A ball of fire struck Zirrilit across the face, and while the curvature of her head deflected a large amount of the direct force the flame contained, the heat pressed deep into her flesh.
The feeling of the fire sunk into her bones beyond what should have been possible as the magic forced the heat into her body.
Magical flames burned like nothing else, but either way it did not matter. Her body was resistant to the heat, formed to survive the volcanic surface of her homeworld. She went on none the worse. The negligible addition to her body temperature doing little to impede her progress.
Still, she ducked the next few. The sudden bursts of fire had caught her by surprise but her reflexes still far outstripped the average human’s. She could run on all fours to keep her profile small as a defense towards ranged attacks and she was strong enough to launch her body in any direction she wanted.
The fire was a simple attack, similar to a rifle shot. She knew it was meant to incapacitate or kill a standard organism. It was no armor piercing attack or heavy ordnance that might threaten to rip her apart and the only threat might come from thousands upon thousands of such strikes.
Zirrilit stood alert, turning her head to watch for signs of what had thrown those [firebolts] at her. Searching for some sort of glowing rune, or an exposed filament that may expose consumable reagents that had been activated for such an attack. It may have even been a cloaked humanoid.
There were no obvious signs, Zirrilit stood in an empty box of a room and felt her stomach move into her chest as the house sized elevator accelerated down. She smelled the scorched air and felt everything grow distinctly heavy.
The gravity doubled and she changed her footing to accommodate, then she felt the gravity double again to something that would crush Mark’s tiny bones.
It weighed on her. Hundreds of pounds turning into a couple thousand meant that she likely wouldn’t be able to simply overpower or leap over whatever was in front of her.
Seeing nothing to betray the position of more traps Zirrilit turned to survey her surroundings.
The elevator itself was almost thirty feet long and constructed almost entirely of large plates of gray metal bolted to each other. An enormous box designed to withstand heavy ordinance and deathworlders tromping around.
She twisted around, searching for what could have been causing this and what it meant. The introduction had been fire, would the platform lower into lava? Or acid?
Acidic lava?
She watched as the stark gray walls seemed to stretch upwards as the platform she was on descended hundreds of feet down until eventually the walls gave way to empty space.
A thirty foot room with an obvious pathway, a corridor that would lead her further into the catacombs beneath the hospital.
She lifted a foot before second guessing herself, she didn’t know what had thrown that fire at her so how would she know if she triggered more attacks?
The obvious decision was to avoid the floor by touching it as little as possible. She squatted down and prepared herself to leap forwards and-
Zirrilit landed on her face and came to a realization, when she leaned forwards to jump she had naturally shifted her center of gravity and the actual gravity had torn her down.
The sudden weight increase had uncoordinated her. She had no idea how far she could jump or how fast she could run.
The dragonoid squatted down again and leapt straight up, a small hop that sent her a few feet into the air.
She was capable of lifting multiple tons, her leg muscles should have been strong enough to send her over buildings. Stepping forwards resulted in a strange problem, the gravity actually gave her something to push against and she felt like she might grow tired just from standing on her feet for an extended time period.
It was a strange feeling to her.
After the hop came another series of movements, she stretched forwards to see the point in which she lost her balance before laying on the floor and comparing it to what she was used to.
Running back and forth, jumping slightly and even crawling at one point gave her a solid understanding of where her limits laid.
With that in mind, she charged headfirst towards her first challenge.
~
True to Han’s word, Mark watched Zirrilit dodge giant falling rocks.
The first major obstacle was a simple slope. A hallway that suddenly juked upwards at a forty-five degree angle. It was floored with some sort of concrete adjacent material and there were no hand holds, no safety netting or any other such devices in case the climber tumbled down. Two walls flanked either side giving no hope of maneuvering around this obstacle.
Similar to any other concrete, Mark might suffer abrasions just from prolonged contact. It was far too abrasive to be attempted without protective gear such as shoes and perhaps some sort of helmet in case he toppled backwards.
