Fizzlesprocket
Author: Neven Iliev
Date: 2018-02-25T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Humour
Description: Things are not well within the Lodrak Empire. An entire city goes up in smoke and ash, and an entire province is slowly being consumed by an ever-expanding cloud of death. But while the humans rally to contain the fallout of this disaster, they are much quicker to pin the blame for it on their elven neighbors to the north. With centuries’ worth of strife and bad blood between the two nations flaring up, all out war is rapidly becoming an inevitability. Powerful figures are already on the move. Some wish to unravel the mystery behind the dead city in order to bring the perpetrators to justice.

Everybody Loves Large Chests
Volume Two: Fizzlesprocket
A book by Neven Iliev
Prologue

Chapter One
Science!!!

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six

Chapter Two
Fine Print

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

Chapter Three
Gainful Employment

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine

Interlude
That Nagging Feeling

Chapter Four
Chaos

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Epilogue
Afterword

Prologue

A swirling cloud of poison spiralled upwards from the smouldering ruins of a once peaceful city, now reduced to nothing but ash, dust, and death. The cause of all this devastation was an event that would eventually become known as The Calamity of Monotal. It was a disaster the likes of which had rarely been seen before and would hopefully never occur again.

“Hahahahahaha! Ahhhh- hahahahahahaaaaah!”

Yet despite all of these tragic truths, there was someone who laughed merrily at the swirling mushroom cloud. It was easy for this being to revel in the suffering of others, as he was behind the safety of a screen that relayed sounds and images to him in real time. This gave him a front-row seat to the terrifying spectacle of a supercharged dungeon core exploding without the various risks involved. Well, it wasn’t like a pseudo-nuclear detonation would even phase him, but that was beside the point.

“He actually went and did it! I didn’t think that stupid little box had it in him! Oh, wait – no, not ‘him.’ The thing’s technically an ‘it,’ isn’t it? Ah, who cares?”

The important thing was that he was among the few who had witnessed the event and lived to tell the tale. He was more involved than simply being a bystander, though. If anything, this figure could be considered the chief suspect in that catastrophe. He was also the only one who knew the full story, even more so than his unwitting chest-shaped partner in crime.

“Phew! I haven’t had that much fun in decades,” he declared in a jovial manner. “I need to re-evaluate my opinion of that mimic. If that’s the first thing it showed me, then I can’t wait to see what it does next! It’s times like these when I really love my job!”

*Snap*

The sound of a finger snapping rang out and a cardboard box covered in red and white vertical stripes – and positively overflowing with freshly-buttered popcorn – appeared in thin air. It was deftly caught by the mysterious observer, who sat down and leaned back into a plush red sofa. The floating screen in front of him abruptly changed to show a much less depressing scene ... one that was focused on said peculiar mimic and its two bound familiars as they walked idly down a cobblestone road on the edge of a forest.

“Come on then, Boxxy T. Morningwood,” he exclaimed while grabbing a fistful of popcorn. “Show me what you’ve got!”

Chapter One
Science!!!

Part One

Kora, Xera, and their newly-named master made their way down the road at a leisurely pace. Boxxy had already filled up its near-bottomless stomach with woodland critters, so it was in no particular rush for once. Its familiars, however, seemed to be in the middle of a heated debate.

“You burned me up on purpose back there, didn’t you!” Kora accused.

It would appear that the towering four-armed, red-skinned fiend still had some gripes about how things went down during the attack on the former city of Monotal a few hours ago.

“Your big head just got in the way of my Fireball!” deflected the succubus, unwilling to accept any sort of blame.

“As if! I know how you backstabbing whores work! You arranged it so I’d run into those Spells face-first!”

Kora was, in fact, correct in her assumption. Normally the succubus wouldn’t be able to attack a being her contract declared as an ally without her master’s express permission. However, anything could happen in a firefight, and certain ‘accidents’ could be arranged. As for the reason she assaulted her co-contractor, it was because she felt like it. Technically speaking, they had already delivered the core at that point, so their orders were fulfilled. The humans had little to no chance of stopping it, so Xera had taken that opportunity to play a prank on Kora for a laugh.

And what better way to do that than a well-placed Fireball to the face?

“Tsk, figured me out, huh?” she muttered under her breath.

“Hey! I heard that!” Kora snapped.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? Flex at me until I die of boredom?”

“Why you – Oh! That’s right! Master! Requesting permission to smack-a-bitch!”

“Huh?”

The Mimic was doing an amazing job ignoring the conversation so far but suddenly got dragged into it.

“What this moron means to say is we want to fight each other to the death,” Xera said. They had been at each other’s throats for a while now, so she was very much looking forward to putting the uppity moron in her place.

“Ah. Okay. Just make it quick. I’m going to take a break over there.”

It didn’t particularly care about their petty issues. If they needed to beat the living daylights out of each other then it saw no reason to stop them. They were still in the forest where it had spent a few days hunting, so it knew there were no particularly dangerous enemies around. Besides, it was feeling a bit tired from running with all its might to escape that explosion, so it went over to the side of the road and sat down to rest a bit.

The two demons were already at it by that time though. Kora had taken a swing at Xera the instant Boxxy let out that casual ‘Okay.’ But the succubus had seen it coming and retreated high into the air well before the attack could reach her, much to her opponent’s chagrin.

“Urgh! Get down here so I can smash you!”

“Haha! As if!” taunted the succubus from above. “Get roasted, dumbass! Fireball!”

Kora dove to the side, avoiding the Spell completely. It struck the ground, setting the cobblestone road ablaze with magical flame.

“Fireball!”

A second one came down, which was also dodged. The third and fourth ones followed soon after. One might think that the fiend could keep dodging until her opponent ran out of steam, but that would be harder than it appeared. Unlike Shadowbolt, Fireball was a more efficient Spell with a base cost of only 20 MP. This meant that Xera, who currently had over 800 MP, could keep firing them as much as she wanted. All while flying well out of reach of her grounded opponent.

And try as she might, Kora could not dodge forever. The fifth and sixth Spells hit her in the back and shoulder. The Devouring Flames from Xera’s Pyromancer Skill clung to her, draining even more of her HP. It was impossible for her to keep avoiding those until Xera ran out of MP. Even if she did, she had no way of reaching her target for a close-range attack.

Or at least, that was how things would have been before their latest summoning.

A summoned familiar’s strength relied entirely on how much MP was used up to forge their physical bodies. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that the MP spent by the Warlock was directly converted into Attributes, Skills, and Levels. The species of the demon dictated which Attributes would be the most well developed, as well as what their Main Job would be. Fiends, for example, would have a high degree of STR and END with a fair amount of AGI and DEX, but in return, their INT and WIS would be pathetically low. They would also always have the Fiend Job, which had a very strict set of Skills available to it. A special racial Skill would also be made available to them depending on what type of fiend they were. For a Pit Fiend like Kora, it meant she was ‘blessed’ with Idiotic Strength, which amplified her STR Attribute but neutered her INT.

So in some ways, it was safe to assume what a demon was capable of based on its species. However, that wasn’t to say they were all alike. Masteries, Side Jobs, and Skills were something each individual could choose for themselves to round out their abilities. It was something that was done on their end as part of the summoning contract and could be altered at will, provided the demon was in the Beyond.

And what Kora had done prior to her latest summoning was add a new Skill to her kit. Of course, this meant all other Skills would suffer and drop in Proficiency Level to compensate, but the fiend didn’t mind. Truthfully speaking, she had a feeling a bout like this would happen eventually with the succubus. And even she wasn’t stupid enough to think that crafty bitch would fight her at close range. Therefore, she needed a way to attack from a distance that didn’t rely on her pathetically low MP pool.

Her solution to this was simple: Projectile Mastery. It was a Skill that allowed her to turn all manner of debris around her into ammunition, and there was no shortage of debris whenever a fiend participated in battle. In this instance, she made her own by smashing up the cobblestone road to produce as many throwable rocks as she wanted.

“Let’s see how you like these apples!”

She gripped a rock in each hand and, after a brief windup, started flinging them into the sky in rapid succession. This caught the overconfident Xera completely by surprise. She had to stop her magical barrage and fervently dodge the improvised anti-air missiles. The stones that were the size of grapefruits flew past her like they were cannon fire. She avoided two, four, six of them, but her pathetically low AGI meant she could not keep it going for long. One of the projectiles caught her in the knee, which threw her off balance. Another one tore right through one of her wings, breaking it in half and rendering it useless.

The demoness screamed in pain as she fell out of the sky, landing with a painful faceplant on the grassy plain next to the road. She was about to pick herself up when Kora’s armoured boot dug into her ribs.

“Gufu!”

The force of the impact lifted the succubus off the ground and sent her flying like she was a pile of dirty laundry. She hit the ground once more some six metres away, skidding and rolling along the grassy soil until she stopped with her back against the ground. The unbearably delicious pain from her side kindly informed her she likely had a few shattered ribs. The same metal-clad foot that put her in this position then stomped down on her chest.

“Give up yet, cunt?” said Kora triumphantly while crossing her arms.

“As if!” said Xera as she coughed up some blood. “I’ll never admit defeat to a lucky shot like that! You petulant bitch!”

Kora raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? I wonder what your bones have to say about this!”

She moved her armoured boot and pressed down on the same spot she’d kicked moments ago, aggravating the fracture. The weight she put into that limb also pushed the succubus’s injured wing into the ground, causing her double the agony. With so much pain shooting through Xera at once, there was no way she wouldn’t show a reaction.

“Hyaaaahaaaaaah!” Xera screamed. Her body visibly shuddered and shook for several seconds, especially the area around her nether regions.

Kora did not miss her strange response. That scream was expected, but it was still way too high pitched. Not the kind of voice one would normally let out while being tortured. No, that noise was almost like –

“Did you just … climax from having your broken bones stepped on?”

“No! Hahn! There’s no such thing! Yahnn!”

There was no way Kora believed that extremely unconvincing response, as it was obvious Xera was getting off on the pain. She had always assumed succubi were just a bunch of perverts and deviants, but even then had trouble believing they would be this depraved.

Determined to find out the truth for herself, Kora knelt down on the ground while straddling the succubus’s knees. She pinned Xera’s arms with two of her hands while a third one reached down and roughly tore off the blue-skinned beauty’s bikini bottom. She was met with a pair of lips that glistened with moisture.

“You’re practically flooded down there! So you did have an orgasm!”

Xera averted her gaze in shame. This served only to infuriate Kora.

“You SLLLUUUUT!” she yelled before half punching, half slapping Xera across the face.

She had no idea what was going on, other than she was absolutely disgusted with this creature beneath her.

“Why are you getting off on being hit?” she continued with another hit. “You fucking whore! We were supposed to be fighting here!”

“S-shut up!” Xera spat back. “I don’t need to listen to any of this shit! Just fucking get it over with and kill me already!”

“Yeah you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You’d certainly enjoy it, right?”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!”

“Fireball!”

The succubus hit the fiend with a Spell straight to the face. The towering demon staggered backwards as she roared in pain. Xera managed to squirm out of Kora’s grasp and put some distance between them, starting off round two of the one-on-one fight.

She still needed some time to mend her wing with shapeshifting; she wasn’t as good at it as a certain murderous box, but once she accomplished that, this fight would be hers. All she had to do was avoid getting caught like before and she would be in the clear. Her opponent naturally wanted to keep that from happening, so she chased after Xera immediately.

As for their master, it was idly watching them go at each other. It had to admit, it had been curious as to how they would fight one another, and it was learning a lot by observing them. Snack’s underhanded methods were particularly enlightening, although she did end up getting caught and pinned to the ground again soon afterwards. This showed that no amount of cunning or trickery would save someone from an opponent possessing overwhelming strength. True, Snack and Arms were made from the same MP, but the former had Skills and Attributes geared towards deception and infiltration, while the latter was a pure-blooded fighter.

It was then that the Mimic noticed the two demons were making weird sounds. The succubus was moaning and wailing, the fiend was grunting loudly, and there was a rhythmic noise of flesh slapping against flesh. Taking a closer look at the grappling duo, it was able to see that Arms was stabbing Snack’s lower end with a body part that she really shouldn’t have.

Something long, hard and veiny.
1-800-7355-9687-7685
*Beep … Beep … Beep*
*Click*

“Hello. You have reached Demons ‘R’ Us. My name is Carl and I’ll be your liaison for today.”

“Hey Carl, me again.”

“Ah, if it isn’t my favourite client! What can I do for you, buddy?”

“The fiend you gave me. I think it’s broken.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“It was supposed to be female, but it has a thing that only males have.”

Boxxy might have been a completely asexual monster, but it had eaten more than enough people to differentiate between the genders on a biological level. However, Arms was currently showing off something it had never seen before: the presence of genitalia from both sexes. This perplexed the Mimic quite a bit, to the point where it decided to call upon the one responsible for managing its summoning contracts to get some clarification.

“That’s just standard fare for fiends,” replied Carl. “You see, those guys and gals thrive on violence and dominating others. They achieve this either by overwhelming their opponent in combat or through what mortals refer to as ‘rape.’ Females especially love doing that second thing, which is why their bodies come equipped with the, uh, best tool for the job. Bottom line is, her actions and appearances are perfectly natural for her kind.”

“Ah … what’s rape?”

“It should be whatever Koralenteprix is currently doing over there. Their ‘special equipment’ only pops out of their bodies when they’re about to use it, after all.”

“Is rape tasty?”

“I … uh … That’s not something within my contractual obligations to answer.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Then will that be all for now?”

“Yes.”

“Roger that. Thanks again for calling Demons ‘R’ Us. Please do not hesitate to call with any strictly demon-related inquiries you may have. Buh-bye.”

*Click*

Boxxy settled down and turned its attention back to its familiars, who were still going at it. It observed them for a while longer until it came to a definitive conclusion: rape did not appear to be tasty in the slightest. It was a messy and horribly inefficient combat strategy, to say the least. Even though Arms appeared to be attacking Snack, the latter was hardly taking any damage. In fact, given the succubus’s Energy Drain Skill, she was actually recovering her strength through the act by sapping the life force of her assailant. Granted, it wasn’t as effective since her opponent was a demon of considerable stamina, but it was still doing work. If things kept going on in this way, the fiend would end up being a lifeless husk like those four adventurers back in the dungeon.

And indeed, after performing the lewd act for a solid fifteen minutes and driving the masochistic succubus to a total of eight climaxes, the fiend finally reached her own release. Her male part discharged impossible amounts of a mysterious white fluid, which was eagerly absorbed by Xera’s lower end. It wasn’t until ten minutes later that Kora’s supernaturally prolonged climax came to an end. She had only about 120 HP remaining, but she was still very much alive. Being able to survive intercourse with a succubus was nothing if not a testament to her demonic constitution. She wasn’t quite sure how things turned out like this, though, as her head was all a blur.

And now that it was starting to clear up, Kora looked down at the buxom succubus beneath her. All of the broken bones and bruises she’d inflicted on Xera – both prior to and during the lewd act – had healed up, leaving her in perfect physical condition. It also seemed like she’d recovered from her own sex-fuelled craze much faster than Kora, as evidenced by the staff she was pointing directly at the shocked fiend’s face.

Technically speaking, the duel hadn’t quite ended yet.

“Fireball!”

The direct point-blank hit to the face engulfed Kora’s head in flames, knocking it backwards. She yelled in rage and pain but had trouble moving her body on account of it being weakened so much by the blue-skinned pervert. A second Fireball came moments later, robbing the last vestiges of her HP and killing her while still joined with the succubus.

Xera then finally caught her breath. Even if her body had recovered its HP, her stamina was another story. She wallowed in the soggy dirt for a while before standing up and stretching her sore body while the fiend’s physical shell evaporated into thin air. She then dressed herself with a snap of her fingers – or at least as ‘dressed’ as one could be in fetish wear like hers – and walked over to where the Mimic was sitting.

“Master, the duel is over,” she said matter-of-factly.

The animate chest sprouted some weird noodle-like appendages from its underside and tipped over backwards. It seemed it had grown bored of their antics and fell asleep without realising it. After all, it had a full belly and was basking in the warm sun while sitting on the soft grass. It had even found the rhythmic slapping of flesh its familiars made while pounding each other to be oddly calming, almost hypnotic. All things considered, it was almost inevitable that it would end up dozing off under these circumstances.

Boxxy still had a ways to go before it conquered sleeping.

Still, now that it was awake and rested, it wanted to get back on the road. It righted itself and promptly summoned back Kora. Once it confirmed they were both done with their little grudge match, it ordered them to continue escorting it and went on its merry way.

“Argh!” groaned Kora once they started walking again. “I can’t believe I lost to you! This sucks!”

“W-well,” stammered Xera. “To be perfectly honest, it felt more like a draw to me.”

“Huh? What the shit are you talking about? You killed me, didn’t you?”

“That did happen, yes. However, while I may have triumphed over you as a demon, I also completely lost to you as a woman.”

Much like Xera was Kora’s first succubus, the opposite was also true. Xera had never had intercourse with a fiend before and she was surprised to find just how much she enjoyed the violent act. That blasted chest may have been the cause of her new ‘eccentricities,’ but it was this fiend that had inadvertently helped her come to terms with that new side of herself.

Therefore, she had no qualms admitting that Kora had managed to completely satisfy her in every way imaginable. Admittedly, that was only because the fiend was incredibly rough and abusive, but that was precisely what got Xera off. So much so that she decided to cast away the last vestiges of her pride and dignity and fully give in to those newfound carnal desires. After all, the main reason she came to this world was to have fun, so there was really no reason to deny herself that sort of pleasure.

Kora crossed her arms and frowned. “I don’t get it. How do you lose as a woman?”

Xera let out a sigh. For a moment she’d forgotten just how dense fiends could be. There was no way her co-contractor would be able to determine what she was trying to say if she used roundabout means. Since playing coy wasn’t going to get through Kora’s thick skull, Xera took the direct approach.

“I’m saying I really enjoyed it when you pushed me down and fucked my brains out.”

“Good for you, Slutty McSlutface. I had a good bit of fun too.”

“Then how about giving it another go sometime?”

“ … You know what, I was thinking the same thing. I’ve never cum like that before; it was pretty intense. Your head’s more rotten than a year-old tomato, but you got a juicy cunt that just won’t quit.”

“I could say the same about you and your dumb-as-rocks-brain. Plus, your breath smells like brimstone and your movements are about as graceful as a drunk hippo. In fact, your cock’s the only halfway decent thing about you. It would be best for everyone involved if you could just disappear but leave that dick behind.”

Xera’s snide attitude immediately made Kora’s already short temper flare up. If that bitch wanted to get wrecked so much, then she was certainly in the right place. Sure, she’d be giving her what she wanted, but it would still make the fiend feel better.

“Master! Requesting permission to punch the bitch in the face and then rape her in the pussy! Not necessarily in that order!”

Boxxy, who was currently contemplating whether the left or right side of a human was more delicious, simply shrugged its non-existent shoulders.

“Only if you can do that while walking.”

“Oh, that’s fine then,” said Kora. She cracked her knuckles, meeting Xera’s trademark grin with a toothy smile of her own. “I’m sure I’ll find a way.”

Part Two

“Dark Explosion ~♪!”

There was a swirling of dust, shadows, and sparkling particles. A few seconds passed and a small object materialized out of thin air. It was a twelve-sided polygonal shape, also known as a dodecahedron, which appeared to be made out of thick, clear glass. Inside the ten centimetre wide object was a small, twisting cloud of pitch-black smog that looked as if someone had bottled a tiny typhoon. The conjured item floated in place while spinning around slowly in no particular direction.

Boxxy’s imitation Xera hand reached out and grasped the newly formed Spell Crystal. Its first impression was that holding it felt odd. It was definitely gripping something solid, but there was no other sensation to it. The tender fingers relayed no change in temperature and could not make out the texture of the thing they were touching, yet they clearly felt the pressure of something within their grasp. This would probably be what it was like to grasp solid air.

Still, it wasn’t slippery and had some heft to it, which made the Mimic a bit more confident about handling these things. It had already practised a few times by using the non-lethal Mass Panic Spell. It wasn’t like the damage from a single misfired Dark Explosion would kill it, but it would still hurt. The initial hit did as much as two Shadowbolts’ worth of damage and the concussive force that followed was not to be underestimated, either.

This was the first time the Mimic had attempted to use its latest Warlock-derived Skill on a damaging Spell, so it was quite pleased it went so swimmingly.

[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.

Learning the practical applications and limits of these Spell Crystals through trial and error filled Boxxy with a distinct feeling of satisfaction that bordered on tasty. It was so proud of itself for having fulfilled this basic task that the solidified piece of magic in its grasp actually looked surprisingly shiny. Not in the literal sense, but more in the ‘I can’t eat it but it still looks useful’ sort of way. Hence the smile on the imitation Xera’s lips. It was an innocent, happy smile that seemed to say all was right with the world – a goofy grin only matched by the times when it was playing around with its gold coins.

Unfortunately, it couldn’t allow itself to play around. It had things it wanted to do. Besides, there would be plenty of time for recreational activities once its MP had been exhausted and it had to wait for it to recover.

“Arms,” it called telepathically, “stop playing with Snack and come here.”

“Aw man,” exclaimed Kora. “I was just getting to the good part!”

The fiend yanked violently on Xera’s silky hair, pulling the succubus’s head away from her groin. It was regrettable that the face-fucking was cut short, but it was a direct order so it couldn’t be helped. Kora retracted her absurdly sized member back inside her body, pulled up her short shorts and went over to see what her master wanted.

All things considered though, only a demon that was never satisfied would complain under the current circumstances. The two familiars had managed to work out a ‘standing sex order’ whereby they were allowed to engage in promiscuous activity whenever they were idle. Kora was even allowed to physically abuse the succubus for their mutual enjoyment, but only on the condition that Xera didn’t drop below three-quarters of her HP. They still had to ask special permission for the full-blown back-breaking, ball-busting, and bone-crushing sex since that always ended with one of them dead.

Boxxy did not care what those two did in their free time, but it had no intention to waste MP because of their shenanigans.

“I’m here, Master,” said Kora with a hint of frustration in her voice.

“Here, hold this.”

It tossed the crystallized Dark Explosion at her, and the fiend caught it deftly with one of her massive hands. She lifted it up to her face and looked at it curiously.

“Another one of these things, huh? This one seems a bit different though.”

A Spell Crystal’s transparent shell looked the same no matter what, but the captured magic within took on a different appearance depending on the Spell used. The Mass Panic ones the fiend had handled earlier contained a semi-transparent purple skull rather than the swirling vortex of pure darkness she was currently holding.

“Use it on Snack,” ordered Boxxy.

Kora glanced towards Xera, who was on her back some twenty metres away, wallowing in the dirt and gasping for air and sporting a black eye and broken collarbone.

“Alright,” answered Kora with a shrug. She wasn’t sure what that box was doing, but she didn’t really care, either. She mumbled something under her breath and threw the crystal at her target with a shout of “Hey, Slutinator!”

“Huh?”

The succubus lifted her head and turned her attention towards the fiend –

*THWACK*

– just in time for the Spell Crystal to hit her in the forehead. Her noggin recoiled from the impact and slammed back into the ground while the offending projectile ricocheted off it and flew straight up into the air.

“Think fast!” yelled Kora, well after the fact.

The fiend seemed quite pleased with her little prank, if the evil smile on her face was any indication. Then again, it would be really difficult for a fiend to make a non-evil smile. They loved to bare their sharp, pointy teeth so much that 90% of the time they gave off the impression they wanted to eat someone’s baby. Of course, that wasn’t actually true, as fiends had an appetite for destruction and bloodshed, not human flesh. Besides, even if they did, stringy infants that were gone in one or two bites would hardly be worth the annoyance caused by their tiny bones getting stuck between the teeth.

The point was that this toothy grin was indicative of Kora’s purpose, as she had a feeling her co-contractor would be annoyed by her actions. And judging from how the succubus sat back up and glared daggers at her seemed to prove Kora’s guess was right. Even if she had learned to embrace and savour the pain, Xera still wasn’t a fan of surprises like those. She was also equally unamused when the Spell Crystal that had bounced off her forehead seconds ago inevitably came back down. It broke apart the instant it touched the ground next to her and released the stored Dark Explosion Spell.

*Ka-PANNNN*

A black, barely visible shockwave over six metres in diameter radiated from within the shattered crystal at a speed too fast for the eye to track. The strength of the blast was enough to turn the slightly trampled ground into a small crater. As for the succubus, she took 253 HP worth of damage, but that wasn’t the end of it. Her surprisingly light body was flung through the air at such a low angle that it was almost parallel to the grassy ground. She flew for a dozen or so metres before bouncing once, then twice, and finally slamming to a stop face-first into a giant boulder.

“Whoa! I wonder if she’s still alive,” exclaimed Kora, though her inquiry was more out of curiosity than concern. Then she heard a throaty moan coming from Xera’s direction, which promptly reminded her exactly who it was that had been sent flying.

“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” was the obvious conclusion.

As for Boxxy, it was satisfied to confirm that a Spell Crystal’s magical fail-safes behaved the same regardless of the Spell used. Under normal circumstances, the conjured item remained inert and would not release the magic stored within no matter what. Even if it expired or was smashed open, which incidentally required a good deal of effort, all that would happen was that the stored Spell would fizzle out harmlessly.

The only way to make it explode was to chant a magical command word while holding it. Three seconds after doing so, the crystal would become armed and detonate the instant it came into contact with something solid. Therefore, the Mimic was free to keep them in its Storage or have its familiars carry them around without worry of personal injury. It just wished it knew about this stuff before picking up the Skill, because it felt like it had pointlessly agonized over having to decide between Crystallize Magic and Demonology.

Still, Arms was quite instrumental in delivering the big shiny thing to the place with the walls and the humans. If it wasn’t for that, then Boxxy wouldn’t have been able to reap all the tasty benefits of the subsequent explosion.

The next thing the Mimic did was check its Crystallize Magic and Ruin Mastery Skills, but neither had gained any proficiency. That was more or less to be expected, really. In essence, attacking its own familiars was like hitting itself, which wouldn’t confer an increase to Job or Skill Levels. It had to fight viable targets if it hoped to do that, but the problem was that there were no such things around. It had been travelling along this road for quite a few hours now, so it expected to see at least something it could murder the life out of.

Ironically, even though Boxxy had no way of knowing this, the current situation was more or less its own doing. Animals, monsters, and people alike in a large area around the former city of Monotal had either run away or hidden themselves in fear. A natural reaction considering that inexplicable yet terrifying explosion. The shockwave could be felt dozens of kilometres away and the blinding flash it produced went beyond even that. The top of the ominous mushroom cloud had also reached so high in the air that it was clearly visible on the horizon. The fact that the pale green gas seemed to be steadily expanding rather than clearing up was just another reason for the forest’s inhabitants to vacate the area out of fear.

Unfortunately for Boxxy, it had no way of deducing all this. That explosion was back then and happened way over there. It therefore failed to understand how it could possibly affect the here and now.

“Master?” said Kora, interrupting the animate chest’s train of thought. “What happens if you do the glowy thing while making those boom-bottles?”

“Glowy thing?”

“Yeah! Like when you become all like ‘khrakakakoom’ and then it’s all ‘bzzt bzzt bzzt’ and your magic becomes really fucking strong!”

“Ohhh!”

The Mimic hadn’t thought of combining its Skills like that until now. The MP cost was a bit prohibitive, but since its MP was back to full and there were no dangers around, it figured it might as well give it a shot. It activated Power Overwhelming, allowing itself to be wrapped in an aura of volatile energy. This was immediately accompanied by the same feeling of unease it got every time it did so. The shapeshifter wasn’t sure why, but the lights and noises coming off its own body made it uncomfortable and agitated. Unsettled, even.

That was why it wasted no more time and activated Crystallize Magic, then immediately chanted its Spell.

“Dark Explosion ~♪!”

A whopping 770 MP was consumed over the span of a few seconds. The sudden strain on its MP pool was both disorienting and draining to the point where Boxxy staggered and nearly fell over. It had felt a similar sensation when it used every last drop of its MP to take down the Fleshmaiden from yesterday. It would seem this phenomenon wasn’t a fluke caused by its already exhausted and weakened state at the time, but a negative side effect it needed to be wary of.

The Spell Crystal was formed without issue, though. It looked exactly like the last one, only it had a tinier version of the Power Overwhelming Skill’s crackling aura mixed in with the swirling vortex inside the crystal. The Mimic grabbed it out of the air and handed it to Kora once again.

“Hehehe … I can’t wait to see this baby blow!” said the fiend with an expectant smile. “Okay, where do we –”

“Stand there and don’t move,” commanded the Mimic. It backed off to a distance of about fifteen metres. “Okay. Now turn it on and put it at your feet.”

Kora broke out in a cold sweat. It appeared to be her turn as the test subject. She unwillingly armed the crystal and dropped it on the ground next to her. She then realised that she could get away since her master hadn’t actually told her to –

“Stand still and let it hit you,” Boxxy ordered, seeming to predict what the fiend was about to do.

“Well, so much for that idea,” grumbled Kora.

And as the impossibly long three seconds ticked by, the fiend finally started to understand what Xera was talking about when she blamed her ‘eccentricities’ on their master. That deceptively deadly box was a genius at causing suffering to everyone around it. It was so good at it that it had somehow shattered the psyche of a demon that was several hundred years old. A feat almost as difficult as wiping out an entire city in a single day.

This realisation worried Kora quite a bit, as she didn’t want to think what she would turn into if she had been put through the same wringer. Thankfully the fiend’s master didn’t find her tasty, so that scenario was highly unlikely to happen. This conclusion made her extremely relieved, but that feeling didn’t last long.

The three seconds had run out.
*Click*
“Ah, fu–”
*KA-DOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNN*
[Your target has been blown away. HP -911.]

This blast was incomparable to the previous one. Everything and everyone within its area of effect was completely and utterly demolished. While the previous blast made a small dent in the landscape, this one caused an upheaval that drastically changed the terrain, flinging dirt and countless stones in every direction.

[You have suffered a series of cuts and lacerations. HP -65.]
[You have suffered minor blunt trauma. HP -34.]
[You have been impaled. HP -58.]

Shrapnel-like pebbles pelted Boxxy, covering it in numerous wounds and digging into its body. It was also struck by two large stones. One of them slammed into the Mimic’s chest-shaped lower half while the other, pointier rock stabbed the imitation Xera poking out of it through the gut. The monster hissed and screamed as yellow blood sprayed from its wounds. It had distanced itself specifically to avoid this sort of thing, but it had clearly underestimated the forces it was playing with and suffered for it.

When the gust of wind and debris died down, it pulled the foreign matter stuck in its flesh out and moved its body mass around to seal the wounds. It then finally undid the half-Xera portion of its transformation and returned to its preferred arachno-chest shape. As expected, having a whole human body sticking out of itself simply made it a bigger target. If it had been just a chest at the start, then it would have suffered significantly less damage. Come to think of it, did it really have to expose itself like that just to use magic?

Actually, no, it didn’t. It had been chanting just fine before it somehow picked up that habit. It was true that being able to wield a staff boosted its magic somewhat, but overall it really wasn’t worth it. At least not at the expense of making itself more vulnerable. Ah, but there was more to this magic thing than just damage. Uttering arcane incantations that invoked Spells was much easier done with a human’s mouth than a mimic’s maw. Meaning that the speed of its Spell slinging would drop noticeably if it were to avoid taking on a half-human form.

Then again, it didn’t really need the entire body, right? Surely it would be enough to grow only the head. Or better yet, how about just the mouth? No, that wouldn’t work since the voice box was in the throat. Then there was the inescapable need for lungs if it wanted to do things properly. One thing was for certain though: Boxxy would need to rethink its shapeshifting habits if it hoped to optimize its usage of magic without making itself an easier target.

“Master?” called out Xera. “W-what happened here?”

Now this was a surprise. Boxxy had completely written the succubus off as a corpse, yet here she was, alive and kicking, even if just barely. Most of her left side was, for lack of a better word, a bloody pulp, though the demon herself didn’t seem to mind it. She’d probably be grinning and panting in an obscene manner if her attention wasn’t being consumed by the devastation caused by the Mimic’s magical experiment.

“I used the shiny Spell. It was a bit too strong.”

“A bit you say …”

Xera stared disbelievingly at the crater some fifteen metres away. It had gouged out a significant portion of the ground, leaving behind a hemisphere-shaped hole over six metres in diameter.

“Where’s, uhm, Arms?”

“Over there,” responded Boxxy, pointing to the side with one of its spider legs. “And there. And there. Oh, there too!”

“Uwaah … How luck– I mean, uh, what a terrible way to die.”

Even if she had decided to embrace that masochistic side of herself, Xera still wanted to avoid revealing it to her master. If that chest figured out pain was more of a reward rather than a punishment, it was liable to come up with some other way to torture her. Therefore, she wanted to maintain this status quo for as long as possible to feed her perversions. Luckily for her, Boxxy was especially dense when it came to social cues, so it was likely her current arrangement would continue for some time.

“Not dead.”

“… Huh?”

“Not dead,” repeated Boxxy. “At least not yet.”

“What do you mean, Master?”

Xera had barely uttered those words when her ears started picking up on an odd sound.

“… uuuuuuuh–”

It sounded like the fiend’s voice, but why was it so distant? No, wait ... wasn’t it getting closer at a terrifying rate? Looking up, Xera saw Kora – or at least what was left of her – as she was plummeting towards the nearby cobblestone road.

“–uuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

*SPLAT*

[Your familiar has been banished.]

“Now, she’s dead,” said the Mimic matter-of-factly.

That was an understatement. The familiar had splattered against the road as if she were an overripe tomato thrown against a wall. Her head was cracked open and her black blood was all over the place. What was left of her torso was tenderized into a paste. The only things still attached to it were the remains of her head and a total of two arms. Well, most of one and two elbow-length stumps if one were to be more specific. Everything from the waist down had been turned into a bloody mist that had already evaporated into nothingness.

Xera’s only reaction to this gruesome spectacle was to shudder with delight when she imagined just how much that ordeal must have hurt.

“Let’s go,” ordered Boxxy as Kora’s leftovers disappeared into thin air. “I have to find dinner.”

Something about using so much magic in rapid succession had made it work up a killer appetite.

Part Three

A caravan of three horse-drawn carriages had been on the road for the past three days. The first of them was a stagecoach capable of carrying six people and their personal belongings. The other two wagons were transporting cargo. One of them had barrels and crates loaded with all manner of food leftover from the winter season: salted meats, smoked fish, dried fruits, mouldy cheese, pickled vegetables, delicious jams, and other preserved goods. Alcohol was also present in the form of four kegs of top-quality dwarven beer and one crate of less-than-top-quality elven wine, all of which were imported from other nations. The third vehicle in the convoy held a number of general goods such as ropes, clothing, tools, cutlery, and various raw materials such as timber, magical herbs, and iron.

Overall, the caravan was carrying goods with a total market value of about 3,300 GP – a tempting target should a group of well-coordinated, unscrupulous individuals decide they wanted it for themselves. Which was precisely why the merchant that owned this caravan hired a total of thirteen adventurers as armed escorts. Nine of them were keeping pace with the convoy on foot while the rest were riding aboard the carriages where they and their weapons were clearly visible.

Usually a show of force like this would be enough to deter bandits. After all, even though common criminals were not all that bright, they weren’t stupid enough to start a fight where their lives would be at serious risk. No matter how sweet a prize, they wouldn’t get a single taste of it if they were dead. That was why such cowardly vagabonds did not dare attack their victims unless they had an overwhelming advantage that would secure a quick and easy win.

Like, for example, having a large group of thirty or so bloodthirsty men ambush the convoy and use their superior numbers to quickly overwhelm the defenders and seize the loot. Which was more or less exactly what the local bandit gang tried to do. They picked a spot on the road where one side of it had a thick forest with tall trees that would serve both as high ground and cover. On the other side of the Imperial highway was a sheer twenty-metre drop into an overgrown canyon, complete with furious whitewater rapids. Any fools stupid enough to risk that fall in an effort to escape would either smash their heads open on the jagged rocks or drown in that unforgiving current.

And so, with their plan in place and their target in sight, the bandits began their ambush by firing on the caravan out of the forest.

“Bandits! Incoming!”

A flurry of arrows and Spells rained down on the adventurers, but someone had managed to spot them moments before they attacked. It was far too late for the caravan to escape, but the Shaman and Wizard in the group still had enough time to deploy countermeasures.

“Wind Wall!”

“Spell Shield!”

An impossible gust of wind knocked physical projectiles off course while a bright purple bubble repelled the offensive magic. Unfortunately, their defences could not cover the entire convoy, so a number of attacks ended up on target. A combination of Acid Javelins and Shadowbolts struck the lead carriage at once, knocking it over and blocking the road. The horses flew into a frenzy and bucked wildly, threatening to wreck the two cargo wagons.

The redheaded human Ranger that served as leader of the armed escort quickly flew into action. She ordered her comrades to take cover behind the cargo wagons, with the canyon to their backs. She wanted to confirm the safety of the passenger in the lead carriage, but that seemed to be a lost cause. The bloodied, lifeless hand that stuck out from inside the melting wreckage was more than enough proof that their client had died, which she took quite hard.

The whole point of putting them in front was that so that they could escape while the bandits and adventurers fought over the cargo towards the rear. They had even targeted the horses, despite the fact that those were arguably as valuable as the goods themselves. However, the Ranger immediately understood why this bunch was so bloodthirsty when she noticed their leader. He was a towering man well over two metres in height, with scruffy ginger hair and a nasty diagonal scar across his face.

Although the Ranger failed to recognize him, this man was known as Makren the Red. He was a wanted criminal who was just as ruthless as he looked. He made it a point to attack the civilians, as there was still profit to be made from looting their personal belongings. Granted, it would be nowhere near as much as the trade goods they were transporting, but it was still worth an extra prize. The only problem was that such practices earned him a lot of notoriety. This attracted some truly monstrous bounty hunters who were after the price on his head, and he was forced to abandon his old turf. He had only recently relocated to these parts, knowing full well that the locals would be no match for him and his gang.

“Damn that bitch,” he cursed under his breath. “Guess she’s not as green as she looks.”

He had underestimated his fellow redhead, as the Ranger’s snap judgement to use the cargo wagons for cover had been spot on. He had men to feed and equipment to manage, and this had been their first big score since coming to Cradle Valley. His gang would challenge his leadership if he didn’t take care of them, so he had no choice but to prioritize the supplies.

“Stop firing on the loot, you bastards!” he shouted. “You lot – go and encircle them!”

The barrage of arrows and Spells died down, and a group of twenty or so heavily armed men stepped forward and spread out to surround the caravan. They all wore mismatched equipment, ranging from pieces of full plate that belonged to the Imperial army to the sort of chainmail and padded leather armour typical for newbie adventurers. It was clearly gear pilfered from their previous victims, with the higher ranking among them getting the best bits.

However, regardless of how much their equipment varied from person to person, all of them had one thing in common. Each bandit wore a dark red cowl, hood, headband, or bandana – likely intended to be some sort of identifying gang sign. They also moved with a certain amount of coordination, which suggested they had been training in mixed unit tactics. This was extremely strange for criminal rabble like that. Then again, their thorough preparations were precisely the reason why their ambush had been so effective.

Once their half-encirclement was complete, they moved forward in a threatening manner, stopping some fifteen metres away from the adventurers. The atmosphere was tense, as neither side seemed willing to break the sudden standoff. The bandits were waiting for their leader’s command while the adventurers were busy catching their breaths. Even if the Ranger had spotted the attack, it had still been way too sudden, so her side took this opportunity to regroup and formulate a strategy.

“Listen up, snowflakes!” shouted Makren. “We just want the loot! Leave it behind peacefully and we will not give chase! Nobody else has to die here!”

They would definitely win the fight if it came to that, but it was highly likely the bandits would suffer casualties. Even though they outnumbered those people nearly three to one, their enemy was still a band of adventurers. It might have been another story if their ambush had succeeded and they had taken out three or four of them, but that blasted Ranger had ruined the ‘surprise.’ The criminals only managed to injure three of them, but the damage done was nothing the party’s healers couldn’t deal with.

“Yeah, right!” she yelled back. “As if anyone would trust a bunch of lowlifes like you!”

“Be reasonable, honey! Your people ain’t got a chance!”

“Then come and get us, you dickless turds!”

Makren sighed. He really hated those heroic types who never backed down. It was always the hard way with those insufferable people. To make matters worse, he really wasn’t lying about letting them go. Engaging a well-oiled team of adventurers in open combat was a terrifying prospect. They were people who fought dangerous monsters and beasts on a near-daily basis. The difference in quality between a bandit gang and an adventuring party was almost like heaven and earth, which was exactly why Makren made his men train together regularly. Having been an adventurer himself, he knew the value of solid teamwork and strong leadership.

“Come on, boss!” said one of his subordinates. “Let’s go shut that bitch up real good!”

“Yeah,” chimed in the fellow next to him. “Enough with this diplomancy bullcrap!”

His fellow bandits, however, lacked that sort of insight. They failed to understand that the adventurers leaving peacefully would have been the best resolution to this sub-par ambush. None of his men would die and they’d keep all the loot. True, they’d leave witnesses alive, but their crime would be noticed sooner or later anyway when the caravan failed to report. And if the bounty hunters became a problem again, they’d just relocate to some other region.

That path was now closed to him, however. He was left with three options.

First was to try to flush out the adventurers, and keep the cargo as intact as possible. They would reap the most profit, but his men would end up questioning his leadership if a lot of them ended up dying over it. This was the best short-term solution but would sow seeds of discontent among the survivors, which would likely become trouble further down the line.

The second was to bombard the carts from afar with magic. Their magic users would try to ward off the ranged attacks, but their MP would not hold out for long. This way they would suffer the least casualties but also have very little to show for their trouble. Some smart-arses would probably question his decision anyway, but he could just counter with how they were still alive because of it.

