The timeline was tight. 48 hours to produce fifty "Masterpiece" statues.
To a sculptor, this was impossible. To an engineer, this was just a logistics problem.
"Welcome," Taylor announced, standing on a crate in the courtyard, "to the Oakhaven Concrete Manufactory."
Behind her, she had set up a crude assembly line. Wooden molds (copied from her plaster prison) were lined up in rows. A massive vat of quick-drying concrete was churning, powered by a water wheel she had hastily rigged to the nearby stream.
"We are not making art," Taylor shouted to her exhausted staff (Luna, Ria, and three confused stable boys). "We are manufacturing compliance! Pour! Vibrate! Cure! Repeat!"
[System Message: You have turned the sacred act of creation into a sweatshop. Congratulations. somewhere, a Muse is crying into her ambrosia.]
"Efficiency is its own beauty!" Taylor yelled back at the blue screen.
***
[The Lubrication Crisis]
"My Lady," Luna raised her hand. She was covered in grey dust. " The concrete... it sticks! The Nymphs are not coming out of the molds! They are... ripping!"
She pointed to a statue that looked like it had been flayed.
"Friction," Taylor cursed. "We forgot the release agent. We need oil. Lots of it."
"Oil?" **Ria** perked up. She was stirring a pot of stew nearby, but the word 'oil' summoned her like a demon.
Ria appeared with a massive jar of olive oil.
"Extra Virgin," Ria purred. "Pressed from the finest olives. Or... we could use animal fat? Or..."
She looked at Taylor. Taylor was wearing her work trousers and a sleeveless shirt, her skin glistening with sweat from the heat of the curing concrete (exothermic reactions are no joke).
"The molds need to be slick," Taylor explained. "We need to coat the inside of every mold before we pour."
"Allow me," Ria said, dipping her hand into the jar.
She didn't walk to the molds. She walked to Taylor.
"The Engineer is the prototype," Ria whispered, her eyes turning into hearts. "If the prototype is dry, the copies will fail. It is sympathetic magic."
"That is not science!" Taylor protested, backing away until she hit the mixing vat.
"Hold still, My Angel," Ria cooed. "I must lubricate the... machinery."
Ria slapped a handful of oil onto Taylor's arm.
*SLICK.*
"Ria! I am not a mold!"
"Your deltoids are tense!" Ria insisted, massaging the oil into Taylor's shoulder with frightening enthusiasm. "You are creaking! Let me grease your joints!"
"Get off!" Taylor tried to push her away, but her hands slipped on Ria's oiled wrists. It turned into a chaotic wrestling match of slippery limbs.
"So smooth..." Ria moaned, sliding her cheek against Taylor's oily arm. "Like a dolphin. A sexy, engineering dolphin."
**[System Message: Dignity: -800. You look like a salad. A very distressed salad.]**
"Violet! Help!" Taylor shrieked.
**Violet** was sitting on a pile of bricks, watching. She didn't move. She was sketching something in a notebook.
"Let her marinate," Violet muttered, not looking up. "It makes the skin soft."
"Traitor!"
***
[The Heat of the Moment]
Eventually, the oil was applied to the *actual* molds (after Ria was bribed with a promise of Taylor tasting a new sauce later).
The pouring began.
Concrete generates heat as it cures. With fifty massive statues drying in the enclosed courtyard, the temperature skyrocketed.
Steam rose from the molds. The air turned tropical.
"It is... so hot," Luna panted. She had rolled up her maid skirt to her knees and was fanning herself with a blueprint. "My Lady... are we in hell?"
"We are in an exothermic reaction chamber," Taylor wheezed. She had tied her shirt up to expose her midriff, trying to catch a breeze. "Just... keep pouring. If we stop, the batch ruins."
Through the steam, **Ren** walked in.
He was carrying a block of ice.
"I found the Winter," Ren announced proudly.
"Where did you get that?" Taylor asked. "It's summer."
"I walked North," Ren said. "For ten minutes. I found a glacier. I brought a souvenir."
"You walked to the Northern Tundra in ten minutes?" Taylor stared at him. "Ren, your spatial anomaly is getting worse. You are literally bending spacetime."
"The ice is melting," Ren noted.
He looked at Taylor, sweating and covered in oil and dust.
"You look like a warrior," Ren nodded. "A warrior of the Sludge."
He placed the block of ice in the middle of the room.
"Cool down, Captain."
***
[The Army of Taylors]
By midnight, it was done.
Fifty statues stood in rows. They were identical. Fifty concrete Taylors (or "Nymphs") holding bars of soap, staring blankly ahead.
It was terrifying.
"It looks like an invasion," Luna whispered, hiding behind the real Taylor.
"It looks like narcissism," Violet corrected, touching one of the statue's stone cheeks. "But I like it. I can keep one in my room. And one in the garden. And one in the closet."
"No," Taylor said. "They go to Valerius. All of them."
She wiped the oil and sweat from her forehead.
"We met the quota. Fifty 'Masterpieces'. Uniform. Durable. And heavy enough to crush a man."
**[System Message: Quest Update: 49/50 Statues Completed.]**
"Wait," Taylor frowned. "49? I counted fifty."
She walked down the rows. One... two... three...
At the end of the line, the 50th statue was missing.
"Ren?" Taylor asked. "Where is Number 50?"
Ren pointed to the gate.
"A man in a pink suit asked for a sample," Ren said. "I gave him one. He said he wanted to test its... buoyancy."
"Valerius took one?" Taylor paled. "To test its buoyancy?"
Concrete doesn't float.
"Ren," Taylor whispered. "Did he say *where* he was testing it?"
" The lake," Ren said.
Taylor grabbed her tools.
"If he throws my statue in the lake, he's going to realize it's just cement and not 'Artistic Soul'. We have to stop him."
[Ding!]
[New Objective: Save the Waifu (Statue)]
[Time Limit: Before it sinks.]
"Ria! Bring the cart! Ren! Cut a path! Violet... stop kissing the statue!"
"It's cold," Violet murmured, pulling away from stone-Taylor's lips. "I prefer the warm version."
"Let's go!"