Kooroo
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The rumble of crumbling stone and protesting metal filled the night as Gorr felled the wrought iron gates. Whilst the sound of the metal impacting the cobblestone driveway, although loud, it was nothing compared to the immense roar the massive reptile let loose moments after.
Zophia squinted at Gorr; the behavioural algorithms that she’d just installed should’ve put a stop to that, but the issue must’ve been even more deeply rooted. More adjustments were needed it seemed. Maybe a different, more powerful processing unit was needed, or perhaps it was time to dig around and modify the beast’s brain again.
After they were finished here, of course.
If the sound of the gate falling hadn’t been enough to sound the alarm, Gorr’s little declaration would certainly have gotten the estate guards running towards them.
Luckily, being the genius that she was, Zophia had planned for this and brought help.
Said help took the forms of Alces and Pholus, whose eyes lit up and began to move at her gestured command. The rhythmic clack of metal hooves and skittering legs on stone grew as they trudged past her, their weight causing slight tremors through the road. The shaking abruptly stopped as the titanic stag and spider stepped off and into the hedges bordering the driveway.
Exactly three minutes later, the shouts and screams of alarm started, just as expected. She listened for anything unusual within the racket caused by her subjects, then nodded, satisfied that everything was proceeding as expected.
The sounds of metal striking metal and metal striking flesh echoed through the estate as Zophia stalked up the lantern-lit road, towards the manor on the hill. Her boots clanked and her armour rattled with each step, intertwined with the tap of the cane on the road. Gorr stomped after her, his programming preventing him from vocally acknowledging the sound. From her Oculus she could see that the apprentice she’d brought was uneasy; the young lady’s head twisted and turned to every sound—of which there were many—an expression of unease warping what remained of her face.
It seemed that Gorr was not the only thing that would require adjustments once this night was over.
Whoever had furnished the estate grounds must have had an obsession with boxwoods and camelias, she mused, as those made up the vast majority of plants lining the driveway. It would take an inordinate amount of time to keep these maintained, or a small army of gardeners.
As they neared the main residence, she could see that even the doorway too was decorated with the same type of shrubs—two colourful, flowering specimens that Gorr knocked over as he sent the doorsmen flying with a lash of his tail.
Zophia stepped around a very expensive automobile that her reptilian companion was converting into a doormat, then rapped on one of the manor’s doors twice with her cane. She examined them closely while she waited for someone to answer. Two large, thick pieces of burgundy-painted wood, each inset into bronze frames. Solid, very heavy and almost certainly extremely expensive. A good door. Quality.
After waiting precisely one minute for a response, the magus set her cane to the side, then placed a palm on each handle—curved levers shaped to look pleasant to the eye, but rather difficult to grip—and twisted to no avail.
Still locked.
The scientist began to raise her hand to give Gorr the signal to break down the door, then paused. Whilst the doors did seem rather sturdy, the mechanised lizard would probably exert excessive force and destroy everything on the other side by accident. Just because they had already caused a whole lot of property damage already didn’t mean that they had to cause even more. Plus, such excessive force might risk the wellbeing of the residents inside, which may make them less willing to cooperate.
Best to handle this personally, with an intelligent and calculated approach.
A single pulse should be sufficient to fling them open, yet keep the doors on their hinges. The lock—or locks, plural—may break and the wood might be slightly scuffed, but the costs of repairs should be inconsequential to the residents.
Zophia raised her gauntlet to chest height and placed the palm right in the centre of the entry, where the bronze frames met. There was a hum, then a crackle followed by a fwoom and a reverberating bang as both doors blew off their hinges and into the room beyond.
Immediately, there was screaming and shouting, mixed in with the sound of smashing wood, breaking glass and a cacophony of other noises.
Beneath her mask, Zophia made an expression that would have raised an eyebrow if she still had eyebrows. That definitely hadn't gone right.
