Morningwood
Author: Neven Iliev
Date: 2017-10-26T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Humour
Description: Large chests are said to encompass all manner of hopes and dreams. Men covet them. Women envy them. But one fact holds true - everyone wants to get their hands on some big ones. The same holds true for one intrepid adventurer - a strapping young lad by the name of Himmel. Armed with his grandfather’s trusty longsword and the dream of being the strongest, he sets out on the journey of a lifetime! It is sure to be a long and dangerous road, fraught with danger! And it all starts with a simple test - reach Level 5 in the dungeon called the ‘newbie zone’ and earn the right to become a full-fledged

Prologue

Chapter One - Death Comes In Many Forms

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Chapter Two - Eat And Grow

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Chapter Three - The Sweeper

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Interlude - A Cheap Drink

Chapter Four - Urges

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Chapter Five - Catalyst

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Epilogue

Afterword

Everybody Loves Large Chests

Volume One: Morningwood

A book by Neven Iliev

Prologue

A young man, closer to a boy than an adult, wandered down the dark tunnel. His boots scraped against the damp stone floor, echoing slightly throughout the passage. The lantern he was holding did its best to illuminate the cave-like walls, his shadow dancing ominously behind him. He had spent the better part of two hours in these tunnels, the so called Green Zone of the Litigar Dungeon Complex. So far he’d been lucky. With only a few bats and giant rats as his opponents, he was steadily on his way to Level 5!

Just a little more and I can graduate from this ‘newbie area’ and move onto bigger and better things!

He picked up the pace after psyching himself up. The mere thought of leaving this gloomy place and finishing his dull Quest was all the motivation he needed right now. Breaking into a light jog, he went deeper and deeper into the winding maze-like cave system.

Left, then right, then right, then left again - wait, or was that a triple right?

Himmel stopped at a three-way intersection and looked around. It didn’t take him long to realize he had gotten completely lost. He shone his lantern’s light down the left tunnel, then the right one.

Yep. No idea. Oh well, this is why they tell us to carry Portal Keys! I’m sure it will work out!

The small, rune-inscribed stone would whisk him away to safety in an instant should the need arise. Although the usefulness of such a thing could not be understated, the complacency and carelessness it taught young adventurers was less than useful.

Continuing down the right-hand path, the boy noticed a change in his surroundings. The uneven floor suddenly became flat. Although it was still bare rock, it felt like walking on polished marble rather than inside a cave. Peering into the darkness, he noticed something clearly out of place. Something brown and strangely rectangular.

A chest! Lucky!

A simple wooden box with no lock. The dungeon randomly spewed these out, sometimes containing useful items and gear that could be a veritable jackpot for an enterprising young adventurer. Not this one, though - the wooden chests in this dungeon offered the lowest grade of loot. Most of them contained bottom-tier potions or maybe moldy bread. The best he could hope to get out of this would be an Iron Ring that provided a negligible bonus to a random stat.

Still, a newbie could not afford to pass up pennies on the ground. The adventurer approached the chest with a small spring in his step. He opened it with both arms and peered at it expectantly. However, what awaited him inside was neither a potion nor a piece of inedible bread. It was something much more impressive than that!

Several sets of dagger-like teeth and a giant red tongue became visible as the monster disguised as a chest revealed its true nature. The fleshy tongue coiled around the young adventurer’s waist and dragged him into the gaping maw before he could react. He was then unceremoniously eaten in three big bites.

[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 2 Mimic! All attributes +2.]

Chapter One
Death Comes In Many Forms

Part One

After enjoying its first meal, the Mimic let out a small burp and went back to pretending to be a treasure chest. It had spent the first five days of its life in this very spot, patiently waiting for a chance. Having fulfilled its purpose, it simply continued to sit there, slowly digesting its victim.

Mimics were very good at imitating chests. Sight alone was insufficient to determine if this monster was the genuine article or not. After all, it looked exactly like a wooden box that was eighty centimeters long, thirty-five centimeters tall and forty centimeters on its side. Its ‘skin’ was a light oak-like faux-wood, with imitation steel reinforcing its corners and a half-cylinder lid that served as its upper jaw.

However, it could not keep calm like before. Although sightless, it could still perceive everything in a ten meter radius around it through magic. And what it ‘saw’ left the simple monster with an odd sense of dissatisfaction. Its flat resting place was now a mess.

The torn clothing, discarded sword, still-lit lantern and several puddles of blood were a problem. Some part of it realized it would be bad to leave things as they were. Several dozen small, insect-like legs sprouted sideways from its bottom and lifted it a few centimeters off the ground. It then opened its mouth and let its huge red tongue fall out. It spent the next several minutes scuttling around the place, determined to erase any and all evidence that someone had died there.

The blood was lapped up and the scraps of fabric simply stuck to the wet tongue. The fleshy tendril-like organ coiled itself around the lantern before swallowing it whole. When it attempted to pick up the iron sword in the same way, the Mimic tightened its tongue a little too much around the blade and cut itself.

“HISSSS!” it exclaimed at the unexpected jolt of pain. It reflexively let go of the sword, which fell to the floor along with several drops of sticky yellow blood.

[You have suffered a shallow cut. HP -4.]

Another strange window popped up into its consciousness. Although it somehow understood the words, it lacked the brain capacity to process their meaning. Not that it had any intention of doing so right now. The sword was still a problem that needed to be dealt with.

It approached the inanimate weapon warily, carefully observing it. It was a normal iron sword - completely mundane and entirely unmagical in every way conceivable. As expected of a beginner’s equipment. Not that a Level 2 monster had any idea what it actually was.

The Mimic recalled the way its breakfast had struggled a little while ago. The adventurer was holding onto the strange object without hurting himself. His fingers were wrapped around it, much like how the Mimic attempted to do. The only difference was that the Mimic had grabbed the pointy end by mistake.

Realizing its blunder, the monster warily stretched out its tongue again. However, the fleshy organ was a bit too thick to properly grip onto the short handle. The creature briefly considered this fact before simply warping its wide tongue into a more tentacle-like shape. Mimics were, technically speaking, a species of shapeshifter. Granted, they were not as good at it as other monsters. Something like warping their tongue or sprouting small legs to move around was the extent of their ability.

Now that its tongue was in the proper shape, the animated chest wrapped it around the handle of the sword. It picked it up safely and held it above itself. Its numerous legs moved in unison, rocking the chest-like body left and right like it was doing a little triumphant dance!

[The Intelligence (INT) Attribute has been created through a special action. INT +1.]

Another mysterious window. It completely ruined the mood, causing the Mimic to stop its little celebration. Still, it now vaguely understood the thing it was holding onto was a weapon. It moved it around by using its tongue in lieu of an arm. Brimming with curiosity, it swung the sword downwards onto the floor.

*CLANNNNG*

The blade slammed into the stone floor, letting out a clear bell-like sound that echoed through the cave. There was a tiny crack in the floor, which didn’t escape the Mimic’s notice.

“Hm? Did you hear that?”

The distant voice made the Mimic freeze. It had gotten carried away with its new toy and attracted attention.

“Yeah, I definitely heard something. Come on, let’s go check it out!”

Another voice followed. Although it didn’t understand the words, the Mimic clearly recognized they were moving closer to its location. It quickly retreated back to its spot and sat down. However, there was a serious problem - it was still holding the sword with its tongue. It had serious doubts whether it should try to eat it and there was nothing around that could be used as a hiding place. Not sure of how much time it had, the Mimic did the only thing its tiny mind could think of.

Part Two

Two sets of footsteps approached from one of the tunnels. The Mimic followed its instincts and stood perfectly still, lying in wait. A man and a woman entered its perception range. The blond man was holding a sword and a lantern, wearing similar clothes to the monster’s first victim. The brown-haired woman wore a plain white robe and held a wooden staff with one hand.

“Oh! A chest!” the man exclaimed.

He approached the Mimic with a rather carefree gait.

“Hold on Ron! It could be a trap!”

The woman grabbed onto her companion’s collar while warning him of danger.

“A trap? Come on, Gloria! It’s a box! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“The rumors said something about Mimics appearing in this dungeon recently. Monsters that look like chests! You can’t be careless!”

“Wait, this place is supposed to have only bats and rats, right? How come there’s Mimics all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, but shouldn’t we be careful? Our lives are on the line you know!”

Gloria’s green eyes darted between her brother and the chest. While new types of monsters appearing in a dungeon was not unheard of, it was still quite rare. The cause of such changes was unconfirmed, although the likely culprit was the appearance of a new Dungeon Master.

“Alright, sis. Tell you what. Your big brother’s going to stab the big mean box just to be sure, okay?” Ron reassuringly patted Gloria’s head.

“Mmwu! Don’t patronize me like that! We’re not kids anymore!”

“Fine, fine! I was just kidding, sheesh…”

The Mimic had no idea what was going on right now. Its new prey had shown up and stood idly by instead of going straight for the ‘prize’ like the first one. It heard the voices and saw the faces, but understanding what these people were saying and doing was impossible.

Then the slightly plumper one started approaching again. However, this time something was off. The man was holding a sword - something the Mimic already recognized as dangerous. And this sword was not hanging idly by the adventurer’s side, but was held squarely in front. The Mimic instinctively understood that its prey had grown suspicious. And suspicion was a shapeshifter’s worst enemy.

Ron approached closer and closer. Once he got within striking distance of the chest, he slowly lifted his sword arm up in preparation to slash at the wooden box. Worst case scenario, he blunted the blade a bit. Best case scenario, he avoided a deadly trap. Even if a fight broke out, he was confident his swordplay could handle the weaklings in this cave.

The Mimic, on the other hand, had extremely limited knowledge of swordfighting. It knew exactly two things about the subject - ‘the pointy bit hurts’ and ‘swinging it downward can break rocks.’ Both of those tidbits made it realize just what was about to happen. It felt cornered. And like any cornered beast, it lashed out.

Just as Ron was about to perform an overhead strike, the wooden chest before him sprang open! And amidst the rows of serrated white teeth and the undulating fleshy tongue, there was a flash of something shiny, followed by a piercing pain in his abdomen.

“Urk! UGAAAH!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. The Mimic had stabbed him clear through the stomach.

The Mimic was a monster that survived on deception. It instinctively knew leaving evidence behind was bad, that it had to appear as unassuming and unspoiled as possible. But eating this weapon was dangerous, possibly lethal. So with nowhere else to put it, the monster ended up hiding it in its mouth cavity while gripping onto the handle with the tip of its tongue.

And now, those trustworthy instincts caused it to lash out and land a devastating blow on its unsuspecting victim.

[The Strength (STR) Attribute has been created through a special action. STR +1.]
[The Wisdom (WIS) Attribute has been created through a special action. WIS +1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Sword Mastery is now Level 1. STR +2. DEX +2.]

“Ron!” shouted Gloria. “Hold on!”

She gripped the wooden staff with a determined expression and mumbled something under her breath. As she completed her incantation her hands glowed with a soft light.

“Quick Heal!”

After uttering the command word, the light shot out towards her brother, enveloping him. However, it was not enough. Even if a low-leveled Priestess like her could not mend that sort of injury with one cast, she could still buy time to get off another Quick Heal.

“KAH! KOFF!” Ron sputtered out blood. He felt reinvigorated by his sister’s healing magic that restored a sizable chunk of his rapidly depleting vitality. He used that bit of strength to swing his sword arm downward, but couldn’t put any real power behind the blow. With just gravity to assist it, his sword simply bounced off the Mimic’s solid teeth with a small clanking sound.

[You suffered a minor scratch. HP -1.]

Having been attacked, the Mimic broke out of the stupor it had been in. It knew about swords now. The knowledge that flooded into it from the Skill was almost too much for its tiny mind to bear, so it took a while for the monster to adapt to it.

“Quick Heal!” came a shout from the side.

Its enemy had regained a bit of strength again and was about to attempt another strike. However, the Mimic already had him in checkmate. It pulled on the sword with a bit of dexterity and - instead of sliding it out of its fleshy sheath, it dragged its victim into the Mimic’s waiting maw.

*CRUNCH*

“NOOOO! ROOON!” shrieked Gloria, her voice echoing in every direction of the dark passage.

*CRUNCH MUNCH*

Her dearest older brother, that goofy but reliable guy, was now being eaten right in front of her. Blood and guts gushed out all over the place as his thrashing feet went limp.

“YOU! YOUUUU!” she screamed. She was outraged. That much was obvious. However, she was a newbie Priestess and her offensive magic was practically non-existent. If her opponent was one of the undead, then she might be able to do something. Against this particular monster though, she was helpless. Not that her mind could process that right now.

“I’LL KILL YOU! PIECE OF SHIT!”

She was too busy screaming in grief and anger to do anything else.

The Mimic stopped chewing once it made sure its prey was good and dead. It spat the mangled corpse back out and readied its sword. The tiny legs at the bottom reappeared and it scuttled quickly towards the shrieking woman.

“Ah… AAAAH!”

It was over. Gloria had realized her folly entirely too late. She stared in abject horror as the mass of teeth and flesh in front of her swung a bloodied weapon around. She somehow mustered enough strength to turn and run away, but was too slow. The Mimic pierced through her chest from behind.

“GUAHH! BLERG! No! NO! I don’t- Please- Argh!”

She struggled weakly, desperately begging for salvation. Such a thing wouldn’t come, though. All that awaited her was despair and a large number of sharp teeth.

*CRUNCH*

[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 4 Mimic! All attributes +4.]
[Proficiency level increased. Sword Mastery is now Level 2. STR +2. DEX +2.]

There it was again, that weird window. And now that the Mimic had its Intelligence (INT) and Wisdom (WIS) reach 5, it was finally able to understand. The window was telling the monster it had grown stronger.

*CRUNCH MUNCH MUNCH*

That was the extent of this revelation though. Objectively speaking, this individual was already a genius compared to your average Mimic, but in the end, that didn’t amount to much. Even now it was way too busy eating the remains of its latest victims to care about such things.

After swallowing up the woman, licking up any spillage on the floor and crushing her wooden staff in its teeth, it went back to the mangled male corpse and repeated the process.

A few minutes later, the grizzly scene was completely erased. All that could be seen in that oddly flat section of the dungeon tunnel was a simple wooden chest with the tip of an iron blade poking out from behind it.

Part Three

The giant rat’s head splattered against the rocky ground. Bits of brain and skull flew everywhere, staining the floors and walls of the ‘Green Zone’ tunnel. Bogon grimaced at the pointless mess he had just made. Lifting his left foot, the short, muscular dwarf shook it a few times in a futile attempt to shake off the filth. He gave up and settled for scraping off the remains of the former rat from the sole of his armored boot.

He sighed dejectedly. Even if he could kill the monsters by simply stepping on them, they were still a nuisance. After all, no matter how weak an opponent, washing off the blood and guts from his metal greaves took the same amount of time and effort. The same could be said for the rest of his full-plate steel armor, but at least the small creatures in this weak dungeon were only tall enough to stain his lower half.

Bogon turned his head towards his human companion.

“Look, Val, Ah’m tellin’ ye this job’s a waste of our time!” he complained for the umpteenth time.

“You’re free to fuck off at any time, Bogon. You’re the one who insisted on following me here,” she retorted. The black-haired, black-eyed woman was too busy inspecting the remains of five giant rats around them to pay attention to his whining. “Besides,” she continued, “it’s not a waste if I can find the cause of all these disappearances.”

“I’ll give ye the cause! Bloody greenhorns dunno what teh fook they’re doin’ in here! They get full a’ themselves and end up in some rat’s belleh!”

“It’s not that simple. The mayor said they’ve lost more people in here in the last two months than they have in the last two years combined,” she answered without averting her gaze. “Something must’ve snuck in here. Something besides the sudden influx of Mimics. If I find it, it’ll do wonders for my- Ah, I mean, I want to do my part in helping the newbies grow!”

Her eyes shone dangerously for a second before she tried to change her words. Bogon sighed again. That woman’s eccentricities were always grinding his gears. If she wasn’t a promising spellcaster he never would’ve even bothered with her.

But she was. And he needed her help for his next Quest. He had hoped to dissuade her at first, but that hope was now rapidly deteriorating. After all, he just saw her true intentions shine through her facade. She obviously took this as more than a simple job.

Bogon suspected she was hiding something ever since they teamed up two weeks ago. He had a pretty good idea what that ‘something’ was - the musclebound dwarf was sharper than he looked. However, he also knew better than to poke his nose into this strange woman’s personal business. A Necromancer wasn’t someone you want as an enemy.

“How can ye be so sure it’s not them Mimics that showed up recently?” he offered in desperation.

“The Mimics here are young so they’re feeble,” she explained. “Their HP is only about 20 or 30. One good hit from any offensive Job and they’ll be at death’s door. A Wizard or Rogue would probably one-shot them with a bit of luck.”

Once word got out that Mimics started appearing here, the various adventurer guilds acted. They made a sincere effort to educate and caution their newcomers about the new threat. After some time, those monsters became less and less of a threat. In time, the threat was reduced to the point that they ended up more popular than the wooden chests they were attempting to imitate. People these days were honestly disheartened when the box they attacked turned out to be just regular wood. They needed to defeat monsters to raise their Job Levels, so an easy kill was way more welcome than a scrap of worthless loot.

Most of the newbies even stopped looting the disappointing boxes entirely. A chest would disappear into dust soon after its treasures had been pilfered, so leaving it like that was a sign to others not to waste their time and effort on it. It was a sort of unwritten rule among them.

In fact, one such example was in this very tunnel, right next to Bogon and Valeria. A simple, unassuming box, closer to a crate than a treasure chest, stood against a wall. The rounded wooden lid had been cracked and a long, straight dent was clearly visible on it. Someone had obviously already tested it with an axe or sword.

Valeria, having finished her inspection, stood up and turned to her annoyed companion.

“These numbers go far beyond simple carelessness. At least forty-five people have gone missing recently, most of them reportedly seen heading towards this area. Whatever’s doing this is right here, and I’m going to find it! I’ll be fine on my own once I get my familiars ready, so can you seriously fuck off, now?”

“Haaaah. Fine Val,” said Bogon dejectedly. “Ye win. Ah’m goin’ back ter town. Hit me up once yer done, aight?”

“Pay’s good this time, right? I’m not working for peanuts again.”

“Ye’ll find out later,” said Bogon while pulling out a Portal Key.

He gripped the fist-sized stone firmly, causing it to break and crumble to white dust. The dust swirled around him for about a second before there was a flash of blue light. The armored dwarf Warrior was whisked back to the Waystone outside the dungeon’s entrance, leaving behind only a puff of white smoke.

“Finally!” spat Valeria. “What a jackass! Why’d he even come here if he was just going to complain?! Now I can do what I came here to do. Heh. Hehehe! Uhehk hehkk hehk hehk!”

Valeria grinned, a wide, crooked grin that sat wrongly on her lovely face. An unhinged gleam shone in her eyes as she cackled. Exhilaration filled her at the prospect of coming across a new type of low-leveled monster. To her, that was the most likely perpetrator of this disturbance. Probably something that lost its way and snuck in here looking for easy prey. Valeria could not wait to get her hands on it.

She cackled for a solid minute before she was able to calm down. Her face quickly adapted the ‘cool and collected’ facade she wore whenever people were around. She needed to be mindful of others. This was still a popular dungeon, so it was actually rather common to run into newbies who were still doing their first Quests. Valeria had been one of those same newbies less than a month ago, but she stuck to a completely different part of the labyrinthine cave system. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that she got lucky.

She straightened out the black Apprentice Robe she was wearing. It was a low-cut, short-sleeved dress-like garment with a knee-length skirt. The edges of the skirt and the sleeves were decorated with black frills. Black leather bootlets with slightly raised heels led into fishnet stockings that continued up her pale legs, all the way to the lacy underwear hidden beneath her skirt.

On the whole, this outfit was entirely mismatched with its name. It didn’t look a single thing like the chaste robes one would expect a Priest would wear. That was because the ‘Robe’ in the item’s name simply referred to its magic-boosting Attribute bonuses and effects, rather than the actual style of the garment. Truthfully speaking, the only thing that set Valeria apart from the prostitutes in the nearby town was the pointy wide-brimmed hat and the faint stench of rotting flesh.

“Status,” she chanted. A series of windows appeared at the forefront of her consciousness. She quickly verified the information.

[General Information]
Valeria Vortena
Human, Female, 21 years old
Member of the Order of the Black Wand
Level 16.35 Necromancer
Level 4.98 Monster Tamer
178/178 HP (+0.3/sec)
429/595 MP (+1.1/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 21, DEX 10, AGI 10, END 33, INT 119, WIS 119, MNT 43, FTH -68, CHR 34

[Necromancer Skills]
Necromancy - Lvl 5.43
Hexcraft - Lvl 4.23
Forbidden Power - Lvl 2.26
[Monster Tamer Skills]
Monster Domination - Lvl 2.97
[Other Skills]
Taboo - Lvl 4.34
Meditation - Lvl 3.45
Staff Mastery - Lvl 1.09
Wand Mastery - Lvl 2.30

A Necromancer with an overall Level of 20. In a place where the average monster was lucky to reach Level 3, she was unstoppable. Even with her pitiful physical attributes she could still easily punch anything in here to death.

This much was natural - both Jobs and Skills would provide an Attribute boost every time they went up in Level. Training and raising these was the best way of raising combat power, although not the only one. It was also possible to train one’s body and/or mind to increase specific Attributes, but it was not common practice. In the time it took for a warrior to gain STR +1 through the ‘special action’ of physical training, he could just as easily have earned himself almost six times as much through Level Ups. The difference in efficiency was simply incomparable.

However, anyone who looked at this Status Screen without knowing Valeria would be left scratching their head.

To begin with, Monster Tamer was an odd choice of secondary Job for a Necromancer. The latter was famous for using waves of disposable undead, while the former revolved around painstakingly raising a small number of powerful pet monsters. There were merits and demerits to either approach, but they both amounted to the same thing - having something else fight one’s battles. Logically speaking, an adventurer would pick a secondary Job that either synergized with their main one or made them more versatile. Common sense dictated that this particular setup was a very poor one.

The truth was that Valeria did, in fact, make a logical choice, albeit for very different reasons. The Necromancer Job, while well suited to solo adventurers, also caused side-effects like negative Faith (FTH) and a high proficiency level of Taboo. This ostracized these adventurers from most religious societies, which meant they would end up shunned and despised by almost every single Priest, Monk and Paladin. Even the paganistic Shamans and Druids would avoid contact with these self-proclaimed Lords of the Dead. And something all these callings had in common was that they were healers - Jobs that could instantly mend wounds and restore vitality through their magic. This meant that a Necromancer never had a healer with them, which meant that the vast majority of other adventurers avoided them on principle. After all, nobody in their right mind was willing to risk their lives on grueling Quests without the safety net of healing magic.

In a way, Necromancers were almost always forced down the road of solitude. But that was perfect for them. Their desires were almost entirely selfish anyway, not to mention the questionable and unethical rituals they would sometimes perform were bound to shock and disgust others. In a way, the Necromancer Job was perfect for Valeria as a person. The Monster Tamer Job, on the other hand, was perfect for her secret hobby. After all, it was a simple fact that living monsters could do things that the rotting undead were ill-equipped to handle.

“Maybe the cause is a random cave troll that wandered in?” Valeria shuddered at the possibilities. Her facade was quickly breaking down again. ”Huhuehehehe! Or maybe a werewolf? Either one of those would be perrrrfect!”

In truth, there were several ways of being saddled with negative FTH and Taboo. To Valeria, her Necromancer Job was an excellent way of explaining her Status to people with a high-level Appraisal Skill. If questioned, she could simply put on a ‘can’t be helped’ sort of attitude and blow it over. In some ways, she was extremely fortunate the acts she committed did not put something truly damning on her Status Screen. Something like, for example, a Monster Breeder Skill.

Valeria desperately needed a new toy. Her last pet, a Level 7 Gray Wolf, could not keep up with her demands and had simply expired. It was a good ride, so his owner found it a pity when the beast’s life ran out from all the abuse. Just remembering those long nights was enough to drive her wet.

“MMmmnn…”

She moaned softly. It had been too long since the last session. She leaned absentmindedly against a wall and sheepishly snuck a few fingers into her damp panties. Two digits pressed against her sodden entrance, her lower lips quivering slightly in anticipation. She was in the middle of a dark dungeon where anyone could walk in on her. The excitement egged her on until she could no longer stand it. Her highly immoral fantasies ran wild. And just as she was imagining being penetrated, her dreams became reality.

[Critical damage sustained. HP -145.]
[The overwhelming force of the blow has left you stunned for 5 seconds.]

A sword had punctured through the nape of her neck. The sudden thrust had driven the blade completely through her throat, leaving the bloodied tip poking out from underneath her chin.

[You are bleeding heavily from an open wound. HP -10.]

The entirely unremarkable and wholly non-magical lump of iron was pulled out of her, leaving a large vertical slit on her bloodied neck. She collapsed like a puppet with her strings cut and fell to the floor with a thud.

[You are bleeding heavily from an open wound. HP -10.]

“Kuh! Kuhah! Koff!”

Valeria sputtered blood from her mouth when her head hit the ground. Her mind was still reeling from the effects of the Stun condition, unable to comprehend what was happening.

[You are bleeding heavily from an open wound. HP -10.]

“Keh… Ple-Kuh!” she coughed weakly, her blood splattering against the cold stone floor. She could not even muster a scream before darkness overtook her vision.

[You are bleeding heavily from an open wound. HP -10.]
[You are no longer stunned.]
[You died.]

Part Four

[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 15 Mimic! All attributes +2.]
[Proficiency level increased. Assassination is now Level 4. AGI +2. DEX +1. STR +1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Stealth is now Level 3. AGI +2. DEX +1. END +1.

“Hissyah ssah ssah ssah!” the Mimic let out as it did its traditional celebratory jig. The tiny legs moved its rectangular body rhythmically side to side and the fleshy tendril of a tongue waved the bloody sword around to some unheard tune. It had just managed to fell a high-level opponent in a single strike - truly an achievement worth celebrating!

Valeria did not find the culprit behind all those disappearances. It had found her.

Forty-two of the forty-five reported missing persons were done in by the same monster. In these last two months it had learned how to shift its appearance to match that of an already ‘checked’ chest. Its prey would either ignore it and move on, or get greedy and approach. In the latter case, they would be stabbed and eaten. In the former scenario, they would be hunted down, stabbed and eaten.

This simple creature had found several devious ways to deceive and ultimately devour its victims. Truthfully, the difference in Level meant that it could probably charge a group of four newbies and end their lives with no difficulty. However, such things went against its instincts. And those had never led it astray so far.

A few minutes ago, when two strange-looking people entered its kill zone, those instincts screamed at the Mimic, warning it that it was no match for either one of them. The short metal one felt particularly dangerous. So this would-be-chest did the only thing it could - it focused every fiber of its being into cowering and hiding.

But the troublesome dwarf left all on his own. The human lingered in the area and began acting strangely. She grew more and more distracted until she stopped and leaned against the wall, leaving the disguised Mimic in her blind spot. Realizing its chance, the monster acted without hesitation.

It crept toward her silently. The Mimic’s Stealth Skill allowed it to suppress its presence and lessen the sounds it made when it moved, although it drained its Mana Points (MP) unless it stood perfectly still. The Agility (AGI) Attribute aided in this, as every point of AGI meant smoother and nimbler movements of one’s body as a whole.

Once it had reached her defenseless back, it thrust a sword into an unarmored weak point - the back of her neck.

Strength (STR) allowed the Mimic to carry heavier loads and enhanced melee attacks, such as sword thrusts. Dexterity (DEX) on the other hand governed how nimbly one could handle weapons and provided a power boost to piercing and thrusting attacks. Landing an attack on a vital point meant it would be at least two times stronger than it normally would have been.

And last but not least, it was an attack from behind on an unsuspecting opponent. These conditions allowed the Mimic to trigger its Assassination Skill, which overlapped with all other effects, boosting the overall power of that single strike threefold.

The result was a devastating blow that exceeded 66% of Valeria’s HP, forcing her into the Stunned abnormal state which robbed her of her wits. She then bled out the remainder of her HP on the ground, without the need for a follow up attack.

Truthfully, if the Mimic had access to a better weapon, its prey would have died without ever realizing she had been ambushed.

Feeling awfully proud of its mild accomplishment, the Mimic stopped its little dance and used its tongue to fling the sword it had been holding into the air. The bloodied blade spun around several times before falling down towards the monster’s open maw. A swirling dark purple portal opened up between its dagger-like teeth. The weapon disappeared into it without making a sound. The Mimic closed the portal and its maw. Having lightened its load, the Mimic proceeded to the next order of business.

“Shashus!” it hissed. While it sounded only vaguely like ‘Status,’ some invisible force recognized the chant and brought up a series of windows to the forefront of the monster’s consciousness.

[General Information]
Mimic (Lesser), Genderless, 2 months old
Level 15.02 Mimic (+)
246/246 HP (+0.4/sec)
105/170 MP (+0.3/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 41, DEX 44, AGI 34, END 41, INT 34, WIS 36

[Mimic Skills]
Assassination - Lvl 4.05
Storage - Lvl 2.32
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift - Lvl 2.56
Stealth - Lvl 3.00
Sword Mastery - Lvl 4.87

The creature felt elated when it saw the (+) sign visible next to the Mimic entry in the Job section. That signified one thing - that the monster could unlock another Restricted Skill! Something like this happened twice before. The first time was at Level 5 when it chose the Assassination Skill, which allowed the creature to dispatch even heavily armored adventurers with ease.

The second time was when the monster became a Level 10 Mimic, at which point it chose to unlock the Storage Skill. This gave the monster knowledge of how to open and sustain a small window into a pocket dimension. This limited space could be used to store any and all items that were small enough to fit through the portal. Accessing this Storage demanded the use of magic, but such a thing wasn’t quite free. The Mimic’s Mana Points (MP) were consumed every time it withdrew or deposited an item. And yes, this simple creature did indeed have things it wanted to keep safe.

Or rather, things it needed to keep out of sight. After all, it had to keep its lair clean and unassuming if it was to deceive people. And while arms and armor made out of chainmail, leather or wood were no match for its teeth, solid iron was beyond its limits. As a result, the monster’s Storage was currently holding a collection of swords, axes, shields, helmets, greaves, bracers and other inedible equipment. It was, essentially, using an alternate dimension as an overqualified garbage bin.

It did try to eat a sword, though. Once. Such an act broke a few teeth and cut apart the insides of its maw, causing its Health Points (HP) to decrease. And HP was a vital thing. If it hit 0, the mimic would die. Just like the forty-two - no, make that forty-three people it had killed. The Mimic understood its maximum HP rose alongside its Endurance (END) and STR. If it wasn’t such an idiot, it would probably notice that its maximum HP went up by 5 with each point of END and a further 1 for each point of STR. Similarly, maximum MP would rise by 5 per point of INT, while END and WIS would boost automatic recovery of HP and MP, respectively, at a rate of 0.1 HP/MP per 10 points of END/WIS.

As for the other Skills, they came about naturally. Sword Mastery was the first Skill the Mimic ever learned, almost by accident. Stealth came about naturally as the monster put its Assassination Skill to practical use. Those two were Common Skills that any Job could learn through practice, although whether they would be useful is another question entirely. Shapeshift, on the other hand, was something the Mimic was born with - a Natural Skill.

And now, 5 Levels after attaining Storage, it was time for another delicious Skill. To do that, it had to open another screen in its mind. And to do THAT it had to chant the command words. Fortunately for the speaking-impaired monster, it seemed that intent was more important than proper pronunciation when it came to these things.

“Shkish shish: Shishik!” it hissed again, spitting all over the place in the process. Even if it wasn’t saying the words right, it still had to say them out loud. It had no idea why it had to do that, nor did it particularly care. It just accepted it as the way things were and moved on with its life.

[Skill List: Mimic]
[Unlocked Skills: Assassination, Storage]
[Available Skills: Natural Armor, Misdirection, Cadaver Absorption]
[You can unlock 1 additional Restricted Skill from this Job.]

Just like the last two times, it had a few choices to pick from. And just like at Level 10, some new options had appeared. Although it recognized which Skills were left over and which ones were new, the monster still decided to give everything in the list a once-over. Even though its mental-boosting Attributes had been steadily climbing, it still did not trust its own memory too much. It was also possible that something might have changed the last time it was here. Any decisions made here seemed to be permanent, so it was important to be prudent.

[A special action has been performed. WIS +1.]

It took the Attribute increase as confirmation for its rather obvious deductions. After all, such leaps of logic were truly phenomenal for a Mimic, and this one knew full well it was a dumbass. Even if Intelligence (INT) improved its memory capacity and Wisdom (WIS) helped the creature put its limited knowledge to use, it still had very little to begin with. Saying it didn’t have two brain cells to rub together would not be entirely untrue.

The monster focused its barely functional mind on the first Available Skill on the list. After a few seconds, a new window popped up into its mind.

[Natural Armor]
Monsters are known for their tough hides that can shrug off anything and everything.
Requirements: Level 5 Monster Job, END 10
Type: Passive
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Reduces all incoming damage by 1% per Level of this Skill.
Provides an additional +2 END per Level of this Skill.

This Skill was available the first two times as well. While it did look useful in a pinch, it had some unpleasant strings attached. To Level up a Skill, the Mimic had to raise its Proficiency by putting that Skill to practical use. And the practical use of Natural Armor obviously involved getting hit. A lot.

That was not, however, how the simplistic Mimic understood things. It simply deduced this Skill would not help it ambush its opponents like Assassination and Sword Mastery, nor was it useful in maintaining its cover like Stealth and Storage. So it was promptly ignored for the third time in a row. The Mimic then moved onto the next Skill in the list.

[Misdirection]
Allows the Assassin to create a small noise at a target location.
Requirements: Assassination, Stealth, DEX 40
Type: Active, Area
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 50 MP
Range: 15 Meters
[Effects]
Create a small noise with the purpose of attracting attention.
The MP cost, range and types of noises available improve with each Level of this Skill.

As expected, this Skill was not available before. Just like the previous one, the Mimic failed to see how it could be useful. In fact, wouldn’t making a noise out of nowhere put its prey on high alert? Surely doing such a thing was going to cause more problems than solutions. It seemed to go completely against what the Mimic was trying to do in the first place.

Hmm? Strategy? What’s that? Does it taste good?

The Mimic quickly dismissed this Skill and moved onto the next one.

[Cadaver Absorption]
Allows the Mimic to absorb residual knowledge and power from the remains of its prey.
Requirements: Level 15 Mimic, WIS 30, INT 30, Has devoured at least 30 of the same Species.
Type: Active, Corpse-targeted
Activation Time: 2 seconds
Cost: 150 MP
Range: 2 Meters
[Effects]
A portion of the target’s Attributes, Skill Proficiency or Job Levels will be permanently added to the Mimic’s Status. What is absorbed is random.
This Skill can fail. Success rate depends on the Level of this Skill and the strength of the LCK Attribute.
The amount of knowledge or power absorbed increases with each Level of the Shapeshift Skill.

The monster strained its tiny mind to comprehend the complexity of this Skill. Eventually it reached a simple conclusion - it was a Skill that allowed the Mimic to get stronger by eating things. It liked getting stronger and it was always eating things anyway. It certainly sounded good. At least, better than those other two trash-tier Skills.

Having made its choice, the Mimic let out a series of hisses and gurgles that were loosely interpreted as ‘Unlock Skill: Cadaver Absorption.’ A flash of light briefly enveloped the animate wooden chest, flooding it with the knowledge of how to use its new acquisition.

[The Luck (LCK) attribute has been created through a special action. LCK +1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Cadaver Absorption is now Level 1. All attributes +1.]

The Mimic felt a little disappointed. Only a +1. All the other Skills gave a total of +4, so why was this one being stingy? Still, its choice had already been made. Complaining about it now would be meaningless. Not that there was anyone around who would listen to such a complaint in the first place. Shrugging its non-existent shoulders, the Mimic turned its attention to the bloodied corpse in front of it.

These were the remains of a high-leveled adventurer, a prize that was hard to come by in these parts. The Mimic would surely want to use Cadaver Absorption on this body. But while doing so now might give it an immediate power boost, wouldn’t it be wiser to put it in Storage and save it for later? If its Attributes and Shapeshift Level went up, then it would have a better chance of getting something useful out of this rare opportunity.

It was a dilemma, one that would stump most people. Should they try to gain power now, or put it off so they could stack the odds in their favor? While aiming for a better chance was attractive, it might still turn out to be a colossal waste of time. Not to mention that whether they lived long enough to take advantage of that time investment was another question entirely. It was difficult to find the right answer and every person would have their own opinion on the matter.

Well, the one who was making this decision wasn‘t really a person.

*CHOMP CHOMP MUNCH MUNCH*

It was a simple creature which immediately made its choice. Or rather, it completely failed to realize there was even a choice to begin with. Even if the faux-chest was significantly smarter when compared to others of its kind, it was still a Mimic. In the grand scheme of things, it was still a moron.

*BURP*

And, being the moron that it was, it neglected to activate Cadaver Absorption beforehand.

Part Five

A rhythmic smacking noise echoed through the dungeon. It was the sound of wood being slammed against stone. The cause of this disturbance was an idiotic box that had just realized its mistake.

The Mimic swayed furiously on its numerous tiny legs and smashed its side into the rock wall for the umpteenth time.

[You have suffered minor blunt trauma. HP -2.]

The familiar message had been repeating itself intermittently over the last ten minutes. The moron in question was punishing itself for being overly eager. Just when things were getting good, it had let an amazing chance slip away. Surely even a single one of that Necromancer’s Skills or Jobs would have given it a tremendous power boost!

“KISHAAAAA!” it yelled and smashed itself against the wall with a bit of extra force.

[You have suffered minor blunt trauma. HP -5.]

Enough was enough. This behavior was getting it nowhere while wasting valuable HP. It calmed itself down and began cleaning up the mess like usual. It didn’t bother with the numerous giant rat corpses though - those were already crumbling to dust. Another few minutes and they would return to the dungeon that spawned them.

After its lair had been returned to its former unsoiled glory, it scuttled back to its spot and resumed its disguise as a ‘wounded’ wooden chest. And it waited.

Hours turned to days and days turned to weeks. The Mimic patiently stood there without moving a single muscle. It didn’t mind, though. It was pretty much born for this sort of thing. But every living being had a limit to how long it can sit around and do absolutely nothing.

[You are hungry. Automatic HP and MP recovery are now halved.]

Something inside the Mimic growled. Its bottomless pit of a stomach was running on empty. The most primal need to eat and survive clashed with the Mimic’s natural hunting instinct. Should it abide by its Hider’s Intuition or follow the impulse to seek prey immediately? This was an important decision for this creature. After all, it had never ventured more than a dozen or so meters from its birthplace.

Having made up what passed for its mind, it sprouted its numerous tiny legs and lifted itself off the ground. Lunch was unlikely to come on its own, so it would go find it instead. It scuttled sideways towards the direction most of its prey had come from. However, it paused when it reached the edge of the unnaturally smooth and even ground found around its birthplace. It had tried to walk further once before, only to have jagged rocks and pebbles poke and scrape its sensitive underside. It was not a pleasant sensation. Therefore, its current mode of transportation would need to be revised.

The Mimic put its Shapeshift Skill to use. It could change the structure of its body to a certain degree, but its species - that of Mimic (Lesser) - could not completely abandon its original box-like shape. What it could do, however, was alter the other bits of its body. It sat on the ground and retracted its tiny limbs. After a short while, six long, smooth, spider-like legs grew out steadily from its sides.

While it may not have been able to shift its body as freely as something like a Slime or Mud Elemental, it did have a natural talent for imitating things. After all, Mimics gotta mimic. And in this situation, it was copying the appearance of a small spider that made its nest directly above the Mimic’s resting spot. Having literally nothing better to do over the last two weeks, the monster simply observed the tiny arachnid with its magical perception. The way its multi-jointed legs climbed up the wall and walked along its thread was thoroughly entertaining, so it ended up memorizing quite a few of those movements. And now would be the time to put that knowledge to use.

It tried to stand up on its new legs and failed miserably. The stick-like legs were too weak and too long to lift the faux-wood body. After readjusting their thickness and length several times, it finally found the right balance and stood upright. The spider-chest then made a few experimental steps. However, keeping itself from falling over proved to be tricky. Having the legs come out at the sides made the monster worryingly unsteady whenever it moved forward or backwards. It had to learn how to distribute its weight and control its center of gravity for the first time.

Eventually, it simply found it easier to change where the legs came out from. Rather than all six coming out from its sides, it spread them out evenly. One on the left, one on the right, two in the front, two in the back. Like this, it could move quickly and comfortably across any terrain the dungeon threw at it. It could even get quite a bit of speed, although stopping itself without the help of a wall or the floor proved to be a challenge.

[Proficiency level increased. Shapeshift is now Level 3. AGI +1. DEX +1. END +2.]

*GURURURU*

The Mimic had no time to enjoy the slight power-up. Time was ticking! Screwing up its determination, it took its first steps into the complete unknown. Its perception had no trouble penetrating the dark, but the range was limited. So the Mimic could only move slowly and quietly, keeping as low to the ground as possible without scraping its sensitive bottom against the hard surface.

Ideally it would have used Stealth, but moving around under its effects steadily drained MP. That wasn’t something it was willing to do considering its stunted recovery speed.

It shuffled up and down the tunnels, passing by its fellow monsters. They were all born from the same 'womb' and thus shared a slight telepathic connection with each other. They were not hunter and prey, but kin. So rather than get in each other’s way, the different species of monsters simply exchanged curt greeting-like gestures as they walked past each other.

The Mimic kept searching the tunnels, actively hunting for prey. But it never found any. In fact, all this moving around simply made things worse.

[You are ravenous. Automatic HP and MP recovery are now disabled.]

While waiting in ambush, mimics entered a sort of suspended animation. This not only allowed them to better preserve their energy and stamina, it also meant their presence was thinned out. So having a shut-in like that suddenly move around would make it tired without question. The frustrated monster had every right to wonder why it had to go through all this hassle just for a meal.

In reality, this sequence of events was more or less the natural order of things.

Every dungeon had something called Minimum Monster Level. This depended on the quality and quantity of mana permeating through the air and ground. Monsters sprang forth naturally over time in such places, birthed from seemingly thin air by the abnormally high concentrations of magical energy. Denser mana would naturally give birth to more powerful monsters.

For example, the dungeon known as the Staircase To Heaven was home to vicious creatures that would give even Level 100 adventurers a run for their money. The air on that mountain was so thick with mana that it was outright lethal. If anyone or anything under Level 70 tried to challenge it, they would choke and drown as if they were underwater.

However, that mystical substance did more than simply give birth to monsters of a certain Level. It also sustained its ‘children,’ allowing them to ignore basic needs such as food, water or, in some extreme cases, sleep. And these creatures would inevitably grow in strength as they repelled invaders. If they became too powerful, their home would no longer be able to sustain them and they would have to either leave the dungeon or starve to death. That was what dictated the Maximum Monster Level of a dungeon.

And this was exactly what was happening to this particular Mimic. Although it had been born as a measly Level 1, it had grown to Level 15. The Green Zone of the Litigar Dungeon Complex had a Maximum Monster Level of 6, meaning this particular individual had long ago outgrown its home. Its dormant state and steady supply of blood and meat had staved off its hunger so far, but something had changed. The meals-on-legs stopped coming entirely. And the Mimic’s exploration soon revealed the answer as to why.

“Huck!” it cursed. Part of the dungeon was sealed off. Vertical and horizontal steel bars were welded to create a formidable grate. It blocked off the two-meter tall circular tunnel, cutting off any and all foot traffic through the passage.

After Valeria’s mysterious disappearance, the nearby town simply decided to seal off the highly dangerous area and let nature take its course. Anything that could take down a Level 20 adventurer was clearly over the Maximum Monster Level and would just starve to death. Even something like eating its fellow monsters wouldn’t save it - their bodies would disappear into raw mana before they could be digested.

Also, quarantine was ultimately cheaper than issuing a subjugation Quest. So what if 20% of the Green Zone was sealed off? The newbies could still hunt leisurely in the remainder of the maze-like dungeon.

The Mimic knew very little about such circumstances, but it recognized this mass of metal as the source of its dilemma. Even it wasn’t dense enough to fail to realize this abnormality and the sudden lack of prey were linked. The question was - what could it do about it? It desperately needed to get past it, so it tried several things.

First it tried pushing its body through the gaps in the grate, but they were too small. Although it could shapeshift, it was still a Lesser Mimic that couldn’t abandon its chest-like body shape. Only something like a Slime would be able to pass through these. Impossible things were impossible, so it gave up on that and decided to try brute force.

It spat out a sword from its Storage and gripped it with a red tentacle-like tongue. It swung its weapon repeatedly against the grate. The metal-on-metal impacts caused bell-like noises to reverberate through the cave while sparks pierced the darkness. But, as expected, the forged steel bars did not budge a single bit. If anything, it was the iron sword that was getting bent out of shape instead.

After a while, it gave up. Wasting stamina like this was counterproductive. Ideally it would just eat this obstacle, thus killing two goblins with one Fireball. But since it couldn’t even chew up the solid iron armor and weapons in its Storage, something like forged and enchanted steel was way out of its league. It tossed the slightly chipped blade into the air and swallowed it back up, sending it to-

Swallowed?

The creature was suddenly struck by the first epiphany of its life. So far, it had opted to ‘swallow’ whenever it encountered something it couldn’t eat. The obstacle before it was something it couldn’t eat. Therefore, why not try to ‘swallow’ it instead?

[A special action has been performed. WIS +1.]

Now this was promising! The ‘special action’ that made its WIS Attribute rise was undoubtedly that of ‘getting a brilliant idea!’

Emboldened by this wild assumption, the Mimic backed off from the grate, turned around and opened its mouth. A swirling purple abyss appeared inside and started spewing out dozens of items, one after the other. It was about to swallow a circular mass of steel two meters in diameter, so it needed the extra room in its Storage. By the time it was done, the Mimic had created a pile of bloodstained metal almost as tall as it was. All that was left in its pocket dimension were three swords and a dagger.

It faced the grate again and tipped forward on its spider-like legs. Opening its maw, it put both its lower and upper sets of teeth against the steel rods as if trying to bite them. It mustered up part of the MP it had remaining and opened a Storage portal so that it overlapped with the metal bars. But try as it might, the swirling hole refused to grow larger than about forty centimeters.

“HUCK!” it cursed again while still clinging onto the infuriating metal rods. Being as dumb as it was, it failed to realize the obvious difference in size. Disappointed, it pulled itself away from the troublesome cage, causing the Storage portal to abruptly collapse.

And then a sharp pain permeated through the monster’s entire being. The Mimic hissed and screamed with a high-pitched howl as it thrashed about in agony. Every part of its rectangular faux-wood frame convulsed violently, as if it was trying to rip itself apart.

[Your Storage Skill has backfired due to improper use. Your body suffers from the feedback. HP -100.]

Magic was not a toy. Improper use of it could carry dire, sometimes lethal consequences. And something like ripping open a hole in reality was no exception. In fact, it was especially true for spatial manipulation magic invoked by the likes of the Storage Skill. What the Mimic had unintentionally done just now was equivalent to trying to shut a door with its metaphorical foot in the way. If this sort of thing happened with more powerful spatial magic, such as the Teleport or Gate spells, there would have been very little left of the poor thing.

It wasn’t like this moron actually understood the basic principles of magic, though. It had simply accepted the Storage portal opening inside its jaws as ‘a thing that happens when I want it to.’

“Heeh. Heeh. Heeh. Heeh,” it panted.

