Bit by bit the sun descended across the horizon, its reddish luster turning the cloud-strewn blue sky to yellow and orange, until the embrace of night inked it dark blue, purple, and finally black.  Darkness fell over the City of Echoes, a place where the unnatural quiet turned modern buildings into the ruined monuments of a forgotten age and every storefront sign into an epitaph.  

If the City was dead, though, it was the restless sort of dead.  Hook-clawed, scrabbling monsters lurked in the darkest shadows, particularly in the areas that must have once maintained the densest populations, but those familiar, unintelligent threats did not leave their territories to walk abroad like the pale things that appeared that night.  Their white, wispy forms evoked the tales of ghosts, but their feet never left the ground and they circumnavigated obstacles that presented themselves during their haunting patrols, keeping their eyes out with the watchful discipline of hunters on the prowl.  

While these solid specters differed drastically in appearance, some mirrored others exactly, suggesting that there existed only a select number of specific kinds.  A number of them bore inhuman features, like the noisome, blobby things with minute legs and cavernous maws that squirmed around, hunger wafting from them like the stench of death, or the gorgeous women with draconian features who strutted imperiously about, their reptilian eyes scanning every corner.  Walking machines of remarkable size and sophistication, betraying no hint of a human operator, shook the ground with every footfall; feral creatures that stood upright, clad in ceremonial garb, leaped across rooftops using their vicious claws.  Below, fungus-infested skeletons waited on streetcorners, sentinels with swords drawn.  Perhaps more oddly, more human entities also composed their ranks, like the brawny men in striped suits, soldiers with futuristic gear, and slender assassins.

All through the night, the drones lay in a powered-down state, waiting for their internal timers to roll around to morning and have them begin the hunt anew.

[center]-=-=-[/center]

The rays of dawn poked through the perennially clouded sky, illuminating a city no more ravaged by abnormality than it had been the night before.  Outside each of the remaining competitors' havens, the flying machines sent by the tournament's vanished announcer whirred to life.

This included one that, at an unknown time in the night, arrived at the temporary abode of Pithy, its previous keeper eliminated the preceding evening.  It pointed toward the thicker city, yet from angle so low to the ground that it scarcely avoided scraping it.

Once found and consulted, the drone assigned to Lily maintained an upward angle, its orientation such that if Lily returned to street level its back would be facing south, where the skyscrapers gave way to rows of smaller buildings that grew thinner and thinner until they reached the City's southern border.

In Oldtown, Runch's own guide indicated a generally northwest bearing—generally because the drone changed its angle often and suddenly, as if his next opponent was teleporting around.

At seven o'clock the drones each gave a series of beeps before launching into a prerecorded message.  “Hello and welcome to the big leagues!” came the voice of the Crucible's bespectacled commentator, known to some as Oren and others by that name's inverse.  “If you're hearing this that means you've made it to the semifinals.  That means two big matches: one in Uptown and one in Downtown.  Once that's sorted out, there's just one more little brawl to tidy things up, and then your dreams are a reality!”  The words rang with enthused finality, but after a brief pause another message followed it up.  Though the voice belonged to the same young man, his tone sounded drastically different.  “Soooo....here's the scoop,” Nero said, his voice low and serious.  “If you're getting [i]this[/i] message, it means things have gone bad.  The tournament's still on, in the sense that if you collect all the souls and find the wishing machine you'll have it granted, but don't expect to receive any help from me or the College.  In fact, if you haven't already met some of them, there's a good chance they'll be out for your blood.  But beware: all research indicates that there's something else out there, something...fundamental.  The College had help finding you, and I'm sure that whoever -or whatever- wanted you here hasn't gone anywhere.  Good luck.”

Having heralded the dawn of the third day, and something more deep and sinister than anything the contenders had yet encountered, the drones fell silent once again.