>>483
Groping around on the cavern floor, you amass three more little humanoid piles of rock, each somewhat larger than your previous works. With an expenditure of twenty mana (leaving ten remaining) you fuse them into their given forms - sadly, your skills in the dark arts aren't yet sufficient to grant them life. You tuck them into the pockets of your frilly dress, close at hand should they need to be used as improvised missiles. Whilst you're at it, you name them Alecto, Megaera and Tisiphone.
>>484
In order to stop hitting yourself, you would first have to start hitting yourself. You start by slapping yourself in the right cheek, as hard as you can. With a sound like a thunderclap, you are left with a stinging pain and a vague feeling of offence. Well, at least now you can stop hitting yourself.
But then, without warning, you strike yourself again, this time in the left cheek. The pain is still lancing through your head when you feel a sharp blow to the solar plexus. Why is this happening? You try as hard as you can to stop hitting yourself, but your body shows no mercy on you. It knows your every weakness, and is more than willing to exploit them.
Curled up in the foetal position, on the cold hard cavern floor, plunged in darkness and slowly being beaten to death by yourself, you are on the verge of despair when one last quantum of hope flickers into life in the back of your head. Your golems! Yes, you made them precisely for this sort of situation. You just have to throw them at yourself, and then hopefully you can force yourself to stop hitting yourself. What could possibly go wrong?
You launch your three Erinyes directly upwards in quick succession, hoping that they'll cling to your limbs and dry hump them into submission. Instead, they strike you in the head, one by one, the last knocking the final spark of life from your beaten body.
GAME OVER
Deaths: 19
(Continuing from most recent saved game: >>486)
>>485
Furies pocketed, you decide to follow the gentle breeze that is now flowing playfully through your hair. But what does "following" mean in this case? Are you going to follow it in the direction it's going back to where you came from, or follow it in the direction you're going back to where it came from? You decide the latter sounds like the more interesting path to take.
You continue to follow the lava tube. It grows narrow and branches, often braiding apart and together again, like streams in a river delta. The faint, cool touch of the wind against your cheek guides you ever onwards. Eventually you find yourself in a tunnel so narrow you have to crawl on your hands and knees, growing narrower still up ahead. The breeze is strong here, and you can almost smell the delicate tropical scents of the rainforest outside. Despite your slender frame, the passage seems dangerously constrictive. You feel some trepidation about advancing any further.