She stepped inside to survey the damage and one of the doors—now scratched, dented and stained in a dark liquid—came gliding across the marble floor towards her. It bumped off her foot almost weightlessly and immediately slid back in the other direction, as though on magical skates.
Magic. Once again, magic had made the situation all too messy and unpredictable.
Some mage had probably enchanted the doors with gravity-altering spells to be far lighter than they had any right to be. Perhaps someone had hired an enchanter before The Purge to make life easier or more convenient. Which was a stupid decision; if the doors were too heavy then you had made a poor decision when constructing your abode. The solution was to replace them with lighter doors, not use magic.
Alternatively, there was every chance that the magi responsible was the one Zophia had come for tonight, further reinforcing her point—magic was too dangerous to be allowed in the hands of common, ordinary folk.
Magic had to be suppressed and controlled; via steel and technology.
Whilst one of the doors had come to a rest at her feet, its partner had managed to lodge itself in what must have once been a display cabinet across the room. Porcelain and glass littered the hallway, most of it covering the rectangular granite table in the middle of the room—the only object that seemed to have survived unscathed. The rest was scattered all over the velvety red floor, patches of which were becoming rapidly darker from the dozen or so broken guards scattered around the chamber.
A wine bottle came flying towards her from across the room, only to fall drastically short and smash into the floor instead of her, adding yet another patch of darkening carpet and broken glass to the already abused chamber.
Zophia strode forward, stepping up onto the vulgar table and towards the bottle thrower—a man; pudgy, balding, and as weak of chin as he was in his arms—making it halfway across the room before he half-shouted, half-shrieked…
Something.
She didn’t know what exactly. Zophia didn’t speak… whatever archaic language this man spoke. But as usual, she’d already taken measures to account for this.
“Helga.” Zophia called, her Oculus swiveling back to the building’s entrance and her assistant. “Translate.”
Helga shuffled forward meekly from her position by the door, making poor use of the long, elegant prosthetics she’d been granted. Previously Zophia had warned the girl that if she continued to use her legs incorrectly, then she’d have to make do without. Such perfectly shaped and constructed machinery could be reused in a much more practical way. If the apprentice didn’t want to walk in a more correct manner, then she could use her arms instead. Less materials would be required as well.
Eventually, the young woman made it across the room and stood next to Zophia, albeit on the floor instead of the table. The mechanised aid paused for a moment, then made a crackling noise. Moments later, a recording of the man’s voice played out from within her chest, causing the original owner of the voice to shriek once more, eyes almost bulging out of his sockets.
A health risk, for sure. Once this was done, she’d have to offer to fix that, along with the strength and precision of his arm.
“You fiend, you monster,” Helga stated in a flat monotone, systematically filtering out the emotion from the man’s outburst. “You have killed all of my guards, and for what purpose?”
The Oculus swiveled behind her once more and Zophia did another cursory examination of bodies spread about the room. Whilst a few of them didn't seem to be moving, most of the downed figures were still breathing.
An incorrect statement. Perhaps some intellectual improvements were necessary as well.
As for the purpose of her visit, Zophia would have liked to explain that she was here for a reported magic user living at this residence. Unfortunately, the translation feature was one-way only, so she’d hoped that her show of technological might would be enough for them to cooperate.
The Iron Magus turned her full attention back towards the man, only to notice a woman and a child huddling on the floor behind him, mostly obscured by his portly figure. One of them—the woman, judging by the pitch and tone—mumbled something.
Within moments, Helga was translating once again. “Please don’t kill us.”
Of course, fatalities and such destruction had never been the plan; she had only ordered Alces and Pholus to incapacitate the guards after all. Murder, whilst a potential solution to many a problem, was also usually out of the question, unless her hand was forced.
At the very most, all Zophia intended to do here was subdue their resident sorcerer and suppress their magic. The other humans were also welcome to bodily enhancements once she’d acquired her goal. The rotund man could certainly do with a few such improvements—not to mention fixes, she thought, eyeing his quivering knees.
