Round 34: Attraction

This is a world where physical laws are disrupted and space is twisted and reversed. There is no earth or sky, nor any conventional concept of up or down. Only countless gray, heavy stones are piled and embedded together like building blocks, forming a complex, labyrinthine structure. Corridors, some enclosed and some open, extend in every direction, changing, intersecting, seemingly passing through all boundaries, endlessly plunging into an eternal, desolate void.

These cold stones are not fixed. They move and reorganize silently, always altering themselves when the observer is unaware or distracted. Though not as rapidly changing as a spinning kaleidoscope, they exert a startling power, as if time itself is moving in silence: How could the world have become like this in such a short time?

Countless portals stand amid these impossible labyrinths—no matter how you look, they always appear directly opposite each other. They vary greatly: misty and hazy, spinning like vortices, reflecting images like mirrors, merely bare frameworks, or blazing with colors that shift like fire… In stark contrast to the gray stone labyrinth, the portals constantly change—opening, closing, disappearing, reappearing. Their light casts shadows on the stone walls, jumping and merging, as if forming intricate, hidden networks that forever trap and confuse those who wander within.

A molten fireball screams as it cuts through space, passing through the labyrinth and plunging into dark, massive gaps, vanishing quickly. Soon after, even larger waves of fire follow—flames raging, devouring everything they touch. The flames even consume and melt the portals, and after traveling through space, distant areas also glow with intense light, making it seem as though the entire world is on fire.

A graceful figure darts through the swirling flames and smoke, making a few quick movements before reaching the giant figure responsible for all this. She leaps onto the cannon-like barrel and stands firmly there, while the flamethrower continues to spew boiling destruction under its owner’s control.

“It’s useless what you’re doing,” says the steel woman, now in human size—comparable to a Barbie doll compared to Forty-Seven. “This labyrinth isn’t a physical entity, and its boundaries remain unknown. We can’t destroy it.”

Forty-Seven waves his hand, and the still-hot molten gun retracts into his arm, transforming into an energy-powered furnace—without even needing a basic buffer procedure. He slams his fist, breaking a nearby stone pillar, triggering a massive collapse. Forty-Seven jumps aside amid the burning debris, then looks back at the site of the collapse—it’s now just a small hollow. Such spatial instability is enough to drive anyone inside mad with confusion, and neither magic nor instruments can provide an accurate assessment of the labyrinth.

The lady’s punishment is fair and impartial—those who want to escape can only rely on luck. And luck is a bitter journey with no known end, a torment no worse than any torture.

Another barrage of gunfire, like volcanic eruptions. Forty-seven seemed completely unfazed, his weapons firing torrents of ammunition in all directions, many of which hit the Steel Woman.
“Stop!” The brilliant wings of the blade unfurled layer by layer, forcing the Steel Woman to transform into a six-winged archangel to defend herself—only massive dams or ships could withstand such a flood. “We can’t get any reinforcements here! And what’s the point? Do we have to fight for a whole year?”
“Artillery provides a dignified means, a substitute for crude insults,” Forty-seven’s voice rumbled, like some ancient, powerful machine roaring. “Do you now think our battle is meaningless?”
Blue lightning flashed in the Steel Woman’s eyes. It was the hostility that arose every time she sensed the overwhelming chaos emanating from Forty-seven. Yet, trapped in the labyrinth where the Painful Lady gradually lost even her sense of time, they at least shared a common goal, barely maintaining a fragile peace. She believed she could stay calm enough to make judgments and eventually find a way out of the labyrinth, but she was more worried about Forty-seven’s state—more unpredictable than a madman was a machine-madman.
“I hate labyrinths because they’re places for rats,” Forty-seven continued. “So don’t expect me to run around foolishly like you. Kari, I think your initiative is way too low—do you need to be wound up every day?”
“If you could be normal, I’m sure we’d find a way out of this labyrinth eventually. Get rid of the impurities—you can do it.” For some reason, the Steel Woman never objected to being called “Kari”; it seemed she had accepted it.
“Normal. Staying in a place like this, and you still believe in such a thing as ‘normal’?” Forty-seven moved his massive mechanical arms, his weapons changing as his mood shifted. “Unfortunately, fuel and data are the two things I’ll never give up. Stop nagging, silly girl. Be careful—I might crush you. If you want to keep wandering, fine. I’ll do things my way.”
The jet engines started up as he transformed and flew off in a random direction. “The simplest way to leave the labyrinth is to break the glass panels on top—blow up every portal, and things will be much simpler!”
“You can’t do that!” Kari chased after him. “There are too many, and maybe one of them is the way out!”
“Maybe not. Maybe there’s no way out at all! Anyway, at least I won’t get bored!”
Forty-seven stopped answering Kari, his smoking steel mouth firing deadly energy—waves of flame, plasma explosions, and beams of incandescent light that could pierce anything.
The armored dragon soared away, and the spatial labyrinth seemed unable to bear it, with the damaged area growing larger. But this was still just a drop in the ocean. As the destruction expanded, the labyrinth would slowly repair itself—how long could he hold on?