And the final option was to simply give up on the profits and withdraw – a sure-fire way to have his men turn on him, have a bounty put out on his head, and lose out on all the loot. He wasn’t even considering it, but it was still technically a choice, no matter how terrible it was.

“Have it your way then!” he shouted. “Boys!”

Having made his decision, Makren lifted an arm above his head. Everyone – bandit and adventurer alike – went silent in anticipation of what would undoubtedly be the order to re-start the battle. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Wait, wasn’t this too quiet? The bandit leader could have sworn he still heard the odd bird call or distant roars of monsters while they were preparing their ambush. In fact, the forest’s denizens had gotten particularly noisy ever since the sky lit up and the ground shook several hours ago. And yet they were now quiet. In the middle of a spring day, that entire section of the overgrown forest was completely and utterly silent aside from the muffled splashing of the nearby river.

“Boss! On the road – look!”

One of the bandits pointed in the direction that led towards the city of Monotal. Makren followed his finger and saw it easily. How could he not? A nearly three-metre tall, red-skinned, four-armed and metal-horned pile of muscle and anger was running towards them at full sprint. He’d have to be blind in both eyes to not notice that. It was about a hundred metres away but was closing in fast.

“W-What is that!”

“What do we do, boss?”

The bandits were understandably shaken. It was not every day one met a demon in the wild. Especially not one that seemed to be running without a master.

“Calm down, you shits!” shouted Makren. “That thing’s nothing to be scared of! Just don’t let it get close – open fire and turn it into a puddle!”

His men raised a cheer in anticipation of the upcoming barrage of arrows and magic. It wasn’t until a few later that it dawned on them that such a thing wasn’t going to come.

“… Huh? What are those assholes doing!”

Their leader looked towards the forest, just in time to see a small transparent shape fly out. It was a perfect dodecahedron with a tiny transparent skull inside it. It fell on the ground, right in the middle of a cluster of his men. It then cracked open and released a wailing, piercing screech that was loud enough to rock one to their core.

[Your target has been crippled by fear for 6 seconds.]
[Your target has been crippled by fear for 7 seconds.]
[Your target has been crippled by fear for 6 seconds.]
[Your target has been crippled by fear for 8 seconds.]
[Your target has been crippled by fear for 5 seconds.]
[Your target has been crippled by fear for 7 seconds.]
[Your target has been crippled by fear for 8 seconds.]
[Your target has been crippled by fear for 5 seconds.]
[Proficiency level increased. Crystallize Magic is now Level 2. INT +2. WIS +2.]

Boxxy was extremely satisfied with the results of its first field test of the crystallized Mass Panic Spell. The spike in MP cost was well worth the additional range the combination afforded. The duration of the effect was somewhat random since it varied from person to person. At the very least it stuck to a range between five and eight seconds, so it wasn’t entirely unpredictable.

As for the actual impact the Spell was having on the Mimic’s targets, it was just as tasty as the monster expected.

“Aaaah!”

“Save me! I don’t wanna die!”

“Mommy! I’m sorry! Mommy!”

The ensuing chaos of that distraction was both scarily effective and effectively scary. About a third of the red-clothed humans were either curled up in a ball and wetting themselves or running away at full speed due to the magically induced panic attack. And fear was contagious. Even if it wasn’t ‘real,’ the sudden wailing and crying, combined with Kora charging at them like a gigantic woman-shaped battering ram, made the rest of them visibly shaken.

And speaking of the muscular fiend, she seemed to have finally reached their panicking front line.

“Here comes the pain, bitch! OOOORAH!”

At that point she ran the bandit scum over, clotheslining two of them with a double lariat and decking a third one with a boot to the face. Being crippled by magic left them wide open to her attacks, allowing her to forego defence and hit them as hard as she could. She then jumped on top of the booted one’s face heels-first, using her enormous weight and powerful legs to smash the human’s head open against the ground, killing him instantly.

“Ora! Ora! Ora ora ora oraoraoraoraoraora!”

Next came the immediate barrage of fists and kicks aimed at the few bandits who still had the courage to stand up to her. Some of them tried to strike at her unarmoured torso while others tried to stall for time by blocking and parrying. However, being ambushed themselves had made their actions sloppy and anxious. If they were calm, they would be able to quickly pick up on her simple attack pattern and either counter or avoid her blows. But the Mimic’s new toy had taken a massive dump on their composure.

Judging by the eleven bandits it had silently disposed of just a while ago, Boxxy concluded they were tougher than the rabble it had dealt with until now. It estimated their Levels to be around 30 or 35 to 40 at most. But even if they were stronger than the other prey it had faced so far, hiding out among the tree branches and watching the caravan with a keen eye made them easy pickings. In the end, all their higher Levels did for them was raise the Mimic’s Job and Skill Levels as it quietly picked them off one by one.

But it appeared that a few of the rats were making their escape. The Mass Panic Spell Crystal was a bit too effective and had made them abandon what loyalty they had in favour of running for their lives. The Mimic would therefore have to hunt them down and kill them. After all, the last time it let someone escape like this, the result was a punitive force being organized to hunt it down. Needless to say, it wanted to avoid a repeat of that situation, as it might not escape with its life the next time around.

“Snack,” it called out telepathically.

“Yes, Master?”

Xera was currently scouting out the situation from high in the air without worry of being spotted. Even if someone were to look upwards it would be difficult to see her light blue body against the clear sky. Her eyesight might not have been as keen as a Ranger’s, but she had still spotted both the caravan and the bandits from her vantage point, well before the fight broke out. That was why Boxxy had been able to take advantage of the situation.

“I am going to hunt. Do not let any of the food survive.”

The succubus furrowed her brow as the gears in her rotten head were already hard at work. She was thinking about how to best accomplish such an order. A particularly devious idea then dawned on her when she saw how things were going on the ground.

“Master! I need something from you if I am to fulfil that order!”

Back at the battle itself, the adventurers were already locked in combat with the bandits. Their leader, Ranger Borona, had directed her comrades to assist the mysterious red-skinned demon. It was a risk to get too close to it, however. Even if that fiend was beating down on the bandits with lethal repercussions, it wasn’t clear if she was still under contract or not. Borona had taken the lack of ranged attacks coming out of the forest as a good sign though, as it implied the violent demoness had allies. She wasn’t clear on the details, but this was still her only chance. It was better to act now and catch the bandits in an improvised pincer attack rather than – as her second-in-command named Winchester put it – ‘sit down, have a pint and wait for this whole thing to blow over.’ Bloody dwarves and their alcoholism.

“Miles, support Eric and Logar,” she ordered through her Whisper Wind Skill.

The effects of this Ranger Skill made it so her words would reach any target within two hundred metres or so without fail.

“Haas, you have two of them on your left. Nora, don’t get near that rampaging demon just yet!”

The Skill also made it so only her target would be able to hear her speak, which made this an excellent tool for relaying instructions during a hectic battle like this.

“Winchester, how are you already out of MP! I swear, if you put whiskey in your mana potions again I will rip your liver out and feed it to you!”

She kept giving out orders while firing her bow from a distance. Even if the enemy was more numerous, the adventurers had magic support on their side, which made them the superior force. As the fight dragged on, her only worry became making sure no more people in her charge died to this scum.

Just then, she saw a Fireball fly out of the treeline. Her initial thought was that more bandits had shown up but quickly changed her mind when the magical projectile struck one of the bandits in the back. It enveloped him in flames, making him panic and roll around on the ground, screaming in agony. The Ranger quickly tracked the Spell’s trajectory back to its point of origin: a youthful woman who was emerging from the treeline. She had auburn hair tied in a long ponytail and wore long, grey robes common among magic users, although it was torn and bloodied on her right side at the arm and thigh. Deep gashes were visible on her exposed leg and shoulder, which she had cauterized with fire magic, but her heavy limp made it clear she was by no means okay.

“I am an adventurer from Monotal and that fiend’s master!” she yelled towards the Ranger. “Let us join forces!”

Said demon threw two thumbs up high above her head while her other pair of arms were crushing some poor soul’s head like an overripe melon.

“Understood! We welcome the assist!” came the immediate reply.

Borona was glad she and her companions wouldn’t have to face off against that fiend. Honestly speaking though, she still had some doubts whether that creature was actually leashed. She knew demons were brutal by nature and that bandits were to be killed on sight by law, so she could accept a certain amount of violence under the circumstances. However, ripping off a guy’s arms and beating him across the head with them while repeatedly yelling ‘Stop hitting yourself!’ was perhaps a bit too violent. It seemed her master didn’t even try to restrain the demon under their charge, which was not the sign of a promising Warlock

Her assertion had been right on the money, though. Kora’s actual master was currently busy stalking one of the two deserters from earlier. It had neither the time, opportunity, nor desire to reign in its rampaging familiar. In fact, ‘run wild and mow them down’ were pretty much the only orders it had given Kora. Well, aside from making her cooperate with Snack’s latest scheme, but it had already put those details out of its tiny mind to focus on what was immediately ahead.

A bandit panted heavily as he leaned against a tree, desperate to catch his breath. He was a young man, barely seventeen years of age. The Mass Panic from earlier had hit him hard since it was his first time experiencing that sort of depthless desperation. When he finally regained his senses, however, he had already deserted the battle. And he knew full well what that psycho called Makren did to deserters. So he just kept running. His reaction was understandable, though. Fighting people was one thing, but he never signed up for that freaky monster shit. He’d much rather turn himself in than –

[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 250% more damage. Target HP -563.]
[You have slain your target in a single strike. Assassination Proficiency increased.]
[Proficiency level increased. Assassination is now Level 6. AGI +2. DEX +1. STR +1.]

The mithril dagger was then casually withdrawn from the back of the bandit’s throat, pulling his body down in the process. Boxxy immediately activated its Cadaver Absorption, which should be the last time it needed to use it in order to advance the Skill to the next Level.

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a minor success!]
[12% of the target’s highest Attribute has been added to your own. AGI +10.]
[Proficiency level increased. Cadaver Absorption is now Level 5. All Attributes +1.]

And indeed it was. It even got some tasty Attributes from it as a bonus! Taking part in that little struggle had been the right choice. Even if its Jobs weren’t getting a lot of Experience Points (XP) due to the difference in Levels, it could at least train up some of the Skills it had been neglecting recently. Such as, for example, Stealth.

[Stealth]
The practice of thinning out one’s presence in order to avoid detection.
Requirements: AGI 15, DEX 15, INT 5
Type: Toggled (ON)
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 10 MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Suppresses all sounds made by movement.
Drains 2 MP for every 1 metre travelled in any direction.
The noise suppression effect of this Skill improves with each Level of this Skill.

Strictly speaking, Boxxy found this entire encounter to be rather nostalgic, as it had been almost an entire week since it was last able to pull off a string of lethal ambushes. That may not have been a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like forever from the perspective of a monster barely three months old. Even the cataclysmic core meltdown earlier that day already felt like a distant memory to the Mimic.

Ah, but now wasn’t the time to space out and reminisce about the past. It had hunted down one of the rats that tried to flee the sinking ship, but the other one had escaped in a different direction entirely. Boxxy wasn’t very good at tracking so, realistically speaking, its chances of finding him now were catastrophically low. It could keep looking around blindly, but that would probably be just a waste of time and energy. Wouldn’t it be better to go check on its familiars and the tasty buffet they were supposed to prepare for it? It had already been seven or eight minutes since it last saw Snack, and Boxxy hadn’t heard from her since, so it felt it would be prudent to go check on her progress.

A stream of messages then flooded the Mimic’s mind, interrupting its train of thought. It began with ‘Your familiar has been banished,’ signifying its pet succubus was no more. That was followed by a flood of notifications telling the monster it had either ‘obliterated’ or ‘blown away’ over a dozen living things, dealing anywhere between 600 and 900 damage to each of them in the process. It even got reinvigorated for 144 HP and 128 MP as a result of its Butcher of Humanity Perk.

The truly tasty part, however, was the last group of messages it had received.

[Proficiency level increased. Power Overwhelming is now Level 4. INT +4.]
[Proficiency level increased. Crystallize Magic is now Level 3. INT +2. WIS +2.]
[Proficiency level increased. Ruin Mastery is now Level 6. INT +2. WIS +1. END +1.]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 24 Warlock! INT +4. MNT +4. END +4.]

Boxxy was still taking in all the information when it heard the echoes of a thunderous explosion wash over the forest.

“Arms, any survivors?” it called out to its sole surviving familiar.

“I don’t think so, Master. That bitch blew up good! She took out the whole lot of them in – oh, wait! One of them’s still twitching!”

[Proficiency level increased. Summon Familiar is now Level 7. INT +2. WIS +1. MNT +1.]
[The slaughter invigorates you. HP +19. MP +18.]

“There, all done!”

“Good. Guard the place, I’ll be there later. I have prey to hunt.”

“Yes, Master.”

The Mimic felt oddly satisfied as it began its search for the last survivor. As expected of the Snack, it came up with a truly tasty plan. Boxxy would never have considered gaining the trust of adventurers just to explode them all at once in a suicide attack by detonating a Big Bang Ball. That was the nickname it had given to the potent combination of Power Overwhelming, Dark Explosion, and Crystallize Magic.

Incidentally, the Bang Ball was the same, only without the Power Overwhelming, and the Mass Panic Spell Crystals were referred to simply as Boo Balls. Granted, the containers conjured via Crystallized Magic weren’t technically balls, but Boxxy had decreed them to be close enough. Besides, there was absolutely no way it could actually say something like ‘dodecahedron,’ no matter how many times Snack tried to teach it, so it would stick with ‘balls’ for the time being.

The Mimic was still somewhat confused about one aspect of the succubus’s anti-adventurer plan, though. Surely there were better ways of hiding a Spell Crystal on one’s person, right? Then again, Snack had carried out her task flawlessly, so it had no choice but to conclude that jamming the ten-centimetre wide object up the succubus’s asshole had worked out for the best.

[General Information]
Boxxy T. Morningwood
Mimic (Greater), Genderless, 3 months old
Level 33.52 Mimic
Level 24.38 Warlock
953/968 HP (+2.2/sec)
314/900 MP (+1.1/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 113, DEX 124, AGI 113, END 171, INT 180, WIS 110, LCK 58, MNT 113, CHR 35

[Mimic Skills]
Assassination - Lvl 6.02
Storage - Lvl 4.53
Cadaver Absorption - Lvl 5.00
Biomass - Lvl 3.46
Natural Armour - Lvl 2.23
[Warlock Skills]
Summon Familiar - Lvl 7.00
Power Overwhelming - Lvl 4.44
Demonology - Lvl 3.19
Crystallize Magic - Lvl 3.31
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift - Lvl 6.83
Stealth - Lvl 5.13
Sword Mastery - Lvl 6.39
Projectile Mastery - Lvl 2.44
Dagger Mastery - Lvl 4.53
Ruin Mastery - Lvl 6.31
Domination Mastery - Lvl 3.86

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

Part Four

With one of the deserters taken care of and the caravan escorts turned to meat soup, Boxxy turned its attention towards finding the last survivor of that failed ambush. Or at least it would have liked to, but it had no idea where to even begin. It was confident it could outrun or at least keep up with humans at full speed, but that would require having a line of sight with its quarry. Such a thing was clearly not going to happen in this thick, overgrown forest. Even if the trees weren’t there, the numerous ridges and boulders would still hinder its view. In fact, it had nearly lost track of its latest victim several times due to the terrain. The Mimic’s AGI had risen quite a bit recently, but that young man appeared to have a good deal of the same Attribute himself. He probably also had some kind of movement assisting Skill, as he was faster than Boxy. He might have even escaped if this were even ground, or if he hadn’t stopped to catch his breath. Thankfully he made a good deal of noise as he ran, allowing the monster to track him through the brush by sound. Unfortunately, such a method wasn’t going to be of use when its next target was long gone.

Then how about following his trail?

Boxxy had already tracked a number of things during the few days spent in the forest, so it already knew what sort of signs to look out for: trampled grass, broken branches, torn clothing – that sort of thing. It was the same knowledge it applied when it left an ‘invitation’ for those punitive force members to come find it. Admittedly that ambush hadn’t quite worked out as it would have liked since, much like the scuffle from earlier, the adventuring party’s scout had been on their toes. But the setup for it had been as good as could be expected.

The Mimic turned around with that in mind and headed back towards the last spot it saw the lone survivor, near the caravan ambush site. After several minutes it arrived at its destination – a place that was only about a dozen metres from the edge of the forest, beyond which was the road and the nearby canyon. Boxxy started investigating the area, using its magical perception to look for even the smallest sign of the man passing through but soon realised that was a pointless effort.

After all, the direction the soon-to-be-dead man was headed towards was obvious. There was a faint path of trampled and dried up grass on the forest floor that led away from the road and deeper into the woods. Humans had a fondness for travelling over such flattened and relatively smooth terrain, so there was a good chance the man ran through here. Boxxy just needed to follow this path and see where it led. But first, it decided to bring its familiar back to life. There was no point to delay it any longer, now that it was back on full MP.

“Greetings, Master.”

Xera materialized, grinning from ear to ear. Whether her good mood was because she had successfully fooled and betrayed an entire party of adventurers or due to the fact she experienced a fatal anal explosion was best left unsaid.

“Scout the path,” ordered Boxxy, pointing deeper towards the forest with one of its arachnid limbs.

“Understood, Master.”

The succubus spread her wings and took to the air but ended up reporting back the instant she cleared the forest’s canopy.

“Master, I see an old fort in the distance.”

“What’s a fort?”

“It’s … a stone building. Highly fortified and tricky to assault, but this one is in shambles. And before you ask – no, forts are not tasty.”

“Oh. So the meat ran away to this fort thingy?”

“I don’t know, Master, but it’s the most likely place that this path leads to. It’s actually not all that far away.”

The Mimic was more than a bit surprised. Wasn’t this too easy? It quickly skittered up the side of a tree to get a good look for itself. Its needle-like spider legs dug into the bark as it ascended the tree trunk and climbed atop the thickest, tallest branch it could find. But even after going as high up as it could, it still couldn’t see above the treeline. This would probably be the first situation where it wanted to be taller. Well, not like that was impossible.

The ghostly pale pseudo-Xera’s head poked out from the mass of leaves, giving Boxxy a vantage point similar to that of the already cringing demoness. The albino head swayed and shook awkwardly thanks to the metre-long neck it was attached to, massively creeping out the original in the process. She wasn’t a stranger to this sort of freakish display, but seeing her own body being stretched like that really got to her.

Though whether she was shaking because of disgust or excitement was something she wasn’t quite ready to answer.

The Mimic scanned the treeline and immediately saw what Snack was talking about. There was an overgrown tower poking through the treetops, with stone walls reminiscent of those around the (former) city of Monotal surrounding it. Peering into the distance, it also saw what looked like people patrolling on top of them. They were smaller than grains of rice from its point of view, but the two-legged, two-armed shapes were most definitely moving about.

Humans liked hiding behind walls, so there was indeed a very good chance its quarry had run there. However, much like the city, there appeared to be quite a few sentries up on those crumbling walls. They were bound to discover it and raise an alarm, at which point it might get pincushioned by ranged attacks. Then again, it had a pretty tasty Snack-shaped distraction with which to befuddle them.

Both of its demonic familiars had gotten stronger with its latest burst of Job and Skill Levels. Xera’s magic-focused Status in particular shined through as she surpassed 1,000 MP. The much higher INT would, without a doubt, make her Spells much more dangerous than Boxxy’s. While both monsters dealt a similar amount of damage with their respective magic, Snack could keep using her highly efficient fire-based Spells for much, much longer. The downside was that her physical Attributes were atrocious. A Level 17 Succubus and Level 12 Pyromancer with a maximum HP of 517 was pathetic from the Mimic’s point of view.

There was more to a Status than simply Attributes though. The increase in Levels of Xera’s Jobs had also given her access to two brand new Skills she did not have until several minutes ago.

[Invisibility]
Succubi are tricksters of the highest order, capable of fooling even light itself.
Requirements: Level 15 Succubus
Type: Active
Activation Time: 2 seconds
Cost: 250 MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Grants invisibility for 30 seconds.
Increases the duration of this Skill by 6 seconds per Level of this Skill.
Casting a Spell or taking damage will negate the effect.

The first was similar, yet completely different from Stealth. It confused the eyes but did not mask the noise she made, so she could still be detected by the sound of her footsteps or breathing. Her gliding around, however, was almost completely silent. Flying while under the effects of this Skill was perfect for scouting out enemy positions and getting the drop on others. The downside was that she had to stand perfectly still while activating it, which meant using this once combat started was ill-advised.

[Mana Burn]
A Pyromancer’s flames can burn away magic itself.
Requirements: Level 10 Pyromancer, Devouring Flame, INT 45, WIS 45
Type: Passive
Range: 100 metres
[Effects]
Devouring Flame effect will reduce the target’s MP by an amount equal to 50% of HP damage dealt.
Increases the duration of Devouring Flame by 0.5 seconds per Level of this Skill.

This second one was perhaps not as impactful but seemed to be quite tasty nonetheless. Those Devouring Flames left behind by Snack’s magic were almost as bad as the Spell itself, but combined with this Skill it would make them even worse. The ability to reduce the target’s MP directly was undoubtedly going to be very useful in long fights, especially against opponents that could heal their wounds. It was unclear to Boxxy if it would have helped against the Fleshmaiden, but adventurers with healing magic were incredibly persistent if one was unable to take them out instantly. Another effective target would be people or monsters like Arms that had tiny MP pools compared to their absurd HP, as it would render then unable to use whatever Skills or Spells they had.

But the Mimic was digressing. It still had people to slaughter, so it switched mental tracks from theorizing about the best way to murder things to putting said theories into practice.

“Snack, we’re attacking that place.”

It leapt off the tree and started making its way towards the ruined fort. Even if it could be seen from the treetops, it still took about twenty more minutes to reach the place. The sky steadily turned red and the sun was about to set by the time Boxxy reached its destination. It wasn’t bothered by the passage of time, though, as darkness was its ally. And the trip had given it time to prepare. Its Spell Crystals would last up to eighteen minutes now, which meant it could stockpile quite a few of them in advance. It took only a little over two minutes to recover the MP spent on a Bang Ball, so it could easily start the battle with five of them at the ready while still being on full MP.

However, throwing them out in the middle of combat was going to be tricky, what with all the awkward flailing involved. That was why it gave four of them to the succubus, though it refused her request to stuff them up her ass. Even if she was adamant they would fit, that wasn’t the point. She had to throw them down from above as a surprise attack and Boxxy had serious doubts she would be able to evacuate her bowels quick enough to accomplish that. After all, once the keyword was spoken, all four of them would arm at the same time. And then there was the obvious lack of accuracy to consider with such a method. Therefore, she would just carry them around in her arms.

“Now stop saying stupid things and go!”

Xera’s idiotic monster of a master had called her ‘butt-bombing’ idea stupid. A brainless chest that bit people in the face as a way of saying ‘hello’ was looking down on her. And worst of all, it was completely in the right. A casual observer would expect a proud demon such as a succubus to feel scorned or disheartened at such a realisation, and they would be correct. In fact, if she were the same demoness as yesterday, she might actually suffer HP damage from that self-inflicted burn.

“Right away, Master.”

However, that Xera was gone. All that was left in her place was a shameless, hopeless, incorrigible pervert who was sorely disappointed she wasn’t going to get her anal cavity stretched and abused. Still, the succubus had orders to follow and the sooner she was done, the sooner she could resume choking on her co-contractor’s meat stick for fun. She promptly activated her newly acquired Invisibility and took off from the ground into the air. She glided silently through the evening sky towards the bandit-infested fort some fifty metres away and began relaying the layout of the place back to Boxxy through the mind link.

She had somewhat expected it at first, but the succubus calling that place a fort was an overstatement. In actuality, it was closer to ‘decrepit ruin’ if one were to be brutally honest. The main feature of the place was the fifteen-metres-tall half-collapsed stone tower. On the ground next to it stood an old two-story barracks made out of rotten wood. Opposing it stood a smaller stone building that doubled as both storehouse and armoury. Several shabby lodgings such as wooden shacks and primitive tents from animal hides and tree branches were strewn around the place. Those highly temporary lodgings had likely been erected in a hurry by the criminal gang that had turned the old military outpost into their base of operations.

A collapsing wall about six metres tall and two metres thick surrounded the ancient compound. From the air, it looked like a lopsided rectangle with about thirty metres on each side and a small, circular turret on each corner. While not large enough to be a castle wall capable of repelling invaders, it was more than enough to ward off wild animals and monsters. About half of it had collapsed under the ravages of time and what remained looked as if it would fall over with a good push, although the same could be said of the other buildings.

“I also see six lookouts on the wall, but I expect more to be inside,” said Xera, finishing off her report.

“Good, then drop the Bang Balls to start the attack,” came the telepathic order.

And it was obeyed, though reluctantly. The succubus armed the four crystals she was carrying and dropped them from above at random. One of them fell next to a bow-armed bandit on top of the wall, the resulting shockwave knocking him off his perch and down onto the ground. It also caused the aged wall to heave mightily under the stress and collapse into a pile of stones. The second magical bomb fell on the barracks, ripping a huge hole in its roof and wall. The last two didn’t hit anything of value and simply made small craters in the ground, kicking up a lot of dust and bother in the process.

“The wall exploded!”

“What the flying fuck was that!”

Overall, the damage done was quite minimal. However, the collapsing wall, the screaming victim, and the exploded barracks all did their job of terrifying the simple bandits. Their reaction was to be expected, though. Just knowing magic existed didn’t mean you were mentally prepared to be attacked by it, especially not when it happened almost literally out of the blue. Thankfully for them, there was someone around to take charge of the situation.

“Calm down. you worms!”

A two-metre-tall scar-faced and red-haired man named Renmak came out of the ruined tower. He had just finished ‘interrogating’ the spineless worm who’d abandoned his twin brother, Makren. The idiot actually came back to their base rather than run off and die in the forest somewhere. Judging from his testimony about the ‘four-armed red nightmare’ and how he had soiled both sides of his pants while running away, it was clear to the former adventurer exactly who was attacking them.

“It’s an enemy attack! It’s likely a Warlock!” he shouted. “Don’t bunch up! Scatter and find hi–”

A mass of darkness hit him squarely in the back before he could even finish giving out orders, making him scream in pain as he fell forward.

[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 300% more damage. Target HP -605.]
[You have dealt a devastating blow. Target stunned for 5 seconds.]

The other bandits looking in his direction were left speechless at the sudden turn of events. First their base started exploding for no good reason, and now one of those incredibly tough and fearsome twins was face-down on the ground with a hole in his upper back. It was as if some wild beast had snuck up on Renmak and taken a bite out of him.

That wild guess wasn’t quite right, but it wasn’t entirely wrong either.

*Krakakooom*

The sound of roaring rained down on them from above. Looking up, they saw the bizarre combination of a box, a spider and a slut wrapped in a cloak of lightning, clinging to the side of the ruined tower.

“Shadowbolt ~♪!”

No longer needing to hide itself, Boxxy fired the empowered Spell at the collapsed bandit. It hit him in the waist, splitting him in two and finishing him off while leaving his heart and head intact. The Mimic then looked towards the other bandits, who felt dread wash over them when they saw its white lips curve into an impossibly wide smile in the shape of a crescent moon. And a few minutes later, the only thing left of those men was their mostly intact but significantly mutilated corpses. The combined magical barrage from Boxxy and Xera swept them away in a completely one-sided show of force. Bandits generally had few magic users on hand, and their leader had taken them all out to that ambush, along with the most capable fighters. The ones left behind were runts – good only for chasing monsters away or doing menial labour – so they never had a chance.

Now that all of those pesky humans were out of the way, Boxxy was free to investigate their camp at its leisure. This was only its second time being in the same living space as humans, so it was quite curious as to what it would find. There wasn’t much to see, though. As expected of a bunch of outlaws inhabiting the woods, their living conditions were rather poor. Just being able to drink and eat on a regular basis and keep a roof over their heads was good enough for most of them.

So it was understandable that the rickety huts and tents the lower-ranked members used held nothing of value. The wrecked barracks building that had been used as a combination common room and mess hall didn’t fare much better, either. Boxxy found a bunch of food which was immediately eaten and a few barrels of clean water that were completely ignored, but that was it.

The smaller stone building proved to be much more fruitful, yielding a pile of weapons, armours and other miscellaneous items that caught the Mimic’s interest. These items must’ve belonged to the victims of these criminals, seeing as how they were bloodied, rusty, bent, broken, ripped, or in otherwise poor condition. They reminded Boxxy of that pile of scrap metal it left behind in the dungeon during its harrowing escape. Well, that particular collection of souvenirs was probably evaporated in the blast and none were even remotely shiny, so it didn’t think about them too much.

Still, there was something to be found in this scrap heap. Boxxy looted a few swords that looked to be in mostly working order. There was also a set of ten basic – albeit identical – iron daggers that were also put away inside its Storage, mostly to be used as throwing knives should the need arise. It then went back outside and started using Cadaver Absorption on the corpses, out of which it only got two favourable outcomes.

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a minor success!]
[The body’s deteriorated condition has weakened this effect by 25%.]
[12% of the target’s highest Attribute has been added to your own. END +7.]

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a minor success!]
[12% of the target’s highest Attribute has been added to your own. STR +13.]

The vast majority were failures as expected. At the very least, this success rate was definitely higher than what it experienced while fighting in the forest. Both its LCK and its Cadaver Absorption Level had gone up significantly since its last real ‘harvest,’ so this much was natural. It still needed about 10% more Proficiency for Shapeshift to advance, though. Boxxy felt like it had just been repeating the same old transformations over and over, which didn’t really seem to afford it much progress towards the next Level. Even turning into a humanoid shape other than Xera’s did little for its Proficiency. Therefore, it would need to actively consider what new shapes and forms it could adapt as part of its continued training.

But that would come later. Right now, it still had one more building to check: the ruined tower that the biggest of the humans came out of. It walked into the building through a stone archway and looked around. There was a table with a bunch of papers and books in one corner and a number of chairs thrown haphazardly around it. Several unlit torches lined the walls and the starry night sky was visible through the missing parts of the wall and ceiling. There really wasn’t much to look at in this filthy place, yet Boxxy’s attention was focused on one single thing.

The Mimic let out a loud, aggressive hiss as it took a few wary steps backwards and bared its teeth. In this place, against all odds, it was left face to face with that once more. The second toughest opponent it had ever run across. The Fleshmaiden was undoubtedly the worst, but that thing in front of the sentient chest had given it more trouble than everything else besides her. Even that janther was ultimately no big deal in comparison.

“What’s the matter, Master?” asked Xera. She had followed her master into the room and was more than a little surprised to see it acting cautiously for no apparent reason.

“Enemy! It’s an enemy!” it spat back.

The succubus, however, still had no idea what Boxxy was talking about.

All she saw was the base of an old, stone tower with nothing in it except for some shitty wooden furniture and what looked to be stairs leading down into some sort of basement, sealed off by an enchanted steel grate.

Part Five
“Dark Explosion!”
*Ka-ponnn*

The hateful steel grate was rocked by the most violent of Boxxy’s Spells. The metal creaked and groaned, but it survived with barely a dent. The stone brick doorway it was bolted to was equally unfazed.

“Dark Explosion!”

It tried again, but it didn’t fare any better. It didn’t seem like the grate was withstanding the force of those shockwaves, but more like the magic itself wasn’t exerting as much power as it normally would. That was because military fortifications such as this would have some sort of enchantment that would repel magical attacks. It was only common sense. Otherwise any moron with a bunch of Levels could topple a castle. The only reason Boxxy’s Spells worked on the walls outside was that the enchantments had all waned and lost their hold over the years. However, the magic built into the central part of the old fort had not succumbed to the ravages of time just yet, which was the only reason this tower was even standing in the first place.

Not that the Mimic had any idea about any of this. From its perspective, it just wasn’t hitting things hard enough.

*Krakakoom*

“Huh?” exclaimed Xera.

She was still a bit stupefied when she realised the big bad ‘enemy’ her master was so wary of was an inanimate object. The angry face and hate-filled shouting her albino imitation made were also a first. So she was slow to react when said master flared up with the really dangerous Power Overwhelming.

“Master! If you –”
“Dark Explosion!!”
*KADOOOOONNN*

Aimed right at the middle of that infuriating grate, the extra-strength Dark Explosion finally did the trick. It overwhelmed the anti-magic enchantment on the steel and the surrounding stone, blowing them apart. The nearby wall of the tower itself also got caught up in the Spell, setting off a chain reaction that collapsed the entire thing on top of Boxxy and Xera and burying them in debris.

A few minutes later, the animate chest crawled out from under the rubble. The pseudo-Xera sticking out of it had been pierced clean through the chest by one metal rod, and a second, smaller one was stuck in the Mimic’s main body. The extra-powerful Spell had turned the metal rods the grating was assembled with into spear-sized shrapnel.

“Piss!” it cursed, using Xera’s borrowed mouth. “That stupid grate, how dare it try to kill me again!”

“Master, that was entirely your own fault,” came a voice from nearby.

The real succubus was currently digging herself out of the rubble. Apparently the metal shrapnel had missed her entirely, and the falling stones weren’t enough to finish her off.

“No, it wasn’t,” insisted Boxxy. “That thing is just really dangerous.”

It refused to admit that it had inadvertently hurt itself again, despite copious amounts of evidence to the contrary. Especially since it should have known what would happen if it went for the Big Bang in an enclosed space. So what if that little fact slipped its still developing mind in the heat of the moment? The inanimate object was surely to blame, not itself.

Xera let out a disappointed, almost defeated sigh.

“Haaaah … Whatever you say, Master.”

The cluelessness of this monster that annihilated an entire city for kicks calling a lump of metal ‘dangerous’ was too much for her to handle. She decided to avoid pressing the issue and change the subject entirely.

“So what happens now?” she asked in a dull monotone.

“…”

Boxxy took a few moments to calm down a bit. That was a good question, wasn’t it? Why did they come in here to begin with?

Oh right – checking out the place. The Mimic pulled the metal rods from its body and went back to its more compact spider-chest form. It went over to double-check on the passageway it blew apart, but it was inaccessible. The narrow, steep staircase entrance was covered with rubble, as was the path beyond it. Clearing the way would take substantial effort, not to mention the basement it led to might have collapsed anyway. The Mimic’s little magically-empowered tantrum had put the nail in the coffin for this old ruin.

Well, technically it was possible to use Storage to excavate the place and explore what was downstairs, but Boxxy had more pressing matters to attend to.

“We go back to where Arms is.”

Like those twenty-plus corpses waiting for it back at the massacred caravan. It had gotten a lucky streak of successes with its Cadaver Absorption recently and wanted to see if that would continue.

And so Boxxy and Xera left the former fort and current pile of rubble behind and made their way back to Kora. The sky had already gone dark and the stars peered down from between gaps in the forest’s canopy. While this forest was never particularly hospitable during the day, it was much worse during the night. Most nocturnal monsters were far more vicious than their daylight-loving counterparts. The janther was a prime example of that, and this area was home to one of those self-proclaimed kings ... an individual who was currently investigating the scent of a challenger that had entered his domain.

At least that was what it seemed like at first. The simple beast was more than a little confused when it found out this ‘challenger’ was a box with legs, rather than one of its own kind. It observed this curious creature from a distance, not sure what to do with it. That wooden shell and stringy-looking legs didn’t seem particularly appetizing. On the other hand, this thing carried the faint scent of another male’s urine and was brazenly walking around its territory, which was an insult – one this janther would not forgive. So it gave up on stalking its target from a distance and crept closer, using its Stealth Skill to make sure it wasn’t discovered.

And it worked perfectly until it got to about ten metres away. That was when the hunter felt an odd tingling in its whiskers.

“Ebonfire ~♪!”

Followed immediately by an intense burning sensation that covered its entire being.

“Fireball!”

Then came a second, even more intense, pain spreading across its face. The beast roared and charged forward in a blind rage, but it was no match for the Mimic. Boxxy may have had the disadvantage when it came to base parameters, but its Attributes were significantly higher. And it could use magic. The janther was therefore slain with little to no effort by the monster with a combined Level of 57.

[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a level 25 Warlock! INT +2. MNT +2. END +2.]
[You have learned a new Spell: Singularity.]

Correction, fifty-eight.

“Status,” chanted Boxxy, eager to see what changes had occurred.

[General Information]
Boxxy T. Morningwood
Mimic (Greater), Genderless, 3 months old
Level 33.52 Mimic
Level 25.00 Warlock (MAX)
1026/1026 HP (+2.3/sec)
543/910 MP (+1.1/sec)

The Warlock Job reaching its ‘MAX’ Level at 25 wasn’t that big of a surprise. Those seemed to go up in multiples of 25. However, the lack of a (+) sign anywhere on this Status screen was most unsettling. Boxxy tried to ask its font of knowledge about this, but Snack wasn’t particularly helpful. Her Status worked in a completely different way, after all, so she never cared about the Job progression of mortals.

Still, someone with her wealth of life experience inevitably picked up on certain things whether they wanted to or not, like the whole Rank Up process. One of her old masters obsessed over it constantly, so it was natural she would learn a thing or two about it. Just how she knew that one way to advance the Warlock Job was to visit a trainer who worked for one of the guilds. That wasn’t very helpful to Boxxy, though, as those places would never accept a monster’s custom.

There was some good news, at least. The succubus remembered something about an alternate way of advancing to the next tier of one’s Job but couldn’t offer any details. She never gave a damn about such trivialities, so it was hardly surprising some things went in one ear and out the other. Boxxy would need to extract information about developing its Warlock Job from a library or guild by using its Snack as a proxy pair of eyes.

Bottom line was that it wasn’t going to be getting any new Skills for the moment, but at least it got a brand new Spell for its troubles, right?

[Singularity]
Requirements: Level 25 Warlock, INT 200, MNT 100
School: Ruin
Type: Area Effect
Cost: 500 MP
Range: 40 metres
[Effects]
Creates a gravity well at the target location for 15 seconds.
Requires a focusing crystal.

Okay, maybe not. It was still short of the 200 INT requirement, but that could be solved with a few more Levels. The real problem was that ‘focusing crystal.’ Yet another thing Boxxy didn’t know about. Inspecting the words didn’t offer any new insight, either. The knowledge of the Spell seemed to indicate it was an apple-sized bauble and that it would be consumed to invoke the Spell, but that was it. More useful data like what it was made of, where to get it, or what it actually looked like was not available. And, most important of all, the Mimic had no idea if a focusing crystal was tasty or not. It didn’t sound very tasty, but it would probably be shiny at the very least.

“Oh, Master! You’re back!” said Kora when she saw the two of them step out of the treeline. “Thank fuck! I was getting so bored that I –”

“I don’t care. Did you finish retrieving the bodies?” asked Boxxy, shoving aside her complaints.

“ … Yeah, they’re over there in a pile.”

The fiend pointed behind her towards a deep crater in the cobblestone road, the site of Xera’s butt-bombing. All the dead bandits were there, as well as what was left of the adventurers. The mutilated corpses and miscellaneous body parts were piled up in a way that resembled a disgusting salad. Which, considering the circumstances, was oddly fitting. The Mimic went to the corpse pile and started processing them using Cadaver Absorption.

“Urk!” exclaimed Kora. “Is it … drinking those people?”

“Oh yeah,” said Xera. “This is your first time seeing that, isn’t it?”

“What the fuck! It does this regularly? Why!”

“It’s some weird Skill the Master uses to permanently upgrade its Status. I’m not sure on the details, but I think that’s how it got the Warlock Job without visiting a trainer. Seems to be quite convenient.”

“That’s an understatement! Considering the body count that thing has racked up in just a day, I’d say it’s almost too convenient!”

The succubus shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not a bad thing, though. Honestly, I don’t mind having that box as a Master. It may be a moron, but it’s certainly more entertaining than my previous contractors.”

“Hmm ... You do have a point. I mean, it’s only been my first day, yet I got to smash, like, a hundred different things! Certainly way better than my previous jobs. Though to be honest, this is only my third time being bound to a mortal, so I don’t know if that statement counts for much.”

“What? Really?” Xera blurted, eyes wide. “Only three contracts? Aren’t you like three hundred years old?”

On average, a demon got contracted to a new master once every fifty or sixty years, so cases like Kora’s were quite rare.

“Well, my first master was okay, I guess,” explained the fiend. “It was some crime boss or something who had me act as her bodyguard. I mostly threw mean looks at people, but I saw a fair bit of action.”

“That doesn’t seem too bad.”

“Yeah, it was alright. A lot more fun than being used as some ‘champion of justice’ or whatever. My second contractor sucked donkey ass though. It was some damnable dwarf that kept me bound in his service for almost a century. The asshole only summoned me three times! Three! And the worst part is they were all to help him move furniture around!”

Xera grimaced. “Wow, that sounds terrible. No wonder you jumped on this thing’s fiend contract so eagerly!”

“If anyone here’s the eager one, it’s you, isn’t it!”

The two demons kept making small talk for a while before it inevitably descended into their favourite pastime: hate-fucking. It really was no surprise that the two of them seemed unable to keep their hands off each other – almost as if they were newlyweds on a honeymoon. After all, the pleasures of the flesh were impossible to experience in a place like the Beyond, so they indulged themselves at every opportunity in the physical realm.

Boxxy ignored the flesh-on-flesh slapping noises coming from behind and continued processing the corpses. It had absorbed thirteen mostly intact bodies, seven that had a few missing parts and three that were basically a head and torso with extras. It appeared that the Mimic’s earlier lucky streak had run out, however, as none of them yielded a success. There were also a bunch of leftover bits that weren’t usable, so it just devoured them to fill its belly. It did, however, regret waiting so long to do so, as humans were at their tastiest while they were still warm.