Finally, the child spoke up. From the sounds of it, they were crying. “I’m scared.”
Beneath her mask, Zophia smiled. She could fix that too. With enough steel, she could—
There was a violent bang as a door flung open from behind the three people. A young, dark-haired woman strode out, fury crossing her delicate features and flames dancing in her outstretched palms.
This was probably the mage, Zophia guessed, as the Oculus began to shimmer and hum.
Her target’s attacks leapt forth, the first stream missing completely and the second striking Helga, right in the chest. In accordance with the properties of the material, the apprentice’s steel breastplate failed to catch on fire, the flame fizzling out as soon as it struck. Nevertheless, Helga screamed and fell over backwards, just as Zophia herself returned fire.
A thin ray of crimson light lanced from the Oculus, sweeping vertically up from the floor and claiming Zophia’s attacker’s arm at the bicep. The mage woman gasped and collapsed, joining her forcibly discarded appendage.
Their own plight forgotten, the other three ran back to attend to her.
Satisfied, the Mage of Iron loosed a single laugh, then stepped off the table and walked towards them. This had been even simpler than she’d thought—she hadn’t even had to reach for her Nails.
“Zophia. Daughter.”
Perhaps the nails were going to be needed after all.
Zophia turned at her name, keeping the Oculus trained on the defeated mage and her attendants.
The voice had come from the manor’s entrance, at which stood a tall, slim and masked humanoid, dressed in the gaudiest hat, vest and trousers she had ever seen. Hovering just above their outstretched hand stood a small distorted projection of a person, their features and finer details shrouded by static.
“What a pleasant surprise, father. Have you perhaps come to help?” Zophia inquired, grabbing and forcibly hauling Helga onto her feet. The apprentice yelped and struggled, not helping the mage’s efforts in the least. Once she was up, however, Zophia kept ahold of the apprentice’s tunic. “Well not to worry, I’ve already fini—”
“Again, what are you doing, daughter?” her father interjected, his metallic voice even more warped than her own by the projector’s insubstantial connection. “How did you find this place and this family?”
Family? Well, that made sense. Honestly, though, her father was proving long-held her point that family was a very restrictive and outdated concept. They did occasionally have their uses, however; even if such uses were largely irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. “Let’s just say your staff are competent in information gathering, but not much else. Certainly not in matters of security, for example.”
He cursed, though the projection’s interference masked what his words were. When he next spoke, his words were tinged with anger. There was a good chance that might have just been more interference, however, as her father tended to be as emotional as a laser-etched teaspoon. “You’ve gone too far this time, Zophia. Return to the laboratory at once, and without the civilians.”
“I—”
“Not another word,” her father warned, this time with finality,“or I will have your limbs severed and your mind loaded into an attendant drone.”
“You cannot prevent th—”
“That was three. Take her down and bring her to me.” he growled, before vanishing from his hireling’s hand as he killed the connection.
Before Zophia could even think about calling for Gorr, the hatted figure sprinted towards her, moving much faster than the magus had expected.
Much too fast—they were almost a blur. Her father’s work, most likely.
One moment they were by the entrance. Nary a heartbeat later, they were three quarters of the way across the room, an alabaster gun raised, aimed squarely at Zophia’s chest.
It was a good thing she literally had help on hand, she thought, hauling Helga in front of her. There was a loud bang and something gleaming penetrated the roboticised assistant, causing her to shriek and stop moving.
Zophia discarded the broken apprentice, then flexed her fingers and clenched her gauntleted fist, broadcasting a command to her augmented beasts.
Gorr roared, and somewhere in the distance both Alces and Pholus followed suit as their restraints were unleashed. The front of the mansion started crumbling, then split and broke completely apart as the giant reptile forced his way in.
But it would still take another couple of seconds for the creature to reach Zophia; seconds she didn’t have.
The gaudy gunfighter spun and pivoted on their heel as they reached her, drawing yet another gun from somewhere on their body. They lifted the weapon up, pointing it straight at Zophia’s chestplate, just as the magus raised her gauntlet to block.
