(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Another nod, "All right... I will not drop anything important in the maze.
Anything else?"
He paused to think a moment. "No, Director."
Fantastic.
Upon entering the dungeon, I was greeted by another mechanical man with
sickly yellow skin along one arm. Its armor was thicker, shoulders broader,
and it stood taller than the fodder that had been thrown at me earlier.
"Greetings."
An exaggerated sneer spread across its animated face as it examined me.
Finally it barked out a monotone laugh. "Is this the best they can send? Ha! I
pity the fools."
"What are you doing?"
"I am assuming an air of confidence and superiority in order to induce a
feeling of incompetence in you. If successful, this will ensure my victory in
the battle that I will now initiate." It leapt to the attack.
You know what I like most about demolishing these constructs?
The complete and utter lack of guilt.
This was the kind of jaunt I'd missed so much. The crack of my blade against
vulnerable joints and weak mechanisms, the gush of oil until the hilt of my
dagger grew slick and black. The stench of grease was cut by the sterile
sharpness of ozone as magic missiles and bolts of anger seared the air. Ignus
thrilled in the carnage, and with his aid oil seared and metal warped and
twisted into tortured curves.
So we upped the difficulty level to the last notch.
We backtracked our way through the maze and back to the engine room,
and after a much more bearable, soft chorus of clanking, rumbling, vibrating
machinery, we returned to the newly-constructed battlefields.
Suddenly these guys were much tougher.
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