Having concluded its desecration of the dead, Boxxy climbed out of the crater and went to investigate the two cargo wagons and the overturned stagecoach.

At first, the food cart seemed to be a really good catch, but that judgement quickly changed after the Mimic sampled its contents. The preserved food it carried would definitely satisfy the monster’s hunger, but Boxxy would be hard-pressed to call it tasty. The fruits and vegetables in particular had little to no flavour, while the salted fish was downright nasty. The various dried meats and jerky were all right, though. After tasting a bit of the merchandise, Boxxy began putting all of it, except for the fish, into its Storage. Food was food, even if it wasn’t particularly tasty. Having another source of nutrition would allow Boxxy to absorb more corpses rather than be forced into eating them to sustain itself.

The fish could just fuck off and disappear though. They were almost as untasty as the mummified remains left behind by Cadaver Absorption, so it didn’t even bother with them.

[Proficiency level increased. Storage is now Level 5. END +1. INT +1. WIS +2.]

This was the first time in a long while Boxxy had used the Storage Skill so much, so gaining a Level of it wasn’t that big of a surprise. In fact, Boxxy was counting on it. The higher the Skill Level, the higher the pocket dimension’s capacity. At Level 4 it would have been impossible to fit in all the cargo it wanted to carry around, but Level 5 gave it more space. It was filled almost to bursting anyway but still had a few cubic metres’ worth of room inside it as it moved on to the second wagon.

This one held a plethora of common items one would find in a general store and was slightly more exciting, at least at first. After all, the Mimic had never seen the vast majority of things in here, like kitchen utensils, wooden plates, commoner clothes, string, hammers, nails, paints, farming tools, and so on. However, simple curiosity was all the attention they got. Once they were judged as neither shiny nor tasty, they became unworthy of the Mimic’s notice. It still took a bag of glass marbles and a mining pick though; the former were somewhat shiny and looked like they would be fun to play around with, and the latter seemed like it was good at breaking things. Certainly better than slamming its swords or daggers into hard surfaces.

Satisfied, Boxxy left the cargo wagons behind and approached the ruined stagecoach. It seemed Arms had been slacking when it gave her the order to gather all the corpses in one spot. Then again, it only told her to gather the ‘redheads and adventurers.’ It failed to realise there would be people in the wrecked pile of wood at the very front until it was standing right next to it and saw a bloodied hand sticking out from under the mass of planks. It tore through the wreckage, pulling it apart and flinging the debris haphazardly around using its tentacles. To its surprise, it actually found not one but three corpses inside.

The first was an adult male human. One of the bandits’ Spells had hit him on the side of the head, destroying half of it. He was eaten to become part of the Mimic’s Biomass. Oh right – Biomass only increased in proficiency if Boxxy consumed flesh. Focusing too much on Cadaver Absorption would have a negative impact on this Skill’s development, and the Mimic couldn’t have that. If it wasn’t for the additional HP recovery it granted, the monster would have surely died in its encounter with the Fleshmaiden. Regrowing all those lost body parts would also be impossible without the deep reserves of raw shapeshifting material this Skill allowed it to store up.

The monster now regretted not chowing down on that janther it killed. Consuming hundreds of kilograms worth of meat and guts like that would have surely helped push Biomass closer to Level 4. Using Cadaver Absorption on it felt like a waste, in retrospect. Perhaps, in the future, it would be better to devour large and relatively weak creatures like that. Smaller ones could be absorbed in order to raise its Cadaver Absorption proficiency, since the size of the body didn’t seem to actually matter when it came to that particular Skill, unlike Biomass.

Speaking of which, the second and third corpses in that wrecked caravan were quite small ... puny even. They were both gnomes – a race of people said to share some distant ancestry with dwarves. Their average height was only about a hundred and twenty centimetres. They could almost pass for human children, were it not for their well-trimmed facial hair and slightly ‘off’ proportions. Their heads, for instance, seemed too large for their bodies, while their arms were so long that they could probably touch their knees without bending over.

For Boxxy, this was the first time it had encountered this race. Based on their anatomical oddities, it was immediately able to recognize they were not human, so it was slightly curious how they would taste. It wrapped its tongue around one’s waist and gobbled it up like a piece of candy. These things were so small, the Mimic could probably fit two or three of them inside its mouth cavity at once.

As for the taste, it was nothing overwhelming. They had a flavour very similar to that of humans, much like the elves and dwarves it had already sampled multiple times. They were still tasty, but humans were definitely the best. The monster didn’t eat the second one though, as these scrawny morsels would do little to satisfy its hunger. The only reason it ate the first one was to get a feel for their taste, so Boxxy just absorbed the second. This resulted in another failure, but the Mimic wasn’t all that bothered by such outcomes. It wasn’t like it lost anything other than MP when it ran that sort of gamble, so there was no point in feeling disappointed.

It was just about to move on from this place and continue its aimless journey down the road when it stopped to consider part of the wrecked stagecoach. There was a miraculously intact wheel hanging on a less-than-intact axle. Boxxy’s violent digging through the wreckage had disturbed it, causing it to spin around ever so slowly as it hung off the piece of wood.

When Snack mentioned the wagons while she was scouting ahead earlier, she had described them as ‘huge boxes humans use to move stuff around.’ The Mimic had never actually seen it in motion, so it just assumed those horses were just dragging it along the ground. After all, the carriage’s round ‘legs’ were clearly lacking feet, knees, or any other discernible joints. Because they weren’t legs at all, they were wheels. They spun around instead of moving up and down, allowing the carriage to roll across the relatively flat ground.

And it was this seemingly inconsequential piece of common knowledge that captivated Boxxy. It more or less understood that rolling around was a more efficient form of movement than walking, especially on flat surfaces. That was knowledge it had gleaned during its brief time handling the gigantic dungeon core. True, it was heavy and looked like it was tricky to control at high speed, but it still moved much faster than if Arms were to carry it around on her back.

Curious as to how good these wagons would be at that sort of thing, it took a run up and slammed at full force into the side of the mostly empty food wagon. The vehicle rocked violently but didn’t budge. The Mimic let out a disappointed sigh as its enthusiasm deflated. It then realised that those ‘round feet’ would only roll in a particular direction. An understandable mistake, all things considered. So the monster repositioned itself and tried again, this time from the back if the carriage.

*SLAM*

*Kotororor*

It moved! How mysterious! Boxxy repeated the process a few more times, using its magical perception to observe the wheels and axles as it slowly inched the vehicle forward. As for the purpose of this entire exercise, it was to fulfil an unerring law of this world:

Mimics gotta mimic.

If a giant box could have wheels and axles, then why couldn’t a smaller one? That was the thought that drove the monster to move the carriage around and observe its means of motion. After about ten minutes of studying it, the Mimic decided it had seen enough, stopped playing around with the wagon and sat down on the ground. Half of its spider legs retracted completely inside its body, while the remaining four became short, thick, and straight.

Now came the moment of truth: The Mimic had to form the actual wheels. It did this by pumping its Biomass reserves into those stumpy legs. Eight long, fleshy rods grew out from each of those, growing outwards until they were just under sixty centimetres in length. The tips of these organic sticks split in two up to around the halfway point, then stretched outwards to form a bent T shape. The split up tips then met each other to form one long, flawless circle.

[Proficiency level increased. Shapeshift is now Level 7. AGI +1. DEX +1. END +2.]

It took the Mimic about two minutes to create four spoked, faux-wood wheels, each with a radius of just over thirty centimetres. What looked like wood was actually condensed and hardened tissue that became a sort of cartilage – an organic, rubbery substance that was good at absorbing vibrations and withstanding impacts. The wheels were positioned in such a way that the chest would have to travel sideways like a miniature wagon filled with teeth and murderous intent.

Boxxy hesitantly started moving its newly forged ‘feet’ around. The shape was a bit inconvenient but couldn’t be helped. After all, the wagon it copied them from was longer than it was wider, so the Mimic would have to assume a similar construction, at least at first. It was confident that, with some trial and error, it would find the right setup to ensure maximum stability. Much like when it created its favourite spider legs for the first time.

However, such an adjustment period turned out to be unnecessary. After all, a carriage was chest-shaped, but a spider was not. By copying the work of skilled craftsmen, Boxxy actually found very little adjustments that needed to be made. If anything, its imitation product turned out to far surpass the original. After all, the four wheels stuck to the side of the creature were living things that could be bent and angled in any direction at will.

Feeling proud of itself, Boxxy then decided to move around. It flexed the muscles at the base of its axle-legs, forcing the wheels to rotate under their own power. That was when it discovered the first major flaw with its brilliant transformation: power management. The overeager box put too much power into the motion, causing a sudden burst of acceleration that launched it sideways faster than expected. It travelled several metres in an instant, which then showed the second flaw with its new ‘invention.’

[Your muscles have ripped. HP -87.]
[You have been dismembered. HP -154.]

The very muscles used to power the rotational momentum gave out. Although they were flexible and malleable, they had a limit as to how many times they could twist around an axle before tearing. With the tissue holding them in place severed, the freshly grown quartet of wheels and axles detached from the base of the Mimic. They rolled off into the distance or flew up into the air, spraying yellow blood all over the place. Their owner, currently busy hissing and cursing at the sudden pain, slammed into the ground and skidded across it for a little bit, scratching up its sensitive underside.

“What the fuck is it doing?” asked Kora, with a perplexed look on her face.

“Hyehn, heeeeh, aaauuu…” moaned Xera with her tongue sticking out and her eyes rolled up into her head.

“Right, good point.”

The fiend then gave up on worrying about the silly box and resumed pounding the face-down-ass-up succubus’s tight asshole with renewed vigour.

Part Six

Having recovered from its pathetic crash, Boxxy was forced to re-examine its approach. Creating a detached joint that would allow the wheels to spin as much as they wanted was possible, but it also came with a good amount of risk. Doing that would make it much easier for them to come loose and break off should the monster go over rough terrain. Ah, but the Mimic could just revert them back into legs if it wanted to go off-road. However, the earlier incident did manage to prove one thing: Moving around on wheels was far easier than walking.

So the animate chest decided to give this new mode of transportation another go without feeling disheartened. This was hardly the first time it failed at shapeshifting, anyway. It messed up multiple times back when it was still learning how to use those spider legs or how eyes worked, so trial and error was hardly a foreign concept to it. Well, forming these wheels took quite a lot longer than those arachnid limbs, but that was a temporary setback. Muscle memory was a terrifying thing that meant even complex creations like Xera’s upper body could be thrown together in an instant with enough practice.

First of all, however, it needed to deal with the Biomass it lost when those prototype wheels flew off into the distance. It was not an insignificant amount. At least rectifying that turned out to be as simple as opening its Storage and depositing roughly five kilograms of strawberry jam directly into its gullet. It was pretty flavourless to the monster, no different from eating leaves, wood, or spinal fluid, but it would still do the job of replenishing its lost body mass after being digested.

Once that was done, it once again grew out those circular limbs in mostly the same fashion, but with one key difference. This time it created the flexible joint at the spot where the wheel and the axle connected, rather than where the limb poked out of its body. That was when it ran into its first major hurdle. It would need to completely detach the wheels from the axles, but doing so would effectively cut them off from its own body. This was not a particularly attractive proposition, as the wheel-shaped body mass would devolve into meat paste once separated from the main body.

What about continuously shapeshifting the connecting tissue so that it would untwist, thus preventing it from snapping? That seemed like it might work, so the Mimic gave it a try. It willed its new limbs to rotate, taking extra care to use as little strength as possible. The box-cart inched forward at a snail’s pace. After the wheels made three revolutions each, it felt the strain on the connecting tissue and willed it to untwist itself without detaching, then kept moving forward. Doing so allowed it to keep going, covering a distance of several metres before it safely came to a stop.

Well, that method worked, but the concentration required to carry out the constant, minute shapeshifting was pretty taxing. Moving in such a manner would be more tiring and slower than simply walking. Plus, allowing momentum to carry it downhill would undoubtedly cause the wheels to spin too fast and tear the connecting tissue anyway. And mere practice would be unable to make it speed up to a point where this wasn’t an issue. Unlike the ‘fire and forget’ actions of growing limbs and then using them, this was an ongoing process that required constant attention and muscle flexing.

In short, this method of moving around defeated the purpose of having wheels in the first place. Simple walking along and tumbling down a hill would prove to be much easier than –

“Aha!”

Boxxy got an idea. Rather than trying to mimic the entire cart, didn’t it only need to focus on the wheels themselves? After all, that dungeon core rolled around just fine even though it was one solid object with no moving parts. Surely something similar was entirely within the Mimic’s reach.

The four fleshy discs and their axles were quickly reabsorbed back into its main body, leaving it to sit on the ground. Next it grew two slightly larger wheels about eighty centimetres in diameter on its sides. These were firmly attached to its body and would not rotate at all. Instead of a carriage, the Mimic assumed the form of a slightly misshapen spool. As long as it was like this, it could roll around as much as it wanted.

Then came another problem: propulsion. Moving about like this under its own power was going to be difficult, to say the least. It would need a push to get going and yet more pushing to keep rolling. Going downhill was going to be easy enough, but it was still dependant on outside assistance. After all, it couldn’t just push itself.

Or could it? Technically speaking, the ground wasn’t that far away and it still had a good deal of Biomass to spare. So it grew out a set of four spiderish limbs, much shorter than the usual ones. They were also positioned much differently. One poked out from its front, a second from behind, the third from its bottom, and the last from the top of its lid. Preparations complete, Boxxy then coiled the leg on the bottom and kicked at the ground with it, pushing itself forward and up.

This got the chest rolling ever so slightly forward. Then the leg coming out from its front did the same, then the top leg, then the hind leg, then the bottom leg. Each kick added more momentum to its revolution, and soon it was rolling along at an impressive pace. Its current speed was actually close to its full sprint, but it used only a fraction of the effort required to maintain it.

It was moving forward in an energy-efficient manner and without hurting itself. So far so good. But the problem was that this method made its entire body spin around along with the wheels. Even with the monster’s magical perception it ‘looked’ like the ground was spinning around it at high speeds and gave off the unpleasant sensation that it was constantly falling. Deciding it’d had enough, Boxxy hit the brakes by causing its wheels to break apart into legs of their own. The sturdy limbs dug into the ground, killing the monster’s momentum in an instant. And none too soon; a few metres more and it would have fallen into that deep canyon that ran alongside the cobblestone road.

“Wow, I was sure it was gonna fall off the cliff!” remarked Xera.

“Tell me about it,” agreed Kora. “I guess even that loony box isn’t stupid enough to throw itself off a cliff.”

The two familiars were currently taking a break between their lewd acts, though it was mostly to let the fiend recover. Even a rape-happy demon from another dimension couldn’t keep up with the insatiable succubus’s demands. That was the reason both of them were idly observing Boxxy’s antics while still connected at their lower ends.

“I guess all that INT gain wasn’t just for show after all, huh?” mused Xera while slowly massaging the half-mast member lodged in her rectum.

“Nah, can’t be that. I mean I’m always the same regardless of how much INT I have, so it can’t be that big a deal.”

“You’re right, it really doesn’t matter for you. You’d need over 9,000 of that Attribute before you get any thoughts worth a damn.”

“As if! I have plenty of thoughts!” insisted the fiend.

“Any of them that don’t relate to fighting and/or fucking?”

“ … No.”

“And that is precisely why I keep telling you to just disappear and leave your dick behind.”

“Oh I’m definitely going to leave my dick inside a behind!”

“Ugh, that was terribleeeaaaah!”

Break time was over. Kora’s member had suddenly sprung back to life, allowing the two demons to pick up where they left off. Meanwhile, Boxxy was already thinking hard about its latest experience. The spool-chest accomplished its goals of conserving energy while travelling at high speed, but the inability to properly navigate and steer under such conditions was a major drawback. It would need to keep its body upright and relatively stable if it planned to do either of those things. Its thoughts drifted back to that cart, causing it to once again contemplate whether it should form ‘detached’ wheels after all.

It instinctively knew that would be pointless, but it was worth a shot. It picked itself up off the ground and grew another, much smaller wheel. It attached it to the axle part in exactly the same way as the carriage did, then ‘let go’ of it.

[You have lost a part of your body. HP -25.]

Forcefully separating a part of its flesh caused Boxxy to lose HP and Biomass. The wheel itself quickly lost pigmentation and consistency and melted into a sort of unidentifiable dull-red sludge over the next few seconds, making the whole exercise a waste of time and energy. Such was the downside of having extremely malleable flesh. Once cut away it would quickly lose its assumed form and turned into to what could only be described as a thick, fleshy soup.

The Mimic was aware this would happen, but it tried it anyway. It actively challenged its instincts in order to get better acquainted with its body. It waited for several seconds for its HP to recover to full, just in case, then tried it again to hold onto the wheel without being directly connected to it.

[You have lost a part of your body. HP -25.]

It failed, just as expected. Simply touching the flesh of the wheel was not enough, it needed a medium through which to transmit nutrients and commands to it. It had to be attached and detached at the same time. Both a part of it and something else entirely. Was such a paradox possible?

Or rather, was stressing over this really that big a deal? Boxxy could survive just as well without ever needing to use wheels. Sure, they looked convenient, but that was only on mostly flat terrain, of which the wilderness had a shocking shortage of. Objectively speaking, the box had no reason for wanting wheels. They were, simply put, not necessary to its survival in any way, shape, or form. In fact, given how it had lost quite a bit of HP and nearly threw itself into a ravine, they were more of an enemy than an ally at that point.

But the Mimic did not give up. It was a creature born of patience, to the point where it was incredibly stubborn and would very rarely change its stance on something. The last time it did that was when the object of its desire ended up causing a magical disaster that wiped out an entire city in an instant. It was safe to assume that it would take a downside of that grand a scale to make it give up on experimenting with those wheels.

And so Boxxy entered a cycle of growing a wheel and trying to detach it without detaching it, watching it melt into sludge, waiting a short while to recover HP and starting all over again. That lasted for about thirty minutes before it stopped to take a small break and devour yet another normally suicidal amount of strawberry jam to maintain its Biomass.

While there was no progress on the wheel front, at least it was starting to enjoy the fruit-based condiment somewhat. The taste was still bland, but the thick consistency of it was oddly pleasing. It reminded the Mimic of the only piece it managed to rip off that Fleshmaiden and how it had reverted into a tasty, viscous goop that was a lot denser than it seemed to be. If there was ever such a thing as jam made out of flesh, it would be that. It even remembered finding a piece of her stuck between its teeth later, which was a pleasant surprise. How could something so goopy be so sticky? It was almost like it wanted to become a part of –

“… Huh.”

Struck with a burst of inspiration, the Mimic spent the rest of the night fiddling with and refining the all-important wheel-to-axle joint. After numerous failures and having to replenish its Biomass many times, it finally achieved a halfway working prototype.

It had created a limb that was completely unlike anything else it or its familiars had ever seen before and something that had no right being part of a living creature. The middle portion was a solid disc with a radius of about six centimetres. Twenty-five-centimetre-long spokes then came out of it to form the rest of the wheel. The connecting joint between it and the axle leg was also very different from its previous attempts. The unnatural hinge was covered by an equally unnatural wet bulge – a ball of writhing red flesh around eight centimetres in diameter. It tightly hugged both parts of the solid inner part of the wheel, creating a vacuum-tight seal that was also slippery enough to allow the wheel to turn with minimal friction.

And turn it did.

Boxxy lifted its latest iteration above the ground and stretched out a tongue tentacle. It grabbed one of the spokes and gave it a good yank. It spun smoothly and silently around its axis. Nothing tore up and the wheel didn’t wither. Except that the tentatively-named ‘flesh jam’ started leaking around it and splattering everywhere. The exact mix for it needed to be refined, but that was just a minor detail at that point.

The solution Boxxy had managed to stumble onto was the process known as osmosis. It was a mechanism that allowed nutrients to pass between the Mimic and its severed limb by using the ‘flesh jam’ as a medium. It essentially kept the wheel ‘alive,’ even after the Mimic had severed the solid connection to it. It was even able to send and receive nerve signals, allowing its owner to retain some feeling in it.

Satisfied with the slightly flawed result, Boxxy decided it was time for a field test. It made three other wheels and returned to its box-cart form. The issue of propulsion was quickly resolved by sprouting two short spider-like legs from its underside, much like how it had done earlier. It used them to push itself forward along the cobblestone road. The wheels spun smoothly, clattering slightly at the small bumps between the rough cobbles. Boxxy bent its axle-shaped limbs carefully, altering its course ever so slightly while a lone eye on its side gave it perfect vision as to where it was going.

Like this, it had propulsion, navigation, and steering.

“YEESHAAAAAAAAA!” it screamed as it rolled down the road at a near-walking pace.

Its over-eagerness had gotten the best of it several times already, so for once it was being careful. This lasted for all of ten seconds before it began gradually building up speed as it used its two limbs to push itself faster and faster. Soon it was moving faster than it had ever done so before, and only using about half the energy it needed to maintain its full speed. The joy of succeeding at a difficult task as well as the rush of moving at such speed filled Boxxy with an overflowing feeling of glee. The intoxicating rush made it want to shout something about yabba-ing a dabba, even though it had no idea what any of those words were.

It kept practising with its newfound mobility. Acceleration, abrupt turns, and instant braking were all made possible with the right use of its wheeled limbs. It could even hop into the air at speed to get over rough portions of the cobblestone road. Eventually the Mimic realised it had ended up straying too far from its familiars. It could order them to catch up or re-summon them on the spot, but it felt like a good opportunity to get some more box-carting practice on the way back. Besides, it had eaten a good chunk of the preserved food it pilfered earlier, so its Storage was now empty enough to bring a lot more of those curious – albeit not very useful – items it left behind.

“Get ready, we leave soon,” it commanded as soon as it got back.

The two demons, who had been going at it all night, finally remembered they still had a contract to fulfil, so they stopped their silly antics and promptly got ready to hit the road.

“Hey, boss?” asked Kora. “Why were you trying to copy the cart all night?”

It had been obvious what it was trying to do given how obsessed it was with those wheels. Even the two demons who spent the whole night doing lewd things had managed to figure out what its goal was. The Mimic then explained it was developing a more energy efficient mode of transport for itself, though perhaps not precisely in those words.

“So … you want to travel without getting as tired?” confirmed Kora after the needlessly long explanation.

“Yes,” it answered.

“You could just rest on the cart and have me pull it around you know.”

“…”

“Actually if we did that, we could even bring all this stuff with us.”

“…”
“Not to mention that –”
*SNIKT*

“Gahaaaah!” screamed Kora at the mithril dagger that mysteriously appeared in her left eye. “Whyyy! AARGH!”

“No reason,” came the casual reply.

Truthfully speaking, Boxxy wasn’t quite sure why it had done that. There was just something about having Arms point out the painfully obvious solution that really ticked it off.

Chapter Two
Fine Print

Part One

Three trolls were rushing through the forest. The creatures were roughly two metres tall and resembled apes due to their thick necks, short legs, and powerful arms that were almost as long as they were tall. A troll’s skin was a thick, brown hide that looked like it could take quite a lot of punishment, and the numerous scars covering these three individuals suggested that they put that claim to the test on a regular basis. Short, brown fur could be seen covering their backs, shoulders, and forearms, giving off a pungent smell. Their faces were truly ugly, with massive foreheads, beady pitch-black eyes, large flat noses and massive underbites that made their disgusting yellow teeth visible to all.

These three monsters, however, were not rushing towards some prey they’d caught a whiff of, but running for their very lives. Swinging from branches, charging through bushes, and jumping over rocks, all while practically foaming at the mouth from fear. The agility with which they moved seemed to belie their thick, hulking frames, as nothing motivated the body quite like the imminent threat of death. It was just too bad that mere motivation was nowhere near enough to allow them to escape their pursuer.

“Mind Blast ~♪” came an oddly melodic voice from above.

[Your target has been stunned for 7 seconds.]

A light blue flash enveloped the head of one of the ape-like creatures. It let out a pathetic yelp and fell down on the ground as if it had momentarily forgotten how limbs worked. A rectangular shadow then leapt down onto it and stuck two shining daggers into either side of its skull, killing it instantly.

The other two trolls kept running without missing a beat. So what if one of their kin was just killed? Stopping to fight that thing was suicide. They should know. Some of the others had already tried and failed horribly. The one to fall just now was the tenth victim and the two running away with all their might were the last survivors. As one might imagine, they were quite keen to keep it that way, but a certain murderous box had other intentions as it gave chase.

A few minutes and a couple of Mind Blasts later, the last of the trolls was wiped out. No matter how much their fear aided in their escape, the smaller, lighter and more versatile Mimic had the clear advantage in this obstacle-ridden terrain. Also, its AGI Attribute was much higher than that of its quarry, which was a big contributor towards its speed advantage. It chucked the two corpses into its Storage and went back to the shallow cave the monsters had been inhabiting until recently.

Trolls were a species of monster that was common throughout the world. It had many variants that depended on their environment. Subspecies such as Cave Trolls, Forest Trolls, Magma Trolls, Ice Trolls, Zombie Trolls, and even Bridge Trolls all had their own unique characteristics and varied widely in strength. However, three things held true among all trolls.

The first two traits they shared were their tough hides that resisted physical blows and the high-speed regeneration that could heal wounds many times faster than other creatures. Indeed, trading blows with a troll that was of equal or higher Level was tantamount to suicide. The best way to kill one was to exploit their universal weakness: magic. Fire or acid was particularly effective in that regard, but employing methods that involved either of those things would often leave very little of the creatures behind. That was simply bad business. After all, troll hides could be fashioned into sturdy – albeit heavy – leather armour, and their blood was a substance with many arcane and alchemical uses.

In fact, said blood was the whole reason for Boxxy’s little detour.

While travelling along the road, the Mimic had come across a monster dragging the bloodied carcass of what appeared to be a wild boar. Xera immediately identified it as a troll; that wasn’t particularly impressive considering their appearance was general knowledge to any civilized being above the age of five. Which was a good thing, too, because that denomination did not include her three-month-old master. The animate chest and its two minions then chased after their target until it led them to its den – a shallow cave it shared with eleven more of its kin.

So, all things said and done, Boxxy now had a dozen completely intact troll corpses it could harvest for blood. Since its goal wasn’t to just kill and eat them, it had to avoid riddling them with wounds like it usually did to its targets. Statistically speaking though, that statement wasn’t quite right. The overwhelming majority of the Mimic’s victims were vaporized by a dungeon core going through critical meltdown, but ‘riddled with wounds’ was definitely second place on that list. Followed closely by ‘ripped apart’ and ‘torn asunder,’ which were neck-and-neck for the bronze medal.

The point was that all of those methods caused massive blood loss, which would be counterproductive considering its goal. In the end it had to settle for disabling them with magic and piercing their skulls, minimizing the holes through which they could bleed out. Surprisingly, it ended up having to use Mind Blast rather than Shadowbind to do so.

[Mind Blast]
Requirements: Level 22 Warlock, INT 100, MNT 100
School: Domination
Type: Targeted
Cost: 200 MP
Range: 40 metres
[Effects]
Assaults the target’s consciousness directly, stunning it for 5 seconds.
Has no effect on Undead, Demons, and Golems.

[Shadowbind]
Requirements: Level 20 Warlock, INT 120
School: Ruin
Type: Targeted
Cost: 100MP
Range: 25 metres
[Effects]
Chains of darkness wrap around the target, restricting movement for up to 10 seconds.
Grows in power in dark places or at night, gaining up to 50% additional effectiveness depending on the environment.

The latter seemed to be more powerful at a glance. It had a lower MP cost and a longer effective duration, at least on paper. The problem was that these chains were more fragile than the Mimic thought, seeing as how those trolls broke free of the physical restraints within moments. Their speed left something to be desired, but their brute strength would not allow them to be subdued by this Spell without using Power Overwhelming or taking advantage of the darkness-associated bonus.

The problem was that the former would consume too much MP and the latter was out of the question in the daylight. Even then it might not be enough to tie down the trolls for long. Mental attacks, on the other hand, were incredibly effective. Those monsters may have been powerful in body, but they were pathetic when it came to mental fortitude. Or defending against magic in general.

And thus the Mimic learned an important lesson: Mind Blast was effective against opponents that relied on brawn, and Shadowbind looked to be more useful against Caster-type enemies that typically had weaker bodies. And if someone who was proficient in both might and magic showed up, then they would just have to be sliced up the old-fashioned way. Thankfully, these trolls could be taken down without spilling much of their blood, though it took some time. Kora’s blunt force attacks were particularly useful since they didn’t cause any external bleeding, but it still took her a lot of effort to overwhelm their defences.

Unless, of course, Boxxy used the Dark Infusion Spell on her.

[Dark Infusion]
Requirements: Level 17 Warlock, INT 60, MNT 80
School: Domination
Type: Targeted
Cost: 75 MP
Range: 10 Metres
[Effects]
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.

This Spell actually boosted those four Attributes by 28% thanks to the effects of the Domination Mastery Skill, which was currently at Level 4. The duration of the power-up was still half a minute, so it would be safe to assume the stun that followed it was equally unaffected by the related Mastery. The upshot in physical ability Arms displayed was truly impressive, however. It made Boxxy curious as to just how powerful it would get if it were to use Dark Infusion on itself, though it immediately found out such a thing was impossible.

Domination Spells – Dark Infusion included – had no effect on the one using them. After all, that entire school of magic was centred around forcing the caster’s will onto others, so something like affecting one’s own mind was impossible. Admittedly, even if Boxxy could empower itself, it wasn’t sure whether Dark Infusion would have as pronounced an effect as it did on Arms. Not only was STR the fiend’s most well-developed attribute, but she also had a special Skill that made each point of it way more potent.

[Idiotic Strength]
Fiends are by nature demons with more brawn than brains, but this trait is noticeably more pronounced in Pit Fiends.
Requirements: Be born as a Pit Fiend
Type: Passive
Range: Self
[Effects]
Increases the effects of the STR Attribute by 5% per Level of this Skill.
Reduces the effects of the INT Attribute by 5% per Level of this Skill.

Although this seemed like it would be just as detrimental as it was beneficial, it was also a Skill that was almost uniquely tailored for someone like Arms. She was a demon who fought entirely with physical means and didn’t really need to spend MP in order to pummel something into dust. Therefore, the already tiny MP pool becoming even tinier was a moot point. Even the active Skills from her Fiend Job didn’t care that she currently had less than 150 MP.

[Second Wind]
Fiends are by nature too stubborn to die.
Requirements: Level 10 Fiend
Type: Active
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 0 MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Instantly recovers 25% of missing HP.
Increases the HP recovered by this Skill by 20% per Level of this Skill.
This Skill may not be activated more than once every 24 hours.

[Demonic Carapace]
Fiends are by their nature incredibly thick-skinned.
Requirements: Level 15 Fiend
Type: Active
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 50% of max MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Reduces all incoming damage by 30% for 10 seconds.
Increases the duration of this Skill by 10% per Level of this Skill.

Second Wind was an enviable Skill, one the Mimic badly wanted for itself. Unfortunately, it was something that only a fiend could use. Which wasn’t all that bad, as it was possible to bypass the 24-hour usage restriction on it if Arms died and was re-summoned. This was because, barring a few notable exception, the powers and abilities gained from one’s Status were bound to their physical bodies. Re-summoning the fiend and giving her a brand new body would give her a fresh, unused copy of all her Skills, this one included.

As for Demonic Carapace, it was a Skill that appeared after the dungeon core meltdown caused the Mimic’s Level to skyrocket. Activating this Skill caused Kora’s entire body to temporarily become covered in grey metal scales that glistened with an unnatural red sheen. The material seemed to be the same ‘Fiend Steel’ substance that her gauntlets and boots were made of.

Incidentally, the creation of said items was handled by her Demonic Armaments Skill, and their performance would increase in direct proportion to its Level. Arms could take them off any time she wished, though doing so would make them disappear in seconds. They would also take a few hours to ‘grow’ back, so removing them accomplished nothing but to neuter both the demon’s attack and defence.

As for Snack, all of her equipment was largely decorative, serving no practical purpose other than helping her bamboozle her victims.

Which wasn’t to say that familiars were barred from wielding gear made by and for mortals. It was just the case that very few summoners saw the need to do something silly like give actual arms or armour to their demons. While it would make them more effective, it also meant that those items would most likely be lost when the demon was slain in combat. Which happened a lot, as they were often treated like the expendable pawns that they were. This was especially true of fiends who traditionally had no other method of attack except engaging enemies in close combat. So it was a good thing they came with their own custom-made equipment; otherwise they wouldn’t be anywhere near as good at their jobs.

Boxxy returned to the former troll den while reviewing what it knew about its minions. Even if it lacked much of the world’s common sense and general knowledge, the Mimic’s combat instincts and battle awareness were rapidly developing. It recognized it had to be well-versed in the strengths and weaknesses of all participants in a fight if it wanted to secure victory, so analyzing its familiars was something it did a lot during the downtime when they were travelling.

Speaking of which, Boxxy found one of said minions – namely Arms – was busy handling the nine troll corpses the Mimic had left behind. She was squeezing them one after the other, coaxing the blood out of their stiffening bodies as if she was getting juice out of a lemon. The bodily fluids were collected in a large barrel that used to be full of strawberry jam until the animate chest devoured it all to fuel its biowheel research.

“Drain these too,” it commanded while taking the last three corpses out of its Storage.

“Oh hey, boss. It’s fine if a few extra bits get into the stuff, right?” asked Kora, wringing out a troll’s arm as if it were a wet cloth. “I can’t seem to get the blood out without getting clumps of hair and broken bones in it.”

“It’s fine,” declared the Mimic.

“Alright, cool. Are these the last ones, then?”

“Yes.”

“Thank fuck! This blood-wrangling thing is really fucking dull! Ah, it would go faster if Master buffed me up again! So … can you do that?” she added with a hint of anticipation in her voice.

“Okay.”

Boxxy saw no reason to deny her request since its MP was almost back to full and she would be doing all the work anyway. The knock-off Xera appeared instantly as if she had been hiding inside the chest the whole time and raised a hand towards the giddy fiend.

“Dark Infusion ~♪!”

A black mist enveloped Kora in an instant. It seeped into her skin, turning it several shades darker. Her already well-defined muscles bulged out even more as her entire body became one size wider, straining the thin fabric of her white top and hotpants. The already skin-tight clothing dug into her flesh, conforming perfectly to her form. It was at a stage where she might as well have been nude for all the good it did.

“Ohh, yeaaaah!” she growled, rubbing her hands all over her body. “This stuff makes me feel amazing! Like I can beat the shit out of a steel golem with three arms tied behind my back!”

She then went back to squeezing the blood out of yet another dead troll with great gusto. The syrupy red liquid and other miscellaneous bits that poured out of it was collected inside the wooden barrel at significantly greater speeds. The disgusting soup was actually going to fill the former jam container to the brim at this rate, which suited Boxxy just fine. After all, it needed that blood to get started on performing demonic rituals and increasing the Proficiency Level of its Demonology Skill. Getting that all the way to Level 8 seemed like it would take a long time, but it would be well worth the investment. Having an extra familiar was going to be a huge boon, considering both of its current minions were quite excellent.

The animate chest even became a tiny bit jealous whenever it took a glance at Arms’s status.

[General Information]
Koralenteprix Khusuuszun Caonthioxxaa
Fiend (Pit), Female, 321 years old
Level 17.61 Fiend
Level 12.45 Berserker
1230/1282 HP (+1.9/sec)
144/178 MP (+0.3/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 254, DEX 105, AGI 148, END 198, INT 42, WIS 33, MNT 165

That STR Attribute was especially enviable, as it was pretty much double what the Mimic had. Admittedly, she had Dark Infusion boosting her abilities, but she still had just under 200 STR even without it. Looking at that Attribute score and then considering the muscle-bound behemoth it was empowering left little doubt that Kora’s attacks would be far more devastating than Boxxy’s. The only way the Mimic could keep up with her was if Assassination or Ruin magic came into play, but even then those would only provide a burst of destructive power compared to the fiend’s ceaseless barrage of fists.

The shapeshifter would reach an equivalent conclusion if it compared itself with Xera, who was arguably already a more dangerous Spell-slinger than Boxxy was.

“Ah … Master! It ran out – more please!”

“Dark Infusion~♪!”

Boxxy was steadily starting to feel the downside of splitting its Level and Attributes between martial combat and the mystic arts. Using both at the same time was pretty much impossible, after all. Crystallize Magic helped, but that was a temporary solution that lasted only as long as it had Spell Crystals. It was theoretically possible to prepare more of those while in combat, but the Mimic might as well just cast its Spells directly at the enemy to preserve MP. Assassination was the opposite in that regard; the Mimic wanted to use it repeatedly in combat, but the nature of the Skill made that an impossibility.

In short, Boxxy’s combat effectiveness would deteriorate rapidly as a battle went on. A lot of its damage was front-loaded, after all. While it was true such things weren’t much of a problem right now, that would change rapidly if it came face-to-face with another worthy opponent like that steel grate or the Fleshmaiden. The Mimic was starting to understand it would need to rely on its familiars a lot more than initially anticipated, so it was honestly quite pleased with how they had turned out.

“Master? More?” Kora asked expectantly.

“Dark Infusion~♪!”

Both demons could keep fighting for a long time, thereby covering one of its weaknesses. They could also be used as expendable sacrifices to cover the Mimic’s retreat should the need arise. It was the least they could do, considering how much work Boxxy put into training its demon-related Skills. Strengthening them was the only reason it bothered with this troll blood business to begin with.

“Master, I found some more trolls,” reported Snack through the thought-link. “There’s roughly six of them, about two kilometres south of where you are.”

The succubus was currently under orders to seek out other potential prey from the sky, although that was mostly an excuse to get her away from the troll den. If she were to use her fire magic, the only thing left of those trolls would be ash and cinders. Even a three-month-old box knew it couldn’t get blood from those, though Boxxy began to question if it really needed any more of the stuff.

“Arms, are you done yet?”

“Pretty much, this is the last one,” answered the fiend.

Admittedly her brutish method of extracting the monsters’ bodily fluids was by no means ideal, but it seemed to be effective.

“How much blood?” asked Boxxy.

“Barrel’s kinda full, actually.”

In other words, sixty litres of troll blood. Admittedly it wasn’t ‘pure’ since there were some miscellaneous bits floating inside, but that was surely more than enough.

“Snack, forget the monsters and come back. I need you for the ritual.”

“Yes, Master.”

The first ritual on the list was a ceremony called ‘An Offering to Nagnamor.’ It was fairly straightforward, requiring only some troll blood, a sharp knife and a pure maiden to be used as a sacrifice. Boxxy now had ample amounts of the first two things, but the third had proven to be a problem since it wasn’t quite sure where it would get a suitable victim. At least until it realised that Snack was rather overqualified for the job. Not only was she effectively immortal and therefore ‘reusable,’ but she was also a woman who was neither poisoned nor diseased.

Which was definitely what the ritual called for when it referred to a ‘pure maiden.’

Okay, maybe not ‘definitely,’ but that was probably sort of what it meant.

There was a chance she was close enough, at the very least.

Part Two

“Uhm, Master?” said Xera with more than a hint of worry in her voice. “Are you sure you want to be –”

“Be quiet! I’m busy!”

Boxxy really did not have the luxury to converse with Snack right now. This was its first time making occult sigils and it needed to focus. Even if the Demonology Skill provided the knowledge of how these symbols should look, actually drawing them turned out to be a surprisingly difficult task. Especially when using thick, sticky troll blood as the paint and the uneven, grassy ground of the forest as the canvas. At least it had a decent brush, courtesy of the ransacked caravan from a few days ago.

First it made a four-and-a-half-metre-wide circle of blood, which was pretty straightforward. Then it stuck a wooden stake right in the middle, tied Xera to it and smeared her face with yet more blood. Then it had to draw four large symbols on the ground. They were quite squiggly and complicated and messing up even once meant that it would have to create the ritual site from scratch.

Kora was doing her best to simply watch the Mimic work without uttering a peep, which was easier said than done. Laughter welled up within her every time she glanced at the ‘pure maiden’ tied to the stake and she tried her best to keep quiet, lest her master tie her up instead. She wasn’t quite sure what this ritual was supposed to do, but at the very least it was bound to be interesting. Especially considering how messed up the preparation was.

Xera was thinking much the same, although she wasn’t looking forward to the ceremony as much. Mostly because she had a feeling something profoundly stupid was about to take place, with her as the centre.

Boxxy kept preparing for the ritual for about ten more minutes before it was done. The patterns it drew on the ground matched perfectly with those depicted by the Demonology Skill, so it concluded that this part of the preparation was done. All that was left was to speak out the incantation and kill the sacrifice. The incantation itself was long and had a bunch of difficult words, which presented a problem. The Mimic was worried it would flub the incantation and ruin it, but at least it was confident that it could stab someone through the heart without missing.

“ … Huck!”

That was when Boxxy remembered demons didn’t actually have hearts. It understandably felt a bit cheated; all that hard work for naught. Stupid demons, they should’ve told it sooner they didn’t have hearts. Of course, it completely ignored the fact that it never even asked them and just one-sidedly decided it was their fault. Ah, but there might be a way around this.

“Snack, can you grow a heart inside your body?”

Xera was technically a shapeshifter herself, so her master assumed she should have been capable of such a basic task.

“No, Master. My shapeshifting only affects my outside appearance.”

Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be that easy.

“ … Then can you grow one on the outside?”

“Umm … Maybe? I’ve never tried … ”

“Then try it now!”

The succubus, who had her hands and feet tied behind her back against the wooden pole, looked down at her breasts. Well, she was trying to look at her stomach, but that was kind of impossible considering the sheer size of her cleavage. A small red pimple sprouted out of her tummy and grew rapidly in size until it became a sort of messy lump. It seemed that the succubus was struggling to replicate the organ in question.

“No, no, that’s wrong,” said Boxxy after a while.