Safe.
There was another crack of thunder, the gun’s barrel shone green, and the next thing she knew, the mage was flying backwards through the air. Glass shattered as she struck, then went through one of the windows, then Zophia was bouncing, and then sliding along a tiled floor.
Clutching on to her cane, the Iron Mage pulled herself to her feet, then noticed that her surroundings were… different.
What should have been naught but crushed hedges, grass, and dirt was instead a somewhat dark, empty hallway made from white stone. There was some foliage, however; black vines that had broken through the alabaster walls and spread across its surface;from the ceiling down to the black and white tiles covering the floor.
Other than that, there was nothing else notable in the corridor. This included the lack of a window, such as the one she had been launched out of.
There was an exit, though—a single, black, wood-grained door at the end of the passage, much simpler in appearance than the twin doors she’d blasted earlier. Zophia swiveled the Oculus behind her, aiming it the direction she’d just flown from. Nope, nothing.
It didn’t really need stating, but something about this was very wrong.
Mouth twisting with distaste, the Mage of Iron strode to the door and pushed on it with her cane.
On the other side was what appeared to be a street or alleyway; the type you’d see in most cities or large towns. A few people walked up and down the lane, apparently going on about their daily business. It was a fairly standard sight, except where everything was completely different.
The buildings and ground—would that be a floor?—were checkered black-and-white, just as the hallway she’d come from had been. There were also blackened creepers climbing around the building walls and from the floor, just like before. And the people weren’t people in the conventional sense, no. Humanoid, definitely, but that was where the similarities ended.
Constructs. Not hers and not organic in the slightest, but still fascinating. Zophia had half a mind to pull one aside and disassemble the automaton, but she had more pressing matters to attend to.
The Iron Mage started down the street, intent on finding something that looked… different, at the very least. The buildings and various other alleyways seemed to have no rhyme or reason to them; so heading off the main street was most likely a sure way to get lost within this… monochromatic dimension, or whatever it was. Most likely just another realm where everything was black-and-white only for some yet-to-be-apparent reason.
After minutes of walking, however, she didn’t seem to be making any progress. The buildings off in the distance were not getting any closer, nor were the structures on either side of the street changing in appearance.
This could be a problem then. Zophia had considered attempting to signal Gorr or one of the other augmented creatures, hoping that they’d make enough of a ruckus that she’d be able to follow the source of the sound. The issue was that she’d already removed their restraints, so in theory, they were already making plenty of noise.
Besides just walking forward and waiting for the scenery to change, she didn’t seem to have any other options—she’d have to ask for help.
The magus walked up to one of the constructs as they passed her and grabbed what seemed to be a shoulder connector. It spun to face her in response, both its face and form constantly shifting and rippling as it gazed at her.
It spoke to her, its voice fluctuating and warbling as its features grew and shrunk, constantly changing. “How may I—”
Zophia cut it off. “I need to leave this city. Lead me to an exit, from which I can return to my original location. Take me there.”
“Of course.” It warbled, before abruptly turning and walking back the direction she’d come from.
Well, that had been simple.
She followed the automaton, eyes glued to its back whilst her Oculus gazed around, keeping an eye on her back, the sides, and even in the air. As strange as this city was, at least it didn’t seem particularly dangerous—the deadliest thing would be getting lost, but if the autonomous constructs were all as potentially helpful as the one she was following, then it might not be as treacherous as the scientist originally thought.
Before long, the android stopped by a door that was slightly ajar, then bowed and gestured. Zophia stared at the door, all too aware that this led to the hallway she’d arrived in.
Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy.
She sighed, then took aim with the Oculus and fired. A horizontal sweep this time, aiming to bisect the useless construct at the waist. The crackling ray of energy carved into the wall by the android, then swept to the side, sizzling and carving a deep rent into its surface, but nothing more.
That… also wasn’t right. That beam should’ve cut straight through the construct, cleaved it straight in two.
