Chapter 157: Thousand Poxes
Emma emerged from the portal into a roomful of junk, for a lack of a better word. The overall decor hadn’t changed, which made it all the more strange to see the wreckage of fine, handmade clockwork scattered across the floor amidst overturned tables and broken tools.
[Tool Spirit - Level 1]
Half a dozen green, nearly transparent spiders the size of her hand crawled amidst the wreckage, pulling individual gears free and taking them to parts unknown with remarkable dexterity. Said dexterity extended to dodging, as they ducked and weaved between Emma’s halfhearted stabbing, managing to keep hold of their lives and trophies alike.
[Shovel withdrawn.]
Emma gave up on precision at that point, returning to the broader profile of the shovel to smash the nearest spider to bits.
[5 EXP gained.]
The crunch of its carapace was most satisfying: the acidic goo that clung to and melted her shovel, less so. Tossing the handle aside, Emma examined the room in detail, and upon finding it a bit too small for her bow, decided to pull out a trophy of her own for some impromptu target practice.
[Browning Hi-Power (13/13) withdrawn.]
To be clear, Emma had never fired a gun before, and her System-given knowledge of weaponry didn’t quite extend into 20th century equipment. As such, her accuracy left a lot to be desired, and it took her entire clip to dispatch the remaining pests, a rather poor hit ratio given the entire room was less than five square metres all around.
[25 EXP gained.
Browning Hi-Power (0/13) stored.
Admin connection restored!
Alright, I've done a patch job. It's not as good as what Paradox can manage, but we should be back to business as usual.]
On the bright side, Edith was back.
“Guns don’t sound nearly that loud on TV,” Emma complained, when the ringing in her non-existent ears persisted long after the final round was fired. “How do people not go deaf doing that every day?”
[They do. Thankfully, magic can solve many of the inconveniences in life, like tinnitus.]
The room now clear of enemies, Emma headed for the next door, ignoring the piles of scrap she stepped past on the way through.
[Ephemera (Toggle: ON)]
One of the traps in the walls remained active, sending a row of spears harmlessly through Emma’s torso.
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“Neat,” Emma turned back, watching as the spears receded into what she now noticed as hidden holes on the sides of the wall. “I didn’t realise those were actually used in real life.”
[I’m not sure why they’re here. Even a Qi Condensation disciple would be able to react with plenty of time. Personally, I think they’re just here to add to the ambience.]
“So this really is a cultivation scenario. I wondered, after seeing Heavenly Tribulation on the door, so it’s nice to have that confirmed.”
Seeing no more reason to linger, Emma walked into the open doorway.
[-5 Anima
Null Zone (Toggle: ON)]
Now on her second attempt with magical protection enabled, Emma no longer faceplanted into an invisible barrier. This second room was markedly different: a monolith of corrugated iron panels and metallic grilles covering the floor. Piles of scrap taller than Emma littered the edge of a large circular arena, with the gate she entered through vanishing immediately after. Looking up, she couldn’t see a ceiling, only a complicated collection of pipes: most of them inactive, but a few belched small puffs of smoke, or dripped with oil.
Recognising another boss fight when she saw one, Emma checked her status page: Sir Bearington was already back off of cooldown, so she called the bear and planted him on the edge. Antipode was another option, but Emma was reluctant to call massive balls of fire into her present environment, so one summon was enough for the time being.
“Welcome, prospects, to the trial of iron! Boys enter this room, and emerge as men, or not at all. Above all, to reach for the heavens is to Endure, today, you learn this truth.”
Noxious green smoke began to emerge from the formerly inactive pipes, quickly descending in a tide that filled the entire room. Ensconced within her twin layered defence, Emma felt nothing at all.
“A resilient soul, to remain so unaffected by the Thousand Poxes. That’s all well and good, but you’re not permitted to shoulder the burdens of two prospects. Every man must face heaven alone, in the end.”
“Excuse me?” Emma huffed, looking around and failing to find anyone else in the room. “I think this proctor is defective.”
“Your physique is outstanding. You are excused from further testing. As for your cowardly friend? Front and centre!”
The world blurred, and Emma had the distinct desire to vomit, as she felt her clothes begin to dissolve under the toxic deluge.
Wait, clothes?
Looking down, Emma found herself in the homunculus, a few faint scraps of pink all that remained of her leotard. The smoke clung to her body, and her arms and legs were already beginning to fray, the top layer of skin slowly boiling away. Despite that, there was a surprising lack of pain; it felt more like a steady string of mosquito bites rather than the agony Emma expected.
[This counts as burning.]
Emma brought up a rarely used status page at that prompt, quickly discerning the reason it was given.
[Noncombustible: High resistance to heat and fire from all sources.]
Indeed, even this supposedly non-combat form had certain resistances available. Breath control was also coming in handy, allowing Emma to weather the storm without needing to inhale and risk losing control of her faculties. Unfortunately, this didn’t also come with a way to fight back.
[British Army Knife withdrawn.]
A few exploratory stabs into the smog did nothing; disappointingly, her knife lasted mere moments before dissolving into a faint sludge.
[This is a test of endurance, not who can afford the fanciest talismans. The damage to equipment is extreme, whereas the injury to the individual is within mortal limits. The sect sought to test potential disciples, after all, not murder them.]
Good to know, Emma deadpanned, before another thought struck her.
[Browning Hi-Power (0/13) withdrawn.]
Her empty gun was swiftly tossed to the side and dissolved in turn; Emma hadn’t given it much thought before, but the piece belonged to a man she’d killed in Oxford, so it was best not keep showing it.
I’ll get another if I need it; some practice too, Emma decided, before settling in to wait until this test ran its course.