One of its tongue tentacles extended out until the moist tip was right in front of Xera’s face. It then grew out slowly and steadily to form a perfect replica of a standard human heart.

“Make one like this.”

“Err … can you do that again?”

Xera spent the next half hour carefully mimicking the Mimic until she was able to copy the vital organ to a satisfying degree. It was even beating, though it only pumped air. Honestly though, the succubus was a little irked that her master was better than her at this stuff, but it couldn’t be helped. That murderous box was rapidly becoming something akin to a virtuoso of the flesh, so her superficial skills had no way of matching its natural-born talents. Moreover it was intimately familiar with hearts in particular. They were one of its favourite snacks, while Xera had never really seen one. Well, not intact and unblemished at least.

“Good,” said Boxxy after confirming her external heart was in order. “Okay, now be quiet and stand still.”

Next came the verbal part. It would be difficult to pronounce these words under normal circumstances, so the Mimic’s giant lipless mouth was bound to mess it up. Thankfully, it already had just the solution to that problem. The pseudo-Xera made her appearance yet again, forcing the succubus to stare ‘herself’ right in the eye with no option of turning away or objecting. As for Kora, she simply continued to watch the bizarre scene.

Once Boxxy felt confident enough to start, it coughed a few times to clear its newly made throat and started speaking with a clear, crisp voice.

“Praesent gravida at ipsum in cursus. Phasellus urna ipsum, maximus et velit vel, sodales pharetra purus.”

A cold gust of air swept through the ritual site.

“Maecenas varius dui vel enim finibus consequat. Morbi id cursus libero.”

The wind started twisting and spinning around, just outside the circle of blood. The dust and sand it kicked up made it seem like there was a miniature tornado with Xera in the centre.

“Donec scelerisque ligula non odio vulputate blandit. Cras lacinia elit at massa bibendum feugiat.”

Boxxy’s voice grew louder and deeper with each spoken word and seemed to echo unnaturally throughout the area. It was almost as if a second being was speaking alongside the Mimic in an unholy chorus.

“Sed congue vulputate faucibus. Fusce tincidunt commodo nibh quis elementum.”

The four bloody sigils on the ground started boiling and hissing, releasing a thin red vapour that was swept up in the bizarre air current.

“Maecenas at ante ut dui semper varius. Cras condimentum euismod lorem id egestas.”

Boxxy raised an iron dagger above its head, gripping it with both arms. The red smog started flowing towards it, seeping into the unblemished metal and tainting it with a bright crimson sheen.

“Aliquam mollis, sem quis viverra egestas, mauris nulla porta odio, in euismod nisl sapien sit amet justo.”

The dagger started vigorously draining the Mimic’s MP. It glowed brighter and brighter, absorbing every last drop of Boxxy’s mystical energy within the span of a few seconds. Once it had absorbed it all, it began vibrating and shaking within its grasp as if it wanted to escape.

“Sed ornare dolor erat! Quis placerat augue dignissim et!”

Boxxy slowly lowered the mana-imbued weapon and pointed it at the external heart of its familiar.

“Praesent ultricies Nagnamor!”

Uttering the final three words, it thrust the dagger forward, piercing the succubus’s heart completely.

“Wait!” screamed Kora in a panic. “Did you just say Nagnamor!”

But it was too late. Whatever the fiend was trying to say was lost in Xera’s wailing and screaming. A bright red light poured out of her wound, as well as her eyes and mouth as she gave voice to her suffering. Her bound body rose gradually in the air, uprooting the wooden stake she was tied to and lifting it along with the rest of her. She reached an altitude of about four metres as the light pouring out of her grew in intensity until it rivalled that of the sun.

The earth shook, the winds blew, the trees caught fire, and the clouds ran away. It all ended abruptly when Xera’s body exploded with a white flash and a huge bang. The shockwave was more powerful than any magic the Mimic could muster and covered a stupidly wide area. Both Boxxy and Kora were thrown back and tumbled along the ground for several metres. When the spider-chest regained its footing, it immediately turned its attention to the source of the explosion.

Snack was gone. In her place was a seven-metre-tall humanoid creature. It had massive black goat hooves for feet, with thick, grey fur covering its legs up to its knees. Its thighs were enclosed with chalk-black metal greaves adorned with what appeared to be countless skulls. Its gauntlets, bracers, shoulder pads, and chest plate all had the same macabre design. A long, relatively thin tail protruded from its rear and ended in a tuft of grey hair, much like a lion’s. A pair of gigantic wings similar to Xera’s sprouted from its back.

Its head was a wide, flaming skull with a protruding snout and jaws filled with sharp teeth. The head looked more like a dragon than a human. One thick, short horn adorned the tip of its snout while two more protruded outwards from the back of its head, curving in towards each other as if to form a giant circle of pitch-black bone. The unquenchable flames pouring out of its nostrils, eyes, mouth, and the back of its head threatened to burn this world to ashes.

And most terrifying of all was the gigantic glaive it held in one hand. A single swing from that weapon was enough to cut down dozens of men. Four blood-red sigils – exactly the same as the ones the Mimic had drawn earlier – adorned the length of the blade, emitting an ominous-looking crimson fog.

“WHO DARES CALL UPON ME!” it roared, spewing lava-like drool from its mouth.

The creature – no, the demon – looked around for the one who had performed the ritual, but the only things around were a bewildered pit fiend, a barrel of blood, and a plain wooden chest.

Boxxy was befuddled. The knowledge from Demonology stated this ritual would temporarily bring forth an unbound demon from the Beyond, but it said nothing about it being so outrageously terrifying. Which was precisely why it was currently trying its best to chest like it had never chested before!

“WAS IT YOU, INSECT!”

However, it was all for naught. The giant demon completely disregarded the flabbergasted Kora and pointed its massive weapon directly at the Mimic. With hiding clearly off the table, Boxxy began to weigh its options. Fighting this thing? Bad idea. Running away? Nope, not gonna happen considering the difference in size. Sitting and hoping the big fiery scary thing went away? That was just denying reality. Ultimately, the flabbergasted Mimic did the only thing it could think of. The same thing many of its victims had done, just before it had finished them off.

“Yes, it was me. Please don’t kill me.”

It would shamelessly beg and grovel for its life.

“HAH! HAHAHAHAHA! IT IS GOOD THAT YOU KNOW YOUR PLACE! TELL ME, LITTLE BUG, WHAT DID YOU HOPE TO GAIN FROM THIS COMMUNION?”

“Um, get stronger?”

“AH! SO YOU’RE AFTER POWER, HUUUH?”

“ … Yes.”

“I SEE! YOU SOUGHT TO MAKE MY STRENGTH INTO YOUR OWN, DID YOU!”

“Well no, I just –”

“SILENCE!” the demon screamed with a voice that seemed to extend to the far reaches of both heaven and earth. “YOU FACE NAGNAMOR! OVERLORD OF THE FLAMING LEGION!”

“Is that so?”

The Mimic replied with a casual tone that was completely ill-fitting with the situation. It had realised something that completely calmed it down.

“THAT IS RIGHT, PUNY MORTAL! THE ONE THAT STANDS BEFORE YOU IS OBLIVION INCARNATE! NONE WHO HAVE STOOD BEFORE NAGNAMOR HAVE BEEN SPARED!”

“Oh, that’s neat,” Boxxy said matter-of-factly. “Same here.”

Needless to say, its attitude did not do much to stifle the Overlord’s mounting ire.

“YOU DARE MOCK ME! TRIFLING BOX! YOUR ARROGANCE WILL BE YOUR UNDOING!”

Nagnamor raised his glaive with both arms and prepared to strike down the upstart chest. The Mimic had no hope of survival if that house-sized weapon hit it head-on. It was dead meat however one looked at it.

“RRRRAAAAR!”

*WHOOSH*

The mass of Fiend Steel moved so fast it seemed to vanish from its position and appear just centimetres away from the Mimic’s faux-wood shell. The wind pressure of the strike alone was powerful enough to knock over and uproot several trees in the surrounding area. It also sent Kora flying into the woods, as she hadn’t been able to clear the area as quickly and silently as she had hoped.

Yet despite all that, Boxxy remained perfectly unharmed.

“ … WHAT!”

Nagnamor stared dumbly at it. The flames in his eye sockets flickered a few times as if he was blinking in disbelief. He raised his weapon and once more swung down with all his might, but the result was pretty much the same. The third time did not pan out so well either.

“Sit down,” commanded the Mimic.
“DO NOT PRESUME TO GIVE ME –”
*SLAM*

Nagnamor’s gigantic ass met the ground with a massive impact that caused a small tremor to travel through the soil. It happened involuntarily, as if it someone else was in control of his body.

“ … WHAT!”

“Punch yourself.”

*SLAM*

The giant demon’s massive armoured fist made impact with his own skull, sending plumes of flames scattering about, nearly setting the forest on fire in the process.

“Again.”

*SLAM*

The second blow made his jawbone crack.

“And again.”

*SLAM*

And the third one broke off the horn on his snout.

“IM … POSSIBLE…” he muttered. “HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS!”

The Offering to Nagnamor was not that of a life, but a host. A physical body the powerful demon could possess in order to manifest himself in the physical realm. He would always appear in his true form and at the height of his power, but the amount of time he could maintain this state depended entirely on how much MP was used up in the ritual. Even if his visits to the mortal realm were short-lived, Nagnamor would be free to act as he pleased in order to make the most of them.

This time, however, was different.

The Mimic had realised two simple things during their brief conversation. The first was that it had been talking to this ‘Overlord’ though the thought-link normally reserved for its familiars. The second was that the notification confirming Xera had been banished from the physical realm never actually appeared. Trying to view her Status simply showed a screen with garbled nonsense and unknown symbols, but that wasn’t of particular concern.

Because the physical form of Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila had been taken over and transformed by Nagnamor, Overlord of the Flaming Legion. It was technically still the same body.

“I own you.”

And the stipulations of the summoning contract still applied to it.

Part Three

*Ring-ring*

Nagnamor could only maintain his physical form for about two minutes with the near 1,000 MP the Mimic supplied him with during the possession ritual. Once that was up, he would crumble into dust and disappear.

*Ring-ring*

That seemed to be the nature of how this particular ritual worked – the demon called forth from the Beyond would have tremendous power, but his body would deteriorate rapidly after a short while.

*Ring-ring*

The other Offering-type ritual the Mimic knew about – this one addressed to a being named Liusolra – would probably be the same. Unfortunately, it was quite a bit more involved, requiring more raw materials and multiple sacrifices to be made, so Boxxy couldn’t ‘whip it out’ to see what it was all about.

*Ring-ring*

It was ultimately all the same, though. Even if it was temporary, having a high-ranking demon’s servitude was simply a means to an end. Performing a ritual of that magnitude did wonders for its Demonology proficiency and it still had plenty of troll blood to go around. It had therefore repeated the Offering to Nagnamor a total of three times after the first and was currently getting ready for another encore.

*Ring-ring*

Snack seemed eager to complain about her role in it, though. Even Arms was trying to get her master to stop for some reason. As for Punchy, he was understandably the most pissed off of all and complained the loudest. However, all of them were summarily told to ‘shut their teeth-holes’ and were ignored completely as the stubborn box continued to do whatever it wanted.

*Ring-ring*

But the one thing that could not be ignored so easily was that constant ringing noise inside the Mimic’s mind. It had been going on for the last hour or so, pretty much ever since the first time Punchy’s physical body turned to dust. It obviously wasn’t going to be silenced as easily as Boxxy’s familiars, the Overlord included.

*Ring-ring*

The main reason it was so grating, however, was because this was different from a simple sound. It was as if something was poking at the monster’s mind directly in an effort to get its attention.

*Ring-ring*

Well, it didn’t seem like the sound would just go away on its own, and even a creature of near-infinite patience could only take so much damned ringing. So it made the inevitable decision to address the problem directly.

*Ring-ring*

Luckily for the simple crate, the knowledge regarding what to do popped up into its mind the instant it stopped forcibly ignoring it.

*Click*

“Yes?”

All it had to do was answer the call.

“Freaking finally!” came the gruff, raspy, and slightly annoyed voice from the Beyond. “Hey, buddy. It’s Carl from Demons ‘R’ Us.”

“Hi, Carl.”

This was the first time Demons ‘R’ Us had contacted the Mimic directly. Admittedly, this was only the fourth time the Mimic had spoken to the organization’s representative, but that was beside the point.

“What’s this about?” Boxxy asked.

“Yeaaaah … So, listen, I’m calling about the whole Overlord Nagnamor thing you’ve been getting up to. We’ve received some troubling complaints, and I need to get your side of the story. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I’m busy.”

“I won’t stop ringing until you answer me, by the way.”

“ … Alright, I’m listening.”

“Okay, so! How exactly did you summon the Overlord into the physical realm?”

“I did the ritual.”

“Which one?”

“With the squiggles and the chanting and the stabbing.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Pretty much all demonic rituals involved at least one of those things. A lot of the time it was all three at once.

“It was the offering thingy.”

“Then it was the Offering to Nagnamor after all, huh?”

“Yes, that.”

*Taktaktak takataktakatak*

“And how did you fulfil the ‘pure maiden stabbed in the heart’ part of the ceremony?” asked Carl.

“I told Snack to do it.”

“I’m sorry, Snack?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s that?”

“My familiar.”

“Um, which one?”

“The one with the hair and the legs.”

Carl took a deep breath before he continued. It was a matter of professional pride that he didn’t allow himself to scream at the deranged toddler.

“The blue or red one?” he asked after reconsidering his approach.

“Blue.”

*Tak tak tatatak takatak*

“Okay, and how do you suppose a succubus qualifies as a ‘pure maiden?’”

“She’s a female that wasn’t poisoned or diseased. She was also clean. Before the blood, at least.”

“Oh wow … Okay, it’s starting to make sense now.”

The thing about magic was that it relied heavily on the mind. Spells had a precise formula to them, so different people would get very similar results when casting the same one. The only real difference in that situation would be the magnitude of the magic invoked, barring the effects of Skills like Crystallize Magic. Rituals and such, however, were more freeform and could be easily influenced by one’s perception and preconceptions. To put it another way, if the Mimic who didn’t know any better sincerely believed that Xera was ‘pure,’ then she would be ‘pure.’ At least for the sake of completing the ritual.

“Leave it to those fucking idiots to leave in a loophole like that,” Carl mumbled under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Ah, don’t mind that. What about the heart part?”

“Made Snack grow one.”

*Taktak tak ta–*

“Wait, what? But succubi shouldn’t be able to change their insides to that degree!”

“Yeah. Had to show her how to make one from her skin. Because she’s stupid.”

“Wai-wai-wait, you ordered your familiar … to grow a heart on the outside of her body?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit! I never would’ve even thought of that! That’s actually kind of impressive, in its own way!”

*Taktak tak tak tatatatak tak*

“Okay,” continued Carl, “and what was your purpose in summoning Nagnamor?”

“I wanted Skill proficiency for Demonology.”

“What, just that?”

“Yes.”

“No kingdoms you wanted toppled or ancient beings of terrible power to suppress?”

“Nope.”

“I see … Hold, please.”

*Boop*

An odd sound started playing inside the Mimic’s head. It wasn’t like anything the monster had ever heard before, but it was actually quite pleasant. Ah, this must be that music thing it vaguely knew about. Who knew sound could be so tasty? It sat there enjoying the tune for several minutes before Carl came back on the line.

*Boop*

“I apologize for that. Would you forward me your Status, please?”

“Okay, sending.”

“Ah, I see you got a na– Boxxy T. Morningwood? Pft! Hold, please! Kuhaha–”

*Boop*

Well, this was unlike Carl. Usually the demon was quick and to the point about demon-related business. It wasn’t like Boxxy had anywhere to go, though. It was currently gathering up mana for the next ritual and the music was tasty anyway, so it didn’t particularly mind waiting.

*Boop*

“Phew … Again, sorry about that Mister Morningw– *Cough* Morningwood.”

“Just Boxxy’s fine.”

The animate chest didn’t mind being called ‘Mister Morningwood,’ but Carl seemed unable to say it with a straight face for some reason. This irked the monster somewhat. If he wasn’t going to say the name properly, then he shouldn’t be saying it at all.

“Right then. See here, Boxxy, I’m gonna be straight with you. You can’t summon Overlord Nagnamor using your demon as collateral.”

“Why not?”

“It violates part of the summoning contract. The one where you promise to safeguard your familiar’s immortal soul against harm.”

Come to think of it, Xera was talking about her ego being consumed by Nagnamor’s terrible will or something like that. Boxxy didn’t see how that was an issue, so it just kept doing what it wanted as usual.

“I know you probably don’t understand,” Carl added, “so I’ll clarify. Cramming two demons into the same physical vessel like that? Worst case scenario: both of them could get fragmented or malformed. That wasn’t what you were trying to do, right?”

“No.”

“Good, cuz that’d be bad.”

“How bad?”

“We’d have to kill you.”

“That’s bad.”

“Indeed.”

“I understand. I’ll stop using Snack to summon Punchy.”

“Punchy?”

“Yeah. The big one with the head and the arms. He punches himself real good,” said Boxxy with a hint of admiration.

“Uh-huh. So listen, there’s one more thing I need to talk to you about. I don’t know what you made the Overlord do over there and I have no intention of prying, but he’s threatening to quit being an officer in the Demon King’s army if he so much as smells you again. I doubt he’d actually do it, but we here at Demons ‘R’ Us want to make extra sure that doesn’t happen. That’s why we’re prepared to offer you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“That’s right. You have to agree that you’ll never perform the Offering to Nagnamor ever again, regardless of who or what your sacrifice is. In return, we’ll provide you with a one-time boost of Demonology Proficiency up to Level 5.”

“Okay. I accept.”

“Alright. Hold, please.”

Of course it agreed. Increasing Demonology Levels was the reason Boxxy was doing this whole thing in the first place, so getting what it wanted with less work was not a bad thing. It was downright tasty, as a matter of fact. Besides, it took a whole lot of time and preparation to summon Punchy and it only lasted a few minutes. Even if the performance was excellent, his mileage was pretty bad.

“There, all set. I’ve added our agreement to your summoning contract. You should be getting your compensation shortly.”

[Proficiency level increased. Demonology is now Level 5. WIS +4. MNT +4.]

“I got it.”

“Good, that’s great. Phew! Hey, thanks for agreeing to that. I gotta say, it’s so much easier working with you than my regular clients.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re uncomplicated and straightforward. It’s a breath of fresh air compared to those edgy idiots I have to work with usually. Always with the stupid comments like ‘You shall not pass!’ and ‘You have no power here!’ It’s like those dumbasses didn’t even properly read the summoning contract!”

Carl spent a few more minutes complaining about other Warlocks. Boxxy didn’t really mind since it was fairly interesting listening to him.

“– and then he went and did it anyway! Can you believe that?”

“I guess?”

“Look, what I’m trying to say is, it’s honestly refreshing to work with someone like you. This whole thing would’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t for the actual Demon King breathing down my neck. Anyway, sorry for that little rant; I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

“It’s alright.”

Carl let out another tired sigh before he moved on to wrapping up his service call.

“So, just so we’re clear – do not ever use that ritual again. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And don’t use your familiars as sacrifices ever again, either! That’s the important thing here! We wouldn’t give a flying fuck if your rectangular ass died out there, but if a demon bites the big one because of your antics then even killing you 100,000 times wouldn’t be enough payback! Understood?”

It was important to keep in mind that the summoning contract was indeed a partnership and not outright slavery. Generally speaking, what happened to a demon’s physical form didn’t matter to an immortal being in the grand scheme of things, but endangering the integrity of their soul was another story. It was the one thing that must never, under any circumstances, be tampered with. If that clause was violated, then their contractor getting killed would just be the beginning of his or her punishment. What followed next would be … well, suffice it to say oblivion would be a much more preferable option.

“You’re lucky we caught this thing early,” Carl said. “Another ten or so more rituals and the soul of Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila would have suffered irreversible damage, and you’d have been on your way to eternal torment!”

“ … Carl, is my contract in danger?”

“Nah, you’re fine. It’s not like you were doing it on purpose. Besides, you cooperated readily, and both of your familiars testified as to your, uh, character. Therefore, the higher-ups have agreed to let you off with just a stern warning.”

So it seemed that Demons ‘R’ Us was going to take Boxxy’s actions as a simple misunderstanding rather than malicious intent.

“I see. Thanks, Carl.”

“Sure, just try and avoid pissing off my boss any more, yeah? Or else he might seriously terminate you.”

“How do I do that?”

“Ah, that’s actually pretty easy. You just keep doing what you do, only without the two things we talked about just now. Like, for real – don’t. And don’t take so long to answer if we’re the ones calling you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good, good. Haaah. ‘Kay, bye!”

*Click*

Well, that conversation was educational. Boxxy nearly stepped on quite the landmine there due to its own ignorance, but things had more or less worked out for the best.

“Alright, Snack, you can get down from there. Arms, untie her.”

“Oh thank fuck!” said Xera. “I really don’t know how much longer I could take sharing a body with that insufferable asshole!”

“Hey, come on,” Kora complained as she untied the succubus from the stake. “Uncle Naggy isn’t that bad.”

“Yes he is! The whole reason he wanted a ‘pure maiden’ is because – wait, uncle? He’s your kin?”

“Yeah. He’s the eldest of my dad’s forty-nine siblings. I only met him once or twice though.”

“Wow, that kind of makes things a lot worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first thought he had when he saw you was how he’d like to, and I’m quoting his head here, ‘split that fine ass on his dick.’”

“Oh! That’s high praise coming from an archfiend!”

“It is?”

“Of course!”

“…”

“Oy! Don’t give me that disgusted look! If a fiend says they want to stick it up your butt, it means they think highly of you!”

“Wow,” the succubus exclaimed, shaking her head. “I always suspected your kind were idiots, but that’s just ridiculous. What sort of twisted logic considers anal rape a sign of affection?”

“Who knows?” answered Kora with a shrug. “Probably the same kind that actively craves it like you do.”

“ … Yeah, okay. You got me there … Wait a minute! Is that why you’ve done me exclusively in the rear these past few days?!”

“What can I say? I’ve grown to like – no, that’s not quite right. I tolerate you more than I thought I would. Even if you’re a succubus, you’re incredibly slutty and your insides feel fantastic. Can’t help but grow attached to a girl like that!”

“S-shut up!” Xera blurted, slightly flustered. “Keep those disturbing thoughts to yourself, you fucking asshole!”

“Thanks for the compliment, sugar-tits! Hahahaha!”

“We’re leaving now,” said Boxxy, putting an end to their little exchange. “There are things I need to get.”

Even if they had leftover troll blood, that one ritual was all the Mimic was really equipped to do. They’d have to find components – and sacrifices – to enact some of the other ones. Of particular interest was a ceremony that was meant to call forth ‘Unholy Wealth,’ whatever that was. The knowledge about this shiny-sounding thing had flowed into Boxxy’s mind when its Demonology rose in Levels, so it was still parsing the relevant information. The Mimic would need quite a few things to pull that one off, not to mention it lacked knowledge about the Warlock Job in general.

The time for playing around in the wilderness was over. The need to take up residence inside a city was now top priority.

Chapter Three
Gainful Employment

Part One

The city of Erosa, which was part of the Lodrak Empire, stood on the banks of a river known as the Whispering Canal. Named after its calm waters and predictable currents, this body of water flowed in from the Sawblade Mountains to the north and kept going in a relatively straight line until it flowed out into the ocean. Its sprawling delta, some five kilometres south of the city, had formed the massive Whispering Marshes that spanned an area of roughly five hundred square kilometres.

To the West of Erosa lay the Troll Woods, named for the dominant species of monster that lived in those parts. The depths of this sprawling forest were wild and largely untamed, but it was still a valuable source of high-quality timber and magical ingredients. The numerous small villages that dotted its outskirts dedicated their time to lumbering, gathering, farming, and tending to the fertile soil. However, they had to constantly be on guard against monster attacks and bandit raids, which is why most of them had small, localized militias.

The city itself was in the southwestern corner of the Empire. Going beyond the Whispering Marshes or through the Troll Woods to the west would lead one to the shores of the Shimmering Ocean, at the edge of the continent. The relatively nearby Sawblade Mountains ran northwest by southeast through the middle of the Empire’s territory, all the way to the western edge of the mainland.

With the mountains to the north and northeast and the Shimmering ocean to the south and west, this province was known as Cradle Valley. The only easily accessible land route in and out of this territory was to the east of the city of Erosa along the Imperial highway. This wide cobblestone road continued north out of the city and ran between the Whispering Canal to the east and Troll Woods to the west. Following this road north for about a week would lead travellers to the city of Monotal.

This Cradle Valley was one of the weakest and poorest areas of the Empire. Being mostly isolated from the heartland meant that traders, merchants, and travellers barely went through these parts. Although the city of Erosa was actually flourishing, this was mostly due to its geographical position near the entrance to the Valley. This was a far cry from the rest of the province, which was sparsely populated with only two cities, six towns and thirty-odd villages. The total population of the region was a mere 55,000, just barely more than the Imperial capital of Oshinas.

Or at least that was what it should have been about two weeks ago. The Calamity of Monotal that killed over eight thousand of the empire’s citizens was one thing, but the aftershocks of the event were still underway. Rumours spread of a foul green mist that spread outwards from the former city – a thick miasma that poisoned the very ground and air. The subsequent investigation by the emperor’s Spymaster had revealed the depth and breadth of this Calamity to the crown and the young emperor had passed a decree that the government would spearhead an effort to contain and repair the damage to the land.

The Empire’s response to this catastrophe would have been far slower if it wasn’t for Bernard Samson, the Hero of the Hammer and Teresa’s Chosen. Having lost his life in the Calamity, he revived at the Temple of Teresa in the capital the very same day, allowing him to relay the dire news of this disaster before the proverbial dust had settled. The investigation in question was also expedited thanks to the half-lion, half-eagle creatures known as griffins. Riding the house-sized winged beasts allowed the Spymaster’s team to pass over the inhospitable and treacherous Sawblade Mountains. Not having to go around them or risk scaling them the hard way allowed the dispatched officials to arrive at their destination in a manner of days rather than weeks.

Unfortunately, the actual relief effort would have to take the long way around. Although mighty, swift, and of noble bearing, griffins were high-maintenance and relatively few in number. Using them to properly address the situation was not economically feasible due to the sheer amount of manpower and materials that needed to be transported. Just organizing the relief effort and compiling the necessary resources would take weeks, possibly even months. There was no guarantee the Empire would be able to salvage the area, nor was there any way to tell how long it would take, even if they could.

In other words, the crown was unable to properly reassure the populace, causing unrest and fear to spread like wildfire throughout Cradle Valley.

“What if the wind spread that poisonous miasma around!” said some.

“What if some strange new illness appeared because of this?” questioned others.

“That place is cursed! The undead will rise in great numbers and spread throughout the land!” was a popular, but misinformed opinion.

As a result, over five thousand people had already migrated out of the province. The region’s total population of 55,000 had already fallen to just under 42,000 and was expected to get much lower. It was already at a stage where the lords and nobles had serious doubts the region would ever truly recover.

There were, however, those who profited immensely from this – namely adventurers in the 40 to 60 Level range. The city of Erosa that normally held about ten thousand residents at any given time had suddenly found itself bloated with hundreds upon hundreds of adventurers who came to profit off the event. After all, it wasn’t just the people that were looking to abandon this valley. All manner of monsters and wild animals had also begun pushing south and east, away from the Calamity’s epicentre. Bandits were also becoming an increasingly bigger problem, as hapless villagers who were either unable or unwilling to hire protection made for easy targets.

Under such circumstances, it was really no surprise that adventurers found themselves privy to an unnaturally large volume of Quests involving monster subjugation or working as armed escorts. And of course, overseeing all of this were all the various guilds that each individual belonged to. These privately owned organizations had the task of making sure all of their client’s requests were met in a timely manner and at competitive prices, while also keeping their members supplied with both equipment and information. They all stood to make solid profits with so much work going around, but the one that made the most money off other people’s suffering was, as usual, the Mercenary Guild.

Their office was a wooden two-story building on a busy road near the northern gate of Erosa. This organization had the rather unorthodox policy of running a bar and restaurant at all of its offices and often doubled as an inn. While other guilds also offered goods and services to their members, they focused on seemingly less frivolous things, like selling potions, crafting materials, weapons, armour, and reference materials.

However, this guild knew its members well. The stereotypical mercenary was a drifter, someone constantly on the road and with no roots of their own. Having a safe place where they could enjoy a warm meal, a cold drink, and a clean, soft bed was more than enough. And while they could get those things elsewhere, it was often accompanied by distrusting looks or busybodies poking their noses where they didn’t belong. Such things didn’t happen at the Mercenary Guild. The rooms they offered all had state-of-the-art locks and anti-eavesdropping wards, but most important of all, nobody asked any personal questions unless absolutely necessary.

This ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ attitude was also why the restaurant on the ground floor was so quiet right now, despite there being over thirty people in it. While some of them were exchanging information and a few others were recruiting temporary teammates, the vast majority of them ate their breakfast and minded their own goddamned business. The most that could be heard was a soft murmur and the clanking of spoons and forks.

*Creak*

The wooden front door swung open slowly and an enormous figure, well over two metres tall, walked into the building. He wore a heavy black cloak that obscured most of his body and his face and hair were wrapped up in a dark blue cloth to make a makeshift mask that left only the area around his eyes exposed. What little could be seen of the skin on his face was pale and his irises were a piercing yellow colour that seemed to notice every little detail around him. The feet that poked out under the hem of his cloak wore a pair of sturdy-looking brown leather boots that were a size or two larger than your typical adventurer, much like the rest of him.

Just looking at his tall figure and wide shoulders made it obvious his body was well built. It was a physique well-suited to close combat Jobs that relied on muscle power and stamina, such as a Warrior, Berserker or Paladin. Well, his presence in this guild made it clear that last one wasn’t the case. Paladins were way too self-righteous to be caught dead in a place like this, and they knew nothing about subtlety – a far cry from this stranger.

He moved along the wooden floorboards without making any of the heavy footsteps one would expect from a man of his stature. He also carried himself with a sort of grace that made it clear he wasn’t just some brawler. Indeed, his odd demeanour had allowed the more observant mercenaries gathered here to deduce he was of an agility-based Job, like a Ranger or Rogue, perhaps even one of His Majesty’s Spies. The fact he was doing it seemingly unconsciously was a telltale sign that his Job Level was beyond 25, meaning he wasn’t a rookie, either. It was also possible he had broken past Level 50, which would put him on equal footing with the other veteran mercenaries around.

The people in the guild all stared at the newcomer as he walked across the restaurant towards the bar at the far end of the hall.

“What, it’s just him again?” said one of them dismissively under his breath.

The elf that had spoken up stopped gawking and resumed minding his own goddamned business. His breakfast, which consisted of a cup of tea, two grilled sausages, and a bowl of suspiciously chunky gruel, was far more important than some foreboding dark figure. Most of the others had much the same reaction and went about their morning routine. People like this stranger were surprisingly common among mercenaries, after all. Granted, the guy’s size made him stand out more than usual, but this was hardly his first visit to this place. A few of the more observant regulars noticed he always seemed to come in during breakfast or dinner, yet never actually ordered any food. They could hardly blame him though, as the cheap meals on offer could hardly be called tasty.

The wrinkled old dwarf attending the bar wore a long-sleeved off-white tunic and slightly baggy dark grey pants, ending in a pair of town shoes that were beige in colour. He had a thick brown beard with streaks of silver in it and his head was almost completely bald. The barman/receptionist put away the glass he was pretending to clean and turned his attention to the newcomer.

“Ah, welcome back, Mister Morningwood,” he said in a strictly professional manner. Several people who overheard him giggled or snorted as they failed to suppress their laughter, but he ignored them. “I take it your Quest is complete?”

The tall figure opposite him nodded once as it sat down on one of the bar stools, though he still loomed over the standing dwarf. The bartender ducked under the counter momentarily and came back up holding an aquamarine-coloured crystal ball, about the size of a child’s head. It was set into a circular wooden base like a plaque or pedestal, though its function was to keep the thing from rolling around the place rather than show it off. He placed it on the counter, right in front of the other, much taller gentleman.

“Please go ahead,” said the dwarf.

Mister Morningwood nodded again and stretched out a hand from under his cloak. It was fittingly large and bandaged in such a way as to cover his palm and the back of his hand, leaving his thick pale fingers free to move about as they pleased. He placed his palm on top of the crystal like he was trying to grip it.

“Confirm Quest,” he chanted with a deep, clear voice and the ball flashed a few times in response.

[Boxxy T. Morningwood has completed a Quest: Slay 10 Murk Dwellers.]

Both men at the bar saw the same notification in their heads.

“Confirm Quest,” repeated the man without taking his hand off the crystal.

[Boxxy T. Morningwood has completed a Quest: Slay 5 Ogres.]

“Confirm Quest.”

[Boxxy T. Morningwood has completed a Quest: Deliver the Steel Ingots.]

“Confirm Quest.”

[Boxxy T. Morningwood has completed a Quest: Night Watch.]

“Very good, Mister Morningwood, I believe that’s everything,” said the aged dwarf behind the bar. “I will prepare your compensation immediately,” he added, then disappeared into a back room.

The receptionist would probably be a little while, so Boxxy decided to make use of its time and walked over to the Quest Board. It was a large wooden notice board that took up most of the wall to the right of the bar and had a large number of parchments stuck to it. Boxxy gave it a once-over, looking for any suitable work an enterprising young mimic could do in a day or two.

One would think this act would be an impossible thing for an illiterate monster like itself, but that wasn’t really the case. It wasn’t all that uncommon to find adventurers who could not read, especially among the type of ruffians and thugs that frequented the Mercenary Guild. Which was why the notices posted on its Quest Board were made with such individuals in mind.

Quest postings always bore a small stamp that denoted the type of objective. Monster subjugations and hunts were marked by a pair of red crossed swords, escorts were a blue shield, collection and gathering tasks had a green basket, and so on and so forth. The difficulty of each Quest was marked with an equally easy to understand star rating, and every mercenary worth their salt knew at least how to read numbers and do basic arithmetic. Otherwise they ran the risk of being scammed whenever money changed hands around them.

Unfortunately for Boxxy, it failed to spot anything tasty-looking. Killing other monsters, standing guard at the city gate or ferrying goods were the types of Quests it preferred since they were simple, straightforward, and required minimal conversation. However, none of those types of commissions were available. Most of the notices left on the board were related to escorting people, collecting ingredients, or other odd jobs.

Being an escort was out of the question. Boxxy had a tough enough time acting human without having to also babysit a number of them over a period of several days. It was more than that though. The thought of escorting people and protecting them was, simply put, ridiculous. That was literally like asking a starving wolf to shepherd a group of lambs.

Odd jobs were also out. Those also appeared to involve a level of personal interaction that the Mimic was not willing to undertake. Moreover, the ratio of time taken to gold earned was bad. In the end, the monster-cum-mercenary reached out and grabbed a parchment detailing a collection Quest. Boxxy peeled the notice off the board with little resistance and placed it on the bar counter.

The receptionist returned a minute later with eight small pouches in his hands.

“Here are your deposits,” he said, setting four of them side-by-side, “and these four are your rewards. Would you like to confirm the amount?”

Boxxy nodded and reached out to feel the weight on each of them. The unmistakable clack of gold they made when shaken was like music to its fake ears. The monster-in-disguise used its magical perception to peek inside the pouches and make extra sure that the agreed upon amount was all there. The Mimic nodded its dummy head at the old dwarf and put away seven of the pouches under its heavy cloak. The last one, however, it placed on top of the parchment it took from the Quest Board earlier.

“Ah, another one?” exclaimed the bartender. He picked up the pouch and looked over the notice, then nodded. “As you wish, Mister Morningwood.”

He set the parchment back down on the bar and placed the crystal ball from before on top like it was a glorified paperweight. This was a magic tool known as a Quest Logger, which could be used to relay the contents of the parchments directly into the customer’s mind, regardless of their ability to read letters or words. The whole process of picking out and undertaking a new Quest was so streamlined and simplistic that even literate mercenaries sometimes skipped reading long-winded requests for themselves and brought them straight to the counter.

Boxxy wasn’t among their number though, so it honestly had no idea what this gathering request was actually about. Eager to find out, it placed a hand on top of the Quest Logger once again. The crystal ball glowed slightly and fed a stream of information into the Mimic’s mind.

Collect 120 KG of Bouncewood Bark
Description: Deliver 120 kilograms of Bouncewood Bark to the Mercenary Guild in the city of Erosa. Bouncewood trees may be found in the Troll Woods west of Erosa and are easily recognizable due to their smooth and black surface.
Difficulty: ★★
Time Limit: 4 days
Deposit: 100GP
Reward: 100GP
Progress: 0/120

Well, it certainly seemed simple enough. The pay wasn’t all that great and there was no killing involved, but at least it didn’t involve any human interaction. The four-day time limit was extremely generous, and the task itself would be quite easy if the difficulty rating was any indication. Two stars meant that an individual’s primary Job had to be Level 25 to safely complete a Quest. Three stars would raise that bar to Level 50, and four to Level 75. One star, on the other hand, would mean any civilian could perform the task and was only used for mundane chores like cleaning or cooking.

It was worth keeping in mind that this rating signified the recommended power level an individual needed to safely complete a task. It was only a rough assessment meant to be taken as a guideline, as it was literally impossible for such a metric to be completely accurate all the time. Job, Skill, and gear compositions varied wildly, not only from one person to the next but also between adventuring parties.

For instance, it was entirely possible that a group of adventurers with an average Level of 30 could flawlessly complete a three-star Quest. Even a four-star one wasn’t out of reach if they had excellent teamwork, equipment, and were prepared to suffer casualties. A five-star one was, however, nothing short of a suicide mission for that theoretical team. Whether they would be allowed to leave on that expedition depended entirely on the internal policies of the guild they belonged to.

As far as the Mercenary Guild was concerned, they allowed pretty much anyone to accept Quests from their Board, no questions asked.

However, such freedom came at a price in the shape of a mandatory deposit. It was a requirement unique to the Mercenary Guild wherein individuals would have to leave behind a certain amount of gold for every Quest they undertook, to serve as collateral. If the mercenary accomplished their task to a satisfying degree, they would get their deposit back in full in addition to the Quest’s completion reward. Should they fail or disappear, never to be heard from again, then the guild would re-post the Quest and keep their deposit for themselves.

That way the guild either had a satisfied customer in the face of the one who posted the Quest, or they had a lump sum of gold with which to settle any damages or grievances that resulted from the failure of the Quest. Even if the Quest was technically complete they also had the authority to withhold part of the deposit should the client have viable complaints. Bottom line was that the Mercenary Guild would make a profit no matter what happened in the field.

There were, of course, a significant number of high-profile Quests that were not made available to outsiders. Non-members also did not have the backing of the Guild should things go awry with a client or the authorities. But such trifling matters were of little concern to Boxxy. The Mimic could get paid without having to subject itself to an Appraisal examination, and that was all that mattered.

“Accept Quest,” it chanted.

Both the crystal and the parchment glowed with a soft yellow light for several seconds. The tracking-type magic then enveloped Boxxy and a message appeared for both it and the receptionist.

[Boxxy T. Morningwood has undertaken a Quest: Collect 120 KG of Bouncewood Bark.]

“Will that be all?” asked the wrinkled old dwarf as he put away the crystal and the parchment behind the counter.

“No,” answered Boxxy. “Selling.”

Its arm reached out from under its cloak once more and placed something before the receptionist that looked like a rose flower made out of steel razors and wires. The dwarf picked it up carefully, making sure not to cut his fingers on the numerous sharp edges that jutted out from it.

“Identify.”

[Bladeblossom]

A disposable weapon made by a rookie Artificer. Pulling on the wire at the base of the Bladeblossom will trigger its mechanism, which launches a high number of spring-loaded blades in all directions. This particular item is of superior construction, allowing it to inflict exceptional damage despite being made out of common materials.

[Estimated Value: 24 GP]

Boxxy had placed three more of the things on the counter by the time the receptionist was finished appraising the first one. The dwarf quickly verified those as well, and then made an offer.

“Alright, I’ll buy all of them for 70 GP.”

The man-shaped monster on the other side of the counter simply nodded in response, as it did not possess the knowledge or people skills necessary to haggle. The dwarf then quickly produced the money and handed it over to complete the transaction. With its business concluded for the moment, the Mimic briskly walked out of the building without saying another word.

One of the human men who had been silently staring at the cloaked figure since it walked in went over to the bar and took a seat on the stool.

“Hey Grog, who was that?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Mister Morningwood,” came the casual answer. “He showed up about a week ago and has been working hard ever since.”

“What do you think his deal is?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Though I do kinda like the guy, to be honest.”

“What, really?”

“Sure. He’s quiet, efficient and doesn’t try to haggle with me like the rest of you morons. He’s basically the ideal mercenary in my book.”

“Oh … Right. Yeah, you have a point. I don’t like him one bit, though.”

“Hah! What’s the matter, Torel? Jealous he’s been scooping up all the work?” the dwarf asked with a small chuckle.

“No! Well, a little – but that’s not what I’m talking about. Something about him just don’t feel right.”

“Okay, granted, the fellow is a bit creepy, but –”

“No, no, no, Grog. Not creepy. Terrifying. My hair stands on end whenever I’m in the same room with that guy.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same thing,” said his ginger-haired companion, sitting on the bar stool next to Torel. “There’s a thick stench of death about him. Just looking his way makes some small part of me want to run for my life.”

“Ah, you two are just imagining things. I mean sure he’s got that ‘mysteeeerious’ and ‘inteeeense’ atmosphere about him, but he’s no worse than most of the other part-timers I’ve seen. Besides, has he ever shown even the slightest sign of hostility?”

“No … I guess not,” Torel admitted.

