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

The colossi were bigger, harder, more heavily armored, and much more
aggressive. The artificial skin stretched taut over their metallic frames were
neither the sickly green of the easy drones, nor the mottled yellow of the
medium. It was a sheet of volcanic red, along one arm and framed over a
square-jawed face. Its eyes were hard and focused.
"Greetings."
It cocked its head to one side and adopted a questioning look. "Why do you
persist in questioning us? I do not understand."
"Who are you?"
"I am a servant of the Evil Wizard and He commands your death." It leapt to
the attack.
Crap.
Strange as it sounds, there was a certain thrilling joy to these battles. We
weren't wading through walls of flesh and bone, there were no shrieks of
agony or the coppery scent of blood. No eyes stared up at us afterwards,
filmed over and blank, piercing with silent accusations. It was just pure
havoc to it... blade and spell, sword and sorcery. Brutish, pointless, and only
one goal in sight: to slay the evil mechanical wizard.
Like I said. Guiltless.
Room by room we cleared the dungeon complex, and blow by blow the task
took its toll on us. We sweated. We bled. We swung our flesh and magic
against steel and clockwork. So many damn rooms, dozens of those
enormous sentinels...
And then there was respite.
The greasy scent of oil was gone, the roar of clockwork was almost silent.
The rumble was something that was almost heard, like the memory of an
echo, distant and half-forgotten. There was a crisp emptiness to the air,
which would've been refreshing if it weren't so thin. But the floor and the
walls were warped: torn and corroded with a green patina like a wound had
been dragged across this section of the cube.
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