The Mimic had collapsed next to the pile of discarded weapons and armor, still reeling from that unbearable moment of pain. The monster then felt anger wash over it. Why did this stupid hard thing have to be in its way? In a fit of rage, it stretched out its tongue and wrapped the tip around a small round shield resting on the pile of pilfered armaments. It flung the disk-like object at the steel bars with full force as if they were somehow responsible for its misfortune.

The iron-reinforced wooden shield flew horizontally like a frisbee, crashing into the steel grating and falling to the ground, making an awful racket in the process. Then a part of said grating slowly fell backwards, making a small clanging sound as it also hit the stone floor.

The Mimic was speechless. Not that it could actually speak properly in the first place. The newly made hole was just over forty centimeters in diameter. The steel rods looked like someone had severed them with an extremely clean sword strike. In truth, the Storage portal did actually remove some of the forged steel grating. The gateway’s sudden collapse practically disintegrated a very small amount of matter around its edge, cutting through a portion of the metal rods. Since that one area of the blockade was technically no longer attached to the rest of it, it just needed a small jolt to tip over. Something that the Mimic’s rage-fueled shield throw inadvertently made possible.

[A special action has been performed. LCK +1.]

If the Mimic was aware of the concept of dumb luck, it might have been insulted at this message. Instead it was simply happy at the sudden, albeit completely inexplicable, Attribute gain. It picked itself up off the ground and turned itself sideways to squeeze through the gap. It then continued on its way with a spring in its step and a smile on whatever it had that passed for a face.

Part Six

The Mimic patiently awaited its prey. It sat there, unmoving. Although part of it wanted to ‘get up and go,’ in the end it followed its hunting instinct and stood still. The ground in this area of the dungeon was fairly flat, but it was far from being smooth. Of particular concern was one nasty bump that seemed to dig into the creature’s underside, causing it to remain slightly tilted to the side.

This was more than a little uncomfortable. Physically, there was no pain, but standing slightly lopsided felt wrong. Unnatural. The fact that a chest could even feel discomfort in the first place was already unnatural enough to begin with, so it really had no room to complain. It could reposition itself to be more comfortable, but it was unwilling. At least, not right now. It was a very bad idea to be doing something like that with those heavy footsteps steadily approaching it.

Five humans turned a corner and proceeded down the straight section of tunnel that the disguised monster was in. This particular stretch of cave was roomier than your average dungeon passage. It was eight meters wide and just over four meters tall. It had plenty of space to allow two big parties of adventurers to pass by each other without worry. However, these five were definitely different from the newbies that frequented this part of the dungeon. Their equipment clearly set them apart.

The one in front was a grizzled, middle-aged man. His torso was protected by a solid steel cuirass that glistened in the light from the lantern in his hand. His other hand was gripping a sturdy looking wooden spear with a steel tip. Iron plates protected his shins and forearms. A simple iron helmet encompassed his scalp, with chainmail hanging from its rim like a curtain, covering the sides and back of his head. It rattled obnoxiously with each step, but it was something this man had long gotten used to.

He was a guard, just like the four identically equipped people behind him. Although adventurers were common, they were still but a fraction of this world’s population. Not everyone wished to go off and die in some hellhole while chasing a misguided thirst for adventure, gold and glory. Many were content with simply accepting a weekly wage for mundane hard work, and living out relatively peaceful lives while protected by sturdy walls.

So why were these five peacekeepers in a dungeon where they clearly did not belong? Because they got word of strange noises coming from the direction of the sealed-off portion of the Green Zone. The mayor was a notorious cheapskate, so nobody in this armed detail was surprised he sent them rather than qualified adventurers to look after the bloody thing. Granted, all of these men were between Level 10 and 12, so it’s not like something in here was a real threat to them. But they still had to waste valuable time on something that was clearly just greenhorns getting scared at things that go bump in the dark.

This was the third time this week they had to walk down this dank and musty cave just because some greenhorn raised a fuss. It would just be another giant rat that got stuck while trying to fit through the metal grate’s gaps. After all, nothing in there could break that enchanted steel with brute force. The artisans who made it assured the mayor it would need to be attacked by something that was at least Level 30. Anything weaker than a certain threshold wouldn’t even leave a scratch on it. Therefore, this entire patrol was a pointless endeavor the mayor ordered just so he could save face. The recent string of disappearances was more than enough to make people question his so-called leadership, so something like putting on a pointless show of force came naturally.

But still, these five got paid to follow orders, so they kept on marching.

The Mimic they were rapidly approaching was, simply put, scared shitless. The loose group of guards walking silently down the stone corridor gave off an extremely intimidating air. Running away was not an option - it would be immediately spotted and killed. Fighting was an even worse idea. Hiding had very little chance of success, but it was a chance nonetheless.

So it hid. It remained looking like a perfectly unassuming and completely ordinary wooden chest, in some vague hope that it would be overlooked. The armed patrol approached the monster, unaware of what it was. The man in front gave the out-of-place box a sidelong glance before moving on. The next pair of guards did the same. The fourth one had a different idea. He mercilessly thrust his spear into it. It pierced the faux-wood shell and drove deep into the monster.

[You have suffered a devastating blow. HP -53.]
[You died.]

It died instantly, without even getting a chance to scream in pain. Its killer withdrew his spear all at once, causing yellow blood to splatter all over the floor.

“Hey, come on man!” complained the man behind him. “Why’d you do that?! Now I have monster blood all over my trousers! My wife’s gonna kill me!”

“Again, Roger?” let out the man at the very front. He was peeking back at Roger over his shoulder. “You know full well killing that thing wasn’t worth the trouble, right?”

“Yeah, I know my Job won’t go up much from these Level 1s and 2s, but at least my Spear Mastery is growing steadily,” explained Roger.

He wasn’t wrong. While Jobs would progress very little if one picked on opponents much weaker than them, Skill Proficiency was another story. As long as one met certain conditions, their Skills would steadily climb in power. Granted, it took more and more work to attain the higher Levels, but Mastery Skills were easy to train. As long as one dealt damage to a living thing with the appropriate weapon or school of magic, the relevant Mastery Skill would go up. A difference in Levels didn’t matter in this scenario.

“Don’t fuck with me,” spat out the squad leader at the front. “I know full well you just like stomping on ants.”

“Ah, ya got me there, chief,” shrugged Roger. It was the truth. The excuse about his Spear Mastery was valid, but it was just that - an excuse. He was just a malicious prick and a natural bully.

His squad leader scowled at the insubordinate subordinate. “Whatever. Come on, let’s get this over with,” he ordered. There was a time and place for discipline and this was neither of them. They went on their way, forgetting about the dead Mimic.

The other Mimic that was following them, however, would not forget. They had just murdered its kin in cold blood. Cold, tasty, nourishing blood. The half-spider half-chest had been stalking them quietly for the last several minutes, looking for a chance to kill and eat them. At first it was wondering if it could take them, or whether it should just let them be. However, it couldn’t quite bring itself to turn around and seek easier prey. But that was then, this was now.

And right now it felt like it absolutely had to murder the shit out of them. Although it didn’t particularly know or care for its dead kin, was there any living being that can stand idle after watching its kind slaughtered? Probably, but this wasn’t one of them. The monster screwed up its determination and prepared to attack the patrol. Even if there were five of them, it was still a higher Level. If it could take out a few of them before the rest could respond, then it would surely be able to clinch victory.

It opened its mouth and spat out its long, thick tongue. This part of it was extremely dexterous and malleable - perfect for the Shapeshift Skill. The flat mass of flesh split into three separate tongues, connected at the base. It then accessed its Storage and took out three plain swords - one in each tongue-tentacle. It did not want to waste mana gobbling up all that worthless trash it left behind, so the only thing remaining in its pocket dimension was a curious dagger that was especially shiny.

Now armed, the Mimic activated its Stealth Skill and crept up on the patrol. It glided silently towards the still-bickering pair of guards at the very back. Engrossed in their conversation about who was going to be on armor-scrubbing duty, they failed to realize the threat approaching them. The casual pace of their walk did not help matters much, either, since it allowed their stalker to rapidly gain ground on them. Although the Stealth Skill drained its MP with every step, the monster still had more than enough to fulfill its purpose.

Having gotten about half a meter behind them, the Mimic reared up slightly on its imitation spider legs and raised two of its armed improvised tentacles into the air. Now that it was this close, it perceived a gap in their armor. A strip of sweat-stained underclothing was visible between the steel cuirass and the iron helmet, exposing the base of their necks and a bit of their shoulder. It angled the blades downwards and, after a momentary pause, thrust them accurately and smoothly into that opening.

The twin blades dug into both guards’ collarbones from above with very little resistance.

[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 200% more damage. Target HP -107.]
[You have slain your target in a single strike. Assassination Proficiency increased.]
[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 200% more damage. Target HP -82.]
[You have dealt a devastating blow. Target stunned for 5 seconds.]

Ignoring the familiar messages and even more familiar screams of pain, the Mimic pulled on the two swords still lodged inside its victims. Continuing the downward stabbing motion, it used the power and momentum of that thrust to throw them both to the ground.

The rest of the squad turned around immediately when they noticed their comrades yell out in pain. The first thing they saw was two armored guards being thrown viciously against the stone ground. Their metal-clad backs made audible thuds as they smashed into the stone floor. In the next instant, a sword fell on the one on the right - likely Roger - stabbing him clean through the throat. The three men in front stared in mute horror as a trio of bloodied blades were retracted from the bodies of their friends. The weapons almost seemed to dance in the air for a moment. And then they noticed it. A creature like no other.

It had the body of a simple treasure chest. Its lid had been opened to reveal numerous dagger-like teeth. If it was just this, they might assume it was a Mimic. But this was nothing like the monster Roger had slain a minute ago.

The wood-like surface was tattered, cracked and splintered all over. It looked like someone had kicked this particular box down a very long flight of stairs. The various gaps and holes in it revealed a brown mass of slightly pulsating muscle underneath. Anyone who glanced at this appearance would immediately realize it was no simple chest. Well, it was still simple, but that’s beside the point.

Six long, slender legs jutted out from its undersides, completely mismatched with the main body. It was as if someone had glued a pig-sized spider’s legs onto the monster as a sort of prank. But the way they made very slight, almost automatic adjustments to support its body were natural enough to make one think this monster was born with them.

And worst of all, growing out of that tooth-filled abyss that passed for its maw, were three meter-long tentacles. The bright red flesh undulated in a disgusting manner, the tips of each horrific limb gripping tightly onto the handle of a sword. The same weapons that had just robbed two men of their lives before they could even ask for help. They were attacked with no warning and for little reason. Only a monster could be this cruel.

“KEHAAAAAAAAHH!” it yelled. Its putrid breath washed over the stunned humans, enhancing the surreal sight before them. The nightmarish creature began bearing down onto the closest guardsman while brandishing its trio of swords. The simple man who was used to scolding troublemaking kids or chasing pickpockets was frozen in terror. The worst thing he’d ever faced was a duo of armed bandits, but at least those were human. That situation was something he had trained and prepared for. The veritable storm of steel and teeth that was hurtling towards him was so bizarre that he doubted anyone could be prepared for something so absurd. He made a panicked attempt to ready his spear and ward off the assault, but the Mimic was already upon him. The three blades made sharp sounds as they drew wide arcs in the air.

Having to split the muscles of its tongue in three made each of the Mimic’s blows significantly weaker than they would be otherwise. The fact that it was slashing rather than stabbing meant that its DEX attribute was not helping right now, either. However, it was using three weapons instead of one. The sheer number of blows it could make meant it could deal out a steady stream of punishment that whittled down and exhausted its prey without giving it any room to breathe.

The three swords struck the guard simultaneously from all sides. The lower one cut open the man’s thigh, dealing 25 damage to his HP. The middle blow dug into his unarmored bicep, dealing 23 damage. The high blow bounced off the rim of his metal helmet. Although the armor deflected the worst of it, the force of the blow still robbed 9 of his HP due to the blunt trauma. He yelled out in pain, stumbled backwards and fell on his ass. His weapon fell out of his hands and clattered on the rocky ground. He had 44 HP remaining and was bleeding profusely from his leg, but he was still alive.

His two comrades were already rushing to his aid, spears at the ready. They both thrust their two-meter long weapons at the monster. It tried to back off, but was too slow. One of them stabbed it in the side, shaving off 34 of the monster’s HP. It screamed in pain and leaped backwards to avoid further injury. The Mimic had still not recovered from its earlier Storage mishap, so it was in a precarious position. It currently only had about 40% of its HP remaining. It could not afford to be wounded again. It had seen the destructive power of those long pointy things earlier, but feeling it first-hand on its own body woke it up. The monster may have bitten off more than it could chew.

It stretched out its tentacles and attempted to strike at the two men, but the difference in reach became instantly apparent. Its sword swings came nowhere near the two guards, while their spears threatened to skewer it at a moment’s notice. If anything, it was being pushed back, suffering several scratches on its tongues as a result.

The monster had clearly underestimated its opponents. And while those two were keeping it busy, the one on the ground had already taken out a small glass flask with a blood-red liquid. The wounded guard sprinkled half of the healing potion on his wounds and drank the rest. The Mimic recognized this pattern - adventurers it failed to finish off would sometimes do those things and recover miraculously from their injuries. The Mimic then had to suffer numerous wounds as it subdued its target with force.

So, to sum it up, the monster realized one simple fact. It was fucked. The two in front of it were obviously covering for their wounded comrade. When he stood up they would undoubtedly chase down the creature and end it. It had killed their kind, so they would unquestionably seek vengeance. After all, that sort of thing was what more or less started this encounter in the first place.

But the Mimic had a secret weapon. A special move that could fell even that seemingly impossible wall it encountered earlier. It made some more space between itself and its duo of opponents, drawing them a few steps further away from the third one. It then swung one of its tendrils around and haphazardly tossed one of its swords with all the strength it could muster.

From the monster’s perspective, it was that half-assed shield throw that toppled the steel grate. And this time it was using an actual weapon with all its strength, so this move’s destructive power would unquestionably rise. Well, it wasn’t wrong about that last part, but the outcome would still not be what it expected.

The sword spun around itself a few times as it cut through the air. It missed its targets completely, bouncing off the stone ceiling with a clang and falling harmlessly to the side. The result of the monster’s ‘Killer Move’ was that it had, essentially, disarmed itself. There was a brief moment of silence as everyone present processed what just happened.

“Huck,” it cursed.

In some ways, the Mimic was lucky its antics were not considered to be ‘special actions’ that conferred a loss of Attributes. Otherwise its INT and WIS would already be dropping towards 0. Possibly beyond.

Having been disarmed by its own stupidity, the Mimic was left in an unquestionably weaker position. It was barely able to fend off two spears with its three swords, so the idea of facing three spears with only two blades was not a pleasant one. It made a few unsteady steps backward, unsure of what to do. Should it run away and live to fight another day? Was that really an option? Even if it ran away, would it find food? Would these people let it escape in the first place? Why was there a stone that looked a little bit like a rat’s head on the ground? Come to think of it, why were there no other monsters around? And why was it suddenly asking itself these various questions in the first place? None of that pondering was getting it any closer to not being dead.

There was still some distance between it and the guards, but they seemed wary of approaching it. They were obviously waiting for their buddy to get back in the fight, and by the looks of things that moment would be here soon. The Mimic needed to fight back, but to do that it needed a new weapon. Luckily, there were two armed corpses under its feet. And the dead were extremely generous with their belongings. It reached down its free tentacle and coiled it around one of the spears. Actually, there was another one, so it was fine if it tried its ‘Killer Move’ again, right? That first attempt was probably a fluke! Besides, it looked like an oversized arrow. And arrows flew really, really well, something this monster had learned with its own body when it failed to properly ambush that Ranger about a month ago.

And so, about a second after obtaining its new acquisition, the Mimic threw it forward with all its might. The spear, unlike the sword, was indeed a weapon that could be thrown. It cut through the air at a speed that was hard for the human eye to track, especially in these dim conditions. But, much like the first attempt, it missed both guards, flying between them without leaving so much as a scratch.

“HUCK!” the monster yelled.

But rather than the sound of metal uselessly hitting on stone, what was heard next was a piercing yell.

“Aaargh! Ah hahaaaaaah! AAAAH!” screamed the third living guard on the scene. His two comrades unwittingly turned their heads around. The wounded man was still struggling to his feet when the errant spear had managed to hit him. It impaled him squarely in the groin, just below the edge of his steel cuirass. He was screaming and thrashing around on the ground in a pain that seemed to resonate with every male in that tunnel.

[A special action has been performed. LCK +1.]

Ignoring that seemingly random Attribute increase, the Mimic quickly lunged at the two guards. Their attention had shifted and their hands had stopped⎼ if there was ever a chance to turn things around, it would be now. It dashed in between their outstretched spears and thrust both of its swords forward. The dumbfounded guards turned their heads around just in time to get stabbed in the face.

[You have dealt a Critical Strike! Target HP -78.]
[You have dealt a devastating blow. Target stunned for 5 seconds.]
[You have dealt a Critical Strike! Target HP -79.]
[You have dealt a devastating blow. Target stunned for 5 seconds.]
[Proficiency level increased. Sword Mastery is now Level 5. STR +2. DEX +2.]

It was checkmate. Or rather, it would be if there were any strategy or planning involved. It was a miracle that the two men did not die on the spot after having the backs of their throats pierced clean through. The Mimic promptly withdrew its blades and slashed at their faces, achieving what was colloquially known as a ‘double kill.’ It then methodically moved in on the final guard and finished him off while he was still writhing on the ground.

“SKEEEEEEEEEEEEeeee…!”

A triumphant screech resounded through the dungeon. The Mimic was overcome with the thrill of winning a hard battle for the first time in its life. While it did sometimes fail to ambush its prey, the ensuing scuffle would be little more than an annoyance for the over-leveled monster. If there was ever a time for it to express its joy of victory through the language of dance, it was now.

It wasn’t skill or strategy that won the day. It was its own idiocy. The unpredictable and erratic behavior it displayed caught its enemy by surprise on more than one occasion. The creature simply had to recognize its opportunity to act and seize it. It may not be very good at thinking things through, but the Mimic’s mind was already a steel trap when it came to taking advantage of a moment of weakness.

Trickery? Cowardice? Honor? It knew not of such things. It knew of very few things, to be honest. Even if it did know about such trivialities it would still ignore them since they would not fill its belly. And filling its belly is exactly what it needed to do right now. So without further ado, it proceeded to chow down on the five corpses in front of it.

It started with the last one to die - the one it had impaled in the groin through sheer luck. It pulled out the spear and began eating the corpse feet-first. It bit off its legs and, after spitting out the troublesome metal greaves, swallowed gleefully. It repeated the process with the arms and head, discarding the inedible armor along the way. But the torso was difficult. It was still encased in that solid steel cuirass, so getting at it was impossible. Its teeth still could not penetrate steel, after all. It left the still-armored and blood-covered torso alone and moved onto the other corpses, focusing on their limbs and heads in a similar fashion.

[Your hunger has been sated. Automatic HP and MP recovery will return to normal.]

When it was in the middle of devouring the fifth set of body parts, it finally got confirmation it was no longer starving. It felt relief wash over it. It wasn’t sure how much it actually needed to eat before the hunger went away completely.

Still, leaving behind those succulent torsos would be a terrible waste. While it wasn’t particularly picky about its food, the Mimic had preferences. It found the intestines to be the tastiest part of the human body. The head was a close runner up. The brain felt kind of bland, but the skull made pleasurable crunching noises when its teeth sank into it. It was simply fun to chew. The heart was third on its list just because of how wonderfully squishy it was. The succulent rump and thigh meat were also good, but those seemed to vary quite a bit between people. Some were stringy and tough while others were far more tender.

The point was, two of its three favorite bits were in the torso. It really wanted to get at them, so now that it was no longer in a rush, it set about trying to eat them. First, it retrieved the sword it had sent flying earlier. It then approached one of the dismembered torsos and used the blade to poke and prod at the armor. After stabbing at it from several angles, it found it could cut apart some leather straps on the side, under where the arms used to be. When it did that, the front and back plates of the armor seemed to come apart. The Mimic then lifted the steel plating to reveal the succulent meat and crunchy bones it longed for. It was almost like opening up a steamed clam.

*CRUNCH MUNCH MUNCH*

Only many times more gruesome. Within the horrible gnashing and crunching noises, there was the barely audible sound of glass breaking and a mysterious liquid poured out and onto the monster’s sensitive tongue.

[You have used a Healing Potion. HP +40.]

It tasted like cherries, though such a detail was lost on this monster that had never tasted the fruit in question, or indeed anything other than man-flesh until just now. The magical liquid dissipated and instantly closed up the Mimic’s gaping stab wound. Ironically, the one who caused that wound was the one to supply the potion to heal it.

*SNAP SLURP BURP*

Not that the Mimic really cared. It barely even noticed what was going on with how engrossed it was in eating its fill.

No, wasn’t this already beyond its fill? Its hunger had been sated for the moment, but it might come back later. Or rather, wouldn’t it definitely come back eventually? Surely it would be a good idea to put the remaining ‘body oysters’ in its Storage rather than eating them right now, right? It didn’t know how long the corpses would keep for, but it was worth a try. Therefore, the Mimic planned ahead for the first time in its life and saved the remaining two bloodied torsos for later.

Well, it would have saved four of them, but it had already eaten two more by the time it made up its mind. It was honestly a miracle it even reached the obvious conclusion it should ration its food in the first place. So while the execution may have been less than perfect, there was still definite improvement in its mental abilities.

Once its business in that blood-soaked tunnel was done, the Mimic relocated to the spot where its kin had died earlier. Its corpse had already disappeared back into the flow of mana from whence it came. The Mimic sat down on a spot nearby and entered its dormant state. It was still heavily wounded, so it needed to wait until its automatic HP recovery restored it to good health.

Over the next ten or so minutes, the battered, splintered faux-wood that served as its outer shell slowly grew back to its pristine state. Once its HP and MP were both completely topped off, the Mimic stood up and resumed walking. At some point it had convinced itself that leaving this place behind was for the best, so there was no point in delaying its departure any longer. And thanks to its connection with the dungeon’s mana, it already knew which way the exit was.

After walking around for several minutes, it noticed the tight and claustrophobic tunnels were getting wider and wider. It could actually feel a cold breeze coming in from what was undoubtedly the outside. Feeling invigorated, it picked up the pace, its slender spider-like legs carrying it steadily onward. The walls grew wider and the ceiling became taller and taller. Eventually, it could not ‘see’ anything except the floor around it. All other surfaces were simply outside the ten-meter range of its magical perception.

This was a first for it. It was a strange sensation where it felt truly insignificant. But it still marched onward. As long as it had its connection to the mana in the air, it would know exactly where-

[You have left the Litigar Dungeon Complex.]
[Your connection with the dungeon has been severed.]

It froze. Something immediately felt off. Wrong. For one thing, it suddenly realized it was lost. Completely and totally lost. It no longer had any idea where it was, nor which way it was going. It wandered around aimlessly, without having a single way to tell if it was going in the right direction. After a few minutes of this, it seemed to have found its way back.

[You have entered the Litigar Dungeon Complex.]

Even if it returned, however, the invisible thread that made it the dungeon’s ally was now permanently severed. It was now no longer a part of this place. It may have felt an odd desire to go back at first, but that was rapidly changing now. To monsters in a dungeon, there were no gray areas. You were either an enemy or an ally. And as it was right now, this Mimic was undoubtedly an enemy to this place. Now it no longer found the thought of eating those giant rats and bats to be repulsive. It even felt like it could easily murder its own kin without any remorse.

The monster understood the meaning behind these implications. It caught on so fast that it actually surprised itself. Could it be that it was a genius all along? Something had changed. It could form a coherent stream of thoughts for the first time in its life. Almost as if a fog was lifted from its mind.

The truth of the matter was that while the mana was guiding and nourishing it, it was also robbing it of its free will. That innate compulsion to leave the dungeon? It was being chased out by the very stuff that gave it life. The reason why it had to face a squad of armed guards instead of running away at full strength when the odds were against it? They were ‘invaders’ that the dungeon wanted dead.

No wonder, it thought. Even though it recognized itself as an idiot, it couldn’t take any steps to rectify that flaw. Now it was different. Now, it was free. It was also scared out of its tiny mind, but it was free. And armed with this freedom, it decided to seek out its own path in life. Maybe come back later and show this dungeon who’s boss!

But before that, it had to leave. The range of its perception was a problem. It was like being lost at sea with no landmarks and no compass. If the rest of the world was normally this wide, then it needed other ways of finding its way around the place. Thankfully, it already had a pretty good idea what to do. It was obvious its prey did not have the same magical perception the Mimic had. Otherwise sneaking up on people would be impossible. And through its numerous scuffles and that one battle, it learned the importance and function of a particular pair of organs. So all it needed to do was replicate them. And it was really good at that sort of thing.

Mimics gotta mimic. It was a fact of life.

It quickly grew an eye on the outside of its faux wood frame. It had eaten close to a hundred eyeballs, most of them had rolled across its tongue at some point. So something like recreating an organ it was intimately familiar with was not a big deal. Just like with the spider legs. Although it still needed to morph and readjust the structure of the eye. After about half an hour of trying, it succeeded.

It could see. Finally, it was capable of actual sight with its very own eye! But because it was, essentially, a human eye, it could not see very well in this darkness. Still, it immediately proved useful when it spotted a group of lights coming towards it. It was an adventuring party of four people, all wearing lit lanterns on their waists. They were some forty odd meters away from the Mimic. By the looks of things, they were headed deeper into the dungeon and would walk right past it.

However, the monster felt no rush or thrill at the discovery of new prey. It no longer had to compulsively hunt and murder people just for being in this dungeon. It only felt a cold kind of indifference one would show to a stray animal. A tasty, blood-filled, succulent, crunchy animal with delicious guts and-

Okay, it would attack and eat them after all. But not because of some weird magical compulsion! This time, it chose to murder those people in cold blood by its own will. It still had to fill its belly, so why turn down free food that willingly comes to you? Actually, why even wait? Those people were dressed almost exactly like its first forty victims. If it could take five armed guards, then these weaklings would surely be no match for it!

It sprouted its spider legs, armed its trio of tongue tentacles and descended upon them like Death incarnate. This wasn’t an instinctual drive to eat and live, nor was it the dungeon’s mind control.

It would kill because it wanted to, with no warning and for almost no reason.

Just like any other monster would.

[General Information]
Mimic (Lesser), Genderless, 2 months old
Level 15.27 Mimic
264/264 HP (+0.4/sec)
175/175 MP (+0.3/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 44, DEX 48, AGI 36, END 44, INT 35, WIS 39, LCK 4

[Mimic Skills]
Assassination - Lvl 4.29
Storage - Lvl 3.11
Cadaver Absorption - Lvl 1.00
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift - Lvl 3.65
Stealth - Lvl 3.11
Sword Mastery - Lvl 5.02

Chapter Two
Eat And Grow

Part One

The sword made a sharp sound as it fell on the neck of the last adventurer. The blade cut halfway through the black-haired man’s neck, ending his life in an instant. His killer, a Mimic that had just found its freedom, went about its business. Even though it had just robbed this man and three of his friends of their lives, it did not have the capacity to care. It gave absolutely no shits about whatever it was they were screaming about as it mercilessly reaped their souls. If anyone were to witness this, they would undoubtedly assume only a being incapable of emotion was capable of such cold cruelty.

But that assumption would be untrue. In fact, the Mimic did feel something from this encounter. A distinct sense of happiness, that is. This was a perfect opportunity to finally try out its latest Skill - Cadaver Absorption. It had already wasted its first opportunity due to its own foolishness. It couldn’t use it on those guard corpses since it lacked the MP and needed to satiate its hunger to recover it. And while it did still carry certain bits of those men inside its Storage, there obviously was not enough of them left to constitute a corpse.

But now, it would finally give this thing a try!

Its first choice was the bow user. The one who tried to shoot arrows at the monster as it approached. She was particularly annoying, and managed to shave off a total of 34 HP from it. Well, it wasn’t like it didn’t expect to get some scratches in a frontal assault like that, so it wasn’t too bothered by them. It sat down next to the woman and chanted “Kadahah Akhsohsohn.”

Nothing happened.

“Kadahah Akhsohsohn,” it repeated. And again, nothing happened.

This was worrying. Unlike its Storage, which could be activated without chanting, Cadaver Absorption required one to speak the name of the Skill out loud while focusing on the corpse. That was just how it worked. Or at least, how it was supposed to work. Learning a new Skill gave one the basic knowledge regarding its use, so there was no doubt this was the right way to activate it. In fact, the Mimic could recall how to use its Skills flawlessly, which was a bit odd in itself all things considered.

Still, it decided to double-check. After all, the information it wanted was just a couple of thoughts away.

[Cadaver Absorption]
Allows the Mimic to absorb residual knowledge and power from the remains of its prey.
Requirements: Level 15 Mimic, WIS 30, INT 30, Has devoured at least 30 of the same Species.
Type: Active, Corpse-targeted
Activation Time: 2 seconds
Cost: 150 MP
Range: 2 Meters
[Effects]
A portion of the target’s Attributes, Skill Proficiency or Job Levels will be permanently added to the Mimic’s Status. What is absorbed is random.
This Skill can fail. Success rate depends on the Level of this Skill and the strength of the LCK Attribute.
The amount of knowledge or power absorbed increases with each Level of the Shapeshift Skill.

It examined the Skill window once more. The Activation Time referred to how much time the Skill would take to fulfill its purpose and produce the desired effect. However, that was supposed to come after the monster had started the process by chanting the name. Since absolutely nothing happened in the first place, this particular aspect of it was clearly not the problem.

Its MP was currently full at 170 so the Cost wasn’t the issue either. As for the Range, it wasn’t sure exactly how far ‘2 Meters’ was. Was it too far away? Maybe that was the issue? It certainly wouldn’t hurt to try. The chest sprouted its legs and sat right next to the body. This was probably within range, right?

“Kadahah Akhsohsohn.”

Nope, nothing. Then… maybe it was misunderstanding what Corpse-targeted meant? Maybe this woman was far too skinny to count as a dead body? That was certainly a possibility - she was basically skin and bones, except for two soft-looking lumps in the middle of her torso. Were they nutrient repositories, perhaps? The Mimic vaguely remembered that black-robed woman it killed shortly before acquiring this troublesome Skill. She had some big ones too, but it had a hard time determining what purpose these things served, if any.

“Ack!” it yelped. No good, it was getting distracted. It needed more information. Ah, but information regarding Skills was usually a thought away, so maybe it just needed the right thought? It focused its mind on the ‘Corpse-targeted’ term in the still-open Skill window. About a second later, a different screen popped up.

[Corpse-targeted]
Requires a corpse.
The corpse’s original brain(s) and heart(s) must be present to establish it as a viable target.
Missing limbs or body parts will reduce the strength of the generated effect.

Now it was getting somewhere! So the Skill needed both the brain and the heart to function and needed all of the body’s bits to produce the best result. If the heart was that juicy thing in the chest and the brain was that mushy bland-tasting thing inside the crunchy skull, then that would explain why the Skill failed to activate.

The Mimic got up and walked off toward the wall. It stretched out its tongue and grabbed the bloodied, pointy-eared head that had been sitting there for a while. It dragged it along the ground by its long platinum blonde hair. Resisting the urge to pop it in its mouth, it walked back to the woman and placed it squarely on her chest.

It let out a long breath that was probably intended to be a sigh. If it knew the head had to be attached, it wouldn’t have bothered to remove it from the rest of her in the first place. Then again, it was slightly unintentional. Her neck was entirely too slender so the monster’s sword strike cut clean through it. That black-haired guy it killed last seemed to be made of much sterner stuff since his neck actually offered some resistance.

So, now that all the parts were accounted for, it sat right next to the body and repeated the chant for the third- no, fourth? Or fifth?

It sat down and repeated the chant.

“Kadahah Akhsohsohn.”

Now, something definitely happened. It actually felt the majority of its MP disappear in an instant and leaving it in a tired, somewhat lethargic state. About a dozen or so transparent purple tentacles sprouted from its narrow sides, each of them about two meters in length. These mysteriously glowing appendages looked like they weren’t actually there - like the Mimic was seeing only an outline of their true form. Ignoring its idle wonderment, the appendages immediately bent towards their target and skewered it in multiple places. The soft, pink skin quickly shriveled up as the corpse rapidly became nothing but skin and bones. The Mimic noticed unidentifiable gray goop rapidly move up each of the twelve undulating tentacles and disappear somewhere inside its body.

Precisely two seconds after the monster finished the chant, the tentacles retracted inside itself, dragging the rest of that colorless mass with them.

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a minor success!]
[6% of the target’s highest Attribute has been added to your own. AGI +1.]

“Yosha!”

It worked! The Mimic didn’t get much out of it, but it definitely worked! A new way of growing stronger! Ah, but it didn’t get to actually eat any of that. The simple creature’s excitement level quickly fell down to zero when it realized that. It wanted to strip the flesh, rip the meat and crush the bones. Not liquefy and drink it all without even tasting it. Where was the fun in that?

The gluttonous monster took one more look at the corpse. All that was left of the former elven Ranger was a skeleton wrapped in gray, chalk like skin. It seemed to crumble into nothing under the weight of her clothing. Even the severed head was left as nothing but a skull with a few patches of skin and several strands of gray hair. Oddly enough, there was no hole in it even though two of the tentacles most assuredly pierced it from both sides.

This looked completely unappetizing. Was there even a point in eating these dried out remains? Actual dirt would probably be more nourishing than this pile of ash. Still, it was a way of using corpses for something other than pigging out. That was definitely a good thing. Even if it had a shortage of dead bodies, all it had to do was find something it could kill and BAM! Problem solved!

Feeling better about the whole ‘people have no taste when I drink them’ situation, the Mimic went over to the next corpse - a bearded, bald man in a chainmail shirt. It sat next to him and waited patiently for its MP to recover. Since it already saw the Skill in action, it now had a good grasp of the range. It simply needed to be close enough for those ethereal tentacles to reach the corpse.

Roughly ten minutes later, its MP had gone back to full.

“Kadahah Akhsohsohn,” it chanted and the tentacles happily liquefied and drank up the former Warrior.

[Your Cadaver Absorption has failed.]

“Nyeh,” it shrugged. It’s not like it expected it to work every time. It had already given up on chowing down on these people so it just went through the motions. Since this Skill targeted only living tissue, any gear and equipment the adventurers were using was left behind. The elf from before just had a tunic, a pair of trousers, a bow and some arrows in a quiver. This guy, however, had a sword and shield.

It was the first time the Mimic had given someone a chance to use their shield. The wooden, iron-reinforced disk had managed to deflect two of the monster’s swords. The third one ran the Warrior through the chest while he was off balance, killing him instantly. Still, it was a relatively impressive display that piqued the Mimic’s curiosity. Wearing armor was out of the question, but its tri-tongue could easily intercept and deflect attacks with this sturdy thirty centimeter wide circle. After some practice, of course.

Also, it could probably double as a weapon. One such shield was responsible for knocking a hole through that infuriating steel grate, after all. It was an attractive idea to be certain! Having made up its mind, the creature tossed the warrior’s sword and shield into its Storage for safe keeping and walked over to the third corpse. Ten minutes and another chant later, the gray-haired Priest was also slurped up.

[Your Cadaver Absorption has failed.]
[Proficiency level increased. Cadaver Absorption is now Level 2. All attributes +1.]

The Skill-up was good. The failure - not so much. Still, a higher Level of Cadaver Absorption meant a better chance of gaining something useful. The Mimic would have to train this up as much as possible so that it would be ready the next time it caught something big. But how much of a chance did it actually have? Was there a way to find out? Would it even comprehend what all those numbers meant?

It had to wait for its MP to come back anyway, so it had some time to kill. It decided to mess around with the Status and Skill screens inside its head. After about five minutes of random window-opening, it tried to focus on a particular line of the Cadaver Absorption Skill Screen - the one that read ‘This Skill can fail. Success rate depends on the Level of this Skill and the strength of the LCK Attribute.’

Nothing happened, as expected. It was hard to ‘focus’ on a long sentence like that. Instead, it tried to home in on individual words.

[Luck (LCK)]
Very slightly tips the odds in your favor.
Very slightly increases your chances of finding items of Uncommon quality and above.

[Skill]
Improves your understanding and expertise when it comes to performing certain tasks or using specific tools or weapons.
Proper use of a Skill will raise its Proficiency.
When Proficiency hits a certain threshold, Skill Level will rise and you will receive a permanent Attribute bonus.
You can Inspect individual Skills for more information.

[Attribute]
Improves a specific aspect of your mental or physical condition.
New Attributes may appear as a result of specific actions or conditions.
You can Inspect individual Attributes for more information.

These were the only screens it could open. Just like the others until now, it saw a lot of confusing things that didn’t make much sense. The Mimic felt it could spend a really, really long time just digging through all these endless menus and screens. It tried to limit itself to the ‘surface’ as much as possible, but all this ‘reading’ still felt like hard work. Liberated or not, it was still very much an airhead. Mentally strenuous activities like this always gave it a headache. Or was it a toothache? Maybe a chest ache? Well, it wasn’t quite sure what, but something ached.

[A special action has been performed. INT +1.]

Now this was odd. This was only the third time that INT had gone up on its own. The first time was when it learned how to hold a sword without hurting itself. The second time was when it found out about the Status screen and learned how to navigate it. Feeling extra curious, it decided to double-check it anyway.

[Intelligence (INT)]
Improves your memory and capacity for knowledge.
Every 1 point of INT increases maximum MP by 5.

There was no change from the last time it went over its Attributes. While these screens did describe each one, they held very few hints as to how to raise them outside of Level Ups. The Mimic wasn’t able to grasp the requirements for these ‘special actions’ at all. The only thing it knew for certain was that it was getting less and less of these as time went on.

The truth was that increasing one’s Attributes through training demanded that they consistently pushed their limits. Lift heavy things until your arms are about to fall out. Run until you’re throwing up. Read books until your head’s about to burst. And then keep on going. It was a painful and arduous process. The only reason the Mimic seemed to enjoy frequent boosts at the start was that it had very little to begin with. In actuality, raising a new Attribute to 5 seemed to happen very rapidly once it got past the hurdle of earning the first point of it. Even then there were some Attributes that couldn’t be ‘discovered’ at all, and the only way to gain access to them was to obtain certain Jobs or Skills.

For example, that very first point of INT this Mimic earned shortly after its birth? Just remembering what had happened ten minutes ago pushed it beyond the limit of 0 INT. It had come a long way since then, but such revelations were still out of reach. There’s no way something born less than three months ago would be able to deduce that sort of obtuse rule. If it had figured it out on its own, its WIS would surely have gone up as a result.

[Wisdom (WIS)]
Improves critical thinking and decision making.
Every 10 points of WIS increases automatic MP recovery by 0.1 per second.

Ultimately, the mentally immature monster ended up staring blankly at its final target until its MP filled up. And then it casually absorbed the final corpse - that of the black-haired scruffy-bearded man.

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a major success!]
[A special action has been performed. LCK +1.]
[6% of the target’s highest Job Level has been added to your own.]

[WARNING: Unable to create Job at Level 0. Compensating.]

[Level up!]
[The Mental Fortitude (MNT) Attribute has been created through a special action. MNT +1.]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 1 Warlock! INT +2. MNT +2. END +2.]
[You have learned a new Spell: Shadowbolt.]

The Mimic’s only eye blinked several times. It suddenly had so many questions that the metaphorical gears in its mind ground to a complete halt. If it could give voice to its most pressing concern, it would undoubtedly shout out something like ‘Where the hell did all my Levels go?!’

“SHASHUSH!” it screamed in panic.

[General Information]
Mimic (Lesser), Genderless, 2 months old
Level 15.33 Mimic
Level 1.00 Warlock
273/280 HP (+0.4/sec)
28/195 MP (+0.4/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 45, DEX 49, AGI 39, END 47, INT 39, WIS 40, LCK 6, MNT 3

It felt relieved. It really did not want to go back to being a Level 1. Wait, wasn’t it technically a Level 1 AND a Level 15? And how can someone do two Jobs at once?!

Why did the number of questions keep increasing!?

Part Two

“Hnnnngg,” groaned the Mimic. It was gradually growing frustrated. Right now it was trying to work out the correct chant to bring up what Spells it could use. “Uhh, shells!” it yelled. Nothing happened. So far nothing had worked. “Najic!” was also a dud. It had dismissed that fateful Level Up window in haste so that it could double-check its main Status Screen. And now it was regretting that rash decision. It could no longer directly examine the unfamiliar words it saw there.

It had just learned the Shadowbolt Spell. It must have been that mass of darkness the scruffy-looking black-haired male threw it at a few times. It really wished it had paid closer attention as to what he was doing. But it was already too late - his ash pile would not offer any answers. It did absorb the Warlock Job from his corpse though. And since it learned the Spell, the Mimic knew the chant and gestures required to activate it, as well as how to target it.

But when it tried to cast it, nothing happened. So right now it was trying to find out what it was missing, just like the last time it was stumped. But the Shadowbolt entry did not appear in any of the screens and menus it was familiar with, so it was stuck. But surely there had to be some sort of list. There was a Skill List and a Job List so surely there was one for Spells, right?

“… Shell Lisht?”

[Spell List]
Ruin - Shadowbolt

“Yeshaaaaa!” it yelled in triumph. Its spidery legs did a little tap-dance for a few seconds, commemorating the occasion. If the Mimic actually had lips, they would undoubtedly be curled in a smile.

[Shadowbolt]
Requirements: Level 1 Warlock, INT 10
School: Ruin
Type: Projectile
Cost: 40 MP
Range: 25 Meters
[Effects]
Launches a volatile bolt of darkness in a specific direction.
The force of the Spell will attempt to pull apart the first solid thing it hits, then dissipate.
Grows in power in dark places or at night, dealing up to 50% more damage depending on the environment.

Unsurprisingly, there was no new information here. All of this knowledge had already been transmitted to the Mimic’s mind and engraved into its memory. In a hypothetical situation where it could communicate with others, it would be able to accurately describe the Spell as a projectile from the Ruin school of magic that grew stronger in the dark. The problem was that it would then be unable to answer the obvious follow-up question:

What the crap was Ruin?!

[Ruin]
An offense-focused school of magic that boasts the strongest destructive power, commonly known as Black Magic.
Ruin Spells are unbalanced and inefficient, making them cost more MP than Spells from other schools.

And now it could say that Ruin Spells hurt a lot, but demand high MP to use. Was it really that high, though? Compared to the staggering 150 MP Cost of Cadaver Absorption, 40 almost seemed like a joke. The question was, exactly how powerful was this ‘strongest destructive power?’ The Mimic only had enough MP on it for, like, three casts of that Spell. Or was it four? Wait, how much max MP did it have again? It brought up the Status Screen to double-check.

It had 52/195 MP, so that was 2, 3, 4… Just short of five Shadowbolts’ worth of MP. It could probably do five in a row if it waited a bit for its MP to recover between casts.

Oh.

It checked again. 53/195 MP (+0.4/sec). Now that the Mimic had a closer look, didn’t it have twenty something when it first got this Warlock Job? And didn’t it try to use this Shadowbolt Spell almost immediately afterwards? It knew the cost was 40 MP, but it didn’t really think to check how much it had at the time. It was simply over-excited at the prospect of gaining a reusable ranged attack. It had given up after several tries and had been poring over its menus ever since.

So, now would be a good time to try again, yes? The monster switched gears and sharpened its focus. It let out a quiet guttural sound that was, in essence, the Shadowbolt chant in Mimicanese. It pictured gathering the shadows around it into a small dense lump while doing so. A fifteen centimeter wide black mass formed steadily in front of it. A thick miasma poured out of it in all directions. The dark smog-like substance lingered in the air for a brief moment before dissipating into nothing.

After about a second of that, it shouted “Shatolholt!” while simultaneously imagining the conjured chunk of darkness flying off into a specific direction. And that was indeed what happened! The Shadowbolt flew in a perfectly straight line into the distance with a small hissing noise. It reached its maximum Range of twenty-five meters in just under a second before fizzling out of existence.

The Mimic had just used its first real Spell. It did another dance for joy. Like this, it would finally be able to fight at range and also increase its Warlock Job Levels.

Any Experience Points (XP) earned through killing things would, by default, feed into the monster’s Main Job - that of a Level 15 Mimic. For it to raise its Level 1 Side Job, it had to murder stuff by doing Warlock-y type things. Like, for example, hurl lumps of eldritch darkness at its prey. If it just continued stabbing and biting everything to death, the creature’s fancy new Job would remain as little more than a Level 1 decoration.

This was the gist of the knowledge it had gleaned from its brief struggle to find out why its Shadowbolt spell failed to activate. Most of that information was given to it freely after it inspected the terms Job, Main Job, Side Job, and Job Level. It also realized that it would need to split XP between the Mimic and Warlock Jobs, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. Those rapid Level Ups were sure to be tasty in their own way. Additionally, as a shapeshifter, it fully understood the benefits of being versatile, so having a means of attacking at range was going to be a huge help.

Although it then immediately realized something. The Shapeshift Skill was, in a way, this monster’s main weapon. The legs, tentacle-tongues and even that one eye it sprouted were all possible because of this Skill. But at the same time, it had somehow ended up neglecting it. Until now, it couldn’t really morph itself while waiting in ambush. Nobody in their right mind would assume a wiggling chest was the real thing, after all. That much it already knew by instinct.

But now was different. Now it would be taking a more active role that went against such gut feelings.

As a matter of fact, those very same instincts had steadily been getting quieter - even before its connection to the dungeon had been severed. If at first they were like a loud ear-piercing scream, right now they were closer to a murmur. It knew what they were telling it, but it could easily ignore them if it wished to do so. It wasn’t actually a slave to such things, it didn’t necessarily have to obey them. It was odd that it took it this long to realize that simple fact. This was probably due to the dungeon’s compulsions anyway. There really wasn’t much point in worrying about it now. Besides, its natural urges appealed to it at a base level, so it would still end up indulging them every now and then. The difference was it could now make the choice whether it would do that or not.

And right now, it was making the decision to improve itself. Outside of this dungeon was the complete unknown and it needed to be ready. Therefore, it would need to train up its Shapeshift Skill so that it would be better prepared. After all, the speed and range of transformations it could do went up noticeably every time the Skill Leveled Up.

For starters, now that it had sight, how about increasing its field of vision? While not as accurate as its magical perception, it was still wary of being ambushed from a distance. Those humans with their front-facing eyes were clearly idiots. If they could see towards their backs and sides without turning their heads, they might not be such easy prey. Such pitiful creatures.

Over the next several seconds, about twenty additional closed eyelids grew from the monster’s wood-like shell. It needed that many to cover all possible angles it could think of, after all. Even if a few of them were redundant, it was good to have backups. When the eyelids were properly formed, it began working on the hollow eyeballs under them. Since it had already figured out the proper structure, it just needed to repeat it over and over.

[Proficiency level increased. Shapeshift is now Level 4. AGI +1. DEX +1. END +2.]

As expected, Shapeshift went up. It seemed that it would grow faster from massive changes rather than small, delicate ones. The Mimic gained quite a bit of it while it was figuring out how to make its new legs work. Growing them just right demanded it shift a lot of its biomass around, after all. And just now it was recreating a considerable number of delicate organs on its surface.

Still, the Proficiency didn’t seem to climb as rapidly as it did while the monster was creating its first eyeball. Its leg and tongue manipulation had practically stopped increasing its Proficiency altogether. Ultimately, it seemed that it would have to create new and unique things from its malleable flesh if it wanted to reach the pinnacle of shapeshifting. But that would come later.

Right now, it had finished growing its new eyes. And it opened them all at once.

[Your mind has been overwhelmed. HP -10.]
[You are Stunned for 5 seconds.]

And immediately fell on its underside. Its legs sprawled out from under it like someone had squashed it with an oversized fly swatter. Its eyelids drooped over its eyes while the magical perception was cut off. It was now in a world of complete darkness. It was unconscious.

