Enraged, the Manticore fixed its baleful eyes at me, the serpent’s head hissing with new malice. More gobs of stone-eating liquid flew my way, but, as always, I made sure to keep behind a statue.
Again the creature charged, knocking over yet another statue and hurting itself in the process, to boot. I was hit by a concussive fragment of stone, which took out a chunk of my Health. But my Drain spell was still eating away at its very life force, and this stolen vitality was recovering my Health. The creature shook itself from its latest failure. At this rate, the creature’s end, like all things that bled and died, was inevitable. Iasis knew of this truth.
“Enough! Very well, you pass this stage of the trial!” cried the goddess, her words an imperious command. She clapped slowly at my success, grudgingly even, and the Manticore mysteriously faded into the silken shadows. The midnight lines of the Drain spell that joined me to the monster suddenly snapped, as if cut by an invisible blade.
Doubting her words, for this stage of this so-called trial had been surprisingly easy to overcome, I narrowed my eyes, looking toward where the monster had vanished before a new script filled my inner sight.
You have completed a Divine Ordeal.
You have gained 200 experience.
Perhaps the godling was telling the truth, but what she said next was as from relief as mirage was to the true water of an oasis.
A mischievous expression played about her face before she announced, “Very well done. Indeed, I did not expect one of my sister’s own to actually use their little brain. It’s always purge the unclean, burn this, and burn that…” she played with her hair, twirling it in her fingers before she smiled at me. “But have you the mettle to complete my next Test, I wonder?” she broke off laughing, a melodious tinkle that irked me to no end.
The Manticore had been objectively dangerous, but not something I could not have overcome with a strong arm and a sharp wit. Indeed, a part of me was disappointed that I had not been given a chance to finish the thing off. I had suffered minimal damage and had even absorbed two points of Mana from my exchange with the winged terror. Wings that it had, thankfully, never gotten to utilize, for had we fought where it could have used the advantage of flight, the outcome may well have been very different.
The crack of stone splitting shook me from this line of thinking, and drew me back to the task at hand. The sacred task of defying the Goddess and surviving this damnable trial. The hall shook as the sound of worn gears and ancient machinery filled the stale air. All except two of the remaining statues sank into the floor, as if being absorbed by quicksand.
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From one of the remaining statues, a new threat presented itself. A threat that positively towered, reaching almost as high as the ceiling. A hulking metal faceless thing that was shaped in the vague approximation of a gigantic man, but with sharp lines and oblique angles. No bestial roar came, for the construct had no mouth to scream its challenge. There was only the screech of ancient pitted iron as the unnatural abomination stood upon thick pillars that could be construed to be its legs.
Fear and shock had long left me now, just a dull weariness remained that hid a smoldering ember of hate. I just wanted to get this over and done with, and I spent a precious point of Mana to measure the new threat.
Iron Golem - [Automata lvl.12]
Health: 1059/1059
Stamina: - -/ - -
Mana: - -/ - -
Like the undead Praxis Guard I had encountered before, the Iron Golem had neither Stamina nor Mana points. At a guess, this probably meant that it did not rely on Stamina for its basic locomotion. The lack of a Mana points, I intuited, meant that it possessed no will or consciousness of its own, not unlike a pre-programmed machine. It did, however, still have a prodigious amount of Health that completely overshadowed my own, and since it was a metal construct, I doubted my Drain spell would work upon it.
“One of the finer creations of one of my own creations. The old Gnomes always had a way with their inspirations. You will not defeat the Giant of Iron by running around like a little mouse,” Iasis chortled playfully, her voice coming from somewhere behind me, tempting me to look back.
I resisted the urge to turn in her direction. An indistinct yearning slowly emerged from within the deep recesses of my mind, crystallizing into a nearly palpable thought of a deeper hunger. A burning need to reduce this lump of metal into molten slag. Rust, and its need to consume the banquet before it. It had consistently eluded me before, as slippery as a wet eel, but now it pleaded to be invoked. If I had only realized sooner, I could have turned the Undead Praxis Guard into so much dust and avoided a desperate struggle.
But these were merely thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. Regrets had once held me captive, keeping me on the path of passable mediocrity. To give ear to them would be but a waste of time and emotion. They had no place in the here and now, in this world where civilized society would not shield me.
If I could not conquer this construct of metal, what chance had I of overcoming Death?
Somehow, I forced down a burst of reckless laughter that would have no doubt riled Iasis, possibly causing her to twist this Test against my favor. Impending triumph played its anthem within my mind as I began the motions to cast Rust. The dead syllables of an unknown language formed the spell in my mind. The voice of the spell resonated alongside mine, delighting in the anticipation of soon feasting upon fresh bounty.
Just as men were often victims of their own hubris, so too did the gods often misjudge the capacity of mortals.