“Well, maybe he hasn’t shown any hostility, but I definitely fucking felt it!” claimed the other human.

“Hah! Look at you!” Grog mocked. “You’re actually scared of the big guy in the heavy cloak! You’re way too green if you let superficial stuff like that get to you.”

“But what if he’s actually a criminal? Some mass murderer or psychopath!” Torel said.

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders in response.

“Ain’t none of my business. Ain’t none of the Mercenary Guild’s business. And unless he does something to you, it ain’t none of yours, either.”

“Well … what if he has a huge bounty on his head!”

The dwarf stopped organizing his bar and sighed.

“Then it would be some bounty hunter’s business. Look, lad, I like you, so let me offer you some advice on the house: Do not mess with that part-timer.“

“…”

Torel briefly considered the elderly bartender’s words. The dwarf was right, of course. There was no legal profit to be made from poking one’s nose into some suspicious individual’s private matters. Yet some part of him didn’t let him put this matter out of his mind.

“And just so we’re clear,” added the bartender, “neither me nor my bosses are gonna be responsible if someone finds you dead in an alley, alright?”

“Y-yeah, okay. You’ve made your point. I’ll stay out of his way.”

The bartender’s last few words struck a nerve with Torel. Not because he was afraid that scenario would happen. Just the opposite, actually.

His intuition told him they wouldn’t find him at all should he make an enemy of this ‘Mister Morningwood.’

Part Two

Boxxy walked through the streets of Erosa with purpose. The new Quest it picked up required a visit to the dense forest that was visible on the horizon beyond the city’s walls. But that could wait. It had more pressing matters to attend to. As it continued along the relatively crowded streets, however, it yet again noticed an oddity that was pretty much a pattern by that point. Humans were shying away from it, giving its tall, cloaked figure a wide berth. At first it thought that was just the natural reaction to meeting a towering, dark, and masked stranger but was growing convinced that wasn’t the case.

Mostly because it was only the humans that reacted this way. Dwarves, elves, and even the rare beastkin or lizard-man all showed much more subdued reactions. They also got out of its way while it walked around town, but that was mostly to avoid bumping into it. The humans practically leapt out of its way with looks of anxiety or even outright fear on their faces. Some even went so far as to let out a yelp and run away whenever they realised the towering stranger had snuck up on them.

It wasn’t just pedestrians, either. Human merchants also seemed unwilling to do business with it, and a few outright denied service. And while non-human businesses treated it with a certain amount of suspicion, that was immediately dispelled when the gold was brought out.

Boxxy had no idea why any of this was happening, but it didn’t like it one bit. Many of its victims had made the same sort of expressions and reactions, so having others act this way when it was supposed to be hiding its true identity was quite untasty. As a mimic, Boxxy’s instincts told it to hide in plain sight and wait for its prey to draw close before it struck. Walking around in the open with so many pairs of eyes following its clearly conspicuous form was the exact opposite of that, making it a nerve-wracking experience.

Having its cover blown and being targeted by more guards and adventurers than the monster could count was something Boxxy wanted to avoid at all costs. However, there was no other way it could accomplish all the things it wanted to do, so it accepted these public appearances as a necessary risk. Thankfully, it reached its next destination without much incident. It stood in front of a small two-story building on the busy market street. The sign above the solid wooden door read ‘Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets.’ There was a large glass window to the left of said door that was too dirty for anything but traces of sunlight to pass through. Boxxy pushed the door open with a pale hand and went inside.

*Ring-a-ding-ding-ding*

The interior of the shop was not too different from the general store Boxxy had visited several times before. Immediately to the right of the entrance was a mostly bare beige wall that had little going for it other than a random picture of what looked like an orange tabby cat. There was a wooden L-shaped counter to its front and left, with several shelves filled with various contraptions and mechanical gizmos behind it. The window was worthless as a light source, though that wasn’t a problem due to the bright lamp hanging from the ceiling. A half-open door was visible in the far left corner from where the Mimic was standing, allowing weird grinding and whirring noises to spill in from the workshop beyond it.

*Ring-a-ding-ding-ding*

Boxxy closed the front door behind it, causing the door frame to ring the little bell overhead for the second time. It immediately felt a pang of relief wash over it. Being indoors was a lot more comfortable than having to deal with the hundreds of prying eyes outside. It didn’t feel quite right being inside a building though, so it was perhaps more accurate to say that its new environment was simply ‘less uncomfortable.’

“Just a minute!” came a slightly squeaky voice from farther inside the shop.

The door in the corner opened up all the way and a creature about the height and build of a nine-year-old human girl walked out from within. She had a cute face with pink hair tied in twin pigtails. A pair of huge, leather-bound safety goggles covered her large green eyes. Black splotches of oil stained her brown overalls, grey work shirt, and heavy leather gloves. In her right hand, she clutched a well-used steel wrench covered with scratches.

This was Cornie Fizzlesprocket, an Artificer and current owner of Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets. Though she looked like a child, she was already a woman in her early twenties. Her small stature and somewhat awkward proportions were due to the fact that she was a gnome. Though her people were nowhere near as strong as humans due to the difference in height and mass, they more than made up for it in quick wits, sharp eyes, and nimble fingers.

“Oh! If it isn’t Boxxy!” she exclaimed as she lifted the goggles from her eyes.

The Mimic returned the greeting with a nod, which seemed to be a satisfactory response.

“Alright, gimme a sec to clean up,” she added while she disappeared beyond the back door.

As for the monster in her midst, it was still somewhat amazed by how easy it was to get by just by nodding and gesturing. It wasn’t like it couldn’t speak, but it really needed to work on its communication skills when it came to talking with actual people. The last time it tried to hold an actual conversation it almost got arrested for asking a street vendor if she was tasty. It had no idea what this ‘sexual harassment’ thing she kept yelling about was, but it was made abundantly clear it needed to avoid speaking as much as possible.

Fizzy returned from the back after a minute. She had changed out of her filthy clothes, and now wore an off-white tank top, brown work pants, and a fresh pair of gloves. She had also made an attempt at wiping her face, but there was still a small black smudge on her cheek. She walked up to the counter and climbed on top of a small crate so that her entire upper body was visible above it. Her customer, on the other hand, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, putting the two of them on relatively equal eye level.

“So, what can I do for you, big guy?” asked the peppy gnome.

“Need more lessons and materials,” came the curt reply.

“What, already? Are you sure you properly practised what I taught you last time?”

The Mimic nodded and reached into its cloak, taking out a Bladeblossom identical to the ones it sold earlier and placing it on the countertop. Fizzy reached over and carefully picked it up as she pulled a small screwdriver out of her tool belt. She then began inspecting Boxxy’s handiwork.

“Not bad,” she commented, rolling the device around in her fingers and poking at it with her screwdriver. “Triggering mechanism is put together well, springs are coiled properly, and the blades won’t clash into each other when activated.”

She kept commenting on the device’s construction while taking it apart with practised ease. Once she was done, she gingerly set the partially disassembled Bladeblossom down on the counter and put away her screwdriver.

“You did a great job on the overall assembly,” was her verdict. “Frankly, it’s kind of amazing you can do detailed work like this with those sausage-like fingers of yours ... er, no offence.”

The Mimic waved its hand dismissively, which the gnome took to understand as ‘don’t mind the small stuff.’

“Size aside though, you have some serious talent for this stuff,” she continued. “I only taught you how to make these three days ago and you’re already this good. You should be past Level 2 of the Job by now, right?”

Boxxy nodded in response. The two then sort of stared at each other in silence for several seconds before Fizzy remembered how bad of a conversationalist her latest student was.

“So, er, what Level is your Artificer Job now?”

It was odd that she had to specifically ask all these rather obvious questions, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Doing exactly what one was told was vital for a rookie Artificer. Getting unnecessarily creative or omitting certain steps was how accidents happened in the workshop.

“Four.”

The gnome blinked her huge eyes a few times, then smiled up at her student. “Hmm? I’m sorry, I think I misheard that. Could you repeat yourself?”

“Job is Level 4.”

“Holy – Four? But you only started a week ago!”

The cloaked figure tilted its masked head to show it didn’t quite understand. “So?”

“So? SO? It takes most people a month of practice to get their basics up to that Level! Just how many – wait, didn’t you say something about materials? Did you already use up all the parts you bought last time?”

She got another nod in response.

“B-b-b-but there were enough bits in that toolbox you bought to make a hundred of these!”

Making so many and in such a short amount of time was a significant feat, but it wasn’t just about the apparent speed of the assembly. If Fizzy’s newest pupil really did progress that quickly, then almost all of those spring-loaded traps were as well-built as the sample she had just examined. Meaning that the guy in front of her not only worked fast but did so without sacrificing quality. Granted, the gnome herself could easily do the same, but a total rookie pulling that off felt like cheating.

“Show me how you put one of these together!” she demanded.

“No.”

Boxxy didn’t want to demonstrate it for her since that would mean revealing it was a shapeshifter. If this truth got out, then it would no longer be able to stay in town and take advantage of the various goods and services that only civilization could provide. So if Fizzy were to somehow catch wind of it, she would have to be … dealt with.

The persistent gnome, however, wouldn’t give up so easily. “Come on! I’m super curious!”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“I swear I won’t spill your secret!”

The Mimic hesitated for a brief moment. If this little thing could keep its secret, then surely it would be okay.

However, it then remembered Xera’s helpful hint for blending into civilized society.

Everybody lies.

“No,” it repeated, though it did little to discourage the increasingly petulant gnome.

“I have to know! I need to know!”

She slammed her tiny fists onto the counter with more force than one would expect from a small woman like her. It actually shook the wooden counter, causing the Bladeblossom to rattle and clatter against its surface.

*Click*

“…”

There was the briefest moment of silence before Fizzy and Boxxy hit the deck as fast they could.

*SHKRA-PRING*

Forty tiny blades shot out from the steel rose-looking contraption in all directions. Some stuck into the ceiling, others into the wall, a couple cracked the window and a number of them hit the various metal bits and pieces strewn about the shop.

“YEOOW!” screamed Fizzy. One piece of shrapnel had ricocheted off something and stabbed her in the back of the arm, which started bleeding profusely.

“Son of a bitch, that hurt!” The realisation that there was another person in the shop dawned on her in the next instant. “Oh no – Boxxy!” The thought that her carelessness might have killed or seriously injured someone sent her practically flying up to the counter to check on her customer.

“Hey! Are you … oh … kay?”

The tiny gnome had lucked out and was only hit once, but her towering customer had not been as lucky. Boxxy’s massive stature had prevented it from ducking out of the way in time, causing it to get hit by two blades – one in the forehead and another in the eye. It casually stood and reached a pale hand up to the foreign objects, pulling them out without uttering so much as a peep.

“What … are you?” mumbled the dumbfounded gnome.

That was when she noticed the viscous yellow blood oozing from the wounds. The gnome’s already large eyes became the size of dinner plates. Even if she had never been in a fight, she still knew that only monsters had disgusting blood like that.

“GUA-Hrmhp!”

She tried to call for help but was silenced when Boxxy lunged forward over the counter and put a hand over her mouth. The flesh of its palm and fingers swiftly reformed into an airtight gag that kept the gnome from mustering anything other than a muffled scream while also making it hard to breathe. She struggled, kicked, and clawed at the monstrous appendage as tears welled up in her eyes, but she was unable to so much as budge her assailant’s grip.

The Mimic climbed over the counter and got closer to its thrashing captive. A fleshy tendril shot out from under its cloak and picked up a length of rope that was nearby. This was quickly wrapped around the tiny prisoner, binding her hands and feet together.

“MMmmf! Fmmph!”

Fizzy watched in abject horror as her freedom was robbed from her. The monster in front of her produced some cloth scraps and lodged them in her mouth and throat, forming a less terrifying – though no less effective – gag. It then casually carried her into the back room, far away from any prying eyes.

This room was about the size of the storefront and was, quite frankly, a mess. A tiny table had been turned into a workstation on the right, and a plethora of tools lined the wall around it. Numerous crates and boxes filled with various parts and pieces were strewn about haphazardly. A small hearth and anvil were in the far right corner of the room, the place where the shop’s owner forged any custom parts she couldn’t acquire for herself. A pile of iron, copper, bronze and other common metal ingots lay next to it, and a rack with special alchemical solutions was hung up on the wall. The far left corner had a set of stairs leading up to the gnome’s bedroom, and between it and the door were a line of cabinets stuffed with failed inventions, ruined prototypes, broken contraptions, and other random scrap.

*Ring-a-ding-ding-ding*

“Hey! Are you alright in here?”

A ringing noise and a man’s voice came from the storefront at almost the same time. It appeared someone had noticed the commotion and stepped inside to check. The ginger-haired young man saw the devastation caused by the Bladeblossom as well as what looked like bloodstains on the counter, but didn’t see a person, living or otherwise.

“Oh, merciful Teresa!” he exclaimed. “Hello? Is anyone hurt!”

A pink-haired female gnome leaned out from behind the door in the back. Only her large head and upper body were visible.

“Yes, hello!” she yelled back with an oddly chipper voice.

“What happened here?” he asked, gesturing at the walls and ceiling.

“Accident.”

“I see blood! Was anyone hurt?”

“Nothing serious.”

The young man thought something was off about the gnome’s tone of voice, and her attitude was a little bit suspect. She was way too happy considering her shop was just wrecked. And that thumbs up she gave was a little too enthusiastic. There was also the weird sense of dread the young man felt when he looked into her large yellow eyes. He couldn’t put his mind at ease, no matter how much he tried.

“ … You sure you’re not hurt? There’s blood and … is that mustard sauce?”

“I am fine. Drank healing potion.”

“I see. That’s good to hear.”

If the person herself insisted she was okay, then he would have to take her word for it. Even if this was his first time in here, this place was known for for being the only gnome-run store in town. That was how he knew that even though that pink-haired girl looked like a little kid, she was an adult who was more than capable of taking care of herself.

“Sorry for intruding,” he apologized. “I’ll be going then.”

“Bye ~♪!”

“Ah, yes … goodbye … ”

Well, that response was definitely weird. The young man concluded that the rumours he heard about all gnomes having a few screws loose weren’t entirely fictitious. He decided to leave the store and go about his day, trying his best to put the incident out of his mind.

*Ring-a-ding-ding-ding*

After making sure nobody else was coming to investigate, the imitation Fizzy hid itself from view, slamming the door to the back closed. As for the actual Fizzy, she was in a state where she earnestly hoped she’d gone mad. A myriad of scenarios had played out in her head when she was bound, gagged, and dragged into her own back room by what appeared to be a male stranger, but none of them were even close to this.

What had resembled a man who stood over two metres tall was revealed to be a monstrous chest roughly forty-by-fifty-by-ninety centimetres in size. It had grown legs on its left side, a head on the right, and arms and shoulders from its top and bottom, near the head. The resulting figure was unquestionably humanoid, although the chest-shaped torso was extremely unsettling. Then again, that was probably why the monster wore that heavy cloak and baggy clothes. They did a very good job of obscuring its more rectangular features.

At least until it heard that nosy do-gooder calling out into the shop. The monster had abandoned its guise the instant it heard the bell at the entrance and reverted back to a monstrous treasure chest with eight freakish spider legs sticking out from its bottom. Its lid opened up to reveal two rows of terrifying, jagged and misaligned teeth. A massive red tongue then stretched out of its maw, licking the bound and gagged gnome across the face and hair three times. She struggled pointlessly against her bindings and rivers of tears flooded out of her eyes – a natural reaction, considering it was obvious she was about to be eaten.

Fizzy realised she was mistaken about Boxxy’s intentions when she saw a near-perfect replica of her own face emerge out of its flesh-red tongue. It was like looking into a mirror, if not for the overtly silly grin and unnaturally yellow eyes. The rest of the moist appendage transformed into her upper body and was rapidly dressed in the oily clothing she had discarded earlier. The Mimic then poked the resulting meat puppet through the door and convinced the gnome’s last and only hope of being rescued to leave. Once that was done, the monster reeled in all its freakish appendages, sat down in front of her and then ... just waited.

Fizzy hyperventilated. Her throat never stopped trying to scream, and her eyes didn’t even dare to blink. Right now, she felt more terrified than she had ever been before. Not because there was a monster in front of her. Well, there was that, but her biggest fear arose from how … ordinary it looked.

She was quite aware of what a mimic was and had little doubt the creature in front of her was one of those. And yet, it didn’t look out of place. A random wooden chest lying around haphazardly in the middle of her workshop where it would undoubtedly get in the way was bound to be an eyesore. Yet it seemed like this chest had always been there.

A monster was sitting right in front of her, and yet some part of her didn’t find that odd. It was this freakish sense of familiarity that somehow plunged her to new levels of despair. Upon making this realisation, the gnome desperately wished she truly had gone insane. At least then she could dismiss this experience as an extremely vivid hallucination.

*Ring-a-ding-ding-ding*

The bell at the front door rang, bringing her out of the depths of despair she was sinking into.

*Ring-a-ding-ding-ding*

The door slammed shut and a set of footsteps could be heard on the wooden floor. With renewed vigour, Fizzy struggled and tried to scream, desperate for something – anything – to save her from this living nightmare. The footsteps drew closer and the door to her workshop creaked open.

A woman dressed in a nun’s habit walked in like she owned the place.

“Mmph! Hrlf mmfff!”

Fizzy tried to warn the stranger, but the nun only glanced at her with a sort of cold contempt. Then she looked towards the chest, then back to the gnome, then at the chest again.

“Really now,” she said in a clearly displeased tone. “You need to be more careful, Master. This is the third time already!”

“…”

The gnomish tinkerer went still and quiet for the first time since she’d been bound and gagged.

“Of course I can fix it, but this can’t keep happening. There are only so many times I can wipe her memory before her brain turns to mush.”

“…”

The nun walked over to the captive woman and placed a slender hand on her head.

“Mmmmph! MMMMPH!”

The gnome started struggling valiantly once more, but try as she might, there was no escape for her. Not only for her current predicament but also for the days, weeks, possibly even months to come. This was the consequence of someone skilled and naive catching the interest of one who barely knew what compassion, mercy, or kindness even meant.

“Sleep,” chanted the nun.

Fizzy’s consciousness began to slip away from her. She instinctively tried to stay awake, but her world turned dark all the same. The next thing she knew, she was screaming at the top of her lungs and climbing over the counter.

“Hey, Boxxy! Are you okay?”

“Fine,” said the towering adventurer.

The gnome looked him over frantically and was relieved to see her visitor hadn’t been injured in that unfortunate accident just moments ago.

“Oh, thank god! I’m really sorry about that! I don’t know what came over me! An Artificer of my Level setting off a Bladeblossom like that – it’s inexcusable!”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I insist I make it up to you!”

“Then teach me.”

“You’re sure? Even after what I did?”

Boxxy nodded. This girl was still the best (and only) Artificer trainer in town. She was the one who had taught the Mimic the gadget-focused Job in the first place.

“I still feel terrible, though … I know! How about I give you a few lessons free of charge? Let me do at least that much.”

The disguised monster gave her another nod, this one accompanied by a thumbs up.

“Alright!” she exclaimed, her voice full of vigour. “I’ll make sure to teach you everything I know! I won’t go so easy on you now that you’ve shown your talent, though, so you better get ready for a crash course like no other!”

Boxxy gave the strangely pumped-up Fizzy another affirmative gesture. The gnome turned around and headed towards her workshop in the back, but paused for a moment when she reached the door.

“Huh? That’s weird …”

The shut door.

The one she never fully closed because she couldn’t hear the bell at the entrance if she did that.

“Well, whatever,” she said dismissively and waved her guest over. “Right this way, Boxxy. It’s time to see how well you handle blast powder.”

Part Three

The front door to Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets opened up with a ring and a humongous cloaked man exited the store carrying a large hemp bag. By the sun’s position, it was late afternoon, maybe two or three hours from sunset.

The Mimic and the gnome had spent most of the day inside Fizzy’s workshop as the hyperactive little mechanic eagerly showed off her skill at tinkering and construction. As expected of a Level 56 Artificer, her dexterity and precision were the real deal, and Boxxy eagerly soaked up all the tips and tricks she shared. It also closely observed her well-trained hand movements with its magical perception and made sure to memorize them so it could replicate them later.

The disguised monster surveyed the street. Foot traffic had died down quite a bit while it was inside, which was both good and bad. Good, because it meant fewer eyes would be on its conspicuous form, and bad because its stupidly tall form stood out like a sore thumb and was even more noticeable from a distance. Deciding it didn’t want to spend any more time exposed like this, it hoisted the bag onto its shoulder and trudged off towards its ‘home base.’

This bag was filled with yet more toolboxes and parts it purchased from Fizzy. The reason it had to carry the items around like this instead of sticking them its Storage was that it had to open its maw in order to fit the large container in its pocket dimension. While it could discretely deposit and withdraw small objects like a Bladeblossom or a satchel of gold, no amount of sleight of hand would let the Mimic do that with those bulky metal boxes.

As for the cost of its new purchases, it came out to a whopping 1,170 GP. A naturally greedy creature like Boxxy severely disliked parting with that much shiny gold at once, but it was for the sake of advancing its Artificer Job, so it couldn’t be helped. That money was essentially a form of investment, as the monster stood a very good chance of securing a profit.

Most Artificer-made devices were difficult to put together since they required specialized parts, tools, and know-how, but the final product was extremely simple to use. As a side effect, the value of such gizmos would go up immensely when compared to the cost of the raw materials to make them.

A good example of this was the one hundred Bladeblossom kits the Mimic had purchased three days ago. The raw materials to produce all those spring-loaded single-use devices only cost Fizzy about 150 GP. She had then used her workshop to transform the metal ingots into tiny blades, springs, wires and other necessary parts. The finished components were sold to Boxxy at a total price of 650 GP, which consisted of 50 GP worth of tools and 600 GP worth of parts. Even then, a single well-made Bladeblossom from Boxxy could be sold at 15 GP. So it was theoretically possible for the Mimic to make almost three times as much gold as it had spent on the parts.

Unfortunately, reality wasn’t anywhere near as rosy as such wishful thinking.

Of the first thirty devices that Boxxy made, twelve were complete failures, fourteen were of poor quality and only the remaining four were of standard quality. And while the next seventy were at least of middling value, only twenty or so of them were as good as the ones it sold at the Mercenary Guild.

Whether there was anyone around willing to buy a hundred Bladeblossoms was a different question altogether, though it wasn’t something Boxxy even considered. In fact, it had already set off a number of the things for testing purposes and put a bunch of them aside for later use. Once its supply of raw parts was exhausted, it began taking them apart and putting them back together in order to acquire more Artificer XP.

This new endeavour worked well, but it came at a price since not all of the components could be safely extracted from a finished Bladeblossom. The petal-shaped razors were mostly fine, but the more delicate internal parts got dented or broken from the repeated strain and were quickly rendered unusable.

Boxxy assembled a total of 170 Bladeblossoms before it decided to stop. At present, it only had fifteen or so well-crafted ones and six crappier ones. It was no longer in a position to recoup its losses even if it were to sell all of those, but that was fine. The main purpose of spending its gold to increase its Artificer Level was already accomplished.

Besides, all the money spent on this endeavour would eventually come back to it since it was an investment. Which in Mimicanese meant that when Boxxy was done with this city, it would kill the gnome, absorb her body, steal all her money, take every single ingot, spring, sprocket and nail in her workshop, and then have Xera burn down her house for good measure. That way it would be able to get all of its assets back and then some.

Boxxy was, however, completely oblivious to the fact that Fizzy had already used a large chunk of said assets to settle outstanding debts. She’d also had to set some aside to pay taxes and purchase necessities like food, tools, and raw materials. Her pockets were therefore no more full than when the Mimic entered her life, but at least she had some semblance of peace of mind.

As for the blissfully ignorant shapeshifter, it walked through the city streets in the vague direction of the southern gate for about half an hour. At one point it went off the main road and into a less populated side street, then proceeded through a series of increasingly dingier alleyways until it reached an old, run-down stone and wood building in the middle of the slums. This place was likely a warehouse at some point, considering how large and spacious it was.

Boxxy went inside through what was once the building’s loading entrance. Rotting boxes, bits of rubble, glass shards, a couple of wrecked carriages and other useless junk was lying strewn about the place. It was also once home to a small community of sixteen wretched vagrants. They were so pitiful that the only successful Cadaver Absorption they yielded was just two points of Endurance (END). Merely a drop in the lake that was the Mimic’s HP at this point.

The monster in question proceeded towards a doorway that led farther to the back. This appeared to have once been an office at some point; the old desk, wooden cabinet, broken chairs, and old, musty bookshelves the Mimic found when it first entered the place suggested as much. All that garbage had been thrown out since then, though. The room was now completely empty except for two dead bodies on the floor, a rusty iron trunk in the corner, and a red-skinned, four-armed demon sitting on top of it with a bored expression.

“Oh, hey boss,” said Kora when she noticed her master approach.

She got up from her improvised chair and stretched her stiff body with a yawn. The gigantic fiend towering over even Boxxy’s current form was deemed way too conspicuous to accompany it around town. So she was ordered to guard the place and keep out of sight. Well, the former was hardly necessary. The run-down old building held no significance to the Mimic other than being a quiet spot where it could focus on its work.

“We heading out soon?”

“After sunset,” Boxxy said, setting down the heavy bag it was carrying around.

Now that it was away from prying eyes, the Mimic quickly undid its human-like transformation and assumed its favourite spider-chest form. Having to keep its real body tilted on its side all day while masquerading as a person was considerably uncomfortable and slightly disorienting. It had gotten used to it over the last week, but it much preferred its spider legs after all.

“What’s all this?” asked Kora, pointing at the sack.

“Parts. What about the intruders you mentioned?”

“Hm? Ah yeah. Just some pathetically weak bums. One of them keeled over the instant he saw me. No fun at all.”

The fiend pouted slightly to indicate her displeasure, but her master completely ignored her and skittered over to the bodies. It hadn’t gotten a chance to eat anything worthwhile all day, so it wasted no more time fulfilling that basic need.

*CRUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH*

The dead men were thus quickly devoured and any blood stains were instantly licked up out of habit. These pathetic weaklings were better utilized as food rather than trying to absorb them. Even then, they were mostly skin and bones and wouldn’t be nearly enough to satiate Boxxy’s monstrous hunger, but they would at least keep its belly from rumbling for the moment.

The Mimic then went back to the sack it brought in and opened it. Three metal toolboxes were retrieved from the inside: a grey one, a red one, and a blue one. They were approximately thirty centimetres wide, while their length and height were just over half that. The containers looked like miniature chests, which the Mimic found to be oddly endearing ... maybe even a little bit cute. It put the red and blue ones inside its Storage and opened up the grey one using two of its spider legs as elongated fingers. A number of smaller boxes and compartments lined the inside, each holding a number of metallic bits necessary for hand-held Artificer devices.

“Oh!” exclaimed Kora. “You’re building stuff again, huh? Can I watch?”

“Okay.”

Boxxy sat firmly on the ground and narrowed its focus. Its eight arachnid limbs were not retracted inside its body, however, but bent forward towards the toolbox. The four at the very front had their pointed tips split in two as if they were organic tweezers with chitin-like tips. The Mimic then applied its recently acquired Metal Mimicry Skill to the other four. Pliable flesh transformed into actual solid steel, as opposed to merely an imitation of it, forming an array of tools in the process. More specifically a hammer, a pair of wire cutters, and two screwdrivers.

Two of the tweezer-like fingers each grabbed a part from the toolbox and held them in place while two of the tool-tipped limbs put them together. The other set of tools and pincers did the same, then the first repeated their action. The eight stick-like limbs began moving about frantically, gradually picking up in speed, though hardly at the expense of precision. In a way, the practised movements made the whole thing look too easy. It was almost as if the monster was simply throwing the bits into a pile that miraculously assembled itself into something new all on its own.

This spectacle was nothing special from the Mimic’s point of view though. It was just employing a combination of its magical perception, muscle memory, and DEX Attribute to make sure everything went exactly where it needed to be. That was why it barely showed a reaction when it accomplished its task in seemingly no time flat.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Great quality.]

“Heh, that’s neat,” commented Kora.

By now, her boredom from standing guard all day had gone away. The fiend found watching her master work to be surprisingly fun. Even if she had no idea what was going on, it was hard to deny that seeing something assembled before her very eyes at high speeds was quite entertaining. She would, of course, much prefer to go on a murder spree with a healthy dose of rape, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

As for the Mimic, it had already moved on to the next item. It had learned quite a few things from Fizzy’s day-long crash course, so it was eager to become a Level 5 Artificer in order to put that knowledge to use. Its Job Level was very close to that threshold, but it still needed to make ten or so more of these relatively basic contraptions before it reached that goal.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Superior quality.]

Just like Fizzy had informed it at the beginning, this Job increased in Level much slower than what the Mimic was used to. The reason was that, instead of being a Monster Job like Mimic or a Caster such as Warlock, the Artificer Job was of the Artisan archetype. This meant that one had to repeatedly manufacture related items or perform relevant services in order to gain XP. It was impossible to grow as an Artificer just by killing things, regardless of whether the monster used those Bladeblossoms in combat or not.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Standard quality.]

Well, it made sense in a way. It wasn’t like a villager would become a better farmer if he went about hitting people over the head with his radishes. He had to work the fields, care for livestock, and churn butter. Blacksmiths had to make, maintain, and improve weapons and armour and Cooks had to make lots of delicious food. What happened with said items or whether anyone would eat that food did not matter as far as the Job was concerned. And an Artificer was no different.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Great quality.]

Therefore, raising a Production Job was a naturally slow, arduous process. The only upside was that the relative speed of progress stayed mostly constant as it got further along. In other words, it took roughly the same amount of time to get from Level 1 to Level 5 as it did to get from Level 50 to Level 55. However, that was only under the condition that one had the right materials and sufficiently advanced schematics to keep pushing their limits.

The relatively simplistic Bladeblossoms, for example, would stop providing XP once Boxxy’s Artificer Job hit Level 5, and it would need to move onto something more challenging. Much like how combat-oriented Jobs would not grow properly if one only fought the same type of low-Level enemy, Artisan Jobs required their own set of Level-appropriate challenges in order to improve. It wouldn’t be called ‘progression’ if one endlessly ran in place, after all.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Great quality.]

Well, this particular individual’s monstrous crafting speed was the main reason it had advanced much faster than Cornie Fizzlesprocket anticipated. The gnome assumed her student was a human, which was why she freaked out at its growth earlier. While it wasn’t exactly unheard of for geniuses in certain fields to appear from time to time, seeing one right before her very eyes was something she never thought would happen. In fact, her initial assumption had been that it was far more likely her student progressed so fast because he cheated.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Superior quality.]

Which wasn’t far from the truth, considering Boxxy’s multiple tooled limbs, its extremely accurate three-dimensional magical perception, and impressive DEX Attribute score. It could assemble a Bladeblossom in under three minutes, which was three or four times faster than what its gnomish teacher was capable of. A regular beginner, on the other hand, would probably take over an hour of slow, meticulous work to make a single one. And even then, whether it would actually result in a satisfactory product was highly questionable.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Standard quality.]

Physical capabilities were hardly the entire reason for this level of efficiency, however. It was also a matter of the Mimic’s mindset. It equated the work of Artificers to be shapeshifting applied to an object. Both practices boiled down to combining basic elements into something that was greater than the sum of its parts. The only difference from the Mimic’s point of view was that one used flesh and bone while the other relied on springs and sprockets.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Great quality.]

In truth, Boxxy found the act of assembly was actually much, much simpler than shapeshifting its body around. Growing a working human eyeball for the first time or creating an organic wheel from scratch was, objectively speaking, already far more complex than something straightforward like a spring-loaded blade dispenser. And once it had gotten used to the creation process, its naturally adept muscle memory could reconstruct its creations with ease. Even the organic wheels took less than two seconds to form by now, thanks to all the practice it put into them. Thus, assembling a contraption of this small scale and basic function was a trifling task at best. Another thing that spoke volumes of its ability was that its creations were of a higher quality than normal.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Standard quality.]

Well, most of the time anyway. It was only natural that handmade items would come out with some variations between them. An errant twitch from the craftsman, some misstep in the timing, or an unseen flaw in the components and materials could all cause the quality to deteriorate. Conversely, performing the right motions with high-grade materials would result in a fittingly superior product.

Fizzy was, to her credit, an adept craftsman, so Boxxy rarely came across a situation where it was let down by faulty parts. It wasn’t experienced enough to tell when such a thing happened, but it understood that, statistically speaking, it must have happened several times so far. It saw no other reason why its creations would drift between the Standard and Great quality ratings. It was definitely showing improvement though, as evidenced by how it would get a Superior quality Bladeblossom every now and then.

[You have created a Bladeblossom of Poor quality.]

The opposite outcome was also possible though. The Mimic had tried to make one a bit quicker than normal, which resulted in its product being given the second-lowest quality rating. At the very least it wasn’t the dreaded Unusable, as items of this absolute bottom rank were unsalvageable trash. In fact, according to Fizzy, Unusable items were so bad it was safer to bury them in a ditch instead of trying to use them in combat. Her words of warning went double for Artificer-made goods, as those had a habit of backfiring if mishandled.

This was all very informative to Boxxy, as the simple creature had no idea what any of those terms meant, nor how many ‘tiers’ of this stuff existed. It vaguely understood that Superior was better than Great, which was, in turn, better than Standard and so on, but that was the gist of it. As a monster that was predisposed to relying on its natural gifts rather than crafted equipment, it had some difficulty grasping the concept of gear quality.

The world would honestly be much easier to understand if everything was graded on tastiness and shininess instead.

“I have returned,” reported Xera as she walked into the old office.

Boxxy was working on its tenth creation of the afternoon when its other familiar reappeared. The succubus was still disguised as a nun in service so Teresa, the Goddess of Justice and Truth whose religious symbolism revolved around hammers. The delicious irony of that form was the main reason she chose to use it. The secondary reason was that it enticed her demonic co-contractor to perform far more brutal acts upon her person during their intimate sessions. The tertiary (and objectively legitimate) incentive was that people treated her with less suspicion and more respect than they normally would have.

“Oh, hey cum-bucket,” said Kora when she saw the succubus arrive.

“Hey. What’s our master doing?” asked Xera, pointing at Boxxy.

“The boss is building more of those metal flowers.”

“Oh? Lemme see.”

The false nun got closer to the Mimic and looked curiously at its tooled limbs as they swished around in a blur. It was the first time she’d bothered to get a proper look at the process, and she had to admit it looked pretty impressive.

“Heh, that’s neat,” Xera commented with a bemused smile.

“I know, right?”

“Hmm …. I really hope it finishes its business with the gnome soon, though. My Dreamweaver Skill is bound to mess something up if I have to keep using it on the same target.”

Best case scenario, the gnome would become a complete amnesiac or fall into a coma. Worst case scenario, all the memories that were locked away would come crashing back and the monstrous trio’s cover would be blown wide open.

“What’s that gnome like, anyway? Haven’t seen anything but dark alleys and homeless bums for the past week.”

“She looks like a little kid, with a large head and pink pigtails.”

“A kid, huh? How tall are we talking?”

“About … this big.”

The succubus used her hand to indicate the gnome only went up to about her midsection, just below the breasts. The difference between the two was almost as extreme as the difference between Xera and Kora.

“Hmm … Say, do you think if I stuck my dick in all the way it would come out of her throat?”

“ … That’s not how anatomy works, you moron.”

“It isn’t?”

“Of course not. Mortals have all those mushy organs in their torsos, remember? Spleens, hearts, stomachs, livers –”

“Stop that, you’re making me hungry,” Boxxy called out before returning to its tinkering.

“Oh, yeah. Those,” said Kora, stroking her chin in thought. “I can just push past those with enough force though, right?”

“Whuh?” Xera blurted. “But – Oh! I see. Well, um, hnnn, I guess that could work.”

“You just got turned on at the thought of being speared all the way through by a massive dick, didn’t you?”

“No! … Well, maybe a little.”

Kora raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh?”

“Okay, a lot.”

“You really want to be dicked to death, huh?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. You really should look into growing a bigger –”

“I said be quiet!” the Mimic mind-shouted, causing both demons to shut up.

Their constant prattling was easy to ignore normally, but what Boxxy needed to do right now was concentrate, and listening to those two flirting was really not helping in that regard. Having no other choice in the matter, the two demons decided to settle down and observe the monster’s handiwork.

[You have created a Bladeblossom.]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 5 Artificer! DEX +2. WIS +2. PER +2.]
[Proficiency level increased. Clockwork Expertise is now Level 1. DEX +2. PER +2.]

Knowledge of gears, cogs, sprockets and springs poured into the Mimic’s mind. Now it could finally build something other than those entry-level Bladeblossoms.

[Clockwork Expertise]
A measure of an Artificer’s ability to handle and construct clockwork-based gadgets and gizmos.
Requirements: Level 5 Artificer
Type: Passive
Range: Self
[Effects]
Grants knowledge of clockwork-based creations.
Increases the effectiveness of clockwork-based creations by 5% per Level of this Skill.

As for the Skill itself, the reason it appeared immediately was because that was another way in which Artisan Jobs differed from combat-oriented occupations. Their related Skills were acquired automatically at set Levels, and there was no choice involved in terms of specialization. At least until Level 50, at which point Boxxy would be able to evolve the Artificer Job into one that was better suited to its needs.

Another quirk the Mimic learned about Jobs during its stay here was that none of them granted additional Skills at the so-called threshold Levels of 25, 50, and 75. Reaching the absolute highest Level of 100, however, would unlock a superbly powerful Ultimate Skill that was uniquely suited to the individual. That sounded so incredibly tasty that it caused Boxxy to salivate like crazy every time it remembered that piece of trivia.

As for exactly why Skills were limited at those three specific Levels, it was unknown. The information Xera had dug up suggested this was simply the way of things. Boxxy had more or less accepted that fact, as neither its Mimic nor its Warlock Job offered it a new Skill upon reaching Level 25. So it was not surprised to find out the Artificer one would be the same.

Now that its immediate objective was complete, the Mimic turned its attention to Xera.

“Snack, what did you find?”

The demoness was under orders to keep looking for information or items that the Mimic deemed necessary. The fact she had returned meant she must have found something.

“I have … acquired one of the materials you needed for your ritual, Master.”

Boxxy’s mood shot up upon hearing those words. “Give it to me!”

“Yes, Master.”

The succubus still masquerading as a nun stood in front of the Mimic and lifted up the hem of her habit. She rolled it up past her knees, up her thighs and all the way to the hips. It should come as no surprise that the perverted demon was not wearing anything under it, as evidenced by how her nether region was on full display.

“Mmmm …” she moaned. “Haah, haah, haah! Hnnnngg!”

Her abdominal muscles tightened, and then –

*Pop*

– a small black sphere about five centimetres in diameter came out of her exposed lower lips. It bounced twice along the filthy wooden floor and rolled slowly towards the Mimic, stopping only a few centimetres from where it was sitting. The gem-like ball was oddly shiny, and not just because it was covered in Xera’s juices.

The fake nun straightened out her habit and looked at her Master with slightly glazed eyes.

“One Holy Pearl infused with demonic essence as requested, Master.”

“Very good!” exclaimed Boxxy.

If sentient chests could smile, then that was undoubtedly what Boxxy was trying to do with that toothy look it had. This was very good indeed. All that was left was to obtain a Midnight Ruby, an Elixir of Avarice, and then wait for a night where all three moons were in the sky and it could finally perform the enticingly-titled Ritual of Unholy Wealth.

Part Four

After stowing away the once-pure Holy Pearl, Boxxy turned its attention back to the grey toolbox on the floor. It opened its maw and retrieved the blue toolbox from earlier, setting it down next to the other and unlatching the lid. This one also had numerous bits and pieces, although the majority of them were various sizes of cogs, sprockets, and gears, complete with some wound springs, an assortment of tiny screws, and a collection of small metal plates. Just the right ingredients to build designs that relied on Clockwork Expertise. The last remaining toolbox it bought from Fizzy, the red one, held the ingredients and components for creating explosives, although that would have to wait until Artificer Level 10.

Kora and Xera watched in silence as their master prepared its many-tooled limbs and once more began assembling a new device. However, this was something vastly different from the Bladeblossoms it had mass produced until now. To begin with, the metal plate that would serve as the base of the contraption wasn’t circular, but rectangular. And it was significantly larger at about fifteen centimetres long and three-and-a-half centimetres wide. The Mimic’s ‘hands’ also moved much slower than before as it punched a few holes into the thin plate and started screwing gears into it.

The reason for the loss in speed was simple – this was its first time handling these delicate components seriously. It did get some practice working with clockwork contraptions in its teacher’s workshop earlier, but that was while using the clumsy fingers of a human. Clockwork Expertise also helped, but that Skill only granted theoretical knowledge. Boxxy always learned faster by doing than by thinking, so it made sure to take things slowly until it felt more confident in its actions.

Still, it wasn’t like it didn’t listen to Fizzy’s instructions. Quite the contrary, it absorbed every little insightful detail she revealed, either through her words or actions. Where to apply pressure, how much of it to use, what parts needed additional grease, how much strain the delicate gears could take before their teeth broke, and other useful tips that could only be gleaned from years of experience. As for the Skill-derived knowledge, that had mostly to do with schematics and blueprints rather than any practical advice.

[Proficiency level increased. Metal Mimicry is now Level 3. STR +2. END +2. All Attributes +1.]

Working with new parts also demanded new tools. And while it did technically pay good money for those, it could produce far better results by forming them out of its own body. It couldn’t exactly maintain its sense of touch once turning its flesh to steel, but using instruments directly connected to its nervous system was definitely the superior approach. It was a level of manual dexterity that no human, dwarf, or gnomish Artificer could hope to match, no matter how high their Attributes or Levels climbed.