Simply put, its fragile mind was completely unprepared for the sudden influx of information. A total of 21 eyes plus the monster’s magical perception overloaded what passed for its brain. It was so harsh that it actually felt physical pain as its HP took a small hit. Even though the surroundings were almost completely pitch black to the imitation human eyes, it still proved entirely too much.

[You are no longer stunned.]

After snapping back to reality, it reflexively fluttered open its eyes. Not the wisest of decisions.

[Your mind has been overwhelmed. HP -10.]
[You are Stunned for 5 seconds.]
[A special action has been performed. MNT +1.]

It was so intense that its own body recognized it as a mental attack from the environment. And because its MNT Attribute was still low, it was completely under the influence of the Stunned abnormal condition. If its Mental Fortitude were high enough, it would be able to at least remain in a groggy, dazed state rather than completely blacking out. Although that also meant that it would be trying to process twenty-one eyes’ worth of visual information while it was Stunned. Whether it was able to close them under such conditions was another question entirely. The worst case scenario would be it becoming a prisoner in its own body. Its own perception would be overloading its brain while it could not cut off the feed. What passed for its brain would then probably leak out of its gaping mouth as it quietly passed away.

[You are no longer stunned.]

And again, its eyes opened up before its consciousness could stop them.

[Your mind has been overwhelmed. HP -10.]
[You are Stunned for 5 seconds.]

It wasn’t until the loop repeated itself several more times and earned it another point of MNT that the Mimic was finally able to keep its eyes shut after waking up. Reeling from the intense something-ache, it quickly retracted all the extra eyes back inside its body. It was now back to having a single ocular organ in the middle of its front side, just under its gaping maw. If it were an actual chest, that’s probably where its lock would be.

Overdoing it with the shapeshifting was clearly a bad idea. The Mimic had gotten full of itself and suffered for its stupidity. No matter how plain a creature was, it would quickly learn from such an ordeal. Painful things were painful, after all.

It would try to take things slower for the moment. Something simpler, like slightly morphing its appearance as it walked around. But how much would it need to do for it to be enough to train its Shapeshift Skill? It wasn’t quite sure what counted as ‘shapeshifting’ and what counted as ‘moving its body,’ at least not until it tried things out for itself.

And so, after considering its options, the monster went to work. The treasure chest stood up on its spider legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Its faux-wood shell began rippling and shivering slightly, almost like the surface of a puddle being disturbed by a harsh wind. It wasn’t morphing into anything in particular, it just twisted its flesh around a little. After keeping an eye on its Status screen and confirming the desired Skill Proficiency did indeed go up by 1%, it was satisfied. This ought to be enough to casually raise the Shapeshift Skill as time went on, right? Yep, sure looked that way. Then, while maintaining this state, it took a confident step forward, towards the future.

[You have suffered minor blunt trauma. HP -2.]

Which, as it would appear, was the floor. It had stumbled and face planted into the stone ground.

Shapeshifting actually took quite a bit of focus. Such a thing as ‘casually morphing its flesh’ simply wasn’t possible. It had to make a conscious effort into restructuring its own body, after all. It also disturbed its center of gravity, meaning it had even more trouble keeping balance on those six thin legs it had. Even if it could walk, it’s not like that was an automatic process that happened on its own, either.

After all, it had these legs for less than a day. The fact it could actually run and fight like that was in itself impressive. It wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t precisely mimicking an actual spider’s actions. But in the end it was just imitating something else. It’s not like it had mastered these movements quite yet. As a result, it hit the limit on its concentration and fucked up its gait. It simply did not have the capacity to Shapeshift and walk at the same time.

So would it stay put and train or head out? Frankly speaking, it had very little desire to linger here. It felt somewhat scornful at having been almost literally chased out by its own parent. Not to mention the prey here were clearly unable to help it grow its Job Levels further. It was also slightly worried about those five identically dressed people it murdered. Everyone else it had killed, while looking similar, was still unique in some way. But that bunch felt different, like they belonged to something bigger.

Oddly enough, they reminded the Mimic of the dungeon’s giant bats. That particular breed of monster had a habit of fighting in groups. If too many of its kind were killed, the survivors would focus on escaping from battle. But rather than a surrender, this was more of a tactical retreat. They wouldn’t forgive anyone who dared to slay their kin, so if they got away they would come back minutes later with an entire flock of their friends.

It was something the Mimic had witnessed a few times as adventurers ran past it while being chased by dozens of the flying rodents. Since they were already in full sprint, the Mimic had to regrettably let them pass through its lair. It couldn’t keep up with humans that ran with all their might. If they didn’t approach it or linger around its spot, it had no chance of getting close enough to ambush them. And those panicked individuals certainly did none of those things. After all, what sort of idiot would stop to check a treasure chest when he was about to be overwhelmed by large numbers like that?

But still, it was a scenario that was entirely possible with those shiny people. Even if none of them escaped, it was likely that their friends would come looking for them. Therefore, the Mimic would need to swiftly and surely evacuate before it was hunted down and killed. Picking itself up off the ground it scanned the distance with its one eye. It spotted the slightly lit opening that its recent quartet of victims had come from and headed off towards it. The draft it had felt earlier became more and more noticeable as it closed in on that exit.

[You have left the Litigar Dungeon Complex.]

Somewhere along the way, it was told it had officially left the dungeon once again. Not like it cared anymore at this point. Dismissing the message, it approached the narrow hole in the otherwise vast cavern. A silvery light poured in from the two meter tall and three meter wide passage. The Mimic screwed up its courage and passed through the threshold, setting foot into the wide open world for the first time.

And it saw many strange things.

The first new sight the Mimic beheld was grass. Green blades of fiber that swayed gently in the breeze. They glistened with moisture as the air shoved them around for no particular reason. They looked soft and might be pleasant to sit on, unlike that hard stone floor it was used to.

Next it saw trees. It somehow recognized them as being made of wood. After all, it was the very material it was imitating. Not to mention its teeth had crunched plenty of wooden staves and bows into splinters. Unlike steel, they weren’t hard enough to pierce the insides of its maw, so it had no trouble gobbling them up. It wasn’t a particularly tasty or nourishing material though. It just ate them to get rid of them, so it had no desire to chomp into those bland tree trunks. Those colorful bits on top of them were another story. They looked like they might taste good!

And as its gaze went up the tree, it finally beheld the night sky. It stared blankly at the black void that seemed to stretch out into infinity. Countless stars sparkled and twinkled from far, far away. The unobstructed view of a star-filled night sky was a romantic, almost sacred thing. It was, in some ways, a shame that the denizens of this world did not take time out of their daily lives to stop and appreciate its natural beauty. Tonight was even a rare occasion when all of its moons were visible at the same time. The three celestial bodies that passed each other idly by as they hurtled through space. Their combined silver glow bathed the surroundings in an almost eerie light.

The mysteries of the cosmos seemed to spread out before the Mimic and its one lonely eye. And all it could think about was how come it was so damn bright in this new cave it had found.

Part Three

The janther was a fearsome creature. At first look it appeared to be a big cat. Its head had typical features one would expect to see in something like a mountain lion - whiskers, perky ears, pointed teeth, elongated face, soft fur and keen eyes. Its torso, too, was pretty much the same in structure, even if a bit longer than one might expect. It also had a soft-looking tail which it used to adjust its balance when running or falling.

That was, however, where the similarities ended. For one thing, its fur was dark green, bordering on black. It also grew to sizes impossible for a normal animal, easily reaching up to four meters in length from head to rump and about one hundred and fifty centimeters in height. Its most telling feature, however, was the extra pair of legs growing out right behind the front most ones. If it reared up on its hind paws, it would almost look like a two-legged, four armed creature. And every heavily muscled appendage was tipped with razor sharp claws capable of shredding people into ribbons.

It made its home in thick forests, where it could prowl and look for prey undisturbed. Hovering around Level 30 during adulthood, these big cats usually dominated the local food chain. They were also highly territorial and competitive with their own kind. A janther encroaching on another’s turf was no different than a declaration of war. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that each of these individuals ruled over their domain like kings or queens.

These majestic beasts were, without question, apex predators. They had an aura of undeniable strength about them, a sort of almost regal bearing befitting a powerful ruler. It was something a certain treasure chest was just now made aware of as it desperately tried to conceal its presence.

While exploring this new ‘cave’ called the wide world, the first living being it found was a janther. It beheld its form relaxing in a particularly old and thick tree. The green fur blended in perfectly with the tree’s foliage, making it impossible to see with the naked human eye. Which was what this particular shapeshifter was using to look around. It therefore failed to notice the huge janther ahead of time.

When it walked within about ten meters of the fearsome creature, the Mimic finally detected it with its magical perception. The recently quiet instincts then screamed at it with all their might. ‘Hide!’ they shouted. ‘Hide if you want to live, retard!’ And so it did. It immediately undid all of its mutations and once again became a perfectly unassuming chest while activating its Stealth Skill.

This was a good call, because janther whiskers were very sensitive towards mana. So something like its mystical perception, which was essentially a kind of magical sonar, made them react. The sleeping janther woke up immediately when it felt the odd disturbance, after which it heard a soft impact of something hitting the grassy ground.

In its haste, the Mimic had retracted its feet so quickly that its rectangular body fell to the ground with a soft thud. It had no choice in the matter. If the shapeshifter was any slower, its true identity would have been revealed immediately. Instead, all the janther saw when it looked down from its perch was a perfectly normal wooden treasure chest.

A rectangular pile of wood with steel edges which had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a forest. This was not, in fact, as ‘normal’ as the Mimic thought it was. How could it possibly know that chests did not exist in the wilderness? Still, even if it realized it now, it was far too late. The huge cat had leaped down from its perch and was currently sniffing at the chest. That faint presence it felt just a moment ago disappeared almost completely, but it was still definitely there. As expected, something about this box unsettled it, but the beast had trouble figuring out what it was. That resulted in a sort of stalemate between the two.

A stalemate of ignorance, that is.

The Mimic kept observing the huge predator with its magical perception, unaware that its gaze was the reason for its current predicament. The janther, on the other hand, wasn’t sure what this odd tingling in its whiskers was. The only reason it took interest in this strange pile of wood was that, quite simply, it was curious. And while the saying that ‘curiosity killed the cat’ seemed like it might become reality, there was simply no way that would happen.

The Mimic, objectively speaking, had no chance of victory here. The janther before it had a staggering 534 HP and more than double the Mimic’s STR and AGI. It was much tougher, stronger and faster. Unlike the all-rounder Mimic Job, the specialized Big Cat Job focused only on physical Attributes. Because of that, even if the two were on equal footing, the janther would still win in a straight fight. It was a species well suited to combat, unlike its theoretical opponent. On the other hand, if the Mimic had managed to land a surprise attack, it would have a decent chance of taking down the bigger creature.

But all that was a ‘what if’ scenario. The ‘what is’ scenario was one where the janther would have an overwhelming victory no matter what the box did. The gap in Levels was simply too high. And while strategy and experience might have been able to compensate for that, the Mimic had neither of those things right now. At least, nothing it could use against a creature it had just seen for the first time.

So what would this self-proclaimed king do when it found a suspicious object in its territory? Why, claim it as its own of course! Whatever this thing was, it was clearly inside its domain. Yet it smelled like it belonged to someone else. In actuality, that smell was what bothered the six-legged monster the most. So, after turning its body to the side and urinating on top of the weird pile of lumber, it went up its tree and drifted off to sleep. Even if its whiskers were still tingling slightly, it wasn’t at a level where it couldn’t be ignored. The slightly foreign sensation may have woken it up since it was a light sleeper, but it was now used to it.

The freshly marked Mimic was not, as one might expect, outraged. It wasn’t feeling humiliated, nor was its pride crushed. The simple creature didn’t have things like pride, humility or shame to begin with. So what if it was covered in cat piss? Right now, it was simply glad to be alive. The big scary fuzzy thing had gone back to where it came from and the immediate danger had passed. But the crisis was far from over. Even the slightest movement on the Mimic’s part was sure to wake the big scary thing up again. Therefore, the faux-chest focused its entire being on chesting. It would be the Chestiest Chest That Ever Chested!

And so it waited. Again. It wouldn’t need to wait as long as it did last time, though. It just had to lay low until the six-legged green thing went away. Eventually the sun rose. As the Mimic felt the celestial body’s warm light for the first time in its cave-bound life, it had absolutely nothing to say about the matter. Chests didn’t speak, after all. It did quietly ponder just what was causing it, though.

Several hours after sunrise, the janther finally woke up. It yawned and stretched a bit, then just sort of lazed around its tree. It was, after all, a nocturnal creature. It wouldn’t leave to hunt until early evening and would sit idly while scratching its ass until then. Truly an attitude befitting of a king.

But before any of that could happen, at some point in the early afternoon, the janther suddenly leaped down from its tree. It let out a low growl from its throat while it scanned its surroundings. The Mimic briefly wondered what caused this sudden behavior. It could have such idle thoughts since it didn’t seem to be the focus of the beast’s attention this time around. And, a few seconds later, it got its answer.

An arrow flew out from a nearby bush. It cut through the air at high speed, aimed squarely at the janther’s eye. Its target dodged out of the way with a grace and speed that belied the size and weight of its body. The errant projectile flew over the Mimic and stuck itself in the wide tree trunk. The janther roared loudly, as if demanding whoever had the nerve to shoot at it to show themselves.

What it got in response was another arrow. Then another one. And another one. The gigantic mass of muscle and fur dodged them nimbly every time, but refused to fall for the obvious provocations. Its keen sense of smell already told it there were multiple people waiting to ambush it on the other side of that foliage. Once they realized their trap wouldn’t work, the would-be assassins showed themselves.

The first ones to run out of the bush were two men. Their matching longswords, kite shields and half-plate armor all looked well used, but in good condition. Behind them was a pointy-eared elf wearing a green robe modeled to look like a one piece dress, and she was carrying a thick oaken staff. The last one to show themselves was another elf, only this one was male and held an intricately decorated longbow and was clad in a tunic and trousers made out of brown leather.

The four-man adventuring party’s target was, without question, the janther. These mighty beasts were a highly profitable source of income. The eyeballs, brain, sharp teeth, liver and several other of its parts were useful to Alchemists and Enchanters, but the pelt was the most valuable of them all. They all fetched a good price because it was a rare monster that not everyone living in these parts could take down.

In addition to all that, this particular beast was already responsible for attacking several merchant caravans. Its infamy earned it a sizable bounty, which was what these four were aiming to collect. The thrill of a double jackpot like this was too enticing. And even if their Levels were still short of reaching 20, they had the strategy and teamwork necessary to take down the tougher opponent. There was strength in numbers, after all.

The Mimic, which was just kind of sitting there, hesitated as to what to do. The janther had leaped out of range of its magical perception some time ago. It had no idea what was going on nearby, but it definitely knew something was happening. It could clearly hear the sounds of battle, after all. So would it flee or stay put? After a while, it decided it needed to at least verify the situation before making any rash decisions. It sprouted an eye on its left side, taking extra care to disguise the eyelid with a layer of wood-textured skin. It knew for certain there was nobody within ten meters of it, so it was confident the tiny abnormality on its surface would not be noticed. When it was ready, it timidly peeked at what was going on.

It saw that indomitable janther bleeding heavily from its front. One of its eyes had been wounded. Its chest and front most legs were covered in cuts and several arrows were stuck in its side. In truth, even if it appeared heavily injured, none of those wounds were particularly deep, let alone fatal. The eye was a bit of a problem, but it would grow back given time. Therefore, at least for the time being, it could keep attacking as fiercely as possible.

The giant cat-like creature swung its two left front paws at the black-haired Warrior. The man blocked both of them with his kite shield, but was sent flying backwards from the impact. He fell a few meters away from it, coughing up blood from the heavy impact. The other Warrior, a brown haired and stocky man, took his place. The elven Druid in the back then chanted “Rejuvenate!” as she completed her Spell. A soft green light engulfed the wounded black-haired man and began refilling his HP. “Entangle!” she continued. Green plants that looked like barbed roots burst from the ground. They coiled themselves around all four of the janther’s front limbs, pinning it in place. It struggled to break free, but that would take some time.

Taking this opportunity, the Ranger nocked an arrow. He concentrated for a brief moment and then let loose with a shout of “Multishot!” The Martial Art activated splendidly. The single arrow multiplied into four the instant it was fired. The quartet of arrows struck the immobile janther’s right flank, causing it to yelp in pain. In the next instant it finished breaking free of the roots and slammed into the brown-haired Warrior in a fit of rage. It was a repeat of a little while ago as one Warrior was knocked back and the other intercepted the monster in his stead.

This was a scene the Mimic was familiar with. The ones in front would keep the enemy busy and block their advance. Then there would be that one person in the back who applied healing magic and disrupted the tougher opponent. And finally, there would be someone even further away attacking from a distance. The shapeshifting chest knew this formation well - it had faced it several times in the past. While it did prefer solo targets, the adventurers who explored dungeons completely alone were few in number. It often had to fight groups of two or three, sometimes four of them so it knew first-hand just how effective that basic strategy was. Even those four it killed last night tried to do pretty much the same thing. If it didn’t have the advantages of a higher Level or the element of surprise, it would probably not be alive right now.

The Mimic did not know much, but it knew two things were certain. One - the janther would probably lose. It couldn’t land a telling blow on those well armored people in the front and that green-haired woman would not allow them to die from accumulated damage. The second thing was that the healer - in this case the Druid - was the lynchpin of this formation. These adventurers would either get wiped out or at the very least suffer casualties without her support.

Objectively speaking, the Mimic was really just a bystander in all this. It had no obligations to help either side and would be justified if it chose to stay completely out of this mess. While it was true that adventurers and monsters were fated to be enemies, it was also true that different species of monsters very rarely got along. This was a situation where the enemy of its enemy was still an enemy. So in some ways, it didn’t matter at all who would win.

But that was not entirely true, was it? If the janther won, it would simply go back to sleep or run off to hunt. If the adventurers won, they would want to open the mysterious chest that this formidable creature was ‘guarding.’ And with its true nature inevitably revealed, the Mimic would be dragged into a fight, at which point it would probably be killed. After all, a group capable of taking down that huge beast would surely not fall prey to something like an animate chest.

The Mimic began to weigh its options. Could it escape right now? Definitely. Neither of these two forces would be able to chase after it while they were busy with each other. So why not try to kill a few of those people first? At the very least, if it had to choose, it would want the janther to win. True, it did piss all over the poor thing, but the Mimic didn’t particularly hate it. It was warm and sort of pleasant, actually. Of course, it might think differently if it had a sense of smell or if some of it got into its mouth.

Having made its decision to interfere, it next needed to choose a method. Shadowbolt was an option. What better place to test its power? It even had the perfect target - that Druid in the middle. The Mimic was in her blind spot and had a clear shot. Not to mention that, unlike the other three who constantly orbited around their target, the female elf had to stand perfectly still while chanting.

Oh, right. Chanting. It would need to chant the Shadowbolt Spell out loud, possibly attracting attention to itself. Still, with all that commotion, it doubted it would be caught as long as it was quiet. It was still under the effects of its Stealth Skill, after all. That meant any sound, including its ‘speech,’ would be lessened to some degree.

Right, now all that was left was to choose the right moment. The janther was rapidly running out of HP and the adventurers were clearly getting tired, but the winner was pretty much obvious at this point. The climax of the battle would be here soon and there might not be a good chance if it waited too long. And then, one of the Warriors was blown back again. The Druid would now undoubtedly focus on healing her teammate and would be a sitting duck.

The chest lid lifted ever so slightly. A low gurgle-like sound could barely be heard as it charged its Spell. When the Druid started muttering an incantation of her own, the Mimic released its Spell with a whisper.

“Shatolholt.”

The mass of darkness streaked through the air with a low hiss. The female Druid had just finished preparing her next Rejuvenation Spell and was about to invoke it with the keyword. She shouted “Re-,” but only got as far as the first syllable. The Shadowbolt caught her completely off guard and made impact with the side of her skull.

The sprawling shadow engulfed her head in an instant. The eldritch energies then viciously pulled her flesh and bones apart. There was a horrible sloshing sound as her head burst open like a gory firework. Drops of blood, bits of brain, clumps of hair, shards of bone and patches of skin rained down on her comrades. The suddenly headless body stood upright for an impossibly long second before falling over with a wet thud.

[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 200% more damage. Target HP -126.]
[You have slain your target in a single strike. Assassination Proficiency increased.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Arcane Assassin.]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 5 Warlock! INT +10. MNT +10. END +10.]
[You have learned a new Spell: Ebonfire.]
[You have learned a new Spell: Mass Panic.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Monster Magic.]
[Proficiency level increased. Ruin Mastery is now Level 2. INT +4. WIS +2. END +2.]

Chapter Three
The Sweeper

Part One

Lylandros never wanted much out of life. Just to become really famous and get all the ladies. A simple, straightforward dream. But as an elf born in the human-dominated Lodrak Empire, his prospects were bleak. Practically non existent, actually. He was so low on the social ladder that even the worms in the dirt seemed to be above him in the pecking order. All because of some big war over four hundred years ago that people were still salty about.

Well, it didn’t help that the elves used horrific and underhanded means to fight that war. They were basically terrorists. And then they lost. Even if it was a long time ago, those random attacks on uninvolved civilians caused some pretty deep scars. It was to the point where there wasn’t a single human in the Empire who hadn’t suffered at their hands. So the humans despised the elves. They taught their children to hate them, and those children passed that on. It had gotten a bit better for the elves with time, but the discrimination was still pretty widespread. At least they weren’t chained and enslaved on sight anymore, so there’s definitely progress, right?

And then you have this young elven street urchin who wanted to make it big. What was he supposed to do? Join an adventurer’s guild, of course. Unlike the general populace, most adventurers did not discriminate against elves. Or at least, not openly. As a result, many elves were forced to take up the dangerous work of an adventurer.

At least 25% of adventurers were elves, second only to humans who made up about 40% of the total. Dwarves came in third with a share of about 15%. Those short and bearded humanoids weren’t discriminated against, though. It was just that most of them preferred to become artisans and artists, a much better use of their dexterous fingers and deeper reserves of stamina. Also their short legs made traveling long distances on foot a pain in the ass.

And so, Lylandros became an adventurer. That was about a month ago. He was steadily climbing up to becoming a Level 20 Ranger along with his team. They were all former street rats like him, so they shared a certain bond beyond mere colleagues. Since their moralities and values lined up, they became fast friends and their teamwork was top-notch. Something like taking down a janther was not a big deal - they had already killed one of the beasts a week ago. Admittedly it was a younger one at only Level 24, but the method to fight it did not change. They made a decent amount of money from that kill. And then they noticed there was a tempting bounty on this particular janther worth 500 Gold Pieces (GP), so it was only natural they would go for it.

Admittedly, the traps he placed proved to be useless. It seemed that, unlike the younger one, this adult would not recklessly chase them down. Still, that just meant the hunt would take longer. They still considered this a low-risk high-reward job. The risk seemed to disappear as they verified the janther was weaker than they expected. It was practically already dead and Raela still had a decent amount of MP left. So then, why did her head have to suddenly explode just now?

Lylandros was this close to getting inside her pants, too! Such a shame. He would have to find someone else to help him graduate from being a virgin by the look of things. But before that, he had one important matter to take care of.

He had to throw up. He keeled over and went “Urk.. Urp! UGHRAHRAHRAHRA!” as the contents of his stomach came out the wrong end. It wasn’t like the poor lad could help it - he was still young and inexperienced. He was also right next to Raela when he saw her head suddenly enveloped in a black mist. He opened his mouth to scream, but in the next instant that pretty face had turned into soup. And then he got a mouthful of bloodied brain tissue. He also briefly felt the presence of someone else’s tooth on his tongue.

So he threw up. He vomited uncontrollably because his heart was gripped by a combination of fear, panic, disgust and general what-the-fuck-ery. Brom and Krom didn’t seem to realize what had just happened. The horrifying noise of their comrade’s head bursting into a red mist was drowned out by the janther’s roars. But even if the sound reached them, it was unlikely they would hear it. Those muscle-headed sworn brothers were so focused on their target that they didn’t notice anything else.

But Lylandros did. How could he not? He saw that sinister Spell flying at Raela, but he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t know who launched it, but he saw the direction. And so, while his comrades were in the middle of trading blows with an enemy they were highly unlikely to defeat, he looked aside. And then he saw… it.

A mass of wood, teeth and hatred. It was skittering quickly across the grassy ground on black, spider-like legs. It lowered its profile and circled around to the janther’s back, using the six-legged beast’s body as a shield. Krom and Brom had yet to notice it.

This was bad. He didn’t know why or how, but that spider-chest was definitely the culprit that murdered the girl he liked. He couldn’t let it get away with that! He wouldn’t allow that monster to do as it pleased! This time would be different. This time, he would do his job as the eyes and ears of this team and warn them of danger. He opened his mouth and vomited furiously in their direction!

He couldn’t even scream properly. All that was heard was the wet splatter of disgusting bits of partially digested meat against the grass. It wasn’t like he was quite over what had happened seconds ago. But he tried again. He lifted his gaze to try to warn his surviving comrades. But it was a mistake. What he saw next would undoubtedly give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

Part Two

The Mimic had made a decision. It would interfere in this fight and test out its new Shadowbolt Spell in the process. The one-hit K.O. against the Druid was unexpected, however. It had no idea Assassination worked with Spells, either. If it did, it would have aimed for somewhere else. After all, without the brain, it couldn’t absorb that corpse. Well, it was still going to eat it, though. Truthfully, it was feeling rather hungry. Its HP and MP recovery weren’t halved due to starvation, but that moment felt like it would come soon.

It had other things to do before chowing down, though. First, it needed to finish the fight. And it would do so by killing off the janther and then moving onto the heavily wounded and tired adventurers. Truly a lose-lose-win scenario that suited it perfectly! It crept around the janther’s back while under the guise of Stealth. It noticed one of the adventurers was watching it, but couldn’t do anything about that. The Stealth Skill only affected sound, so walking around in plain sight like that was bound to get it discovered. It didn’t matter though, as long as its target was unaware.

Once it got into position, the Mimic took out a single sword and gripped it tightly with its tongue. Its sudden burst of INT and WIS seemed to make it realize the janther had an obvious weak spot that was perfect for Assassination. It was a specific organ that was also present on the humans and elves it had already eaten. And its recent tussle with the quintet of guards back in that cave demonstrated that it was undoubtedly a weakness. So, after taking some precautions and matching its timing with the still-fighting janther, it brandished its sword and stabbed at it from behind. Using its magic perception and dexterous tongue, it precisely pierced both of the janther’s testicles.

[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 200% more damage. Target HP -54.]

The damage dealt was low. That much was expected. It wasn’t like something that was outside the body was a vital spot. Well, it may have been necessary to the janther to qualify as a mammal, but the beast had other things on its mind right now. Like a searing, indescribably intense pain. It still had 105 HP remaining, but the agony it was in made it almost want to die.

It yelled with a long, high-pitched scream as it fell on the ground. Krom and Brom stepped back at this weird behavior. Since it didn’t look like the writhing and yelling janther would get up any time soon, they could finally catch their breath. But something was off - where was their damned support? They looked over their shoulders in unison to admonish their teammates for slacking. It was only then that they realized something horrible had happened. Their Ranger was vomiting and their Druid was lying on the ground, covered in blood.

And then the janther screamed again. Krom and Brom turned their focus back to their target. If they turned their backs on it now, it was sure to kill them both. And then, they also saw it. A wooden chest that was latched firmly on the janther’s back.

The Mimic had climbed up on the now grounded prey and driven its teeth deep into it. It stuck to it like a tick. Even if the janther thrashed around it wouldn’t be able to shake it off. The Mimic then put the next step of its attack into action - its six spider legs fused together to become two slightly disfigured black arms. It was its first time growing human limbs, but it had no problems with that. It had eaten so many arms that it could probably create one in its sleep. It wasn’t like the arachnid limbs that had to be made from sight, or the eye which was a delicate thing. Simple muscle-and-bone could be easily grown in an instant.

The arms reached into the small opening between the monster’s jaws and the janther’s bloodied hide and pulled out a sword each. They then began viciously stabbing every bit of janther flesh within reach. The shapeshifter couldn’t put as much as power into them as it wanted, but it had all the time in the world. It kept stabbing and carving up the green fur, splattering blood all over the place.

The duo of warriors felt like they had walked into a nightmare. Their elven comrade further back felt like he was already in hell. Even by monster standards, that horrible wooden box was simply way too vicious, entirely too brutal. It was as though it went out of its way to pick the most horrible method of ripping apart its victims.

Once the janther finally stopped struggling and passed away, the Mimic morphed again. In an instant it turned back into a spider-chest, but this time it had all three of its tongue-tentacles out and ready. Without giving the dumbfounded men any time to relax it charged at them, swinging its blades around in a flurry of death and blood.

Krom and Brom were natural-born Warriors. They were confident in their ability to block and parry a wide range of attacks. Whether they came from monsters, bandits or even other adventurers didn’t matter - they would deflect them all and hold the line. However, they could not keep up with this onslaught. The sheer number of blows raining down on them meant they had no breathing room. Exhausted and disheartened, they desperately tried to hold the monster back while getting covered in scratches. But they still had faith. Faith that, if given enough time, that elf would be able to do something about this nightmarish creature. They believed that from the bottom of their hearts.

But such a thing did not happen. Lylandros was already running away with all his might. His elven nature screamed at him to save himself. His experience growing up in the gutter told him to run for his life. And his fear-addled mind had absolutely no desire to stick around. And so, he ran. Comrades? Lovers? Friends? You can buy plenty of those if you had money! But you couldn’t have any of that if you died in a forest somewhere.

Besides, he had a duty. He had to report the appearance of that terrifying monster to the authorities. The proper subjugation Quest needed to be put out and stronger adventurers had to be called in from the south. Dying there would be a disservice to his comrades who were still fighting to buy him time to escape.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Back at that blood-soaked battlefield, Krom and Brom were both inevitably slain. They fought valiantly, but they were in a hopeless position. Wounded, tired and abandoned, they died to a monster’s blade slowly, painfully, and gripped by despair. Their passing was so dreadful, that it was highly likely they would come back as the undead if their killer wasn’t planning on absorbing their corpses.

The Mimic danced on their bloodied bodies. Its hastily-made plan resulted in a massive harvest. Since someone else had already heavily wounded the janther before this opportunist showed up and stole the kill, it only got partial credit. Still, that, combined with the other two kills it got, was enough to earn it three Levels for its Mimic Job. The pointy-eared one got away, which was a bit of a shame, but all things considered this was a very profitable engagement.

After it had settled down, it went over to the non-viable corpse and began eating the dead woman. While it was doing that, it also went through its Status. It had earned a lot of things it didn’t have time to double check before, so now was a good time to verify. And just like the Spell List, that new thing it saw should have its own screen. It still had no idea what exactly a Perk was, though.

[Perk List]
Arcane Assassin
Monster Magic

[Perk]
A special effect that had been made available by fulfilling specific conditions.
You can Inspect individual Perks for more information.

[Arcane Assassin]
Every assassin worth their salt knows that silence is golden.
Requirements: Kill an opponent of equal or higher Level with a single Spell while the Stealth Skill is active.
[Effects]
Spells cast while the Stealth Skill is active will be completely silent.
Spells cast while the Stealth Skill is active will cost 25% more MP.

[Monster Magic]
A being born of mana is naturally more skilled at manipulating it.
Requirements: Obtain any Level 5 Caster Job as a Monster.
[Effects]
All Spells are 5% more effective.

So Perks were similar to Skills, except they wouldn’t grow stronger with time. Obtaining them seemed to be mostly at random, too. How was anyone supposed to figure it out outside of blind luck?! The Mimic complained slightly to nobody in particular. Well, not like it had a firm grasp on how to unlock General Skills either.

Truthfully, adventurers could share this information and help each other become that slight bit stronger. They were all essentially competitors, so they only revealed such things to those they trusted. And nobody was about to trust a monster that was currently busy eating the corpse of a person it murdered in cold blood.

Next, the Mimic needed to verify its new magic.

[Ebonfire]
Requirements: Level 3 Warlock, INT 20
School: Ruin
Type: Targeted
Cost: 100 MP
Range: 25 Meters
[Effects]
Engulfs your target’s soul in flames, burning away their body over 6 seconds.
Has no effect on Undead, Demons and Golems.

[Mass Panic]
Requirements: Level 5 Warlock, INT 15, MNT 15
School: Domination
Type: Area Effect
Cost: 50 MP
Range: 5 Meters
[Effects]
Sends all living things in the immediate area into a magically-induced panic attack.
Has no effect on Undead, Demons and Golems.

Ebonfire seemed to be like a powerful spell, but with limited usage and 100 MP also seemed like a really steep cost. On the upside, it looked like it left the actual body in one piece, which was good. The Mimic didn’t want to invalidate any more corpses if it could help it.

As for Mass Panic, it seemed to be of limited use. It was also of a school of magic different to Ruin.

[Domination]
A school of magic that focuses on influencing the mind.
Domination Spells do not deal physical damage and instead cause debilitating conditions.
Domination Spells will display stronger or weaker effects depending on the difference between the mental Attributes of the caster and the target.
Repeated use of Domination Spells against the same target will show reduced effectiveness.

So it was something that seemed completely unreliable, at least for hunting. This was the simple truth the Mimic’s noticeably boosted mental abilities realized. Still, the incantation was really short so it might be useful as an escape mechanism. Having finished devouring the Druid, the Mimic moved onto the janther’s corpse. While it would definitely use Cadaver Absorption on it, the monster first needed to rectify a problem - it couldn’t see in the dark. But this six-legged beast could clearly see it last night.

Therefore, the Mimic wanted those eyes. It had to eat them to copy them properly. Technically, eating a part of the corpse now would reduce the effectiveness of Cadaver Absorption, but some things were more important than Attributes or Skills. And even then, it was only going after that one tiny part of its face. Compared to the rest of the gigantic body, they were so insignificant that it probably wouldn’t make a difference anyway. So the shapeshifter gouged them out slowly with a sword and then put them in its mouth. It rolled them around on its tongue before slowly chewing them up and swallowing them.

The sole human eye on its surface then morphed. Its color changed from a dull brown to a bright yellow. A vertical line ran down the golden iris, giving it the appearance of a cat eye. The Mimic would need to wait until it got dark again to properly calibrate it, but it was a start. Since it had enough MP, it absorbed the entirety of the janther. What appeared to be thousands of liters of gray sludge disappeared inside its body, leaving behind a pile of skin and bones that crumbled away slowly in the gentle breeze.

Unfortunately, it was a failure and nothing was gained. The Mimic immediately felt a pang of regret. Hundreds of kilograms of delicious fresh meat just went to waste. It might actually mourn for it, if it knew the concept of grief. Still, it had two more usable corpses it could absorb, so it might get lucky anyway. But that would need to wait until its MP recovered some more. Right now it had one more important piece of business with its Status Screen.

“Skill Lisht: Harlock” it chanted. The screen came up as expected, but it seemed it only had one Skill on offer. This was because, simply put, it was missing supporting General Skills. For example, if it had the Taboo Skill, it might unlock Hexcraft. But as it stood, it had to make do with what it got.

[Summon Familiar]
The Warlock can call forth demons from the Beyond and bend them to his will.
Requirements: Level 5 Warlock, INT 30
Type: Active
Activation Time: 10 seconds
Cost: 50% of max MP
Range: 15 meters
[Effects]
Summons a contracted demon to serve as the Warlock’s familiar and obey his orders.
A summoned Familiar will last until it dies or the Warlock dismisses it.
The Familiar’s strength is dependent on the Level of this Skill and the MP used to summon it.
Allows the creation of 1 demonic contract.
Beware! Demons do not like to be shackled!

Having some company would be good. Not that the Mimic was getting lonely or anything, it just understood the concept of strength in numbers. And if that didn’t work, it would at least find out if demons tasted good.

[General Information]
Mimic (Lesser), Genderless, 2 months old
Level 18.56 Mimic
Level 5.62 Warlock
178/376 HP (+0.6/sec)
35/305 MP (+0.4/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 51, DEX 56, AGI 45, END 65, INT 61, WIS 49, LCK 12, MNT 24

[Mimic Skills]
Assassination - Lvl 4.43
Storage - Lvl 3.61
Cadaver Absorption - Lvl 2.40
[Warlock Skills]
Summon Familiar - Lvl 1.00
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift - Lvl 4.31
Stealth - Lvl 3.61
Sword Mastery - Lvl 5.15
Ruin Mastery - Lvl 2.87

Part Three

Lylandros never wanted much out of life. Just to become really famous and get all the ladies. A simple, straightforward dream. But that was then, and this was now. Thoughts of fame and fortune were so far removed from his consciousness that he questioned if he really had them in the first place.

“Oy, twiggy,” came a voice from outside his cell. “The cap’n will see you now.”

Lylandros meekly got up from the pile of hay that served as his bed for the night. Not like he could fall asleep anyway. His night terrors wouldn’t let him. The horrifying scenery of that girl he sort of liked exploding all over him was still fresh in his mind. He remembered it vividly like it was yesterday. Although that’s not really surprising considering that’s precisely when that happened.

He ambled over to the iron bars that made up his cell door and put his hands through a gap in the vertical bars. The guard on the other side cuffed the elf’s wrists with solid iron shackles connected by a short, thick chain. Lylandros pulled his wrists back inside so that the guard could unlock and open the cell. He roughly grabbed the shackled elf by the arm and almost literally dragged him off.

This all happened so smoothly and methodically, onlookers might have mistaken it for a well-rehearsed play. It was just that, like most small-time hoodlums, Lylandros was no stranger to being locked up. His captors would insult and manhandle him all the time, so this treatment was nothing new.

Truth be told, he was actually glad to be in here. It was safe and quiet. They even confiscated his soiled clothes and armor. The elf would probably never see those again, but that was undoubtedly a good thing for his peace of mind. Right now, the only thing he was wearing was a pair of rough, ragged trousers that did little more than preserve his dignity. The brown cloth was so rough and riddled with holes that it wouldn’t be a surprise if these pants were sewn together from old potato sacks.

The armed guard roughly escorted him through the damp, rat-infested dungeon. About a dozen tiny jail cells much like his own dotted the dark corridor. Wall-mounted torches illuminated the thick walls made out of hewn stone. Intermittent cries from the other prisoners could be heard echoing around him. Lylandros and the jailer eventually reached the steep staircase that was the only way in or out of this depressing place. They climbed up out of the dungeon and into the keep proper.

The walls looked pretty much the same, but at least there were windows here. Lylandros was guided through several corridors, up some more steps and finally arrived at the office of the local guard captain. His escort rapped twice on the thick wooden door. After hearing the “Come in,” he opened it and dragged his prisoner inside, throwing him roughly onto the floor.

“Hey, come on!” complained the captain. He was a slightly plump, balding man way past his prime. He stood up from behind the heavy desk in the middle of the room. “Don’t do that! You’ll stain the carpet!”

“Sorry, sir,” said the guard. “This one was rather violent yesterday, so I-”

“Enough! I don’t care! Just put him in the damn chair so I can interrogate him.”

The grunt replied with a simple “Yes, sir,” before picking up the scrawny elf by the armpit and putting him in the simple wooden chair next to the desk.

The captain eyed the prisoner up and down. He looked like the typical hoodlum elf - lanky, hollowed out face and several scars from various stab wounds. He was certain he had whip tracks over his back as well, but that was unimportant.

This particular street rat had entered this city yesterday afternoon. Well, ‘entered’ was perhaps too strong a word. He ran up to the city gates covered in blood and started screaming something about explosions, brains and a ‘horrible monstrosity.’ Since he caused a disturbance and refused to calm down, the guards at the scene subdued and incarcerated him.

It was the same day that the big incident at the nearby dungeon complex was discovered. Captain Reeves knew better than to assume it to be a coincidence. Although it took some time for him to go through all the reports, his experience told him this elf and the disappearance of his patrol were somehow linked.

When the five man unit failed to report back on time, Reeves had sent in a contingent of thirty guards to look for them. And they had made several extremely worrying discoveries.

First, they found four piles of clothed ashes. Former adventurers by the look of it. The dog-tags recovered from the remains revealed their names as well as which guild they belonged to. Using that information, the guards learned these four were on their way to the Yellow Zone of the complex. That meant they weren’t total newbies and were between Level 5 and 10. Otherwise they would have stuck to the Green Zone or moved onto the Red Zone that went up to Level 15.

The second clue the investigation uncovered was on the way to the quarantined area of the Green Zone. The walls and floor of a particular tunnel were bathed in dried up blood. Dead monsters and their bodily fluids would be absorbed back into the dungeon as a form of mana recycling. This meant this particular blood came from those outside of the dungeon’s influence. And judging by the bloodied pieces of armor that had been discarded all over the place, it came from Reeves’s patrol.

The third and perhaps most worrying thing was that the quarantine itself had been breached. His guards brought back the circular portion of enchanted steel that had been neatly cut through. This degree of precision and power was way beyond everything the veteran officer had ever seen. The dwarf responsible for putting that grate together claimed it would take something that was well over Level 70 to make that sort of cut.

Or someone, Reeves thought. Several high-leveled elven terrorists were still at large. This sort of sabotage was clearly within their abilities and lined up with their MO. He theorized they had heard about the appearance of a Sweeper and cut it loose to spread terror among the populace. The captain estimated the Sweeper itself was a threat between Level 20 and 30. If it were any weaker, it wouldn’t be able to kill that Necromancer or take down five of his guards at once. If it were any tougher, it would have broken through the steel grate with sheer force within days rather than two weeks later.

And now, this suspicious elf was in his office. His background check revealed he joined his guild as an initiate only recently. That was good enough reason to assume he wasn’t the one who sabotaged the quarantine. After all, things like adventurers ‘hiding their true powers’ was impossible. The organizations known as guilds had all their members undergo routine Appraisal inspections to track their growth and progress. If a Level 70 no-name appeared out of nowhere and offered to join a guild, it would cause a huge uproar. They definitely wouldn’t leave such a person as a mere initiate - doing so would be disrespectful to their more senior members.

Still, Lylandros’s guild refused to tell Reeves anything other than the elf’s rank within their organization. All guilds collected and recorded information concerning the Jobs, Attributes and Skills of all their members. However, that was kept strictly confidential. Requests to release that data to people like Reeves were reviewed on a case-by-case basis and usually declined. It wasn’t unheard of for adventurers to become criminals, but their guilds needed more than mere suspicion to comply with such demands.

Then again, even the fact he was an initiate was good enough for Reeves - it was more than he usually got out of those people. It was also sufficient grounds to dismiss this elf as the main perpetrator, though he could still be an accomplice.

After sorting his thoughts, the captain began the interrogation. He asked the man’s name, age and occupation for the record, then inquired about the events of yesterday’s afternoon. The elf answered his questions without holding anything back. He spoke of their janther hunt, of his comrade’s sudden and violent demise, of how the ‘horrible creature’ tortured their quarry to death and finally how he ran screaming for his life. The way he spoke about such terrible events with a flat monotone and vacant, fish-like eyes left little doubt in the captain’s mind. The young man before him was broken by what he had witnessed.

“Thank you,” said the captain, concluding the interrogation. “Private, show this man back to his cell. Gently this time. I mean, for real, be gentle. It’s not some euphemism to rough him up, okay?”

The guard saluted with a “Yes, sir!” before turning to his prisoner. “Come on, twiggy, up you go!” he beckoned. He lifted him by his shoulder and led the man outside the captain’s office.

“Oh!” exclaimed Reeves. “Send word to Sergeant Hargan that I need to speak with him when you’re done.”

The guard nodded with another “Yes, sir,” then slammed the door shut.

Now left alone, Reeves let out a long, tired sigh. “Fuck this,” he cursed and reached over to one of his desk drawers. He pulled out a bottle of wine, uncorked it and took a mouthful straight from the bottle. He was gradually becoming an alcoholic over the last several weeks. All because of this damned Sweeper.

A Sweeper was a term used to describe a particular abnormality within a dungeon. A monster that had broken way past the Maximum Monster Level. It would roam the dungeon and annihilate everyone and anyone it came across. Isolating and quarantining the Sweeper so that it died of starvation was one way of dealing with it. The worst, laziest, cheapest way. It fit that idiotic mayor perfectly. If he had listened to Reeves and approved a proper subjugation Quest immediately, then things would be different. His men and who knows how many others would still be alive.

He took another swig of the bottle.

After all, very few adventurers stuck around this province once they reached Level 20 or so. The few who did were ‘retirees.’ Adventurers who did easy Quests way below their pay grade so they could live peacefully and humbly. A lot of his guards were ‘retired’ adventurers around Level 15, too. Many of them were simply disillusioned when their childish dreams crashed into the impenetrable wall called reality. They had given up and settled down. It’s not a bad way to live life, thought Reeves before swallowing yet another mouthful of wine.

But now, he would have to take action. He would put his foot down. Although he would still send an armed patrol to scout out the janther’s lair and confirm the elf’s story, he was more or less convinced. The Sweeper had broken ⎼ no, had been set free from the quarantine and was running amok in the nearby forests. Judging from Lylandros’s disheartened babbling, it seemed to be a type of Mimic. Since it clearly had access to some form of magic on top of being particularly vicious, Reeves made another conclusion. This Sweeper was a variant or rare species that had appeared in the nearby dungeon. Most likely it was summoned by this phantom saboteur to spread fear and terror among the populace. It was a common strategy of the elves during the big war, so it was entirely possible.

Later that day, Sergeant Hargan returned with the results of his investigation. Reeves had sent him to scout out the site of Lylandros’s battle with the janther. The sergeant reported three piles of ash being present at the scene. Two of them were wrapped in clothes and armor and the third one was much too big to be a person. There was no sign of a headless corpse, but he did locate a huge day-old blood smear on the grass.

That settles it, thought Reeves. The Sweeper was definitely at large in that forest. He gave the order to assemble a punitive force to subjugate the threat. The minimum Level required was 20 and the monetary compensation would be split up between the participants based on merit. As for the reward itself, the total amount came out to a formidable 860 GP. It was a sizable sum that would allow a regular person to party it up for a whole six weeks. That or live off it for almost a year if they were frugal. Even if it had to be split up between several people, it was still an extremely attractive prize for a day’s work.

The captain didn’t want to deal with that scumbag of a mayor, so he put the reward together himself. Most of this money came from the 500 GP set aside for the janther bounty that was now void. The remaining 360 GP was collected from soldiers in the barracks. Word had spread among the tightly-knit City Guard that the subjugation target was the same bastard that murdered five of them. Some who were over Level 20 volunteered. Most who couldn’t or didn’t participate directly gave freely of their own pockets. A larger reward would mean an increase of both quantity and quality of adventurers willing to take the Quest. It was their own way of taking vengeance for the death of their friends and colleagues.

And so, about four days later, a force of twenty-three people was gathered. Eight of those were guards. The remaining fifteen people were adventurers. As per the Quest requirements, they were all at least Level 20, reaching up to Level 27 in a few cases. This was the best they could gather on such short notice, but time was of the essence. They needed to stamp out that Sweeper before it became too big a threat. The near-two-dozen men and women were gathered outside the city gates, eager to set off. Reeves appeared on horseback and in full ceremonial armor and stood in front of them. He raised his arm to quiet the murmuring and began the briefing.

“Thank you all for coming. I will now reveal what we know of the Sweeper. Its species is suspected to be a Mimic variant. We estimate its Level to be in the higher 20s, possibly lower 30s.”

Most of the adventurers found this news odd. The fact that this many people were gathered for one lousy box was, in a word, overkill. Some of the adventurers let out an amused snort while others threw the captain a look that said ‘What, that’s it?’ Reeves read the casual mood and immediately took action to dispel it.

