[Status: Iron Maiden Mimic – Level 24]
[Current HP: 850/850]
[Hunger: 80/100]
The air in the Third Floor—*The Sunken Archive*—was thick with the smell of old parchment, cold dust, and the electric ozone of lingering spells. Unlike the industrial chaos of the floor above, the Archive was a place of eerie, intellectual silence. Endless shelves of stone books stretched into the darkness, and the floor was covered in a foot of stagnant, ink-stained water.
But as I stepped onto the first submerged tile, my iron frame didn't just vibrate with the sound of my footsteps. It burned.
[Warning: Cursed Mark 'Blood of the Exalted' is Pulsing.]
[Status: Marked for Retribution.]
On my front iron panel, right where the embossed face of the High Priestess Seraphina resided, a new symbol had appeared. It was a weeping eye surrounded by golden thorns, glowing with a persistent, hateful light. I had eaten a relative of a Divine Noble back in the Gear-Grinder's room, and the 'System' had ensured I wouldn't get away with it quietly.
"So, I'm a beacon now," I vibrated, my voice a low, metallic growl.
I could feel it—a tugging sensation in the back of my core. Somewhere on this floor, something was tracking me. Something that didn't care about loot or levels. Something that lived for vengeance.
[Skill Activated: Mana Sense]
The floor was a mess of magical signatures. Most were faint—ghosts of old spells trapped in books—but three signatures were moving fast. They weren't coming from the entrance; they were already here, waiting for the 'Mark' to bring the target to them.
[Inquisitor Seekers - Lvl 28]
[Status: Divine Tracking Active]
I didn't hide. As an Iron Maiden, "hiding" was becoming a secondary tactic. I was a tank, and I had a new hunger to satisfy. The Paladin's blood had been spicy, but I wanted to know what 'Divinity' tasted like when it was concentrated.
*Splash. Splash. Splash.*
The ink-water rippled. Three figures emerged from behind a massive stone pillar. They wore white leather armor reinforced with silver filigree, and their faces were hidden behind porcelain masks carved into expressions of eternal sorrow. These weren't adventurers; they were Inquisitors—the 'Cleanup Crew' of the Church.
"The Abomination stands before us," the lead Seeker said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He raised a spiked flail that glowed with a white-hot flame. "It wears the face of the Blessed. It consumes the Light."
"I don't just consume it," I thought, my hinges creaking. "I improve it."
[Skill Activated: Steam Vent (Ogre-Steel Enhanced)]
I didn't wait for their judgment. I released the pressurized mana building in my core. A blast of scalding, mana-infused steam erupted from the gaps in my iron plates, filling the narrow corridor with a blinding white fog.
"Scatter!" the Seeker commanded.
They were fast. Faster than the Warriors I had faced before. They moved with a supernatural fluidity, their boots barely touching the water. But they were looking for a box. They weren't looking for a warrior.
[Skill Activated: Humanoid Partial Morph]
I extended my iron arms, gripping a jagged piece of the Gear-Grinder's saw-blade that I had integrated into my "Inventory." I swung it in a wide arc through the steam.
*CLANG.*
The lead Seeker caught the blade on his silver flail. The impact sent sparks flying, illuminating the dark archive. "It has limbs? This is no mere Mimic. This is a Blasphemy."
"Blasphemy tastes like chicken," I vibrated.
[Skill Activated: Magnetic Pull (Divine Focus)]
I didn't target their weapons. I targeted the silver filigree on their armor. The Seekers gasped as they were suddenly jerked toward me, their formations broken. One of them, a smaller Inquisitor holding a pair of silver daggers, was pulled directly into my range.
I opened my doors.
*SNAP.*
The sound of my doors closing on the leather-clad Inquisitor was followed by the hiss of my acid reacting to the silver.
[Internal Execution Active: -120 HP/sec]
"SISTER!" the other two roared.
The flame-flail slammed into my side, the holy fire licking at my iron plates.
