Kooroo
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As a woman of science and steel, Zophia did not believe in concepts such as fate or destiny. They were words used by the fragile minded to justify their place in the world, and the direction of their existence.
Premonition was another word tied to those concepts that was just as nonsensical. If one was to know that the situation was about to take a negative turn, then there would be indicators to support that belief; clues to help determine what was likely to occur in the future. However, this would no longer be a premonition—it would be a deduction; a conclusion reached using hard facts and critical thinking.
And from what she saw before her, Zophia was confident that there would soon be one less construct on the field for her to deal with.
The Oculus’ laser had sliced through the fencer’s left arm, forcibly disarming him, though not quite literally. It had only been a mix between the man’s quick action and Zophia’s attempt to cut down her other foes that had saved him. Even now he tried to stand and probably attempt some form of retaliation. Or talk a—
Yep, more talking. Of course, he was talking.
No matter. She could finish this one off quickly and then move on to eliminate the others.
A few steps forward and she raised the sword, angling at her target’s neck. One quick thrust would be enough to end it. A stab in the heart, or at the base of his ne—
Then the man got up. With a flick of his foot, he caught his weapon and charged her, the blade rushing at her, just like—
Like…
And that was when it hit her; a sensation that was what Zophia imagined to be like a premonition, except for the feeling to be too… familiar.
Deja vu was the term, the scientist believed.
Hm, but no. That wasn’t right either. There was more to this, more than just a mere feeling. She was certain that she had an image, yes. Another image, like the others before, only this couldn’t have been a result of corruption or phantom data.
A cloudless, night sky. The moon had been out, far above them, just like it was right now.
She had marched up a pathway, across a field to an all-too-familiar building, with over fifty of her men and women in tow. Her father, ever the most gracious of hosts, had let them through the compound’s main gate, whilst he patiently waited for them at the facility’s main entrance.
On arrival, she’d—reluctantly—demanded access, for him to let them through. Her father had denied them, as expected. Why should he let the ?????????????? come in and take away his life’s work? Decades of research, either locked away or used to further prolong bureaucracy?
Never.
The outcome from there should have been inevitable; the people under her command had readied their weapons and charged their spells, waiting for the order.
But she held them back. She tried once more, pled to him, even begged for him to stand aside.
Yet again, he refused.
There was no further avoiding it. She raised her arm and prepared to give the order…
… as her father had done the same, lifting his own metal-clad fist. A hidden door had opened at the gesture, from which a figure emerged.
A knight, clad from head to toe in alabaster armour, with an onyx greatsword in hand.
Still, she hesitated. Her mouth had opened to give the command, but no words had come.
Then the metal arm swung down.
There had been a flash of purple light and then the knight had charged, sword first. Barely a heartbeat later and it was on her, its blade slashed forward—
—only to stop and flick upwards into the Iron Mage’s head, bouncing off with a resounding clang.
The strike wasn’t a heavy one, nor had it seemed to be enough to pierce or damage Zophia’s mask, but she faltered and took a step back nonetheless.
The magus swung her own blade up, but she might as well have been moving at half-speed. Her assailant’s sword snuck around her defences again—she felt a sharp prick as the tip sunk in, opening up her bicep.
There was no doubt about it—despite the odds, she was at a disadvantage. There was a justification for this—her foe’s craft was obviously based around his skill with the blade, whereas hers revolved around her intelligence, utility, craftsmanship, foresight and pure, destructive power. When you compared those facts, it would make sense that he would have an upper hand in a clash of arms.
However, this human she was facing shouldn’t have been standing, nevermind winning. This was unacceptab—no. This was impos—
Something whispered to her; a voice, one she’d heard time and time again, but not for an age long since past. Sometimes, the warm blood and living flesh, combined with the human spirit can achieve far more than cold, unfeeling steel.
Beneath her mask, unknownst to all but her, Zophia gritted her teeth. Metal was greater than flesh; this was a fact, just like how an ingot of gold was more valuable than a head of cattle. Only a fool would argue otherwise.
She struck out, her sable blade clanging against the bloodied man’s glistening one. The two weapons scraped against each other for nary a second, before her foe angled his blade groundwards, straight into Zophia’s knee. The magus bit back a hiss as the silver tip pierced through her leg armour, the synthetic nerves within working against her.