“This is not, as you might think, overkill,” he declared. “This monster is unnaturally intelligent and vicious. It has killed at least fifty people in the last two months, possibly many more. We also have good reason to believe it can use offensive magic with deadly consequences.”

The gazes of everyone present sharpened. With this many people, even if the monster was Level 50 they could probably take it down if they worked in waves, but only if it couldn’t cast Spells. Being able to attack with magic made a monster much more dangerous than it would be otherwise. If the Level 50 monster in the previous example could use magic, then there was a good chance the punitive force would suffer heavy casualties. It might even be completely wiped out.

“We will commence a sweep of the woods. We will split into four six-man teams. Be mindful of anything even remotely box shaped, including rocks and fallen tree trunks! Look for fresh blood smears, discarded gear or piles of gray ash! If you find the monster, make sure you launch a flare immediately to notify the other teams of your position!”

The captain held up a small wooden tube. It was five centimeters in diameter and twenty centimeters long. A string came out of one end of it. Everyone present had been given one of these earlier. Those not familiar with the device were briefly taught how to use it. The instruction consisted of someone saying, “Pull the string and a shiny thing will pop out the other end, easy peasy!” One would think that much would be obvious, but the guards knew better than to expect common sense from adventurers. A few of those drifters seemed genuinely surprised that the flare-launchers were that simple to use.

“Do not get cocky and try to take it on by yourselves,” cautioned the captain. “We’ve lost too many good people to this foul beast already! If you fuck up, you won’t even leave a body behind for your bereaved loved ones to bury! Understood?!”

“Yes, sir!” came the immediate reply. The spirited response from the eight soldiers seemed to invigorate the other adventurers. They realized that, for these guards, this was no longer just a job. It was personal. And if some pencil-pushing lazy bums were about to give this mission their all, then how could they, as professional monster hunters, possibly do any less? So what if guilds and law-enforcement didn’t always see eye to eye? They were still allies in the grand scheme of things.

“Very good!” shouted the captain. “Sergeant Hargan will be taking over from here. I have given him command over this operation. Good luck, and Godspeed!” He saluted and rode off back inside the city without answering any questions. That’s what Hargan was there for. Besides, the only questions the adventurers wanted to ask that captain were things like “What the hell?! You’re not coming?! What was the point of the horse and fancy armor?! Why’d you even come out here in the first place, fatass!?”

Part Four

A party of five were making their way through the thick forest. Two armed guards led the way while three adventurers followed them. They were one out of four groups searching the forest for the Sweeper that had appeared recently.

“Really, what was Sarge thinking?” complained Mark.

Harold frowned at him in response. “The sergeant knows what he’s doing. We need those three’s abilities, but they didn’t have a vanguard. That’s our job.”

“I know that. I just… I can’t really trust people that easily. Especially that Rogue. He won’t even tell us his name!”

Harold shrugged lightly and looked over his shoulder, where the other three were following.

“Hey, buddy! What do we call you?”

The tall, slender man, who was wrapped head-to-toe in blackened leather, turned his gaze towards Harold.

“‘Buddy’ works,” he said casually. “And I don’t reveal my name because of guild policy. Occupational hazard they call it. I’m sure you understand.”

Harold turned back towards his colleague with a smirk.

“There, see? He’s Buddy.”

“Very funny, Harold.”

‘Buddy’ was part of an adventurer guild called The Dark Hand. They didn’t let anyone join unless they met the minimum requirements - Level 5 Rogue Main Job with at least Level 2 Stealth Skill. It was a den of thieves, spies and assassins. Mark wondered how such a thing could possibly be legal. And while the general populace like himself might doubt it, that guild was completely legit. There was a very high demand for their services, after all. A Rogue could disarm or set traps, pick locks, scout ahead under Stealth and murder the everliving shit out of monsters - all things that were necessary in dungeons. Even once the battle started they made themselves useful by keeping the enemy off balance. Smoke bombs, poisoned daggers, throwing knives and all manner of other dirty tricks and tools made them reliable allies in many situations.

Buddy was a particularly promising recruit. He was a Level 21 Rogue and Level 6 Alchemist. Choosing an Artisan Job for a Side Job might seem weird, but being able to brew his own potions and poisons was a huge help. Plus, the Alchemist Job and its related Skills all raised Dexterity (DEX), Perception (PER) and, to a lesser degree, Endurance (END). A Rogue could make good use out of all three of those Attributes. The downside was that Artisan-type Jobs took a long time to train, but it was still a Side Job that matched perfectly with his Main Job.

His Status aside, he also looked the part. The tight leather bodysuit fit snugly around his arms, torso, butt and thighs. While such armor couldn’t really ward off blows, a Rogue who was expecting to get hit was already a failure in his book. That’s why his gear amplified his AGI, allowing him to dodge and evade rather than block and parry. His head was completely hidden - a hood and mask covered everything but his shifty eyes and sharp ears. Although exposing his ears did help a bit with his hearing, the main reason he did that was to show he wasn’t an elf. He had nothing against those people personally. If anything, he was a fan of elven women. However, a significant part of his clientele were humans who hated elves. They would trust the Rogue more once they saw his ears weren’t pointed.

But the thing that irked Mark the most was the Rogue’s personality. Here they were, hunting a dangerous monster in the middle of the forest and what was that shady guy doing?

“I may be an honorable thief, but I believe it is your piercing stare that has stolen my heart.”

He was hitting on the sole female in the group - the Witch, Xera. For the past half hour, no less.

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you to say,” she replied while blushing lightly.

You don’t have to play along with that, screamed Mark inside his head. He had tried reprimanding them at first, but had to give up since they refused to listen to him. He let out another sigh. In his eyes, that Xera woman was the root of the problem.

The way those bright blue eyes darted all over the place while her mouth hung open was the tell-tale characteristic of a natural airhead. Her face was alluring to say the least and her waist-length blonde hair made her ooze with feminine charm. Her long, navy blue robe dragged slightly along the ground behind her. It had massive slits on either side of the skirt part, which exposed her long legs all the way up to the hip. The light fabric left her shoulders, collarbone and back bare, while wide sleeves ran the length of her arms. The fact that this ridiculous outfit even stayed in place was nothing short of a miracle.

Then there was the completely outrageous cleavage. Her breasts were absolutely massive - almost as large as her head - and swayed obscenely with every step. They pressed dangerously against the thin, low-cut garment. It was almost as if they were trying to rip it apart from the inside. If one had keen eyesight they would be able to notice the subtle outline of her nipples, which hinted at her lack of upper body underwear.

In short, she looked like a total bimbo. Her appearance and behavior were completely at odds with her claim of being a Level 27 Warlock. Mark wanted to question if that was really the case, but he knew better. Everyone here had submitted to a Basic Appraisal check to prove they fit the minimum requirements for this Quest. Questioning his superiors’ ability like that would just earn him a week of cleaning toilets.

At least the last member of his group was reasonable. Koross was a Level 21 Priest, no Side Jobs. He wore sensible white robes with delicate golden embroidery around the wrists, heart and waist - garb typical of those in service to the Gods. He had a thick, dignified beard and mustache that went down to his stomach. His bald head seemed to gleam unnaturally in the sunlight. Koross was also well built, hinting that the steel mace on his hip was not just for show.

He wasn’t without fault though. Koross was a dwarf. And like most dwarves, traveling with him came with two very specific problems. The first one was that he was short. His stubby legs meant he had trouble keeping up with the others and had to constantly half-jog after them. The second issue was that dwarves were really weak to the lure of alcohol. Koross was no exception. He would occasionally bring out a hip flask from inside his robe and take a swig from it. It was fine though - dwarves were of stout constitutions and needed a lot more than that to get tipsy. All things considered, the guy who reeked of whiskey seemed way more reliable than the shifty Rogue and the ditzy Witch.

Just as Mark had rebuilt his focus on the path ahead, Xera suddenly let out an embarrassed “Nooo!” There was the sound of a slap and a yell of pain from Buddy. “I can’t do that sort of thing with you!” she continued while covering her face with both hands. It seemed that Buddy had pushed his luck a little too far.

“Will you cut that out! This is enemy territory!” shouted Mark.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Was this the sort of attitude adventurers had while on the road? Yes, actually. This was more or less how those people behaved while in transit. A guard living in a relatively peaceful city like Monotal would have no idea how stressful adventuring could get once you approached Level 30. If these people didn’t let off steam regularly, they’d implode.

“What’s your problem, man?” said Buddy while rubbing his cheek. That slap from earlier had more power behind it than it looked. “I’m properly keeping an eye out, you know?”

“Like hell you are!” shouted Mark.

“Haaah,” sighed the Rogue. This was why he hated working with civilians. “Fine, let me prove it.”

He took out a small straight knife from his belt and threw it up and to his right. It cut through the air without making a sound before hitting something in the branches of a tree. He then pulled deftly on the almost invisible steel wire, reeling the knife back into his hand. It had cleanly skewered a small brown squirrel.

“My Perception is really good, see? My ears alone can detect anything trying to sneak up on us. They can even beat a Level 4 Stealth Skill you know!”

Mark blinked a few times, processing what just happened. That man behind him had just hit a small target some twenty meters away without so much as looking at it.

“Cheh,” he clicked his tongue. “Alright, you win. Just… keep it down, will you?”

Harold expected this much already, but he too was impressed. Koross was in his drink at the moment so he missed the display entirely. Xera, however, had a different opinion on the matter.

“That poor fuzzy thing!” she wailed. “How could you!? You there, shorty! You’re a Priest, right? Can you heal this little guy?”

“Huh?! What? Who?” blurted out the startled dwarf as he hurriedly put his flask away. “Oh, a squirrel! That our lunch? Good work, lad!”

“Thanks, old timer,” replied Buddy in good humor. “But I think lunch will have to wait. I smell blood.”

“Well aye, it’s all over yer hand there.”

“No, not this,” said the Rogue before throwing the squirrel carcass to the ground. “Monster blood, it’s coming in from the east. My guess, about five hundred meters.” He pointed towards the treeline to their left. “And look,” he continued, “there’s some weird markings on the trees here. Like something was trying to take a bite out of them.”

The group stared at the tree in question. Forget trying, something had actually succeeded in taking a sizable chunk out of the thick trunk. And judging from those odd marks, it wasn’t a stretch to say they were teeth tracks.

“Should we send a flare?”

“Not yet, Koross,” said Mark. “We need to confirm it with our own eyes first.” He and Harold both unsheathed their swords and readied their shields. “Arms at the ready! We’re going to check it out!”

Buddy pulled twin daggers from the sheath at his lower back. He took out a small vial from a pouch on his hip and applied the viscous green liquid inside it to his blades. Xera’s normally vacant expression became almost unnaturally focused. She seemed like a completely different person. She reached over her shoulder and took the heavy wooden staff out of its leather sling, gripping it tightly with both hands.

The Rogue studied the staff curiously. The upper end of the wood curved like the letter C and had a purple crystal ball that floated inside the half-circle. It looked fancy. Expensive. How come he didn’t notice it earlier? Ah, probably because it was behind Xera’s back while her voluptuous breasts were, as expected, on her chest.

Koross was already holding his mace in his right hand, while his left reached into his robes. Only this time, instead of a flask, he took out a small black book - the Scripture of the Sun. He went down on one knee and put the book to his forehead. He mumbled something under his breath before finishing the chant with “Blessing of the Sun!” Everyone present started glowing with a faint yellow light. A few seconds later, it faded away.

[You are now under the effects of Sun’s Blessing. Maximum HP +120.]
[The effect will last for 60 minutes or until it is overridden by another Blessing.]

“Pheeeww,” whistled Buddy. “Not bad, old timer.” Judging from these numbers, he guessed Koross to have a Level 6 Prayer Skill. “To think the most devout Priest I’d ever seen around these parts would be an alcoholic.”

His light joke wasn’t far off the mark. While the dwarf may not have had a Side Job, being able to devote himself fully to his God had its own merits. Such as being able to focus on training the Skills that really mattered. Not to mention a particularly powerful Perk if he became a Level 25 Priest with no Side Jobs.

“Ain’t nothing in the Scripture that says us Priests can’t enjoy a good drink, lad.”

Buddy smirked to himself. He wasn’t a particularly religious guy, but he had to admit the Sun God Solus was probably his favorite one. His clergy were definitely more fun than any of the others he’d seen. Not to mention the priestesses who worshipped him always seemed to have amazing boobs.

With their preparations ready, the group of five headed off into the lush forest. They warily crossed between trees and bushes, keeping a close eye for anything that the Mimic could be disguised as. Even if it was a shapeshifter, a Mimic could not shrink or drastically alter its rectangular body. This was true for both the Lesser and Greater species of the monster. However, it could drastically change the way it looked on the surface. Along the way, they pierced and attacked several suspect rocks, two fallen trees and one stump. They followed the trail of gnawed trunks and curiously chopped off tree branches.

Buddy felt an odd sense of incongruity. He decided to give voice to his concerns. “I think our target is inviting us in. The trail’s way too obvious.”

“Aye. That bugger’s supposed to be smarter than this, right?”

“It’s still a Mimic though,” said Xera while climbing over a small ridge. “Even if it became ten times smarter than normal, it would still be as dumb as a rock.”

Harold decided to chime in. “She has a point, but I’m with Buddy. This is way too suspicious.”

The party moved onward carefully, watching their every step and minding their bearings. After about ten minutes of painfully slow progress, they arrived at a clearing. Rather than a natural meadow, something had cleared out all the trees in the vicinity and turned them into about twenty small, flimsy huts.

“Goblins,” muttered the Rogue under his breath. A goblin was a monster that vaguely looked like a ten or eleven year old child. It had green skin, a bony physique, and exceptionally long nose, chin and ears. Regular goblins hovered around Level 10 or 15, but that was just a formality. The weak body of a goblin meant that, despite its actual Level, its true strength was closer to a Level 8 or 9 monster. But goblins never fought one-on-one. They attacked in great numbers and often roamed in packs of dozens, maybe hundreds of them. They often made crude villages like this one where they could breed and multiply like the vermin they were.

But this village had already been exterminated.

“What the fuck?” Mark was so shocked he reflexively cursed. The scenery that unfurled before him was entirely too familiar. There was blood everywhere. It painted the walls of the flimsy hovels. Bits of goblin flesh were strewn about the place. Piles of grey ash littered the scenery. But one overwhelming theme was immediately apparent. There was not a single corpse left behind. It was almost exactly like what he had witnessed first-hand in that damned dungeon. Only it looked like the monster had tried its absolute darndest to outdo itself.

Since their ‘glorious leader’ was currently staring slack jawed at the scene, Buddy decided to take charge. “Think it’s hiding in here?” he whispered. “There’s a lot of crappy baskets and pots around the place.”

“Yeah,” nodded Koross. ”Them logs around the campfire are also pretty suspect. Could be in the huts, too.”

“I have an idea. I can try to smoke it out,” suggested Xera.

“Won’t you be wasting your MP? I thought those Ruin spells were quite costly.”

“They are, but I’ll be fine, Harold. I have over 1,000 MP, you know.”

The men shared several glances and nodded at Xera. They moved closer to the village as a group without dropping their guard, even for an instant. After walking closer to the edge of the village, Xera signaled everyone to stop. The Witch held her staff up towards the sky and closed her eyes. And then she started chanting her Spell.

“There is nowhere to hide! There’s nowhere to run! This village will burn like the heart of the Sun!”

She chanted it clearly and purposefully, her voice echoing unnaturally.

“With infinite glee, I call upon thee!”

A chill ran down the men’s spines. They had a very bad feeling about this.

“INFERNO!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. A massive hurricane of red-hot flames appeared out of nowhere and swept across the goblin village. It must have been at least ten meters in diameter and five meters tall. It only lasted several seconds, but that was enough to set the entire village ablaze.

A wide smile appeared on Xera’s face. It was so wide that it seemed like her jaw was about to fall off.

“Kuhihihihihi,” she giggled. “Huhuhuhuhuhuhu. HAHAHAHAHA! AAAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!!”

She spread her arms and let out a maniacal four-stage laugh. Her eyes gazed madly at the flames that ravaged the wooden huts and turned everything in front of her to ash.

The rest of the group merely went Ahhh. There it is! inside their heads. Nobody knew how or why, but it was a sort of unspoken rule that female Casters were all fucked in the head. This seemed especially true for offense-type Jobs like the Witch. In Xera’s case, it was obvious that she had a bit of a pyromaniac streak going on. The way she cackled like that made it clear she had forgotten completely about her surroundings. This was a serious fault that could one day lead to her death.

“Get down!” screamed Buddy. Everyone besides the still laughing psycho hit the dirt. A streak of dark matter flew above them, precisely through the spot where the dwarven Priest’s head was half a second ago. It kept going for several more meters before fizzling out of existence.

“Aegis!” screamed Koross. A transparent bubble of golden light wrapped around the party. A second mass of darkness slammed into the hastily-constructed barrier. The Aegis Spell couldn’t take it and shattered, but proved enough to repel the attack.

Buddy recognized the Shadowbolt Spell. He leaped to his feet while shouting “It’s a Warlock!” to his comrades. In his right hand he held three throwing knives, poised between his fingers. He threw the trio of blades at a particular tree some twenty meters away. The Rogue was aiming at a rather dense pile of leaves, which he had confirmed was the origin of both Shadowbolts with his heightened senses.

In an instant, the leaves opened up to reveal an array of dagger like teeth and a thick, red tongue. The out-of-place maw swallowed up the three throwing knives like they were an afternoon snack.

“Kishaaaaaa!” screamed the Mimic. Since it was already discovered, its leaf camouflage was now useless. It leaped from the tree branch it was sitting on. By the time it hit the ground, it had already returned to its regular appearance - that of a wooden chest frame with six black spider-like feet and a trio of tongue-tentacles gripping a sword each.

Having confirmed their target, Mark grabbed hold of his flare launcher. He aimed it at the sky and pulled on the string. There was a bang and a flash as the bright-red flare shot off screaming into the blue sky. Having confirmed the signal was sent, he turned his attention towards the monster. In the next instant he felt something small and sharp fly past his face, leaving a scratch on his cheek.

[You have suffered a minor scratch. HP -2.]
[You have been poisoned. HP -20.]
[Your movements have been dulled by the poison.]

Buddy, who had already distanced himself from the two Warriors in the front, broke out into a cold sweat. He recognized the projectile that grazed Mark as his own poisoned throwing knife. One of the three he had thrown at the Mimic just moments ago, to be precise. The monster had somehow caught it inside its mouth and had thrown it back with speed rivaling his own. If its aim was better, Mark would have a metal handle sticking out of his eye socket right now.

Buddy wasn’t a particularly religious guy, but he still found himself offering a silent prayer to whatever God was listening.

Please let our backup get here in time!

Part Five

Sergeant Hargan ran as fast as he could through the forest. Two of his men followed behind him - one was a Warrior like the Sergeant, the other was a Paladin. Up in front was the three-man adventurer team that was part of his group. A Ranger, a Berserker and a Cryomancer, all human women, though one would normally question if that extremely ripped and tall Berserker with the short hair was truly female. She was so masculine that it was impossible to tell whether those lumps on her chest were breasts or pecs.

At least the Ranger and Cryomancer were more pleasant to look at. If he were a more indecent man, Hargan would probably relish the view of their tight butts as they strained against the two’s tight leather trousers. But he was not like that. He knew full well such thoughts had no place on the battlefield. Besides, his wife would probably murder him if she even suspected he was looking at young girls’ behinds.

The six of them were rushing towards the flare signal sent up by another team. The Ranger at the very front deftly and precisely navigated through the forest, while the Berserker mowed down any trees and monsters in her way with her gigantic sword. That Job was vastly different from Warriors who focused on fighting through techniques like blocking, parrying and riposting.

A Berserker was a killing machine that ran on anger, blood and death. Once the red haze enveloped them, they became unstoppable fighting machines who made one question who was the real monster. Even if they thrived in combat, the side-effects of their reckless fighting style meant their bodies were often left in a dire state. Ending a long battle riddled with wounds, bleeding heavily and with several broken bones was pretty much the norm for them. It was not a Job for the weak-hearted.

The Cryomancer, on the other hand, valued precision. Her main method of attack was launching shards of conjured ice at her opponents. She could also fire an icy beam that froze everything it touched or summon a localized blizzard to blind and confuse her enemy. All of those Spells required a high degree of accuracy to demonstrate their full effect. After all, if a Cryomancer’s enchanted ice pierced a flesh and blood body, it would almost always explode into shards. The unfortunate victim’s insides would be shredded by that frozen shrapnel, causing massive damage. A truly gruesome and ruthless method of attack and one Hargan hoped would be able to subdue this Sweeper.

A thought he would likely be able to confirm sooner rather than later.

Another team had sent a flare, signaling they had confirmed its location. That was fifteen minutes ago. Judging from how everyone was told to spread out, Hargan’s team would be the closest one to the distress signal. Thankfully, there was a tall pillar of smoke that rose up from the same direction, so they could easily find their bearings. And half a minute later, they would be at the scene.

The six of them burst out of the treeline into an unnatural clearing. Nearby was a small village - probably goblin in nature - that was set ablaze. The scenery between Hargan and that rampaging fire bore the scars of a fierce battle that was already over.

He immediately recognized two of his guardsmen. Mark and Harold were both slain, covered head to toe in wounds and lying in a puddle of their combined blood. It looked like the finishing blows were a sword through the throat for Mark and a small knife in the eye for Harold. The sergeant cursed under his breath. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about those opportunistic adventurers, but losing his men was another story.

A few meters away from those two was the body of a dwarven priest, his white robes dyed a crimson red. The left part of his head had been blown clean off, most likely by magic. Much like how that elven survivor had described it, the Sweeper had probably taken out the healer first.

About a dozen meters further away lay the corpse of that Rogue from The Dark Hand guild. Most of his right arm and left leg were gone, probably bitten off in the struggle. He had a small knife sticking out from his left shoulder, identical to the one lodged in Harold’s skull.

And sitting in front of the blazing inferno, hugging her knees and gently rocking herself back and forth, was the Witch, Xera. The sole survivor was making eerie sounds as she stared at the flames. It sounded like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to giggle or weep. Hargan, as the leader of his squad, signaled the others to move forward. They walked carefully towards her, keeping an eye on their surroundings. There was quite a lot of debris strewn around the place, so there was no telling where the Sweeper might pop out from.

Xera froze and went quiet when she heard them approach from behind her. After a few seconds she looked over her shoulder at them. After confirming their presence she returned her gaze to the dancing flames. The Witch then held out her right arm and pointed to the side with a slender finger, right at the smoldering lump of something some fifteen meters away from her.

“It’s dead,” she muttered in a shaky voice. “It was heavily wounded after… killing the others. It tried to run, but I finished it off.” Having finished her bare-bones explanation, the poor woman withdrew her hand and resumed her earlier behavior.

The six who had just arrived at the grizzly scene shared a few difficult looks. They approached the supposed dead Sweeper. Once they got closer, they were able to confirm it. It was an organic chest with teeth. About two thirds of it was burned to a crisp, letting off a repugnant smell. There were three plain-looking and well-used swords on the ground around it. It sat there perfectly still, not showing a single sign of life.

Hargan stabbed it with his spear just in case. It penetrated deep into the corpse, causing a small trickle of yellow blood to leak out of the wound. Since he saw no notification that he had dealt a blow, it was certain the thing in front of him was actually dead.

“Stand down,” he ordered while relief washed over him. The thing that had murdered so many of his men was no more. He turned his attention back to the two dead soldiers. They volunteered for this, just like the others. Mark’s brother had been part of the patrol that disappeared in the cave, so to him this was more personal than to anyone else. Harold acted like he was only in it for the money, but the sergeant knew that man always stood by his friends. So even if these two had to pay with their lives, he hoped they at least passed on with the knowledge they helped bring that monster to justice.

About ten minutes later, the rest of the punitive force arrived on the scene. Hargan brought them up to speed and informed them of the Quest’s success and the terrible price it took on their side. He directed the rest of his men to throw together some stretchers so they could bring the bodies back to the city for burial. At least they had something to bury this time. The adventurers gave their condolences and lent a hand with the grim task.

Hargan walked up to Xera who was still on the ground, hugging her knees. The fire had long ago been put out by the Cryomancer to prevent it from spreading to the rest of the forest, but the Witch still stared off into the distance beyond it.

“Are you alright?” he asked out of genuine concern.

“I’ll be fine,” came the immediate reply. “Please leave me here. I just… need to be alone right now.”

The sergeant sighed. Even if this adventurer was a high Level for this neck of the woods, it still didn’t feel right leaving a distraught girl alone in the forest like this. Still, with the Sweeper gone, he doubted anything in here could lay a hand on her. Her voice also seemed to have regained a bit of vigor, so he decided it wasn’t his place to interrupt her mourning.

“Understood. Please take care. Drop by the barracks later to receive your reward.”

The beauty looked up at him with a weak smile. She gave him a quiet “Thank you,” then turned her attention back to the frozen ashes in front of her. Hargan nodded and proceeded to lead the rest of the adventurers and guards back to civilization. They moved out while carrying the four mangled bodies on stretchers that were hoisted up on their shoulders. The whole thing could only be described as a funeral procession. Which was, more or less, the case.

Some half an hour later, the girl stood up. She walked over to a white rock poking out of the dirt and knelt before it.

The rock sprouted a yellow cat-like eye. The oddly rectangular stone wiggled itself free from the ground and stood up on six black spider-like legs. The coarse white surface melted into itself and transformed into a series of light oak planks bound by fake steel. The Mimic opened its mouth and a long, red tongue wrapped around Xera. Rather than fight or struggle, she just sort of let it happen.

It lifted her up, then slammed her head first into the ground. She let out a scream of pain while her face was dragged through the coarse dirt, disfiguring it horribly. This was her punishment for nearly messing things up. And, even though she wouldn’t admit it directly, deep down she really enjoyed the rough treatment.

In truth, Xera the Witch was not a real person. This being currently having her face dragged along the dirt was not even human. Her actual name was Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila, a Cerulean Succubus who served as the Mimic’s familiar.

When a Warlock or Witch performed Summon Familiar for the first time, they were given a choice. They had to pick which species of demon would best fit their needs. Four of their five options were the naturally large and tough fiends, the many-eyed floating heads called beholders, the vicious canine hunters known as hellhounds and the mana-devouring spider-like stalkers. The one this particular Warlock chose was the final one - the conniving and treacherous succubi.

Succubi were demons that could alter their appearance through the Shapeshift Skill. They were well suited to infiltration, deception and taking advantage of the desires of others. It was a type of demon that was very close in its hunting habits to mimics. One could say that the only real difference was the type of chest that was used as bait. In short, the succubus seemed like the perfect partner-in-crime to this enterprising spider-chest. And the one it was bonded to was Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila, or Xera for short. She was a Cerulean Succubus, which was a sub-species that relied on magic in combat and was capable of manipulating the minds of mortals by tampering with their dreams.

The bonding of a demon to a Warlock was, in essence, a magical contract with iron-clad fine print. The Warlock wanted to use the demon’s power, and the demon wanted to play around in the physical realm. It was a compromise both sides would need to accept. Except that demons were by nature devious, prideful and greedy. They hoped to exploit the loophole whereby if their master or mistress had died while they were summoned, then they would be free to do as they pleased for as long as their physical bodies held out.

Objectively speaking though, the demons saw the whole bonding thing as little more than a way to stave off their boredom. Xera was no different, which was why she eagerly accepted the contract when the chance presented itself. She had dreams of killing off her master, who she imagined to be some snot nosed ugly virgin who didn’t know any better, and setting herself free. Even if she was unable to attack her master directly, she could still seduce or entice him with her wiles. With his judgement clouded and his reason stripped, it would be a simple task to have him meet with an ‘accident.’ She had already done so several times in the past, so she was confident it would work this time as well.

However, such thoughts came to a grinding halt when she was materialized in a forest next to a couple of dead bodies. She stared blankly at the being that had summoned her, silently cursing her rotten luck. Her master was a Mimic, a barely sentient box that had absolutely no sex drive or reproductive organs to speak of. How the hell was she supposed to seduce something like that? How did this thing even manage to summon her in the first place? And while she was quietly lamenting the bad situation she had gotten herself into, it abruptly got worse.

The Mimic bit off both her legs, crippling her before she could even speak to her new master. This attack came without warning and for a completely idiotic reason. Her master was simply curious if demons were tasty. And, much to Xera’s horror, it found her legs to be to its liking. It gobbled up the rest of her in three big bites.

When a demon’s physical body was destroyed, its spirit would be sent to the Beyond - a realm of thoughts and dreams that was halfway between real and imaginary. Demons were immortal beings to begin with, so defeating them in the real world simply sent them back home. One had to try really, really hard to permanently destroy a demon, so what had just happened to Xera was not actually as fatal as it may appear.

If she had a jaw in this realm, it would undoubtedly be hanging open. She simply could not believe what had just happened. She was dragged into a completely different reality just so she could be pointlessly devoured. Was her new master really that big of a moron? Or was it simply that cruel?

Unfortunately for her, the answers to those questions were ‘yes,’ and ‘yes.’

Once the Mimic’s MP had recovered, it summoned her again, only to instantly eat her up. This happened over and over. No matter how much she protested or struggled, she was powerless to stop it. The creature simply wanted to enjoy the taste of her conjured body, as it was incredibly sweet and pleasingly chewy. It had a lot of fun while eating her, but it was still flesh born of mana. No matter how many times it ate her, Xera’s body parts would dissolve into nothing within a minute. It couldn’t sate its hunger or even use Cadaver Absorption under these circumstances. It was something the Mimic realized by the third time it summoned her. Still, it didn’t see that as a reason to stop. If anything, it seemed like a reason to take things slower and savor the taste more.

The proud demoness was reduced to little more than a monster’s plaything. Here she was, an immortal demon capable of reaping the souls of mortal men, and what was she being used for? Junk food. Her uncaring master gave no fucks about her suffering and tortured her for its own pleasure.

Xera was mortified at this realization. Her pride and willpower helped her withstand the humiliation and abuse, but that was only at first. Even if the body was fake, the sensations she felt were very much real. The pain of having her flesh stripped away and the agony of her bones shattering time and time again chipped away at her psyche. The overwhelming horror of being eaten alive every time she ‘woke up’ etched itself into her very soul.

Under such extreme treatment, she began to change. The fifth time she was summoned, she completely gave up on turning the tables on that heartless monster of a master. Her pride and willpower were long gone before the painful summonings even reached two digits. About the thirteenth time she was being devoured, she felt herself getting aroused. On the sixteenth devouring, her lower lips were absolutely drenched from start to finish. And then, on her twenty-third time being summoned, she actually had an orgasm while the Mimic was ripping off her breasts. From that point on she came at least once every time the Mimic sank its teeth into her soft flesh and ripped apart her sensitive skin.

The boundary between extreme pain and extreme pleasure was paper thin, and Xera could no longer tell the difference between the two. The systemic abuse had already broken her, perhaps forever. Rather than suffer through the pain, her tortured mind embraced the pleasure with open arms. Under the Mimic’s unceasing assaults, she transformed into a hardcore masochist who longed to be hurt and abused by others. Truly befitting of a demon that fed off men’s perversions.

And so, on the thirty-fifth summon, it finally stopped eating her. But the damage was done. The haughty demoness that looked down on others was nowhere to be found. Instead what stood in her place was a panting pervert with a glazed look. And the reason the Mimic finally stopped munching on its new, favorite snack was because it actually had a use for her now.

The monster didn’t just sit idle while it was waiting for its MP to recover. It had followed after that elf who escaped its murderous rampage from earlier. It couldn’t quite track him, but it could still walk in the same general direction. Eventually, it found the nearby city of Monotal. However, it dared not go near it. After all, those armed guards at the gates looked exactly like the five men it killed on its way out of the dungeon. It wanted information, but was too conspicuous to pass through that checkpoint. It didn’t have to though - that sort of thing was why it bonded with a familiar in the first place. A succubus was pretty much perfect for this sort of infiltration. And so, it summoned Xera and used the telepathic link between them to give her its orders. She was to disguise herself as a human, enter the city and feed it information.

The succubus, despite her newfound eccentricities, was still very good at doing her job. She assumed the guise of a wandering adventurer and entered the city without much incident. The Sweeper subjugation Quest was big news, so she found out about it immediately. This information was relayed to her master through their mind-link. The Mimic then quickly realized it was in deep trouble. It was sure those people would not rest until they hunted it down, and judging from Xera’s reports there were going to be a lot of very dangerous people coming after it.

In truth, it had overestimated their conviction. If it had just escaped far away, then there was no way they would have been able to track it down. It had convinced itself a confrontation was inevitable, so it started preparing. The Mimic ordered its familiar to keep gathering information while it hunted in the forest to raise its Levels and Skills.

The Mimic may have been a natural genius when it came to ambushes and exploiting weakness in combat, but succubi were just as devious when it came to deception and conspiracies. The succubus inadvertently gave her master a suggestion. She would infiltrate the punitive force in order to help the Mimic fake its death. If things went well, she might even bring it some powerful adventurers on a silver platter. That way it could get more powerful, lose the heat and get paid all in one go. It questioned the importance of money at first, but that quickly changed once Xera explained money could be exchanged for delicious things.

And so, with her master’s approval, the succubus got busy. The first obstacle was the mandatory Appraisal check. Adventurers had to go through it to prove they met the Level 20 minimum requirements of the Sweeper subjugation Quest, but doing so was bound to reveal Xera’s true nature to these mortals. However, Cerulean Succubi were very good at controlling the hearts of men. The middle-aged official who was doing the examination was no match for the demoness, who made lewd promises in exchange for forging her paperwork. The pent up government worker had taken those sweet words hook, line and sinker.

After getting what she wanted, Xera put him to sleep with magic and activated her Dreamweaver Skill. She then wiped the memory of their encounter from his feeble mind before walking out of his office as if nothing had happened. It was her way of erasing the witness without leaving behind a dead body. It was a good thing the one doing the test was a weakling with pitiful or non-existent Mental Fortitude and Wisdom, otherwise the succubus would not be able to manipulate him as easily as she did.

From then on it was a simple matter of blending in with one of the parties and feeding her master information about it through the mind-link. When the time came, the Mimic invited them to a suitable kill zone. Xera then made a distraction with the Inferno Spell, allowing her master a free shot at the party’s healer. That’s when that troublesome Rogue interfered and ruined the ambush by saving the troublesome Priest’s life.

It didn’t matter though. Since all the humans were focused on the Mimic, Xera was able to hit Koross with a point blank Fireball to the head. The Spell exploded, enveloping the dwarf’s head in flames and ruining his focus. He didn’t die on the first hit, but then came a second and a third before his head finally burst open. Much like the scene with the janther, the front line noticed too late that their healer had died. Betrayed, demoralized and without magical support, the other three had no chance of victory.

It took less than a minute to wipe out the whole group, after which it was time to set the scene.

While Xera was doing her job in the city, the Mimic had gone back into the dungeon. The news of a Sweeper running loose meant the place was practically deserted, allowing it to come and go unhindered. The reason it went there was because it needed a scapegoat, something to take its place. The corpses of monsters that died in the dungeon would be recycled and disappear, but such things didn’t happen once their connection to the dungeon was severed. So the Mimic went in, found one of its kind, wrapped its tongue tentacles around it and dragged it outside by force. The lower-Leveled monster struggled, but was unable to resist its much stronger, more powerful kin. Once it was forced outside the dungeon, it was murdered by a single use of the Ebonfire Spell. The weaker mimic’s corpse was then put into its killer’s Storage.

And now that the time was right, it was taken back out. Xera and her master then ‘decorated’ the corpse by burning it and stabbing it in several places and throwing some weapons around it to make it look like it had dropped them. All that was left was to wait for everyone to gather and feed them the story. And they bought it. They were even going to pay Xera for basically betraying and murdering her teammates. All things considered this plot of hers was a resounding success.

So then, why was the Mimic pissed off at its familiar to the point where it found it necessary to shred her face on the coarse ground? Because the Inferno Spell that Xera used as a ‘distraction’ very nearly set fire to the tree it was hiding in. That pyromaniac side of hers wasn’t part of her act, that was just how she always was. The succubus, it would seem, was one of those people who just wanted to watch the world burn.

As for the Mimic, it was left feeling a little hungry after that exercise and had to give up on all those tasty corpses. Since its tongue was already wrapped around something delectable, it absentmindedly ate its familiar for the thirty-fifth time. It chewed on her slowly, ignoring her moans and wails. At some point, the delectable succubus flesh suddenly vanished from its tongue.

[Your familiar has been banished.]

It then immediately remembered that doing that would not actually sate its hunger. Oh well. It shrugged its non-existent shoulders and took out a dead deer from its Storage to snack on.

[General Information]
Mimic (Lesser) (+), Genderless, 3 months old
Level 25.00 Mimic
Level 13.14 Warlock
598/598 HP (+1.4/sec)
465/500 MP (+0.7/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 78, DEX 79, AGI 70, END 104, INT 100, WIS 64, LCK 30, MNT 55

[Mimic Skills]
Assassination - Lvl 5.23
Storage - Lvl 4.05
Cadaver Absorption - Lvl 4.15
Biomass - Lvl 2.31
[Warlock Skills]
Summon Familiar - Lvl 2.98
Power Overwhelming - Lvl 1.00
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift - Lvl 5.78
Stealth - Lvl 4.61
Sword Mastery - Lvl 5.85
Projectile Mastery - Lvl 2.44
Ruin Mastery - Lvl 4.60
Domination Mastery - Lvl 3.37

[Spell List]
Ruin - Shadowbolt, Ebonfire, Frostbite, Dark Explosion
Domination - Mass Panic, Delirium

Part Six

Having eaten its fill with animal carcasses from its Storage, the Mimic once again called forth its familiar. It let out a gurgle of “Suhnon Fanilier.”

Several rings made out of purple light sprang forth from the chest. Upon closer inspection, the rings weren’t solid, but actually made out of countless tiny runic symbols. The un-letters kept shifting, changing and orbiting around the Mimic. The circles slowly shrank, converging on a single point just half a meter in front of the Mimic. Over the ten second duration of the Skill they tightened up into a small ball of light. And on the ten second mark, it exploded into light with a soft pang.

[Proficiency level increased. Summon Familiar is now Level 3. INT +2. WIS +1. MNT +1.]

In its place was Xera in her true form. Her shape was predominantly humanoid and about one hundred and seventy centimeters tall. However, nobody would ever mistake her for a human. Her smooth skin was a light blue color while her waist-long, straight hair was a deep blue like a piece of the night sky. Her eyes glowed with a bright red light that gave off the feeling she was staring into one’s very soul. She had a fittingly gorgeous face with azure lips so soft and plump that it felt like a crime not to taste them.

The outfit she was wearing, if you can even call it that, was made out of blood-red leather. Her long legs were covered in high-heeled boots that went up to her smooth thighs. A triangular bikini-like garment hid her sensitive bits. Her arms had long detached sleeves that ran from her bicep all the way down to her wrist. Each one was attached to a silver ring on the succubus’s middle finger, covering the backside of her hands and leaving her palms and fingers uncovered. A choker encrusted with a single, sparkling gem was fitted around her neck. Her formidable breasts, each almost the size of her head, were held up by a risque, corset-like chest piece. It ran around her back and covered the front and underside of each boob with a triangular strip of leather. It wasn’t even properly connected at the front, leaving the valley of her cleavage completely exposed. The half-corset was clearly designed to push up and accentuate her already impressive cup size rather than serve any practical purpose.

Altogether, her wide hips, dangerously narrow waist and eye-catching mammaries gave her an undeniable hourglass-like figure. The gap between her thighs was wide enough to make her walk a natural hip-swaying gait that caused her plump rump and marshmallow-like boob-flesh to jiggle enticingly with every step. It was a body that truly had only one purpose - to enflame the lusts of men. Even her demonic features looked beautiful and alluring next to the spectacle that was her slutty body.

The two curved, golden, ram-like horns that jutted out from the sides of her head clearly declared her identity as a demon. Then there was the long, black, spade-tipped tail that grew out of her lower spine. Most impressive of all were the two bat-like wings attached to her upper back. They were a mix of deep red limbs and sky-blue membranes. They gave her a wingspan of over two meters which was more than enough to allow her to fly.

Floating unnaturally next to the demonic seductress was her staff - a long wooden shaft tipped with a half-circle staff head reminiscent of a hook. A purple crystal ball floated inside it, as if attached by invisible strings. Both this staff and the outfit she was wearing were essentially an extension of her spirit. It wouldn’t be entirely wrong to call them a part of her conjured body, though they served no purpose beyond decoration. The staff in particular was so frail that even a toddler would be able to snap it in half.

Having been materialized in the waking world for the umpteenth time, Xera immediately crossed her arms and pouted at her summoner.

“Jeez, Master! You know you didn’t have to actually go that far!”

The demoness protested to being devoured alive. It was a fact that, regardless of its methods or intentions, this chest had opened up a whole new world of pleasure for her. But she still refused to openly admit that she actually longed to be abused and hurt. The shattered remnants of her pride would not allow her to concede so easily. She would be a failure of a demon if some mortal had managed to dominate both her body and soul to such an extent.

“I know I messed up, but surely that, hnnnn, punishment was a bit much!”

She let out an unintentional moan when she recalled what had happened minutes ago. No matter how much her fractured pride tried to deny it, deep down she wanted more. Her master was currently ignoring her with a cold attitude that seemed to somehow egg her on. Again, this wasn’t on purpose, the Mimic was simply busy. It was reviewing the Status Screen of its bonded familiar.

[General Information]
Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila
Succubus (Cerulean), Female, 748 years old
Level 11.14 Succubus
Level 7.88 Pyromancer
243/243 HP (+0.4/sec)
255/395 MP (+0.3/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 13, DEX 13, AGI 13, END 46, INT 79, WIS 39, MNT 55, CHR 59

[Succubus Skills]
Energy Drain - Lvl 4.37
Demonic Seduction - Lvl 3.33
[Pyromancer Skills]
Devouring Flame - Lvl 3.33
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift - Lvl 2.86
Dreamweaver - Lvl 2.86
Domination Mastery - Lvl 3.69
Pyroclasm Mastery - Lvl 3.69

Raising the Level of Summon Familiar from 2 to 3 did indeed increase her abilities across the board. Unlike beings born in the physical world, a demon’s strength relied entirely on how much MP was spent to summon it to this realm. For example, no matter how many times she killed things with Pyroclasm Spells, the related Mastery Skill would never raise. Likewise, her Job Levels would never progress on their own.

A familiar’s body was, essentially, the manifestation of the Warlock’s Summon Familiar Skill. Demons didn’t actually have bodies in the Beyond, they were simply lent one by their summoner. So ultimately, their actions in this world helped raise their master’s Warlock Job and Summon Familiar Skill. As the master’s Skill and MP went up, so would the strength of the familiar.

Frankly speaking, a situation where a Level 13 Warlock summoned a Level 18 familiar was unthinkable - they just wouldn’t be able to have that much MP. However, considering her master had a total Level of 38, her being 20 Levels below was pitiful. Still, it was enough to take down that dwarven Priest in less than a few seconds, despite the Level gap.

“Hey! Are you even listening to me?”

“Kleh?” grunted the Mimic. It wasn’t actually listening, no. It wondered what the hell this infernal woman wanted now.

“I still need to go get the gold, right?”

“Ack!”

It suddenly remembered she still had to collect her reward for ‘a job well done.’ It quickly gave her permission to do that through the thought-link. Xera sighed and began morphing her appearance. Much like her master, she could not assume a form that was hugely different from her own. But she could still adjust things like her proportions or the colors of her skin, eyes and hair. Even her fetishistic leather outfit started expanding and wiggling across her body as it took on the appearance of a blue robe. About three minutes later, ‘Xera the Succubus’ was replaced by ‘Xera the Witch.’

“I shall be off, Master. And please do not eat any more trees. We’re supposed to be lying low and I’d hate to see you discovered.”

The succubus realized exactly what she had said and frantically tried to correct herself. “D-don’t misunderstand! It’s not like I care whether you kick the bucket or not, okay? I just don’t want to see a successful conspiracy turn to nothing because of your careless actions!”

The Mimic questioned her about what buckets had to do with anything.

“Well it’s- Haah. Nevermind.” Xera dejectedly dropped her shoulders. She knew better than to try to explain things to that monster. Just making it properly grasp the whole plan took almost an entire day.

Really, she thought, how come I had to be saddled with an incompetent master like that? Well, at least he lets me run around and do as I please while I’m in town, so I can’t complain too much.

Having cheered herself up a bit, Xera once again said goodbye to her master and went off in the direction of the city. Left to its own devices, the Mimic mulled over what it should do next. It had gained two whole Warlock Levels when Xera killed that Priest and about one and a half Mimic Levels from murdering the other three. It was a huge gain considering how little time the actual fighting took. The only other time it noticed a significant bump in its Job Levels was when it ended up intruding on another janther’s territory. This one was a bit weaker, so it was able to kill it with repeated applications of Mass Panic to disrupt its attacks. The beast seemed to build up some resistance to the magically-induced fear, but by that point it was already bleeding heavily.

And of course, Cadaver Absorption failed to gain anything useful. The Mimic was realizing exactly how lucky it had gotten with the Warlock Job. It must have consumed over fifty corpses so far, but it only got three minor successes for a total of 6 STR. Well, it did also get a ‘moderate success’ out of a goblin and absorbed a bit of Sword Mastery Proficiency, but the actual gain turned out to be only 3%. It seemed that Skills were really hard to raise beyond Level 5.

Still, it had a lot to look forward to in that regard. Its busy days in the forest had allowed it to unlock two new Restricted Skills.

[Biomass]
The shapeshifter’s intimate knowledge of its own body has allowed it to stockpile additional mass without affecting its mobility or appearance while improving its own regeneration.
Requirements: Level 20 Monster Job, Level 3 Shapeshift, STR 50, END 50
Type: Passive
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Increases body mass by 20% per Level of this Skill.
Increases automatic HP recovery by 10% per Level of this Skill.

This one was particularly useful. The additional mass was necessary raw material when performing large scale shapeshifting. For example, it could now manifest eight spider legs instead of six, allowing a greater degree of control over its movements and a noticeable increase in speed.

Its tongues could also stretch out farther and strike with a bit of extra force.

The downside was that lugging that extra mass around consumed more energy and made the Mimic hungrier as a whole. That wasn’t a problem though, this forest was basically an all-you-can-eat buffet for this particular chest. Not to mention that eating a whole lot at once was the main way of raising this Skill’s Levels.

Next was the Warlock Skill the Mimic had unlocked earlier today.

[Power Overwhelming]
The Warlock becomes a bastion of arcane might.
Requirements: Level 10 Warlock, Ruin Mastery, INT 60
Type: Active
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 20 MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Ruin Spells will cost 400% more MP.
Ruin Spells will be 200% more effective.
The Ruin Spell effectiveness multiplier will increase by an additional 20% per Level of this Skill.
The effects of this Skill will last 20 seconds.

Most Caster Jobs treated MP as a valuable resource that had to be used sparingly. Their magic was not unlike a candle that burned slowly and steadily. But Warlocks were different. Their magic was like a rocket - brief, but blindingly brilliant. It was well suited to the Mimic’s ambush-focused hunting patterns. Being able to settle fights in the first hit was the essence of Assassination.

However, there was a problem. The Skill was literally ‘blindingly brilliant.’ Activating it surrounded the Mimic with an aura of arcane energies that crackled around it like lightning. It was so flashy and noisy that it easily overwhelmed the effects of Stealth. There was no way it could successfully trigger Assassination under such conditions. Ultimately it was a Skill meant for finishing a fight rather than starting it, but the Mimic failed to realize that when it picked it.