Speaking of which, the Mimic had made an interesting observation ever since the Calamity of Monotal. It appeared that, on average, Skills acquired at higher Job Levels provided additional Attributes whenever they went up in Proficiency. This realisation made the Mimic feel scammed in that respect since it had already used one of its very limited unlock points on a Level 1 Skill instead of a Level 30 Skill. Then again, missing out on Attributes wasn’t that big a deal when it had Cadaver Absorption on hand to fill the gap.

Now was not the time to get complacent, however. Boxxy had been spying on a team of adventurers in the field, and what it saw was worrisome. Those four people were said to have attained Level 60 recently, which was comparable to the Mimic’s total Job Level, and yet they completely outperformed it. Not only was their teamwork something else entirely, but each individual was also immensely powerful.

That was when Boxxy realised the biggest, most damning difference between itself and individual adventurers: their gear.

Magic weapons, sturdy armour, enchanted jewellery, and potent potions. Each item they had provided them with some Attribute bonus or other special effect that allowed them to fight toe-to-toe with physically superior monsters. This was why the Mimic had resolved to obtain gear of its own. Those two shiny daggers it got off of the dungeon master were a start, but there were only so many things that would let themselves be stabbed to death.

However, when Boxxy set about fulfilling its new goal, it immediately ran into its first hurdle – enchanted gear cost money.

A lot of money.

Money, aside from being shiny, could also be exchanged for goods and services; that was simply how civilized society worked. And although the monster had some starting capital, it wouldn’t be nearly enough for its needs. Of course, it could always attempt to loot said magical equipment off the adventurers’ dead bodies, but would it really survive an encounter with them? No, no it would not. It had complete confidence it would lose if it ever had to fight that particular team, regardless of whether or not it got a successful ambush off.

And so it found the Mercenary Guild and started taking on Quests. Its initial monetary reserves swelled to about 2,400 GP, and then it went shopping. Potions were easy enough to obtain from merchants and peddlers. In fact, the Mimic currently had ten of them in Storage, although they were of varying quality. The four most potent ones it had could instantly restore up to 300 HP but were also quite expensive at 190 GP apiece.

“What’s with that stupid price! 50 HP potions only cost 16 GP each!” had been the creature’s initial reaction to that seemingly exorbitant price tag.

As it turned out, the vast majority of alchemical products had undesirable side effects. After all, the difference between medicine and poison was mostly in the dosage, and magical liquids were no exception. Consuming too many potions in a short amount of time would inflict a condition known as ‘potion sickness.’ Exactly how much a body could take varied between individuals, and the Mimic found out its limit was five potions per day. Any more than that and its body would be wracked with immense pain, its movements would grow dull and sluggish, and it would suffer a penalty to its Attributes. This lasted for almost six hours before its body could recover from the built-up toxicity.

Having experienced this with its own body helped Boxxy realise why higher quality potions were so much more expensive. One could only rely on a very limited number of alchemical elixirs during a fight, so quality was far more valuable than quantity. Buying the good stuff also meant that the Mimic’s gold reserves took a big hit, but it wasn’t too upset about that since being poor and alive was preferable to being rich and dead.

Having solved its medication needs, the shapeshifter moved on to check out the prices of enchanted arms and armour. It visited five stores, each of which advertised selling ‘mid-range adventurer gear.’ It didn’t see a single piece that was cheaper than 800 GP. There was even a really fancy-looking set of armour that had a five-digit price tag, though Boxxy did its best to ignore the actual numbers. Not only was that amount clearly beyond its means, but it feared it might be traumatized if it looked at it directly.

Overall, the window-shopping spree had taught the monster two things. The good news was that the mithril daggers and enchanted knife it already had looked to be of decent make and would net it a mouth-watering 1,200 GP if it sold them. It wasn’t about to pawn off its shiniest belongings, but that information was good to know. The bad news was that the most vital piece of equipment – namely armour – was out of the question.

It wasn’t just the cost; that could easily be resolved if Boxxy put enough work in with the Mercenary Guild. But most armour was made to fit people, not chests. Oh sure, the Mimic was capable of disguising itself as one, but that was still just a facade made of flesh. It was an unfamiliar form that was extremely awkward to fight in as it played havoc with the sentient chest’s sense of balance and direction. Just walking around was difficult enough, so combat was out of the question entirely. Any enemy that could be defeated by that shape’s awkward flailing would hardly be considered as an opponent that required magical equipment.

And that was when Boxxy found out about Artificers. About how they could build unorthodox weapons and gear that seemingly ignored standard conventions. Transforming shields, repeating crossbows, multi-purpose projectile launchers, metal boots that allowed flight, gadgets that rendered one invisible, weapons that outright shot lightning – the list of fascinating inventions went on and on and on. But perhaps the most alluring part of that profession was the ability to create truly original works that were custom-tailored to fit the needs of their creator. Even if said creator was a violent box with a penchant for sticking pointy objects into fleshy things.

Of course, Boxxy was intrigued by this Job. Using cheap tricks and unexpected manoeuvres to confuse and befuddle its opponent was its way of life, so the possibilities it saw within the Artificer Job were truly delicious. Granted, most of this information it got second-hand from Xera, but it could easily confirm the details if it visited the best (and only) Artificer trainer in the city.

Which was how it met Cornie Fizzlesprocket and obtained the Artificer Job from her for a fee, all in the same day. Well, it also had to have her memory wiped since it got over-excited and licked her face with a clearly inhuman one-metre-long tongue, but that was beside the point.

However, it would appear that making original designs from scratch was well out of the moronic chest’s current abilities. It didn’t even know how screws, nuts, and bolts even worked, let alone gears, springs, or magnets. To say it had gone in over its lid was an understatement. Thankfully the Artificer Job and its derived Skills would grant the knowledge and expertise necessary to create all those wondrous devices Boxxy had heard about. Provided the monster put in the time, effort and resources to raise them properly, of course.

This course of action was precisely what the Mimic was currently engaged in. A future where it could unleash all manner of deadly contraptions on its foes was a tremendous source of motivation. Plus, it found the act of tinkering to be uniquely tasty. These two reasons were why the only noises that could be heard throughout the abandoned warehouse’s old office for the past hour were the clacking and scraping sounds of an Artificer immersed in their work. And the fruits of that labour took shape as a metal dagger handle with a slot where the blade should be.

[You have created a Retractable Blade of Poor quality.]

The name of the thing was indicative of its function. Boxxy opened its mouth and a pale humanoid arm stretched out of it. The Retractable Blade was then partially absorbed by this arm, sinking into the skin just above the wrist. And then the Mimic activated it by triggering the small switch hidden inside the out-of-place limb’s skin.

*SNIKT*

A ten-centimetre-long steel blade popped out just above its wrist and over its knuckles.

“Holy shit!”

“Whoa! Hey, that’s pretty cool!”

The two demons that had been sitting quietly until now let out surprised voices. Xera was momentarily startled while Kora was actually impressed. Of course, they saw the assembly start to finish, but they had no idea what this blade-in-a-box was supposed to actually do until they saw it with their own eyes.

*SNI-SNIKT*

The blade disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, although it failed to retract fully on the first try. As one would expect from a Poor quality item, it had some glaring defects. Boxxy thought this was a good start though, as its main goal here was increasing its Artificer Levels. It hardly mattered if the Retractable Blade was crappy, as the monster could achieve a far superior result if it put its Metal Mimicry to use. It had no intention of putting the thing to use, but the curious box still wondered how effective a weapon it actually was.

Luckily, it had just the test subject on hand to help it find out.

“Snack, come over here and stand still,” it commanded.

The succubus, having no choice in the matter, did as ordered and stood before her master while still disguised as a nun. She had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen, so she was unabashedly looking forward to this next bit. And indeed, just as she’d deduced, her master swung that freakish arm towards her chest. She envisioned a scenario where the blade would pop out at the last moment and strike into her with added momentum and force.

*SNIKT*

[You have suffered a deep wound. HP -122.]

“Guheh! Heeeh! Hnnnn!”

Which was precisely what had happened. The specially-designed iron blade skewered her left breast and pierced her torso. If she had a heart, it would undoubtedly be stabbed clean through. But since she didn’t, she could just revel in the delicious sensations of being penetrated by something long and hard.

Boxxy, on the other hand, was slightly disappointed. This amount of damage was quite terrible. Was it because this weapon wasn’t a dagger, technically speaking? They were somewhat similar but very different at the same time, so it was possible that its Dagger Mastery did not apply in this case. Or maybe the reason for this subpar performance was because the device was of shoddy make?

The Mimic briefly thought back on the last hour and remembered that it slightly bent the main lynchpin during assembly. That was probably why the knife couldn’t be reeled in and also why there was a small time lag between the trigger being pressed and the blade popping out.

The rookie Artificer figured it might as well take the thing apart and see if it messed up anything else.

*SNAP*

However, attempting to pull the weapon out of the demon’s torso caused it to break off, leaving the succubus with a large metal fragment sticking out of her left boob. Well ... that wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did anyway. Boxxy had shaved away too much material from the brace that connected the handleless knife to the rest of the contraption, which snapped under the sudden strain.

“Ahhhn, haaaa!”

As for Xera, she was understandably still in pain. And she was also – albeit less understandably – still enjoying it. That was when the Mimic had a flash of inspiration. It made a fist and punched the succubus in her wound, driving the blade even farther inside her.

“GYAAAH! Haaaahn!”

[Your target has suffered internal injury. Target HP -71.]

The demon fell over backwards, screaming, her mostly decorative blood flying everywhere. The Mimic loomed over her, holding one of the cheaper healing potions it had. The succubus looked up at it in between wails of pain and pleasure but had no idea what was about to happen. Surely that selfish master of hers wasn’t about to heal her in this situation, right?

Contrary to her expectations though, that was precisely what happened. Boxxy poured the magical liquid directly onto the wound. Doing so instead of drinking it would concentrate the potion’s effect on that part of the body, restoring less HP overall but instantly treating critical injuries. It looked as if the knife-eared Alchemist that sold it the magical medicine had been telling the truth, as the bleeding gash was sealed within the blink of an eye.

With the foreign object still inside.

“AAAAAARHH! ARRRGHAA! AAAAAAAAH!”

The test subject started screaming her lungs out. These were no longer lustful half-moans brought on by one’s kink, but the wailing of a woman being tortured. She thrashed about wildly as the magical liquid tried to make her body bond with the metal blade that clearly didn’t belong to it. Her HP didn’t take any damage, but the pain she felt was like every nerve in her chest was on fire.

Another tip that old Alchemist gave Boxxy was to make sure that no foreign objects like shards of glass or arrowheads remained in the open wound before applying a potion directly to it. The Mimic wasn’t sure how that mattered until it witnessed the results for itself. Drinking the concoction normally would cause the healing effect to work from the inside out, causing any foreign objects to be pushed out of the body. However, using it directly on the injury would have the opposite effect, resulting in what Xera was currently going through.

“Stand up,” commanded the Mimic.

The wailing succubus made an effort to follow this order, but every single movement caused bolts of pain to shoot through her chest, all the way into the back of her head. The white-hot sensation made her stumble over and fall down to the ground, which only aggravated her condition. She continued wailing like a banshee that was having all her teeth and nails pulled out simultaneously and seemed physically incapable of fulfilling Boxxy’s directions.

The Mimic was quite satisfied with this outcome. It had no idea that a disposable blade and a cheap potion could produce a result like that but wasn’t about to complain. It made a mental note of this combination, as it could very well be used to disable an opponent in the future. Whether it could actually pull off such a thing in the heat of combat was another question entirely, but it was good to have options.

[Your familiar has been dismissed.]

Having finished its impromptu experiment, the Mimic sharpened its focus and forcibly dismissed its familiar, causing both her screaming and thrashing to cease immediately. Xera’s now lifeless physical form disappeared within seconds, as did any bodily fluids she left behind. All that was left of her was the broken off Retractable Blade. The Mimic nonchalantly picked it up and examined it. It was still in near-pristine condition so it could undoubtedly be reused. Satisfied, it sat back down in its little work area, re-summoned the succubus and went about dismantling the rest of its first clockwork-based gadget.

Kora, having watched the whole ordeal, was more than a little disturbed. Even if she wasn’t as susceptible to pain as her co-contractor, she seriously doubted whether she could bear that. Yet she was still somewhat curious whether she could handle it, in a sort of ‘if there’s a mountain, you have to climb it’ kind of way. However, even she wasn’t stupid enough to ask her sadistic box of a master about that and was instead busy thanking her lucky stars it wasn’t her turn to be used as a punching bag.

In the end, she resolved to satisfy her morbid curiosity by questioning the one who had gone through it.

“Hey, Slagathor,” she called out in a low voice.

There was no way the succubus didn’t hear her, yet she showed no reaction and gave no response. She just kept staring absentmindedly in the Mimic’s general direction. Kora naturally did not appreciate being ignored, so she exerted more effort in getting her fellow demon’s attention –

“Oy! I’m talking to you!”

*SLAP*

– mostly by raising her voice and hitting her co-contractor across the face with a backhanded strike that was more of a punch than a slap.

“Yeeeees? Whaaat is it?”

That seemed to do the trick as Xera looked away from the Mimic and stared at the fiend. However, those glassy eyes, loopy grin, and silly way of speaking were completely unlike her.

“You’re acting weird. Weirder than normal, I mean,” Kora pointed out. “Did your rotten head break even further?”

“Hee hee hee … Maaaybee!” Xera answered in an uncharacteristically cheerful voice.

“ … Okay, seriously. What’s going on? Do I have to call Demons ‘R’ Us?”

It didn’t matter to Kora how much physical torment her co-contractor went through, but the fiend would take action immediately if the succubus’s immortal soul was in danger. No demon, no matter how depraved, insane, or selfish, would truly wish to see their fellow residents of the Beyond disappear for good. And they got along much better than one would normally expect, so Kora’s unusual show of concern was quite genuine.

“Oh, nooooo! Nothing like thaaaat,” Xera responded in a half-singing voice. “I had just forgotten how, nnnn, thorough my Master can be!”

This was the first time in a long while she had been abused to that extent. It was far more exhilarating than anything Kora had done to her. Of course, the fiend broke her bones and bruised her body during their extremely violent sessions, but she still held herself back. Mostly because their Master only allowed the two to engage in strictly non-lethal antics, but also because the red-skinned giantess was growing a little bit soft on her.

Boxxy, on the other hand, just saw her as a tool – a thing. It regarded her as nothing more than its possession, something to be used and thrown away as an owner saw fit. There was no doubt in the succubus’s mind that the only reason she wasn’t still writhing in agony on the floor was because Boxxy wanted to retrieve its component from inside her. That, or she was simply being too noisy for its liking.

Of course, the Mimic didn’t literally consider her as an inanimate object. It still understood that demons were living beings with thoughts, opinions, and emotions of their own. It just actively ignored that side of them until it became a problem. In Xera’s opinion, although Kora’s physical abuse was – for lack of a better word – quite tasty, the fiend paled in comparison to Boxxy. Nothing could make the succubus’s twisted heart race quite like the malicious neglect of her one and only Master. Well, metaphorically speaking, at least.

“ … I swear, you are getting creepier by the day,” Kora said.

Xera did not respond. She simply kept staring at her master working on its little contraption while humming a random tune under her breath.

Part Five

It could be said that the Calamity of Monotal served as a sort of wake-up call for the Empire’s complacent nobles. A good example of this was the Lord-Mayor in charge of Erosa. In the past, he had been quite stingy with the city’s defensive budget, although the same could be said of many of his peers. At least he was justified, in that Cradle Valley was a relatively peaceful place, far away from any external threats and with very few internal problems. However, his stance changed practically overnight when the grim rumours surrounding Monotal were confirmed to be true.

Money was poured into the guardsmen responsible for Erosa’s security. Equipment was ordered and delivered, salaries were raised, training was intensified, and recruitment drives were started. The lord even went as far as authorizing so-called ‘power-levelling’ expeditions for his guardsmen. This was a practice whereby a group of powerful adventurers would be paid to act as babysitters to one or more weaker individuals. These weaklings would attack strong monsters and inflict some modicum of damage, and the bodyguards would then swoop in and secure the kill.

This method led to a dramatic increase in one’s Job Level and any related Attributes but also came with a downside. The power-leveller would be left with their Skills and weapon Masteries woefully undeveloped. This created a very real problem that was referred to in the adventurer community as ‘hollow power.’ It meant that an individual whose strength had been coddled rather than forged through their own merits would lead them astray. They would grow overconfident and arrogant without having the basic abilities, combat experience, or ‘battle sense’ to back them up. There were, of course, those who sought to actively rectify this flaw and fill in the gaps, but they were often few and far between.

So while power-levelling was effective in rapidly increasing one’s martial or mystical might, it was quite frowned upon by veteran adventurers – who were also, ironically enough, the only ones who could reliably fulfil such requests. However, the province was in a state of emergency. The lord had to take drastic measures to make sure that not only was Erosa kept safe, but that its citizens also felt safe, and the local guilds supported his policies.

As a result, the city’s security force experienced an explosive growth in both quantity and quality. Within the span of ten days, it went from two hundred guardsmen with an average Level of 20 to four hundred well-armed soldiers with a Level of at least 35. This allowed patrols to be tightened and security checkpoints to be beefed up. There was even an anti-intrusion enchantment placed along the walls that would trigger an alarm should someone or something try to sneak in over them. It caused a few problems until it was calibrated to ignore most common birds, but that was a minor hiccup.

There were, of course, more major hiccups. Many of the newly hired guards, for example, didn’t particularly care for the people and simply wanted to get paid. There were even a few bad apples who tried their hand at smuggling or absconding with their issued weapons and armour, but they were quickly rooted out and punished accordingly.

The overall result of this initiative was still positive in the short-term. The commoners were reassured their taxes were being well spent and the adventurer types that poured in from all over the country were less inclined to stir up trouble.

It was too early to tell if there had been any sort of effect on the crime rate, though that certainly didn’t seem to be the case. While patrols within the city’s walls increased, unrest also swelled with all the refugees and adventurers passing through. The slums were mostly ignored by law enforcement and its residents were still treated as nothing more than a statistic. Nobody with any actual power would really notice or care if a bunch of them went missing. They were too busy focusing on new threats instead of dealing with existing ones. So while there was an overall heavier presence of guards within and around Erosa, it was mostly concentrated on the city’s gates, walls, and main streets.

And tonight was no different. There was a regiment of fourteen guards standing at attention at the city’s northern entrance, even though the sun had set long ago, and the vast majority of the town’s population was fast asleep. Eight of them were on the outer side of the gatehouse while the remaining six kept an eye on the inside. And one of those six noticed a pair of shadows approach his position from the darkened street.

“Who goes there?” he called out.

His colleagues immediately raised their guard at his words. The area around the gate was bathed in the warm yellow light of the torches, but it was still hard to make out people’s faces until they got closer.

“It is I, my child,” called out the smaller silhouette with a clear, calming voice.

The image of a humble nun in service to the Goddess Teresa gradually became clearer with every step she made. She wore a plain, dark grey habit with the image of a small golden hammer embroidered on either shoulder. Her face was easy on the eyes and, although she looked to be in her early 20s, she carried herself with an undeniable sense of grace and humility.

“Ah, sister Lyo?” said the guard after he recognized her. “Going out to gather Moonblossoms again?”

“Indeed, my child. I am afraid the orphan in my care is still suffering from night terrors.”

Moonblossoms were a herb said to bestow sweet dreams on anyone who drank tea made from its petals. The catch was that the flower withered quickly and, as suggested by its name, only bloomed under the moonlight. Therefore, it was perfectly reasonable for one to gather the herb after dark if they hoped to make use of its sleep-inducing properties.

“And, uh, mister tall, dark, and gruesome there will be your escort?”

The guard pointed at the person following behind the nun. He was a heavyset man who stood at over two metres in height. The heavy cloak he wore concealed both his face and his body. The suspicious looking individual didn’t speak, merely nodding his head deeply in response to the guard’s inquiry.

“That is so,” confirmed the nun.

“Are you certain you will be fine with just him?”

“Do not fret, my child. He is most capable.”

“Well yeah, I know it’s not the first time you’ve hired him, but I can’t help but worry sending you out there with a shady guy like that.”

“I appreciate your concern, but please be at ease. I trust my dear cousin with my life.”

“Ah, your cousin is it?”

If the good sister said it was so, then it must have been the truth. After all, she was one of the devout servants of Teresa, the Goddess of Truth and Justice.

“Apologies, sister Lyo. I just can’t help but worry. I, uhm, heard about the break-in at the temple.”

Someone had snuck into the local temple of Teresa and absconded with one of the Holy Pearls kept there. Pretty much the entire city knew by now, even though the heinous act had only come to light this afternoon.

“Indeed, a very horrid affair,” said the nun with a hint of sadness in her voice. “I pray the misguided soul who took that sacred treasure will see the light of Her Truth and beg for Her forgiveness.”

The nun raised her right hand up to her face and pressed the tips of her middle and index fingers to her lips, forehead, and left breast in turn. Many of the guards present there repeated the religious gesture. Its meaning could be loosely interpreted as, ‘Let my mouth speak only the truth that resides within my mind and heart.’

The well-meaning guard then ordered the rest to make way for the devout nun and her companion. They guided them respectfully through the heavily guarded door on the side of the gate and kept a watchful eye on them as they made their way into the darkness that lay beyond the city’s walls.

“I don’t like that guy,” one of the men stationed outside the wall said to his older colleague once the two travellers were out of sight.

“Yeah I know,” agreed his fellow watchman. “Gives me the creeps, you know?”

“What? Oh yeah, I guess there’s that, too.”

“Huh? What were you talking about, then?”

“Nothing much. Just a bit jealous, I suppose.”

“You are? Of what?”

“I mean, he gets to spend time with a cute girl like that for the night. You know how it is – just the two of them … under a moonlit sky … away from prying eyes … ”

The other guy raised his hand, gesturing for his colleague to shut up. “I am going to pretend I didn’t just hear you insinuate that sister Lyo is having an immoral tryst with her cousin.”

“How’d you know they haven’t done it?”

“Because, you idiot, that’s fucking sick. Not only that, but there’s no way of one Teresa’s faithful would break their oath of celibacy.”

Swearing to maintain one’s chastity wasn’t a practice that was as widespread as it used to be, but it was still very common among the human-dominated Lodrak Empire’s clergy. The ones in Erosa were no exception.

“Yeah? And how would you know sister Lyo hasn’t done it?”

“Because Teresa’s the Goddess of Truth.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So? Do you honestly think She’d let anyone get off easy if they dared break an oath made in Her holy name? They’d get branded with the Taboo Skill for sure!”

The effects of that Skill were, simply put, to alienate the bearer from all religious orders and pious believers. It was basically the Gods’ way of marking those who actively and knowingly went against their will. It was pretty much a death sentence in some of the more … fanatical corners of the world.

“Oh, right,” said the younger guard. “That was a thing, wasn’t it?”

He vaguely remembered hearing something like that from his mum, but he had forgotten about it since he wasn’t a particularly religious guy. He had far more important things to worry about than some far-off Gods. Like putting food on the table, or finding an apothecary to treat that weird boil on his bum.

“Hey, you lot!” called out someone from on top of the gatehouse. “Be quiet down there and pay attention! If someone or something sneaks past us it’ll be on all our heads!”

“Yes sir!” replied the two undisciplined guards as they resumed their duties.

Tensions were indeed high since the Calamity of Monotal, so they could not afford to be careless. That was the whole point of all the beefed-up security measures in the first place. Which was more than a little ironic since the creature responsible for that disaster had just slipped by them anyway.

Actually, it was more accurate to say that it had slipped under them.

As it turned out, all the guards and magical security systems were no match for a mimic with a penchant for digging and too much free time on its hands. Or was that tentacles? Tongues? Legs, maybe?

Regardless of Boxxy’s confusing anatomy, it had simply made a tunnel that went under the western section of the wall. The entrance was near its hideout in the slums, and the exit was some distance away from the wall, impossible to spot at a distance. Of course, the heavy security measures weren’t in place when the Mimic first got there, and it could leisurely climb over the wall.

But that was then, this was now. Attempting something like that after the detection enchantment had been placed was sure to cause an alarm. Trying to get past the security checkpoints was also quite problematic. The monster seriously doubted whether it had the people skills to not make them suspicious of its true nature, so it opted to avoid them entirely.

Granted, the subterranean route wasn’t its only option. There was also the possibility of infiltrating the city by walking along the bottom of the Whispering Canal. The deep, narrow river provided Erosa with fresh drinking water and ran right through the centre of the city. Going through the drains built into the city’s thick stone walls was an obvious choice, but Boxxy had to give up on that path. The water was crystal clear for the most part, so anyone and anything would be able to spot it moving along the bottom. There was also the very real worry of running out of breath.

The fact that the wall’s submerged drain pipe had not one, not two, but a series of four metal grates protecting it had very little to do with Boxxy’s decision to avoid that place, okay?

Having passed through its tunnel, the Mimic emerged into the night under the cover of darkness. Since the west side of the city wall had no gates, it only had to worry about the people patrolling on top of and around the wall, but the distance between them and it was already more than sixty metres. It also made sure to cover its faux-wooden body in imitation grass and leaves in order to blend in with the knee-high grass that surrounded the plains to the west of the city.

Boxxy scuttled along towards the Troll Woods in the distance but made a slight detour. It noticed a nun and her towering escort in the fields and decided to scout them out. It approached them silently under the cover of Stealth and the surrounding tall grass. It stalked them for a bit, sizing them up and gauging whether it should pounce. The woman that was busy picking flowers didn’t seem to be particularly threatening, but the Mimic knew better than to underestimate the humans around these parts. Based on her religious vestments, it was very likely she was the holder of a Priest Job, although her Level was more or less a complete mystery.

Her escort was clearly a threat, however. Shining full plate could be seen under his cloak, while what was probably the handle of a greatsword stuck out from behind his head. He was obviously a close combat fighter, and although his Level was equally unknown, he was giving off a very dangerous feeling. Also, his gear looked particularly shiny and, as Boxxy found out recently, shiny things were expensive. Owning expensive things meant he must have had the money to buy them, which in turn meant he was probably a successful adventurer. And successful adventurers were the kind of monster-hunting experts who stood a real chance of defeating an uppity box that had gone in over its head.

Eventually the Mimic decided against attacking the two and skulked away towards its initial destination. If either of those two were alone, then it would have definitely ambushed them. However, if they were together and it failed to take down the healer on the first strike, then its chances of winning that fight became close to zero. At that point it would have to retreat or lose its life. So, rather than gamble on a fight it wasn’t certain it would win, it decided to avoid it completely and go hunt far more predictable prey like its fellow monsters instead.

Having made it to the edge of the Troll Woods about an hour later, the Mimic forcibly dismissed both Kora and Xera, who were currently still in the city, and summoned them to its new position as backup. It briefly considered doing this to get a drop on the two potential targets earlier, but quickly deemed that to be a terrible idea. The Summon Familiar Skill was quite flashy, so using it in the open fields just outside the city wall was a good way of getting itself noticed. Not only by the people in question but also by the sentries atop the wall.

The three of them set off into the thick woods, looking for a Bouncewood tree. Finding one only took about five minutes since the Mimic was already familiar with their shape, as this was far from its first visit to these parts. The tree’s surface was black and smooth, just like the Quest said, and the reason for that was because its bark was essentially a form of natural rubber. Its appearance was also closer to that of an oversized palm tree than a pine or oak tree, although that little detail was well outside the purview of the Mimic’s understanding of botany. The combination of the strange plant’s bark and shape made it bouncy, stretchy and resilient, which made it an interesting component that could be useful to Artificers. Boxxy decided it would collect a few extra kilograms for itself, in addition to what was necessary for the Quest.

However, it soon found out exactly why this seemingly easy Quest had not been taken by someone else earlier.

Stripping away that bark was hard. It was impact resistant to the point where Kora’s punches and kicks had absolutely no effect and merely bounced off. Trying to put her entire weight and power behind a double haymaker punch also proved to be useless. While her blow was a magnificent hit that would snap most trees in half, this one simply bent over. It then bounced back, making a weird *BOIOIOIOING* sound, and slapped Kora on the forehead, knocking her off her feet. The tree swayed back and forth a few times before returning to its original position without suffering so much as a scratch.

Xera was also quite useless. She could, of course, set fire to it, but burning the bark they were here to collect defeated the purpose of the exercise. In the end, Boxxy transformed the tip of its tongue into a handaxe using Metal Mimicry and started hacking away at it. The tough material dented and dulled the handaxe surprisingly quickly, even though it had the toughness of real steel. That wasn’t much of a problem since Boxxy could easily reshape it back to full sharpness, but it was still a frustrating chore.

It took the Mimic almost fifteen minutes of frantically hacking away at the relatively thin but incredibly annoying Bouncewood tree until it fell over. The tree’s cross-section revealed that over two-thirds of it was nothing but rubber bark, which explained why it was so damned resilient.

Boxxy spent the next half hour or so stripping away and harvesting the bark, making sure to get big pieces when possible. It had a feeling those guys at the Mercenary Guild were bound to withhold part of its deposit if it tried to turn in 120 kilograms worth of rubber scraps. They’d already done that two days ago when it turned in ten troll hides that were riddled with holes and cuts. The dwarven bartender named Grog was even able to tell they were left behind by some sort of irregularly shaped bite marks, though he wasn’t able to determine what monster they belonged to. Which was good, considering the monster in question was standing right next to him.

Once the tall, palm-like tree trunk was stripped of its bark, the Mimic started putting it away into its Storage. Once it had stowed away the last of it, it double checked its Quest’s status.

Collect 120 KG of Bouncewood Bark
Description: Deliver 120 kilograms of Bouncewood Bark to the Mercenary Guild in the city of Erosa. Bouncewood trees may be found in the Troll Woods west of Erosa and are easily recognizable due to their smooth and black surface.
Difficulty: ★★
Time Limit: 3 days 8 hours
Deposit: 100GP
Reward: 100GP
Progress: 0/120

Well, that was odd. Usually the Progress counter that tracked the completion rate of a Quest’s objective would update in real time, and Boxxy was quite sure it stowed away at least two hundred kilograms of the stuff by now. It was quite dense and heavy material, after all, so it shouldn’t take a lot of volume to reach that sort of weight. Ah, but technically speaking, the objective was to deliver the stuff, not just gather it. Otherwise, it could legally get paid and then still keep the stuff for itself. As expected of the Mercenary Guild, their people knew how to avoid leaving obvious loopholes in their Quests that would compromise their profits.

Its business with this place was concluded, so the Mimic decided to leave the forest and go back to town before dawn came. As for its bound demons, they wouldn’t fit in that narrow passage and had to be re-summoned every time Boxxy crossed the wall. It was annoying, but it was better than trying to sneak a two-and-a-half-metre-tall pile of rage and muscle through a small army of armed guards.

Therefore, once the three of them were clear of the forest, the Mimic ordered its familiars to remain behind and went on its way. Almost immediately, it heard the loud noises their usual shenanigans made, but it didn’t bother with them. Any monsters they attracted with that racket would be entirely their problem to deal with.

As for Boxxy, it was already speeding towards the city. The Troll Woods were at a much higher elevation, which meant that getting there from Erosa involved walking uphill for about an hour. Going back, however, was a gradual downward slope, which meant the Mimic could roll almost the entire way to town by using wheels instead of legs.

The shapeshifting chest had already improved greatly upon its original design for the organic wheels. The complex limbs with a diameter of sixty centimetres now took only a few seconds to fully grow from scratch and no longer leaked like they used to. Granted, the ride along the uneven dirt was hardly comfortable, but it was hard to argue with the sort of speed the miniature murder wagon was picking up. It drastically reduced the time for its return trip, allowing the Mimic to cross the distance between the Troll Woods and Erosa three times faster than normal.

It would probably get to its destination even faster, but it couldn’t roll all the way there. Even Boxxy understood that no amount of tall grass would be able to hide a chest rolling along at high speed. Even if humans normally couldn’t see very well in the dark, it was relatively cheap to buy a helmet or a pair of spectacles with a night-vision enchantment on them. So it was much safer to cross the last kilometre or so on foot. On its way back, the Mimic once again spied the nun and her protector out in the wilderness, in the same area they’d been a few hours ago.

However, it seemed the two of them had moved on from their flower-gathering mission to something else entirely. Something the Mimic had been witness to so many times in its short life that there was no way it wasn’t familiar with it.

“Haahn! Yeah! Harder!”

In short, the tall escort was currently on top of the nun and ‘escorting’ himself into her rear entrance over and over. ‘Taking it up the dirt road,’ as it were, didn’t count as far as sister Lyo’s chastity vows were concerned, and she was far from the only one who skirted them in such a manner.

She had technically been truthful with the guard, though she still masked her real reason for coming out here. It was fine, though; to err was human, and she would be forgiven for playing fast and loose with her oaths so long as she sang a few hymns and said a few prayers. Easing her guilty conscience would come later. As for right now, she really needed some stress relief away from prying eyes.

Unfortunately for her, she failed to take into account that the act in question left both her and her escort naked, distracted, and with their backs wide open to attack.

[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 350% more damage. Target HP -753.]
[You have dealt a devastating blow. Target stunned for 5 seconds.]
[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 350% more damage. Target HP -914.]
[You have slain your target in a single strike. Assassination Proficiency increased.]

Honestly … It was like the pair were begging to be stabbed.

Part Six

“See! I smeggin’ told you so!”

The young and much-too-green guard gave a wide smile. He was obviously proud of himself. Or full of himself, depending on one’s point of view.

“Fine!” shouted the older guard in frustration. “I admit you were right!”

Those five words almost felt like someone stabbing him in the gut with a pitchfork. And Guardsman Thomas had hands-on experience with that particular sensation. It was indeed as unpleasant as it sounded.

“Now would you kindly shut the fuck up about it?” he grumbled.

“Hah,” scoffed the rookie, “I’ll shut up when you pay up!”

“ … Alright. Here.”

Thomas reached into his pocket and brought out a King piece, which was an extra large gold coin worth 50 GP. He handed it over resentfully to the cocky youngster. “Hope you choke on it.”

“Haha! C’mon man, don’t be so bitter. It was fair game and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. I still say you cheated somehow.”

The two guardsmen had made a ‘friendly’ bet. The younger one, Shaw, insisted he could do a backflip while wearing the full plate armour that had become standard issue for all of Erosa’s guards. The squirt could barely even move in it properly when he signed up five days ago, yet he still pulled off the backflip like it was nothing. The explosive growth obtained from power-levelling was indeed frightening.

With their bit of fun concluded, the two resumed keeping an eye on the empty streets just inside the city’s northern gate. Of course, such frivolity was normally looked down upon, but these men understood that a little bit of excitement was sometimes necessary to keep the mind alert. That held especially true during these boring night shifts, and the four guards stationed nearby agreed completely. Still, they had jobs to do and wages to earn, so they kept the distractions to a minimum.

An hour or so later the sky started lighting up, signifying the approach of dawn, and with it would also come Thomas’s replacement. However, instead of being elated, the middle-aged guard felt a sense of disquiet. Sister Lyo, who he had known for several years, had gone out on another trip to gather Moonblossoms.

This had been going on for about three weeks and had become a routine. She always said she stuck around the relatively safe grasslands immediately to the west of the city, and she always had that tall stranger with her for protection. Last night was the first time she identified him as her cousin, though Thomas didn’t think much of it at the time. It wasn’t like he had asked her about their relation, so he had no grounds to complain.

However, the pair were taking entirely too long. Usually they’d only be gone for a few hours, but that time had long since passed. Thomas had asked her about needing extra protection. If they turned up missing or even dead – no, he couldn’t think that way. He had to believe they were alright, that they merely got caught up in something and would return shortly.

Unfortunately, sister Lyo and her bodyguard did not return before the end of his shift. His replacement came to take over his post at dawn and Thomas was then supposed to return to the barracks. Part of him wanted to stay and keep an eye out for her, but that wouldn’t solve anything. And he would get in deep shit if he failed to check in his arms and armour on time. He’d heard what happened to some ‘deserters’ that tried to pull a fast one and abscond with the expensive items, and unlike those people, Thomas liked his head attached to the rest of his body.

He trudged off towards the barracks in the middle of the city along with the rest of his shiftmates. Shaw still had a cocky grin on his face due to winning that 50 GP bet and was already bragging about how he would spend it all at the nearest pub. Thomas had no such desires right now; he was way too tired and had too much on his mind to deal with rowdy rookies. Having young blood like them around was reassuring in case shit went down, but their attitude could use some serious adjustment. As for an old dog like Thomas, he had long ago found out it was best to ignore the things he couldn’t do anything about and focus on the ones he could.

Which right now amounted to checking in his gear, reporting the missing persons, and getting some shuteye. Even if he was worried about the young nun, he surely wouldn’t be the only one. The temple was bound to organize a search party once they heard one of their own had gone missing.  Experience told him their return was highly unlikely, but some part of him still clung to the hope that sister Lyo and her cousin would –

*Wooosh*

“Ugh!”

A shadow passed over Thomas, sending an unnatural chill down his spine. Turning around, he spotted a large, cloaked, familiar-looking figure walking along the middle of the mostly deserted street.

“Hey … Hey!” he called out. “Hey you! Big guy in the cloak – stop right there!”

The over two-metre-tall man froze and turned around to face him. His head was wrapped in a blue cloth and the heavy black cloak obscured his form. What little could be seen of his face was sickly pale, and his yellow eyes seemed to lick over Thomas as if tasting him. In one arm, he carried a heavy-looking bag that bulged out slightly from beneath his cloak.

The guardsman blinked a few times in surprise. What was he thinking? This clearly wasn’t the cousin from last night. Sure, the size was similar, but that was pretty much it. Even if he couldn’t see the face it was obvious this wasn’t the same person.

“I apologize, my mistake. Carry on, citizen.”

The stranger nodded in response and went about his way. Thomas watched the hooded figure absentmindedly until it disappeared into the nearby building belonging to the Mercenary Guild.

Now that he thought about it, didn’t that guy seem suspicious? That bad feeling he gave off was –

Thomas shook his head to throw off his errant thoughts. His tired, worried mind was probably playing tricks on him. To think he accosted a random pedestrian like that. Thankfully none of the other passersby appeared to think badly of him, and some even seemed to say, ‘Go on, arrest that freak!’ with their eyes. He was far too tired to deal with some mysterious stranger though – not to mention the trouble he’d get into if he randomly arrested someone on a whim.

Having decided that rest was his top priority, he jogged up the street to catch up with his younger colleagues and continued on his way towards the barracks. Once there, he checked in his gear, reported the absence of sister Lyo and her bodyguard, crawled into his bunk, and slept the sleep of the dead just as planned.

He woke up about six hours later at high noon and went to have luckfast, a combination of lunch and breakfast – not to be confused with brunch. Once his hunger was properly satiated and his hazy mind cleared up, he left the barracks and went into the keep proper. He wanted to see his direct superior and ask if there’d been any sign of sister Lyo. Thomas had been the one to file the missing person’s report earlier, and he was one of the last few people to see her alive. So he felt it was his responsibility to see this case through to the end.

The guardsman climbed up the stone steps inside the keep, up to the third floor. He walked down one hallway, then another, and finally a third before reaching his destination.

*Knock knock*

“Enter,” came a clear voice from the other side of the door.

Thomas quickly opened it and walked inside.

The office itself was nothing extraordinary – just a desk, a few chairs, and a whole lot of cabinets. Sitting behind the desk, scribbling on a piece of paper, was a slightly overweight, balding man with a goatee.

The out-of-uniform guardsman walked up to the foot of the desk and saluted. “Lieutenant Porkins, sir! Guardsman Thomas requesting a moment of your time, sir!”

The man with the oddly fitting name put down his quill and looked up. “Guardsman Thomas, eh?”

“Yes, sir! I’m here to inquire about the missing person, Lyo Rosetta, sir.”

“Are you?” Porkins raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, this is good. Excellent timing, actually. I was just about to have someone send for you regarding that matter. Have a seat.”

He gestured at the empty chair opposite the desk, which the simple guardsman respectfully took.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now then,” said Porkins, putting away the document he was working on. “As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, the local temple of Teresa immediately organized and sent out a search party in response to your report. They’ve been scouring the area north and west of the city all the way to the Troll Woods, but there has been no sign of her or this cousin of hers.”

“Nothing at all, sir?”

“No, guardsman. Not a trace of her or that swordsman. It’s like they disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

That was unusual. Thomas was sure Lyo was at least a Level 40 Priestess and it was quite obvious that muscle-bound juggernaut of a bodyguard would not go down easily. There ought to have been at least some signs of a struggle if a fight had broken out.

“That is … unsettling. Sir.”

“Indeed. Tell me, guardsman, how long have you known the young Miss Roseta?”

“About three years, sir. Four this summer.”

“And were you two close?”

“Not particularly, sir. I’d say we were more than acquaintances, but not quite friends. Sir.”

After all, a gate guardsman and a nun have very little interaction aside from seeing each other in passing every so often. Thomas was a somewhat devout man, so he made sure to treat clergy like her with extra care and respect, but that was about the gist of it.

“And her cousin?”

“Only seen him a few times these past few weeks, sir. We haven’t exchanged words. I didn’t even know he was her cousin until she mentioned it last night, sir.”

“Did she actually say that, though?”

“Pardon, sir?”

“What were her exact words, guardsman?”

“…”

Thomas thought back to that meeting, trying to recall as many details as he could. Well ... the encounter had been more or less the only highlight of the night, so it wasn’t that difficult a task.

“Ah… I believe her exact words were, ‘I trust my cousin with my life,’ sir.”

“And you didn’t feel the presence of Taboo after she said that?”

“No, sir.”

She was a Priestess sworn in service to Teresa. If she had told a lie, Thomas was sure he would’ve instantly felt the Taboo from her. Merely looking at someone branded with that heretic’s mark of a Skill made his skin crawl. A truly disgusting, unsettling feeling, as if looking at a rat or a cockroach crawling around in the filth.

