The breeze had been blowing from deep inside the Ruin to the surface without fail. Both Raka and Chiorou, Archivists who had trained in many disciplines and possessed rare knowledge, had declared that it was harmless after testing, at least for enhanced constitution.
That often came with an unspoken ‘but’ to everyone else. For the mortals, therefore, the breeze was more or less an experiment in progress. The result would reveal itself eventually, hopefully without being accompanied by symptoms such as coughing up blood or mutation into walking corpses, as with the spores found during the expedition into the Ruin of Thawler.
Perhaps its purpose was to be so profoundly irritating that it drove the intruders to abandon the Quorathene dwelling entirely. The breeze carried the scent of lemon leaves, which seemed pleasant, but then it had to ruin the effect by leaving a bitterness on their tongue and throat. The taste was so stubborn that it outlasted meals, water, and even the most determined gargles, though it faded quickly after the exposure ended as reported by the mortals who had returned to the surface.
Manziholet had made peace with the fact that his mouth was in a permanent state of protest, rendered worse by his newly augmented organs after receiving the Circuit. That did not mean the Defiant Path had left a design flaw in their creation. Rather, he had yet to fully accustom himself with its various controls. Many veteran Seraphists had learned to shut their ears, unrestrict their muscle strength, or suppress their sensory input, which was why the breeze did not bother his companions as much.
With every step Gersimi took toward the heart of the chamber, he felt the annoying breeze wane along with the taste in his mouth. The change told him that, whatever awaited her there, it was far from innocuous. Harmless architectures rarely had the urge to shift its environmental conditions on a whim. And with the scar on his mentality no longer able to hide itself and dulled his awareness, Manziholet knew what to do.
“Novice, what are you–”
Ignoring the words of his leader, Manziholet slipped past the first line of Seraphists and rushed toward Gersimi. He had never run as fast his entire life (perhaps outrunning even his better judgment) and quickly caught up to the girl. Before she could notice, Gersimi was already lifted off the floor and carried back to the gateway.
As they made their way over to safety, past the complaining Seraphists, she wore this dumbfounded expression on her face. Her surprise was understandable. First, the gift that the Quorathene had prepared for them was unraveling on the ceiling above, and it made all previous hybrids look like kittens. Second, why, in the incandescent glory of the Invincible Light, did a Seraphist like him want a mortal like her so much that he was risking his life? It was a good question, one that Manziholet hoped to give good answers to after the host had finished dealing with the threat.
“Hide behind them.” He put the girl down and pointed to the Fireguards. “If you don’t want to see the spectacle though, feel free to run.” The mercenaries parted to let her through then resumed their formation, all the while exchanging worried murmurs regarding the new opponent.
Manziholet stepped over to the Seraphists, who were keeping their eyes locked on the ceiling. “You’re right, Raka,” he said. “I do have a bad case of depression, along with a penchant for courting death.”
The Weng Archivist grumbled. “We will talk about your insubordination later, dimwit. For now, ready your Armament. It’s time you contributed.”
“Which is the reason why you need to give me <
Raka glared back at him. “The alterations that depression makes to your brain are only half the issue. The other half is deep inside your mind, which my Miracle can’t touch.”
“Already took care of that half. Give me a drop, now.”
Raka extended a finger out. A glistening golden fluid emerged on it. Manziholet transferred the viscous drop onto his own fingertip before placing it into his mouth. The nectar tasted sweet. Once he had digested it, his body itched, especially in his skull’s area, as the Miracle sought to repair and rebalance.
Compared to Kylla’s <
The Miracle of Candle Domain still did its job brilliantly, however. The protest in his mouth subdued as the leftover effect from the breeze was purged entirely. He felt replenished as vitality coursed through his vein. The scar on his mentality remained mostly entrenched, no doubt retaining the nerve to threaten a return whenever it felt like it, but at the moment it had been suppressed to but a problem for the future with no influence in the present. A stillness swept over him as his thoughts coalesced in clarity, with which Manziholet used to assess the massive Quorathene hybrid.
When the breeze faded to nothingness, the giant fruit hanging from the chamber’s vaulted ceiling had splitted open in four. These segments curled back like the petals of a flower, revealing inside it a bronze humanoid construct tangled amid a mass of yellow anthers, as if it was an ancient statue long left abandoned to nature.
