>>837
You try your very hardest to spinebuster, but, to your dismay, spinebuster is not a verb - and even if it was, it would be transitive.
>>838
In a David-and-Goliathesque manner, you hurl your precious forks at the robotic behemoth. Four of them clatter off the bodywork harmlessly, one misses and flies over its shoulder, but the last, by some miracle, gets caught under an overlapping plate, somewhere around where the right clavicle would be on a human. The robot finds that its right arm is now paralysed, thus it must turn its entire body to aim the large cannon-shaped arm.
After a moment's distraction, the robot, as expected, aims its left arm at you and releases a stream of deadly little bullets in your direction. You manage to run and dive out of the way, but are faced with a distinct lack of potential concealment places. There is a grand piano in the Northeast corner of the room and a closed set of double doors in the North wall but both are at least fifteen metres away, and you suspect that you'd have difficulty reaching them in one piece. Similarly, in the Southwest corner is a door leading outside to the door, but that is further away still.
In order to hide, you finally elect to just circle around the robot and run back into the room you came from. It is much the same as when you left it, including the stone knife, the remainder of the guard's armour, the spiral staircase and the huge pile of smouldering remains. The doorway is too small and narrow for the robot to enter directly, but that won't keep it out forever.
>>839
Wincing inwardly at "spinebuster" being shoehorned into verbdom, you attempt to find some way to damage your nemesis by throwing it, spine first, onto something sharp and jagged. Unfortunately, the only sharp thing in your possession is your sword, which is not at all jagged and, besides, would probably snap like a twig under the robot's weight.
>>840
You are now playing as Jack's Crotch Void of Doom. You find yourself, a sentient pocket universe, lurking surreptitiously behind a tiny aperture into another, much larger and more complex universe. You aren't sure exactly where this aperture is. You spend most of your time staring out of this aperture and trying (without much success) to make sense of the vertiginous, kaleidoscopic view. Occasionally an object made of matter comes through - how exciting! You treasure these objects deeply.
You try to eat everyone, but you aren't really sure what "eating" is; nor, for that matter, what "everyone" is. You decide "eat" probably means "continue staring at" and "everyone" probably means "the view into the other universe". You do so.