Both fist and cane crackling, Zophia waited for the very-intact automaton’s retaliation… only for nothing to come. The damned, still-moving construct just stayed in place next to the door in a deep bow, arms repeatedly motioning towards the door.
She glared at it, then walked to the door and pulled it fully open—
—only to be hit with a wall of sound. Multi-colored lights and smoke drifted out from the door, which now led to a…
A…
Party? She could see throngs of shadowy figures bobbing up and down in the gloom, whilst coloured rays and neon lights flashed and blinked down upon them. A loud, thrumming beat echoed out from within the room, pulsing out the door, through the tiled floor, up her boots and into her teeth, accompanied by other various ‘beeping’ and ‘booping’ sounds—synthesisers, keyboards and other electronic instruments, she surmised.
Zophia didn’t know what to say. She always knew what to think—that this was impossible and outrageous—but if called upon to speak, she was sure that her voice would have failed her.
Regardless of how impossible this was, though, it was the only lead she had. The only alternative was to maybe go and ask another automaton for a way out, but the scientist had a feeling that the result would be the same.
This was ridiculous, Zophia thought, as she stepped through the entrance. The lighting was barely adequate inside the room—no, the club. It was a nightclub, yes.
The figures she’d seen dancing from the doorway were on a large open space, split into many small tiles, lit up with the colours of the rainbow, a… a dance floor. That’s what it was. Made sense.
There seemed to be at least one more floor in the building as well, judging by the stairs immediately by her right.
Whilst the gloom and smoke made for a downright oppressive environment, the music was the only redeeming aspect. Techno; that was the genre. The only acceptable type of music in her opinion, which tended to be the only worthwhile point of view, from her experience.
Further along the corridor was a large desk with a tall, plastic security screen separating the staff side from the public. A tall, broad shouldered attendant manned the counter, his brow raising slightly as his eyes came to rest on her.
“Name?” he asked, his tone gruff and almost inaudible over the din coming from the dancefloor.
“Zophia.” she replied, the metallic echo of her voice projecting itself well over the thumping techno. She expected at least an additional question. “Last name?” perhaps or something about an entrance fee, or even denial based on her attire.
Instead, the man took out a thick bundle of papers and started flicking through the pages, checking the names. It was a wonder that he could read anything at all in the practically non-existent light, but he must have managed.
A moment later, the attendant placed the list back down and nodded. He stood up, then unlatched something behind the desk, and pulled a section of the benchtop away. With a wave, pointing his thumb at a corridor recessed in the wall behind him.
“Right this way, Ms. Zophia,” he droned. “Enjoy your dance.”
Zophia bristled as she walked through the gap in the counter. “It’s not ‘Ms. Zophia’. It’s just Zophia. Nothing more, nothing less.” She didn’t feel it was worth her time to correct the statement about the ‘dance’.
The attendant nodded dully as she strode down the corridor, urgency adding speed to her gait. The Metal Mage kept her third eye on him as she walked, inspecting his features as he walked. There was something familiar about him, as though she’d seen him at some point before.
As a matter of fact, there was something familiar about this entire establishment. Which shouldn’t have been possible, as she’d never been to a nightclub before. Definitely not. The very idea was just as preposterous as it was impossible. And what would she have done at a nightclub anyway. Dance? Ridiculous. What was more likely was she’d been there to learn the secrets and science behind Techno, she thought, letting a single laugh escape her lips.
At the end of the corridor was a battered looking door, its features barely visible by the dim glow of the fluorescent exit sign overhead. Wasting no further time, Zophia pushed open the door and stepped through it, only to find another… space that was somehow louder and more chaotic than the room she’d just left. Colours swirled down from the sky above, striking and flowing through the tiled floor as the sounds of battle crashed into her. Five other figures stood in the distance from her, obscured by the mixed kaleidoscope of sound and colour.
This was definitely not an exit, nor a ‘dance’.
