Their creator had learned a few tricks since the attack on Brakket. A good number of the golems had armored plates stapled onto the human body. One, Genoa noted as she stabbed another through the throat, had a shiny black carapace that might have come from one of Arachne’s relatives.
Those ones could be dealt with after the crowd’s numbers had been pruned.
Genoa dropped to the ground. Being unable to blink thanks to whatever wards the nuns had set up was annoying, but not an insurmountable issue.
It just meant she had to move fast enough to dodge the jagged edge of her opponent’s rusty sword.
None of the golems at Brakket had been armed aside from whatever natural demonic attachments they had been fitted with. A sword wasn’t much different from an unusual limb, but if the necromancer gave them guns or figured out how to have them cast magic, she would need to watch her back.
Her dagger, sheathed in brilliant fire, dragged up the man’s chest as she stood. The thin trail of fire left behind spread out from the cut and enveloped him.
Genoa was forced to jump away from the heat, though she couldn’t complain. The hallway would be pitch black without the burning corpses scattered around the floor.
Raising her hand, Genoa ferrokinetically pulled against the golem’s sword. It tore from his weakened grip, spinning through the air as it flew towards her. Genoa took one step to the side, caught the blade by the handle, and used the momentum to swing around and take off the top of another golem’s head.
Sword in hand, Genoa twisted it into a barbed spear. Fire from her dagger leached out and enveloped the head of the spear just before Genoa buried it within the skull of another golem.
Glass from an overhead light shattered. Flecks of reflected fire danced in the shards as a scythe-like arm scraped down at Genoa.
She dashed forward, ignoring the sharp glass, and buried her dagger inside a golem’s chest.
Her companion was proving himself to be marginally useful. While Genoa tended to go straight for the kill–head shots, decapitation, and the like–just knowing that anything cut by her flaming dagger would burst into flames from within gave some peace of mind.
In the slight reprieve, Genoa glanced back at the alchemy professor. He stood at the doorway, barely having moved since the fight started, incinerating anything that came near him. Not much got close aside from the golems that Genoa passed by for more open targets.
His eyes twitched back and forth in the flamelight. They never stopped on any one thing for more than a second before darting to something else. Someone unfamiliar with the mind-acuity that pyrokinetic mages used might think he was on drugs. Or having a stroke.
Even knowing what was happening, it was somewhat unsettling. It was a testament to his ability, both in accelerating his mind and his pyrokinetic skill in general, that he was able to attack and manipulate the fire on her dagger to such a fine degree.
And not burn down the entire hotel.
The fire alarms and sprinklers hadn’t even gone off, though that might have something to do with the power being cut.
One of the armored golems moved to block her view.
Its arm was already swinging towards her.
Readying herself, Genoa used the earthen version of the self empowerment spell. Her skin hardened and her bones turned to steel.
The arm crashed into her, sending her smashing into and partially through a wall.
Cursing her inattentiveness, Genoa pulled herself out of the wall. A few slivers of wood made it past her defenses; most slivers centered on her legs where she struck a beam of wood running along the wall. Nothing deadly. The cuts, along with those she got from the shattered glass, might even make it into her collection.
Genoa smiled at her attacker with a crack of her neck. “My turn.”
She pulled at the spear of metal, yanking it out of the remains of the earlier golem’s face. It formed into a bar mid-air and hammered into the back of the armored golem’s leg.
It teetered but did not fall until the bar returned for a second pass.
Genoa spun out of the way of another sword wielding golem.
With a heavy nudge, the sword arced down on the armored golem’s legs.
Her dagger found its way to the sword-wielder’s throat, half removing his head and igniting him all in one swing.
Free from immediate attack, Genoa took hold of the new sword and the bar of metal. She shaped both into one massive spear.
With a grunt, she brought it down one-handed on the armored golem’s chest. Again and again until the armor cracked. With one final thrust–with the tip ignited from the flames coating her dagger–the spear plunged into the meat within.
Genoa wiped sweat from her brow and flicked it off her wrist, splattering the carcass. This barely qualified as a workout, but that didn’t stop the flames from heating everything up.
For a moment, she considered whether or not she should be worried about the oxygen levels in the room, or lack thereof. If nothing else, the professor seemed to know what he was doing and Genoa had yet to feel lightheaded, so she dismissed the concern.
Zoe should be here soon enough. If it was a problem, she would notice and would be able to provide a breath of fresh air.
Another bunch of flesh golems rounded the corner at the end of the hallway.
“How many of these things does he have? Is this ever going to end?”
“Unless I am much mistaken,” Wayne said in a clipped voice–a side effect of not toning down his processing speed enough, “you asked for this.”
Genoa’s lips curled into a grin.
“That I did.”
— — —
Devon stopped.
The wall looked inviting. Too inviting. Irresistibly inviting.
After incinerating a corpse on the floor that may or may not have been a zombie, Devon stumbled over to the wall and leaned against it.
He couldn’t go on much longer at this pace.
His feet ached. His legs ached. His hip wasn’t doing so well. Worse above all else, he was sweating.
Not for the first time in recent years, Devon started recounting and individually regretting several mistakes in his life choices that had led up to this point. Being born in this age was one of his first and greatest mistakes. It was followed closely by being raised by that deadbeat of a man. It was a wonder he had turned out so well with that being his ideal for most of his childhood.
Of course, those were far in the past. While mistakes, he didn’t have much option and he certainly couldn’t change it now.
More recently, he had beholden himself to Ylva in asking it to save Eva. Temporarily, true, but he was still its slave for the immediate future. It had been oddly generous in giving him only a few months of servitude. That only compounded his suspicion that it was intending to help Eva without his prompting.
Without that little deal, he wouldn’t be in this nightmare.
“Devon,” the professor snapped, “are you going to sit there all night?”
Devon shoved himself off the wall and marched across the landing to the next set of stairs. “Just catching my breath, girly.”
She made a pointed glance at a number painted on the wall. “This is only the ninth floor. I figured you would be in shape from climbing up to your ‘penthouse suite’ at the prison every day.”
“You think I walk up all that?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I suppose not. Regardless, we have been delayed enough as it–”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” He glanced up the stairwell. Only four floors left. And then…
And then back down.
“Maybe I’ll just throw myself out a window,” Devon mumbled to himself as he followed up the stairs after the professor.
“Did you say something?”
“Yeah. Mind your own business.”
At her impolite harrumph, Devon coiled his tentacle around the railing and used it to half drag himself up the staircase.