A boulder fell and began picking up speed as it rolled down the makeshift hill. Hans and Mark watched Zirrilit leap almost ten feet forwards while dodging the boulders that went tumbling down.
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He watched her juke left at the last minute to avoid a spinning rock. Something larger than Mark’s torso that would have crushed the life out of him if it ever managed to contact him. The shrapnel itself from the rock slamming into a harder surface and fragmenting may have caused him life threatening injuries.
Zirrilit didn’t even notice the rock fragments, they failed to cause damage to even her eyes.
He watched her leap over one tumbling boulder, completely oblivious to the falling rock directly behind the first and have a nearly two foot diameter rock smack directly into her head.
It continued its velocity and nearly took Zirrilit off her feet, she skid backwards as her claws dug into the concrete in an attempt to stabilize herself.
Mark watched the second boulder crushed against her chest, the third knocked her off her feet and the fourth sent her tumbling down the slope she was trying to get up.
The fifth and sixth to hit her while she was down.
“Hey- Turn that thing off!” Mark jumped up. “Make it stop!”
Zirrilit had tumbled to the bottom of the concrete incline and was now being pelted by the falling rocks.
Hans turned from the monitor to glance at Mark for a moment, “This hasn’t reached deadly levels yet. There might be some deep bruises but this isn’t serious enough to present life threatening issues as these only weigh at most a couple thousand pounds. I will stop the exercise if she breaks a bone or looks incapable of continuing.”
“She just got hit with like a dozen of those-”
Mark watched her shift a thousand pound boulder off of herself with one claw before rolling back onto her feet and charging up the side of the same stoney incline.
“-holy shit.” Mark sat back down. “But- why are we sitting here watching her dodge falling boulders? Shouldn’t she be like… Training to fight people with weapons or something?”
The orc shrugged, “That’s good training too, but most deathworlders have some high rank cultivation abilities. If you break their bones or leave them half dead they just heal back stronger than ever just like how she naturally copies enhancements that are applied to her.”
“She’s a cultivator?” Mark clarified. “Like, jade beauties and magic pills and stuff?”
“Orcs aren’t designated as cultivators, but there are magic pills and potions and whatnot.” Hans scratched his chin. “I guess orcs are cultivators, just like how everyone can cultivate somewhat. Similar to how everyone has a little magic potential in them and can learn basic spells if they study for a few years- Ah, Zirrilit got over Boulder Hill.”
Mark turned and saw her standing triumphantly with her arms raised, her back was straight. He was sure that ordinarily her cry of victory might have been deafening.
If he wasn’t in a small room watching her through a computer monitor, staring at her broken arm.
“Hey! You said you would stop with the rocks if she broke something!” Mark shouted. “Her arm’s all busted up! Why didn’t you stop the thing?”
Hans sighed, watching her pull the forearm back into place and step to the edge of the structure she was on. One side was a slope, the other a sheer cliff. She hunched over and performed the tell tale cat-wiggle that assured her footing before a leap.
He pressed a small button next to the microphone and leaned in.
“Zirrilit, Mark is asking for you to return. Please leave the way you came.”
They saw her expression turn from excitement to disappointment, she had really wanted to leap off the side of that hundred foot cliff into the darkness below.
“Mark, there’s no need to look worried. It seems like a broken ulna and radius but it should be healed in a couple of days.”
“But- aren’t there assassins or demons or something?” Mark gulped, “We need to be at our best, exercises shouldn’t put us out of commission.”
“Mark those are likely very big problems, but not here. It is unlikely that either will attack within the hospital. Your god drove away the demon when you last fought and I have word that your god will be unopposed here should we require such services.”
“...Was he unopposed before?” Mark asked in a small voice.
“What? No- I mean those slavers the angel ate didn’t exactly want your god to be there but we’re not against your god.” The orc clarified. “Zirrilit’s almost back, can you grab that limb trauma kit on top of the counter next to the door? You can help me fix her up.”
“Oh uh- sure.” Mark ran over to the kitchenette and pulled over a suitcase sized box with a red teardrop.