Yet another wound—but he was open.
There was a loud snap as the cane head activated, then Zophia swung her fist out, catching her foe in the chest and knocking him back a step.
Not a substantial amount of room, but this was adequate.
She rotated her wrist and adjusted her grip, raising her gauntlet to join its smaller sibling on the cane’s shaft before stepping forward—
—just as the knight had straightened and struck back with its onyx sword.
There had been a violet flash, then she had faltered, falling back with blood welling from her left bicep, soaking into the half-cape draping her arm.
All her men had already fallen—some felled by the initial, magitech-fueled charge, the rest dispatched in the fight after.
Her father called to her, asking her to yield. How the tables have turned, she’d thought bemusedly, before raising her blades and bolting towards her father’s champion once more.
The ivory warrior’s response had been to raise its blade, as though to meet her attack head on.
What followed next happened in an instant.
A dark, violet light had erupted from the tip of the blade, shrouding the knight in a shimmering cone.
Blinded, she’d cursed and halted her charge—
—only for the cone to charge her instead, rushing at her with an ear splitting roar, its tip crashing into her with—
—the screech of rending metal.
The magus glanced down, only to see the fencer’s blade plunged into her chest plate. A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed from the perforation, mixed in with a budding warmth.
She was damaged—perhaps even critically so.
How?
A mere, inferior human, wounding her, Zophia?
No. That was impossib—
Despite her predicament, some small part of her psych gave something akin to a titter. Obviously, it was not impossible, considering it had already happened. Perhaps this was what she got for underestimating the ‘human spirit.
No. It was not.
The human bloody spirit, Zophia seethed, was not going to triumph over her. Not this day, not any other.
She raised her left hand up and then brought the cane crashing down into the construct’s hand, forcing him to relinquish his blade with a gasp.
Good.
Now, suffer.
The Iron Mage raised her gauntlet, fingers splayed, and forced all of her hatred and anger out.
Crimson bolts burst from her palm, honing on to the cretin as they had prior, forcing him to drop screaming once more.
But that still wasn’t enough. The scum had to suffer more.
Her cane hummed and crackled with power, before identical bolts spilt from its head, joining the stream of power flowing into the trash before her.
Just as his screams reached all new highs, a beastly hiss and a monstrous call echoed through the air, cutting through the crackling energy of the tiles and her armaments.
What now?
Zophia made to look up with her third-eye, but its vision hadn’t returned yet; all she saw was blackness. With expletives flowing freely from her masked lips, she cut off the streams and craned her neck, looking around for the first signs of the beasts.
Nothing so far.
In the sky, however.
The sun rose, just as the moon… stayed exactly where it was above them. A concerning phenomenon under ordinary circumstances, though considering their current environment, it was just another development in a day gone awry.
Worth keeping an eye on, though she’d been reduced to the two in her—ah, timing.
A flash of light in her mind’s eye and then her second set of vision flickered to life, sighting the two celestial objects. Perfect.
Zophia turned back to her lightly smoking quarry, noting the reviving, growing flames—
—just as the sky exploded. The air seemed to boil around her as reality filled with flame and energy.
There was no time. Not even enough to reach out and use the fallen human as a shield before—
The residence had been secured.
A dozen fully autonomous drones had been assigned to both the perimeter and the grounds while he inspected the results of his daughter’s ‘work’. Basically all of the family’s attendants had been incapacitated, though many of them—both in and outside the manor— sustained fatal injuries. Many of the staff inside seemed to have been killed when Zophia herself or her beast had forced their way in.
Amazingly, all the residents survived, though the eldest daughter had been deprived of an arm. A grafting procedure would be required, though a prosthetic to both suppress and shape the female construct’s magic would be the preferred option if it permitted it.
Improbable at best.
The compensation for this incident was undoubtedly going to be substantial; this would be Zophia’s burden once he retrieved her.
The location of his wayward daughter was currently the main problem however.
Leaving the sedated survivors below, the iron man walked up a spiral staircase, stopping off at the fourth floor. Music drifted down the hallway from one of the rooms, which was where he found the construct he’d sent to retrieve Zophia.