“I see … But she did not explicitly state that the man present was her cousin, did she?”

Porkins had a point. Lyo had stated that she trusted her cousin. Not that the man next to her was her cousin.

“ … Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“What is going on?”

The lieutenant’s tone of voice suggested he had some misgivings about this missing person that went beyond simple concern.

“Hmm, I suppose if anyone deserves to know, it’s you. You are involved in this after all.” Porkins leaned forward and put his elbows on top of the desk. “I had a meeting with the bishop from Teresa’s temple a few hours ago. We had words at length about our missing nun. It appears she had been acting strangely these last few weeks, ever since that stranger showed up. Our investigation of her personal effects this morning revealed she does indeed have a cousin, but that person should be living on the other side of the country right now.”

In other words, while she didn’t lie, she didn’t exactly reveal the truth either.

“The thing is,” continued Porkins, “I can forgive her for wanting to keep her affairs private. I’ve always felt it was unfair for those people to be prohibited from keeping even the tiniest of secrets. However, her disappearance yesterday happened with some … interesting timing.”

“Timing, sir?”

Porkins nodded.

That was when Thomas finally realised what the lieutenant was getting at.

A valuable treasure had disappeared from the temple of Teresa. A nun serving in that very same temple left the city several hours afterwards and vanished without a trace. She even had a hunky, well-armed bodyguard with her. Someone she intentionally misled others to believe was her relative. And all this happened during a time of civil unrest caused by an incomprehensible disaster, which was bound to drive sane people to do stupid things out of their misguided fear.

It didn’t take a genius to connect those dots and paint a picture of a disillusioned nun robbing her temple and running off with some forbidden lover.

“Ohhh … shit,” cursed Thomas.

“A whole cartload of it,” Porkins agreed. “Just keep your conclusions to yourself, guardsman. We really cannot afford to have people start questioning the temples. Or even worse, having the Goddess herself question us.” The overweight officer sighed and sat back in his chair. He rubbed his temple, suggesting this affair was giving him no end of troubles. “Our official stance at this point is that they’re merely missing persons, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Of course Thomas understood why such things had to be done. He didn’t like it, but it was a necessary measure. Besides, he felt like he had no room to comment. After all, the suspect had slipped away under his watch. Was he perhaps too trusting for this sort of work? No, that wasn’t it. If he couldn’t even trust the word of a servant of Teresa, then he’d probably be a failure as a human being.

“Good. Your cooperation is appreciated, guardsman. Take the rest of the day off. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Thomas stood up, saluted once more, and exited the office. He passed by the lieutenant’s new assistant on the way out and exchanged greetings. His gaze lingered on her for several seconds. It was uncharacteristic of him, but he couldn’t help himself. Something about that girl just seemed to demand his attention. It was probably the combination of her beautiful face, enormous rack, and plump ass, all wrapped up in that tight uniform.

Wait, was that why the lieutenant hired her a few days ago? Nah, couldn’t be. Porkins was a happily married and dutiful man. If he hired her, then it was probably for her ability rather than her looks.

Yes… he thought. Probably.

Thomas shook away the improper thoughts. His superior officer’s personal life really wasn’t high on his list of priorities. Having been given some time off so suddenly, he decided to go for a walk around town. He rarely had the chance to just relax these days, since he was either on duty or drilling the new recruits. They could’ve at least bumped his pay if they were going to dump those kids on his shoulders. Ah, but they did technically up his pay a week ago, didn’t they? Guess he had no more room for –

*Woosh*

“Ugh!”

There it was again! A vague feeling of panic out of nowhere that caused the hair on his neck to stand on end. Looking back, Thomas once again saw that looming cloaked figure – the one he’d earlier mistook for Lyo’s ‘cousin.’ The off-duty guard watched curiously as the figure walked off, leaving him keenly aware that this bizarre sensation was not just his imagination.

So what was it, then? The feeling he gave off was distinctly different from Taboo, yet equally unpleasant. Maybe some other strange Skill he had? Come to think of it, he was one of those Mercenary Guild types and what little could be seen of his skin looked terrible. Maybe it was a curse of some sort? Or some strange disease? Would it really be safe to let someone like that walk around town?

It wouldn’t hurt to be prudent …

He decided to follow the man, just in case. The guy’s huge stride was difficult for Thomas to follow without breaking out into a light run, though at the same time it was nearly impossible to lose him in the crowd. Thomas was also in his casual off-duty clothes, which made him look like just another citizen instead of a guard. He followed his target for a good ten minutes before it reached its destination: an old storefront with a cracked and dirty window. The suspect put a bandaged pale hand on the door and pushed it open with a slight ringing noise, then stepped inside.

Thomas looked at the store’s exterior. The sign over the door caught his attention.

“Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets?” he read aloud. “Huh. I’m sure I’ve heard about it before …”

Erosa was by no means a small city. Even someone who had lived there his whole life would be hard-pressed to say he knew every store in town. In fact, Thomas only knew about six of them, since they were the only ones he visited regularly, and two of them were pubs. So how come he knew about this one? It didn’t seem like the type of place he would shop at.

However, the curious guard hadn’t managed to recall where he’d heard the name by the time the masked man walked out of the shop a few minutes later. It felt like the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but his thoughts came to a screeching halt when he saw that his suspect was no longer alone. A little girl with bright pink hair done up in twin pigtails and wearing old work clothes was riding on the guy’s shoulders, with his neck between her legs.

“Eek!” she squealed as she fastened her grip on the tall stranger’s head.

“Want off?” asked the cloaked man in a deep, clear voice.

“N-n-no! I’ll be fine! It’s just, uh, much higher than I thought it would be …”

“Okay.”

The pair set off, walking in no particular direction. Fizzy’s unease gradually lessened as Boxxy walked around and she realised this was a far smoother ride than she was expecting. Truth be told, she hadn’t been expecting anything. She had just let out a ‘must be nice being so tall’ comment while the two were making small talk, which somehow escalated into this current situation. The gnome had no idea what caused her student to suggest this or why it was so insistent, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious.

And now that she was up here, she couldn’t help but feel astonished. She had been to tall places before, of course, but this was the first time she had been atop a moving one. The streets that Boxxy walked through were the same old town section of Erosa she had grown up in, but her new vantage point made everything seem fresh and exciting. Even those scary-looking adventurers that came from out of town seemed far less threatening from up here. She felt strangely safe, almost like she was a mouse riding on the back of a lion.

A metaphor that was much closer to reality than she thought.

The gnome had, however, gotten too complacent. She was leaning over to her left, trying to get a good look at the top of a passing adventurer’s fancy-looking hat. Boxxy made an abrupt right turn while she was off-balance, causing her to lose her grip and slip off her perch, kicking and screaming. She was deftly caught by her student’s massive hands and silently put back in her seat.

Fizzy wasn’t hurt, but the embarrassment of that childish display had finally made her settle down, much to Boxxy’s relief. The sideways chest had grown supple shoulders specifically to support her rump, but it feared her fidgeting might make her bump into the not-wood frame hidden beneath its disguise. It was hence a very good thing there were no further incidents for the remainder of the excursion. The horribly mismatched pair’s walk lasted for about twenty minutes in total before Boxxy returned to Fizzy’s storefront. It crouched low to the ground, allowing its passenger to safely hop off its neck.

“Wow! That was so much fun!” exclaimed Fizzy with a bright smile on her face. She was practically hopping in place with glee. “Well, aside from the whole … falling part … But yeah, I really needed that. Thank you so much!”

Boxxy gave her a massive thumbs up, then waved goodbye as it turned around to go on its way.

“Wait! You forgot your stuff in the shop!” the gnome called out.

The lumbering monster very nearly let out a yelp. It had been so engrossed in what it was doing that it nearly neglected the reason it came here in the first place. Strictly speaking, the whole bonding thing with Fizzy was something it decided to do on the spot after remembering a valid point Snack had brought up earlier that day. The Mimic desperately needed to work on its social skills, lest it create a situation where a memory wipe would not be sufficient.

And since Boxxy learned best by doing, it ended up just going for it when the opportunity presented itself. It was a bit risky, but it all worked out rather well. The gnome’s excellent mood was ample evidence of that. Her ‘accidental’ fall and the Mimic’s ‘timely’ catch probably scored quite a few points. It felt quite satisfied with its performance as it picked up the blue toolbox it had come here to get and set off for its current lair.

However, completely unbeknownst to the monster, Thomas the guardsman had been following it around the entire time. This wasn’t the old dog’s first stakeout, so he knew how to tail a suspect without being noticed. He honestly didn’t know what to think about that whole shoulder riding thing, but it all looked wrong from his point of view. Not only because of the creepy feeling the tall stranger gave off, but also because that pink-haired girl did not seem to notice anything was amiss.

Thomas stalked the cloaked wanderer for another quarter hour but ended up losing him when he started ducking into some alleys towards the slums. Well, that was to be expected. Those narrow, twisting paths almost seemed designed to shake off pursuers, and that shady-looking fellow was much nimbler on his feet than one might think.

The diligent guard wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily, though. Maybe he was just being a busybody, but he refused to ignore that clearly suspicious punk. When did such a person even arrive here? Thomas was sure he’d remember a conspicuous shape like that if it ever passed through the gate he was stationed at. Then again, that only accounted for one of two entrances into the city, and it wasn’t like Thomas was there all day every day. It was not unlikely that the two just hadn’t crossed paths until today’s two chance meetings.

So what about this suspect of his? What sort of person was he? What was his reason for being here? And for that matter, when exactly did he show up around town? These were all very good questions, and the truth could usually be gleaned by asking those who interacted with the suspect on a daily basis.

The Mercenary Guild adamantly protected all their employees’ information, so visiting them without a warrant was pointless. This courtesy also extended towards any outsourced employees they did business with. And those people were pretty damn good at doing business, so it was unlikely they’d cough up any information. At least not without an appropriately-sized bribe, but the guard disliked giving any money to those vultures unless absolutely necessary.

There were always the vendors who ran the street stalls where the masked man had stopped to buy a disturbing amount of meat. Then again, they were probably complete strangers, judging by their startled reactions when he loomed over them.

In the end, Thomas’s only course of action was to question the one person who seemed even remotely close to the guy.

He retraced his steps back to Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets and stood in front of the door. He had been wracking his brains trying to remember what this place was for most of the past hour. Seeing the owner earlier helped greatly in that regard, as he was able to recall this was the only gnomish-run establishment in Erosa. The owner was supposed to be an old coot with a few screws loose, but it didn’t take a leap of logic to determine the girl in question was his daughter. He could’ve sworn there was something else he was forgetting, but if he didn’t remember it by now, it wasn’t going to come to him anytime soon. So he decided to stop wasting time and enter the shop.

*Ring-a-ding-ding*

The interior of the store was, to put it simply, pure chaos. Random contraptions were strewn about, and there were even some loose nuts and bolts rolling around on the floor. There also appeared to be a series of dents, scratches, and cracks all over the place. Something violent had obviously transpired here – and recently at that.

“Just a minute!” The owner’s squeaky voice came from the slightly ajar door in the corner, and the gnome showed herself shortly afterwards. “Did you forget something else, Bo– Oh! Ahem, sorry, wrong person.” Her cheerful voice turned deadpan and monotone when she lifted the goggles from her eyes and noticed the man in her store was not the one she expected.

“ … Cammy Fizzlespunk, right?”

Thomas hazarded a guess at the gnome’s name. He had been trying to remember it for a while now, but this was the closest he’d gotten. Which, judging from the gnome’s long, drawn-out sigh, had been a miss.

“Well, at least he got the initials right,” she mumbled under her breath. “The name’s Cornie Fizzlesprocket, but you can just call me Fizzy.”

“Right … sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. You humans never get my name right anyway. Well, most of you don’t, at any rate.” The gnome set down the tools in her hands, removed her gloves and goggles, and assumed her position behind the counter. “So, what can I help you with?”

“Ah, I actually wanted to inquire about the tall gentleman in the heavy cloak who was here about half an hour ago.”

The gnome’s eyes instantly narrowed to slits. “Who’s asking?”

“City guard.”

“You don’t look like no guard.”

“That’s because I’m off duty …”

“Uh-huh. Well, Mister Off Duty, if you’re not going to buy anything, then leave.”

In retrospect, he really should’ve expected this sort of treatment. He’d be suspicious too if some random old man showed up on his doorstep claiming to be a guard and asking questions. At the same time, he couldn’t just leave empty-handed, as that would mean he’d wasted most of the afternoon off on a wild goose chase.

“Look, I just want to ask a few things about the man. I don’t mean any –”

“Get out,” the gnome said coldly.

“Huh?”

Fizzy brought out a weird device from under the counter. Its main body was that of a thick metal tube, dyed black. It had a crossbow-like grip with a trigger on one end, and a short metal rod tipped with a tiny blue ball protruding from the other end. There were also a number of odd metal protrusions sticking out of it. She was holding it with two hands and pointing the rounded end directly at her rude visitor.

“But I –” stammered Thomas.

*Click*

The gnome flicked one of the many switches on the contraption.

*Whururururrr*

Various bits and pieces on the device lit up and an audible buzzing came out of the rounded tip, accompanied by a few white sparks.

“I said out,” she repeated in a clearly threatening manner.

Thomas didn’t know what the device was, but surely even a gnome wasn’t nutty enough to attack someone in broad daylight, right? Granted, this was private property and she was technically within her rights to refuse service to anyone. But common sense dictated that violence really should not be necessary in this instance. He raised his hands in the air, trying to show he bore no hostility.

“Please calm down, ma’am. I just want to know when –”

*Bzzzt*

A miniature arc of electricity flew out of the device with a flash and zapped the fingertips on Thomas’s right hand, electrocuting him for 10 HP worth of damage.

“Ow!” he yelled, recoiling from the sudden jolt.

“You won’t get another warning shot,” Fizzy said, still keeping the device trained on him.

*Click*

*VVVVVVRRRRRRRR*

She turned a dial on the side, causing the thing in her arms to let out an alarming noise as miniature lightning bolts lit up the air around its front end.

“Out,” she repeated. “Now!”

“Okay! Okay! I’m going!”

*Ring-a-ding-ding*

*SLAM*

Fizzy kept pointing the weapon at the door for several seconds to make sure the nosy bastard had indeed gone away. She flipped the little lever on the side, changing its setting from ‘stun’ to ‘shock’ and finally to ‘off.’ Her Lightning Thrower – an Artificer-made weapon that did exactly what its name implied – spooled down and went quiet. There was also technically the ‘vaporize’ setting, but Fizzy was wary of going that far. Unleashing the device’s full power could kill someone or potentially break the thing for good. And right now, that second thing was not something she could allow to happen.

She stared at the Lightning Thrower solemnly, almost reverently, and ran a finger across its slightly warm chassis.

“Dad …” she muttered. “Sorry about using Zapster on a worthless guy like that. I kind of lost it when that suspicious goon started asking questions about my star pupil.”

A small smile spread across her lips.

“I bet you would’ve loved meeting Boxxy. That guy is an enigma wrapped in a riddle with a side order of mystery, but I can tell he’s a man who adores machines. He’s weird, but in a good way, I think. And he’s just as clever as any gnome. Heh, give him enough time – he might just grow to be cleverer than you are!”

Tears started trailing down her face.

“ … than you were.”

She hugged the weapon and began sobbing quietly.

“I miss you and Lark so much. *Sniffle* Why? Why did you have to go off on that stupid trip? Why did you have to listen to some shady merchant’s promises! *Sniffle* Idiot! So what if the store is struggling? *Huck huck* You’re far more important than this shitty dump! *Sniffle* Curse that damned snake of a man and his shitty money! *Huck huck* Moron! *Huck* Blockhead! *Huck* Stupid!”

Rory Fizzlesprocket was a Level 70 Arclight Artificer. He and his son, Lark, had left to visit the city of Monotal three weeks ago, aboard a merchant’s private caravan.

The same caravan that had reportedly been found wiped out and ransacked on the outskirts of the former city.

“Why did you have to leave me alone!”

Cornie wept as she hugged the last memento of her dearly departed father and brother. It was hardly the best use for a delicate piece of high-powered weaponry, but what choice did she have?

Those worthless humans couldn’t even bring her a body to mourn.

Part Seven

Erosa’s officials had put forth their utmost effort to keep the matter concerning a certain nun’s disappearance a secret, but that proved to be in vain. It was now eight days after that event and pretty much the entire city of Erosa knew about it: A priestess in service to Teresa had abandoned her vows, stolen a Holy Pearl from the temple, and eloped into the night with a stranger.

The cat was out of the bag. There was no way to contain the spread of such scandalous rumours once they found their way into the general populace. This worrisome information had just the right mix of fact and fantasy to make people unable to judge whether such a thing was true or not. The purported guilty party was nowhere to be seen and their innocence could not be proclaimed with confidence by the temple or the guards.

And so, rather than let them fester, the office of the city guard decided to take action. Bounty posters were made and a generous reward of 2,000 GP was offered to anyone who brought forth news that would lead to the capture of Lyo Rosetta or her accomplice, a man identified as Alden Crawford. There was also an ongoing investigation to find out who leaked this particular information, but that was little more than a token effort. Word of mouth was an extremely unreliable trail to follow.

Which was exactly what the person responsible for maliciously spreading that rumour was counting on. In fact, not only were they also the one who manufactured this now widespread untruth, but they were also the actual perpetrator behind the Holy Pearl theft that set this whole situation into motion. And this person did it all with an evil, shit-eating grin on her face. Truly a rotten piece of garbage that enjoyed watching humans flail about in their ignorance. As expected of a succubus with a monster for a master.

Xera’s reasons for doing all of this were, as per usual, entirely self-serving. She’d always hated that stuck-up bitch of a Goddess called Teresa. Any succubus who knew of the deity shared her opinion. These conniving seductresses were basically the antithesis of everything that Teresa stood for; Her natural enemies, as it were. This sentiment was also echoed by pretty much all of demonkind, albeit to a lesser extent.

Kora’s completely unbiased opinion, for instance, was that the Goddess symbolized by the hammer was in dire need of a good hammering, right in Her divine parts. Xera was in somewhat of an agreement, but she had far more realistic goals in mind. The only way to mess with a divine being was to shake the faith of His or Her followers, which was why she toyed with Teresa’s flock at every opportunity. She would have no shortage of victims, either, as that religion encompassed the vast majority of humanity and the Lodrak Empire as a whole.

Which wasn’t to say it was a monotheistic nation. The people of the Empire prayed to other Gods as well, but Teresa’s religion and its influence were by far the most prominent.

So when the opportunity to screw with Her Divine Frigidness presented itself, the succubus leapt on it with truly demonic fervour. And the results were, to put it in her master’s words, really tasty. Not only did she make the populace of an entire city doubt one of Teresa’s clergy with a widespread lie, but she also framed the poor nun for a crime that the demoness herself had committed. None of which would’ve been possible if sister Lyo hadn’t gotten too horny for her own good. It was the perfect concoction that was sure to make that self-righteous deity throw a hissy fit if she found out.

That, however, was a very big ‘if.’

After all, the Gods were neither omnipotent nor omniscient. They could draw power from the faith of their followers to perform miracles, but it could also be said that they were dependent on the mortals’ devotion. The question regarding what would happen should a God or Goddess lose every last one of their believers had been a controversial topic among the faithful since olden times.

Would these deities simply disappear? Or would they instead be left powerless and lose their divinity? Or perhaps garnering faith was simply a way for them to enhance their already formidable power? Such secrets of the Gods were very well kept, but their behaviour throughout the centuries made one thing clear: They wanted to be worshipped. Which in turn meant that causing people to doubt them on a large scale was the best – and perhaps only – way to rattle their gilded cages.

Realistically speaking, though, Xera’s careful manipulations were unlikely to catch the notice of a big shot like Teresa. She had millions of worshippers, so losing a few thousand was unlikely to make any sort of dent. It was the thought that counted though, and the succubus’s machinations were enough to make her feel good about herself. And in the end, that was all that really mattered to her.

Which wasn’t to say her actions didn’t have some more practical benefits. Forging and spreading that rumour around served as a good smokescreen for her master’s activities. Authorities wouldn’t be able to look into the background of some shady adventurer with a creepy atmosphere if they were too busy reassuring the populace. Meaning not only was Xera having fun, but she was also actively improving the chances her current arrangement would last at least a bit longer.

Spreading that information was surprisingly easy, too, as humans sometimes put too much trust in their superiors. And while that trust was usually well-placed, it didn’t account for a devious demoness worming her way into their command structure and poisoning their minds. The lieutenant, in particular, had been easy enough to sway with but a shake of her hips and a kiss on the lips. He eagerly hired her as his new assistant, which put her in a good spot to obtain all sorts of sensitive information. Spreading misinformation was quite easy, too. All she had to do was plant the right suggestion in the right head through her Dreamweaver Skill and watch the mortals flail around in their ignorance as they tried to work them out.

After all, the greatest misunderstandings were those that men arrived at seemingly on their own.

The temples were, unfortunately, less prone to supernatural manipulation. Sneaking into the building while pretending to be an out-of-town nun on a pilgrimage and absconding with one of their Holy Pearls was easy enough, but anything further than that would be ill-advised. Monks, Priests, and Paladins had Skills that fortified them against mental attacks, as well as the power to cleanse such afflictions from others or themselves.

That wasn’t to say these holy men and women hated demons for wanting to spread misery, death, and destruction. That was like hating a fire for spreading in the woods or resenting the rain for causing a flood. The servants of the Gods were naturally wary of unbound demons or those ordered to commit atrocities, but then again, so was everyone else. It was considered just another misuse of magical power, and a summoner was considered responsible for crimes carried out by their familiar.

However, it was worth noting that the vast majority of such incidents were caused by ignorance rather than malice. Most Warlocks that chose to use the power of a contracted demonic entity did so with well-meaning intentions. It was hard to deny that one could do great things if they correctly applied their familiars’ abilities, but keeping a tight leash on a demon was harder than it sounded.

That was why many Warlocks opted to use beholders and hellhounds as their primary contracted servants. Fiends and stalkers were more impactful when it came to combat but also much more difficult to keep in check – and far more dangerous should they be allowed to roam free. As for succubi, although their offensive magic was definitely potent, it was also technically their secondary feature.

Suffice it to say that any adventurer who had one of these temptresses under their command would face a lot of ridicule and suspicion almost by default.

All things considered though, the number of people who opted to go the route of ‘demon tamers’ was relatively small, accounting for barely a fifth of all Warlocks. Most of them opted for the safer route of honing their arcane might and ruinous magic, which did not lose out to other Caster Jobs. As for the ones who opted for the riskier – and potentially more powerful – method of relying on demonic power, they were … tolerated. Some of them were even recognized and lauded for their abilities to control their familiars to a fine degree.

Which was the exact opposite of what Boxxy did. The Mimic pretty much let its demons do as they pleased so long as they produced results and didn’t inconvenience it. Its entire stance on the ethical ramifications of using malignant extra-dimensional entities could be summed up as such:

“Responsibility? Guilt? What are those? Are they tasty? … They’re not? Then I don’t need them. Go bring me tasty things!”

This sort of careless outlook was why the shapeshifter continued its daily routine over the past week, wilfully ignorant of the civil unrest its demons were causing.

It began each morning by visiting the Mercenary Guild with the express purpose of taking on new Quests or turning in finished ones for profit. After concluding its business there, Boxxy would then move on to practising its Artisan Job, either by itself or by taking lessons from Fizzy. So far it had made a plethora of mechanical contraptions that relied on Clockwork Expertise, such as a few dozen retractable blades of varying quality, twenty-five hand-sized clocks, two basic repeating crossbows, several ‘pick proof’ combination locks, and a disturbingly high number of music box toys.

Selling these mechanical wonders proved to be remarkably easy, especially when it came to the better-than-average door locks or the plainly entertaining music boxes. These sales were the point where Boxxy was finally able to recover a more sizable chunk of the money spent on parts, but it was still suffering a steady loss.

It was worth it, however. The Mimic’s Artificer Job had gone all the way to Level 12, which also unlocked the next Skill in the series: Explosives Handling. Flashbangs and dynamite were the basic explosives that could be made based on this Skill alone, but when combined with Clockwork Expertise, the Artificer could also give birth to several nasty surprises. Time-delayed explosives, pressure-activated landmines, and tripwire bombs were all within reach. There was even an evolution of the Bladeblossom called the Bladeboom. It worked much the same way as the original, only it used the power of Blast Powder rather than springs to form a rudimentary fragmentation grenade.

But even though Boxxy was improving steadily as an Artificer, its Warlock Job was still stuck at Level 25 and would stay that way for a while by the look of things.

There existed two methods for raising the Level cap of a ‘people Job.’ The first, easiest, and most commonly used method was to find a suitable teacher. For example, in order to become a Level 1 Artificer, Boxxy had to find an Artificer that was at least Level 25 and had the Mentor Skill. This was a general-access Skill that anyone could acquire with enough time and practice, which facilitated training and teaching in all their forms. It was also mandatory if one hoped to pass on their Jobs to others.

Fizzy was overqualified for this position, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Since she was a Level 56 Arclight Artificer, she could also break the Level 25 limit on Boxxy’s tinkerer Job, provided her Mentor Skill reached Level 4 by that point. One would then need to find a Level 75 teacher with a Level 7 Mentor Skill to break past 50, and a Level 100 teacher with a Level 10 Mentor Skill to progress above Level 75.

In other words, the Mimic had to find the appropriate Warlock trainer if it wanted to further its only Spell-slinging Job. And therein lay the problem. The vast majority of combat-oriented Job trainers all belonged to one guild or another and refused to teach anyone who wasn’t part of their organization. And joining such an organization meant undergoing a Full Appraisal to verify one’s capabilities by revealing their Status. Needless to say, they would immediately reject Boxxy’s application when they found out it was a monster in disguise.

The other method for furthering one’s Job was much more difficult and was known simply as a Breakthrough. In order to accomplish this, an individual had to diligently train all of that Job’s unlocked Skills until they reached the maximum Level 10. A stringent and rigorous training regime would be necessary to achieve such a feat and attempting this path was likely to take months, maybe even years, of hard work. There was also the hidden caveat that, while Levelling these Skills, it was highly unlikely for an adventurer to progress in Job Levels, leaving them in a bit of a rut.

These things made many people shy away from such a path. Why would they spend an exorbitant amount of time like that on something easily achieved in an afternoon with the help of a trainer and a sack of gold? Even if achieving a Breakthrough awarded a Perk that boosted XP and Skill Proficiency for the related Job by 10%, that was little more than a consolation prize. An adventurer would simply grow faster if they sought out a Mentor, which was why this approach was reserved only for those who couldn’t find a trainer or were unable to muster the fee.

Thus, at least for the moment, Boxxy’s Warlock Job was stuck at Level 25. Rather than obsess about it, the Mimic decided to turn its attention towards improving the things it could. The Artificer Job was progressing steadily but seemed to require slightly more expensive components as time went on. Fizzy herself confirmed that the necessary raw material costs would steadily climb due to the scarcity or difficulty of obtaining those substances. Even with the discounts she gave her ‘star pupil,’ it still proved to be a considerable strain on Boxxy’s wallet, and showed no sign of letting up.

At least, not until Boxxy decided it had had enough and cashed in on its ‘investment.’

In the meantime, however, its Mimic Job had actually stagnated for a while. Boxxy had spent perhaps too much time focusing on widgets and gadgets and not enough on murdering the crap out of things. Both that and its immediate monetary concerns could be solved by completing Quests via the Mercenary Guild. Which was why the monster was currently out here in the Whispering Marshes south of Erosa in the middle of the night.

The area was a wide, depressing swampland that had formed as a result of the Whispering Canal’s sprawling delta. The deep and narrow river became shallow and wide and split up into dozens of outlets as it approached the ocean. As a result, the entire place was perpetually wet, overgrown with reeds and tall grass, and always seemed to have a thick mist that limited visibility. The two main gripes adventurers had with it, however, was that it smelled horrible and hid several annoying species of monsters. The former wasn’t particularly a problem for a chest with no innate sense of smell, and the latter was the main reason it was here in the first place.

The Mimic scuttled along slowly across the muddy ground, using Stealth to minimize its presence. Its normally narrow spider legs were uncharacteristically tipped with small disks that increased their surface area and prevented the monster from sinking into the soft mud. It then suddenly stopped, planted all eight of its legs firmly on the ground and – for lack of a better term – crouched.

The slender black limbs then uncoiled suddenly as Boxxy leapt up into the air, reaching a height of about three metres. The spidery appendages on its side disappeared back inside its body and four long, narrow metal rods with pointed ends popped out from its underside. It fell like a brick into a nearby puddle, driving the four oversized nails deep into the ground with a splash, a squish, and a crunch.

[Assassination Skill triggered. Your attack has dealt 350% more damage. Target HP -253.]
[Proficiency level increased. Assassination is now Level 8. AGI +2. DEX +1. STR +1.]

The puddle the Mimic landed in erupted as a gigantic three-metre-long grey lobster emerged. It thrashed about wildly, trying to shake off the stubborn box that had nailed itself to its back. But it couldn’t because Boxxy had already expanded the tips of its makeshift spears to form something akin to fishhooks. It had already firmly anchored itself to the raging crustacean’s backside. Its unwilling mount attempted to reach back and pry the damnable box out of its back, but its long, powerful pincers simply could not bend back that far.

Boxxy opened its jaw and produced two fleshy tendrils wrapped around its favourite shiny things: a pair of mithril daggers. It swung them downwards in a wide arc, easily penetrating the invertebrate monster’s outer shell and gouging out its flesh.

[You have inflicted a minor stab wound. Target HP -84.]
[You have inflicted a minor stab wound. Target HP -103.]

Yet despite driving them down to the hilt, its attack was still considered a minor stab wound. Relatively speaking, poking something this large with daggers was like stabbing a person with a nail. It would take far more than two strikes to bring down a creature that, based on the shapeshifter’s previous experiences, had around 1,500 HP on average. Which was why the Mimic withdrew its daggers and struck again and again.

[You have inflicted a minor stab wound. Target HP -136.]
[You have inflicted a minor stab wound. Target HP -122.]

Boxxy’s assault would do a lot more damage if it could hit anything vital like a heart, neck, lung or skull, but its current position meant it could only strike at muscle and meat. Then there was the fact that these things seemed to have some sort of defences which greatly reduced physical damage taken. It was probably due to their combination of passive Skills not too dissimilar to the Mimic’s Natural Armour.

[You have inflicted a minor stab wound. Target HP -92.]
[You have inflicted a minor scratch. Target HP -13.]

The oversized lobster didn’t exactly sit still and let itself be stabbed to death, either. It thrashed about wildly, even going as far as rolling across the ground, which caused some of the thrusting attacks to veer off course and end up as glancing blows. That was just an unintended side effect though, as what the crabby crustacean was trying to do was shake its attacker off its blind spot. Unfortunately, its efforts only made things worse as it inadvertently drove the stubborn chest’s steel legs deeper inside itself. Being squished against mud or submerged in water was not nearly enough to discourage a dangerous mimic of Boxxy’s calibre, which just kept relentlessly stinging its prey.

[You have inflicted a minor stab wound. Target HP -115.]
[You have inflicted a minor stab wound. Target HP -87.]

Growing desperate, the lobster reared up and threw its head back and sprayed a shower of corrosive acid into the air. The deep green liquid then promptly rained down atop the violent monster currently attached to the invertebrate’s back. But Boxxy had already taken countermeasures in the form of a large, rectangular bronze shield retrieved from its Storage. Bronze was a metal that, although not extremely tough, was naturally resistant to magic. And this particular shield had a special anti-corrosive coating applied to its surface, courtesy of the local Alchemist. The specialized piece of gear blocked most of the acidic deluge, but some of it still splashed onto the Mimic’s body, melting parts of its flesh.

[You have been burned by acid. HP -124.]

Boxxy’s prey, however, seemed to be completely unfazed by this. Its own corrosive spit simply washed over its grey shell as if it were water, but the relentless barrage of stab wounds didn’t slow down one bit. So it kept spewing acid all over itself as much as it could. What ensued was a frantic contest of endurance between two monsters. One just kept stabbing relentlessly while the other tried to flush it out with caustic fluids.

This carried on for almost a full minute before the large crustacean’s four legs finally gave out. It collapsed in the shallow waters of the marsh, its green blood flowing freely from the countless holes in its lifeless body. The Mimic had no room to celebrate its victory, however, and quickly retreated from the body. The spot where it had been mere moments ago was then bathed in streams of acid that shot out from beneath the surface of the murky waters surrounding the fresh corpse.

Such an attack might have worked against a less prepared monster, but this one came armed with a magical perception field twenty metres in diameter. The Mimic didn’t rely on simple eyesight to watch out for ambushes, so sneaking up on it was pretty much impossible. It was ironic that a monster which instinctively relied on deception and camouflage was so well equipped to deal with enemies that used the same approach.

Boxxy skittered away from the scene with all due haste. It was confident it could take down one of those things in open combat. A two-on-one was also doable if it put its Warlock Job to work, although that would mean less XP would go towards the Mimic Job. Four of those, though? That was simply too much. It was far better to apply hit and run tactics when fighting this particular species of monster, at least in Boxxy’s personal opinion. Granted, that meant it would take a while to fulfil the quota for its current Quest, but that wasn’t a problem since there was no time limit involved anyway.

Slay 20 Murk Dwellers
Description: The population of Murk Dwellers that inhabit the marshes to the south of Erosa has increased to an unacceptable degree. Lord-Mayor Osorlov has commanded that these creatures be reduced in number to ensure they do not endanger the surrounding area.
Difficulty: ★★★
Deposit: 50 GP
Reward: 400 GP
Progress: 7/20

The Mimic could take the slow and easy route, though that was by no means its only method of fighting. It still had a number of special surprises waiting inside its Storage, and Snack was currently circling overhead to provide magical support if needed. It didn’t want to use either of those options unless necessary. Killing a murk dweller and then escaping its inevitable backup was easy enough since they were horrible runners and had no chance of catching the highly adaptable spider-chest. The succubus was there just in case something unexpected popped up.

*RUMBLE*

*SKREEEK*

And judging from that racket coming from the thick mist behind the Mimic, something did indeed pop up. Although Boxxy would be hard-pressed to call that unexpected considering it was already looking for one of those anyway.

Slay 1 Murk Dweller Queen
Description: The population of Murk Dwellers that inhabit the marshes to the south of Erosa has increased to an unacceptable degree. Lord-Mayor Osorlov has commanded that the source of this problem be culled in order to ensure the stability of the region.
Difficulty: ★★★★★
Deposit: 50 GP
Reward: 900 GP
Progress: 0/1

Part Eight

The murk dweller queen was about the size and shape of a two-story peasant house, with an appearance closer to that of a crab than a lobster. Her shell was much harder than the common variety and one swipe of her massive claws would probably crush a civilian into paste. The related Quest’s relatively high five-star rating was well deserved, though it wasn’t because of the monster’s strength. Although formidable in and of itself, the queen’s personal might alone was enough to classify her as a four-star target.

In reality, it was her swarm of escorts that helped bump the threat assessment to the next level.

*SKREEK*

The towering behemoth let out another screech that echoed through the marshes, causing every murk dweller in the vicinity to stir and wake up. Dozens of them popped up out of the ground and started converging on the intruder that dared to threaten their mother. The sheer numerical advantage they had made it easy to see why the local guilds deemed this to be a Level 100 threat.

So then why did a creature that was a Level 39 Mimic, Level 25 Warlock, and Level 12 Artificer willingly set off on such a Quest? Because it had a way of levelling the playing field, of course. But first, it had to make some preparations before the queen’s disgruntled subjects tracked it down. The thick fog wouldn’t help hide it though. These murk dwellers seemed to have some way of locating their quarry that wasn’t reliant on sight, as evidenced by how the first wave of them was already rapidly approaching.

Boxxy had already accounted for that and was confident it could manage as long as they were bunched up. It opened its Storage and retrieved the apple-sized, twelve-sided Spell Crystal it had prepared in advance. It was a good thing that a queen showed up so soon or it would have wasted a focusing crystal. Those things had a cost of 120 GP each, and it didn’t feel like wasting that money by letting the Spell Crystal expire. Thankfully, the Level 5 Crystallize Magic Skill afforded it a generous thirty-minute window in which to use it, which had proven to be enough.

*SKREEE*

However, it didn’t look like Queenie was wasting any time either. The Mimic carefully tracked the stupidly tall and oddly spherical shadow through the fog with its catlike eyes. It didn’t sound like much, but that was an impressive feat considering the near pitch-blackness of this marsh during cloudy nights like this one.

Thankfully, becoming an Artificer had given Boxxy access to the Perception (PER) Attribute, which helped sharpen its senses. This applied both to the eyesight it had copied from the janther and the magical perception field it was born with – the latter of which had been extremely handy in finding the submerged or buried murk dwellers. The semi-solid soil around these parts was quite ‘noisy’ and ‘fuzzy,’ so it wasn’t easy to pick out a slumbering monster in the middle of all that. Boxxy didn’t have anywhere near enough PER to completely overcome that problem, but it certainly helped.

Right now, however, its natural senses were telling it about a pissed off gigantic crab that was rapidly approaching, prompting the spider-chest to break out into a run. It took a moment to reach into its Storage and take out one more thing: a flare launcher similar to the one the sweeper subjugation group tried to use about a month ago. It used the flesh tendrils spilling out of its mouth to aim it at the sky and trigger it, sending a bright red light screaming into the sky.

“Snack! Arms! Come to me!” it commanded telepathically.

“Yes, Master.”

“On my way, boss!”

Kora had been ordered to stay about half a kilometre away since she was the complete opposite of subtle. Having her around would’ve made it more difficult to pounce on the sleeping monsters, but that was no longer a concern. The size of her stride and her absurd physical conditioning meant she would reach Boxxy pretty quickly anyway. As for Xera, she swooped in from above not two seconds after being called and glided along the ground on her demonic wings, just above the Mimic. It was a good thing her moronic master remembered to send that signal or she would’ve never found it in this fog.

“Snack, take the sucky thing and use it! Make sure you get all the small crabbies!”

Boxxy stretched out its tongue and handed the pitch-black Spell Crystal to its familiar. The succubus grabbed hold of it, and a rather troubling twinkle appeared in her eye.

“Do not get caught by the sucky thing! I will need your magic for the next part!”

Her Master still wasn’t completely sure about the nature of her eccentricities, but it had already noticed how … enthusiastic she got whenever she handled items of great destructive power.

“ … Yes, Master,” she replied, with a hint of disappointment.

The succubus gave her wings a few powerful beats and ascended into the night sky, dyed red by the flare’s light bouncing off the thick fog. She was able to easily see the massive shadow of the murk dweller queen pass under her. The gigantic monster had no trouble keeping up with the agile spider-chest due to her massive gait, but her brood was slow and trailed behind their mother in a tight-knit group. Xera wasn’t sure exactly how many of them had gathered by now or whether the item she was given would be enough to catch them all, but orders were orders.

“Master, I’m going!”

“Okay.”

“Banana,” she chanted.

The pitch-black Spell Crystal in her hands shimmered slightly in response to the keyword, indicating it had been properly armed.

“1 … 2 … Now!”

She let the item drop from her hands and then rapidly ascended. The crystallized form of the Mimic’s Singularity Spell fell silently through the night sky. It landed squarely on top of the large queen, instantly shattering open and releasing its contents: a miniature black hole created through Ruin magic.

The mud, the water, even the very air, got dragged towards a singular point. The murk dwellers following their mother unwittingly entered its effective range and began floating helplessly up into the air. Even the gigantic queen was unable to break away from the sudden gravitational pull and had to resort to digging her massive feet and claws into the mud in an effort to avoid being swept away. Some of her offspring did the same, but the vast majority of them floated upwards and coalesced into one gigantic ball of floating crayfish. Since the Singularity Spell Crystal’s point of impact was right next to the queen’s upper shell, it almost seemed like the giant crab had an afro made out of smaller crabs.

Boxxy was also not exempt from the effects of its own Spell. The distance between itself and the point of impact was only sixteen metres, mostly due to the sheer size of its target, while the Singularity had an effective radius of over twenty. Twenty-two to be precise, what with the 10% area effect radius bonus from its Collateral Damage Perk. Either way, the Singularity’s pull wasn’t anywhere near as powerful this far out, allowing Boxxy to avoid getting caught up in it by clinging desperately to the ground.

However, while Xera did indeed manage to hit the vast majority of the ‘crabbies’ with the ‘sucky thing,’ none of them were actually dying. Oh sure, the ones at the very centre of the floating lobster sphere were getting crushed under the weight of their kin, but the majority of them were left unharmed. The Singularity Spell did not do much in terms of damage. That was fine though, as it had brilliantly done its job of grouping up and restraining those murk dwellers after the Mimic rounded them all up.

All things considered, the first part of Boxxy’s plan had been a great success.

As for the second bit, that was far simpler. All the shapeshifter needed to do was open its Storage wide and let a series of eight brown cloth satchels fall out of it. The Singularity caught the lightweight hemp bags the instant they left the pocket dimension and swept them up into the air. They flew off and got lost somewhere inside the floating mass of angry crustaceans. They slapped against the writhing murk dwellers and slipped into the gaps between them as they were pulled ever upwards by the unnatural gravity source. They would probably reach the middle of that soggy mess if given enough time, but that wasn’t something Boxxy had. Not only was the Singularity about to dissipate, but the Mimic couldn’t afford to let its nasty surprises get too wet.

“Snack! Light it up!”

Xera had, as instructed, managed to fly beyond the range of the Singularity in time and avoided getting sucked into that angry mess beneath her. She hovered just on the edge of the Singularity’s range and pointed her staff downward, chanting her favourite Spell.