Still, what was done was done. Besides, it looked like it would be good to use this in situations where its ambush failed and it had to fight back. It could burn through its mana in one or two Spells and get a head start on its opponent before moving in to finish it off with melee attacks. It would certainly be more useful than Projectile Mastery.

[Projectile Mastery]
A measure of your ability to handle hand-thrown weapons.
Requirements: None
Type: Passive
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Increases damage dealt with hand-thrown weapons by 10% per Level of this Skill.

This was pretty much identical to other Mastery Skills. It would seem that, in addition to the straight up power boost, these Mastery Skills also raised the Mimic’s understanding of a specific weapon or school of magic. How to grip them, how to slash with them or, in the case of magic, how to properly chant and focus when casting Spells. It would be more accurate to say that this imparted knowledge was the true reason behind the increase in offensive power.

As for this particular Skill, the Mimic had gotten it after playing around with the spears it had looted off those guards back in the cave. It was convinced they could be a powerful ranged attack, so it ended up practicing with them. It even managed to improve its dreadful aim every time the Mastery Skill went up in Level.

Then it realized that it could just use magic if it wanted to attack at range and completely abandoned the endeavor. Even if it could gain some Attributes from it, it would much rather focus on its Mimicry and Warlock-ery. Using throwing weapons and chanting magic at the same time was also quite impossible. Trying to do so would result in the Mimic biting its own tentacles off by accident, not to mention it lacked the concentration to properly aim both of them at the same time. So it gave up on Projectile Mastery. What would be the point in training up a Skill that had little to no practical use?

This monster had stumbled onto the simple truth that, as tasty as Attribute gains were, attaining a few high Level Skills and Jobs was ultimately better than having a lot of low-leveled ones. Even if an adventurer had multiple combat-related Jobs like, for example, a Ranger, a Rogue, a Warrior and a Priest at the same time, they could never actually use those all at once. How could one simultaneously block with a shield and shoot a bow? Or sneak around and ambush things while they were busy chanting healing Spells? It was simply impossible, like trying to turn one’s head left and right simultaneously.

Not to mention that the Attributes were mostly exclusive. A Warrior’s Attribute gains that focused on STR and END would be pretty useless for a Ranger which needed AGI, PER and DEX. And while both of those had some overlap with the Rogue Job, that was an occupation that relied on completely different Skills. Oh sure, ultimately it was possible to master all those Jobs at once, but people did not have that sort of lifespan available. In a world where quality was significantly more important than quantity, it was vital to focus one’s training and become a specialist. Jack-of-all adventurers were, quite simply put, useless past Level 50. A deep pond was many times more dangerous than a knee-deep ocean, after all.

Even the Mimic was vaguely aware of that fact. Although its familiar was created with a Level that was below 20, her magic already seemed close in potency to that of the Mimic with a Level of 38. The only reason it was able to bring out this much power in the first place was because its Main Job and two of its Skills - Cadaver Absorption and Biomass - provided a boost to all Attributes, which included INT. Much like how STR would improve all melee attacks, INT would improve the effectiveness of all Spells. Right now, the Mimic had INT that was more or less standard for a Level 20-ish Warlock with proper magic-related Skills.

It would continue to use Cadaver Absorption as much as possible, though. Doing that could still give the Mimic free Attributes, Skills and Job Levels without having to spend time on actually training them. And so, after considering what it would do in the future, it decided to focus on improving its current Jobs and Skills rather than seek out new ones.

Speaking of which, it had reached Level 25 in its Mimic Job during that last fight. It opened its Status Screen and was greeted with two unknowns. One was the MAX next to the Mimic Job. The other was the (+) sign next to its Species of Mimic (Lesser). And the (+) next to its Job was not there. Did the Status Screen not show up properly and misplaced the ever-important (+)? The Mimic opened and closed its Status several times, but it always came up the same. It was again stumped. Trying to Inspect the (+) sign did nothing, and inspecting its Species opened up a screen that was equally useless since it contained trivia the monster already knew.

[Mimic (Species)]
A low-class shape-shifting monster that exists only in dungeons. Mimics hunt by ambushing careless adventurers. They can be born in the form of treasure chests, walls, floors, doors or furniture. Even though they can change their appearance at will, they cannot change the shape they were born with.
The species is divided into two variants - Lesser and Greater. The main difference between them is that Greater Mimics are far more cunning and resilient than their Lesser kin.

So, desperately running out of options, it decided to ask for help. At least now, it had someone it could actually ask for help.

Xera was making her way through the forest when she felt a slight tugging sensation on the back of her head. It meant that her summoner wished to communicate with her.

“What is it, Master?” she inquired through the thought-link.

The chest wanted to know what the thingie on the other thing was for. Also, how come the thingie was on that thingie instead of the other thingie? And, perchance, was that thingie delicious?

The succubus let out a sigh. ‘Conversations’ with that moron always ended up being more or less like that.

“Master, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

There was a short pause. Then her master’s Status splashed into her consciousness like a boulder into a puddle. She let out a reflexive “What the fuck?!” at the sudden influx of information. It caught her completely off guard, causing her to blank out for a few seconds. She then tripped on an exposed root and fell flat on her face, smashing her forehead against a rock in the process.

Even at a distance, that monster still managed to make her suffer. She wondered if her master was perhaps one of those idiot savants, only instead of maths or painting, it was unnaturally proficient in the art of tormenting others.

That same master impatiently asked her again about the ‘thingie.’ She got up and rubbed her forehead, wiping a trickle of blood away in the process. After turning her attention to the Mimic’s Status, she immediately realized what it was trying to say.

“Master, try chanting Rank Up,” she sent back.

“Rank. Tasty?” came the fragmented reply.

“Just do it!”

“Orders. Me. Snack. You.”

The Mimic kindly reminded the uppity familiar of her position.

“Haah,” sighed Xera. She had briefly forgotten two important things in the heat of the moment. The first thing was that her master regarded everything good or beneficial as ‘tasty.’ And the second was that, when presented with a stupid question, she had to give an equally stupid answer.

“Sorry, Master. Yes, rank is tasty.”

Overjoyed at this revelation, the Mimic immediately chanted “Rank Ukh!”

[Rank Up - Mimic (Lesser)]
Requirements: Level 25 Mimic Job, Level 5 Shapeshift, END 75
[Effects]
Species will become Mimic (Greater).
Level Cap on Mimic Job will be increased to 50.
Shapeshift Skill Proficiency will increase.

The Requirements have been met. Do you wish to Rank Up?
[Yes]
[No]

The master agreed with its familiar. This did in fact look delicious. And so, it eagerly chose ‘Yes,’ then blacked out.

Part Seven

[Rank up complete.]
[Congratulations! Your species has become Mimic (Greater).]
[The maximum Level of your Mimic Job has been increased to 50.]
[Proficiency level increased. Shapeshift is now Level 6. AGI +1. DEX +1. END +2.]

The Mimic’s consciousness woke up to a brand new window waiting for it. The evolution from a Lesser to a Greater Mimic was over with. It didn’t feel any different though.

[You are ravenous. Automatic HP and MP recovery are now disabled.]
[You are starving. You will lose 2% of your maximum HP every 60 minutes.]

Well, apart from the hunger. It was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming desire to eat and consume in order to survive. An overpowering need to fill its belly if it wanted to live. There was a void inside it - a vacuum so strong that it threatened to make it implode on itself. Something screamed at it to abandon all pretense and stuff its belly. However, it would not succumb to its base instincts so easily. Not anymore.

And then it reactivated its short-range magical perception.

The first thing it ‘saw’ was itself. The monster had reverted back to its dormant state - the spider legs, tongue and eyes had all retreated back inside its body, leaving it in its default chest-like appearance. It looked exactly the same as it did before. This was probably some defensive mechanism its body enacted on its own.

Having confirmed its body seemed to be intact, it turned its attention to its surroundings. It was no longer in a forest, but in some new place it didn’t realize. It was sitting on a floor made out of wood - actual wooden boards, unlike the fake ones it used for its disguise. All around it were scattered wooden crates and boxes of variable size and make. Some looked newer while others were practically rotting.

The walls of this place were weird, especially the ones on its left and right. They were slanted at about 45 degrees and leaning against each other. Did the wooden surfaces want to be a ceiling? At least the ones directly behind and further in front of it were normal looking, but their neighbors had forced them into a triangular shape. It was obvious which pair of walls were boss in this room.

And yes, this was indeed a room. Although the Mimic didn’t know it, the tight space was actually an attic. It was only about three meters at its tallest point, six meters left-to-right and about ten meters front-to-back. The awkward placement of the slanted roof meant that, realistically speaking, you’d have to crawl if you wanted to reach into the sides. Cobwebs and dust covered the place and the Mimic itself, suggesting it had been there a while.

But how did it get here? And where, exactly, was here? Those were both good questions. If only it had someone it could ask.

Oh wait, it did. It felt the link between itself and its familiar was still active, meaning the succubus would probably know what was going on. It sent a telepathic message to get her attention.

“Snack!”

Names? Were those tasty? It didn’t know, but snacks were tasty. Therefore, the familiar’s name would now be Snack.

“Who the hell is Snack?!” came the irritated response. “Ack! Master, you’re awake!”

“No. Hungry. Bring food.”

“Understood, Master. I will be there in fifteen minutes!”

It seems this familiar had an idea of what was going on. It was time to ask it for the details.

“Where? How? Why?” it inquired.

Xera then began explaining her side of the story. She had gone into the city and collected 650 GP for her ‘contributions’ to the Sweeper subjugation Quest. Since her master had been unconscious, she was left without orders. That situation was something she fully expected to happen, which was why she wanted her master to Rank Up and allow her to play around for a while. It’s not something she had experienced personally, but learned about it from one of her previous masters.

But before she could start playing around, she realized she had left her master unconscious at the site of its supposed death. If someone were to discover it, then her cover would be blown and it was questionable whether she would be able to run away in time. So naturally she went back to that place and, under the cover of night, dragged it over to one of the nearby farms. She used her natural charms to convince the elderly couple who ran the place to let her stay for a while and store her ‘luggage’ in their attic.

The Mimic found that last bit to be particularly interesting.

“Farmers? You mean humans?”

“Yes, two of them. Oh, you should probably avoid killing them since-”

“Too late.”

In the middle of Xera’s explanation an old, balding farmer went into the attic to fetch something. He walked in through the trap door in the floor and was summarily eaten. His wife, having heard the horrible gnashing and thrashing that came from upstairs, went to investigate. The last thing she saw was her husband’s blood splattered all over the place before her head was chopped off from behind. Needless to say, she was also eaten.

[Your hunger has been sated. Automatic HP and MP recovery will return to normal.]
[You are no longer starving. Your HP will no longer deteriorate.]

“Was tasty. Chewy, but oddly satisfying.”

Even if they were old and barely had any meat on them, their intestines, livers and hearts proved to be as filling as expected.

The succubus sighed to herself. Again, she forgot exactly who she was dealing with. Now they would have to burn down the farm to cover their tracks and run away before anyone came asking too many questions.

“How long was I out?” came the next question.

“Three days, Master… Huh? Master? Are you okay?”

“Yes?”

Maybe just my imagination, she thought.

“If only three days,” continued the Mimic, “then how come so much hunger?”

“That… part of the Rank Up process, I guess?” she offered. “But! More importantly than that! Master, you can form proper thoughts now!”

It wasn’t her imagination, but reality. What she received through the link weren’t some fragmented words, but properly constructed sentences that had actual will and direction behind them. Also, it didn’t once say ‘thingie’ and mentioned tasty things only three times in that conversation!

“I can have thoughts?”

“Yeah! Like just now!”

It seemed that Rank Up fundamentally upgraded the Mimic’s sad excuse for a mind. It was now capable of holding a conversation without being constantly distracted. There was even a chance of it making informed opinions based on more than its immediate desires.

“Are thoughts tasty?”

“... Yes, Master, thoughts are tasty.”

She gave up. For the briefest moment she had the vague hope her Master would stop being such a colossal moron. In the end, even if its mental abilities were expanded, it was still a three month old monster that was barely even sentient. It didn’t really have any desires beyond the instinctive need to eat and grow, so Xera had only herself to blame for pointlessly getting her hopes up.

“I beg of you,” she added, “please stay still and don’t move!”

The Mimic had no reason to refuse. If ‘staying still without moving’ was an Olympic sport, it would have a serious shot at the gold medal. So it returned to its spot in the attic and sat down. It still had unfinished business with its Status.

“Rank Ukh!” it chanted and a familiar looking-window appeared.

[Rank Up - Mimic (Greater)]
Requirements: Level 50 Mimic Job, Level 10 Shapeshift, END 200
Possible evolutions and their effects will be revealed once the minimum requirements are met.
Meeting certain conditions will unlock additional options.

The Mimic’s curiosity skyrocketed. Rather than become a higher variant of the same species, it seemed like it could evolve into something completely different. And it appeared as if what it did during its journey to that point would somehow increase its options. However, it could not simply learn these unlock conditions from its Status. While these menus and screens were useful, ultimately they did not contain much information beyond what the monster already knew.

Well, no point worrying about things it had no control over. Achieving the bare minimum requirements would be pretty straightforward and it seemed like it would get them eventually. Truthfully, it was looking forward to the Level 10 Shapeshift more than anything else.

[Shapeshift]
A measure of your ability to mould and sculpt your own flesh.
Requirements: Born as a shapeshifting Species
Type: Passive
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Affords the ability to alter physical appearance at will.
The extent of transformation is limited based on species.
Increases shapeshifting speed and precision by 10% per Level of this Skill.
Increases how much of the body can be shapeshifted with each Level of this Skill.

Similar to Mastery Skills, this one had the hidden effect of increasing the Mimic’s general anatomical knowledge. Things like how to construct stronger muscles and tougher hides. When eating something, it could gain deeper insights into how it was put together. Doing so also meant it could mimic those body parts more effectively and even pick out weak points such as tendons, hearts, eyes and throats with its swordplay. At this point it could probably take apart and then put together a human with its eyes closed. Not that it had eyes in the first place, though.

“Master!” shouted Xera. She had just poked her disguised head into the attic. Then she recoiled when she saw the state of the place. “Eck! What in the hell?! Why is there blood everywhere?!”

This was the first time she had actually seen the aftermath of the Mimic’s feeding frenzy. The walls, the floor, the ceiling and pretty much all the crates and boxes were stained with fresh, crimson blood.

“Forget that,” said the Mimic through the thought-link, “where is food?”

“Ah, right. Here you go, Master.”

She raised her hand. It was holding a string, and tied around the string by their feet were five whole chickens with freshly broken necks. Well, it wasn’t like the farmers would need them anymore. Xera set them down on the floor in front of her master. The animate chest opened its mouth and greedily scooped up the still warm bodies with its flexible tongues and devoured them in a flash. It chewed on them for a few seconds before swallowing.

“Not bad. Tastes like people.”

Xera just barely managed to stop herself from retorting with ‘Isn’t that backwards?’

“Snack! The thingie that can be traded for tasty things! Show me!”

The succubus rolled her eyes. They were back at ‘thingie’ again. Still, at least it was pretty clear what it meant this time. She unhooked a small leather satchel from her waist and emptied its contents on a dry spot of the floor. A number of glistening gold coins clanked onto the wooden planks. Each coin was a little under five centimeters in diameter and about three millimeters thick. One side had a shield-shaped crest decorated with flowers. The other bore the image of a bearded human with a fancy hat. These gold pieces were the first ones it had ever seen.

“Here they are, Master. Thirteen King pieces worth 50 GP each, for a total 650 GP.”

But her words did not reach the Mimic. Its entire attention had been captured by those coins. The only light source in this dark attic was what was pouring through the trapdoor Xera was still in. Yet they seemed to shine and glisten with a beauty like it had never seen before. This was a fascination well beyond liking shiny things. It was as if the gold itself was speaking to the Mimic.

‘Hold me’ it whispered. ‘Protect me’ it said. ‘Never let me go’ it demanded. And the simple monster would comply. How could it ever resist such sweet temptation?

The faux-chest’s imitation lid opened itself wide. And amidst the rows of pointy, jagged teeth appeared something new. Something different. Rather than a red tongue covered in clear drool, what appeared was the upper body of a woman. She had waist-long, straight hair that was the color of brilliant snow. Her skin was so pale that anyone who saw it would doubt if it was ever touched by the sun. The eyes were a deep crimson that seemed to stare into one’s very soul. Her breasts, almost as big as her head, jiggled pleasantly with every slight movement. A proud, pink nipple stood on each one. Combined with the unnaturally thin waist and flared hips that gave way to the rest of the Mimic, it gave her an astonishing hourglass figure.

The girl-in-the-box wasted no time and stretched out both her arms. They extended unnaturally, like rubber, covering the meter-and-a-half distance between the monster and the coins in an instant. Her tender fingers then slowly, almost reverently, scooped up the gold pieces and brought them back to the main body carefully.

The human-looking part of the monster then leaned back against its upper jaw which instinctively retracted its teeth. It assumed a pose that looked like someone relaxing in a lounge chair. It then placed the gold coins in the valley of its cleavage. Its hands and arms wrapped around those formidable breasts, pushing them together and creating a sort of fleshy cradle for the Mimic’s new prize. A dumb smile drifted naturally onto those full, pink lips and the monster stood perfectly still, reveling in the sensation against its marshmallow-like breasts. The cold, heavy, shiny metal felt incredibly pleasant, after all.

“M-M-M-Master?” called out Xera, but that master was currently preoccupied.

This is it, thought the Mimic. This is right.

A treasure chest that finally had actual treasure. Those completely normal and entirely un-magical coins fulfilled a craving the monster never knew it had. Right now, at this moment, it was satisfied. It felt content for what was probably the first time in its short life. People were tasty. Levels, Skills and Attributes were also tasty. But gold was different. It had no actual flavor, yet the Mimic thought that it was absolutely delicious!

“Master!” yelled Xera. This time she seemed to get the Mimic’s attention. The hazy stare and dumb smile on that beautiful face disappeared. It stared at the demoness with a disgusted expression like she had just taken a massive dump in its porridge.

“What is it, Snack?” it sent through the thought-link, “I’m busy!”

“Why am I sticking out of Master’s jaws?!”

That was the reason Xera was staring. The human body currently poking out of the fleshy insides of that chest looked almost identical to her. The colors were wrong, it had no wings or horns, but everything else was exactly in the shape and proportions of the succubus’s true form. She also had the disturbing thought that, if the woman-shaped part of the Mimic had gone on just a few centimeters lower, it would certainly also mirror her lower lips.

“Snack is tasty. I needed tasty parts to enjoy delicious gold,” it replied simply.

The merciless Mimic had eaten Xera so many times that it had absolute knowledge of her body. It was, simply put, the body it knew best. Humans all had small differences between them. The proportions, skin, hair, teeth, jaw, face - every individual was unique in various ways. So having tasted the exact same succubus-shaped fruit over thirty times made it so it naturally became the form it was most familiar with. It didn’t particularly care about pigmentation, horns or wings, which was why it came out looking like an albino half-succubus. The important thing was it could properly enjoy the weight and feel of the gold coins by borrowing Xera’s sensitive boobs.

In truth, this new development had very little to do with its evolution into a Greater Mimic. The monster was perfectly capable of achieving this shape when it raised Shapeshift to Level 5. After all, even if it couldn’t abandon its outward chest-like appearance, the insides were a completely different story. It simply had no urge to do something like this until now. This form was ill-suited to combat and the higher center of gravity meant it would have trouble balancing on top of its favorite spider legs. The sole purpose to the pseudo-Xera was, quite simply, to have fun with it.

Xera was dumbstruck yet again. As a shapeshifter herself, she more or less understood all of that. However, the realization that the Mimic had created a cheap copy of her just to enjoy itself made her feel oddly violated. It was almost worse than being eaten alive.

Almost, but not quite.

After about three and a half hours of the Mimic playing with Xera’s hard-earned money on top of Xera’s borrowed breasts, it finally seemed to have enough. It stowed the gold inside its Storage and called out to the succubus who was sulking in the corner.

“We go now.”

The demoness turned her head around. She was sitting while hugging her knees and facing away from her master. She had been trying really, really hard not to mind the situation behind her. It almost worked, too. Until that creature started letting out cooing noises using her own voice. So she minded it immensely. At least it was back to how it was before - a simple chest with eight black imitation spider legs jutting out from under it. It was much easier to look at than that twisted imitation of her own true self.

“Understood, Master,” she replied while standing up. “Where to?”

“Back to dungeon. Something I have to do.”

Interlude

A Cheap Drink

Lylandros never wanted much out of life. Just to become really famous and get all the ladies. A simple, straightforward dream. But that was then, and this was now. Thoughts of fame and fortune were so far removed from his consciousness that he questioned if he really had them in the first place.

Right now, the only thing on his mind was whether he would be able to afford to pay his bar tab. That was all he wanted to think about. That and the thing right in front of him - a glass of Rotgut. This vile, brown, murky concoction was an alcoholic drink so strong it could knock out even a dwarf in about four shots. It was also incredibly cheap, which was convenient for the poverty-riddled elf. The downside was that it tasted horrible. That much was to be expected considering it used goblin ears as an ingredient. The flavor was so bad that no sane person would try it more than once. Just the rank smell was more than enough to discourage a lot of people.

However, Lylandros knew the flavor of Raela’s brain matter. In the past, he had jokingly said he’d love to have a taste of that buxom elven Druid, but he didn’t mean it literally. Compared to that, this mixture was as delicious as honeyed mead. He mentally cursed himself for remembering that taste, and plunged deeper into depression and revulsion. If only there was something around to help him forget.

Oh wait, there was.

He screwed up his courage and determination, then downed his drink in one go. The pungent taste and high alcoholic content hit him almost immediately. It felt like a horse had kicked the side of his head.

[You are intoxicated. The effects of the AGI, DEX and WIS Attributes have been reduced by 50%.]

He slammed the glass back on the counter with enough force to crack a less sturdy receptacle, and panted heavily, but one drink wasn’t enough. The unwanted thoughts were still in his head.

In his mind, he knew he made the right call. His common sense told him he had no chance against that monster. It had magic powerful enough to kill a person in one hit. There was no way he could have matched up to such a creature. He felt that even if the four of them were completely rested and fully prepared, they could never have hoped to take it down. And having heard how the subjugation Quest he set in motion concluded, he was definitely right.

His mind knew that, but his heart refused to accept it. Dark thoughts welled up from within every time he had a moment to himself. Which, incidentally, was pretty much all the time.

I abandoned them.

Why was I the only one spared?

I should have died with them.

“Ah, crap,” he mumbled. His mind had drifted off in that particular direction again.

The elf seriously doubted he would be able to sleep at night if he wasn’t blackout drunk. Even if he managed to calm himself enough to doze off, he would always be beset by nightmares and wake up a few hours later in a cold sweat. And so, even if it tasted like ass, even if it was slowly poisoning him, even if it made his breath horrible enough to peel paint off the walls - he would still drink his ‘medicine.’

But first, he had to get a refill. He lazily raised his arm towards the barkeep. The rough-looking gentleman with the bald head and black goatee went over to his customer.

“Let me guess,” said the barkeep, “another shot of Rotgut?”

Lylandros simply nodded in return with a “Yesh.” He was the spitting image of a habitual alcoholic who had given up on life. The barkeep didn’t judge or belittle the elf for that, though - he knew better. These people would latch onto him the instant he treated them as anything other than a source of revenue. They’d one-sidedly pour out their sob stories and either take up his valuable time, or get rowdy when he tried to ignore them. The best solution to those awkward situations was to avoid creating them entirely. The man had long ago run out of fucks to give, so he kept relations between himself and his customers strictly professional.

“Sorry, twiggy,” he said, “but that lady over there bought the last bottle.” He pointed to the woman sitting in the corner. She was wearing a blue robe and had long, straight blonde hair tumbling down her back. Her sizable breasts were visible from behind, poking out slightly from either side of her narrow back.

“If you want some more, you’re gonna have to take it up with her.”

“No more… more battles? Bottles?” asked Lylandros. He was already struggling to form sentences after just one shot.

“Nope. That was the last of it.”

Although Rotgut was technically a drink, it was only ever ordered either as a prank, as a form of punishment or, in some cases, out of morbid curiosity. But even then it was only ordered once - people who actually ordered a second or third shot were extremely rare. With so little demand, the barkeep only kept one or two bottles in stock at any given time. So given the choice between a pretty lady who paid upfront and a filthy twig with a tab, it was obvious which one was the more valued customer.

“FFFFffffuck,” let out Lylandros.

He got up from his stool and ambled in her general direction. The elf had one goal in coming to this establishment - to black out for the night. Even if she didn’t want to share the drink, he’d still find a way to accomplish his mission. There were more ways than one to lose consciousness, after all.

“Hey now,” the barkeep called out to him. “Don’t get violent with her, alright? I’ll have you thrown out of here with both legs broken if you try something funny!”

Lylandros turned around unsteadily and mockingly saluted him. “Aye aye, cap’n!”

The barkeep just sighed to himself with a mumble of ‘bloody twigs’ before signaling the security he’d hired to keep an eye on the elf. The over-two-meter tall goon leaning against one of the walls nodded in response that he understood his job was to keep the elf from causing any damage to the owner’s establishment.

“S’cuse meh,” said the suspect in question to the woman in blue. “Could I bother you fro- for a drink of that?”

The black-haired beauty turned her head. Her blue eyes locked with his hazel-colored ones. They then followed his outstretched arm that was pointing at the drink on her table.

“Haaah. Why not?” she said with a sigh. “Have a seat, stranger.”

“Ohhh! Thanks kindly, ma’am!”

“Don’t mention it,” she said with a bit of a bitter smile. It was the sort of face that clearly said she had far bigger problems to worry about than some random elf crashing her one-woman drinking spree. She poured some of the Rotgut into the glass in front of her and passed it to Lylandros.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he replied while staring intently at the drink.

Downing this thing was no easy task. He had to swallow it fast so his tongue and nose would not have a chance to react. Such a feat took a certain amount of mental fortitude and bravery. So when the elf lifted his gaze and saw the girl chugging directly from the bottle in big gulps, his body reacted before his drink-addled mind could. And he threw up on the floor.

The goon saw that and, after silently confirming with the bartender, went to work. Less than a minute later, Lylandros was thrown out into a dusty alley through a side entrance. He fell on the ground hard, like a sack of day-old laundry. The bouncer yelled something about a ‘final warning’ at the poor sod before walking back inside the bar.

Lylandros just chuckled to himself. Tonight was a failure, it seemed. This was the only place he knew of that both served Rotgut and would allow him to keep a tab. He really had nowhere to go, so he just lay there on the cobblestone alleyway. He decided he might as well try to sleep right here. It was already way past sunset, so there was nobody around to disturb him anyway.

Or so he thought. Less than a minute later he heard footsteps and felt someone looming over him.

“Where do you live?” asked the gentle female voice. His eyes fluttered open and barely made out her face in the darkness. It was that pretty girl who so kindly offered him some of her drink. She bent down and extended an arm towards him, which caused her breasts to sway in a pendulum-like motion.

“Come on,” she beckoned as he tore his eyes away from her hypnotic cleavage. “I’ll get you home.”

“Th-thank you,” he said, weakly. He really did not expect her to actually care, but he wasn’t stupid enough to turn down help when it was offered. In reality, this was the first time since that day someone had ever treated him as anything other than a burden. He gripped her tender hand with no hesitation. After helping the poor man to his feet, she lent him her shoulder. The two of them then trotted off into the night.

Whether it was the drink, the oddly romantic moonlit atmosphere or, most probably, the soft breasts pressing against his side, Lylandros felt he rather fancied this girl. He made a small pass at her, commenting on how beautiful she was. The girl simply smiled demurely and blushed slightly, saying he was rather handsome himself. One thing led to another and by the time they reached Lylandros’s hovel, they were already passionately kissing. They barely made it past the front door before their clothes started slipping off their bodies almost by themselves. Not even their undergarments remained by the time they made it to the bed.

The elf was pushed down on the bed by the woman whose name he didn’t even know. She slowly climbed over him, letting her bare nipples drag along his skin. Intoxicated by the erotic situation, the poor virgin could do little else but hope he wouldn’t bust a nut immediately. It was a very real concern as the nude body before him felt like it existed for the sole purpose of rousing men’s lust. Not that he was complaining.

She straddled his waist and ground her moist lower lips along his already stiff member. She let out a few moans that were positively dripping with passion. After making sure both of them were as aroused as possible, she reached down and grabbed it. The elf watched in awe as she raised her hips and guided his manhood towards her special place. She bit her lip and slammed her hips downwards, taking the entire length inside her all at once, popping the proverbial cherry of the young elf.

But, alas, the young man could not resist the onslaught of pleasure and came immediately. He grabbed her flared thighs and thrust his hips upwards without thinking. He committed spurt after spurt of semen to her innermost depths while his partner simply hummed delightedly.

About fifteen minutes later his orgasm finally ended. The woman let out a small, satisfied sigh. It was her first real ‘meal’ since she was contracted to that moronic box. She dismounted her partner and got off the bed. Despite accepting copious amounts of bodily fluids, not a single drop ran down her thigh.

Xera snapped her fingers. The discarded blue robes on the ground leaped up in the air and flew at her as if being pulled in by an invisible wire. They splashed against her naked body like goop and began shifting and transforming into their previous appearance. Having completely ‘clothed’ herself in seconds, the succubus retrieved the bottle of Rotgut she brought with her and poured the last of its contents down her gullet.

“Aw man, they really dilute this stuff nowadays,” she complained to nobody in particular after finishing it off. “This swill isn’t enough to even give me a buzz! Sometimes I really hate this body’s constitution!”

Since her flesh was a magical construct, it did not need food or water. Even her ‘feeding’ just now was nothing more than scratching an itch. Technically, it had the effect of restoring HP and MP, but since she was already full on both accounts the whole affair amounted to little more than a midnight snack.

It wasn’t quite as satisfying as she’d hoped, though. She preferred the taste of big burly men rather than these scrawny virgins, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Right now, her master was sleeping due to its Rank Up, but she had no idea how long her short vacation would actually last. Under these circumstances, was it really any wonder she eagerly gobbled up the first suitable victim she found? That elven lad had no resistance to her Demonic Seduction whatsoever and nobody of note would really give a shit if he died. He was not ideal, but good enough.

“Damn. I really need something stronger. I wonder if I can find some Firebrand Whiskey around this place?”

She tossed the now-empty bottle of Rotgut away and made her way out of the filthy hovel to seek her next victim.

As for Lylandros, all that was left of him was an emaciated corpse. A body that was little more than skin and bones with a wide, creepy smile on its hollowed out face.

Chapter Four
Urges

Part One

The Red Zone of the Litigar Dungeon Complex was undoubtedly the most inhospitable place around the city of Monotal, as expected of the most dangerous part of the only dungeon in the area. Still, not many adventurers past their first two or three months on the job would find this place particularly dangerous. It was certainly not that bad when compared to the majority of other dungeons strewn throughout the world.

Unlike the cave-like systems of the Green and Yellow Zones, the Red part looked more like a crypt or mausoleum. Stone brick floors, walls and a dark ceiling that seemed to go upward forever. Stone gargoyles could be seen lined up at random along the walls and creepy carvings could appear and disappear from the floor and walls seemingly at random. Pale blue torches bathed the corridors in an eerie light, just enough to keep one’s eyes from adapting to otherwise profound darkness. The air was heavy with the stench of death and carried a faint strawberry-like flavor. The latter would be a side effect of the slightly thicker concentration of mana. The former was caused by the denizens of this place.

Hovering around Level 15, they were all undead beings that made this place particularly troublesome. To begin with, most undead would not get tired and did not feel pain. Those they encountered would be met with relentless pursuit and an unyielding hatred. The simplest enemy to fight in these halls were skeletons. Just a glance would reveal what variety of skeleton it was. Would it be the Skeleton Soldiers carrying rusted weapons and armor? Or perhaps Skeleton Archers that never seemed to run out of arrows for their short bows? And most troublesome of all were the Skeleton Mages that bombarded their targets with Spells that were attuned to the Ice and Dark elements.

They often moved and attacked in small groups of four or five. Much like adventurer parties, they usually had a good balance and worked with a sort of teamwork to maximize each individual’s Skills. The sight almost seemed like a promise to those who invaded this place. ‘Die in here and this will be your fate’ was the message it sent across to the living. This was, of course, pure superstition. Those Skeletons were simply monsters spawned out of the mana-enriched miasma that lingered in this place. But the threat they bore was still very real. Encountering one such patrol was said to be one of the most dangerous things that could happen in this place.

And yet they were still the simplest to fight. They came at you from the front and didn’t get back up on their feet once you smashed them to bits. Ghouls, on the other hand, were different. These half-rotten carcasses skulked the halls absentmindedly until they caught the stench of the living. They would charge forward running on all fours like some wild animal, screaming their heads off at their target. Once close enough, they’d leap at them in a frenzy of filthy claws and jagged teeth. A single scratch often meant being afflicted by a combination of poisons and diseases that would slowly drain HP while also numbing one’s movements.

And they were relentless. Even if they lost a limb or half their torso, they would not stop attacking. Chopping off both their legs didn’t seem to deter them one bit, either. Slicing off their head simply meant their headless torso would keep coming at you. They were monsters with no vital points that could be exploited to rapidly drain their rather significant HP. One had to thoroughly destroy and dismantle them in order to put them down the old fashioned way. A very troublesome opponent to fight.

The last species of monster in this place was also the most annoying one - specters. These incorporeal beings appeared as a transparent green mist that vaguely resembled people. They would phase through the walls and floor while showering their victims with debilitating Domination magic. Paralysis, Sleep and Panic were the more common magically-induced afflictions that plagued any adventurers who came here. To make matters worse, their transparent gas-like bodies could only be harmed by magic. Spells and enchanted weapons would be necessary to defeat these, so any adventuring group who came here unprepared would surely fall apart the first time these specters appeared.

Still, what made this place truly inhospitable was that combat would often attract more undead from nearby. A train of more than twenty enemies was almost common in these parts. Much like goblins, this part of the dungeon aimed to overwhelm invaders with sheer numbers rather than individually strong monsters. The worst case scenario for the living was when the stream of enemies contained all three types of monster. Dealing with the murderous skeletons, rogue ghouls and unpredictable specters at the same time made for an incredibly grueling fight. Even if the adventurers won, they would likely need to deal with the troublesome side-effects from fighting with the undead.

In the end, very few adventurers dared to step foot in here and instead went to hunt and train in the nearby forest. It would be significantly slower, but also much safer.

Still, a place like this attracted four specific Jobs that were well suited to dealing with the undead. Priests and Paladins were an obvious choice. Their Spells and Blessings served as both offense and defense. Bathing an undead creature with holy magic would purify it rather than heal it and all the negative effects on their Status could be neutralized with repeated application of the Cleanse Spell.

The third Job that was really good at dealing with the undead was the Necromancer. Fighting hordes of undead with more hordes of undead proved to be extremely effective. While the minions fought at the front, their master was able to rain magical support from the rear. Even if some of the walking corpses under their control were destroyed, replacing them was a simple matter. The remains of naturally appearing undead could be used to bolster the Necromancer’s forces. But that wasn’t all - these self-proclaimed rulers of death could turn enemy undead into their own minions and force them to obey their commands. All it took was the right combination of Skills.

Truly, it was like fighting fire with fire. Except that fighting undead with undead was extremely messy and chaotic, which perpetuated a Necromancer’s habit of not having any living friends. However, fighting undead with actual fire proved to be one of the best solutions.

“Inferno!” shouted Xera.

The small tornado of flames swept up the pack of ghouls, skeletons and specters in front of her. The Spell only lasted a few seconds, but it was wide enough to cover the entire hallway and engulf every last one of them. Although direct contact with the Inferno was not as particularly damaging as one might expect, it was brilliantly bolstered by her Devouring Flame Skill.

[Devouring Flame]
A Pyromancer’s overwhelming fire leaves behind naught but ash and cinders in its wake.
Requirements: Level 5 Pyromancer, INT 40
Type: Toggled (ON)
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: 100 meters
[Effects]
Increases the cost of Pyroclasm Spells by 20%.
Pyroclasm Spells will apply Devouring Flame to your target for 5 seconds.
Devouring Flame inflicts damage equal to 10% of the initial hit each second.
Increases the damage of Devouring Flame by 20% per Level of this Skill.

This Skill symbolized the strength of the Pyromancer and Cryomancer Jobs. Their Spells did not deal as much damage up-front as something like a Wizard or Warlock, but the potent secondary effects of their Skills more than made up for that. This situation was a perfect example of that. Most of the undead did not succumb to the initial damage of the Inferno, but were set ablaze and swiftly turned to ash. Only the tougher ghouls seemed to linger, but Xera would just finish those off with an extra Fireball or two. All while laughing maniacally, of course. How could she not? The undead were particularly flammable, after all. To her, this place was little more than a playground and she acted like it.

That attitude earned her a hit to the back of the head with a thrown rock.

[You have suffered moderate blunt trauma. HP -44.]

“What are you doing?!” shouted her master directly into her mind. “I said leave the Ghoul corpses whole!”

*CLINK*

The succubus, who was currently masquerading as an adventurer, rubbed the back of her head, feeling the sticky sensation of blood seeping into her hair. Her immediate reaction was the desire to yell something along the lines of ‘Do it yourself then, you lazy bum!’ What actually came out of her mouth was- “Understood, Master.”

She hated to admit it, but it had a point. This wasn’t the first time it had to yell at her after she got carried away with setting things on fire. Ghouls were the only suitable targets for its Cadaver Absorption, after all. As for Xera, she was actually trying to distract herself from what was going on behind her.

*CLINK*

That master of hers had copied her form yet again just to play with its gold coins. She was forced to walk ahead of it and do all the work while it enjoyed itself. Worst of all, it used a mockery of her true form to do so. A demon’s body was something incredibly personal. It was essentially their true self given form in the material realm. Having someone pervert it for their petty amusement like that was pretty much the ultimate insult to a demon.

*CLINK*

And it made the broken succubus undeniably aroused. The physical torture may have lessened, but the psychological abuse seemed to be getting worse. Or better, depending on the point of view. Still, the proud demoness would not admit any of that so readily. Yet she was still powerless to go against the wishes of her master. The most she could do in this situation was try her absolute best to ignore that blasted monster.

*CLINK*

But alas, that was proving difficult. Since the Mimic was currently cradling the gold coins in Xera’s mirrored breasts, every step it took made them jingle a tiny bit. Just enough to stimulate the tortured succubus’s imagination.

*CLINK*

As for the Mimic in question, it was using the large number of undead to get stronger faster. These opponents proved to be too weak to give any significant increase to its close combat Skills or the Mimic Job. Feeding them to its Warlock Job would prove to be more beneficial in the short term, but all of its Spells had poor affinity against the undead.

*CLINK*

Domination was outright useless, and all of its Ruin Spells were either of the Darkness or Cold elements, to which undead were pretty much immune. Technically, the Ebonfire Spell dealt Fire damage, but since it did that by igniting the target’s soul, it had no chance to shine against these lesser varieties of undead. They were vessels of grudges and hatred. Something like an ego or soul did not dwell in the bones and flesh around here.

*CLINK*

But its bonded familiar used Pyroclasm Spells, which were predominantly Fire-attuned. And anything she killed would contribute XP to the Mimic’s Summon Familiar Skill and Warlock Job, though it seemed it was going slower than expected. Perhaps receiving the XP second-hand meant it didn’t get the full amount? Or was it because killing monsters provided significantly less XP than murdering adventurers? A combination of the two, perhaps? Still, it was better to get a few early Levels of those two things while it could. If the familiar was too weak to properly support its master later on, then what would be the point of her existence.

*CLINK*

The demoness proved to be surprisingly effective, too. Technically she was only a Level 8 Pyromancer, so how come she did so much damage? Was it because she had the Attributes of a Level 19 Caster? Did that matter in some way? It double-checked something in its Status Screen.

[Intelligence (INT)]
Improves your memory and capacity for knowledge.
Improves the effectiveness of your Spells.
Every 1 point of INT increases maximum MP by 5.

Now that would explain it. That second line wasn’t there the last time it checked this Attribute. Then again, that was before it actually had the Warlock Job or any of the offensive Spells that came with it. There appeared to be no other changes when it checked through the rest of its Attributes. Well, at least now it knew to give those another look the next time it unlocked a Job. It kept thinking such things while idly rolling one of the King pieces up and down Xera’s xeroxed knuckles.

“Master, adventurers ahead,” came the silent report from its familiar.

The Mimic quickly put the coins back in Storage and assumed a less conspicuous shape. That is, as inconspicuous a living chest with eight spider legs and a cat-like eye could be. Still, it was its preferred shape for combat. These were the first people they had run into since they entered this place and it was itching to sink its teeth into actual flesh and blood.

This dungeon was pretty much ‘tamed.’ Signposts and markings left behind by others clearly showed the path to the Red Zone. Of course, the Mimic couldn’t read any of them, but that was why Xera was there. Following those directions let the two of them reach the deepest part of the dungeon in about ten or fifteen minutes. They’d been wandering around the labyrinthine corridors ever since. That meant they skipped straight to the most unpopular part of this place. It was also the dead of night outside, so them running into adventurers under these circumstances was extremely lucky.

Or unlucky, depending on the point of view.

It peered around the corner and saw four people, all human males. They seemed to be sitting around a campfire, talking about something. Sneaking up on them might prove to be difficult since they were all alert and keeping an eye on their surroundings. Then it realized that sneaking around was completely unnecessary. If they were in here they were unlikely to be higher than Level 15. As a Level 39 magic-wielding monster, it would have no trouble wiping them out in a frontal assault.

“Wait, Master!” pleaded Xera with a telepathic shout. “Can you let me handle those four?”

The Mimic that was just about to charge at them stopped dead in its tracks. “Why?” it asked.

“Information. Those people look like they might know something about this place. I wish to go over there and find out if they can somehow lead us to our objective. And the sooner we find it, the sooner we can be done here.”

Xera really didn’t want to spend too much time navigating this damnable dungeon. Incinerating masses of undead was fun, but that was merely the highlight. The majority of the last three hours were spent walking with nothing but that infuriating chest for company. She was looking forward to getting out of here and alleviating her stress and boredom. If those people had maps or a guide, then it would speed up their progress quite a bit.

“Okay. Go learn what you can.”

The Mimic readily agreed to the proposal. It also wanted to be done with this place and find tastier prey. Not like it would actually eat any of those corpses. They tasted terrible and, much like Xera, wouldn’t fill its stomach. Cadaver Absorption could be used on ghouls if the Mimic acted quickly. Its purpose was to train its Skills, so it didn’t particularly care if it only had repeated failures. Even if the Skill succeeded there would probably be very little benefit since the undead could barely even be considered corpses.

“Ah, can you patrol the area make sure no monsters interrupt our little… talk? It might take about half an hour. Probably more.”

It had no complaints about fulfilling that request. Between the two of them, Xera was still the leading expert in dealing with humans so it had no choice but to rely on her judgement in these situations.

“Okay. I go hunt.”

Without wasting any time it went into full on storm-of-steel-and-teeth mode and skittered off somewhere while waving its swords around for no good reason. Xera let out a sigh of relief as it disappeared around a corner.

“Now then,” she said to herself, “how should I cook those four?”

Part Two

Xera thought about her approach. It had to be plausible and fit the circumstances. Male adventurers all had a soft spot for damsels in distress, a weakness that could be exploited. Correction, a weakness that would readily be taken advantage of at every opportunity. The succubus made up her mind - she was going to play the part of a lost adventurer who had gotten separated from the rest of her party and happened upon these kind men.

The straight black hair on her head rapidly turned blonde and extremely disheveled. Her eyes became wider and the crimson irises gave way to a sky blue. Her face morphed into a younger, more innocent one. The imitation robe she was wearing suddenly ripped open all on its own in several strategically chosen places. Scratches and bruises appeared on her exposed skin. The staff she was carrying was left behind on the ground - it wouldn’t do to gain their trust if she was ‘armed.’

With her preparations finished, all that was left was for her to approach the targets. What happened then would be one of three things.

Number one was she would be found out and killed. This outcome was pretty unlikely though. Even if it did happen all that it would mean was the Mimic would come back and kill them off, then resummon her and probably abuse her a bit for her failure. Not a big deal, all things considered.

The second and most likely thing to happen would be they would fall for it and try to protect her, possibly escort her. She could then wring any potentially useful information out of them using her demonic wiles and have her master come in and kill them afterwards. Actually, she might be able to do that last part herself, but that meant burning them to a crisp. Doing that would surely earn her yet more beatings.

She wasn’t actually looking forward to those, okay?

Xera appeared before the men while panting heavily, clutching her side and wearing robes torn so thoroughly that they left little to the imagination. The men stared at her with surprise and wariness as she called out to them for help. Just as planned, they let down their guard upon hearing her fake sob story. But their gazes and expressions turned lecherous once they realized this beauty was alone, scared and vulnerable. Indeed, out of the possible reactions they could make, they chose the outcome Xera was hoping for the most. The third one.

A group of rather unsavory-looking men find a cute-faced, scantily-clad and outrageously proportioned girl in a secluded place that was well removed from prying eyes. The succubus barely even needed to use her Demonic Seduction to entice them into assaulting her. They ripped off what clothes she had and put a knife to her throat. They fed Xera some bullshit lines like ‘don’t struggle, this is payment for our protection’ while holding her at knifepoint. She almost laughed at their idiocy, but managed to keep that from slipping out. The men broke out into a squabble over who got to go first, though from the sound of things it didn’t seem like this was the first time they’d done something similar.

I knew it, thought the succubus. She had guessed the true nature of these four brutes correctly. Not just their looks, but their body language, speech and facial expressions all gave off the feeling of ‘dishonest opportunistic bastards.’ She had a good eye for people and would often be able to pick out scumbags like these four. These stereotypical goons who were easily swayed by their desires made for easy prey. They even seemed to emit a certain presence that would easily make one think of them as bandits rather than adventurers.

Objectively speaking though, the difference between those two professions was paper thin. They all attacked their victims for personal gain and sometimes broke into their homes with the aim of robbing them blind. Pretty much the only thing that set them apart was that one group attacked monsters while the other chose people as their targets. One might argue adventurers served and protected the general public, but if they truly wished to do that they would have signed on as guards, soldiers or knights.

In short, saying banditry and adventuring were two sides of the same coin would not be too far removed from the truth. The two walks of life seemed to blur together on more than one occasion. It wasn’t unheard of to see actual bandits who were trying to escape their criminal past by starting anew as adventurers. Of course, the guilds would do background checks to weed them out, but it was inevitable some of them would slip through the cracks. Others would start as adventurers and end up as bandits simply because the power they gained went to their heads. There were even so-called ‘dark guilds’ that were essentially organized crime syndicates.

The four bandit-like adventurers had finally finished their discussion. Their leader would be the first to taste their new prize and Grabby would assist. The other two would have to patiently wait their turn while keeping watch. They then began to roughly violate the ‘unwilling’ girl in front of them. One pulled her down onto him while the other took her from behind.

Xera continued acting her part flawlessly as she screamed and struggled weakly while sandwiched between her two assailants. She made sure to wiggle her upper body as much as possible so that her breasts could sway back and forth in a wild manner. The arousing display combined with the demonically-enhanced stench of sex that permeated the men’s makeshift campsite created an atmosphere of utter debauchery.

Under such circumstances, it didn’t take long to goad the other two into joining the party. Even if they were supposed to be on watch, they were too weak willed to resist a succubus’s seductive presence. Xera used her lower body, mouth, hands and breasts to pleasure all four of them at once. She steadily robbed them of their reason, reducing them to nothing more than puppets who had no choice but to dance to her lewd tune.

