Kooroo
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A direct hit, though one lacking accuracy. She’d been aiming for the saurian’s centre of mass, but had nailed it—literally—in what constituted its right tricep.
Additionally, it seemed that the Nail had failed to fully penetrate both the construct’s armour nor its hide. The creature’s speed had slowed noticeably, but Zophia could plainly see that the Nail’s head was not fully depressed into its arm. Perhaps the hide armour had been reinforced through magical or physical means, or the impact had occurred at the absolute limit of her gauntlet’s range. It was hard to say what had been the reason for the suboptimal penetration, but it was clear that they required further refinement for situations where the target was further away than intended.
Larger barbs were probably necessary, the magus noted, as the scale-covered lifeform plucked the Nail away and discarded it, like a common skin parasite. Perhaps this was a common occurrence for its kind, or at least this specimen.
Her seared skin itched and prickled as she marched forward, a reminder of her own dermatologic issues. Each movement brought some discomfort, as metal plates and synthetic textiles rubbed against singed flesh—enough to constitute itself as a problem to most regular beings, however Zophia found such issues to be irrelevant and simple to compartmentalise. So long as one was mentally prepared for such tribulations and they didn’t cause any major operational problems, then pain became entirely bearable, even to the extent that she’d stopped utilising anaesthesias for her own procedures.
Granted, the scientist’s experience with said problems was incredibly limited, mainly due to the presence of her various guards and assistants out in the field. If any of them had been present with her, then there was little doubt that she’d be entirely unharmed. There was probably a lesson to be learnt from this about being too reliant on the indentured help; one Zophia was in the process of experiencing. As barbaric as it was—and though she was loath to admit it—Zophia was looking forward to polishing those long forgotten skills.
And it seemed that she had a volunteer stepping forward to aid with her trial run: the first combatant she’d engaged; the construct bedecked in tinselly clothing. Considering she’d had him on his knees in no time at all, it was probably safe to assume that this fellow was mentally handicapped or just prone to detrimental life choices.
He seemed only slightly worse for wear; a part of his cape had been sliced off and wrapped around his arm, the makeshift bandage now several shades darker than it had originally been. Overall, however, he seemed to be in relatively good health. No other apparent wounds from a cursory analysis, nor excessive perspiration or abnormal cognitive behaviour—aside from the fact that he was approaching her.
A mistake that he wasn’t going to walk away from, nevermind learn from.
She continued towards the centre, her pace unaltered despite the foe before her. The cane came down, striking the floor with a sharp clack, just as it had over two dozen times prior. Another step forward and her steel-clad sole caught the flat base of the shaft, anchoring in place. Ingenuity came up, but its base stayed down, as the sheath covering the blade within came free, removed with the barest of variations to the Iron Mage’s gait.
One more step and she brought her right hand to join its twin on the weapon’s shaft, up by her left shoulder.
A final step forward, and Zophia was upon the man. She swung down, bringing the now-crackling armament hissing through the air towards his head.
This attempt had been better. She’d accounted for the distance correctly, her balance and footing an improvement over the previous strike. What saved the swordsman was certainly not his attempts at dialogue, but rather his sword, streaking up from his side, deflecting her blow with just moments to spare.
Inadequate, once again. Technique and speed would need further refinement if Zophia was going to bludgeon anyone to death.
Yet despite her attack, the pretentiously-dressed man talked. She could hear him; she knew the definition of the words spouting from his mouth and what they meant when strung together in a proper sentence.
But whether it was a jest, a challenge or something more, Zophia disregarded it. It didn’t matter, just like the fighter himself.
The augmented magus loosened her grip, letting the cane slide down her hand until she was almost holding it as just a walking aid. She flipped her grip and brought her right foot back, doing just enough to avoid an incoming thrust, her assailant’s polished blade glancing off her darkened cuirass.
An inconsequential strike from an inferior construct.
Zophia stepped forward and slashed, blackened metal blurring diagonally downwards, finding hot air and empty space rather than gaudy cloth and fragile flesh.
Again, too slow. She used to be quicker, back before the augmentations. At least as quick, if not quicker than this flashy fighter before her. Who, as a matter of fact, looked like he was about to —
She twisted, jerking back both a fraction too slow and not far enough to avoid the next strike. The steel blade struck her chest once more, drawing a shower of sparks and nothing more.
This would not do.
Lacking though his strikes had been, there was a chance the fool would wise up and target a more vulnerable part of her. Or barring that, he could just get plain lucky.
Setting aside the risk of lasting damage, fighting a competent swordsman in physical combat was a fool’s errand, especially with her current skill level. Magitech genius that she was, Zophia knew perfectly well when to put an end to an experiment.
Getting back in touch with her ‘martial’ side could wait, until she was in a safer, more stable environment. For now, mechanical efficiency would be the path forward.
And with that thought, an opportunity presented itself.
The blazing sun above them winked out, only to be replaced by a lucent moon, bathing the field in silvery light. Day became night as the flames surrounding them ebbed, before dying out completely.
Two sets of eyes looked skywards; Zophia’s and the swordsman’s.
One singular, ethereal eye kept its gaze forward, however, locked on to the fencer’s face. It was through the Oculus that she saw her assailant’s mistake and she took the opening.
The Iron Mage raised her gauntlet and splayed her fingers as she issued the command. There was a brief hum before an orb of crimson light burst from her palm, smashing into her foe and sending him sailing backwards through the air.
Admittedly, taking in the sight of him sailing through the air didn’t feel quite as satisfying as she’d imagined it would’ve. Watching him drown in his own blood whilst being electrocuted by the floor would’ve been a far more interesting show… though frankly, Zophia was more amused by the fact that she was tempted to watch that. Perhaps that knock to the head had given her a mild concussion or she was feeling especially nostalgic for ages past. Simple times, where all she’d had was her arms, legs, a weapon or two and enough bloodthirst for a band of warriors.
Zophia stepped forward, passing over the glowing, navy tiles, just as they pulsed and surged with lightning. She marched forth, towards her prostrated quarry, looking around at the fights and scuffles around him.
There were a lot of other entities around him—most, if not all of the other entities that’d been brought to this arena, as a matter of fact. She looked around, sweeping the Oculus from right to left, as she walked, analysing the situation around her.
Within seconds she had it. The perfect solution—or firing solution, to be exact.
Both sets of Zophia’s eyes came to rest on her initial target; her main pair of optics locking with the man’s, whilst the Oculus glowed and hummed.
There was a look in the fencer construct’s eyes—it wasn’t fear or anxiety, nor any other emotion she’d ever seen in a patient’s gaze. Curious, considering his predicament.
But it mattered not, just like the swordsman himself.
The Iron Mage fired; permitting herself the slightest of laughs as a crimson beam lanced from the Oculus, cutting through the lucent, moonlit air.
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