Pilgrim saw Seeker moving to the Crucible’s right, hands blurring as she loosed shaft after shaft at the metal giant. It let out a faint, tinny grunt as one of her arrows found an eye socket, sinking in all the way to the fletching. However, unlike the water-horse in the marsh, the hoped-for demise failed to materialise. Instead the Crucible raised a gauntleted hand to pluck the arrow free, sparing the barb a brief glance before flicking it away and turning back to Pilgrim.
He had regained his feet now, and much of his wind, enabling a swift sideways roll as the tulwar came flashing down. Marble tiles cracked and parted like paper, producing a fountain of dust and shattered stone. The tulwar’s edge sank deep into the bridge’s surface, sticking for the brief moment it took the Crucible to tug it free. Seeing his chance, Pilgrim rushed forward and leapt, raising the sword high and bringing it down with all the strength he could add to its demonic force. It glowed as it descended on the warrior’s metal wrist, severing hand from arm.
The Crucible emitted a groan as it straightened to regard its missing hand. Smoke rose from the glowing edge of the stump but this man of metal seemed to feel no pain, exhibiting only a vague curiosity as it angled its head. The yellow glow of its eyes flickered before it lowered its damaged arm and stooped, reaching with the other for the tulwar’s handle.
Pilgrim made another charge, sweeping the sword in a horizontal arc at the Crucible’s right leg, but this time his opponent was swift in spotting the move. His handless arm jerked back, catching Pilgrim on the shoulder and batting him away with all the ease of a man swatting a bothersome bug. He somersaulted, landing hard a dozen feet from the plinth. The force of the impact should have jarred the sword loose from his grip, but, of course, that could never happen.
The Crucible straightened, tulwar in hand, and began to turn, then froze as one of Maisha’s jars shattered on its back. The pale yellow liquid within the jar changed the instant it splashed across the warrior’s metal skin, taking on an angry red glow and birthing a thick veil of grey smoke. The Crucible arched its back as the substance ate into its armour, a note of pain clear in the groan escaping its helm. Gaping holes appeared in its back, gobbets of blackened metal sloughing away as it staggered. Pilgrim had a glimpse of the warrior’s inner workings before it reeled about, seeing a mass of whirling gears and levers lit by a yellow glow surely beyond the comprehension of a mortal mind.