[HP: 780/850]
[Status: Holy Resistance (Major) – Active]
Because I had eaten Sir Alistair and Seraphina, the holy fire didn't burn me like it should have. It felt like a warm bath. I ignored the pain and focused on the Seeker inside me. I could feel her struggling, her silver daggers scratching at my interior, but she was trapped in a forest of Alistair's stolen spikes.
[Devour in Progress...]
A strange notification popped up as the Inquisitor began to dissolve.
[Cursed Mark Interaction: Divine Consumption.]
[You are absorbing 'Grace' from the target.]
[Skill Unlocked: Divine Digestion (Passive)]
1. [Effect: You can now convert holy damage into HP.]
2. [Effect: Consuming 'Blessed' targets provides permanent Holy Resistance.]
The fire on the Seeker's flail struck me again. This time, my HP bar didn't move down. It moved *up*.
[HP: 785/850]
The lead Inquisitor froze, his porcelain mask tilted in confusion. "You... you heal from the Light? What manner of demon are you?"
"I'm a hungry one," I replied.
I didn't just stand there. I used my *Humanoid Morph* to grab the flail mid-swing. My iron fingers burned, but I held on. I yanked the Seeker toward me, his heavy boots splashing through the ink.
"The Mark!" the Seeker yelled to his remaining partner. "Ignite the Mark!"
The third Inquisitor, who had been chanting in the back, pointed a finger at the weeping eye on my chest. The symbol flared with a blinding, golden intensity.
[Warning: Divine Detonation Imminent.]
The Mark was a bomb. They were going to sacrifice me and the room to wipe the 'stain' of my existence.
I had three seconds.
I looked at the stone bookshelves. I looked at the lead Seeker still struggling in my grip.
I didn't try to run. I leaned into the explosion.
[Skill Activated: Iron Lock (Milestone 20 Enhanced)]
[Skill Activated: Divine Digestion (Overload Mode)]
*BOOM.*
The explosion was a pillar of pure, white light that vaporized the ink-water and shattered the stone pillars. The shelves of the Archive groaned as thousands of books were incinerated in an instant.
When the light faded, the two Seekers were panting, their white leather scorched. They looked for the pile of ash they expected me to be.
Instead, they found a glowing, red-hot Iron Maiden.
I wasn't destroyed. I was *radiating*. My iron plates were cherry-red, and the weeping eye on my chest had been burned away, replaced by a jagged, blackened scar that pulsed with a dark, divine energy.
[Cursed Mark Absorbed.]
[Permanent Stat Boost: +30 Wisdom (Mana Pool expanded)]
[Evolution Path Updated: 'The Eldritch Armory' is now 'The Holy Terror'.]
I stepped forward. The water hissed as it touched my heated base.
"That was delicious," I vibrated, the sound now carrying a strange, melodic undertone—the sound of stolen Grace. "Do you have any more?"
The lead Seeker dropped his flail. For the first time, his porcelain mask seemed to reflect a very human emotion: terror.
"It's not a monster," he whispered, falling to his knees as I opened my doors, the interior glowing with the remnants of the explosion. "It's a judgment."
*SNAP.*
[Party Wiped: Inquisitor Seekers (Lvl 28)]
[Massive Divinity Loot Gained.]
[Hunger: 100/100 (OVERFLOW)]
[LEVEL UP!]
[Iron Maiden Mimic -> Lvl 25]
I stood in the ruins of the Archive's first hall, the ink-water slowly returning to fill the void. I felt... different. I wasn't just wood and iron anymore. There was a spark of something 'higher' in my core, a golden thread woven through my dark mana.
I looked at the stone books that had survived the blast. My *Mana Sense* told me they weren't just stories; they were spells.
"Books," I thought, my humanoid hand reaching for a heavy, silver-bound tome. "I think it's time I learned how to read."
I took a bite out of the silver cover.
[Item Consumed: Tome of Lesser Blink.]
[Processing Knowledge...]
The Third Floor was going to be a long meal. And for the first time, I wasn't just worried about filling my stomach. I was worried about filling my mind.
[Status: Milestone 25 Evolution - Selection Required.]