A considerable amount of time passed. At least after what would seem like an unbearably long period to an ordinary person, 47 still showed no sign of fatigue. Occasionally, star-like flashes of lightning appeared amidst the sea of flames, and Keri even helped him fix a few leaks, though it was more symbolic in nature. After hitting a portal and triggering three explosions at once, 47 spread his wings, with the chaotic hot winds lifting him as he circled, ready to choose a new route for his journey.

He suddenly flipped over and quickly transformed into human form, floating in the air. Behind him, Keri’s spear of light shone brightly, clearly at full power and ready to be used.

The two did not fight again because they both realized there might be another enemy they needed to deal with together.

Some extremely faint, trivial sounds reached 47’s auditory sensors, as if coming from afar. But in an instant, they amplified countless times, almost like an entire symphony playing against his eardrums. The sounds fluctuated wildly, shifting between deep bass and high-pitched tones, before finally stabilizing into recognizable notes.

“Two of them…?” The strange voice sounded like demons from various realms whispering together. “Could even the supreme lady make a mistake?”

The female mage and the count were having breakfast together.

The table was laden with food—mead, mushroom soup, cheese, black bread, fried lizards, roasted Los beast meat, and eggs from some unknown creature. Yet the count had less appetite than Morriel. Today’s execution had been canceled; presumably, the criminal hadn’t survived last night. So Hicrik had irresponsibly slipped away, handing control of his body back to the real O’Sullivan. From another perspective, this was also a way for the prince murderer to show his intentions—since he could preserve the count’s soul from being destroyed by his own divine power, the methods he used on Kero to suppress the Goddess of Mist would surely work just as well.

“Handsome and charming noble sir, may I ask what your plans are?” The succubus leaned against the window sill, her long, beautiful legs undoubtedly having a devastating effect on any man’s will. Yet she seemed unwilling to use her most powerful weapon on O’Sullivan, even appearing to avoid him. The relationships among the people in the room were quite delicate: the female mage got along well with her former enemy, while the succubus, like Kero, didn’t like the count very much and was rather closer to the indifferent Philgas. There was always a cold rift between the steel elves and the others—perhaps a little narrower with the succubus who had helped her, but almost as distant as across the sea compared to Morriel. Add in Quasi the demon, whose eyes kept darting around as if plotting something, and the scene became quite interesting.

