Marveling at her own handiwork as Leggy pranced around in her newly repaired form, Anastacia rested on one of the workbenches. She had refrained from making too many changes to the original designs just in case it interfered with anything important – mostly anyway. There was a chance she may have smoothed some edges, added a layer of material in some places in ways she would claim were structurally important, as well as scribbled her name inside one of the parts. The hardening process had worked just as well as they had hoped, and the fixed portions of the armor were essentially invisible unless inspected more closely than the necromancer would allow anyone to inspect them. She had luckily been able to put every piece of armor back where they belonged as well, but it did take a bit more elbow grease than it should have in her opinion.
As far as either of them could tell, none of the slight modifications put Leggy out of balance or interfered with her movements. The bottoms of her feet being no larger than a couple of coins, even the slightest change in her center of balance could have meant spending the next few hours falling over while recalibrating whatever it was that handled her movement. Effortlessly hopping over tall obstacles and casually vaulting across the room proved no more difficult than it had been before.
Anastacia clapped at the display of gymnastic prowess presented to her. “That’s great! Shame we can’t really take any of this stuff along though. I don’t think we’ve figured out how to trap the damn sun into an oven, so there’s no way we’d be able to harden it.” She lamented and tossed around a ball made with the clay that had been left over from the repairs. “Well, no sense whining about it anyway!”
The necromancer hopped off the workbench and headed for the next one that seemed interesting. The one that piqued her interest had a shallow bowl-shape to its stone surface and a whole wall of small metal drawers that could each fit maybe a fieldmouse or something similar inside. She recognized some of the tools as they were very much alike the ones her favorite blacksmith used to hone gems for the more vain adventurers, who wanted their weapons decorated. In the middle of the workbench was a hunk of stone with several familiar-looking white crystals sticking out of it. The stone itself was far darker than the one the aureun used for building and must have been mined from elsewhere. Aside from the crystals, there was nothing special about it, so Anastacia concluded that the purpose of the workstation was to collect the white crystals and maybe hone them to a shape where they could be used.
Already guessing what was inside the small drawers, Anastacia opened one and confirmed her suspicion by pulling out a cut and honed crystal, like the ones used for the recordings in the elevator. After checking a few more drawers, her plan was complete. “Alright, so we’re going to steal as many of these as we can.” She declared and nabbed one from the drawer.
The pair searched for any sort of bag, pouch or even a piece of cloth that could be used to carry the crystals without having to haul around a large bowl of them, but Erratic Judgement didn’t seem to put much faith in things not made from metal or stone, and not even a single rag was to be round among the workbenches. Frustrated, Anastacia tore off a large piece of her shirt to use it instead – reasoning that there wasn’t anyone to see her in the first place and the bandages still covered most of her upper body anyway.
Returning to the drawers, she picked up one of the crystals and sang the tune required to activate it. The stone flashed bright and kept glowing, but no sound came out of it. “These must be blank... Wait, is this thing recording right now?” She realized and looked at Leggy, who would hopefully know.
The simulacrum took a better look at the glowing piece of white crystal and nodded.
“Oh… Awesome! We can make a diary with these! I was kind of hoping we’d be stealing like important documents or something, but this works too… Which is something I probably shouldn’t admit to while being recorded, is it?” Anastacia suddenly realized, looked around for a way to get rid of the recording and threw the crystal into the bottomless chasm in the middle of the room to destroy the evidence. She then took out another crystal and activated it after clearing her throat. “Day 732 underground, my count might be off by a few but it’s somewhere around there. I’ve grown about fifty centimeters since last seeing the sky, and Leggy has grown a beard that reaches all the way to the ground. Together we’ve made three half-simulacrum half-necromancer children whom we’ve named Anastacia II, Petunia the All-Consuming and Cakemaster Supreme. I refuse to illustrate further on how that happened, but you now have to live with that in your head.
“We’ve found some kind of an abandoned workshop, where I was able to make some repairs on Leggy. We will hang around here for a while longer before we have to move on to look for food. We’re still heading in the direction we set for in the beginning. Also, there may or may not be some kind of a monster trying to find us.
