"How do we transfer their progress!?"
Short-Haired Mita lifted a Failed Creation, confirmed that it wouldn't reawaken, then dragged it across the floor towards the room exterior. While panting heavily, she looked to the side, where the two girls who had also come to help were.
"We're on it! I've moved se-seven units so far!" Prankster Mita was so exhausted she could barely catch her breath, dragging the tilted Dummy, leaving a long, narrow scratch on the floor.
"I've already moved 9 units." Misha's physical strength was considered good among the Mitas. But even she was shocked by the weight of these Failed Creations.
She now clearly understood what Short-Haired Mita meant by "it takes two or three people to move it."
A Failed Creation's body was made of hard material, making a piercing, glass-like sound when dragged across the floor. It even left deep scratches.
It required "guts" to move...
The girl paused, feeling her sore muscles, and rested for a few seconds. And now, they each had to bear the weight of a single Failed Creation. And they had to continue doing so, as much as possible, to clear out this entire room. This text is hosted at N0velFire.ɴet
Normally, they wouldn't do this.
"Yes, normally..." Misha's gaze drifted to the other end of the room—a Failed Creation nearing the blackened door.
The Dummies over there were all stained with black patches, identical to the door. And this situation was still gradually spreading to the surroundings. It could be said they were being corroded by the Modified Entity.
Just recently, traces of the corrosion had been constantly spreading from the direction of that door to the Failed Creations inside the room.
Although they didn't know why, it certainly couldn't be good. So they decisively chose to move the Failed Creations away as much as possible, to distance them from this room.
Currently, the operation was nearly halfway complete. There were still over ten uncorroded ones left in the room.
As the girl was thinking, just about to push herself again, Prankster Mita's cry of surprise came through.
"Quick, Sister! Sneaky Cat! Look!"
"Don't call me Sneaky Cat!"
Misha followed the sound, only to find—the Failed Creations that had initially been corroded were twisting their body joints unnaturally.
"Click-clack" sounds were incessant, like bones shifting.
Afterwards, that door, the center of the corrosion, opened.
"What's happening...?" Misha frowned slightly, trying to see what was behind the door. But besides a vast expanse of profound darkness, there was nothing else.
What exactly was behind the door?
There was no time to answer this question.
"Although I don't know what happened, it's too strange for that door to open at a time ! I think we should temporarily halt the moving work, and then block those Failed Creations that are about to go towards the door."
"Okay!" Short-Haired Mita responded without hesitation, then looked at her sister, "Can you do it?"
"Yes, I can! This is probably for the safety of all Mitas!"
Prankster Mita had already rushed out of the room to grab three weapons the moment she saw the door's abnormal movement.
They were hard objects like a baseball bat, a rubber sledgehammer, and a fire extinguisher, which were effective against hard entities like Failed Creations.
"Alright, everyone, let's go!"
The three of them, using their speed advantage, reached the black door first. Misha, standing in the center, took a deep breath, feeling the strength in her body, and tightened her grip on the handy baseball bat.
"Let's go! Prioritize safety; if you can't block them, let them pass. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Understood." Short-Haired Mita grabbed the rubber sledgehammer and went to meet the nearest Failed Creation.
"Whoa-yah-yah, take this!"
Prankster Mita also refused to be outdone, using the fire extinguisher to hit it directly.
And Misha, after one last look at the door, watched the two rapidly approaching Failed Creations. In their eyes, it seemed there was no her, only the shadow of that door.
"What exactly is going on with this?"
Corroded Failed Creations should possess the characteristics of viruses: high aggression towards Mitas. But at this moment, it was as if they were being controlled...
Misha shook her head. For now, she could only know that their target wasn't them, but what was behind the door.
But this was also an opportunity. Since the target wasn't them, it meant the danger was much less. Their goal wasn't to defeat, but to resist. Things were much simpler.
And such an obvious enemy conspiracy should be broken!
"I'm going... in too!"
She strode forward with "thump-thump" steps, swinging her baseball bat.
The buzzing of electricity, along with the flickering, enigmatic screens, formed the electronic symphony that the three of them saw. One by one, "musicians" with empty eyes crawled out of the screens, standing directly in front of their sight.
"Do you know?" Meanwhile, the orchestrator of all this sat high on the throne, calmly enjoying this opera.
"Failed Creations possess strength exceeding that of Mitas, and hardness comparable to a shield. When corroded by viruses, they fear no pain and are undeterred by power. Am I right? Crazy Mita."
She gazed thoughtfully down at the electric saw girl, her expression darkening from that look.
The black girl then propped her chin again, preparing to lecture Alain.
"You few should be able to handle a single-digit number of them. But what if there are dozens, scores, or even nearly a hundred? What will you do then?"
The black girl's words were cut off by Alain, as if she was too annoyed to continue speaking. This also gave Alain some time to think.
First, that 'dead black ghost'. She talked too much during a fight. Absolutely not normal.
It was as if she wanted to say more to him, to figure out some information. Alain felt he hadn't said anything substantial to her just now.
Could it be... she wants to understand me?
Impossible. He would never make the three major mistakes in life.
So, for now, he'd assume the 'dead black ghost' was just a chatterbox.
Alain's gaze swept the surroundings. The crimson Core, lights flickering, with a few Failed Creations occasionally darting out from it. Their aura looked quite intimidating.
So, for now, he'd assume the 'dead black ghost' was just a chatterbox.
Alain's gaze swept the surroundings. The crimson Core, lights flickering, with a few Failed Creations occasionally darting out from it. Their aura looked quite intimidating.
But that "occasionally" was the real key to the problem.
If it were truly as the 'dead black ghost' said: they had to face dozens of Failed Creations. Then Alain would really have a headache.
Too bad there's no "if." Because the current number, isn't it too small?
Alain looked ahead, at the black Dummies that had only just broken past the number "10," and fell into thought.
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