Upon entering the room, he was greeted with a cheerful wave and a “Hi Rodger!” from the augmented woman standing on the balcony.
Unit 04 was, quite frankly, a failure. Easily distractible, an apparent obsession and inability to comprehend numbers that weren’t multiples of its designation, along with innumerable other eccentricities made it possibly his most inefficient creation, and definitely his most exasperating. In addition to all of that, it also had a problem with remembering names; his own was not ‘Rodger’.
To summarise, the woman was an imbecile.
However, it was the most suitable unit for the job. The fastest and hardest to run from? Most definitely. The least deadly? Certainly. And its destructive potential? Minimal, compared to the rest.
Loquaciousness? Unmatched.
Even now,as he approached it and watched, it talked, ceaselessly. Useless observations, questionable statements and random tangents rattled off from the construct’s sorry excuse for a mouth. He was certainly regretting not removing its voice box when he had the chance, but that would have caused other problems.
“Before you shot my daughter,” he interjected impatiently, ”did you try to engage her in close quarters.”
“Of course not! I have a gun, a gun and another gun. Why would I try to fight her close on?” it laughed, then paused. “You’re still hung up on the ‘shooting’ thing?”
“I told you to detain her, unharmed. Shooting people tends to harm them.”
“Well sorr-ee Rodge, but this blaster can’t exactly be set to ‘stun’.” it replied, pulling out its gun and twirling it around. “And you didn’t exactly give me a net or a lasso or anything else. But I tried to respect your request! I launched her out the window.”
“You shot her out the window.”
“Well if you want to use the technical term, yes, but ‘launched’ sounds better for my argument. And if it sounds less lethal, then that makes it less lethal, yeah? So if you really think about it—”
An extended conversation with this one was hopeless. But he’d acquired the information he needed from her.
So long as his daughter didn’t engage in any close range combat, the behavioural and memory suppression protocols designed to keep her out of trouble would hold. Granted, it was times like this where he wished he had just gone with the simplest option and given her a full behavioural overhaul, however that would have been too… extreme, not to mention against her original wishes.
Not that those wishes actually seemed to matter to the new and… improved daughter? That last adjective was a remarkably subjective word in this case—the father hadn’t the slightest idea as to what her former self would have thought of her current… state, and wished even less to explore it.
Regardless, the fact of the matter remained was that Zophia still wasn’t here. But where was she? Her transmitter was no longer doing its job, as its receiver was no longer picking up its signal.
Damaged probably, though that would be concerning as it was very close to some of Zophia’s vital components. And according to Unit 04, it hadn’t shot her with anything that could cause that damage. He had no reason to doubt the veracity of the defective construct’s claim; it was just as incapable of lying as it was able to remain silent without fear of a threat.
“Quiet yourself and that sorry excuse for music,” the man ordered. “Or I will tighten your kneecaps.”
Finally, some blissful silence.
But what was the next step? His objective hadn’t changed—he still needed to retrieve Zophia, but he had to find her before he cou—
As though to interject, the ground began to tremble as though to remind him of the second, more immediate issue he had to deal with.
Two of his daughter’s projects—the augmented elk and the neurally transplanted cellar spider—had been disabled; a simple ‘shut-off’ command had been enough to get them to power down for transportation.
Unfortunately, Zophia had brought three creatures with her.
It was the third one that hadn’t responded to his commands and it was the third one that was also the deadliest by far. It was… To be completely truthful, he had no idea what kind of creature it had been originally, but he believed calling it a ‘monster’ would not have been completely incorrect. His daughter considered it one of her crowning achievements, but he personally believed it was just ‘concerning’ and put substantial doubt on the aforementioned behavioural restraints on the beast’s creator.
Regardless, it had to be stopped before it broke through the safety perimeter. He doubted that 04 could impede it in any way, meaning he’d have to deal with it himself.
That meant he’d have to rely on 04 to track down and retrieve Zophia—something it had already failed at.
A suboptimal solution, but he didn’t have any choice.
Suppressing a sigh, he turned back to the silenced construct and began issuing instructions.