“King and Emilia, if you find this, we’re both mostly fine. We’ll be moving on at a leisurely pace, so as long as you don’t meander too much, you’ll catch up.” She spoke directly at the crystal and offered it to Leggy. “Do you have anything you want to say?”
The simulacrum clapped her hands a few times, but of course, was unable to say anything that could be recorded.
“Leggy says hi. Anyway, hurry up! I need a change of clothes and coffee.” The necromancer finished the message and sang out the activation tune again, which killed the light in the crystal and ended the recording. “We’ll leave this with the masterpiece on the floor or something. Even if they can’t activate it, they’ll know it was us, right?”
Anastacia quickly rushed to fetch the crude work of art she had molded out of clay earlier and placed both it and the crystal in the middle of the floor, a few meters in front of the way into they had come in from. There didn’t seem to be any other entrances to the room, so as long as the rest of the party was following the same route, they were bound to see the message. If a custodian like unit twelve ran across it first, they would no doubt be able to activate the recording and hopefully understand to leave it where it was.
Returning to the workbench, she laid out the roughly square piece of cloth she had torn from her shirt and started to empty the drawers on it. With Leggy’s aid, she quickly gathered a few dozen crystals for later use. She then tied the corners of the cloth with twine from her belt pouch and handed it over to the simulacrum to carry. She also hid a dew more crystals into her belt, just in case the ones in the makeshift bag were lost.
With the theft out of the way, Anastacia turned her attention to the workbench itself and the lump of rock on it. She wiggled a few of the uncut crystals sprouting from the stone to see if they’d come off, but only managed to snap one, likely ruining it in the process. To hide the evidence, she tossed it into the chasm as well and pretended it never happened.
Suddenly a faint but familiar scent caught her nose. The unmistakable saltiness of the underground sea they had walked across wafted in from somewhere. “Huh?... That’s weird.” The necromancer muttered and smelled her fingers, which were now drenched in the oceanic scent. She then sniffed the rock itself and found the source of the smell in it. Immediately wondering if the crystals had a salty taste to them as well, Anastacia tried to lick the rock but was stopped by Leggy pulling her away from it. “Fine then! I won’t lick the weird salty rock… Yet.” She sulked and struggled to free herself.
Still interested in the origin of the crystals, Anastacia was about to grab one of the tools from the workbench to try and dislodge one of them more gently, when she heard a weird droning noise from the other side of the room. The pair’s lighthearted exploration came to an end as the lights on the stone door they had yet to go through flashed abruptly, first in the usual light blue and then in the sickening violet they had last seen in the eyes of the underwater simulacrum that had chased them. Understandably assuming that this was not a good thing, the pair dived behind the workbench to hide.
The violet door opened far more slowly than its unafflicted counterparts and made an awful grating noise, almost like the parts in it didn’t want to move but were forced to do so against their will. The wail of the stone was almost disheartening to hear. That didn’t have much time to sink in though, before the first pair of amazingly long spider-like metal legs reached into the room from the dark corridor, slowly, with twitching movements, they dragged in the rest of the simulacrum that had opened the door.
Obviously modeled after a spider, compete with eight glowing eyes and a large hind body, though with a pair of uncomfortably humanoid arms instead of mandibles and a few other undesirable quirks anyone would be thankful regular spiders don’t have. The simulacrum’s body alone measured maybe two and a half meters in length and its legs at least twice as much. However, missing two of its left legs entirely, and otherwise banged up win various ways, it was almost decrepit despite living in a machine fortress. This made Anastacia think that it may have gotten caught up in a fight recently and judging by the infected shade of the lights on its body, it had certainly run across Eminence. Despite its outright unsettling look, it was almost a pitiful sight. The remaining legs, all dented and crumbling, were unable to support the heavy stone body and had to instead drag it across the floor or only briefly lift it up to move. They had very little purchase in the smooth floor and constantly kept scraping it in hopeless attempts to move.
