After a solid five minutes, the smoke finally cleared, vanishing into the ventilation ducts in the floor below.
[For a feat of superhuman endurance, 10 EXP gained.]
Emma couldn't help but feel that this particular prompt was a bit sarcastic, but she couldn't complain, not when the 10 EXP went to the homunculus and its Chandler class, which was still low enough that it actually counted for a decent amount.
The next door appeared, and right before it, a man wearing an ancient scholar's dress.
[Fragment of Will - Level 5]
"You have done well, to endure the Thousand Poxes. But can you defeat me now as you are, wounded, unclad and alone?"
The Fragment of Will bowed, hands clasped, a gesture of respect it likely expected Emma to return.
[10 EXP gained.]
Emma, having realised that storage items weren't actually disabled, switched back to her armoured form and crushed the Fragment's head between her hands like a grape. Idly, she noted that Sir Bearington had vanished at some point, likely when she was forced into the homunculus. Another 10 EXP didn't count for much at Level 15, but Emma was glad just to be done with the room: she was on a timer, after all.
—
"Now, that's unfortunate," his eyes widened as Edith spoke, her characteristically impish chirp of a voice coming from his throat.
Forming his hand into a claw, Sectmaster Horizon tore his own throat out without hesitation, staunching the bleeding with an internal application of qi. A minor wound, as one at his realm did not need to breathe.
Pointless. I am the voice that whispers of power. The devil upon your shoulder, the book of forbidden lore in your sleeve. I am the will opposing, and I have worn a thousand faces, yours least of all.
Edith mocked him all the same, her voice undeterred, now audible only within the recesses of his mind. Reeling, the Sectmaster closed his eyes, retreating into his final defence, into the secondary existence that gave his realm its name: his nascent soul, nearly three quarters grown. Just another century or two, and he'd have had the chance to see it bloom, to attempt the first step into Spirit Severing.
We all wish for a little more time, at the end.
All to no avail; the voice was there, never to be denied.
As I said, this was an unfortunate end for you. Because while you weren't the one to do it, a kidnapping attempt was ordered. Which means that someone was able to suborn your men, feign your authority, and use your resources to arrange a situation that might well have led to war between East and West. Not an act of malice, on your behalf, but a sign of such utter negligence and incompetence that your life and sect were forfeit all the same. If not at my hand, then by the will of the Emperor, not long from now.
Sectmaster Horizon, driven to his wit's end by repeated hammer blows on his psyche, forcibly worked his heart aperture, giving it his all in a final desperate attempt at regaining a measure of control over his fate. From within his nascent soul, he felt a spark ignite, reaching up into the sky to call down a Tribulation. Facing Spirit Severing at his strength, the Sectmaster knew his life was forfeit, but hopefully, at least, he would not die alone.
I remember when I faced my own Spirit Severing, in fair Amarna. The old priest called it the Death of Mastery, or the Obliteration of the Self. Your version is more accurate, I think. I'll seal ten, no, fifteen percent, as a parting gift for Emma. The rest, I'm afraid you'll have to take. Goodbye, Sectmaster.
Tribulation lightning fell, and a sect died.