Except, its metallic weaponry and body were as polished as new. They gleamed under the light emitted by the luminous fruits ubiquitous to the Ruin. Some larger surfaces even captured clearly the reflection of the four Seraphists standing at the gateway.
The heavy colossus twitched to life, sending shivers through the anthers as they loosened their grip and coiled away. Gravity took hold, drawing it downward. Once it made contact with the ground, the stone floor cracked and the vines on the wall shook. If Gersimi had still been in the chamber, right at the hybrid’s landing zone, she would have either found herself squashed like a bug under its feet or the first victim under its three pairs of great swords/hammers/spears.
The adjective ‘humanoid’, after all, only applied to its lower body – two sturdy and bulky legs connected to a broad pelvis, with each foot being a rectangular plate and clawed toes that dug securely into the ground. The joints, where bronze met bronze, were housed in larger spherical armor seemingly designed for both articulation and protection.
From its waist up, the colossus’s anatomy diverged from the description. Instead of a solid core, its upper body was mounted on a rotating component, allowing it to spin smoothly and face towards the intruders with different torsos, of which it had three.
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Interlocking plates of bronze covered each torso and extended to the thick flora arms. The hybrid had no apparent fingers, with the weaponry fixed to its wrists on flexible joints. Its three heads all looked like the main body of Quorathene arachnid, although the rows of eyes had been forsaken and replaced by four big amber orbs arranged in a diamond pattern. They were further protected by grated helmets.
When it had recovered from the drop and stood tall, the hybrid’s towering frame easily reached four times the height of a human. Unlike the designs that the expedition had faced before, worryingly, this one seemed to possess a bit of intelligence. Instead of charging blindly at anything with a pulse, it stood silently in place and looked at them menacingly.
Occasionally, the hybrid cycled through the torsos at random. Sometimes, it was the one holding in each hand a sword designed to have straight edges and broad enough to be considered a door. Other times, it was either a pair of hammers with cubed heads or a pair of long double-bladed spears. Regardless of which torso was facing forward the gateway, all three heads steadily kept their gaze on the host.
“I swear,” Mirish said, “they’re smiling at us. I suggest we retreat further back inside the tunnel. It won’t be able to fit through with that size.”
Chiorou nodded. “Agree. The damned thing looks like a lot of work. Let the Fireguards work first. I want them to use up all of their munitions before we engage it in melee, however small their contribution will be. Raka?”
Their leader studied the Quorathene colossus for a few more seconds before giving an order. “We retreat slowly to gauge its reaction. If it remains in place, then we will stop at the next curve and build up a battle plan. We would need more than Miracles, because I think our final obstacle is intelligent, likely the same as the one in Zinzenmo.”
As he took a step back then another, the colossus raised all its weapons up and roared loudly. The sound reverberated through the surrounding space, bouncing off the walls and thundering along the gateway. It was soon joined by panicked cries from the mortals. The Seraphists glanced over their shoulders, where their mercenaries were rushing desperately toward the previous chamber.
They were supposed to be veteran soldiers, but the discipline had been broken at the sight of the entire floor of the chamber rising up to block their only escape. Two Fireguards scrambled up and tried to crawl away, only to be crushed alive between it and the ceiling. Judging from the size of the chamber, it would take more than an hour for Armaments to carve away the stone.
The trouble did not stop there. If the previous traps were unpleasant, then the Quorathene had made sure these ones to be downright enthusiastic about their job. The floor underneath the gateway was rising as well.
“Get out, now,” Raka yelled.
Before he finished, his Seraphists had already stepped out of the death trap and into the great chamber, followed by the mortals. Some barely made it before the stone closed, only for them to face the rushing hybrid next, its sword and spear sides leading the charge.
“Disperse.” The command came too late, and Manziholet doubted the mercenaries had enough time to follow it in the first place.
The hybrid’s weapons found themselves brutally pierced through the body of six Fireguards and struck holes into the wall behind, blowing up dust and blood. Its upper body spun while its arms slashed the swords and spears out to catch the nearby survivors, as the hammers also travelled low along an arc.