It didn’t seem to have noticed the pair yet and kept slowly looking around for a while before doing something Anastacia was not prepared for. “I- I- I- I- I am of Amora. Amora. Amora. Of Err- Errat- Eminence. Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet you.” It spoke in artificial but still completely fluid voice. Obviously struggling to speak, it was unclear if this was something the corruption had enabled, or if the simulacrum body itself housed a mechanism that allowed to do so. The source of the voice seemed to be somewhere in the large stone posterior it had to emulate the arachnid its design was based on. “Pleased to meet- meet you. I- I- I- I- I am to take care- care of you, necromancer and venator.”
Had she carried better options for defense than a small war hammer, Anastacia would have no doubt jumped on the chance to take a look at a speaking simulacrum that wasn’t covered in gross flesh and unnecessary eyes – in fact, she probably would have done that anyway if Leggy hadn’t held her down.
“Where- where- where- where are you? Are you here? Please come. Come out.” The spider simulacrum pleaded and dragged itself further into the room. “Please. Do not hide. There is no- no- no- no- no reason to be frightened.”
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“What do you want to do? She’ll find anyway us if we just stay here.” Anastacia whispered and kept peeking over the workbench. “She can barely move, so I think we could just run past her. She’d never catch up to us.”
Leggy nodded and the two prepared to run around the pillar and hole in the middle of the room and slip out of the door the spider simulacra had come in from. They waited for as long as they could while the broken simulacrum slowly made its way across the floor. Watching the machine calling itself Amora move was downright painful to Anastacia, as she had to resist every urge she had to try and help it, but at the same time, the violet color somehow set off every possible alarm in her head. It almost hurt the eyes when she looked directly at it and gave her chills. Finally, when the time was right, they darted out of their hiding place and ran across the room into the tunnel ahead before the spider simulacra could do or say anything.
“Wait! I- I- I- I- I just want to help the necromancer and the venator! Please don’t go!” The spider wailed after them and desperately tried to pull her heavy body after the pair. Her words sounded very genuine, and she wept extremely convincingly when she realized the pursuit was pointless. “I- I- I- I- I was told to help…”
Anastacia knew that it was exactly what someone trying to trick them would say, she knew that there was no way a simulacrum would be made with the ability to cry for no other reason than to fool someone, she knew that the spider simulacrum was without a doubt corrupted by their enemy. Yet, she stopped only a little way into the corridor. Leggy tried to push her forwards but the necromancer was simply unable to leave things as they were.
“Who told you to help us?!” She yelled back into the workshop.
“Message received from- from unit twelve of The Wrath Core. There- there- there is no one else who can help, so I- I- I- I- I came. I- I- I- I- I am of Amora. Amora. Amora.” The unknown simulacrum answered, still sounding absolutely miserable. “Please don’t run…”
Anastacia turned to Leggy. “That’s the asshole we met, isn’t it?” She whispered and got a confirmation from the venator.
It could have well been that the custodian they had met had sent some more help for them to avoid having to meet the adventurers again, and it seemed unlikely that Eminence would have known that they had met a custodian in the first place – especially the exact one. This and her curiosity made the necromancer seriously consider hearing out what the simulacra had to say.
“How did you get the message from unit twelve?!” Anastacia shouted down the corridor to hopefully find out a bit more.
“We of Amora. Amora. Amora. Direct messages, take care of the lines, direct messages, take care of the of the lines, direct messages, take care of the lines. The message was meant for the active Wrath Core and knight pattern units. No one answers, no one answers, no one answers, no one answers, so I- I- I- I- I of Amora. Amora. Amora. Came to help the necromancer and venator. No one answers, no one answers, no one answers.” The spider simulacrum let out a scrambled explanation and finally managed to get back to the door.
Feeling even worse for even trying to abandon the machine, Anastacia couldn’t help but to take a few steps towards it. “How exactly did you plan on helping us?” She asked.
The pained movements continued as sparks flew from under the spider simulacrum’s husk. “I- I- I- I- I can contact the unit Twerpseekers! Direct messages, take care of the lines, direct messages. Help you to be found!” Amora answered, sounding somewhat hopeful this time.
