much like going cross-eyed trying to look in two directions at once, the memories of two consecutive timelines were now unlocked in her mind; the first depicting the utter chaos she just witnessed, and the second consisting of an ordinary afternoon involving far more ice cream than was good for a growing girl. Two very different sequences of events that led to drastically altered outcomes, yet both insisting they were the correct course of events despite her knowing the latter was the timeline chosen, given she was still alive (and everyone else too, for what it was worth).

"I always liked some Ben & Jerry's," Emma murmured, licking her lips. "Probably wouldn't spend fifty pounds on it anymore, though."

Receiving no response even after some time, Emma eventually pulled herself up to sit properly again, locking eyes with her examiner in the process. Marcus looked much the same as before, albeit considerably paler; his mouth bobbing open and shut like a particularly persistent goldfish looking for a meal.

"So, when you said the weak seal meant you wouldn't offend anyone too powerful..." Emma reminded him, drawing a flinch from the Magus.

"I may have slightly underestimated the matters often experienced by your esteemed lineage," Marcus hesitated, not quite reaching for an insult, but not far off either. "With that in mind, I think it's best what we just saw doesn't leave this room. I'm already bound by oaths of confidentiality as part of my employment here; and whilst Paradox knows for certain, I find it unlikely she'll bring it up to anyone unprompted."

"One apocalypse is enough for a lifetime," Emma agreed drily, "No point dangling dangerous magic for fools to play with; not that they'd manage much without direct blood ties to unlock the class."

"On that, we're in complete agreement. Surprises aside, that was only the first of two memories unlocked. One down, one to go."

Despite his words, Marcus didn't immediately start digging into her mind again. Every man had different ways of dealing with fear, and he was a believer in the calming power of tea. Three cups later, his face had recovered enough colour that Marcus deemed himself ready for a second go.

"Please be shorter than the last one," Marcus whispered as his golden string began to burn anew.

Emma was no more concerned than before, knowing she had the backing of beings far older and stronger than herself. As before, she leaned back in her seat, allowing Marcus easy access to her mind as instructed. The drowsiness immediately returned as the Magus pulled one final string and his office faded away. The transition was far quicker this time, leaving Emma hovering over her younger self once more; she was older here, albeit no more than thirteen at a glance, and was sat at the kitchen table with her brand new laptop, the box it arrived in still visible to the side. She was... Watching YouTube?

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"We're no strangers to love, you know the rules and so do I..."

Fuck off, Emma thought furiously as her own sealed memories rick rolled her; and unlike her many previous encounters with Rick Astley, she couldn't just close the browser this time around. Exactly three minutes and thirty two seconds later, the memory ended, leaving herself and Marcus both befuddled as they returned to reality.

[Overmind, you irredeemable prick. You burned an eighty year old System vulnerability, just to arrange that?]

"You're good to go," Marcus eventually declared, once he recovered from his stupor. "This definitely makes it into my top ten weirdest interviews, but that's both sealed memories unlocked, neither of which contained anything objectionable that hasn't already been dealt with by a higher authority. Good luck on the next floor, aspirant."

The door reappeared behind Emma with all the subtlety of a hull breach; the sudden suction pulling Emma and her chair straight out of the office and onward to the eighth floor.

"When did we install that function again?" Marcus thought aloud, scratching his head. "Eh, not my problem. I'll file a report on it after my lunch break."

[Moron. At least you didn't find anything too important.]

---

This was going so well, Emma groused, as she landed headfirst in a well.

Thankfully, her armor was fairly light all things considered, and it took the two strong footmen little time to pull her out in a bucket and onto dry land. The armchair, sadly, did not survive the experience, floating in pieces at the bottom. Looking around, Emma found herself in a ramshackle camp atop a hill, busy with the bustle of goods and men. There seemed little order to her eyes; one man carried a crate of potatoes, the next a rack of pole-arms, and a third led live hens. Spear-men patrolled the perimeter, all under the watchful eye of a dozen archers across four watchtowers marking each corner of the perimeter wall.

Oversoul, Emma thought, targeting a well placed archer to get a better view. Thankfully, her possession did not count as direct harm, at least not when absent malicious intent, and Emma was able to get her vantage point. Looking out, she could see at least half a dozen smaller camps dotting the landscape in either direction, all facing towards a massive castle in the distance. It was a formidable construct; layered pillars of unknown stone engraved with runes that glowed with eldritch light. Further complicating matters, the back of the castle met sheer mountain; cutting off a potential escape but also removing one cardinal direction from play.

The remaining three sides were surrounded by a moat, whilst her keen eyes spotted archers aplenty alongside containers of boiling water, hot oil and less savoury substances. Adding to Emma's dismay, there were no signs neither of siege engines nor cannons, and the only battering rams available were little more than logs fitted with stilts and carried by a dozen men apiece. Shaking her borrowed head, Emma emerged from the archer and leapt back down to the middle of the camp. There, a baker's dozen of important looking men crowded around a wooden table, glaring daggers at a crude hand-drawn map depicting the battlefield.

"General!" Several of them spoke as Emma neared, naked hope loud and clear in their haggard welcome.

Nobody had expressed surprise at her possession of their comrade, making Emma hopeful that they had some experience with magic available. Siege-craft, she knew, was rarely an easy affair for the attacker, not with the tools she'd spotted so far.

"What's the situation?" Emma asked, silencing the babbling.

Several talking heads turned to each-other, before the oldest among then stepped forward to speak.

"It all began when the princess eloped with her suitor."

One sentence in, and Emma already had a headache.