Once the succubus was certain she had them completely under her control, she decided to stop wasting time and finish things off. She didn’t particularly care for the act itself. Succubi like herself craved semen and nothing more, seeing sex merely as a means to an end. While it was possible for them to feel pleasures of the flesh, such things paled in comparison to the sheer satisfaction and joy they felt when sucking the life out of their victims.

After making her mind up, Xera suddenly raised the intensity of her actions all at once, coaxing all four of her victims to simultaneous climax. Four streams of semen loaded with life force poured into her as if on cue. Two in her lower entrances and two more down her throat. The succubus merely hummed pleasantly around the man meat lodged in her mouth as she slowly sucked the very life out of her ‘assailants.’

The four of them were gradually turned to lifeless mummies over the next fifteen minutes. She then got up and prepared to dress herself, but was rudely interrupted.

“What are you doing, Snack?”

“Ack!?”

The succubus let out a stupid voice when she heard her master’s voice. She slowly turned around when she realized the Mimic was standing right next to her. It clearly saw her standing naked over the corpses of the four men she was supposed to interrogate.

“Uhm, I was,” she stammered,” that is…”

“No information?” it asked, almost accusingly.

“No, Master. They attacked me and I had to-”

*SMACK*

The Mimic hit her on the side of her head with one of the adventurers’ discarded weapons - a small one-handed mace. The force of the blow caused Xera to stagger and fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The damage inflicted was enough to instantly rob her of a third of her HP.

“Stupid!” it yelled at her. “Don’t lie!”

Of course it would realize it had been deceived. Not even it was that big of a moron. It had actually come back to check on her a few minutes ago and saw the bizarre scene of the men turning to skin and bones with her in the middle of them. It didn’t quite comprehend what was going on at first and wondered if it should interfere. But since Xera did not call for help it assumed there was no trouble.

Then the humans fell to the ground like a bundle of sticks while she was smiling widely to herself. At that point it was pretty clear she had killed these people completely on purpose. And now that it had a closer look, it could confidently say ‘devoured’ was more accurate.

“Did Snack just want to eat them?!” it pressed. The familiar seemed to hesitate as to what to say. So it forced her with an order. “Answer without lies!”

The contract meant orders had to be fulfilled to the best of her ability. While broad or unspecific orders could be taken advantage of, direct and simple ones like that were impossible to worm herself out of.

“Yes, Master,” she replied. “I just wanted to eat them.”

That was the truth of the matter. She wanted to devour these men for the simple purpose of having a bit of fun. The bit about squeezing information out of them was a plausible excuse, but nothing more.

“So my Snack lied to me?”

The succubus braced herself for the next hit.

“Yes, Master.”

However, the beating did not continue. She dumbly stared at the Mimic while it stood there idly with a bloodied mace in its tongue.

“Don’t lie to me again,” it continued. “Lying to me is bad. Very not tasty. So don’t!”

Xera dropped her shoulders and averted her gaze. Succubi lie and cheat all the time, it was within her nature. Deceiving people, especially her previous masters, was something Xera had done hundreds, possibly thousands of times with a confident smile on her face. Yet hearing it put in such a puerile and nonsensical way as ‘very not tasty’ somehow made her feel ashamed.

“Stupid!” it repeated. The succubus had to admit, being called that by this retarded chest was not exactly a good feeling.

“If you wanted to eat, you should have said so!”

Xera’s eyes widened. She turned to face her master with a shocked expression.

“Then… Master isn’t angry because I killed these men?”

“No. Snack wanted to eat, so Snack ate. That instinct is very tasty. Would have done the same.”

This was… praise? The tortured familiar could scarcely believe it, but this seemed to be the case.

Now that she thought about it, why did she even try to deceive it in the first place? Her current master was not a man, but a monster. Eating and murdering people was something it did on an almost daily basis, and with great gusto. Of course it would have no issue if its subordinate did the same. Therefore, she had absolutely no reason to hide her intentions from it in the first place.

“But lies were not tasty at all! So no more lies!” it demanded in a childish tantrum.

A faint smile drifted onto her bloodied face. Lies were not tasty. In other words, Xera would likely be allowed to do as she pleased as long as she properly stated her intentions. Being soulbound to a monstrous box was shaping up to be a much better arrangement than she had initially thought.

“Understood, Master. I will be more considerate in the future.”

But she forgot about one very important aspect of this ‘arrangement.’

“Good. Now is snack time!”

She had slighted a master who knew no compassion or mercy and had yet to be punished for it.

“Eh? Huh? But I- ” she tried to plead her case, but it was too late. The red tongue was already coiled around her feet while she was still on the ground. It pulled them into its open maw, dragging the succubus’s cushiony rump across the floor. She watched in abject horror as the mismatched rows of teeth slammed shut, biting her legs off in one move.

“Aaaaaargh!” she screamed.

[You have been dismembered. HP -83.]
[Maximum HP reduced by 75.]

“My fucking legs! Nnnngh! Why is it always with the legs?! Haaaahn!”

She wailed in half-pain half-pleasure while rolling around on the ground. It was impossible to get used to the pain and shock of having her limbs violently ripped off no matter how many times it happened. The stumps of her legs let out crimson blood all over the floor, but not as much as one would expect. A demon’s body was a construct of flesh, muscle and bone. They did not possess a large number of the internal organs one would expect from a living being, like the heart, liver, kidneys or intestines. The blood they let out when injured was more or less decorative, too. They wouldn’t just up and die from having a leg or two chopped off, but it still hurt like a bitch.

That inhuman vitality was almost a curse in Xera’s case. It meant she wouldn’t get the brief reprieve of an easy ‘death’ that easily. Even then she’d just be re-summoned and re-eaten time and time again until her master was satisfied.

Of course, this initial dismemberment was simply the beginning. The Mimic spent the next several minutes slowly and meticulously chewing on her various bits until she was banished back to the Beyond. Some weird juice squirted out from her lower half a few times during the process. The oblivious chest still had no idea what that was even though it happened regularly during snack time. It just assumed it was part of her being a demon and didn’t particularly mind it.

Why would it? The slimy liquid was just as sweet as the rest of her, after all.

Part Three

Xera was brought back to ‘life’ a mere ten seconds and 260 MP later. The succubus had fully prepared herself for yet more snack time, but it seemed like that wasn’t on the Mimic’s immediate agenda.

“Wait here,” it commanded.

“Yes, Master.”

It seemed that the Mimic would be using its corpse-related Skill on those four. It sat right next to the pile of corpses and a number of transparent purple tentacles appeared from its faux-wood surface. They pierced one of the bodies and swiftly drank what little remained of its flesh, leaving behind little more than a pile of chunky ash. It was a scene the succubus had seen multiple times, so she was loosely aware of what was going on, including the hefty MP cost of that weird Skill. That would explain why it didn’t want to devour her over and over right now - it would much rather eat those corpses than eat her.

Xera felt slightly irked at this realization. This wasn’t because she was disappointed that ‘snack time’ did not continue, okay? It’s not possible to be jealous of a bunch of dried up skeletons, alright? She just felt awkward that her master was taking her sloppy seconds like that and didn’t particularly want to stare at the gruesome act, so she spun around and waited for it to finish.

The Mimic was likewise sitting patiently, waiting for its MP to recover. The first use of Cadaver Absorption failed as expected, but at least the Skill seemed to be usable on these leftovers. It seriously doubted the Skill would demonstrate its full effects, however. These corpses technically had everything attached, but they looked even less delectable than those ghouls. Still, it wouldn’t do to just pass them over.

However, the MP limitation was getting to be a problem. The INT stat was growing steadily, but WIS was falling behind, meaning the automatic recovery was lacking. This wasn’t an immediate concern since the Mimic was in no particular rush and it didn’t mind sitting idly while the MP recovery did its thing, but that didn’t mean this would always be the case. Xera, for example, became quite useless if she ran out of MP in the middle of a fight.

The animate chest had witnessed the sight of its familiar running out of MP just before she could finish off the ghoul. The undead creature had leaped on top of her and ended up seriously injuring her body. It very nearly killed her before the Mimic could slice it into ribbons. It had to stop playing with its gold to do that, which made it a bit irritable. This was not a particularly tasty situation, but it proved a point. Running out of MP in combat could mean death. And if the Mimic should need to use magic to fight, then it would run dry extremely quickly.

“Snack,” it called. “I want more magic.”

The bare-bones explanation somehow managed to get its point across, giving the demoness a good idea of what it was talking about. She hated to admit it, but she was getting better at translating from Mimicanese.

The succubus was keenly aware of the MP issues that all Warlocks faced. How could she not be? Every single one of her previous masters was a Warlock, after all.

“Have you tried using a staff?” she suggested.

If it were any other Warlock, they might think she was patronizing them. However, Xera was being dead serious. She had no doubt that the idiotic chest she called a master did not even consider something so basic.

“Is staff tasty?” it asked quizzically, confirming that Xera’s educated guess was dead on.

“It’s like a sword for magic,” she explained using her smallest words. “Holding one when using Spells can increase their damage or reduce their MP cost, depending on the quality of it.”

“So... tasty?”

“Yes, Master. Tasty,” she confirmed with a sarcastic tone. This time she was patronizing it. Not like the moron would notice the not-so-subtle meaning hidden in her voice anyway.

“Good! How do I get the tasty thing?”

“Here, one of these guys had a staff.”

She picked up the weapon in question off the floor and presented it to her master. It almost looked like a walking stick when compared to her fancy, albeit fake staff, but it was a Caster staff nonetheless. The apple-sized blue crystal ball at the top of the plain wooden shaft was evidence enough to that effect.

“This? Ah, I’ve eaten many of those. Not very tasty,” it said dismissively.

This time it was speaking literally. Wood did slightly fill up its belly, but the flavor was not at all to its liking. Not bad, but also not good would be the way to describe it.

“Master, you don’t eat this,” pointed out Xera. “You just hold it when casting magic.”

“Like Snack does?”

“Yes, Master. Just like-”

Realization hit her and she stilled her tongue, but it was too late. Words spoken out loud could not be taken back. And indeed, the Mimic accepted the staff from the succubus’s hands using its own version of her own hands. The albino mockery of Xera’s true form had appeared from inside the chest before she even realized what was going on. Seeing it curiously hold a staff the wrong way around made it even harder for her to watch.

“Fffffuuuuuuck!” screamed the real Xera while turning around as quickly as she could. However, this time she was more upset at herself rather than the Mimic. Of course it would do things exactly like her, right down to the body. She walked into that one all on her own.

*Swish swish*

She could hear it swinging its new toy around. But then she had a thought which brought chills down her spine. It probably wanted to try out its new weapon. And there were no suitable targets around, except for one.

“Shadowbolt ~♪!” came her own oddly cheery-sounding voice from behind. In the next instant, she was hit in the back by the Spell in question.

[You have been hit by a mass of darkness. HP -88.]

Xera screamed in pain while falling to her knees. Sticky demon blood and flesh flew around the place as the Shadowbolt took a literal piece out of her lower back. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. Right now her lower back was missing a chunk of flesh roughly the size of a fist.

But the Mimic wasn’t done. It dropped the staff on the ground with a slight clattering sound.

“Shadowbolt ~♪!” it called out again.

[You have been hit by a mass of darkness. HP -82.]

The Mimic verified that the Spell was ever so slightly stronger with the staff equipped. It didn’t seem to reduce the MP cost, but it was still something! It picked the weapon back up and did a little celebratory dance. Its spider legs tilted the milky-white, chest-bound woman left and right while she held the staff above her head with both hands. The massive milky-white breasts swung left and right indecently. It also started chanting “Staff is tasty ~♪! Staff is tasty ~♪!” over and over for no good reason.

Xera was becoming more and more mortified. She stared at the spectacle the same way one might stare at a hurricane. Her own oddly melodic voice was singing such an absolutely retarded tune while a mockery of her body was performing a fittingly childish ‘dance.’ Eventually she managed to tear her eyes away from whatever that was and turn away from it entirely.

“Please, just kill me now,” she muttered sarcastically.

“Okay!” called out the Mimic in good humor. It was in a good mood, so it decided to grant the familiar this simple request.

Xera, understandably, immediately tried to stop it. “NO! I didn’t mean-”

But it was too late. Words spoken out loud could not be taken back.

“Shadowbolt ~♪!”

[You have been hit by a mass of darkness. HP -88.]

“GUHAAAHA!” she screamed. That third spell to her back made her fall flat on her face.

“Hm? Still not dead?” asked the Mimic.

Indeed, she wasn’t. She was barely alive with only 2 HP left.

“It’s okay, I fix ~♪!” it added while walking closer to her.

Xera was too busy coughing up blood and red goop to protest. She could only turn her head just enough to see her own face looking down on her with a dumb smile. Her master let out a “See you soon ~♪!” before bringing down the wooden shaft of its new staff towards her head.

Oddly enough, the succubus found herself mirroring that goofy smile right before the staff cracked her head open. She had realized that she was her own worst enemy. In more ways than one.

[Your familiar has been banished.]

The Mimic, on the other hand, was happy. It learned a new thing and helped its Snack out with a request. But then it got a bit sad when it realized it had used every last drop of its MP on that third Spell. That would delay the absorption process, not to mention it would need to summon its familiar yet again. Well, ultimately it just had to sit still and play with its coins while the automatic MP recovery did its thing, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Just to be sure, it double-checked its Status, but its Ruin Mastery didn’t budge. It seemed that using its own familiar as a punching bag wouldn’t actually raise its Mastery Skills. Well, she was born of its own MP so doing that was more or less like hitting itself. Which, it knew for a fact, also couldn’t be used to train up Skills.

And so it spent the next half hour or so idly regenerating its MP while playing with the gold coins. First it summoned back Xera and told her to keep checking the camp for anything else that looked useful. Then it absorbed one more corpse, which ended in another failure. The third one, however, was a hit.

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a moderate success!]
[12% of the target’s highest Skill Proficiency has been added to your own.]
[The body’s deteriorated condition has weakened this effect by 40%.]
[Proficiency level increased. Dagger Mastery is now Level 2. STR +2. DEX +6.]

The Skill itself was not that great, but the Attribute gains were tasty. Now that the Mimic thought about it, it was still carrying that oddly shiny dagger it had picked up when it was still Level 10. It used the fake Xera’s white hand to reach into its Storage and pull it out. The weapon in question had a deep blue gemstone embedded in the pommel. The short steel blade glistened with an unnatural light blue sheen and a faint icy fog drifted down from it.

This was a magic weapon, enchanted with the power of ice. Anyone stabbed by this would have their insides freeze over, causing additional HP damage. The downside was that it needed more maintenance than plain steel blades, not to mention it was almost five times more expensive. The simple Mimic obviously had no idea about any of this. It was just coveting the shiny thing that looked like a tiny sword.

However, now that it had the knowledge of Dagger Mastery, it realized this short blade was more suited to ambushing targets. It could be thrust in and out of flesh with much greater ease and speed. Xera’s white, tender hand changed into a grotesque red tongue-tentacle as it gave the weapon a few experimental swings. The actual Xera stiffened up when she heard the familiar swishing sounds, but felt relief wash over her when it became obvious it didn’t feel like stabbing her.

Well, not for the moment, at least.

After some more waiting around, Xera had finished checking all the belongings.

“I’ve found a few… ‘tasty’ things, Master,” she reported.

“Show me!” it replied eagerly.

“They were carrying a few low-grade Healing Potions. Er, you do know what a Healing Potion is, right?”

“Yes,” it confirmed. “Glass thing with liquid. Gives HP when I eat it. Moderately tasty.”

It was already familiar with this alchemical product. A few of those potions were present in the satchels and pockets of its previous victims and spilled out into its mouth while it chewed on the remains.

“Oh, okay. Here they are.”

Xera held out three crystal vials. The Mimic put them in its mouth, crunched down on them and swallowed. Just because it knew what potions were didn’t mean it realized it could have saved them for later. Food was meant to be eaten before it got all rotten and un-tasty, after all.

As for the succubus, she felt herself die a little on the inside. Just when she thought that chest would behave rationally, it proved her wrong. Her naivete proved she was still overestimating it. Or underestimating, depending on the point of view. All that was left for her to do was let out yet another sigh before continuing with her findings.

“There were also two swords over there that you’d probably like.”

She pointed to the unsheathed blades on the ground a few meters away from her. The simple blades looked practically brand new. The Mimic was quite enthusiastic about this as the ones it had were woefully unmaintained and horribly over-used. They were blunted, rusted, and seemed like they would snap in half any day now.

“I also found some more gold for you - 63 GP in total.”

Next, she took out a small purse and dumped out its contents in a careless manner, causing dozens of glittering coins to pour out of it. They hit the brick-covered ground with a bit of a racket, then bounced or rolled all over the place. Rather than being annoyed, the Mimic simply marveled at the sight until the last bit of gold came to a complete rest. It began picking them up one by one with great glee, carefully appraising each piece before putting it safely away inside its Storage.

Most of them were tiny ones, barely bigger than a thumbnail and just as thick. A good number of them were also slightly bent from changing hands so many times. These were Serf pieces worth 1 GP each. The rest were about twice as large in diameter and a tiny bit thicker, not to mention shinier due to the higher degree of gold purity. These ones were called Knight pieces, each of which had a value of 5 GP.

“They had a map, too,” added Xera with a tinge of hope in her voice. “The thing you’re looking for is actually less than a minute away from here.”

However, saving what she believed to be the best news for last proved to be a mistake. The Mimic was too enthralled by the shiny things to pay her any attention. Eventually it calmed down enough to process the good news. After she repeated them, of course. It still had one more corpse to absorb, though, so it went over to do just that.

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a minor success!]
[12% of the target’s highest Attribute has been added to your own.]
[The body’s deteriorated condition has weakened this effect by 40%.]
[The Charisma (CHR) Attribute has been created through a special action. CHR +7.]

It quickly verified this mysterious new addition to its Status.

[Charisma (CHR)]
Slightly increases your attractiveness.

If it was the Mimic from two weeks ago, it would definitely scoff at this seemingly useless Attribute, but the present one knew better. It considered how effective Snack was at deceiving others with her looks, and knew firsthand how useful such a thing could be. If it could become an irresistible treasure chest as a result of this Attribute, then it would undoubtedly be much easier to fool its prey. After all, it thrived on ambushing those blinded by greed, so something like this was sure to be useful.

Unfortunately, the monster was being a bit too optimistic for its own good. Even with 10,000 CHR it would at most appear to be just a really clean and sparkly treasure chest, which wouldn’t have the sort of effect on people that it was imagining. This Attribute had almost no impact on how an inanimate object looked, after all. It would be a different story for someone who was naturally beautiful, however. For example, if Xera had a five-figure CHR Attribute she could make both men and women alike fall madly and hopelessly in love with her with just a glance. A wink and a smile would make them orgasm on the spot. Indeed, entire kingdoms would willingly line up to receive the honor of having their life sucked out of them by such an unimaginable beauty.

In short, the only way CHR would be useful to the Mimic right now was if it gained a new Job that could make use of this Attribute. Even if it morphed into half-a-Xera, the lower half of that form would be a dead giveaway to anyone with half a brain that it was a monster. Indeed, it would probably attract more oblivious ‘customers’ if it just stuck with its tried-and-true chesty visage.

Now that all four corpses were gobbled up and its MP was mostly replenished, it decided it was time to move out. It went over to where Xera was waiting. The bored succubus picked herself up off the ground when she noticed her master approach.

“We go,” said the Mimic. “Show me where the Dungeon Core is.”

Part Four

Just as Xera had said, the heart of the dungeon was quite close by the little camp those adventurers had made. It was clearly marked on the hand-drawn map they had brought with them. A significant portion of the labyrinthine corridors had been mapped out in great detail, which looked odd considering how uneven and smudged the lines on it were. It was legible, but barely.

Xera guessed this was something those four had copied for themselves, but that was beside the point. Even as poor quality as it was, the place where her master wanted to go was plainly visible. Their destination was the only unmapped portion of the dungeon, with the words ‘Do not enter’ scribbled in the blank space. And the two of them were standing at a T-shaped junction, right on the edge of that space.

Behind them was the way they came. To the right was a path that would take them nowhere in particular. The way to the left stretched out into a straight corridor that led into the uncharted heart of this dungeon. It looked pretty much exactly like the rest of the underground maze - stone brick walls and floor, creepy statues and carvings visible along the wall and ghostly torches providing just enough blue light to make their presence known. It was easy to see how someone might enter this place by accident if they didn’t have one of these maps.

Which was probably why ‘DO NOT ENTER’ was written in large blocky letters on either side of the passage in question with an eye-catching yellow paint. Grimy and steadily peeling off, but eye-catching nonetheless.

“The core should be down this way, Master,” said the succubus.

The Mimic stopped playing with its expanded collection of gold coins and, much to her relief, shifted back into its combat stance, swords at the ready.

“Go in front,” it ordered.

“Understood, Master.”

It sent its familiar ahead so that she could be bait for any ambushes or traps. Even if she was much more fragile than itself, she could still be used as a meat shield. After all, she was expendable and her death would be an inconvenience at most.

Also, the Mimic was more than a little worried about friendly fire. It had plenty of opportunity to watch Xera use her magic throughout the dungeon, so it knew full well just how out of control those Pyroclasm Spells could get. Being in that pyromaniac’s line of fire was not an attractive prospect, to say the least. So it went against the common sense of adventuring parties and put the vulnerable Caster Job at the front.

The succubus walked about fifteen meters in front of her master like she had been doing until now. However, unlike before, it was being strangely silent. She found herself looking over her shoulder a few times to make sure it was still following her. The way that animate chest followed made for a rather unsettling sight. Even the experienced demoness found the way it was quietly gliding along on those eight spider legs to be a bit creepy. If someone were to see the two of them right now, they’d undoubtedly misunderstand the situation as a monster stalking an innocent young woman.

The corridor itself went on straight for a while and had several left turns, but there were no intersections with other tunnels. Rather than a maze, this part of the dungeon was more akin to a spiral. Eventually, the corridor ended in a rather plain stone archway with a wide hall on the other side of it. The rectangular chamber was far more spacious when compared to the rest of the dungeon, more than thirty meters on each side. Four wide stone columns were spaced out evenly around the interior, likely holding up the four meter tall ceiling.

And right in the middle of the room, on top of a circular marble altar, was the core - a glowing red crystal ball, roughly one meter in diameter. At first glance it seemed to be sitting on top of its pedestal, but a closer inspection revealed it was actually floating ever so slightly above it.

Xera entered the room boldly, her footsteps echoing throughout the chamber. Her master skittered in silently behind her shortly after. As the succubus approached the core on the Mimic’s orders, she heard a strange whimper and a rustling of chains. Looking to her right, she saw what appeared to be a young human girl still in her mid-to-late teens, chained up against the pillar.

The prisoner was sitting on the ground with arms bound tightly above her head by thick, rusty shackles and chains. Her long, black, oily hair was stuck to her face, obscuring part of her features. She was wearing what appeared to be leather armor that was mostly in tatters and left much of her pale, bruised skin exposed. The odd posture she was in emphasized her moderately-sized, albeit perky breasts.

“Please! Help me!” she shouted with a voice halfway between a plea and a cry.

“Sure,” replied the ‘adventurer’ with a smile on her face.

“Really? You’ll release me?”

“Yep! Release you from life, that is!”

“... Huh?”

“Fireball!”

The sudden Spell crashed into the stone pillar, wrapping the lowest part of it in a plume of bright red flames.

“What are you doing?!” screamed the prisoner.

“I could ask you the same thing, hmm?”

In the split second between chanting the Spell and it hitting its target, the black-haired girl had slipped out of her restraints and climbed up onto the pillar to avoid it. She was sticking to the smooth stone bricks while upside down with her arms and legs spread out, like a cross between a human, a frog and a cockroach.

“Ah,” she exclaimed after realizing the position she was in.

Xera smiled mischievously. “Good evening, miss Dungeon Master.”

The ‘prisoner’ clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Tch, figured me out did you?”

“Puh-lease, honey. I knew the instant I heard you. You’re five hundred years too early to try to deceive the likes of me!”

“Hyu hyu hyu hyu hyu!” came the odd laugh. “That’s why I love humans! They always spout such nonsense right before-”

The girl, or rather the thing that looked like a girl was rudely interrupted by another Fireball that flew straight at her face. She leaped off the pillar and landed to the ground with a small roll, while implying Xera was prone to having intimate relations with a horse. Incidentally, there was that one time that involved a centaur, so technically speaking she was half-right.

The Dungeon Master ran straight at the succubus, crossing the ten or so meters between them in less than a second. She punched her in the throat to interrupt her chanting and swept her off her feet in the next instant. Xera landed on her back with a thud and a yelp, dropping her staff in the process. Her attacker immediately straddled her stomach and pinned her wrists to the floor. She loomed over her captive victim with a triumphant smile on her face.

“-right before I eat them,” she finished.

The black-haired woman’s mouth opened unnaturally wide like her jaw had been unhinged. A slimy and oddly familiar tongue poured out of it. She probingly licked Xera’s face, then retracted the tentacle-like organ inside herself with a smack of her lips.

“Hyu hyu hyu hyu! You’re quite tasty, you know that?”

“I have been told that before, yes.”

The Dungeon Master’s eyes widened with surprise and she leaped forward, releasing Xera from her grip. A trio of blades sliced through the space she was occupying mere moments before.

“Huck!” cursed the Mimic. Its ambush was dodged and the opportunity to use Assassinate was now gone. It wasted so much time maneuvering into the right position, too!

“Master!” shouted Xera through the thought-link. “Why didn’t you use magic?”

“... Ah!”

Xera could almost see the proverbial lightbulb go off in its mind when it did that. She silently asked herself if this retard had forgotten that it could use magic, but immediately let go of that pointless question. Now was not the time for such thoughts. She quickly scrambled to her feet and picked up her staff.

The Dungeon Master had already retreated to a safe distance of about eighteen meters. The creature before them had reverted back to its base form, revealing its identity as a monster. The head, arms and legs still retained their human appearance. Even the hair was the same unruly collection of black strands that naturally draped over her face. However, the skin was so white and flawless that one could easily mistake it for porcelain. This illusion was solidified by the pure white eyes that had no irises.

However, what clearly set her apart as a monster was what she was ‘wearing.’ The ruined leather trappings had transformed into what appeared to be a pile of meat and bone masquerading as a loose-fitting strapless dress. A grotesque collection of blood-red muscles, distended blood vessels and even a few misshapen eyes covered its surface. They seemed to crawl and pulsate all on their own. The horrifying garment had a short skirt made out of red flesh that had several misshapen human-like teeth poking out of it at random. It hung down to the monster’s knees, allowing the bare, pale feet underneath to practically shimmer in the dim lighting.

This was indeed, as Xera guessed, the Dungeon Master. She was a Fleshmaiden, an intelligent and cunning shapeshifter that liked dark and damp places. Once one of these had established a lair, they would practically shut themselves inside it. It was a reclusive species that did not enjoy being out in the open at all. However, those who would dare intrude on this monster’s sanctum would not be allowed to escape with their lives. Which is probably why the only entrance to the room was sealed shut by a stone slab that rose up from the ground.

“I see,” she said in a calm, clear monotone while glaring at the Mimic. “You brought one of mine.”

The monstrous woman thought of herself as the mother of all creatures in this dungeon. That notion was not entirely true, but it wasn’t entirely false either. Indeed, the only reason that Mimics started appearing in this dungeon was because the Fleshmaiden had taken control of its core. The glowing crystal ball that served as the heart of this place was influenced by its new owner, prompting the dungeon to spawn the only shapeshifting species of monster it could. That was, of course, merely the beginning. Eventually the whole underground labyrinth would evolve and change to suit its new ruler, including the walls and layout of the place.

“A strong one, too,” she continued. “Isn’t this the same child that grew too large for this place? You’re controlling it, aren’t you?”

“Found me out, did you?” smiled Xera. This creature in front of her was clearly misunderstanding the way their master-servant relationship worked and the succubus had no intention of dispelling it.

Her master, on the other hand, was too busy sizing up its prey to bother with the chit chat. The thing in front was clearly not human, but a shapeshifter much like itself. This meant the insides were vastly different from the outside, so traditional weak points like the heart, head, throat and lungs were unlikely to work.

The Fleshmaiden reached inside the folds of her ‘dress’ and pulled out a pair of mithril daggers, one in each hand. The silver-like blades glistened forebodingly with an oddly green sheen.

“You whore!” she wailed while lowering her stance. “How dare you take what is mine!”

She charged forward with the same abnormal speed she displayed earlier, clearly aiming to finish off the troublesome magic user first. However, she was blocked by the same trio of blades she dodged less than a minute ago. They thrust through the space she was going to be in if she didn’t immediately skid to a halt.

The Fleshmaiden’s mind rapidly changed gears at that. Even though the swords themselves were not that great, the one wielding them could not be underestimated. If the Assassination attempt from earlier succeeded she would undoubtedly be in a bad spot. However, one does not simply sneak up on a Fleshmaiden. They’re way too paranoid to trust only one pair of eyes and always have an extra two or three of them along their bodies, covering all possible angles. Indeed, she had picked out the skulking chest almost immediately, but did not expect it to attack her rather than the person she was holding down.

And the Mimic would do that again. It took the initiative and pressed the attack. The flurry of tentacle-guided blades struck at the Fleshmaiden, but they were all repelled. She had parried all the blows beautifully even though she only had two blades to the Mimic’s three. It didn’t stop there and kept swinging wildly at her, coming at her from all sorts of awkward angles. All its previous opponents were overwhelmed by this approach, but they were only human. The Fleshmaiden’s arms and hands moved with superior speed and skill while bending and stretching in ways no human arm could ever manage. She was able to stand her ground against the chaotic onslaught.

The two kept exchanging blows as sparks flew off and metal-on-metal clanging reverberated through the chamber. Xera was left with nothing to do in the meantime. Her master had given her a strict order to not use any magic near it, so she was unable to do anything in this situation. Indeed, the chaotic nature of her flames was one of the ways she used to ‘accidentally’ torch one of her previous masters. But that was then, this was now. And right now, she was left with no way of attacking, regardless of her intentions. This was also likely the Fleshmaiden’s plan since Casters would hesitate to fire on their own allies.

However, it still meant that Xera was left undisturbed for the moment. She seized her chance and ran off towards the core, clearly aiming to secure her prize while the current Dungeon Master was held at bay.

Her intentions did not slip the Fleshmaiden’s notice. The dagger-wielding monster decided to kick things up a notch and stop that infuriating woman from trying anything funny. Truthfully, even though she appeared to have her hands full, she was simply taking a cautious wait-and-see approach with her opponent. Her superior speed and excellent kinetic vision gave her quite a bit of breathing room.

She saw a gap within the Mimic’s wild swings and managed to thrust her dagger through it. The sharp blade cut into the tongue on her left, sinking in about halfway through it and causing it to stop its movements. She followed up with another strike to the same place, severing it completely. The slimy red tongue and the sword it was gripping both fell to the ground with a sputter of gooey yellow blood.

One down, two to go.

Reeling at the sudden loss of limb, the Mimic didn’t have time to react before the middle one was sliced off with three successive strikes. It realized the opponent’s aim and reeled in the last tentacle while pulling back, but the Fleshmaiden would not allow that. She swung down fiercely with her whole upper body, chopping it off just moments before it disappeared inside the Mimic’s mouth.

However, while it was by no means a bad move to disarm her opponent, she ended up narrowing her attention on the swords a bit too much. Her rushed downward swing had left her slightly off balance and within centimeters of the Mimic’s natural weapons. It swiftly tied its other two tongue-tentacles around her shoulder and neck, pulling on her fiercely while lunging forward.

It sank its jagged, misaligned teeth deep into her side, causing the Fleshmaiden to wail in agony. Her right arm, shoulder and the side of her torso were all inside the Mimic’s maw. But so was her dagger. She thrust it upwards, piercing clean through the roof of its mouth. The mithril blade stuck out from the inside of the imitation wood lid like an oversized nail. Satisfied with the hiss of pain from her opponent, the Fleshmaiden tried to pull it out and keep stabbing the insides of its mouth.

However, it wouldn’t budge. The monster had reflexively tightened the muscles around it, locking it in place. It also wasn’t quite done with the piece of meat stuck in its teeth. It reared up on its spider legs, lifting the captive Fleshmaiden off the ground. It then swung her around to its side like a wet rag before slamming her down on the floor with a disgusting wet thud. The force of the impact severed what little flesh connected the right side of its victim’s upper torso to the rest of her.

At least that’s what it seemed like. The Fleshmaiden had willingly detached herself from those jaws, much like a lizard shedding its tail to escape. She rolled on the ground and scrambled to her feet. Her quick wits once again re-evaluated the situation. While she did have the upper hand in speed and dexterity, her opponent had her outclassed when it came to raw power and durability. Facing it head-on was not impossible, but it was a much wiser decision to cut off its reason to fight. Her new position put her in a perfect spot to bypass the still-reeling Mimic and take care of that troublesome Pyromancer.

The woman in question was busy banging on the transparent pink barrier the dungeon core had thrown up to protect itself. It was an automated security system of sorts. There was no way the core would allow anyone except its rightful owner to approach it, after all. And while it wasn’t capable of keeping that shield up indefinitely, it would still take a long time to break through.

The Fleshmaiden made up her mind and charged swiftly at the girl. Xera noticed her approach and immediately began chanting a Spell, but she didn’t make it in time. The gap between them was closed in almost an instant and a mithril dagger was stuck deep into her chest. Right where her heart would have been if she was human.

“I will have you pay for what you’ve done!” growled the Fleshmaiden while twisting her blade further inside her target. However, the face her victim made wasn’t one twisted by pain or the fear of death. Quite the opposite in fact. She was smiling with a wide, shit-eating grin that was proud of pulling off an elaborate prank. She dropped her staff and gripped the dumbfounded Fleshmaiden’s arm with both hands.

“Inferno,” she said, finishing her chant.

A swirling mass of fire enveloped them, burning away at both of their bodies. And even though they got the same treatment, they had wildly different reactions. The Fleshmaiden wailed in pain while the demon laughed maniacally.

That’s the trouble when dealing with immortal beings - they don’t hesitate to self-destruct. It didn’t help that the being in question was also a masochistic pyromaniac on top of being a summoned demon. If anything, it was a surprise she lasted an entire week since her ‘awakening’ before she thought of setting herself on fire.

The Inferno did not last long, however. The Fleshmaiden was a resilient monster that would not give in so easily. She pulled her hand free and stabbed the Succubus three more times in rapid succession before her HP was completely depleted, cutting the effects of the Spell short. Xera’s charred body fell to the ground while giving her killer the finger in a final act of defiance. It then broke apart into bright purple particles that faded away into nothingness.

The Mimic had already recovered as best as it could. The cut off tentacles were regrown and the mithril dagger was safely put away into Storage. It hesitated to approach the burning figure of the Fleshmaiden, however. Fire was a natural enemy of both wooden treasure chests and living things in general, so it was wary of approaching her.

When Xera’s Devouring Flames faded away a few seconds later, it revealed a shocking scene. The Fleshmaiden’s burnt and charred skin was healing itself. The bitten off portion of her torso as well as her right arm were growing back rapidly. She raised her left arm, pointing the dagger towards the Mimic.

“You’re next, traitor!” she bellowed.

[General Information]
Puddy
Fleshmaiden, Female, 8 years old
Level 25.00 Slime
Level 19.57 Fleshshaper
407/407 HP (+0.7/sec)
619/865 MP (+1.4/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 47, DEX 104, AGI 110, END 72, INT 173, WIS 93, PER 31

Part Five

The Fleshmaiden may have been fooled by her own hubris at first, but she quickly realized the woman she had killed was not actually human. There’s no way she would have shrugged off a dagger to the heart like that if she was. The subsequent self-destruction proved that point even further. After all, humans were creatures that clung desperately to life. She respected that, though. You wouldn’t last in this world without the resolve to fight tooth, nail and tentacle for your survival.

The bottom line was that Pyromancer was a monster, which meant she was actually cooperating with the Mimic. The chest had attacked her out of its own free will. It may even have been the mastermind behind this little invasion into her lair. Her guess was spot on, although ‘mastermind’ was giving it entirely too much credit.

Regardless, it had much to answer for. She even lost one of her trusty mithril daggers to it, but that was okay. All she had to do was carve it out of its wood-like hide.

And so, once the flames had subsided, the Fleshmaiden threatened the monster. Of course, that was entirely to help heal her injured ego. After all, throwing words like ‘traitor’ at a moronic chest was about as useful as pissing against the wind.

Leaving such stupid thoughts aside, she charged at it while swinging her dagger wildly. The Mimic had already regrown its tentacles and picked up its dropped weapons, so it was ready for her. Or so it thought. The Fleshmaiden ran straight through the trio of sword strikes. One was turned away by her dagger, the second cut open her unarmed left hand and the final one left a gash on her shoulder. She ignored the wounds and got right next to the chest-shaped body and stabbed at it with her remaining dagger.

The instant she thrust her arm forward it opened its maw and threatened to eat her whole. The Fleshmaiden was forced to stop her attack and pull back, lest she lose her other weapon as well. The sudden change in momentum made her stagger, which was just enough for the Mimic to drive all three swords into her shoulder, torso and thigh, depriving her of a devastating 235 HP. She pulled away from it in a panic, but the Mimic was holding its swords with all its might and tried to pull her into the opposite direction, towards its waiting maw. The girl-shaped monster’s malleable flesh was ripped apart violently, sending indeterminate bits of red flesh and sprays of crimson blood flying all over the place. It hurt like a bitch and cost her even more HP, but she managed to escape for the moment.

The Fleshmaiden had to admit she was underestimating it. Even in the middle of a fight it still found a way to surprise her with an attack that was almost enough to kill her outright. She hated to acknowledge it, but that thing’s combat instincts were the real deal. Even now it sensed her weakened state and chased after her, trying to finish the job.

The huge wound on her thigh meant the normally faster Fleshmaiden could not run as freely as before and she would surely be caught on flat ground. So she leaped at the nearby stone wall and stuck to it using adhesive slime secreted from her palms and feet. She clambered up the four-meter tall surface, attempting to put some distance between herself and her pursuer. Even a few seconds would be enough to pull herself away from death’s door.

However, the chest vehemently chased her. It skittered up the wall after her using its imitation spider legs as makeshift climbing picks. It stabbed their hard, chitin-covered tips between the roughly hewn stone bricks, creating just enough of a hole in the aging mortar to make a foothold. It was a crude method that it thought of roughly three seconds ago, but it was reasonably effective.

Its prey expected this development, however. After all, would it really be that strange for a half-spider half-chest to climb along the wall? Granted the method it used was vastly different from how actual spiders climbed walls, but that was beside the point. The Fleshmaiden stopped going upwards and instead turned ninety degrees to the right and moved quickly to the side.

The rapid change in direction slowed down the determined Mimic even further. Try as it might, it had no chance of catching her under these conditions. It briefly considered dropping off and firing Spells after her, but it was a risky move. Its opponent already proved to be more than capable of dodging or interrupting magic, so the Mimic had serious doubts as to whether it would be able to get a shot off. To make matters worse, the deep wounds it had left on that woman’s body were already closing up as if time was running backwards.

This is not tasty.

The chest knew a thing or two about shapeshifting. Replacing lost limbs or closing up wounds did not recover lost HP. The severed flesh and spilled blood both needed time to recover. Damaged tissue, on the other hand, was still there even if the wound wasn’t visible on the surface. The most it could do with its current Skills was to supplement the missing bits of its limbs by shifting Biomass around or force its wounds closed so they wouldn’t bleed as much.

But what this Fleshmaiden was doing was beyond that. She was regenerating. It looked similar, but any shapeshifter worth its tentacles would be able to grasp the difference. She didn’t simply shuffle flesh around. Entirely new muscle tissue grew rapidly on the spot, allowing her to restore both her body and her HP at the same time. Whether this effect was due to a Skill, a Spell, or came from the power of the dungeon core was a complete mystery to the Mimic. But one thing was crystal clear.

This situation is very much not tasty!

Once the female monster had recovered enough, she did a hundred and eighty degree turn while still clinging to the wall. She swung around one hand like she was an unreasonably fast clock and used that momentum to slice two of the Mimic’s front spider legs off in one slash. The animate chest, deprived of two of its anchors, lost its balance and fell towards the ground. It just barely managed to kick off the wall and rotate itself in a three-quarter circle so that it landed squarely on its legs, the missing ones already being rebuilt out of spare Biomass.

The Fleshmaiden leaped down immediately afterwards with her body in perfect health. She pressed the attack, but this time she did not rush in carelessly. She fought on the edge of the Mimic’s range, stabbing away at its tongues or legs. It retaliated by slashing away at her limbs in turn. It grazed her a few times but failed to land a telling blow on its quicker, more agile opponent. She didn’t make things easy, either, and kept running around it in circles, constantly hounding it at all sides and not giving it a single moment to rest. The Mimic used its magical perception to track her position and its flexible tongues swirled around it, covering it on all sides. And while it didn’t have any blind spots per se, it still struggled to keep up with her movements.

And so the two reached a sort of stalemate. One ran in circles and struck at any tentacles or spider legs she could reach. The other one responded in kind and aimed at her arms and feet. It even managed to chop them off a few times, but the Fleshmaiden took a page out of its own book and replaced them swiftly through shape-shifting. Her seemingly endless regeneration would undoubtedly restore her HP afterwards.

Severed limbs rained down in the area around them as they sliced at each other’s bodies. Indeed, the surreal scene was a duel between monsters - creatures with enough vitality to fight until their last drop of HP was gone. And looking at the way things were, the Mimic was undoubtedly going to be the first to fall. Even though it did almost twice as much damage as its more nimble opponent, it was still not enough. The enemy kept regenerating at a rate that was much faster than what it could dish out, but had no way of recovering its own HP. The Fleshmaiden had the clear upper hand in a battle of attrition like this.

Then why did she not do this at the start? If she was this strong, why did she feel the need to block the Mimic’s blows and deprive it of its weapons? Was it because she wanted to kill off the Mimic’s Snack? No, that was certainly the cause of it. After all, taking out the magical support first was something the Mimic desperately tried to do. But Xera clearly was an offense-type Caster, which meant her magic was a bigger threat.

This is regret?

The Mimic had passed on not one, but two whole chances to hit the Fleshmaiden with its own magic. It was possible that the high output of Warlock Spells might be able to overpower that regeneration, but there was no chance to use it now. The chest was under too much pressure, it couldn’t focus on casting magic like this.

Regret is not tasty!

In fact, the current situation was so un-tasty it almost made it want to puke in disgust. Things could not be allowed to carry on this way, otherwise it would surely be killed off. Therefore, it had to change the circumstances so they became more favorable. Much like how it desperately threw that spear during its struggle against the guard patrol, it needed to create an opening where one did not exist. It hastily threw together a plan that just might work, then put it into action.

The first step was, essentially, the same thing it did against those guards.

Over on the Fleshmaiden’s side, things were going according to plan. She could only inflict ten to twenty HP worth of damage with her glancing strikes. After all, she was slashing at thin limbs rather than stabbing at hearts, so her damage was quite low. Still, she was quite confident she wouldn’t lose. Her miraculous regeneration was the product of her Mend Flesh Skill. It allowed her to essentially convert her massive MP pool into HP. Like this, she was completely safe as long as her MP held out and she avoided getting in dangerous spots that could overwhelm the speed of her regeneration. In the worst case scenario where she ran out of MP, she could still run around the room for a few minutes until she recovered a sizable chunk of it.

But it would seem that was not necessary. The Mimic had swung down at her with too much force and missed her completely. Its sword slammed against the ground and broke off at the handle. The Fleshmaiden smiled at this development. One sword less meant it could no longer attack nor defend as vigorously as it had until now. So far it had managed to keep picking up its weapons with regrown tentacles while keeping her at bay with the other two, but one of those was now useless.

The monster had permanently disarmed itself in its own over-eagerness.

The Fleshmaiden would not let this chance slip by. She moved in closer and, while staying wary of those teeth, cut clean through one of the tentacles, albeit at the price of a sword strike to the right side of her face. It didn’t deter her and she cut off the last tentacle, drastically cutting down on the Mimic’s attack range. It then predictably lunged at her in an attempt to bite her, but she was well prepared for it this time. The flesh-draped woman dodged nimbly to the left, going around its narrow side where those jaws had no way of reaching her. She was absolutely sure that nothing the Mimic could do would injure her in this position.

So imagine her surprise when she felt a sharp pain in her right side. That last sword hit to her head took out two of her eyes that had yet to grow back. Her limited field of vision meant she didn’t notice that the Mimic had stabbed her with her own mithril dagger. She had completely forgotten about the little ‘present’ she left inside its mouth during their first clash. But then the Mimic introduced yet another dagger to the situation, this one stabbed right through her neck. A sensation of piercing cold spread through her throat as it began to ice over.

The Fleshmaiden had no idea where that last weapon came from, but she didn’t have time to worry about it now. The weapons lodged in her started pulling her towards the Mimic, which undoubtedly wanted to eat her whole. Her instincts screamed at her to run the fuck away.

So she tried to pull away, much like the last time she was in this position. The dagger lodged in her side felt like it would slip out easily enough, but the one in her throat was different. The frozen wound caused by the enchanted weapon meant it was firmly stuck in place. It was an extreme decision, but she willingly detached her head to escape from the jaws of death that were rapidly approaching her.

The headless woman then ran away from danger at top speed. Most of the Fleshmaiden’s many eyes were hidden inside her black hair. The only ones remaining were those on the front of her ‘dress.’ She had to sacrifice her hearing, her expanded field of view as well as a chunk of her HP to get away, but it was far better than being gobbled up. She could grow as many heads as she wanted, but no amount of regeneration would save her from being digested inside the Mimic’s stomach.

And in a repeat of the last time this happened, she retreated up the wall. Her limited field of view was quickly rectified by several eyes that grew out of her back and shoulder. She was unused to creating eyes on those areas of her skin, so it took her an extra second to get them just right. It was important that she confirmed the distance between herself and the Mimic that was likely following her.

But when those eyes opened up, they revealed that she was wrong. The Mimic did not chase after her. Far from it, it didn’t even budge from its spot. What it did was far more unsettling.

The Fleshmaiden immediately recognized the face of that infuriating Pyromancer from earlier. That bitch was supposed dead, so how come she was sticking halfway out of the Mimic?! The skin, eye and hair color were completely wrong, but there was no way she would mistake that shit-eating grin for someone else! But wait, there’s more! The woman on the wall broke her tunnel vision away from that insufferable face and realized that the Great White Whore was pointing a cheap-looking staff in her direction and a weird aura of crackling electricity surrounded her body.

If she still had ears, she might have heard the Mimic finish chanting its Spell.

“Ebonfire ~♪!”

Black flames enveloped the Fleshmaiden. The impossibly dark fire that erupted from her skin seemed to suck in what little light there was in the dark chamber. The Mimic couldn’t even see her skin inside that localized inferno.

[Your target has been afflicted with Ebonfire.]

The target in question fell to the ground, screaming like a banshee. She rolled around, desperately trying to put out the flames. But she could not, for they were coming out from beneath her skin. The Mend Flesh Skill was working overtime to try to keep her body alive, but any new flesh that formed was immediately burned away. The heat was intense enough to overpower her rapid regeneration.

[Your target’s soul burns away at their flesh. Target HP -140.]

Overcome with exhaustion, the Mimic’s spider legs gave out and the bottom of its chest-like body slammed against the ground. The half-a-Xera on top of it went limp and fell forward under the influence of the accurately reproduced oversized breasts.

[Your target’s soul burns away at their flesh. Target HP -140.]
[Proficiency level increased. Power Overwhelming is now Level 2. INT +4.]