Zophia turned on her foot and was about to step back into the passageway… only to find that there was no passageway.
The magus’ eyes narrowed and she felt a twinge of something flicker through her, only for the emotion to vanish again before she could analyse it. Which was just as well, as she had more pressing matters to deal with.
As she swept her eyes across her surroundings for an alternative escape, Zophia started to arc the Oculus behind her, intent on monitoring the five other constructs sharing the area with her.
Easier said than done, though—whatever entity that was controlling this place seemed intent on outdoing the sheer magnitude of the sound and lights back at the nightclub.
The shoulder mounted eye had barely activated and started moving when there was a brilliant flash, causing spots to flash across the third point of view that appeared in her mind.
She shut the Oculus off again almost immediately, as it hadn’t taken particularly long to finish perusing the space behind her—because there was nothing. A few blank tiles on the floor, which soon abruptly ended, dropping off into an empty void.
Whilst it might be hypothesised that jumping or falling into that emptiness would lead to a swift ejection back toa more familiar setting, Zophia was completely doubtful. It was far more likely that you’d end up falling for an inordinate amount of time or potentially forever, if this place wa—
Suddenly there was light and flame, the former shining down overhead, the latter filling the void and the air. The Iron Mage grunted as she felt a sudden warmth flare across the back of her head.
The brilliance brought by the sun vanished almost immediately as soon as it had come, replaced by a moon hovering overhead. Day turned to night, as what had been flame turned into arcs of crackling, spitting lightning. For what it was worth, electricity was something Zophia was far more familiar with handling, however falling into a solid wall of energy was not her idea of a respectable end.
Something flashed above, making her angle the Oculus upwards. It was a circle that hoovered there; white, with five spokes from the centre. Zophia could see that each of the figures around her also each had a circle of sorts—some were the same as hers, whilst the others were black, the spokes curled.
What were these then? Designations? Marks? Wheels? Why woul—
And then again, once more there was nothing. The circles winked out, the moon disappeared with a reverberating retort, and all was still.
Save the movement of a single, colourless tile, rising up from the floor ahead of her.
Zophia grunted, unimpressed. Opinions differed according to an individual’s values and by the mage’s genius point of view, that display had been unnecessarily pretentious. All for the purpose of wha—
A legion of voices cut her off mid-thought, as though in an answer to her question.
The Iron Magus listened to them, reverberating in the air around them, yet resonating within. The fleeting emotion she’d previously experienced slowly grew as they talked, stronger and more easily identified.
Irritation, she realised. Irritation and Anger.
Zophia gave what might have been a snort and quashed the feeling. It had been quite some time since she’d been on the field of battle; but from what she did remember, inconsequential things such as emotion had no place here.
This was fine—well no, it wasn’t really, but she had no choice. She would entertain their game for now, but only on her own terms.
Order, Chaos. Both were relevant forces out in the real world, however neither of them held true sway over the other; neither of the two was capable of enacting any real change that needed to happen.
So Zophia would force that change herself.
She strode forth, heading straight for the field’s centre. Whilst that would potentially impart the risk of her being at the literal centre of attention, the colourless tile seemed to manipulate the arena’s behaviour. That itself might have been advantageous, but the important factor was making sure that she was in control of it and not any of the other combatants.
A short, thickset figure from the right side ran forward towards her with their shield raised, but made no attempt to actually attack the scientist, nor impede her path.
Another figure approached her from the left, prompting Zophia to keep a watchful, ethereal eye trained on them. She noted that while this one was armed, they weren’t actually focused on her.
That could change at any moment, however, but she seemed to be in the clear. At least, for now.
Unfortunately, there were two others that were heading directly for the centre—the first and closest dressed garishly, hunched forward and dashing forth with no weapon in hand. The second one approached more slowly with a single blade out, more cautiously, his manner of dress suggesting that he lived off the streets.
These two would have to be dealt with first, Zophia decided as she strode forward, flexing the fingers of her gauntlet.
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