“Who on earth are ‘Twerpseekers’?” Inquired the necromancer.
The simulacrum was more than happy to explain now that it was being listened to. “New unit designation, consists of knight unit one-one-one and Bringer of Joy. Designation made by unit twelve of The Wrath Core.”
The name ‘Bringer of Joy’ seemed awfully familiar and a fitting title for a certain punch-happy priestess, which would have meant that the knight Amora spoke of was King. This made the spider’s suggestion very appealing. Combined with the fact that she didn’t seem that dangerous even if she was trying to trick Anastacia and Leggy, the necromancer made the decision to allow her to help.
“Keep your dagger at hand.” Anastacia whispered to the venator before making a suggestion of her own to Amora. “Alright, if you want to help, guide us where you want to, but don’t come any closer than this. We’ll stay in front of you, so just tell us where to go.”
“Very good! I- I- I- I- I can help. We must get back to my post. It is not far, we of Amora. Amora. Amora are posted along this path, only a little further.” Exclaimed the broken simulacrum and hastened her crawling.
The distance they covered in the next couple of hours was downright pathetic even by Anastacia and Leggy’s standards. Amora was unable to even match up to a relaxed walking pace and constantly having to wait for her increased the time it took to reach their destination over tenfold. For the entire time, she kept muttering increasingly dire lines while every now and then profusely apologizing for the delay her dilapidated condition caused.
“No new messages. No new messages. No new messages. Lines intact. Lines intact. Lines intact. No one answers, no one answers, no one answers. No one can help, no one can help, no one can help. I- I- I- I- I must help, must help the necromancer and the venator. The end is coming, but no one can help so I- I- I- I- I must find the necromancer and the venator. The great one is silent, Eminence whispers along the lines, must clear the lines to direct messages for when everyone returns. No one returns, no one returns, no one returns. Must delay the spread, keep lines clear, keep Eminence locked within, contain the spread. There is no one else, there is no one else, there is no one else. The one of Amora. Amora. Amora. Will resist, maintain the lines, direct messages, help the necromancer, help the venator, fight, fight, fight, rend the stone, bend the metal. The others are gone, there is no one, there is no one, there is no one. No! Keep the lines clear, direct messages, keep the lines clear, direct messages. Silence the whispers, contain the spread, there is only the one of Amora. Amora. Amora. No new messages. No new messages…” She prattled on endlessly without a moment of clarity.
“Everything alright back there?” Anastacia asked when the rambling got particularly concerning.
Amora fell quiet for a moment before answering. “I- I- I- I- I apologize, the pace must feel agonizingly slow for you. Sadly, there’s no way to speed up, but we’re almost there! Only three hundred more meters and there will be a door on the left. Behind that will be our post.”
The necromancer felt extremely bad pushing the broken simulacra to move. “No, it’s fine, just… don’t overdo it, okay?” She sighed and started peering into the dim corridor ahead, thinking she could see the door.
After a while of further progress at a sped that only be described as ‘inching’, they made it to a stone door that didn’t appear any different from the ones they had seen so far. There were no indicators about what the room behind it was, for better or for worse. If it was a trap, it was a well disguised one. Anastacia told Amora to wait about ten meters away while they checked out the situation inside. Readying their weapons, the pair braced behind the solid doorframe and Leggy activated the door.
No traps were immediately spung as the stone door slid open, though had Anastacia been staring directly into the room, she may have gotten blinded. On the other side of the door was a large circular room, roughly ten meters across and about as high as well. Infinite small holes, exactly the size of a core socket, covered the walls without a single open spot remaining. Slotted in some of these holes were small plugs that connected to another plug and socket with bright threads of light blue light. The dozens of threads created an incomprehensible web of light that was impossible to follow. While none of this was particularly worrying and didn’t seem like a trap, what did cause a bit of worry were the three destroyed remains of spiderlike simulacra placed against the wall with their cores removed and ceremoniously left in front of each husk.
“So… What’s with the deactivated simulacra?” Asked the necromancer nervously.