It seemed that spending every last drop of its 520 MP in one go proved to have a side effect on its body, but it was worth it. The Mimic had managed to surprise its enemy by secretly taking out an enchanted weapon from its Storage. It knew that, once driven into a corner, the Fleshmaiden would flee at all costs. Even if it meant sacrificing parts of her body to do so. A strategy she has used twice already. So it aimed for her head and forced her to leave it behind. All that was to buy it enough time to prepare the nastiest attack it could muster - a supercharged Ebonfire Spell.

[Power Overwhelming]
The Warlock becomes a bastion of arcane might.
Requirements: Level 10 Warlock, Ruin Mastery, INT 60
Type: Active
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 20 MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Ruin Spells will cost 400% more MP.
Ruin Spells will be 200% more effective.
The Ruin Spell effectiveness multiplier will increase by an additional 20% per Level of this Skill.
The effects of this Skill will last 20 seconds.

[Ebonfire]
Requirements: Level 3 Warlock, INT 20
School: Ruin
Type: Targeted
Cost: 100 MP
Range: 25 Meters
[Effects]
Engulfs your target’s soul in flames, burning away their body over 6 seconds.
Has no effect on Undead, Demons and Golems.

[Your target’s soul burns away at their flesh. Target HP -140.]

It was a gamble. Breaking its sword on purpose to lure her in, trying to get rid of those pesky eyes all over her head, pressuring her so much that she focused her whole being on running away - it was all done for this. Its one ace in the hole was that the Fleshmaiden did not know it could use magic. In some ways it was glad it passed on those first two chances. A half-baked Spell would have only revealed its identity as a Caster and ruined any chance of pulling something like this off. That much was made clear by her impressive last-ditch effort to dodge its spell.

[Your target’s soul burns away at their flesh. Target HP -140.]

However, unlike Fireball or Shadowbolt, this Spell did not fire out a projectile. The Mimic simply needed to focus on a target that was both within its line of sight and within range. Finishing the chant would then cause it to immediately catch on fire. The Fleshmaiden had absolutely no chance of pulling off a feat like dodging the chest’s eyesight when she was more than ten meters away from it.

And so, its improvised plan to confuse and befuddle the Dungeon Master came to fruition. Its rewards were a terrifying amount of damage being dealt each second and an unceasing torrent of screams. Truly a satisfying result that was almost as tasty as Snack.

[Your target’s soul burns away at their flesh. Target HP -140.]

But now wasn’t the time to laze around and bask in the afterglow. The Spell was about to expire and the Mimic had to be ready in case that persistent creature actually survived it. It hurriedly picked itself up off the floor and wobbled unsteadily towards the Fleshmaiden that was still clinging to life.

[Your target’s soul burns away at their flesh. HP -140.]
[Proficiency level increased. Power Overwhelming is now Level 3. INT +4.]
[Proficiency level increased. Ruin Mastery is now Level 5. INT +2. WIS +1. END +1.]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 16 Warlock! INT +4. MNT +4. END +4.]

But she did not make it. An increase in Job Levels was definite proof that something had died. And since the Mimic was still very much alive, that meant it was unquestionably the winner. All that was left of the former Dungeon Master was a charred pile of meat that was still gripping onto the handle of her mithril dagger.

The Mimic felt relief wash over it. It slumped back to the ground and reverted back to a chest that was battered and splintered all over. There would be no celebratory dance this time, it was way too tired for that sort of excessive celebration. The only thing on its mind was to rest, so it naturally returned to its dormant state.

The room seemed incredibly peaceful after that violent struggle. The Mimic had forgotten how quiet it could get in this dungeon. Its thoughts drifted off towards the way it had lived its short life until this moment.

Close fights like this were nothing new to this monster. It was forced to face off against groups of adventurers multiple times while it was still a resident of this place. Honestly, that guard patrol fight wasn’t even in its top five most dangerous scuffles since it walked away with most of its HP intact.

But all those close calls had one thing in common - the monster was able to overcome them through a combination of luck and its opponents fucking up in some way. It vividly remembered that one Caster-type adventurer. It was busy fighting with his friend and suffered numerous wounds before it drove a sword through his chest. The Caster panicked and fumbled his Spell, causing it to backfire and explode in his hands. If that adventurer had succeeded, then the Mimic would have died then and there. The fact all its coin tosses so far came heads-up almost seemed like a miracle.

Indeed, today wasn’t the first time it had to fight desperately to survive, but it was the first time it achieved victory completely on its own power. There was no lucky break and its opponent didn’t trip up over herself. The Mimic had driven the Fleshmaiden into a corner by using her own habits against her. It had won in a battle of wits, pure and simple. Thinking back on that intense struggle, it felt an odd surge of emotion unlike anything else it had experienced. It wasn’t the joy of winning a tough battle nor was it spite for the enemy that wounded it so badly.

No, it felt a very specific feeling. One that gave rise to two words, a phrase it never even knew about until just now. It focused its magical perception on the smoldering remains of that formidable enemy and it gave voice to that emotion.

“Thank you.”

It then drifted off into a peaceful slumber, which was just another in a long line of ‘firsts’ that had happened today.

Chapter Five
Catalyst

Part One

The Mimic woke up violently. It shot out several unrecognizable limbs from its underside that were perhaps intended to be spider legs, but they came out so malformed and unrefined that they looked closer to oversized noodles. They flailed and thrashed around for a few seconds before managing to tip the chest over and make it fall on its backside with a thud. The sudden impact with the ground seemed to snap the monster out of its haze and allow it to finally remember where it was and what it was doing there.

The root cause of its distress was that it had never experienced sleeping before. This sensation of waking up was vastly different from the time it slipped into a three day Rank Up coma. Back then, its mind seemed to wake up before the rest of its body did, which was the opposite of what happened just now. The whole slumbering monster thing was vastly different from the other times it took a break. After all, no matter how tired or hungry it was, its consciousness had never slipped out from under it like that before. It’s not like the thought of resting its body was strange, but this was the first time it needed to rest its mind.

Or, to put it in another way, this was the first time it had a mind that needed rest. Up until a few days ago, it was still a simple Lesser Mimic whose main concerns were not dying, how tasty things were and where it could get more of the tasty things. But now it was a Greater Mimic, a creature that could form coherent thoughts and had a much higher capacity for learning and understanding. Complicated emotions like gratitude towards an enemy were now also within reach. And that higher-performance cognitive ability demanded maintenance in the form of sleep.

That’s not how the Mimic saw it, though. It almost felt cheated, to be honest. Why did it have to suddenly lose consciousness like that? Didn’t such a thing make it incredibly vulnerable? If it knew about this sooner, it would have not allowed itself to sleep in the first place. Or at the very least it would have wanted to have its familiar around to guard it.

Eventually it would find out that it was actually quite a light sleeper and would wake up the instant it detected something within the range of its magical perception or felt an odd vibration through the ground it was ‘sitting’ on. It was just that right now, it had no idea about any of that. Such things were not present in this deathly silent chamber.

“Ack!” it exclaimed. It picked itself up off the floor and stood up. Or at least, as close to ‘standing up’ as a spider-chest could get. It quickly scanned the room and confirmed three points of interest. The dungeon core was still there, the former Fleshmaiden was still dead and the entrance was no longer sealed shut. Having made sure its safety was not in immediate danger, it allowed itself to relax a little. Only a little though, it still had things it had to do.

First of all, it leaped up in the air and did a backflip, then performed a few stretches and trial shapeshifts to make extra sure everything was in working order, which seemed to be the case. Its body actually felt strangely refreshed and full of energy. If these were the after-effects of a good night’s rest, then perhaps sleep wasn’t all bad. Well, it was still only day two in its life as a Greater Mimic. It would need more time to get used to its new species.

There was still the matter of the Fleshmaiden’s corpse, though. It went over to it and tried to use Cadaver Absorption, but the Skill failed to activate. Even if she did have a heart and brain, they would have been completely destroyed by the Ebonfire Spell. Her body was in such a horrible state that the Mimic didn’t even want to eat it the old-fashioned way. Which was a shame considering that the few pieces it bit off her during the fight weren’t half bad. Perhaps a bit juicier than it preferred, but tasty all the same.

It felt better about it when it remembered to take her other mithril dagger, though. That one clean stab she got on the inside of its mouth did a whopping 130 damage to its HP. It was therefore looking forward to seeing if these new weapons would serve it well. These weapons also had the added benefit of being shiny. Mithril was technically a precious metal also known as white gold, so the Mimic instinctively felt a certain amount of satisfaction when it put both of those things in its Storage.

Next it checked its Status. It remembered it had managed to become a Level 16 Warlock before drifting off to sleep, meaning it could unlock one additional Skill.

[Skill List: Warlock]
Unlocked Skills: Summon Familiar, Power Overwhelming
Available Skills: Blood Magic, Crystallize Magic, Demonology
You can unlock 1 additional Restricted Skill from this Job.

Once again its options seemed oddly limited. At Level 5 it could only pick Summon Familiar. At Level 10 it had a bare-bones choice between Power Overwhelming and Blood Magic. It chose the former because it seemed like the more useful one, even if it turned out to have bad compatibility with Stealth and Assassination. Not to mention the other Skill looked more than a little dubious.

[Blood Magic]
The Warlock offers up his own life force to power his magic.
Requirements: Level 10 Warlock, END 60
Type: Toggled (OFF)
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Ruin and Domination Spells will consume HP instead of MP.
Reduces the HP Cost of Ruin and Domination Spells by 3% per Level of this Skill.

It was a Skill that demanded the Mimic willingly sacrifice its HP to use magic. There was no way the monster would agree to something like that, though. Preserving MP was important, but keeping HP above 0 was its top priority. It may have been a different story if it had the power of regeneration like that Fleshmaiden or maybe the healing magic that adventurers were seen using, but such things were beyond its reach for the moment. It might reconsider its choice if it gained some method of instantly recovering its HP.

And then realization hit it like a whale crashing into a rowboat.

Potions. The magical red liquid that would miraculously close wounds and restore HP. Those three vials it crunched yesterday would have been incredibly helpful in the fight it just went through. It finally understood why those humans kept the tasty thing bottled up rather than drink it immediately. Healing potions were not food, they were medicine. Okay, it didn’t use the word ‘medicine,’ exactly. That much was still a foreign concept, but at least it recognized them as ‘tasty thing that makes the pain go away.’ Close enough, right?

Regret was not tasty. It had wasted more than a few of those life-saving vials during its time, completely oblivious to the fact that it could save them for later. But now that it was aware of it, it made up its mind to keep a ready stock of them inside its Storage. The importance of preparation was yet another lesson it had picked up during this dungeon crawl, among other things. It truly felt a smidgen of gratitude towards the Fleshmaiden for showing it just how conceited it had become.

Ah, but it was getting side-tracked. It still had two new Skills to check up on!

[Crystallize Magic]
Binds magic Spells to a more permanent form, allowing it to be stored for later use
Requirements: Level 15 Caster Job, INT 90, WIS 60
Type: Active
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 0 MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
The next Area Effect Spell will have its MP Cost increased by 25%.
The next Area Effect Spell will be stored temporarily inside a conjured Spell Crystal.
Shattering a Spell Crystal will unleash the stored Area Effect Spell.
Spell Crystals will last up to 6 minutes per Level of this Skill before disappearing.

Another complicated Skill with a lot of weird restrictions. However, its effects did seem to be worth the trouble. If the Mimic could prepare a bunch of these crystals in advance, it wouldn’t need to chant at all. All it had to do was keep them in its Storage and then throw them out at the right moment. However, that seemed limited to only Area Effect Spells, of which it currently only had two.

[Mass Panic]
Requirements: Level 5 Warlock, INT 15, MNT 15
School: Domination
Type: Area Effect
Cost: 50 MP
Range: 5 Meters
[Effects]
Sends all living things in the immediate area into a magically-induced panic attack.
Has no effect on Undead, Demons and Golems.

Mass Panic had the problem that it only affected the area around the caster. If the enemy was already that close, then there was a good chance they would be able to interrupt the chant. But if that was sealed in a Spell Crystal, it would eliminate that possibility. It should even be possible to throw the crystal and drastically increase the range. The usability of this Spell would go way up!

[Dark Explosion]
Requirements: Level 13 Warlock, INT 60, MNT 40
School: Ruin
Type: Area Effect
Cost: 120 MP
Range: 25 Meters
[Effects]
Causes a violent shock wave of darkness at a target area.
The force of the Spell will forcefully repel all matter within 3 meters of the target area.
Grows in power in dark places or at night, gaining up to 50% additional force depending on the environment.

Dark Explosion on the other hand had a rather lengthy chant that took three or four seconds to complete, significantly longer than something like Ebonfire or Shadowbolt. Therefore, preparing the Spell in advance would allow the Mimic to throw it out instantly at the opportune moment! A strategy that fit in perfectly with its dirty fighting. Would the other Skill be able to compete with that?

[Demonology]
The study of demons and demonic rituals.
Requirements: Level 15 Warlock, Level 3 Summon Familiar, WIS 60, MNT 60
Type: Passive
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Increases the Cost of Summon Familiar by 2% per Level of this Skill.
Allows the Warlock to contract and summon 1 additional demon through the Summon Familiar Skill at Level 1 of this Skill.
Allows the Warlock to contract and summon 1 additional demon through the Summon Familiar Skill at Level 7 of this Skill.

That did indeed seem to be the case. The succubus had proved to be extremely useful when it came to infiltration and deception. Her magic was nothing to scoff at either, but she was sorely lacking when it came to close quarters combat. Therefore, if the Mimic had another demon under its command to fill that gap, they would be able to fight far more efficiently as a group. It even had the added boon of allowing it to use more MP during the summoning, meaning its demons would grow steadily more powerful.

There is strength in numbers. This was the simple truth the chest had gleaned from its fights against adventurers. And it had experienced it first hand. It was highly likely that the chest would have perished in the encounter with the Fleshmaiden if Xera wasn’t there. It would be a long time before the Skill reached Level 7, but sometimes the wait made the meal all the more tasty.

Ah, but Crystallize Magic looked tasty as well. But which one was more delicious? Telling just by looking really wasn’t possible, after all. The greedy Mimic wanted both, and that could technically happen once its Warlock Job reached Level 20, but it still had to choose the one it wanted first. This really seemed like a tough decision. Magical grenades or another capable minion? If only there was someone around to give the stumped chest a fresh perspective.

Oh.

“Greetings, Master,” said Xera some ten seconds and a flash of light later. This was immediately followed by “Ughh! What the fuck!”

The dumbfounded succubus grimaced fiercely as she took in the surrounding scenery. The aftermath of two shapeshifters going at each other with bladed weapons was on par with a natural disaster! Dried up blood and dismembered body parts littered the floor, including an out-of-place, half-molten head resting awkwardly in a puddle of something.

The nearby pile of charred meat that used to be the Fleshmaiden was the biggest problem. Not the way it looked, although that was pretty disgusting in and of itself, but rather the horrible stench it gave off. That indescribable scent of burnt flesh seemed to permeate the entire room.

“What in the hell happened here?” she asked with a hand over her mouth and nose. It wasn’t helping though.

“I won,” said the Mimic with a hint of pride.

“Yes, I can see that! I mean what’s with this horrible smell?”

“What smell?”

“...”

Right, treasure chests didn’t have noses. The succubus actually envied that lucky bastard of a box right now. Ah, technically speaking, she didn’t really need hers, either. So she took a page out of her master’s book and shapeshifted it shut. Even if the horrible stench didn’t technically cause her any harm, unpleasant things were still unpleasant.

“Is the smell tasty?” probed the Mimic.

“No, Master. It’s extremely disgusting. I would not recommend trying it.”

If it did, it would undoubtedly get pissed off. Which meant snack time until it calmed down. And Xera did not want any more of that. She didn’t, okay?

“Oh. Okay,” it responded dejectedly. Higher mental functions or not, it still felt disappointed when the verdict of this new thing was ‘not tasty.’

The succubus walked over to the former Dungeon Master and gave it a curious look. This was the first time she had seen something burned up so thoroughly before. And yet it still seemed to be… leaking.

“Master, what did you do to this thing?”

“I hit her with a big Spell.”

Xera’s eyes widened in shock. A single Spell? Given how quickly she moved and how she shrugged off having half her torso bitten off, Xera was convinced she must have been at least Level 40. Not to mention she was obviously experienced at fighting Casters. Then again, nobody was really prepared for the ridiculous things this box did. It probably used some underhanded trick to seize a weakness.

She chuckled. What she was most surprised about wasn’t the power it displayed, but the fact it actually remembered to use it. It seemed like the succubus would have to give her master some credit. Just a little, though.

“Alright then, what do you want from me?” she asked in a business-like tone. It was highly unlikely this chest summoned her for no reason.

“Do you know the Demonology Skill?” it asked.

“Umm...”

The succubus furrowed her brows and dug through her memory, but had trouble recalling anything about that particular Skill. That was to be expected since her knowledge regarding the Warlock Job was quite superficial. She wasn’t one herself, after all - she merely worked with them. Often against them, actually.

That was pretty much her expected behavior, though. Relationships between a Warlock and its familiar were always founded on distrust and deception. And with her being a succubus that thrived on such things, it meant she was trusted even less. Nobody in their right mind would want to listen to her opinions, lest they fall for her schemes and ended up as a dried up corpse in a ditch somewhere.

She really didn’t need to go that far, though. The Warlocks she managed to turn the tables on were complete idiots who practically killed themselves. There was that one guy who stuck his penis in her mouth and gave her some vague command like ‘Make me cum buckets.’ How did he not realize that was an open invitation for her to suck the very life out of his dick?

But her current master was radically different from all of her previous ones. Well, that was to be expected considering it was a monster with no sex drive. It treated her like dirt, constantly ate her flesh and even tortured her psychologically with its inane attitude and brazen shapeshifting habits. And yet, it understood and even encouraged her urges to devour the lives of mortal men. Sure, it was idiotic, merciless and completely devoid of common sense, but this was still the best working relationship Xera had ever had with another person. Well, another mortal at any rate.

Deliberately or not, that chest still did wonders to alleviate her boredom. That was ultimately the most important thing. It had only been a week or so since their contract began, yet she found herself incredibly curious as to how far it would be able to go and what sort of things it would accomplish.

“No, Master. I am not familiar with this Skill,” she answered after putting her thoughts in order.

“What about Crystallize Magic?”

“I don’t know that one either.”

The Mimic proceeded to explain both Skills and how it wasn’t sure which one to pick. Would it go for the nasty crystal surprise or opt for the extra pair of hands to help out in fights? It seems that it had been obsessing over this decision for quite a while. However, Xera almost immediately pointed out something that her master didn’t consider.

“You do realize what would happen if you dropped one of those crystals, right?”

The chesty Warlock thought back on the first time it used Dark Explosion. The Spell had been aimed at a group of seven goblins foraging for food in the forest. Two of them were right at the center of the detonation. They became red mist. Three of the others were closer to the edge of the Spell’s area of effect and were thrown into the air like ragdolls. They crashed into trees and rocks at high speeds, dying instantly from the impact. The last two were outside the blast zone, but still suffered heavy damage from fragmented stones and bones sent flying by the explosion.

Having recalled that rather vivid memory, the Mimic imagined what would happen if it fumbled a Dark Explosion sealed inside a Spell Crystal.

“...”

[Proficiency level increased. Demonology is now Level 1. WIS +2. MNT +2.]

Sometimes it really was best to bounce ideas off other people.

Part Two

Establishing a contract with a demon was generally believed to be a complicated ritual that involves a number of seemingly random ingredients and materials. There were indeed such practices that may be performed, such as the Ritual of Zul’Goroth. That particular ceremony involved butterflies, blood, a fox, a severed head, some cheese and skipping rope with some entrails. The product of this ritual would be the creation of a perfectly ordinary sweetroll that was actually kind of stale. Not the best use of a severed head if a certain Mimic had anything to say about that.

The Demonology Skill flooded the animate chest’s mind with the knowledge of several dubiously useful rituals like that. But none of those were actually related to establishing a contract with a demonic entity and calling them forth to this world. No, that bit was actually much more straightforward. All the Warlock had to do to get the ball rolling was reach out into the Beyond, a process that boiled down to concentrating a bit and then ‘thinking aloud’ a series of numbers.

1-800-7355-9687-7685

*Beep ... Beep ... Beep … Bee-*

*Click*

“Hello,” spoke a voice directly into its mind. It sounded rough and gritty, like someone had been eating gravel for breakfast every day for two decades.

“You have reached Demons ‘R’ Us,” it continued, “my name is Carl and I’ll be your liaison for today.”

“Hey Carl,” responded the Mimic. It seemed it had managed to connect to the same agent it got the first time.

“Ohhh! If it isn’t that amusing little box?! How’ve you been, buddy?”

“Pretty good. Ate some people. Gained some Levels.”

“Hey, that’s super. So, what can I do for you today?”

“I got a new Skill that said I can get another contract.”

“Alright, just a second. *Taptaptaptap taptaptaptaptap tap taptaptap* Okay, can you forward your Status to me? You DO remember how to do that, right?”

Carl had spent nearly three hours teaching the Mimic how to send its Status over a telepathic link the first time around. It messed up several times and even somehow forwarded it to Carl’s boss by mistake before it could get it just right. Carl caught more than a little flak over that particular event.

“Yes, sending it now,” it replied.

“Okay. I’ve received it. Oh, you got a Rank Up, grats! Ah, Demonology is it? Hold, please.”

There were some more half-tapping half-clacking noises before Carl continued, “Good news, my square friend. Your request for additional demonic support has been approved! Now then, what species are you looking to form a covenant with?”

“Fiend.”

*Taptaptaptaptap tap*

“Male or female?”

“There’s a difference?”

“Males are generally more intelligent while females are more ferocious.”

“Then female.”

*Taptap taptaptaptaptaptap tap*

“A tall one or a short one?”

“Tall.”

*Tap tap tap*

“Do you prefer big or small chests?”

“Big,” answered the Mimic immediately. How was this even a question? Bigger treasure chests had more shiny things inside them and were therefore better without a doubt.

“I know, right? Ah, sorry for asking again, company policy.”

“No problem.”

The question did strike it as a little out of place at first, but it didn’t worry too much about it. Carl himself said it didn’t affect the demon’s performance in any way and was mostly a formality of establishing the contract. He asked it some more questions followed by some more weird mechanical noises. A few minutes later, they got to the last one.

“Any additional requests?”

Last time, the Mimic had said it wanted something that was good at hiding and got a succubus specialized in infiltration and covering her tracks through dream manipulation. That wasn’t quite what it had in mind, but it still worked out so it had no complaints. This time was even simpler - it just needed a vanguard that could take hits in its place. And pretty much any fiend fit that bill. Still, having one with more than a single use would be good.

“It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s handy.”

“Understood. *Tap taptaptaptap taptaptap taptap* Alright, now all we need to do is wait for- Oh, never mind! Your application got an instant reply! Just gimme a sec here… *Taptaptaptap* There, done! Your new familiar is all set up and ready to be summoned. Will that be all for today?”

“Yes.”

“Then would you like to fill out a survey to-”

“No.”

“Understood. Thank you again for contacting Demons ’R’ Us. We hope to hear from you again.”

*Click*

Well, that was over and done with. It immediately proceeded with the summoning, which caught the attention of Xera. She stopped staring absentmindedly at the dungeon core and went over to see her new co-contractor. Part of her was really looking forward to having someone else be the Snack for once.

Ten seconds and 300 MP later, a new demon appeared in the dungeon. A giant form about two hundred and fifty centimeters in height - almost a full meter taller than Xera - loomed over them. Counting the slightly curved horns that were pointing straight up, it was closer to two hundred and seventy centimeters tall.

The summoned female fiend had bright green hair that went past her shoulders. It was unruly, thick and voluminous, giving her a rather wild appearance. A pair of long, elf-like ears sprouted out from beneath it. Her skin was a bright, eye-catching red that was impossible to conceal. Her eyes were bright green, similar to the hair. They gave off a keen glare that looked for the weakness in others. Her face as a whole didn’t look half-bad. Humans would honestly consider her to be cute or pretty if she stopped scowling and baring her pointed teeth at her surroundings.

Below her chin was a choker with a metal plate in front that seemed to protect her neck. Immediately below that were her breasts. Unlike Xera, they appeared to be more modestly proportioned when compared to the rest of her. Their actual size, however, easily triumphed over the succubus due to the difference in height. They were bound together tightly by a white sports-bra-like chest piece that left her clearly defined abs and well-muscled lower-back exposed.

An extremely tight pair of very short shorts fit snugly around her lower end. The highly muscular and disproportionately massive thighs that were nearly as thick as her relatively narrow waist. They strained against the white hotpants, threatening to rip them apart at any moment. Her legs beneath the knees were encased in metal plate greaves. The outside of her left thigh was covered by interlinking metal plates that went all the way up to her waist, leaving the inner thigh and her entire right upper leg exposed to the air.

Her arms, like the rest of her, had a significant amount of muscle that was clearly visible along her bare shoulders and upper arms. Her biceps didn’t bulge out that much, but looked to be quite dense all the same.

Heavy-looking metal gauntlets were strapped to her forearms, however these didn’t seem like armor. Her palms, fingers and the underside of her forearms were left unarmored, for one thing. Actually, given the way the gauntlets naturally covered the knuckles and the back of her hands in metal plates, they were probably intended to be weapons that enhanced punching attacks. They also looked like they’d add a significant amount of weight to each strike. Also, there were four them. An extra pair of shoulders grew out from behind the primary ones to give her a total of four powerful arms.

Well, she was definitely ‘handy,’ though perhaps not quite in the way the Mimic meant. It made a mental note to be as unambiguous as possible the next time it spoke to anyone from Demons ‘R’ Us.

As for the newly summoned fiend, she seemed to do a few flexes and twists to get used to her physical body while looking around the room. Her line of sight stopped on Xera, who was standing off to her left.

“Huh? You’re my new master?” she asked with a dumb look on her face.

“No. Demons can’t summon other demons, you dimwit,” replied the succubus as she pointed at the other demon’s feet. “Your master is down there.”

The confused tower of muscle looked down to see a simple wooden treasure chest. The Mimic was currently still busy appraising his new minion. She seemed to be slightly more armored on her left side than on her right, which was a bit odd. The various metal plates strapped to her body appeared to be made from something resembling steel, but the strange red sheen they gave off meant it was anything but. Her horns seemed to also be made of that stuff. Her top and bottom garments, on the other hand, were made of a flexible white fabric that hugged around her womanly bits snugly without obscuring movement.

Still failing to comprehend, the newly summoned fiend squatted down to get a closer look. It looked exactly like an unassuming wooden treasure chest no matter how much she studied it.

“This thing?” she asked Xera while pointing curiously at it with her two right hands. “How’s a box supposed to be my master? Or anyone’s for that matter?”

“Lean in closer,” came the first command.

“Ugeh! It really is the box!”

That order definitely came from the thing in front of her. It would seem that the succubus in the room wasn’t just fucking with her for shits and giggles like she thought.

“I said lean in closer!” it demanded.

The fiend was still dumbstruck, but did as ordered. It was part of the contract she just agreed to, so she put her face even closer to the treasure chest without much thought. She was now close enough to it that she could lick it if she stretched out her tongue.

And then the Mimic jumped at her and bit her across the face. Its powerful teeth sank into her skull, but failed to crush it.

“Uraah!” she screamed, more in surprise than pain. The sudden shock of having a vicious chest clamp onto her face made her stumble backwards from her squatting position and fall on her tight rump.

“What the fuck! Are you trying to eat my face or something?!”

She tried to pull it off her head, but couldn’t put any strength into her arms since that would count as attacking her master directly.

“Yes,” was the immediate reply.

“Why?!”

“The other demon is really tasty. I want to know if you’re any better.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She immediately stopped her struggling and let the Mimic do as it pleased. It nibbled on her face for a while and the fiend just sat cross-legged without uttering a sound. Xera was, understandably, completely baffled at the turn of events. Not the Mimic trying to eat things, that was expected. But a demon willingly accepting that sort of treatment was strange, to say the least.

Eventually the Mimic had enough and detached from the red woman, landing deftly on its spider legs. It had gone for her face because her other limbs were all armored up and didn’t seem like they would break under its jaws. The skull was also much thicker and tougher than it seemed, which was only to be expected of a species that thrived on close quarters combat.

“So,” said the fiend while black blood streamed down her forehead, “how was I?”

The Mimic replied by sticking out its tongue and making a ‘Bleh!’ sound. “Not tasty at all! Snack is much tastier!”

“Oh, come on! I can be tasty, too!”

“Impossible.”

Xera always tasted the same no matter how many times it ate her, so it was unlikely this new demon would just change suddenly.

“Grrr!”

A fact that seemed to somehow tick her off.

“What, you want to be eaten alive?!” retorted the succubus, wide-eyed.

“No! I mean, not particularly! I just hate losing! Especially to a- wait, Snack?!”

“Ah, that would be my… job description,” said the junk food in question, albeit a bit hesitantly.

“Pfu! Puhahahahaha!” The fiend broke out into mocking laughter. “You’re a snack! Hahahaha! To think one of you stuck-up whores would end up as nothing but some box’s afternoon meal! Ohohahahaha!”

She kept rolling around on the ground, clutching her stomach and unable to hide her enjoyment of her compatriot’s suffering. Well, all demons did that, but this situation was extra tasty for her. After all, fiends and succubi never got along with one another. This was hardly a surprise considering the two species of demon were pretty much polar opposites of one another.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up while you can.”

Xera casually dismissed the other demon’s mockery with a wave of her hand. This much humiliation was nothing compared to what that Mimic had put her through. Also, she was secretly looking forward to watching this newcomer go through the same level of abuse.

As for the chest in question, it had already lost interest in their shenanigans and was moving towards the whole reason it came to this dungeon in the first place - the dungeon core. With its previous owner dealt with, the core’s automatic defense system no longer activated and anyone could approach it. And when the Mimic got within a meter of the floating red orb, it suddenly got an offer.

[The Litigar Dungeon Complex has recognized you as its rightful ruler.]
[Do you wish to become the master of this dungeon?]
[Yes]
[No]

The two demons in the room seemed to notice it was doing something and stopped their bickering so they could see what happened. Xera had no idea why her master wanted to come here, but she had a pretty good guess. The newcomer had no idea as to much of anything right now, so her curiosity was on an entirely different level.

And then the Mimic took out a sword and slashed at the dungeon core. The steel blade was knocked backwards the instant it made contact with the crystal, as if someone had forcefully deflected it with a shield.

[Your attack has been repelled.]

“Huck!” it cursed out loud.

It tried once again, this time by putting as much strength and weight into it as it could. The over-used and under-maintained weapon was repelled with even greater force when it struck the red crystal, causing the blade to break off at the hilt and fly off into the air. It then promptly sheathed itself inside Xera’s torso, right between the breasts.

“Yeeeow!” she screamed. It stung like a bitch, but it was still more tolerable than snack time. “What the heck are you doing?!” she chided her master. “You can’t break a dungeon core with a shitty weapon like that!”

“Oh,” replied the Mimic. Then how about a different weapon? Ah, but the mithril daggers might break as well against that indestructible ball. That wouldn’t be tasty at all.

“You there,” it called out to the red fiend. “Name?”

“Fufufufu… You did well to ask me that, mortal!” She took a haughty pose with her arms crossed and started monologuing while looking smug for some reason. “Know that this one’s name will one day be known throughout the lands as-”

“Your name is now Arms,” it interrupted.

It remembered it could just check her Status rather than asking directly. Her name was incredibly long and difficult to say, so it just went with a nickname. It could have just as easily have shortened it to ‘Kora,’ but that would mean acknowledging her as a ‘sentient being’ rather than the ‘thing’ she truly was.

“Go break the shiny thing,” it ordered.

She seemed to have a good bit of STR and her species looked to have considerably more muscle mass than Mimics, so it was as good a time as any to see just how powerful she really was. The demon herself seemed to be looking forward to finding that out as well, as she had completely forgotten her self-introduction was cut short and was already getting oddly psyched up.

“Oh! I can smash it?”

“Yes. Smash it.”

“Alright!”

Fiends thrived on violence and combat, and loved smashing things in general. Therefore, Kora felt overjoyed when her first real order was to smash a thing. She walked over to the comparatively tiny dungeon core and lowered her stance to the extreme. The Mimic quietly walked away from her since it had a sneaking suspicion of what would happen next.

Kora turned to her side and started winding up. The muscles on her right arms and shoulders bulged out even more. She then hurled them forward while spinning on her heel, putting all her body weight behind the blow. Her metal gauntlets made a duo of heavy-sounding hits on the core, but were bounced backwards all the same. The sudden change in direction would undoubtedly have snapped her arms in half if those metal plates didn’t absorb much of that counter-impact.

“Gah!” shouted the fiend in frustration. It seemed her power wasn’t enough to bypass whatever defense that thing had.

Not that she cared.

Alright, she did care.

She cared immensely, actually.

“You stupid ball!” she shouted. “Don’t think you can make a fool of me! Ora!”

She then took another swing at it with one of her right arms.

[Your attack has been repelled.]

“Orrra!” and then a follow up strike with one of the lefts.

[Your attack has been repelled.]

“Ora! Ora! Ora!” she kept calling out with each failed swing while picking up the pace. If a single big hit wouldn't do, then how about five hundred smaller hits?

“ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!”

Her hands became a blur as she unleashed a torrent of punches on that infuriating crystal orb. All of them failed to do a single point of damage. She grew more and more frustrated until she did a final attack with a spinning roundhouse kick while screaming “HHOOORRRRRAAAA!”

Her armored foot made an almost echoing thud when she struck the core.

This attack didn’t get repelled.

It didn’t break the core either. What happened was that the glowing crystal ball was dislodged from its magically affixed position and was sent flying towards the edge of the room as if it were a kickball. The core hit the stone brick wall hard enough to shake the entire room, then fell to the ground with a clear gong-like sound.

“Take that!” screamed Kora after it. “Piece of shit ball! Showed you who’s boss, didn’t I?!”

“It’s still perfectly whole, though,” pointed out Xera. “You obviously can’t break a dungeon core with just brute strength. Only moronic muscle-heads and retarded boxes would keep trying despite knowing that.”

“... Showed that ball who’s boss!” insisted her red-skinned co-contractor while completely ignoring the succubus’s snide attitude.

The Mimic, on the other hand, walked closer to the still glowing core. It seemed that Snack was right and cracking this thing open was beyond its means. It really wanted to get its revenge on this place, so leaving without breaking the core seemed like it would leave a bad taste in its mouth. Then again, it did kill the Dungeon Master. That was rather satisfying on its own, so it decided to consider its mission fulfilled.

On second thought, not breaking the core might be a good thing.

“Arms. Pick it up and bring it outside.”

“‘Kay!” she replied in high spirits.

Fiends hated being used for menial labor, but Kora was pretty happy right now. How could she not be? It had been a really long time since she’d last been to the physical realm and then she was told to smash a thing almost immediately. Being able to move around so much with an actual body felt amazing.

“Master, why are you telling her to bring that thing along?” asked Xera, dumbfounded.

“I want the shiny thing.”

[General Information]
Koralenteprix Khusuuszun Caonthioxxaa
Fiend (Pit), Female, 312 years old
Level 12.55 Fiend
Level 8.88 Berserker
615/615 HP (+1.0/sec)
67/67 MP (+0.1/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 100, DEX 42, AGI 58, END 100, INT 16, WIS 16, MNT 84

[Fiend Skills]
Demonic Armaments - Lvl 4.64
Second Wind - Lvl 3.51
[Berserker Skills]
Bloodlust - Lvl 4.64
[Other Skills]
Idiotic Strength - Lvl 3.04
Brawling Mastery - Lvl 4.00

Part Three

The Mimic and its two familiars were finally going to depart the core chamber. They had spent a bit too long in there and the monster had gotten hungry. There were a few left over wolf corpses in Storage, but those were not enough to completely satiate it. It wanted to go before the debilitating starvation conditions started to set in. They still had that map they looted earlier, so they wouldn’t get lost on their way out, at least.

Next would be the matter of the one meter wide crystalline dungeon core. The Mimic wanted to bring the shiny thing along, but it wouldn’t fit in its Storage. The swirling portal to the monster’s pocket dimension could only expand to about sixty centimeters in diameter, which was considerably better than the ten centimeter hole it was at Level 1. It was still far from enough though.

And so the solution would be for Kora to carry it. The core weighed in at about eighty kilograms, which, all things considered, was relatively light. Not that the female fiend had any trouble handling that sort of weight. She hoisted it up with one hand and put it on her shoulder, cradling it between her head and forearm. Even its awkward size was no problem for someone of her stature. If anything, the way she casually handled it would make one think it was just a fancy beach ball rather than the crystallized heart of a dungeon.

“Okay,” said the Mimic after confirming there was nothing of value left in the desolate room. “We’re leaving!”

It headed off towards the chamber’s exit with its familiars leading the way.

“Master, why are walking?” asked Xera with a bit of annoyance. “Let’s just use Portal Keys to get out!”

“Portal Key? What’s that? Is it tasty?” came the rather predictable response from the chest.

“Can I smash it?” chimed in the fiend with a sharp glint in her eye.

“Haah,” sighed the succubus.

She began educating the two airheads about the common albeit slightly expensive items known as Portal Keys. Crushing one of these would teleport an adventurer to the safety of the dungeon’s Waystone. It was convenient, but came with a few limitations. The user had to stand still when using it, it could only bring out one person at a time due to weight restrictions and the item was lost after a single use and had absolutely no function outside of a dungeon with a Waystone. Not observing any of these rules meant the item would simply fail to activate properly.

“Do we have something like that?” asked the Mimic once the explanation was over.

“We do!” she demanded. “Those white stones we looted earlier, they’re still in your Storage, right?”

“Oh, the dusty things!” exclaimed the Mimic. It had seen a few adventurers using the item, but didn’t quite understand its effects. That was, not until Xera explained them just now. To its infantile mind it just seemed that the other party disappeared. It didn’t want to disappear, so it took extra care to avoid accidentally eating those stones until now. There was just one problem, though.

“Can we bring the shiny along with us?”

“... Probably not,” said Xera while hanging her head. The very weight restrictions she mentioned earlier would not allow for the extra-heavy dungeon core to be transported.

“Then we walk. Arms, can you fight while holding the shiny?”

“Sure. I still got three spare hands you know.”

She gave them a wave to prove her point. Satisfied, the Mimic ordered them all to make for the exit. They proceeded down the long, spiraling corridor at a brisk pace. The spider-chest had to skitter along faster than normal to keep up with Kora’s wide stride. Xera gave up on walking altogether and just glided along behind them on her wings with her staff floating idly by her side. Overall, it was almost a pleasant walk. If only it wasn’t for that one, nagging thing disturbing the Mimic every now and then.

[The Litigar Dungeon Complex has recognized you as its rightful ruler.]
[Do you wish to become the master of this dungeon?]
[Yes]
[No]

This offer kept reappearing no matter how many times it declined. It had been coming up every five or so seconds ever since Kora managed to dislodge it from its spot earlier. However, Mimics were ultimately creatures of patience. This particular individual was pretty much a specialist at ignoring others, to boot. It would take a lot more than some nagging windows to annoy it into submission.

[Just pick [Yes] already! Please?! I’m begging you here!]
[Do you wish to become the master of this dungeon?]
[Yes]
[No]

A weird one popped up by the time they passed the ‘No Entry’ point on the map and got back into the dungeon proper. The Mimic didn’t even pay attention to the stubborn pop up at this point and immediately chose ‘No.’

[Okay, I get it! You don’t wanna be a Dungeon Master. In that case, just leave the core behind, already! It’s not like it’ll be of any use to you, anyway!]
[Do you wish to become the master of this dungeon?]
[Yes]
[No]

It seemed that there was some sort of consciousness inside this dungeon and it was aware of what was going on. Its pleas and attempts to make the monster see reason were quite futile. After all, the selfish box already decided it wanted the shiny. Therefore, it would keep the shiny.

[Do you have any idea how long it’ll take to grow a new one?! Look, I promise I’ll make it worth your while if you listen to me and put it down!]
[Do you wish to become the master of this dungeon?]
[Yes]
[No]

This attempt at bribery might have actually worked if it wasn’t worded poorly. If the Mimic had been offered ‘many shiny things’ it would have undoubtedly paid attention, perhaps even accepted the deal on the spot. However, ambiguous phrases like ‘worth your while’ went squarely over its metaphorical head and were summarily ignored. It was a crucial blunder. After all, success or failure in negotiations hinged almost entirely on how well one understood their opponent. Therefore, this entity, which did not know a single thing about the monster’s thought processes, had no chance of persuading it with words.

[Listen here, buddy! You already killed the Dungeon Master! If you think I’ll let you just walk away with that core then you’ve got another think coming!]
[Do you wish to become the master of this dungeon?]
[Yes]
[No]

Whoever or whatever was trying to communicate with the Mimic seemed to be getting rather angry. And perhaps a tiny bit desperate if they gave up on diplomacy and resorted to vague threats. The arachno-chest still ignored them with all its might, though. Even trying to contact the other two proved to be completely fruitless.

That was because Xera and Kora were already bound to the walking chest. There was no way they could be offered a new soul-binding contract while their current one was still in effect. They were therefore completely oblivious to the silent struggle going on inside their master’s mind.

However, it would seem that it would not go on for much longer.

[Fine! I didn’t want to do this, but you forced my hand! Don’t say you weren’t warned!]
[Do you wish to become the master of this dungeon?]
[Yes]
[No]

The dull red glow that the core gave off until then suddenly intensified, bathing the surroundings in a bright red light. It started flashing this light on and off with a steady rhythm, almost like an alarm.

Because that’s exactly what it was.

“Um, Master?” said Xera with a rather accusatory tone. “What did you do to the core?”

“Nothing? Arms is the one holding it.”

It shamelessly deflected the blame. Not that it understood how this was any of its fault, though.

“Hey, don’t look at me! I’m just holding onto it like I was ordered and then it started flashing all on its own!”

“Wait, do you hear that?”

There was a sudden howling and screaming coming in from the passage in front of them. And judging from the increasing volume, it was headed right for the three core thieves.

An extra large group of undead - about thirty skeletons, seven ghouls and a dozen or so ghosts poured out of the next corner and dashed madly towards them.

“Arms, smash them up. Snack, support from the back.”

The Mimic calmly gave out orders. It saw no reason to worry. True, the number of enemies was nothing to sneeze at, but it had already faced similar numbers on the way in. Xera by herself was able to take out most of them with her Inferno Spell and what few were left became food for the Mimic’s combat Skills. So now that the two of them had Kora to take point, this fodder stood absolutely no chance of winning.

“Oh yeah! Now this is what I’m talking about!”

The fiend in question seemed to really be looking forward to getting her hands dirty, so much so that she ran out to meet their charge while sporting a wide toothy grin. She smashed into the Skeleton Soldiers at the front with a wide sweeping kick that sent them flying and crashing into the stone wall. Weakness to blunt force trauma was a characteristic trait of skeletons, so most of those monsters shattered into pieces and instantly lost their unlife. Their ‘comrades’ didn’t care though, they just attacked their target. As expected of the mindless undead.

The rusty blades of the other Skeleton Soldiers and the filthy claws of the zombie-like ghouls struck at her. A good number were deflected by the armor on her arms and legs, but over half of the attacks sunk into her flesh.

[You have suffered a shallow wound. HP -19.]
[You have suffered a shallow wound. HP -22.]
[You have been afflicted with a disease. Max HP reduced by 50.]
[You have suffered a shallow wound. HP -13.]
[You have suffered a deep cut. HP -38.]
[You have been poisoned. HP -9.]
[Your movements have been dulled by the poison.]
[You have suffered a shallow wound. HP -23.]
[You have suffered a shallow wound. HP -18.]

Over 100 HP was lost in the blink of an eye. She didn’t just sit there and take it, though. Metal-clad punches rained down on the undead like hail while she yelled out ‘ora ora’ over and over. The storm of heavy blows pounded them into the ground until they were naught but dust and splinters. Well, the skeletons were anyway. The ghouls became more of a bloody smear on the floor and walls.

Xera didn’t sit idle either. She called forth an Inferno to decimate the undead platoon’s backline that consisted of Skeletal Archers, Skeletal Mages and ghosts. They were all wiped out before they could unleash their arrows and magic onto the gigantic red target in front of them. A few well-placed Fireballs picked off any surviving ghosts.

And while the demon girls were busy clearing the way, their master just sort of stood back and kept an eye on things. Well, it didn’t see a need to interfere. Its magic would be as ineffective as ever and slicing up undead seemed to make its swords deteriorate much quicker than when it used them on people or animals. It needed to take better care of them until it could learn to maintain them properly. Not to mention it was down to its last six weapons. Four of them - two swords and two mithril daggers - were picked up in this dungeon. The remaining two blades - a worn-out sword and that shiny enchanted knife - were leftovers from its newbie-hunting days.

[Proficiency level increased. Summon Familiar is now Level 5. INT +2. WIS +1. MNT +1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Demonology is now Level 2. WIS +2. MNT +2.]

So instead of dulling its weapons needlessly, it simply enjoyed the sweet taste of its Skills going up in Level without it actually needing to do anything. However, it noticed that Demonology did not go up as quickly as expected. Usually a new Skill would shoot to Level 3 quite rapidly with a huge engagement like this, but it just barely seemed to reach Level 2. If it was going to be this slow, then getting it all the way to Level 7 would take forever.

Maybe it misunderstood the way it should be using this Skill? It’s true that simply having the second familiar participate in combat increased Proficiency, but the gains were way too small. Now that it thought about it, wouldn’t Demonology go up quicker if it performed some of those rituals? Well, it would have to wait a while before testing that out. Pretty much all of the ceremonies it knew about needed troll blood. It wasn’t even sure what the fuck a troll was!

“Yeeaaaah!” screamed Kora triumphantly while standing ankle-deep in undead bits. “Get smashed, son!”

This odd cheer snapped the Mimic out of its thoughts. It appeared that the two demons were done cleaning up the undead. The one-sided massacre didn’t even last a minute! Checking their Statuses, the Mimic confirmed that Kora had lost about 250 HP while Xera had used up about a third of her MP.

“Arms, why is your max HP so low?” it asked after spotting the oddity in her Status. The value in question was currently listed as 374/515. Wasn’t it over 600 just a few minutes ago?

“Ah, I’m still poisoned and diseased!”

Oh, right. Abnormal statuses like that were common when fighting the undead at close range.

“You just realized this now…?”

“Snack, shut up and fix her.”

“Yes, Master.”

The succubus went up to Kora and put a hand on her chiseled abs. Right over the already festering wound left behind by a ghoul.

“Hey!” exclaimed her ‘patient.’ “What are you doing?”

“Just following orders, dearie.”

“And how is poking my wound going to-”

“Purge!”

Plumes of blue flame shot out of all the fiend’s open wounds and lit her up like a dangerous Christmas tree. They burned away the toxins in her system while cauterizing her wounds, accompanied by a momentary spike of pain.

[Your body has been purified by the flames. HP -30.]
[You are no longer poisoned.]
[You are no longer diseased.]
[You are no longer bleeding.]

Kora immediately confirmed the feeling in her body was back to normal. Well, she was covered in burns rather than open wounds, but at least she could move properly again.

“Ohh! I can move freely again! Thanks, slut!” she said with a toothy grin.

“I have a name, you nitwit,” retorted Xera while sneering.

“Ahahaha! My bad, my bad. Thanks, Snack.”

“Hohoho, sounds like someone wants their face melted off!”

“Bring it, short stuff! I’ll pummel you so hard only your tits will be left behind!”

“Hah! As if a clumsy oaf like you could ever catch the likes of me!”

Sparks seemed to fly between them as the two glared at each other with murderous intent. Simply because they both had the same master didn’t mean they would get along. It actually seemed to have the opposite effect.

After all, one of them was a succubus that thrived on deception and conspiracy. A creature whose manipulative and cunning nature could incite life-long friends to betray each other. Toppling entire kingdoms from within was entirely possible for the winged seductress. Highly unlikely, but possible nonetheless.