Each strike ignited a burst of fire as the Fireguards’ flamethrower tanks and crossbow bolts took damage. At least none of the incendiary liquid got splashed onto the vines, or else they would all be roasted inside the airtight chamber.
From the disorganized mess that were the mortals, Manziholet discovered Gersimi. She was scrambling to increase distance between herself and the bloodbath. The hybrid was still busy dealing with all the other mortals in its vicinity, and before it could register her as the next viable target, the Seraphist host initiated their attacks.
Due to the difference between the hybrid’s height and their Armaments' reach, they had decided to focus on the easiest targets – its legs, which Deathspine Lash reached first.
Chiorou’s vertebrae whip wrapped around its left leg while the bone spurs along the weapon dug into its bronze armor. They could only prick through the thickness, however, and the spear side quickly thrusted at her. She had to unmanifest her weapon to rush away. The force behind the strike, coupled with its mass and momentum, would have put her into a non-revivable death.
Some surviving Fireguards let loose their bolts, but if the Miracle had failed to do much damage, then those only served to tickle the hybrid and, worse, remove the supply of breathable air in the chamber. Raka yelled out that fact to them in his next command. They were too agitated to care. They knew their fate had been sealed, but even desperate rats would fight back with everything they could muster.
“We need to throw our Armaments. We can’t engage it in melee,” Raka told Mirish.
“It’ll incur backlash,” the independent pointed out.
“Better than dying. Unless you happen to have a better idea…”
He nodded back and shifted his grip on the Aquastream Spire. Raka did the same with the Pyrolance Candlestick. They readied their stance and hurled both through the air into the colossus’s central mass. The Ocean Armament pierced through the sword side’s right shoulder, while the Candle Armament was deflected away by a twirling from a spear.
They then disappeared as the Raka and Mirish dropped to their knees in pain. The Defiant Path’s invention was not exactly perfect. In order to function, most Armaments must receive a continuous flow of energy potential from the Circuit, and the link between them had limits. Metaphorically and metaphysically, once stretched over a long distance, the link would snap and rebound back at both ends. The Circuit would then face the brunt of it to diminish the effect on the seraph and the ArchSoul, but even then it was a searing agony.
As the two struggled to stay conscious (Raka’s Miracle could not heal that deep), the wound on the colossus’s shoulder began to fill with writhing plant matter. Fortunately, the bronze armor still bore a noticeable breach.
The Seraphists appeared to have climbed several rungs on its threat hierarchy. Leaving the last of mortals alone, the colossus stormed toward them, each step it took sending tremors through the floor.
“Any plan, Vixtrian Paragon?” Chiorou said.
“I must ask you the same, Archivist.” Wispstrike Cutter had appeared on Manziholet’s hand while the aeon Rapier had been unsheathed. He knew both blades were capable of slicing all that bronze, if only they could reach it. The colossus’s flurry of arsenal would make no attempt to do so come without a steep price. Fighting around or under it would be impossible, which was why…
“I want you three to distract it,” he said and ran to the wall.
“What?” Chiorou called out, before she narrowly stepped aside from a downward slam from a hammer followed by a thrust from a sword, then swiped her whip wide to clear distance.
Another throw went over her head from Raka. This time, the Pyrolance Candlestick embedded itself into the sword side’s left elbow while its arm was coming down for a slash. The heat and force behind the strike made it stop and spin back.
Mirish dragged the Bastion, face now covered in sweat and teeth gritted, further away while Chiorou screened the subsequent attacks with her whip. Between the openings, she managed to hit its legs a couple times, scratching away metal, but the armor still proved to be quite stubborn. Then, whether it was a stroke of luck or a stroke of brilliance, the Deathspine Lash connected with a spearhead and severed it clean off.
Unfortunately, it was during a pincer attack. Even with one spear disabled, another of the same side was being driven toward her in a slash, while two swords travelled from the opposite direction.
She bent under the first sword to dodge it as Mirish, who had recovered, came over and deflected the spear up with his Aquastream Spire in sledgehammer state. Unfortunately, a moment of miscalculation had Chiorou cut by the second sword.
She fell down in a torrent of blood. Looking up, she met Manziholet’s eyes.