She was down, and her swords had been lost, scattered in the grass behind her.
Blood had drenched her clothes, pouring from her side.
So much blood.
A set of footsteps, intertwined with the tap of a cane. Father. ”Let me help, Zophia.”
She coughed, then spat, adding to the growing puddle around her. “Get back… Stay away from me…”
“You’re bleeding too much, daughter. If you don’t let me operate—“
He was right. But if she let him help…
“… Stay back. Don’t… don’t you dare…”
Blackness pulled at the edge of her vision, as the cold began to creep into her remaining limbs.
Someone was talking; her father, once more, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.
She tried to stand, managed to pull herself up and on to one knee—
Then the darkness took her.
Consciousness came to Zophia gradually; an unusual sensation, as waking should not have been a gradual affair for her, though it wasn’t as unusual nor concerning as the dream that had come prior to her waking.
It had been over sixty years since she’d last dreamt. There should have been failsafes to prevent ‘dreams’ from occurring, but they had obviously been rendered inert. Whether it was due to the arcane nature of this place or caused by some physical damage was to be determined, but that could wait until she returned to the lab, or a more… normal environment. One more grounded in reality.
The scene before her was dark. The mage was seated at a table, in what seemed to be…
A night club, once again. How original.
Zophia looked around, using the Oculus to sweep the ceiling and floors far above her.
It was the same establishment that she’d been in earlier, although now it was completely desolate and abandoned. A fine coating of dust covered what had once been the dance floor, with a few pieces of rubble interspersed amongst the tiles. The only sources of light came from a few holes in the ceiling, the few and varied streams of sunlight struggling against the oppressive gloom.
The magus stood up from the metal chair she’d been seated on, noting her lack of injuries before she snatched up her cane from the wall beside her.
An interesting, yet concerning phenomenon. Granted, she wasn’t about to start complaining; regaining consciousness was better than not regaining consciousness at all. The important question was who had repaired her, or by what means? If it had been a person or some other construct, had they performed the job adequately? Or if it was through some other manner, had it managed to mend her properly, considering the complexities of her form?
So many questions, but she had good reason to believe that standing in place wouldn’t answer any of them.
It was only when she was halfway across the chamber that Zophia noticed the dark, crusty stains covering the inert tiles, flaking under her soles. The scientist swept the Oculus around the room as she marched, noting the other signs of a skirmish. Even more stains, as well as gouges and perforations.
Hmm.
It didn’t take two, nor even a single brain cell to deduce that something incredibly violent had occurred on the premises. Whilst a being of lesser intelligence might have felt frightened, anxious or ‘creeped out’, Zophia was well aware that past events weren’t of any threat to her. So long as there wasn’t any other entity around, she would be perfectly saf—
“Name?” came a rasp from the darkness in front of her.
She didn’t hesitate—the Oculus whipped around to face the front and Zophia fired, carving a crimson swathe ahead of her.
The effect was immediate; the front desk burst into flames as the laser carved through it, the plastic screen above it melting and collapsing backwards onto its attendant. If the construct had felt anything, it didn’t show it before the magus’ beam bisected it.
Zophia frowned as she walked forward to inspect her work. There was no doubt about it; she’d managed to catch… judging by the torso, him in the neck. Little to no suffering.
Shame.
The magus gave a metallic hiss before she made to step over the headless corpse, then she stopped.
Whilst this realm obviously didn’t follow the more conventional laws of reality, going back through the door that had taken her to most enjoyable field of Fire and Lightning didn’t seem like the most prudent course of action. Another path was what she needed. Perhaps back into the City, if it was still intact?
She pivoted on her heel and turned left, then walked up to where the entrance should have been.
Should have.
Instead, what came to meet her was a solid wall, as scarred and marked as the ones ringing the dance floor.
The stairs leading to the upper floors, however, were still there.
It needed no reiteration, but Zophia wasn’t pleased by any of this. There was something toying with her, roping her along into this ridiculous farce.
Disinclined as she was, the Iron Mage nevertheless took the proffered stairs, climbing them two at a time.
There was a… sensation. An inclination, or a feeling that there was something for her at the top of the building. Some inexplicable sensation drawing her to the uppermost floor.