And her co-contractor just happened to be a fiend. A demon that wanted nothing less than to crush her enemies, see them driven before her and hear the lamentations of their women. Or men. Or pet dogs. The mountain of muscle didn’t have any prejudices in that regard and would gladly accept all forms of lamentation, regardless of who or what they came from.

In fact, the only thing in common these two species of demons had was how much they hated each other. Kora and Xera were no different and would undoubtedly be trying to kill one another if their summoning contracts weren’t holding them back. From a magical standpoint, a bound demon was more or less an extension of its master. The two of them were completely unable to physically harm one another without their master’s say-so.

A fact which both of them seemed to realize at the same time.

“Master, requesting permission to kill this bitch!” they screamed out in perfect sync.

The answer they got was a stone thrown to the face that gave them matching black eyes.

“No time for that,” said the Mimic. “More enemies are coming. A lot more.”

“What makes you say that, Master?” asked Xera while rubbing her injured face.

“Look at the shiny.”

Both of them then stared at the still flashing core on Kora’s shoulder. They stared at it but failed to comprehend what was odd about it. Well, other than the obnoxious light, that is.

“What about it?” asked Xera.

“Dunno,” said Kora. “It does seem to feel a little bit heavier, though.”

Unfortunately, neither of the two demons had the means to see what their master was talking about. At least, not with their eyes.

The Mimic’s senses seem to have grown sharper ever since its Rank Up. Its magical perception, in particular, turned out to be quite sensitive. It was at the point where it was capable of reading the thick flow of mana in the dungeon’s air if it focused hard enough. That’s how it knew that the core was currently pulling a huge amount of that mana into itself. The mystical current was so strong that it caused the remains of the undead to dissipate much faster than normal due to the loose magical energy being pulled out of them by force. And all that errant mana was being absorbed by the core.

So what was its purpose in doing so? That was a mystery. However, the side effects of that action were obvious to the former resident of this place.

“It’s pulling the dungeon towards us.”

The monsters in a dungeon would follow the flow of mana without fail.

Part Four

A swarm of twenty or so giant spiders skittered through the tunnels of the Yellow Zone. This part of the dungeon was a cave system not unlike the Green Zone, but its residents were mostly of the arachnid or insectoid persuasion.

[The dungeon core is in danger.]

Such a message was relayed to all monsters that belonged to this place and the oddity in the dungeon’s thick mana was guiding them to the object they were programmed to protect. They were certain they were getting close to the source of the distress signal, but less certain about the odd rumbling that could be felt through the walls and floors of this passage. They were approaching a bend in the tunnel when the ones in front spotted the tell-tale red glow of the dungeon core being nearby. And judging from how it increased in intensity with every flash, it was moving towards them.

However, the first thing to pop out of the corner was a wooden box with eight imitation spider legs of its own. They were oddly similar, yet also quite different from the actual spider legs of these monsters. And out of the opened lid streamed three tentacles, each gripping onto a shiny dagger, though one seemed to be different from the other two.

Not that any of them had time to appreciate such things. The arachno-chest bore down on them at great speed, easily surpassing their own, and they immediately recognized it as an invader - an enemy. And the feeling was proved to be pretty much mutual when it started stabbing and slashing at them as the Mimic tore a path right through the middle of them.

[Proficiency level increased. Dagger Mastery is now Level 3. STR +1. DEX +3.]

Six of the monsters were gutted in an instant as the chest kept on running. A few of the simple beasts might have wondered where it was off to in such a hurry, but such idle thoughts were beyond them. They would have gotten their answer almost immediately though.

A giant, crystal ball at least two meters in diameter rolled out from the tunnel ahead of them. It seemed to be so large that it barely fit in this narrow tunnel. There was a loud impact right before it unnaturally changed course. It was just enough to make it ricochet off the cave wall at speed and roll towards the slightly stunned spiders without losing much speed.

It then rolled over them and mercilessly turned them into paste.

[Congratulations, you are now a level 17 Warlock! INT +2. MNT +2. END +2.]
[You have learned a new Spell: Dark Infusion.]

As for the Mimic, it was in too much of a rush to worry about some spiders. The dungeon core behind it had been rapidly growing in size and weight over the last five or so minutes. If the orb kept increasing in size like this, then it would undoubtedly get stuck in these narrow tunnels and prevent any attempt at bringing it outside the dungeon. Which, incidentally, was exactly what the greedy chest was trying to do.

It was a simple solution, really. Since the core fed off the mana in the dungeon’s air, all that needed to be done was to remove it from the dungeon entirely. With its energy source gone, it would surely stop growing and maybe return to a more manageable size. Of course, it had to kick itself and its familiars into high gear if it hoped to do such a thing.

“Take a left at the next fork, then immediately a right!” shouted Xera from behind the core.

“Whatever you say!” replied Kora from in between Xera’s soft thighs.

The fiend was currently busy pushing and guiding the boulder-like crystal through the winding paths at less-than-safe speeds while the succubus sat on her shoulders and acted as the navigator. This posture was humiliating for both of them, but they had no say in the matter since it was a direct order. It was mostly Xera’s fault anyway. She had trouble keeping up with them due to her low physical Attributes, not to mention she was the only one who could be trusted with reading the map. And the one who came up with this ridiculous yet surprisingly effective solution was none other than their master.

“Get ready!” shouted Xera again while peeking over the top of the gigantic core. Kora pulled back her right arms in response.

“Aaand… NOW!”

“Ooora!”

Kora’s powerful double punch knocked the nearly four hundred kilogram core off-course and steered it down the path her co-contractor had indicated. She did the same with her left arms and knocked it down the tunnel on the right at the next junction. All without once breaking out of her run. Xera, on the other hand, had to cling onto her with all her strength just to avoid being thrown off. It was a good thing the fiend’s horns were there for her to grip onto.

“You think you can be a bit more gentle down there?”

“We can trade places if you think you can do a better job at pushing this thing!”

“Never mind!”

“That’s what I thought, bubble-boobs!”

The Mimic was in front mostly due to self interest. It was a precaution in case the ever-growing core got stuck in the passages. If that were to happen, then the Mimic could at least find its way out of the dungeon rather than be sealed inside again. Well, it also got some valuable Skill XP along the way so it seemed like the best way of doing things. It felt bad about having to abandon its little ‘festival,’ but it really had no other choice in the matter.

“To the left!”

“Ooorr-”

“No, MY left!”

“Wha-? We have the same left, you stupid cunt! DOORYA!”

At first it thought the seemingly endless onslaught of monsters was a good thing - like pigs walking into the slaughterhouse all on their own. But it underestimated just how many monsters were in this dungeon. Regardless of how strong they were, the Warlock and its two familiars still needed time to rest and replenish their HP and MP. Kora had already succumbed to the multiple injuries and died once, dropping the core she was still hanging onto in the process. It rolled around on the ground near the Mimic. That’s when the chest noticed that its prize had gotten significantly bigger than it had been before.

“Didn’t we miss our turn-off just now?”

“No, that was only the second junction, we want the third one! Are your eyes just for decoration?”

“I can’t see over this fucking ball you know!”

That’s when it decided to retreat immediately. Dragging the core along was really slowing them down, though. It had to create an opening using the remainder of Xera’s MP in order to re-summon Kora. With the demonic forklift back online, they were able to move at a much faster pace.

“Left on the crossroads up ahead! It’s a hard turn so watch it!”

“Alright!”

Kora once again adjusted the course of the ball with a paired punch. It bounced off the cave wall and into the right tunnel, but it lost more momentum than expected. Something that was easily rectified by the fiend’s multiple arms pushing it along. Rolling it like this was a pretty fast way of moving it along, though it was hard to control. She could technically deadlift and carry this thing, but didn’t have the headroom to do that once it got to about one hundred and sixty centimeters in diameter.

“Master, we’re in the Green Zone now!” reported Xera over the thought link while struggling to read the map in front of her face. “We should be out of the dungeon shortly!”

“Good,” came the response from the box in front.

“Are you sure we can’t just leave this thing behind and run?” she asked for the umpteenth time.

“I told you, we’re bringing the shiny with us! Now shut up and steer!”

That’s right, it still wanted the shiny thing. There was more to it than that, though.

[Give it up and become a corpse already, loser!]
[Do you wish to become the master of this dungeon?]
[Yes]
[No]

The entity on the other side of those messages kept taunting and insulting the Mimic ever since the core had started flashing. Whoever or whatever that thing was, it was obviously connected to this dungeon in some form. Was it the dungeon itself? Or an overseer of sorts? Could it be some malignant being with a secret agenda?

“Did you just wet yourself up there?!”

“Just your imagination, dearie!”

Details like its real identity didn’t matter, though. The important thing was that the malicious box had already shifted the feelings of resentment it had towards its birthplace onto this mysterious presence and was looking forward to getting some ‘payback.’ And since the core was apparently nigh-indestructible, taking it out of its dungeon seemed like the best way of doing just that. This whole expedition had boiled down to it trying to piss off someone it didn’t even know for no good reason.

Mimics, as it turned out, could really hold a grudge. Even if it was woefully misguided.

“Turn right here! After that it’s a straight shot until we’re out of this place!”

“Okay! Orrrrraaa!”

“I’ll go further ahead. Keep going until you’re out of this cave!”

“Yes, Master!” replied the two demonesses in unison. One might actually get the wrong idea they were getting along if they saw them like this.

The speedy arachno-chest picked up the pace even more and, after several seconds of dashing, burst out from the cave and into the wide cavern that served as the entrance to the Litigar Dungeon Complex. It immediately noticed a group of five or six adventurers, huddled around the alabaster-like pillar that served as this dungeon’s Waystone. They all seemed to be staring wordlessly at the bloodied dwarven waist and legs that had arrived without a torso attached to them.

Well, let’s just say that this particular adventurer’s Portal Key did not quite save them from a mysterious Power Overwhelming-enhanced Shadowbolt. The teleportation effect triggered at the same time as the Spell found its mark, leaving the upper half of the poor bastard splattered on the walls of the dungeon. Meanwhile, his lower body had been transported away to ‘safety,’ resulting in this small huddle of stupefied onlookers staring at it with a mix of disgust and curiosity. And since they were all conveniently bunched up and not facing towards where the Mimic was, it took the opportunity to get the drop on them. It shifted back into its Xera-assisted casting stance and started chanting Dark Explosion.

“Master! The exit-”

“Quiet! Busy!”

It cut off whatever Xera was trying to say and re-focused its attention on the Spell.

Just as it was about to finish, the flashing boulder-sized crystal crashed into the slightly-too-narrow cave exit. Its momentum carried it through the mouth of the cave, breaking off the rocks and stones in its way and making one hell of a racket in the process. The gathered adventurers all turned to face the origin of the noise. That extremely bizarre sight of a giant red ball rolling behind a naked, well-endowed albino beauty made their brains momentarily skip a beat.

“Dark Explosion ~♪!”

Much like the goblins before, all the people gathered there either became red mist or were flung through the air, dying on impact with the walls and ceiling. The dungeon core smashed into the cavern wall hard, finally coming to a stop. The Mimic quickly retracted its Spell-slinging side and went to check on its prize. The extremely hard crystal was partway embedded in the wall, but completely flawless otherwise. Its familiars were a bit further back, having suffered some damage when they burst through that tight opening along with the core.

“Stop wasting time and get my shiny out of there,” it demanded.

“Yes, Master!” responded Kora. She seemed to be quite fired up for some reason, which was the polar opposite of the succubus who had fallen off the other demon’s shoulders during the impact. She looked like she had run a forty kilometer marathon despite doing none of the physical work.

With the immediate area secured and its minions busy dislodging its prize from the wall, the Mimic finally had a few moments to verify the new Spell it had learned earlier.

[Dark Infusion]
Requirements: Level 17 Warlock, INT 60, MNT 80
School: Domination
Type: Targeted
Cost: 75 MP
Range: 10 Meters
[Effects]
Temporarily increases your target’s STR, AGI, DEX and INT Attributes by 20% for 30 seconds.
Your target will be stunned for 5 seconds once the effect expires or is dispelled.
The stun component of this Spell has no effect on Undead, Demons and Golems.

A significant boost in combat potential followed by an extremely dangerous downside. The Mimic would hesitate to use this on itself, but it was possible to empower its familiars ‘for free’ as it were. It was eager to try it out, but needed to raise its MNT Attribute to 80 before it did that. Otherwise the Spell would backfire and the resulting magical feedback would injure the Caster. It already suffered that pain breaking through the steel grating weeks ago and had no intention of reliving that experience.

There was a loud cracking and rumbling noise as the Mimic finished recalling that painful memory. It seemed that Kora had managed to get the ball out of the wall by punching it real hard. If someone were to ask, ‘Did she punch the wall or the core?’ the answer would be ‘Yes.’ Smashing things seemed to be her go-to solution for pretty much every problem. Such an approach would normally be questionable at best, but it was hard to argue with results.

“Good,” said the monstrous chest. “We’re almost out, so let’s go!”

“Yes, Master!” they replied in unison once more, although Xera had significantly less pep in her voice. She was currently lamenting over her immediate future where she would most likely be ordered to babysit a gigantic fucking ball for no good reason. Just the thought of a boring assignment like that seemed to be enough to make her depressed.

This was in stark contrast to the Mimic, which was very much looking forward to worshipping the gigantic ball of shiny. And then it walked over the border of the dungeon with its prize in tow. With the link severed, the dungeon no longer flashed with that obnoxious red. The annoying pop-ups had stopped too.

[You have left the Litigar Dungeon Complex.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Grand Theft Arcana.]
[All Attributes +10.]

Oh right, Perks were a thing.

The box had completely forgotten about them, what with all the running around it had been doing ever since breaking free of this place’s control.

[Grand Theft Arcana]
It takes a special kind of person to steal a dungeon from a dungeon.
Requirements: Remove a dungeon core from its dungeon’s sphere of influence.
[Effects]
Provides a permanent boost of +10 to all Attributes every time you accomplish this feat.
Number of pilfered dungeons: 1

It would appear that its selfishness and stubbornness had yielded an unexpected boon. The +10 to all Attributes was tasty without a doubt, but finding out this new way of growing stronger was perhaps even tastier than that. Granted, it had no plans of entering another dungeon, but it might end up doing so anyway in order to take advantage of this Perk. Gaining 5 Levels worth of Attributes was nothing to sneeze at, especially considering how slow Leveling Up had become of late.

Although it seemed that the concentrated mass of mana had two more things left to say.

[You are now the owner of dungeon core AD-0429-PR.]
[All functions of dungeon core AD-0429-PR are currently unavailable.]
[Please establish a dungeon to unlock them.]
[WARNING!]
[Dungeon core AD-0429-PR is over maximum MP capacity by 953%!]
[Catastrophic meltdown will occur in 8 minutes and 19 seconds!]

The Mimic stared intently at those two notifications. The first one seemed to imply that it was now the rightful owner of a dungeon core. It really didn’t need some notification window’s permission for that, but at least it made things official, in a way. Now all that was left was to deal with that second one. There was just one problem.

“Snack,” it called out, much to Kora’s amusement, “is a ‘catastrophic meltdown’ a tasty thing?”

Just knowing what something was called didn’t mean it could understand what it actually was.

“Huh? What?” replied the succubus. She was aware of the meaning behind those words, but what worried her was the reason her master suddenly inquired after them. Then realization hit her like a cannonball to the face.

“Wait… don’t tell me the core is going to-”

*CRACK*

A tiny fracture appeared on the crystal ball. Rays of white light seemed to pour out of that tiny gap.

“Not tasty!” she yelled out immediately. “Master, that core is very much not tasty! We should get rid of it! No, we have to run away from it at full speed!”

“Don’t wanna. It’s my shiny!” came the selfish reply one would expect out of a toddler.

“Look, Master, that core is going to explode. It’s going to blow up and none of us will survive! Being alive is much tastier than having a big shiny thing, right?!”

It didn’t deny her outright this time and pondered her words. A certain invisible presence that was the cause of this situation would do well to take notes here. This was the proper way to negotiate with a Mimic. Except that it was taking its sweet time deciding, which made Xera a bit nervous. No matter how much it wanted to keep the shiny, surely it didn’t want to be killed for it, right?

“Hey bubble-boobs,” whispered Kora. “Why are you so insistent with this? If the Master bites it we get to run off and do what we want, right?”

“You know that box has a lot more HP than either of us, right?” she whispered back. “Do you honestly think our bodies would survive a blast that it could not?”

“How strong a boom are we talking about here?”

“Only dust will be left behind. And that’s if we’re lucky.”

Kora crossed her arms in front of her chest and closed her eyes. One could practically hear the rusty gears springing to life inside her head.

No master means no contract. No contract means I get to play around all I want. That’s good. But dying sends me back to the Beyond. I can’t be summoned back unless I have a contract. Which means that if both of us die at the same time...

“Master!” she blurted out after reaching the painfully obvious conclusion. “We should get rid of that glowy thing right now!”

“Okay,” it responded.

It wasn’t actually torn between life and shiny, despite appearances to the contrary. It was just lamenting having to let go of this thing after going through so much trouble to secure it, but there was no way around it. At first it wasn’t sure if Snack was telling the truth, but that whispered conversation with Arms showed she was acting out of self-preservation. It was an instinct the Mimic was very supportive of. Therefore, it would listen to its familiars this time and do as they suggested.

It just had one major problem.

What do I do with it?

[WARNING!]
[Dungeon core AD-0429-PR is over maximum MP capacity by 953%!]
[Catastrophic meltdown will occur in 7 minutes!]

Whatever it was going to do, it needed to do it fast. It could always roll it back into the dungeon, but that idea didn’t sit right with it. Sure it might be able to blow this place up and destroy it, but that annoying pop-up might be able to reclaim the core somehow. Perhaps that’s what it was expecting? But if not the dungeon, then was there any other place nearby where it could-

“Ah!” it exclaimed. “Arms, get the shiny outside! Fast!”

The three of them went out of the cavern and into the open air. It was already past noon, as evidenced by the sun’s position in the sky. It seemed its little dungeon crawl had taken quite a bit of time.

The Mimic looked along the dirt road that led towards the nearby city of Monotal. There were a few figures moving along it in the distance, obviously traveling between that place and the dungeon.

But that’s not what was important. The road itself was flat, mostly straight and on a downhill slope that went pretty much all the way to the city.

“Arms, push the shiny down that road! Give it to that big place with the walls!”

“Huh?” replied Kora, dumbfounded. She had no idea what her master was going on about.

Xera, however, immediately caught on. Her face adopted an expression that seemed to say ‘Oh, I see!’ louder than any words could. Dumping the dangerous thing on the humans was a perfect way of getting rid of it. How come she didn’t think of that? It was honestly a little annoying to be outsmarted by that blasted box. Still, this was an idea she liked a lot.

“Allow me to guide her to the city, Master,” she offered.

“Okay. Arms, follow Snack’s lead!”

“Pfft! *Ahem* Yes, Master!”

The red-skinned fiend pushed the core down the road while the succubus took to the skies to keep from falling behind. Using her wings at high speed inside that narrow dungeon was tantamount to suicide, but out here she could soar as high as she wanted.

Their master watched them depart on their assignment for a few seconds before it started running in the opposite direction. There was no telling how big that explosion was going to be, but judging from how much mana it soaked up it was easy to tell it wasn’t going to be a small one. Therefore, putting as much distance between itself and that orb was the obvious thing to do. Just like Xera had pointed out, nothing is tastier than being able to stay alive!

It ran through the forest. It went up some hills and down others, around rocks and trees. A river was forded at some point. A few wild animals and monsters were gobbled up along the way.

[Proficiency level increased. Biomass is now Level 3. All Attributes +1.]

Okay, it was more like a few dozen wild animals and monsters, but right now wasn’t the time to argue semantics.

[WARNING!]
[Dungeon core AD-0429-PR is over maximum MP capacity by 953%!]
[Catastrophic meltdown will occur in 2 minutes!]

“Snack, what’s going on over there?” it inquired through the thought link.

“We’re coming up on the gates now, Master. We’re going to try to force our way through.”

“Huh? Inside the walls?”

“Yes, it’ll do more damage if we bring it closer to the middle of the city.”

That was true. Dark Explosion was a Spell that had to be aimed in such a way so that it hit as many things as possible. The scale of this core meltdown was likely to be much larger, but the same logic applied.

[WARNING!]
[Dungeon core AD-0429-PR is over maximum MP capacity by 953%!]
[Catastrophic meltdown will occur in 60 seconds!]

It contemplated such things while it made its way through the wilderness. After a short while, it got a rather sudden update.

[Your familiar has been banished.]

Xera had been done in, likely by the city’s defenders.

“Arms, what’s going on?”

“ORRA! Oh, Master! DORRYA! We got past the wooden gate with brute force but- ORA ORA ORA ORA! - there are too many humans!”

“Keep them busy for a while longer.”

“Hahaha! Gladly!”

The Mimic ended up bursting through the treeline and onto a small clearing. There was a lone road along a small cliff that gave it a clear, unobstructed view towards the walled-off city in the distance. Several streaks of black smoke were visible, probably a result of that pyromaniac Pyromancer’s magic.

[Your familiar has been banished.]

Ah, it seemed Kora finally went down. She held out a lot longer than the Mimic was expecting. Maybe it was due to that weird ‘Second Wind’ Skill she had. The chest decided it would be best to more thoroughly investigate her Status later.

[WARNING!]
[Dungeon core AD-0429-PR is over maximum MP capacity by 953%!]
[Catastrophic meltdown will occur in 30 seconds!]

There wasn’t much time left. Should it keep running? Then again, another thirty seconds would hardly make a difference if that explosion could reach this far… Then what about going underground? Yes, that seemed like a good idea!

The chest shapeshifted its spider legs so that their ‘feet’ were more like shovels and less like needles and began eagerly digging into the soil. This was the same technique it used to hide itself in the ground shortly before its Rank Up, so it felt confident about its effectiveness.

[WARNING!]
[Dungeon core AD-0429-PR is over maximum MP capacity by 953%!]
[Catastrophic meltdown will occur in 10 seconds!]

By this point, the chest had already dug out a hole about one meter deep. Going deeper at this stage seemed to be meaningless, so it instead braced for impact.

At that moment, nearly seven kilometers away, a group of adventurers and guards were cautiously circling the ominous red ball. Cracks ran along its surface as more and more rays of light streamed out. It was audibly buzzing at this point. They were unsure about what to do with this strange object that a couple of renegade demons had brought into their city. Some of them felt it prudent to run the hell away, while others thought to quarantine it somehow. If they had a few more minutes, they might be able to teleport it away from them with magic.

But they didn’t and the core ruptured.

There was a flash of light so bright that it blinded about a dozen unfortunate travelers and merchants who happened to be facing that direction.

...
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -5463.]
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -6478.]
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -5312.]
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -4843.]
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -7603.]
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -6422.]
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -4041.]
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -3368.]
[Your target has been disintegrated. HP -3963.]
…

It took but a fraction of a second to reap the lives of 8,235 people. That wasn’t counting all the animals and monsters, domestic or otherwise, that got caught up in the blast. All of those were considered an attack made by the Mimic, and all of those events relayed their less-than-useful results back to the perpetrator.

The onslaught of status messages scrolled on and on and on seemingly without end, assaulting the Mimic’s consciousness until it nearly blacked out.

“Zeeh, zeeh, zeeh.”

Nearly, though. It panted heavily inside its impromptu foxhole, reeling from the mental impact. If it wasn’t for its MNT it would probably have ended up stunned again. Just as it calmed down, it felt the ear-splitting noise of the core meltdown wash over it, followed almost immediately by the shockwave of the blast. It shook its little hidey-hole as if a major earthquake had taken place.

All things said and done, it lost about 300 HP in the ordeal. It fared much better than its victims, though. And then it finally got the all-important summary.

[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
…
…
[Congratulations, you are now a level 33 Mimic! All attributes +16.]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 22 Warlock! INT +10. MNT +10. END +10.]
[You have learned a new Spell: Shadowbind]
[You have learned a new Spell: Mind Blast]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Butcher of Humanity.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Collateral Damage.]
[Proficiency level increased. Summon Familiar is now Level 6. INT +2. WIS +1. MNT +1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Demonology is now Level 3. WIS +2. MNT +2.]

The Mimic calmed itself down and climbed out of its little hole, then looked towards where the city once stood. All that was left in its place was a glowing crater and a gigantic mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke and dust. The green plains and thick forest around it had been turned to gray ash. The monster’s selfish actions had left a scar on this world that would never truly heal.

“Neat!”

That was all it had to say on the matter, though. So what if it brought about a calamity that wiped out an entire city? It reaped a massive profit in Levels, and that’s all it cared about. No, that’s not quite right. There was also the matter of unlocking new Restricted Skills.

First and foremost, the oddly nostalgic Mimic Skills.

[Skill List: Mimic]
Unlocked Skills: Assassination, Storage, Cadaver Absorption, Biomass
Available Skills: Natural Armor, Misdirection, Create Fleshling, Liquid Mimicry, Metal Mimicry
You can unlock 1 additional Restricted Skill from this Job.

Create Fleshling was a Skill that would create a miniature, semi-sentient version of the Mimic to serve as its minion. However, these creatures would die after a set amount of time and could only follow pre-set orders, not to mention that separating chunks off its own body was obviously going to be unhealthy.

In short, Summon Familiar suited its needs much better. Therefore, it passed over this one.

Liquid Mimicry was also offered at Level 20, along with Create Fleshling and Biomass. It allowed the Mimic to recreate almost any non-magical liquid the Mimic knew about by expending MP. However, anything created by this Skill would disappear after a while and it was impossible to create alchemical products like potions and poisons. Therefore it was passed over for Biomass.

And now it seemed that it only got one new option.

[Metal Mimicry]
The ability to turn flesh and bone into steel and iron
Requirements: Level 30 Mimic, Shapeshift, Biomass, STR 100, END 100
Type: Passive
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Flesh can be shapeshifted into any known non-magical metal.
MP will be consumed depending on how much of the body is turned to metal.
The transformation will fade after 15 minutes.
Reduces the MP consumption of Metal Mimicry by 5% per Level of this Skill.

The Mimic actually stopped to think about this one. It looked attractive, but several concerns gave it pause. While it would be possible to create arms and armor on the spot, it would come at a heavier price than what was obvious at first glance.

Metal was hard, heavy and inflexible. Hard was a good thing. Right now the Mimic could instantly cover its body with something that looked like steel, but that wouldn’t mean it would be anywhere near as tough. It was still shapeshifter flesh under the shiny surface and would not actually block attacks any better. Therefore, having the legitimate toughness of steel was extremely attractive. It probably wouldn’t have to worry about running out of weapons, either.

But the other two characteristics of metal were downsides. Heavy meant it would take a LOT of its body mass to create it. Therefore, the actual amount of metal it could ‘produce’ would be quite limited. As for inflexible, let’s just say the Mimic was worried whether it could move joints that were turned to steel. The answer would most likely be ‘no.’

Therefore, rather than gamble on an unknown, it revisited and reversed a decision it had made a long time ago.

[Proficiency level increased. Natural armor is now Level 1. END +6.]

[Natural Armor]
Monsters are known for their tough hides that can shrug off anything and everything.
Requirements: Level 5 Monster Job, END 10
Type: Passive
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Reduces all incoming damage by 1% per Level of this Skill.
Provides an additional +2 END per Level of this Skill.

‘I don’t need it if I don’t get hit’ was the sort of naive thinking that had nearly gotten it killed in that dungeon. Therefore, while it may not be flashy, it picked the most reliable-looking Skill it could. Besides, it would probably need it if something went wrong when working with the other Skill it wanted.

[Proficiency level increased. Crystallize Magic is now Level 1. INT +2. WIS +2.]

While the sentient chest still felt apprehensive at the thought of blowing itself up, it was hard to argue with the results from the dungeon core meltdown. The event had also given it a really good idea for how to handle the potentially dangerous Spell Crystals. It just had to have someone extremely expendable take care of it!

Speaking of which.

“Ohh! I’m back!” shouted Kora after her summoning. “Woah!? Is that the city in the distance?!”

“What’s left of it.”

“WAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!” The fiend threw her hands in the air and let out a stream of hearty laughter. “Serves you right, you blondie! Let’s see you try ‘cleansing this world of my taint’ when you’re nothing but dust!”

“Blondie?” inquired the chest, curiously.

“Ahn? Oh yeah, there was this guy with a really shiny sword and flashy, spiky hairdo. Super annoying. Kept prattling on about justice and whatnot while I was busy ripping this other guy limb from limb. Those Hero types are always a buzzkill, you know?”

“I don’t.”

“... Oh, right. You’re only like three months old, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Hmm? Hey, my body seems to be overflowing with power compared to before! Did you Level up from that?”

“Yes, many times. Got Skills and Perks too.”

A very tasty result indeed. As for the Perks, the first one seemed to be quite useful.

[Butcher of Humanity]
Repetition is the mother of learning. Especially when it comes to murder.
Requirements: Kill more than 5,000 humans.
[Effects]
Increases all damage dealt to humans by 5%.
Killing a human invigorates you, restoring 2% of max HP and MP.

The Mimic fought humans a lot. It would probably keep on fighting them, so being more effective against them was a good thing to be sure!

[Collateral Damage]
Like exploding fish in a barrel.
Requirements: Hit more than 20 targets with a single attack.
[Effects]
Increases the radius of Area Effect Spells, Skills and Martial Arts by 10%.

The other one... Well, it made the Mimic feel a bit cheated. Still, considering its plans for Crystallize Magic, it was far from a useless Perk.

“Where’s the walking pair of boobs?” asked Kora.

“Does such a tasty-sounding thing exist?”

“Uhm, yeah, the succubus you call your, heh, your Snack.”

“Oh! Yes, I’ll summon her soon.”

Kora went back to enjoying the aftermath of her hard work while the Mimic was recovering its MP. After a minute or so, it summoned Xera.

“Greetings, Master. Oh wow!” she said when she saw the mushroom cloud.

“I know, right?!” exclaimed Kora. “I don’t think anyone survived that thing!”

“Yes, I can see that. I must say this is… much more devastating than I thought it would be.”

“You’ve seen this sort of thing before?”

“Sort of. I was caught up in something like that along with an old master, but this is my first time seeing the aftermath.”

Xera gave a sigh. She was actually counting on at least one person who saw her wonderful acting to survive that. This world would become a lot more interesting if that were the case. Well, it was a hastily thrown together idea anyway, so brooding over its failure would be pointless.

“Where to now, Master?”

“...”

The Mimic really hadn’t thought that far ahead. Somewhere it needed to go? No, not in particular. Some task to accomplish? Nothing came to mind. Something it wanted to get? Yes. Plenty of things, actually.

“I want tasty things! Shiny things too! Ah, and potions! And troll blood. Lots of troll blood, actually. What’s a troll anyway? Is it tasty? It sounds like it might be tasty. Oh and I need to find out what happens when Warlock gets Level 25. And good swords too! Shiny swords! Snack! Where can I find all those things?!”

“Uhm… going to another city would be a good place to start, I guess?”

She knew a big city would have libraries, Blacksmiths and Alchemists. The ‘shiny things’ it wanted were obviously gold, maybe jewels. Those could also be gotten easily in a city if one were ruthless enough.

“Oh! Where’s that?!”

“I’m not sure, Master.”

She knew her way around a map, but had no idea where they were right now. She’d never heard of a place called Monotal until a week ago. Well, technically speaking it wasn’t really a place anymore.

“We could always follow the road until we find some travelers we can, huhu, squeeze for information.”

“Okay. Let’s do that! Arms! We’re leaving!”

“Eh? Huh? Oh! On my way!”

Kora had been staring reverently at the former city. It seemed she wasn’t quite done appreciating the scenery. She had high hopes for the future too. How many demons could claim they helped destroy an entire city on the first day of their new contract?! She was sure her master’s name would spread throughout the Beyond if she-

“Huh? Master, you don’t have a name?”

“No. Are names tasty?”

“Well… Even if you ask me that…” Kora looked inquisitively at Xera, silently asking for help.

The succubus let out another sigh. How did this moron not figure it out yet?

“Tasty means good. It also means tasty,” she explained.

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, Master! Names are tasty! You can do fun things like yelling ‘Bow before the terrible might of Koralenteprix!’ at people right before you smash them! It’s even better if they bow, because you can really squish their head against the ground!”

The Mimic had absolutely no idea what Kora was getting at. Still, it had to admit that it was curious. But how would one go about getting a name? Maybe if it opened its Status and thought really hard about its own name?

[You are currently unnamed.]
[Would you like a name to randomly be assigned to you?]
[Yes]
[No]

Well, at least this one seemed easy. It chose ‘Yes’ without a second thought.

A few moments later, its new name appeared in the Status and was then communicated to its familiars through their respective contracts.

“Hahahaha! Nice one, Master! Aaaah hah hah hah! That’s amazing!”

“Oh, come on! What sort of name is that?! Are you kidding me with this shit?! There’s no way I’m calling you that!”

Kora burst into laughter while Xera seemed to have some objections. The Mimic was actually quite happy with it though. If a name could be tasty, then this one most certainly was.

[General Information]
Boxxy T. Morningwood
Mimic (Greater), Genderless, 3 months old
Level 33.43 Mimic
Level 22.12 Warlock
900/900 HP (+2.0/sec)
815/815 MP (+1.0/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 110, DEX 118, AGI 98, END 158, INT 163, WIS 103, LCK 57, MNT 107, CHR 34

[Mimic Skills]
Assassination - Lvl 5.60
Storage - Lvl 4.34
Cadaver Absorption - Lvl 4.85
Biomass - Lvl 3.11
Natural Armor - Lvl 1.00
[Warlock Skills]
Summon Familiar - Lvl 6.85
Power Overwhelming - Lvl 3.26
Demonology - Lvl 3.12
Crystallize Magic - Lvl 1.00
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift - Lvl 6.70
Stealth - Lvl 4.94
Sword Mastery - Lvl 6.36
Projectile Mastery - Lvl 2.44
Dagger Mastery - Lvl 3.21
Ruin Mastery - Lvl 5.30
Domination Mastery - Lvl 3.37

[Spell List]
Ruin - Shadowbolt, Ebonfire, Frostbite, Dark Explosion, Shadowbind
Domination - Mass Panic, Delirium, Dark Infusion, Mind Blast

Epilogue

Emperor Joseph Frederick von Einhart the Third leaned back in his high chair and cursed under his breath. The subject of the documents on his desk was more than a little upsetting. It was a good thing his retainers and servants were forbidden from entering his study without permission, otherwise he would have to bottle up his emotions to maintain the image worthy of an emperor. An especially difficult task for a young man barely out of his teens, but one that was both his birthright and his responsibility. His father had passed away suddenly a year ago due to illness, so the young lad had been suddenly thrust into the spotlight, regardless of his will or intentions. As ruler of the human-dominated Lodrak Empire, one of the three great nations on this continent, he could never be allowed to show weakness.

Still, he looked around the room, as if that would somehow relieve him of the burden of his post. The heavy wooden desk in front of him was completely bare, save for a few writing utensils and the aforementioned report. The afternoon sun shone in from the window behind him, providing ample light with which to read said documents. The floor was covered by a soft, dark gray carpet and the stone walls were covered by tapestries and banners - relics of the past.

To his left and right were tall bookshelves, filled with the lore, knowledge, poetry and history of his ancestors. The stone busts of five of those ancestors adorned the top of the shelves, looking all stern, stoic and regal, with well-kept beards and stern expressions. A far cry from the baby-faced, blond-haired young man currently sitting in their chair. Looking up at the flat ceiling revealed an intricate mosaic that depicted several more of those dead Emperors during their crowning moments of glory, reminding Joseph just how insignificant his rule may turn out to be.

The young emperor sighed. None of those dead men were going to help him calm down. If anything, they seemed to press down on him, increasing the already immense pressure on his shoulders. He secretly dreaded having all of his forefathers stare at him day and night, but wouldn’t dare suggest having the busts removed or the ceiling painted over. There were many in the royal palace who thought he was unworthy of succeeding his late father and should be replaced with a more capable regent.

I’ll show them, he thought. How dare that scum underestimate me! I’ve been preparing for this position my whole life! So what if it came earlier than expected? I’ll teach those cretins a thing or two about speaking out against the Emperor!

Joseph sighed again. Such thoughts were neither productive nor entertaining. He turned to the damnable booklet on his desk once more. He really did not want to read through it again, but he had to commit every last syllable to memory. His young mind had been schooled in the ways of politics and statesmanship ever since he was six years old, so there was no way he wouldn’t understand the grave significance of the event it was concerned with. That didn’t help his mood, though. Even if the logical mind understood he had to read it, his emotions demanded he burn the file and be done with it.

Just the title of it was enough to ruin his mood.

A report on The Calamity of Monotal by Spymaster E. G. Allen

He had heard about it, of course. Every soul in the Empire had by now, and the news would likely spread to the whole continent within the month. He flipped it open and started reading through it. At least Edward, the Spymaster, did not dress up the facts with pointless words and analogies like the rest of his court. Though perhaps if anything needed some flowerful language, it was this.

The city of Monotal is no more. Just as early reports had stated, the city was completely wiped out approximately two weeks ago, on the 8th day of this month. Nothing of the city remains, save for a large crater and an ever-swirling cloud of dust. The estimated death toll is at least 8,000 souls - the entire population of Monotal.

“Sweet Teresa’s tits…” mumbled Joseph.

Only when he was alone could he allow himself to say such thing. An Emperor blaspheming upon the names of the Gods was a good way to earn the ire of their faithful, after all. This common sense went double for the followers of Teresa the Hammer, Goddess of truth, order, justice and retribution. In all honesty though, who could blame the man? This report confirmed that the worst case scenario he dreaded with his entire being had indeed taken place. Four sentences in and he already felt ill, but he pushed on regardless.

The Calamity has also rendered all the soil within six kilometers of the epicenter completely infertile. The Druids and Shamans we consulted said restoration is impossible and the land will be left barren for centuries. Arcanium investigators say the cause is the same as the ever-swirling green dust cloud, a magical anomaly they’re calling the Rift. It’s playing havoc on the environment and poisoning the ground and the air around it with some unknown form of magic. Approaching the Rift causes one’s body to rapidly wither and decay, making it nigh-impossible for living beings to get near it. Arcanium investigators say they’ve never seen anything like it, but are currently following a lead that suggests it’s somehow linked to the fabled Calamity of Tol-Saroth.

No wonder they were referring to both events as calamities. According to the history books, Tol-Saroth was an elven Warlock said to have lived about four hundred and thirty years ago. The records claimed he was responsible for making an entire human fort disappear overnight through some terrible magic ritual. The exact details of the account had been mostly lost to time and the event mostly dismissed as being blown way out of proportion by historians of the past.

However, even lies had a hint of truth within them, and it was the duty of the organization known as the Arcanium to determine fact from fiction. If those eggheads claimed there was a chance that the two Calamities were somehow connected, then there was a good chance that may indeed have been the case.

Joseph shook his head to clear it of idle thoughts and turned his attention back to the report.

We have detained and interrogated 32 individuals who witnessed the Calamity from afar- 4 hunters, 3 bandits, 2 merchants, 10 adventurers and 13 travelers. Their first-hand accounts all state they saw a bright white light coming at them from the direction of Monotal. Over half of them were rendered blind by the event. The Arcanium currently has them under quarantine, since the eyes of all victims glow with an unnatural green light, much like that of the Rift. Neither alchemy nor magic have been able to heal their sight.

What followed then was a transcription of all thirty-two interviews wherein they recounted that horrible day. Oddly enough, none of them had a direct line of sight to Monotal, nor were all of them looking in that direction. Indeed, three of them were adventurers exploring a cave in the wilderness, yet they still went blind despite being underground. It would seem the Arcanium believed them to have been within six kilometers of the city, and the facts supported this theory.

Of particular note is a bizarre scene my scouts found along the Imperial Highway. They found what appeared to be the site of a bandit attack, but a closer inspection revealed it was something more. A small crater was in the middle of the road, filled with dust and ash that we believe to have once been people. It is highly likely they were used as sacrifices for some obscure ritual.

Investigating the area around this site led us to an old fort that had been abandoned after the conclusion of the Great War some 400 years ago. The place was in ruins and looked to have been used as a base by a group of bandits. However, the keep’s central tower appeared to have been knocked down only recently and excavating the dungeon underneath it revealed a malnourished and badly injured human prisoner. He was barely alive and highly delirious, likely gone mad from the living hell he had been put through, but his interrogation still revealed some useful information before he was executed for his crimes.

This man had been a part of a small-time group of bandits that called themselves ‘The Redcaps.’ He admitted it was their group that initiated an ambush upon a merchant convoy on the day of the Calamity. They had engaged the adventurers protecting the convoy in battle and seemed to have the upper hand, but were interrupted by the appearance of a tall, green-haired, red-skinned, four-armed demon. It is my belief that this demon is the same one reported by the Hero. As for the final fate of those adventurers, it is clear they, along with the rest of the bandits, had been turned to dust.

The Spymaster then went on to describe what he believed to be the sequence of events that led up to that point. To sum it up, the bandits and adventurers at that ambush site were sacrificed in order to create a weapon of mass destruction, likely the same one used in the Calamity of Tol-Saroth. That mysterious red crystal was then escorted by its creator and a certain four-armed demon through the main gate of Monotal, where they encountered heavy resistance in the form of the Hero of the Hammer, Bernard Samson, and his four companions.

Emperor Joseph had met Bernard personally and had a favorable impression of the valiant adventurer. How could he not? The mantle of Hero could only be granted by the Gods, and that valiant young man had been chosen as the champion of the Goddess Teresa herself. He had been given the noble task of protecting the weak and bringing monsters, evildoers and criminals alike to justice. His ultimate task had been to become strong enough to lead an expedition into the Blighted Lands to the far north and destroy the terrible being that called itself ‘The Boneshaper.’ It was a Quest that would no doubt go down in legend.

And yet that ended abruptly thanks to the Calamity. Bernard was caught up in it and lost his life. He was able to resurrect at the Temple of Teresa, here in the capital, by the grace of the Goddess. Truly a miracle only a Hero could pull off. However, Teresa’s divine protection did not extend to his companions, who were now forever gone. In fact, Joseph suspected the Hero himself had never truly come back either.

The vibrant, energetic person the Emperor once knew was gone. In his place was someone who had lost everything near and dear to him, a hollow, wretched man with eyes like a dead fish and no purpose in life. The monotone voice he used to describe the events of two weeks ago betrayed he truly wished he had died along with his childhood friends, and had reportedly tried to commit suicide at least twice since then. Humanity had lost a Hero that day, and from his testimony it was crystal clear who was at fault.

“Fucking twigs,” cursed Emperor Einhart, his young heart seething with rage. “This is all their doing!”

The prime suspect in this whole incident was an elven Witch, one who sacrificed dozens, possibly hundreds of people to create that horrible weapon. She had made her intentions crystal clear to everyone around them when Bernard had cornered her and was just about to subdue her. The crazy bitch then set herself on fire, cackling madly about how ‘The Elven Dominion shall rise again!’ while she burned alive.

“Those insufferable, inferior fucking terrorists! They’ll pay. They’ll all pay! Them and all their fucking kind!”

Of course he knew blaming this calamity on the entire elven race was ludicrous. Attributing the acts of an individual to an entire people was something only a madman would do. Granted, Joseph was mad, but it was more of the ‘I want to break something’ type of mad, rather than the ‘I’m going to make my horse a Baron’ mad. He never liked those elves. Even while his father was alive, he kept hearing of their so called ‘freedom fighters.’ It was always his suspicion that those fucking twigs were somehow responsible for his father’s untimely demise. Truthfully, he had wanted to invade their pitiful country and wipe out their entire race ever since he became Emperor, but his advisors and nobles were firmly against such action.

“Well. We’ll see how those geezers feel about our ‘neighbors’ when they find out exactly how much we lost thanks to them.”

Things had always been uneasy between the human-dominated Lodrak Empire and the Ishigar Republic that lay on its northern border. It was only natural considering the latter was the last remnant of the ancient Elven Dominion, which had fallen apart as a direct result of the Empire’s efforts. To say these two nations and their people had bad blood between them would be an understatement, and there was always some nasty incident or another to deal with.

But this unforgivable act of terrorism went beyond petty territorial or trade disputes. The elf-spawned Calamity had caused the death of over 8,000 men, women and children. It left behind a stretch of poisonous, barren wasteland that was nothing more than a festering wound in the heart of the Empire. It also left humanity’s first Hero in over fifty years as a shell of his former self, a man who openly wished he was allowed to die with his loved ones.

The aftershocks of this catastrophic event would probably be felt for years, decades even, and there was only one way the young emperor could interpret it.

“This is a declaration of war, isn’t it?”

Afterword

Hello, dear reader! I’m glad to see you’ve made it to the end of the book! Unless you skipped to the end, in which case - shame on you. Either way, I do hope you enjoyed it. The whole thing started off as an in-joke that was made in somewhat poor taste and was written almost entirely off the cuff. The original idea I had for the protagonist was that of a piece of shit warlock with no morals going on realm-hopping adventures in search of power. I eventually settled on a professional chest impersonator after coming across the following D&D anecdote:

The barkeep asked why we carried weapons into his bar. I said ‘Mimics.’ The party laughed. The barkeep laughed. The table laughed. We killed the table. Good times.

The setting and progression system borrows a lot of inspiration from various role-playing games, both of the tabletop and video variety, as well as some webcomics and a pinch of anime. And by ‘borrows a lot of inspiration’ I mean to say ‘ripped off and stitched together like some kind of Frankenstein’s monster of a book.’ However, I have confidence that the seams were not noticeable. Taking various elements from different sources and cramming them together in a way that works and makes logical sense is a skillset I’ve developed as a programmer. My day job is also why I’m very particular about the wording when it comes to the various game elements.

Ambiguity regarding game mechanics is something you do not want in your RPG, after all.

The main character’s personality is something I like to think of as ‘a toddler with a gun.’ That’s why its actions seem to go from oddly adorable one second to incredibly horrific in the next. It is also what lets me keep readers like you guessing as to what it would do next. And in case you were wondering, the creature most definitely does not become ‘humanized’ later on in the story. Its goals and motivations vary somewhat, but the pursuit of tasty and/or shiny things remains a constant. There is no ‘redemption’ to be found here. Just an incorrigible selfish bastard of a box that follows its own agenda and tramples over anything or anyone that gets in its way.

That’s not to say it doesn’t have a positive impact here and there, though. You’d be surprised at how tasty bandits can be. Boxxy also has no qualms with performing a public service or two if it pays well. But how does a murderous chest with an appetite for man-flesh blend into a civilized society? Not very well, as you might imagine! However, it does give it its best shot, which you can be witness to if you read Volume 2 of the series, which is coming to Kindle Soon™.

In closing, I think I did pretty good for my first published book, though it’s by no means my first work of fiction. That being the case, I’d really appreciate it if you rated it and left a review on Amazon. Stuff like that really helps new authors like myself gain traction, and would encourage me to publish more of the series.

If you enjoyed this book, please be sure to check out Life Reset by Shemer Kuznits. What it lacks for in the large chests department it makes up for in monster-kingdom building, and it even has a hot goblin babe!

Well, that’s all I had to say. I wish you many shiny days and tasty experiences in the future, dear reader. And please, do be wary of carelessly approaching large chests.

Toodles!

Table of Contents

- Everybody Loves Large Chests
- A book by Neven Iliev
- Prologue
- Chapter One Death Comes In Many Forms
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Part Six
- Chapter Two Eat And Grow
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Chapter Three The Sweeper
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Part Six
- Part Seven
- Interlude
- A Cheap Drink
- Chapter Four Urges
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Chapter Five Catalyst
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Epilogue