Amora woke up from her muttering again. “The ones of Amora. Amora. Amora. They fell to confusion. Cut lines and muted messages on behest of the whispers. I- I- I- I- I was forced to silence them. The fight led to my roughed-up condition; we were not created to fight. Only the one of Amora. Amora. Amora. Remains. The whispers grow louder, become screams, but my duty never ends. Direct messages, take care of the lines, direct messages, take care of the of the lines, direct messages, take care of the lines.” She explained as best she could.
Anastacia took one final look at the situation and made her decision on it. “Alright, I don’t think you’re trying to trick us, so we’re going to step into this room and you’re going to follow us. There’s still something clearly wrong with you, and until I can figure out what’s up, we’re going to stay on the opposite side of the room while you message our friends. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes! I- I- I- I- I will help the necromancer and the venator! The one of Amora. Amora. Amora. Will contact the unit Twerpseekers and guide them here. Please do not worry for me, the end will come to the one of Amora. Amora. Amora. Sooner or later. Further contamination is not desired, but duty remains until then. Direct messages, take care of the lines, direct messages, take care of the of the lines, direct messages, take care of the lines.” Amora agreed and patiently waited for Anastacia to give her the permission to drag her broken body into the room.
The spider simulacrum placed herself roughly in the middle of the floor but took a bit of care to be slightly closer to the side opposite to Anastacia and Leggy. She then placed one of her remaining legs on one of the many threads and waited for a few seconds before doing it to another one. For the entire time, the eight glowing violet eyes were fixated on Anastacia. This continued for a while and the necromancer began to wonder if Amora as going to send the message at all, but not understanding how any of the systems in the fort functioned, she kept her mouth shut.
At one point one of the threads began quickly turning violet from one end, but the spider swiftly pulled it out before the corruption reached the other end. She then detached the ruined thread from the plugs and began pulling a fresh one out of her mouth with the slightly creepy human-like arms attached to her face. The discarded thread quickly faded into thin air and its replacement was prepared in the matter of seconds. Amora then began the downright pitiful task of dragging itself to one side of the room, taking over a minute just to get there to place one of the plugs back into its socket. Before she had the chance to turn around and head for the other wall to place the other plug, Anastacia screamed out of frustration.
Unable to watch the barely functional machine torture itself by moving, she demanded to be the one to place any further threads. The necromancer was already annoyed beyond all reason because she didn’t know how to help the simulacrum with what Amora called ‘the whispers’ and was willing to risk getting closer to lessen her agony.
“I- I- I- I- I am now prepared to send the message. Do the necromancer or the venator have something specific that needs to be said?” Amora asked after few more thread changes.
“Not really, just tell them to hurry.” Shrugged Anastacia.
Amora placed her foot on one of the lines again and spoke her message. “The one of Amora. Amora. Amora. Reporting. The necromancer and venator are with me. The necromancer wishes for you to hurry.” She said and began waiting.
Each second suddenly lasted forever while they quietly waited for an answer. The corrupted simulacrum resumed her insane muttering while the hope to receive one diminished, but she never let go of the thread.
Suddenly the thread flickered and the light patterns on Amora’s body briefly flashed light blue before returning to their infected color.
“A message received.” She reported, clearly absolutely over the moon for it. “Freeform message: Tell that fuckass brat to make her own shitty schedules. We’ve got things to stab, maul, slash, crush and so on. The situation is somewhat fucked but I’ve got the other half of the meddling idiot group here and we’ll get there when we’ve unfucked it. If you need to refuel the brat, I’ll send you the coordinates to the nearest sustenance stockpile. Oh, and good job getting them! End of freeform message.” The spider allowed the message to echo through her.
“Wow, she’s rude.” Anastacia commented and hid her relief.
“Good job. I- I- I- I- I have done a good job. Unit twelve of The Wrath Core said I have done a good job!” Amora celebrated and flailed its broken legs creepily. “The whispers are wrong! Direct messages, take care of the lines, direct messages, take care of the of the lines, direct messages, take care of the lines.” She almost sang her chant and started preparing more threads.