Nonsense.
As previously discussed, premonitions and such feelings had no place in the everyday workings of a rational being with an inkling of intellect. It was the same as allowing luck or superstition to rule one’s daily routine; ludicrous. Yet, there were creatures that permitted and persisted like that.
Further evidence that her path was the correct one. Just as the masses clung to their delusions, so too did they refuse to understand the inherent threat of magic. Whilst eradicating the former would be a step too far, the Mage of Metal knew that the latter necessitated purging.
Stupidity was not a crime, after all.
It was on the fifth and second-last level that she noticed a change in her surroundings. Whilst the previous floors had been downtrodden like the ground floor, this one was relatively spotless. Clean and clear of debris or any other signs that something had gone wrong.
Zophia strode onwards, noting the decor. Clean, pristine metal floors, working downlights along the railed walkway, leading up to a closed door with a conventional Exit sign hanging from above.
How convenient.
Eyes narrowing, the scientist opened the door—noting that it swung open silently—and stepped through.
The room beyond was very large and very dark, illuminated by a pair of twin, fluorescent strips above. There was another door set into the farthest side, and a large table had been set against the leftmost wall, along with a couple of chairs and… were those defibrillators?
Fascinating. What sort of room was this anyway?
Zophia was about to step forward to examine the contraptions, whilst the Oculus swung about, taking in the rest of the room and the woman sneaking up on her.
A pair of shiny, organic eyes locked with the mage’s single, glowing ethereal one. Realising they’d been noticed, the woman struck, lunging at Zophia.
In her first display of melee competency, the augmented woman twisted, swinging her gauntlet behind her. The blow connected, striking the woman’s chest with a hefty thwump and sending them flying into the back wall.
“Ow,” her attacker groaned on their landing, twin blades bouncing down to land beside them. “You sure hit far harder than you used to, huh?”
Zophia remained silent, kicking her cane’s sheathe off and then advancing on her quarry.
To their credit, the strange woman seemed to know when they were beaten. They stood up with their arms in the air, weapons still on the ground. “I give, I give!” they laughed.
They were pretty cheerful for someone that had just gone down in a single blow, Zophia had to give the woman that. “Identify yourself.”
"Wait, you don’t recognise—" they frowned, then laughed and pointed at the mage— "That’s rich, that is. You don’t even recognise yourself, huh? That’s brilliant."
The Iron Mage frowned and lowered her sword a fraction. “You’re claiming to be me, Zophia?”
“That I am, at your serv—”
The impostor never managed to finish their sentence, nor their bow, before the Oculus bisected them at the waist.
“Not any more.”
Zophia walked up to her attacker’s remnants and inspected them, taking in the corpse’s features. Their clothes were ordinary, save an elaborate, obsidian-coloured half-cape. Biological features included dark hair, pale skin... Pretty, in an unremarkable sort of way, though the scientist cared little for aesthetics. Function was far more important than form, especially in the pursuit of perfect effici—
She paused as her shadow at her feet seemed to grow; there was something approaching from behind her.
With no second sight available, Zophia spun on her heel and raised her gauntlet, barely intercepting the morningstar that came for her head. Her glowing red eyes met a pair of similarly crimson, but organic pupils, on the face of the woman she’d just dispatched.
“You’re getting better at this,” her foe commented mirthfully. ”Didn’t fall over or even lose your balance this time, huh?”
“Not at all. I’ll leave that to you, then,” the magus replied, as she grabbed onto the woman’s wrist and twisted.
Her assailant went down, landing on her side and dropping the mace. Zophia moved in, the head of her cane crackling as she swung it down onto the woman’s head with a hollow crunch. They jerked once and then stopped moving.
The Iron Mage peered down into the hole she’d made in the would-be doppelganger’s head, but saw naught. It was just darkness inside; hollow and empty as the sound on impact had suggested.
Curious… but she had more important matters to attend to.
Zophia straightened up and managed two steps towards the far side of the room…
…Just as the door opened, and another identical woman stepped out, a longsword in hand.
At this rate, the room was going to fill with corpses and dismembered limbs before she could reach the other door.