“Since mortals pray to the gods for their own sake, they must endure the wait for no response and must not expect perfect outcomes.” O’Sullivan put down his fork and knife—the wine was too weak, the soup too salty, the bread too hard, the roast meat too burnt, and he didn’t even touch those oddly colored eggs. “Graces may come, but we must learn humility, remain obedient, and follow nature. Only unwavering faith can dispel the darkness before us, and only then will the path of fate appear, guiding us to our true purpose. Miss Morriel, are you ready?”
“You weren’t like this before, Count.” Morriel raised her eyebrows, looking at him with a half-smile. “I remember that most nobles in the Agus Empire are atheists. The food is delicious; thank you for the hospitality. If there’s no dessert, I think we can set off now.”
“Under the shadow of that colossal Supreme Council, where is there any room for faith to survive? It’s entirely up to you what to do; I’m just a messenger,” O’Sullivan said self-mockingly. “You can return to your homeland’s world and wait, or stay in the Outer Lands or other outer planes. Once our steel friends escape the Lady’s Maze, they’ll surely cause a huge stir—by then, it will be very easy to find them.”
“It’s not that simple,” said the female mage. “Is all I have to do is leave Marked City and wait somewhere? Are there other things you haven’t told me…”
A look of realization suddenly flashed across Morriel’s face. Her brown eyes shone, and the corners of her mouth lifted. She should have thought of it—the outer planes have strict laws of operation, and their stability far exceeds that of the primary material world. The planes exist in a cycle of “everything returning to its origin,” following the principle of “everything in threes.” The various worlds are vastly different and chaotic, but order, like gravity, holds them together to form a neutral and stable universe, with Marked City as its microcosm. Just as in an ideal state, a holy warrior wandering the outer planes will always tend toward kindness and orderliness—the Seven Heavens Mountain. This principle is also the foundation for the multiverse to evolve from primordial chaos to its present state.
According to this theory, where is it most likely that Forty-Seven will go? To the Wild Fields to hang around with the Gaidin Celestials? The answer isn’t hard to find—
“The Bottomless Abyss.” Morriel uttered the word softly, and everyone turned their gaze to her.
“That’s right. My lord believes that once Forty-Seven finds the exit to the maze, Marked City will reject him. What then affects him is the essence of the planes. That essence is like a waterfall cascading down a cliff—although it’s impossible to predict the exact trajectory of each droplet, they will surely flow downward to the lowest point.”
“Why the Bottomless Abyss? Do you think he’s evil?” Filgas, who had remained silent, suddenly asked.

“Nothing in particular. Things in this world often work that way—fated, whether for a day or a lifetime… And we all know evil isn’t a simple concept to define.” O’Sullivan seemed somewhat melancholic before changing the subject: “But the Bottomless Abyss is too dangerous after all, and we don’t even know how long we’ll have to wait. From my perspective, I’d prefer to return to the Main Material Realm. In our world, it’s easier to exert power and the circumstances are better. Hasn’t there been a precedent before where he managed to retrieve something?”
The female mage stood up. “No, My Lord Count. The prince asked you to bring this matter to me so as not to overly influence my judgment, so I wouldn’t regret it later and blame him. Rest assured, I have my own decisions. Searching might ultimately lead to despair, while waiting only drains one’s spirit.”
“You haven’t changed at all,” O’Sullivan laughed. “Stubborn as steel—perfect match for him.”
It wasn’t difficult to find a portal to the Bottomless Abyss in the lower districts, as long as one knew where to look. The dark entrance to the basement was open, emitting a musty smell and the scent of rotten food. It was a disgusting storage room, possibly with the corpse of some merchant or thief hidden in a corner. But with the right key—perhaps a treasure that’s extremely hard to find, or an unremarkable trinket carried on one’s person, or something else entirely unexpected, like an action or even a thought—it would open up, becoming a tunnel to another world.
The succubus sniffed, as if sensing the scent of her homeland.
“My lord has indeed put quite a bit of thought into this,” O’Sullivan said. “No stops, no detours, straight to Broken Realm Town. That’s probably the most suitable place in the Bottomless Abyss for non-demonic beings to stay. We can rest, get supplies, gather information, and use it as a base to gradually explore further. The two masters of Tanali will surely welcome us warmly, right?”
“Of course… warmly as fire,” the succubus said, using double meaning.