“It’s the other one- on the other side of the sink, it’s green with a red drop.” The orc directed while opening the door.
Mark grabbed the correct kit and followed.
The gray hallway held no new surprises, the same metallic material that they used to construct everything this far down in the building. The large door reminiscent of what Mark had seen on garages began to slowly rise revealing a gargantuan red dragonoid.
Bruises layered across her exposed flesh, discoloring her previous monotone red sheen, the thick dark brown jumpsuit that usually preserved her modesty was shredded in multiple locations.
Even in front of his eyes the uniform was repairing itself, he watched the connected strands reknit themselves back into place until the suit realized there was not enough material left. New patches of the dark brown uniform began to materialize. Drawing together from the air itself as it filled in the holes exposing Zirrilit’s form.
Mark ignored the complete disregard of physics and held out a hand.
“Let me see your arm.” Mark ordered.
Zirrilit tilted her head, then pushed out her left claw.
“No- the other one.” Mark flipped the box over and then unlatched it to access the trauma kit.
She pushed out her other claw and Mark noticed that neither of them was bent in the wrong direction.
The human paused for a moment, “Which one was broken?”
“Oh! That’s what you were looking for!” Zirrilit nodded. “Worrying about my wounds already? Do you want to kiss it?”
She pressed her left arm in front of Mark, who eyed the deeply bruised and swollen but clearly intact limb with skepticism.
“Didn’t- didn’t you break your arm?” He flushed slightly as he felt embarrassment over a possible overreaction creeping in.
Had he been imagining things? She was here in one piece-
Zirrilit reached her other claw out, then pulled the limb and Mark watched the forearm disjoint with a loud pop.
She sucked in a breath with a slight hiss, leaving her torn arm dangling for the human to see.
Two lovebirds, licking each others wounds-
Mark felt his stomach leap into his throat. Zirrilit nuzzled her face closer, cooing.
Hans spoke up, “Her muscles are powerful, they are swelling slightly and turning ridgid to hold the bone in place. Mark-”
The human’s breath quickened as his heart rate increased.
“Mark, the kit’s in your hand.”
Zirrilit tilted her head, watching Mark start to panic. It seemed for whatever reason humans sometimes began hyperventilating when they saw bleeding gashes or disjointed limbs.
“Oh- right.” Mark hunched over and dropped the limb trauma kit. Ripping it open he pulled out a bottle of some type of oil.
A larger green fist wrapped around the human’s arm, holding it in place.
“Mark, calm down. Grab the large green board and unfold it.”
He reached down and pulled on the metallic board.
“Okay, it's folded in half so unfold it. Then grab the wire latches right there.” Hans directed.
The human pulled at the metal brace, it must have weighed forty pounds and he was unable to shift it with his hands.
“No look, you need to use your body weight. This is a heavy duty brace.” The orc put his boot onto the opening side, then reached down and tore the metallic pseudo cast open before turning and thrusting it flat.
Mark dug through the case for the latches before he stopped and watched the orc grab what looked to be a braided gray rope. After it was pulled out he noted the small metallic latch on either end.
“This is the simple part, Zirrilit is awake so just have her push the bone back into place. Then have her lay down and put her wounded arm flat on the ground.” Hans instructed.
Zirrilit clenched her teeth, took in a breath and popped her broken arm back into place, then lowered herself on the ground and laid on her stomach.
“Okay. Now slide the brace under her arm, and then zig-zag the wire-latch back and forth like you are tying your shoes to keep it on…” The orc oversaw Mark’s actions. “Now. The bottle you grabbed, smear it onto the affected area. You’ll want to dump the whole bottle, it will enhance the tissue regeneration speed.”
Mark sat back, admiring his handiwork.
The dragonoid held up her new and improved arm, an enormous metal board curved slightly to partially encase her limb with braided metal wire wrapping around the rest to hold it in place.
“With this it will now likely heal in a day or two, instead of two or three days.” Hans stated. “Which is a marketed improvement, though this will conclude the physical training for today. Any questions?”
Zirrilit raised her uncasted arm. “Can I do that again?”