Just like the others before them, the woman attacked. They sprinted forward, then swung their blade with startling speed and ferocity. Zophia brought her cane up, parrying it with not a moment to spare before it found her neck.
“It’s coming back to you, isn’t it?” the woman asked, locking blades and leering at her like a lunatic.
Despite herself, Zophia responded. “What is?”
The grin grew wider, showing teeth now. “The thrill of the fight, the bloodlust. Isn’t good old fashioned violence just the best?”
She’s delusional, Zophia decided, before kicking out with her right foot. The blow connected and the woman stumbled to the side, giving the mage enough time to swing down and claim their arms from below the elbow. No blood poured out from the twin wounds, nor did the woman react to the wound in the slightest.
“Not bad,” The crazy woman admitted, nodding with approval. “Lacking in polish and agility, not to mention the pure ferociousness you used—“
“I feel it’s ill-advised to take suggestions from someone who’s just lost their weapon and their hands.” Zophia replied, and prepared to take her opponent’s head.
“You could use all the help you can get. What was the last proper fight you can remember?”
What an idiotic question. It was so stupid it made her pause. “I was in one just—“
Her (h)armless foe interjected. “When you were flesh and blood. What do you remember?”
“When I was weak? Imperfect? Inferior?”
“When you were whole. Go on then, think.”
Zophia thought back. She had been augmented for many decades since, but she’d also fought for many years before that, when she’d… she’d.
What had she done back then, actually?
…
……
………
Hmm.
“You can’t remember, can you?”
The mage looked down at her foe, who was looking up at her with those crimson eyes. They were no longer smiling.
“What you did, where you fought, who you fought, and why you fought, amongst many things,” they continued. “You can’t even remember your own face, can you?”
How long had it been since she’d seen her own face without the mask, she wondered. Years, perhaps? Decades, even?
Zophia squatted down and took in the fraud’s face closely. The red eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Thin lips. A narrow, slim nose and a slightly pointed chin.
Hmm. Nothing.
She had virtually no recollection of this at all. Perhaps this was something to delve deeper into…
… In a more familiar environment, grounded in reality.
Zophia set her staff aside, then reached out and grasped the top of the woman’s head and their right shoulder.
“Wait, what are y—“ the woman began, but then Zophia wrenched and twisted. There was a loud snap of splintering bone, and then the corpse slumped over
The Iron Mage grabbed her Ingenuity and then stood, striding for the—
The door was gone. Brilliant, so no—
“I will admit, I didn’t see that one coming.”
The Oculus had long since recharged, but Zophia turned to face the voice anyway, knowing very well what she’d find.
Yet another identical construct stood in the centre of the room, but there were several key differences that separated this one from the others.
Their hands were clasped behind their back, with no armaments immediately visible. Their clothes were much more elaborate; robes of sable and pearl that seemed to pulsate with a soft, inner glow. Only the half cape remained from the previous outfit, though even that had been altered to fit the new ensemble; where a scarlet flame had once been embroidered now sat a simple, marble-coloured circle, intersected with five lines.
A name came to the mage before she knew it, surfacing in her mind as she spied that familiar symbol. Immediately, the words echoed out from her iron girded lips, as though to confirm what she already knew.
“Order.”
“A representative of sorts. Or a herald, if you will,” it smiled, its voice strong and powerful.
Herald. That would suffice.
“Then you understand what I require?”
The construct nodded. “If you fight and then win, then you’ll have its aid.”
‘Fight’? ‘Win’?
Unacceptable. From the outset, there was already a misunderstanding.
“Order will come to your realm. No longer will those that seek, nor employ the arcane be abl—”
“You misunderstand,” Zophia interjected, a slight growl somehow creeping into her voice as she went to re-sheath her weapon. “The only ‘aid’ I require from you is your assistance in leaving this place.”
The Herald’s smile seemed to shrink slightly and it arched an eyebrow. “Leave?”
“Correct. Send me back.”
“I’m… not sure that you understan—”
“I understand perfectly well and better than most, as always. You offer an exchange; I fight on your behalf and you will administer a… change in my world.”
“A boon, as you desire. The world will move one step forward towards the stability you desire. Order and progress, working in tandem.”
“Stability? Through arcane means? Nonsense,” Zophia laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. “Order and progress are inevitable, yes. But they will be enacted through my own power, not yours.”
“I don’t think you’re fully aware of the opportunit—”
“I assure you, I am very well aware and I have no desire to play into your designs. I will not use sorcery to fight sorcery.”
It frowned and gestured at the Oculus at the mage’s shoulder. “But that’s exactly what you do.”
Zophia glanced at the ethereal eye. “Magitechnology. The arcane refined further by my own brilliance, just as I have done to my own form.”
“Is that what you truly think?” The Herald asked, with a sly smile.
Images of the visions and the dream flashed through her, but Zophia forced the thoughts away. There were unanswered questions there, certainly, but they weren’t the priority.
In the absence of a response, it continued. “You weren’t always as… organically opposed as you are now, though I’m sure there’ve been some… indications that you weren’t always a firm believer in the sanctity of steel.”
“Your doing, no doubt.”
“You did get some… help, yes. But your father was the one that started all of this, replacing your flesh with metal. What would the previous version of you have thought of that?”
That brought a smile to her lips. “The Zophia of the past is gone, removed along with the weakness of the flesh. I am the one who stands before you, a product of my own ingenuity. Nothing more and nothing less.”
The Herald raised an eyebrow, amused. “You realise you’re not as self-made as you believe you are, don’t you?”
“I certainly don’t believe you.”
“You can’t believe yourself, surely what you’ve see—”
“This discussion has gone long enough. Send me back.”
“We’re not finis—”
“Cope.”
The Herald stared at her in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
Zophia frowned to herself beneath her mask. She had no idea where the interjection had come from or why she’d suddenly said it, but it hadn’t seemed out of place until the sudden break in the exchange. Why had she…
It didn’t matter. More memory corruption, inflicted by the entity before her. Something to be examined and purged on her return.
“I’ve got to say, for someone so convinced of their own brilliance, you sometimes come across as exceptionally flawed and counterproductive. It’s almost like…” The Herald continued, before slowly trailing off.
Then it smiled. “I see. It really is breaking apart now, isn’t it?”
Now it was Zophia’s turn to stare. “What?”
“Oh, nevermind. Apologies, I believe we’re done here. Very well.”
It gestured and the building began to shake. Dust rained and the ground trembled before the ceiling split open and a large, windowless capsule elevator crashed down from the opening.
This lift was familiar; it was the same one from the facility, or a facsimile of it at least. Whilst Zophia wouldn’t have been surprised if it were merely the latter, this was the first, promising possibility of a way out that she’d encountered so far. A great deal more favourable than her ‘trial-and-error’ approach of navigating random doors and passages she’d been attempting so far.
She stalked into the capsule and pivoted on her heel, then noticed the buttons—or rather, button, singular—right next to the door.
A single, illuminated circle, engraved with a five-spoked wheel.
Despite immediately noticing and expecting the deception, Zophia barely managed a final, fleeting glance at the perpetrator’s smile before the doors slammed closed.
She growled. What did they intend to do? Trap her here, until she starved or pressed that button? Hmph, as though she were just going to let them do that.
Two sheets of metal, with no obvious reinforcement. Easily opened wit—
The Iron Magus barely had time to think about blasting the doors open before the elevator shot upwards with shocking speed, sprawling her on the floor. The pitch of the lift’s motor seemed to whir higher and higher as it accelerated, until it became a maddening, high-pitched whine.
Zophia struggled to stand, resisting the crushing weight pushing down on her, but it was too much. How fast were they going? This shouldn’t have been physically possible, but it was clear that the laws of physics were incredibly particular about what or whom they affected in this realm.
After approximately five seconds of effort, she managed to push herself up on both elbows. Another three were needed for her to get up on her knees and a further ten to get herself in a ridiculous half-crouch, half squat.
Just as she was about to attempt to stand, the elevator came to a sudden, juddering halt, making her drop to the floor again.
Brilliant.
She had grabbed her cane and pulled herself up to one knee when the twin doors swung open with a loud, electronic buzz. The capsule around her folded away, revealing—
Nothing.
Emptiness stretched before her. A consuming, endless blackness, akin to a universe devoid of stars.
Yet there was something in the darkness; something watching her. Observing, inspecting her.
Appraising her.
Zophia tried to rise and found she could not, then let out a low, purring growl. No doubt she was about to watch another show of smoke and mirrors.
As though on cue, a cacophony of voices erupted in the void surrounding her; a voice of one, yet many. An aurora of lights cascading across what might have constituted a sky, just as squares of black and white systematically paved their way into being.
A display even more grandiose than the previous and factors more gratuitous. How tiresome.
Next, a voice—singular, announcing a title all too familiar.
Knight of Science.
Science. Said and declared so simply that it was almost an insult. Admittedly the title wasn’t inaccurate, however there was so much more to her than just science. Perhaps that was her own fault though; if she had cared to correct the Herald, then maybe this meaningless title would at least be accurate.
The Magus of Steel stood and would have disregarded all further thought of the title, except that there was one other, singular word that stood out to her. She scowled beneath her mask, pallid flesh contorting in annoyance.
Savage? Her?
Really?
Preposterous. There was absolutely no doubt that she was by far the most civilised; the most refined; the most advanced on this plane. Her own existence—ignoring the times of yore all too recently touched on—was consumed by the pursuit of progress.
And what of the actual savages she had encountered in the battle prior? The disgusting, saurian construct looked like the type of barbarian that partook in ritual sacrifices. And the once-gaudy turned-crispy fencer would very likely have been unable to define or explain the necessity of the term ‘refrigeration’.
The magus forced herself to release that line of thought, watching impassively as two other ‘Knights’ appeared before her. The first, a human designated as Depth; blonde, slight and unarmed, save for a butterfly net on their back. Most likely there would be more to them than that, otherwise the assignment of the title would be a reference to the idiom ‘out of one’s depth’.
Zophia frowned at that last thought. Such a comment was unnecessary and added no value to her analysis.
No doubt due to that Herald’s meddling.
The second construct, a humanoid; this one was familiar to her, having been sighted from within the prior arena. Designated Craving. Pale, tall and armed with two blades. Smaller than what Zophia herself had once wielded, but it wasn’t the size of the blade that mattered but rather how it was wielded. This one seemed stronger and much better armed. This one would have to go first, she decided, striding forward.
It soon became apparent, however, that this wasn’t supposed to be a contest of superiority between the three of them.
From across the floor, she could see three other figures. Two familiar—the jaundice-coloured reptilian creature and the short one with the shield—and one unknown; a bloated and overly talkative corpse-like creature all fighting under the moniker of Chaos. The lattermost entity had the unfortunate effect of reminding Zophia of the irritating fencer, what with its shouting and inane rambling, but she banished the thought.
That battle had been in the past. What lay before her was what mattered; nother battle.
Another battle of Order against Chaos.
If this went in a similar way to the previous fight, then it was incredibly likely that she’d be facing opposition from the combined efforts of several foes at once. It would probably be in her interests to keep the other two around for now, if they didn’t seem to harbour any hostile intentions. She could use them to exhaust or distract those that did mean her harm, then dispose of them once she had no further use for them.
Even if their combat ability turned out to be inadequate, then their corpses could still be useful.
Provided she—
A reverberating crack split through her thoughts and the air; an opening shot from one of their fast encroaching targets. It struck the tall construct, but not before the smaller one summoned a stream of liquid darkness to intercept the assault.
A sorcerer, then. Not wholly unexpected, but that confirmed they required observation. An unknown variable such as them wouldn’t do, though it would suit her own purposes to keep them both close at hand.
Unfortunately, such an option didn’t seem immediately viable. The taller one seemed intent on holding its ground whilst retaliating with a firearm it had hidden under its coat. So long as it managed to occupy the cadaver, then the Iron Mage didn’t particularly care what became of it.
Zophia turned to the diminutive human before her, who had yet to charge their opposition.
“Leave that one,” the magus instructed, keeping the Oculus on the young construct, whilst her main eyes watched the foes approaching them. “We’ll dispose of the other two.”
Without further delay, the Mage of Iron stalked forward, whilst keeping a watchful, ethereal eye on the pawn behind her.
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