“Inferno!”

The towering pillar of magical fire illuminated the night and enwrapped the entire floating ball-o-crab. It clung to the monsters’ bodies, continuing to burn away at them. However, while it had been an effective area attack, it wasn’t nearly enough to kill all the monsters. Nor was that the Spell’s intended purpose.

*KABO-BO-BO-BOOOOOOOM*

The numerous Blast Powder explosives packed inside the cloth satchels were set off almost simultaneously. The already large mass of fire that was Xera’s Inferno expanded to become an even larger fireball as a slew of murk dwellers were ripped to shreds by both the shock waves and the shrapnel. The sheer force of the explosion sent charred lobster bits and green, sticky blood scattering in every direction, although only briefly. The strength of the Singularity’s gravity field quickly pulled everything back together.

Boxxy’s mind was once again flooded by what seemed to be hundreds of damage notifications, but it ignored them and focused only on the important one at the end.

[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 40 Mimic! All Attributes +2.]

*SKREEEEEEEEE*

As for the queen, she was not entirely pleased with this development. Not only did that series of explosions hurt like nothing else she had ever experienced, but they also did a number on her brood. The shell protecting her upper body was mostly in pieces, and the succubus’s magical flames still clung to her.

“Snack, finish off the crabbies, I’ll get the big one!”

“Yes, Master.”

The Singularity’s effects ran out a few seconds later, releasing both the queen and the few surviving murk dwellers from their magical prison. The massive monster angrily swung a claw downwards, aiming at the one who was undoubtedly responsible for all this – that infuriating half-spider, half-box, half … human?

“Mind Blast ~♪!”

[Your target has been stunned for 3 seconds.]

The massive crab recoiled and wavered mightily as the Domination Spell assaulted her consciousness. Her claw strike missed her target by a wide margin, striking nothing but soggy swampland.

“Frostbite ~♪!”

Six icy fangs flew out from Boxxy’s sides, three from the left, and another trio from the right. They drew unnatural horizontal arcs as they flew through the air, almost as if someone had thrown a bunch of boomerangs. They struck the queen’s vulnerable upper body from both sides like a pair of icy jaws.

[Your target has been pierced by the magical ice. Target HP -319.]

Granted, they didn’t do much. That big-ass monster was sure to have mountains of HP at its disposal and barely even flinched. The size difference between her body and the icy fangs was like prodding a person with a toothpick.

“Frostbite ~♪!”

That was fine, however, as Boxxy could fire off as many of the fangs as necessary. This Spell was one of the more efficient ones in the Mimic’s limited repertoire. Its damage was comparable to a Dark Explosion, at only a fraction of the MP cost. The chant was also really short and could be completed even faster than a Shadowbolt.

[Your target has been pierced by the magical ice. Target HP -319.]

The only problem was that it was really hard to aim. The odd path the projectiles took, as well as their relatively slow speed, made it substantially difficult to hit a human-sized opponent with the full force of the Spell. And that was only if they were standing still. Hitting a moving target with this thing was downright impossible. That wasn’t a problem right now though. Not only was Boxxy’s victim as big as a barn, but it had also been immobilized by magic.

“Frostbite ~♪!”

Therefore, the monster kept barraging it with icicles, though not without restraint. This stupidly huge thing was bound to have HP for days, so the Mimic was pacing its MP reserves for once. It was in it for the long haul, which was why it abstained from using Power Overwhelming.

[Your target has been pierced by the magical ice. Target HP -319.]

The third set of projectiles hit true, but it appeared that was the last one. The queen was beginning to move around again, a clear indication she had recovered from the same Spell that Boxxy was currently chanting.

“Mind Blast ~♪!”

[Your target has been stunned for 2 seconds.]

The towering crustacean went limp again and sank into the soggy swamp as its consciousness was severed once more. Pitch-black flames then poured out of her shell as the monstrous Warlock unleashed an Ebonfire Spell, followed closely by another Frostbite. Xera landed on the ground next to her master and unleashed a Pyromancer’s Magma Missile. Globs of molten rock launched themselves out of the ground with gusts of steam and smoke, drawing large arcs through the air before splattering across the queen’s face.

*SKREEEEOOOK*

She definitely felt those last ones, but it looked like she’d already recovered from the Mind Blast. She ignored the Ebonfire engulfing her and raised a claw, preparing to take out both Boxxy and Xera with a single swing.

“Mind Blast ~♪!”

[Your target has resisted the Spell.]

The Mimic tried to stop her, but it was no good. This opponent’s mind had already sealed itself off due to the repeated assault and it would take time before Domination Spell would be effective again. This had happened much sooner than anticipated, leaving Boxxy wide open to the giant monster’s pincer swipe.

The shapeshifter wasn’t worried though because its backup had finally arrived.

“OOORRRAAAA!” yelled Kora as she leapt into the path of that wide swing.

The crab’s claw slammed into her double cross-arm block. It was a heavy blow as expected, but fiends were no pushovers. Kora grit her teeth, tensed every muscle in her body, and stood firm. Her powerful legs dug two narrow trenches into the soft ground as she was pushed back for about a metre, but she still stopped. She had successfully blocked a monster that was easily three times taller than she was. She hit the claw away with a double straight punch that left a sizable dent in the limb’s hard shell. The queen lost her balance and stumbled backwards, buying the trio a few seconds of time.

It was a good thing Boxxy didn’t have much in the way of common sense; otherwise, it might have been too shocked by that ridiculous display to take advantage of the opening.

“Snack – crabbies?” it asked.

“Dead, Master. This is the last one.”

“What do I do, boss?” Kora asked with a hint of anticipation.

Her master responded to her query by bonking her lightly on the head with the staff that its Xera-shaped upper body was still holding.

“Huh?” the fiend blurted in confusion.

“Dark Infusion ~♪!”

“Ohhhh, there we go!”

Kora let out a gasp of pleasant surprise as Boxxy’s Spell took hold of her. A dark, malicious aura enveloped her body, causing it to overflow with power.

“Kill it,” it commanded.

“Fuck yeah! Grit your teeth, Crabzilla, ‘cuz you about to get wrecked!”

She coiled her legs and leapt at the towering queen’s upper half. Her well-toned body did a half spin in the air, allowing her to plant a fierce dropkick right between the monster’s eye stalks. The toothy smile on the fiend’s face was so wide it almost looked like her lower jaw was about to fall off.

It was only natural Kora would be ecstatic. It wasn’t every day she got to fight an opponent bigger than herself, and she even got a dose of her favourite power-up to boot. This was the first thing resembling a challenge she had gotten after two weeks of babysitting that ruin of a warehouse, which made this encounter even tastier.

“Snack, support her.”

“Understood. What will you do, Master?”

Boxxy’s imitation of Xera disappeared and three tongues holding daggers took its place. Its MP reserves were already nearly dry, as even the most efficient of the Warlock’s Spells was quite demanding.

“I’m killing it,” it answered simply.

The harrowing battle that followed seemed like one without end. Not only did the queen appear to have nearly bottomless HP, but it was supported by many defensive Skills. She also started spewing a rain of acid once her mouth and face had recovered enough halfway through the fight. Boxxy and Xera were able to avoid it relatively easily, but Kora was caught up in it since she was at point-blank range. She survived the corrosive deluge but had to activate Demonic Carapace to lessen the damage and Second Wind to recover from it. The Mimic then took it upon itself to pull her away from subsequent acidic geysers whenever it noticed its target was preparing to fire another one.

Xera mostly circled around out of harm’s way while pelting the monster with magic whenever she could. She also had to use the Purge Spell on the other two several times after the queen released poisonous clouds around her. Her newly-acquired Magma Missile Spell seemed quite effective, but she had to land on the ground to use it. A spray of acid from a stray murk dweller blindsided her when she was doing so. The attack didn’t kill her outright but cost her the use of her wings, which drastically reduced her mobility. She was crushed under the queen’s claw a few seconds later.

As for Boxxy, it alternated between bombarding the massive monster with magic from afar and crawling all over it while stabbing away at her flesh. It even threw the last remaining bombs it had inside some of the deeper wounds, but their effect was minimal. As the fight dragged on, it altered its tactics, opting to cast Delirium whenever there was an opportunity to use Domination magic. The auditory and visual hallucinations that Spell caused made the confused creature attack thin air, though its random swipes did sometimes veer towards its enemies. All things considered, it was far safer to knock the thing out with Mind Blast, but the effects of Delirium lasted two to three times longer. The fight had been lengthier than the Mimic expected, which was why it had gone for the tactic that better reduced the overall risk involved.

Which was probably the right call, as the murk dweller queen did not go down easy. Members of her stray brood kept popping up every now and then as they were drawn in by its wailing, pulling either Boxxy or Kora away from the big one so they could deal with the new threats. At one point the murky water around the giant crab’s feet rose up in the air and splashed against its countless wounds, closing them up and restoring a significant portion of its vitality.

Yet Boxxy refused to give up. Dodging all those claw strikes, poisonous fumes, and acidic rain was nerve-wracking, but its opponent failed to land any clean hits on the spry box. It clipped it more than a few times, but it would take a lot more than that to scare off the Mimic. It had used up a small fortune on the explosives, so it refused to leave until it had gotten its money back by slaughtering this lumbering pile of meat.

The vicious chest’s perseverance eventually paid off. In a blind rage befitting that of a Berserker, Arms managed to rip off a piece of the queen’s battered and beaten shell. Boxxy seized the opportunity and leapt at the exposed muscle. It covered itself with sharp edges via Metal Mimicry and burrowed into it like the world’s deadliest tick, carving and ripping huge parts out of the thing’s side. The boss monster let out a series of pained screeches before finally keeling over sideways and collapsing on the ground, lifeless.

[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 41 Mimic! All Attributes +2.]

“YESSHAAAAA!”

Boxxy let out a triumphant half-scream, half-roar as it burrowed its way out of its victim’s insides. Its spider legs moved to an unheard rhythm as it danced a dance of triumphant joy on top of its defeated foe. That five-star difficulty rating hadn’t been for show, as it had taken over ten minutes and precisely 1,065 GP’s worth of potions, explosives, and other supplies to bring the queen down. The Mimic would eventually be disgruntled at how it spent more money than it would make off its corpse, but right now it was too busy savouring the rush of victory.

It wasn’t the only one.

“Huff! Huff!” Kora panted as she leaned against the gigantic carcass. “Huff! Yeah! Take that! Huff! Fucking crab! Huff! Showed you who’s boss! Huff! Huff!”

The fiend was acting tough, but she was barely clinging to life. Both of her left arms had been melted away by the acid. Chunks of her body were also missing, particularly around the upper body and thighs. She’d have bled out or succumbed to the agonizing pain coursing through her body ages ago if she wasn’t a demon. The fact that she was still able to trash talk the dead creature was nothing short of a testament to the fiend’s resilience and stubbornness.

Boxxy didn’t get out of the fight entirely unscathed either. It took its fair amount of punishment as well but was able to pull through splendidly thanks to the incredibly delicious Skill it managed to unlock mid-battle.

[Mend Flesh]
A shapeshifter’s mastery over their body affords them a uniquely deep vitality.
Requirements: Level 40 Monster Job, Shapeshift, INT 150
Type: Toggled (ON)
Activation Time: N/A
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Restores missing vitality at a rate of 100 HP/sec.
Consumes 100 MP for every 100 HP restored by this Skill.
Reduces the MP consumption of this Skill by 3% per Level of the Shapeshift Skill.
Increases the HP recovery rate of this Skill by 10 HP/sec per Level of this Skill.

This appeared to be the same ability the Fleshmaiden dungeon master near Monotal used to keep herself alive despite losing sizable chunks of her body to the Mimic’s attacks. Needless to say, this Skill made Boxxy’s survivability shoot through the roof. It was honestly like a dream come true. No longer would it have to rely on potions or dodging attacks like crazy in order to pull through gruelling fights. Or so it thought until it got a bit cocky when it took one of the queen’s acid splashes head on and lost about 850 HP in an instant. It had to quickly drink three of its more expensive potions to get its health back to a safe level, needlessly wasting resources due to its own hubris.

But that was then, this was now. And the Boxxy right now had one thing on its mind: dinner. The Mimic opened its maw wide and started chowing down on the mountain of fresh meat underneath it. And it was truly tasty, for it was the flavour of victory. It crunched and munched at the corpse, burrowing in deeper and deeper like some sort of flesh-eating parasite.

Almost exactly like that, actually.

Once it had eaten beyond its fill, it let out a satisfied burp. Tonight was a truly splendid night. Could it even get any better? Of course it could. There was still that one thing that would make this a perfect evening.

“Kadahah Akhsohsohn!” it chanted, full of anticipation.

Countless purple tendrils shot out in all directions, embedding themselves inside the walls of flesh and blood around it. The mountainous body shrivelled up at truly frightening speeds over the next two seconds as Boxxy’s Skill greedily slurped it up. When it ended, all that was left behind was a haystack-sized pile of soggy ash –

[Your Cadaver Absorption has failed.]

– combined with a feeling of profound disappointment.

Boxxy really needed to stop getting its hopes up like that.

[General Information]
Boxxy T. Morningwood
Mimic (Greater), Genderless, 3 months old
Level 41.23 Mimic
Level 25.00 Warlock (MAX)
Level 12.53 Artificer
1449/1449 HP (+3.7/sec)
503/1165 MP (+1.9/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 184, DEX 225, AGI 174, END 253, INT 233, WIS 194, LCK 83, MNT 150, CHR 60, PER 52

[Mimic Skills]
Assassination - Lvl 8.13
Storage - Lvl 7.23
Cadaver Absorption - Lvl 6.65
Biomass - Lvl 5.97
Natural Armour - Lvl 6.72
Metal Mimicry - Lvl 4.53
Mend Flesh - Lvl 2.40
[Warlock Skills]
Summon Familiar - Lvl 7.87
Power Overwhelming - Lvl 6.75
Demonology - Lvl 6.27
Crystallize Magic - Lvl 5.70
[Artificer Skills]
Clockwork Expertise - Lvl 3.85
Explosives Handling - Lvl 2.10
[Other Skills]
Shapeshift - Lvl 8.36
Stealth - Lvl 7.43
Sword Mastery - Lvl 6.65
Projectile Mastery - Lvl 5.01
Dagger Mastery - Lvl 8.33
Ruin Mastery - Lvl 8.41
Domination Mastery - Lvl 6.24
Shield Mastery - Lvl 3.68

[Spell List]
Ruin - Shadowbolt, Ebonfire, Frostbite, Dark Explosion, Shadowbind, Singularity
Domination - Mass Panic, Delirium, Dark Infusion, Mind Blast

Part Nine

Rather than being discouraged at how unreliable Cadaver Absorption was proving to be, the Mimic quickly reminded itself it wouldn’t even have the Warlock Job or either of its deeply useful familiars without it. The Skill provided it with the occasional Attribute boost and it had even lifted Shield Mastery off a dead adventurer. And there was that time it kick-started its Dagger Mastery free of charge. Indeed, the Skill was undeniably potent. Unreliable and random, but potent. Besides, tonight was still a pretty good night. It gained two Levels, the immensely delicious Mend Flesh Skill, and earned itself over a thousand gold pieces for completing both Quests. Therefore, the fact that Cadaver Absorption once again failed to gain anything from a powerful creature was really no big deal.

Yep.

It was fine.

Boxxy wasn’t the least bit bothered by this outcome.

“HUUUUUCK!”

Okay, it was bothered. It was bothered a lot, actually. Then it realised exactly how many potions and explosives were used up during the fight and its mood got even worse. Had tonight been worth it after all? Yes, it had. Maybe not so much on the monetary side of things, but securing the ability to rapidly regenerate its HP had been a huge win. It sought solace in the fact that life would be much easier from that point on.

“Hey Boss,” Kora called. “You okay?”

“Fine,” answered Boxxy.

That was actually the truth. Now that both the thrill of victory and the disappointment of losing a gamble were gone, it was actually left quite … serene. Peaceful, even. Almost like –

“Ack! No sleepy!”

The Mimic shook itself vigorously. It was so tired that it almost dozed off right then and there. This place was far too dangerous to do that sort of thing, especially while exposed. Deciding it had better get a move on, Boxxy briskly walked out of the gigantic pile of black ash and started inspecting the bodies of the lesser murk dwellers. A good bunch of them had been turned to goop thanks to that explosion, but there were still quite a few of them that were mostly intact. It then started systematically using Cadaver Absorption on them, one after the other.

And was met, as expected, with a string of failures. Its fickle mood quickly started to sour once more. But it kept using the Skill on one corpse after another. Persistence was key in this sort of thing, and it wouldn’t want to waste any chance to power up. Some small part of it considered whether it should store some of the bodies for breakfast but quickly decided against it. Objectively speaking, their meat was bad. Something in their green blood made it taste considerably foul. It wasn’t poisonous, just … bad. Without the ‘taste of victory’ around to smooth things over, it really didn’t want to bother with those unless absolutely necessary.

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a moderate success!]
[16% of the target’s highest Skill Proficiency has been added to your own.]
[The body’s deteriorated condition has weakened this effect by 20%.]
[Proficiency level increased. Aci◻ Spray is now Level 3. END +9. INT +9.]

“Oh!” exclaimed Boxxy.

A brand new Skill popped up out of the second-to-last corpse. Cadaver Absorption actually pulled through in the end, didn’t it? Wait, something was off about that notification.  And what was this … odd sensation it felt when it absorbed it? The Mimic quickly brought up its Status window and inspected the new Skill.

Aci◻ Spray
3͢Er̸ф̀гj͠fЯo͡fR҉ ͢ ͢P#́f̨l̸B̀>̴taQg̷ ;;;
Requirements: OVERRIDDEN
Type: Sustained
Activation Time: 1 second
Cost: 80 MP/sec
Range: 7.999999999999994 metres
[Effects]
Emit a spray of co̶rŗo̴s̶isi͠s͘ísi̸ve͘ aci◻.
Increases the volume and potency of the released aci◻ by 10% per Level of this $ḱil̢l̵.̷

“ … Wat?”

Okay, this was new.

Actually no, it wasn’t entirely new. The Mimic had already seen this sort of incomprehensible gibberish and weird squiggles once before. It was back when it was using Snack as collateral to summon Punchy. Attempting to view the Overlord’s Status gave it a list of garbled nonsense that seemed eerily similar to this one. Perhaps it was somehow related? It decided to double-check just to be sure.

1-800-7355-9687-7685
*Beep … Beep … Bee–*
*Click*

“Hello,” answered the familiar, raspy voice. “You have reached Demons ‘R’ Us. My name is Carl and I’ll be your liaison for today.”

“Hey, Carl. It’s Boxxy.”

“Oh! Good to hear from you, buddy! What can I help you with today?”

“I got this weird Skill and I need some help.”

“Is it directly related to your summoning contracts, bound familiars, the Beyond and/or eldritch abominations of terrible power?”

“… I don’t … think so?”

“Then that means it’s outside the terms and conditions of your support contract with Demons ‘R’ Us. Sorry, buddy – company policy. I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

“But I saw the same weird thing back when I had Punchy!”

“Punchy? … Oh right, Overlord Nagnamor. You … didn’t summon him again, did you?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I think I would know if I accidentally summoned a giant fire-breathing demon who can cleave mountains, Carl.”

“ … Did you just use sarcasm on me?”

“Sarcasm? What’s that? Is it tasty?”

“Uh, never mind. What weird thing were you talking about?”

“The Skill – it’s all weird and wibbly-wobbly. Just like Punchy’s Status back then.”

“Is it? Hmm … I think I better consult my manager, please hold.”

*Boop*

Ah, there it was again, that oddly soothing music. Boxxy’s fascination with these tasty sounds was the reason it made so many music boxes for Artificer practice. It couldn’t quite get those toys to play a tune this good, though. At the very least they sold moderately well, to the point where the Mimic actually turned a profit on them. And it felt oddly happy to be making something chest-shaped for once, even if it was just a trinket.

*Boop*

“Sorry for the delay, Boxxy. My boss said we’d better make sure there’s no funny business going on, so he authorized me to help you out this one time as an exception. Send me your Status and I’ll take a look-see.”

“Okay. Sending.”

“Got it. And which Skill seems to be the issue?”

“It’s the Aci-square Spray.”

“… What? Do you mean Acid Spray?”

“I guess?”

“Uh-huh … One moment, please. Uh … Hmm … Oh! Yeah, okay, I think I see the issue. You got this thing through some sort of special circumstance rather than unlocking it normally, right?”

“Yes.”

“There’s your problem then. You’re trying to view the information relating to a Job or a Skill that’s outside your sphere of knowledge and understanding. That’s why it looks so messed up.”

“So … this is normal?”

“Well, I don’t know how normal it is for a mimic to have a Skill from another species, but Monster Jobs aren’t too far apart so it’s probably fine. You still understand most of it, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d say you’re good. I’d wager the Skill’s description and whatnot should clear the more you get used to it, so I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

“Okay. Wait, how come you can see it clearly?”

“Trade secret, my square friend,” Carl said playfully. “Let’s just say the operators here at Demons ‘R’ Us are very well-informed.”

“I see. Thanks Carl.”

“Hey, no problem. Glad you actually had a simple problem for once. And keep in mind, this was a one-time service because of our little arrangement, so don’t bother calling us unless you have a demon-related inquiry. Now, that said, is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“ … Yes, actually. Can I speak with Snack like I do with you?”

“Err … ”

“My familiar. With the skin and the horns. The blue one.”

“Oh, right, the succubus. Yeah, it’s possible, but she’d have to give you her soul number. And don’t order her to tell you her soul number, okay? That could be grounds for contract termination. Especially with succubi, they’re quite touchy when it comes to that sort of thing.”

‘Contract termination’ was a fancy way of saying that the arrangement between summoner and familiar would be made null and void. The repercussions of such an act varied on the circumstances, but generally speaking, it involved either the Warlock or the demon getting blacklisted by Demons ‘R’ Us. Such individuals would be banned from forming new summoning contracts for a period of anywhere between three months to five hundred years.

“I see. I’ll keep that in mind,” responded Boxxy.

“Why do you need to speak to her directly anyway?”

“I don’t.”

“But then … why bother asking?”

“I was just curious if I could.”

“Ah. Will that be all then?”

“Yes. Thanks, Carl. You were a big help.”

“That’s what I’m here for, buddy. Buh-bye.”

“Bye.”

*Click*

The Mimic double-checked its Skill List and noticed that ‘Aci◻ Spray’ was now properly called ‘Acid Spray.’ It would seem those squiggles really were just a problem with its perception of the Skill. The contents of the Skill’s window were still messed up, but Boxxy’s mind already had all the relevant information it needed to spit acid just like those overgrown lobsters. So it decided to give it a try.

First, it grew the relevant acid-producing gland through shapeshifting, placing it at the tip of its tongue. It then activated the relevant Skill, causing the organ to rapidly swell with caustic fluid that appeared out of thin air. After a few moments of charging up, the monster began spewing the dangerous stuff all over the place. The liquid refused to fly farther than eight metres, though, no matter what sort of angle or how much pressure was involved. The acid just sort of evaporated instantly if it got too far away, although it did linger for several seconds if it remained within the Skill’s range.

Next, Boxxy began pushing the limits of the Skill, quickly making a few interesting discoveries. For instance, it didn’t matter how large the acid gland was, where it was placed, or how many of them there were. The amount of liquid produced by Acid Spray each second would not pass a certain threshold. On the upside, it meant the Mimic could shoot jets of the nasty stuff from any part of its body so long as it shaped the necessary organ and angled it correctly.

Still, that acid was quite devastating – something the shapeshifter had experienced first-hand. Being able to use non-physical means of attack without resorting to chanting magic was quite useful, although Boxxy needed to be careful not to get splashed by its own juices. Mimics were far less acid-proof than murk dwellers, after all. Not that being injured mattered much since Mend Flesh would patch things up right away.

Having concluded its business in the marsh and – after forcefully dismissing Kora for whining about her missing limbs or some such – Boxxy made its way back to the outskirts of Erosa. It went into the city through its secret tunnel, crawled into its hideout, summoned both of its familiars for protection, and finally allowed itself to sleep.

Boxxy woke up just before noon the next day at exactly 11:34, according to its tentacle-made clock. Its weekly dose of sleep lasted for almost nine hours as per usual, after which it had woken up feeling refreshed and full of energy. It quickly donned its disguise and set about its daily routine, albeit with a late start. It took to the now familiar streets of Erosa and made a beeline for the Mercenary Guild. It found the place practically deserted, unlike at breakfast. In fact, the only ones present were the dwarven receptionist and what looked like a male elf nursing a headache in the corner.

“Ah! If it isn’t the illustrious Mister Morningwood!” Grog the dwarf called out to the disguised Mimic, and the monster nodded in response.

Boxxy strode up to the bar and sat cross-legged on the floor. This put the two of them at relatively equal eye level. Sensing business was afoot, the bartender put away the notepad he was scribbling on and devoted his full attention to his visitor.

“Late night last night, eh? Ah, to be young … Anyway, what can I do for you today?”

“Quests.”

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up!”

“No. I’m done.”

“Done? You mean you already killed all those crabby bastards?”

Boxxy nodded once again.

“What, even the big one?”

Grog’s eyes nearly fell out of his skull when he saw the affirmative head movement. “But you only got that Quest yesterday!”

“Late night.”

“Hah. Hahahaha! I see, I see!”

The dwarf let out a short, hearty laugh, much to the chagrin of the elf in the corner still nursing a hangover.

“Hey!” the elf in question called out. “Keep it down, Grog! My head’s about to burst!”

“Ah, sorry Lint. It’s just that Mister Morningwood here has made me a whole lot of gold!”

“Gold?” Boxxy’s eyes shone fiercely when it heard the shiny G-word.

“Oh-hoh!” exclaimed Grog. “Now there’s a look I can relate to! Don’t worry, just a friendly wager between me and some of the lads on whether you’d make it back.”

He smiled widely, making it plainly obvious which side of the wager he had been on. There was more to his good mood than that, though. Grog’s personal opinion of the hard-working Boxxy T. Morningwood had only improved during the past week, so he was genuinely glad to see him return safe and sound. Murk dwellers were deceptively tough to handle for solo adventurers, so there’d been a very real chance even this promising newcomer might’ve been overwhelmed.

“Sure you don’t wanna sign on with the guild after all?” he offered yet again. “You’d make a lot more money if you were a full member!”

Boxxy just shook its head.

“Well, can’t blame me for trying. Anyway, let’s make the Quest completion official, shall we?”

The dwarf reached behind the counter and brought out the Quest Logger, placing the crystal orb on the bar. He then confirmed that Boxxy T. Morning did indeed complete the two Murk Dweller related Quests that had been accepted the day before. He excused himself and went into the back room to prepare Boxxy’s payment as per usual and came out with one heavy satchel and two smaller pouches.

“Here you go, Mister Morningwood,” he said, setting them down on the counter. “Please confirm the amount.”

Boxxy nodded and peeked into the bags for the sake of keeping up appearances. It had already confirmed that the 1,300 GP it was owed was present and accounted for. It was also delighted to find out that it had been given one of the so-called ‘Divine Pieces.’ Those large coins were worth 500 GP each, making them the highest denomination of currency around. More importantly, they were made out of pure mithril. Their borderline irresistible shininess made them Boxxy’s favourite form of currency by far. So much so that it had to actively fight the urge to take the coin in question out of its container and worship it. It just barely managed to hide away its earnings underneath its cloak without making a fool of itself.

“Oh, and this ... ” said the bartender, pulling out a 50 GP coin and sliding it across the counter. “ ... is for being a good sport about that bet I mentioned. I made a killing off you, so I felt it was only fair to give you a little something. No hard feelings, ey?”

“Holy shit!” screamed Lint from the corner. He got up from his seat and started running across the restaurant with his hands in the air.

“Grog’s giving away money! A storm is comiiiing!”

He then promptly ran upstairs, likely to hide under his bed covers.

“Storm? Again?” asked the Mimic with a hint of worry in its voice.

“Nah, never mind him. He’s just being overly dramatic,” the dwarf said dismissively. “Why? Do you not like the storms, Mister Morningwood?”

“No.”

‘Not like’ was an understatement. Boxxy absolutely hated stormy weather. It was almost as untasty as getting covered in acidic spit.

“How come?” inquired Grog.

“Thunderbolts and lightning – very very frightening.”

This was a surprisingly honest answer. Something about those loud flashes of light in the distance really put the creature on edge. Strangely enough, it wasn’t upset by Power Overwhelming in the slightest, despite the Skill covering it in a cloak of crackling energy. That aside, the rain itself caused a different problem. Having so many water droplets passing through its magical perception field confused Boxxy and made it hard to take in its surroundings. Though it wasn’t about to admit such a thing out loud. It wasn’t that stupid.

“Aye, nature’s fury can be a terrifying thing. That typhoon that hit us the day before yesterday was pretty bad. Reminded me of the time I got hit by lightning. Not the small sparks that Wizards and Shamans toss about. I’m talking an actual bolt from the heavens.”

“Sounds bad.”

“Oh, it was. Here, I got the scar to prove it.”

Grog took off his shirt and turned around, showing a red tree-like pattern running down his back. Boxxy didn’t even want to think about how much that must’ve hurt. It was no stranger to being injured, but painful things were painful.

“Barely made it out alive; haven’t been able to hold a sword right ever since,” claimed the dwarf as he dressed himself again. “I’ve been hit by hundreds of Spells in my youth, but none of them were this bad. Take it from me – no stick-twirling pyjama-wearing twinkle-fingers can hope to match the real deal. Though I suppose that old hag Imiryl would be an exception.”

“Imiryl? Weird name?”

“That’s because she’s this big-shot high-elf Wizard from the Ishigar Republic to the north,” Grog said as he began cleaning shot glasses. “They all have funny-sounding names up there. I wouldn’t say that to her face though. Imiryl’s supposedly one of the most powerful Spell-slingers on the continent, but also kind of a stuck up cunt. Terrible temper, too. Not the sort of gal you wanna get involved with. By the way, no offence or anything, but you seem awfully chatty today, Mister Morningwood.”

That was because the Mimic had been steadily working on its small talk over the past week, mostly with Fizzy. Word of mouth was a useful source of information according to Snack, so it wanted to make sure it wasn’t missing out. Its efforts had paid off since it found out about this dangerous-sounding woman called Imiryl. But it had a long way to go. As of right now, it couldn’t hold a conversation for long but had a solid grasp on what constituted a socially acceptable response.

Like for instance, it knew that someone behaving differently from normal could often be attributed to a shift in their mood. Therefore, all it needed to say in this situation was –

“Today – good day.”

“Heh. I’ll say. Not every day you get to pocket a thousand-plus gold, eh?”

Boxxy exchanged a few more words with Grog and left the Mercenary Guild before the conversation became too hard for it to follow. It had to admit, it was strangely fond of that dwarf. He was easy to get along with and his body and muscles were still supple despite his old age. The Mimic was looking forward to savouring his flavour. But before (or even if) such a time came, it had to restock its supplies.

Come to think of it, why was it spending all this money? Surely it could just take what it wanted, right? Now that it had Mend Flesh, couldn’t it take all those crummy guards and loot the city however it pleased? No, those were dangerous thoughts. Its MP was not bottomless, and there were plenty of adventurers around. It understood that tangling with monster-hunting experts out in the open was a terrible idea, but it still hated having to give away its shinies so quickly after getting them.

The Mimic concentrated on the Storage Skill’s mental inventory of what was currently in its pocket dimension. Its money reserves clocked in at 1,704 GP with today’s payment, which was a significant sum but not nearly enough for its tastes. It had also used up most of its healing potions, but at least it wouldn’t need those with Mend Flesh around. Then again, having one or two on hand to give it a burst of vitality was probably a good idea. Insurance just in case it ran out of MP in the middle of battle.

Speaking of which, shouldn’t it get mana restoration potions too? Those certainly seemed like they would be a wise investment now that MP could be converted to HP. At least those were cheaper than their healing counterparts. It would probably be a good idea to look into getting some more alchemical oils for its weapons or maybe a few fortifying elixirs. Though short-lived, their magical effects could mean the difference between life and death.

Boxxy sighed deeply as it took a break from its mental arithmetic. How come earning money was so much more difficult than spending it? There had to be a better way to get its tentacles on more numerous (and shinier) shinies.

Since such a method was unlikely to make itself known out of the blue, the Mimic turned its attention to procuring those supplies. It stopped by the same elven apothecary it always visited and bought four blue-tinged potions for 95 GP each. The Alchemist claimed they filled 200 MP per dose, so they would serve very well in an emergency. Boxxy also bought two of the 300 HP potions, just in case.

Surprisingly enough, the old Alchemist gave Boxxy a discount on the healing tonics, knocking them down from 190 to 175 GP each. He even tossed in three doses of medium-grade all-purpose antidote for free. Apparently being a ‘knife-eared twig’ in a mostly human town made it so he didn’t get many customers, so he was quite thankful for Boxxy’s continued patronage. This gesture put the Mimic in a very amiable mood, as it seemed that everything was going its way today.

Next on the shopping list: explosives. They were very handy to have in a pinch and their non-magical nature made them more reliable than the Spell Crystals, though perhaps not as flexible. Boxxy walked idly towards Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets, arriving without much incident. Well, aside from having all the humans staring at it in a generally frightened manner. The Mimic was somewhat used to it by now, but that attention still worried it.

And for good reason too. Evidently, it had caught the eye of one of the city’s guardsmen, who had spent a few days tailing the monster without it realising it was being followed. The guardsman had reported the cloaked stranger’s suspicious activity to his superior, but Snack was able to head the issue off and wipe the relevant memories before the situation got out of hand. It was fortunate Boxxy had allowed her to infiltrate the city guard like she asked, or it might have been made the target of another punitive expedition.

There was no telling when another nosy do-gooder might interfere though, which was why Boxxy made extra sure it wasn’t being followed prior to entering Fizzy’s place.

*Ring-a-ding-ding*

The door frame hit the bell hanging above it as per usual, signalling the Mimic’s entrance.

“Ack! Hey! B-Boxxy!”

Fizzy was behind the counter instead of working on her various projects in the back. At a second glance though, she did have her tools out, so it appeared she was busy as usual, only in a slightly different place.

“You’re here, um, early!”

Her eyes darted between her visitor and the door in the back. Was it really early though? If anything, Boxxy had arrived later than intended since it slept in.

“Ah well, no time like the present!” squeaked the gnome. “Wait right there; I have something I want to give you! Just, just sit right there, okay?”

Boxxy nodded, and Fizzy ran into the back room. It honestly didn’t mind waiting around for a bit. It was very good at waiting. In fact, it was practically an expert on the matter. One could say it was born to wait in one spot until something tasty jumped in its mouth. It wouldn’t get to show off its waiting skills today though, as Fizzy returned from the back within seconds. She trotted up to the counter and climbed atop the small crate she always stood on.

“Here, this is for you!”

The gnome held out a small metal ball. It was about five centimetres in diameter and had a deep groove running around its circumference like it was two hemispheres that were bolted together. It was plated gold and there was a large button on the side. As for the interior, it was an Artificer contraption of some sort.

“It’s, uhm, a gift for, uh, for being such a great student! Yeah!”

Her behaviour struck Boxxy as a bit odd, but it wasn’t about to turn down a shiny gift. This was the third free thing it had gotten today, so it was quite elated as it reached out and snatched the metal orb from Fizzy’s hand. The gnome recoiled slightly from the sudden action, but the Mimic was far too enthralled by the shiny object it had been presented with to care about her. Even if the gold was only on the surface, that was still enough to suit its very basic tastes.

“What’s this?” it asked, brimming with curiosity.

“Like I said, it’s a gift! It’s, err, a prototype toy! Yeah! It’s super fun! Just push the button and you’ll see!”

Boxxy promptly did as instructed and pressed the switch with its thumb as Fizzy ducked behind the counter.

*Click*

*BAZZZUZZUZUZUZUZZZT*

Blue arcs of electricity shot out from the device and into Boxxy’s body.

“SKHRAAAAHHRG!”

It let out a loud, inhuman scream as the powerful current rocked it to its very core.

[You have been electrocuted. HP -258.]
[You have been stunned for 4 seconds.]
[Your Skills have been disabled for 4 seconds.]

Losing control of its body, the two-metre-tall figure fell to the floor. No, it would be more accurate to say it collapsed in on itself as the fake limbs and head dissolved into a sort of red, slightly pulsating meat paste.

“Hah … Hahahaha!” laughed Fizzy as she peeked over the counter. “I knew it! I knew I wasn’t crazy! I kept telling them those dreams were far too real to just be my imagination! Well who’s crazy now, eh? Hahahaha!”

Clearly, Fizzy had been subjected to Xera’s mind wipes one too many times, resulting in the worst-case scenario where she regained those memories. The Mimic didn’t have the luxury of deducing that though. Right now it was barely even conscious, unable to move even a single muscle fibre. Even its magical perception was spinning around wildly, making it impossible to tell what was going on.

“Snack!” it called out telepathically. “Come gnome shop now!”

But there was no response. Boxxy didn’t feel its wounded body healing, either, despite having left Mend Flesh toggled to ‘on.’ It then remembered that last notification said something about Skills being disabled. So that was what it meant.

“Now, you’re mine!” declared the gnome. “And you’ll pay for toying with me! For scheming behind my back!”

She ducked behind the counter and pulled a lever – the same one she had been fiddling with just moments ago. A large number of steel rods sprang up from the wooden floor, tearing it to pieces in the process and extending upwards all the way into the ceiling. The disabled monster was now surrounded on all sides, trapped inside a circular cage three metres in diameter.

“We’ll see how the city guards deal with you!”

Fizzy leapt over the counter and ran out into the street.

This was not tasty at all!

[You are no longer stunned.]
[Your Skills are no longer disabled.]

“Snack!” it tried again.

“Yes, Master?” came Xera’s reply.

“Come towards the shop and find the gnome!”

“Did you mess up with –”

“Now!”

“Right away, Master!”

The monster tried standing up, but couldn’t properly control its extremities. Its entire body was numb, like it was not its own anymore. This was the first time it ever felt such a sensation. Or rather, such a lack of sensation.

[Your flesh has been mended. HP +140.]

Good, that was working again as well. However, this situation was already beyond the monster’s control. At that moment, the Mimic decided to run. It already knew it would be no match for an entire city’s worth of guards and adventurers, so running was a no-brainer, really. Which was good, because whatever passed for the shapeshifter’s brain was still scrambled, making it hard to form complicated thoughts.

[Your flesh has been mended. HP +140.]

The mental and physical discomfort faded away almost completely once Mend Flesh restored the monster’s HP to full in the next second. Now fully in control, Boxxy discarded the cheap clothes it was wearing and stood up on its spider legs. It took a step towards the edge of its prison but immediately shrank back from the buzzing steel bars. The Mimic didn’t want to get anywhere near them, let alone touch them. The instincts that had been quiet as of late were screaming at it not to get close. It wasn’t sure how, but some baser, more primal part of it recognized that its cage had been electrified.

This was bad. Electricity was bad. This entire damn thing was so bad that it made the Mimic want to hide in the deepest, darkest hole it could find.

“Ah!”

It finally understood. This was its elemental weakness, its vulnerability. Much like how undead would be made brittle and slow when bathed in holy magic, so too would shapeshifters lose control of their bodies when exposed to a strong electric charge. This phenomenon, officially referred to as ‘Bane,’ was something present in all monsters without exception. Boxxy had overheard other mercenaries discussing it, but it had no idea it would be this bad. Fizzy must have really done her homework to prepare a trap like this. It was the perfect snare for capturing a mimic.

Unfortunately, for all her theoretical knowledge, the gnome had neglected to take one thing into account: A trap was only as strong as the surface it was built on.

The chest opened up and a fleshy tongue wiggled free. A small hole appeared on its pointed tip and a green liquid sprayed out of it, courtesy of Acid Spray. It clung to the steel pipes and started eating away at them with a steady, hissing noise.

“Master, I see the gnome!” reported Xera. “She’s shouting at a group of guards and pointing towards the store.”

It looked like that Boxxy’s time in Erosa was now officially over.

“Leave her and come to me.”

“Understood, Master.”

While the acid did its thing, the Mimic forcefully dismissed Kora from the warehouse and started summoning her back. The acid was steadily eating away at its prison but would obviously take a long time before it completely broke through. That was fine, though, because this wasn’t the monster’s goal. The corrosive liquid leaked down between some cracks on the floor, causing sparks and smoke to erupt moments later. The Mimic used its magical perception to confirm that the wires under the floorboards were melted completely through and that the buzzing coming from the cage had died down.

Boxxy should have noticed this trap much, much sooner. It knew this expandable cage was there beforehand, but it failed to notice the extra machinery that wasn’t there the last time it had checked. That was because it simply didn’t have a habit of looking beneath the ground. Actually, it was more accurate to say that it had a habit of ignoring what lay beneath its feet unless it was actively looking for something beneath the surface. And since it had been to Fizzy’s numerous times without incident, it allowed itself to be distracted by her ‘gift.’

In short, Boxxy had gotten complacent and was now paying the price.

Kora’s summoning finished several seconds later. Using a big chunk of its MP like this was perhaps not the smartest idea, but the Mimic needed all the help it could get right now. Besides, it had just gotten a bunch of potions to help with that should the need arise.

“What was –! Eck!”

The fiend had been ready to complain about being dismissed so suddenly but gave up on that in favour of letting out a stupid noise when she saw her master in a cage. The stench of burnt shapeshifter flesh hit her nose in the next instant.

“Boss? What the fuck?” she exclaimed, covering her nose and mouth.

“Break this thing!”

“Alright!”

Her other three muscled arms gripped a steel bar each and pulled on them all at once. The metal creaked and groaned under the stress. Already weak from the acid, it gave and snapped off at the corroded points near the bottom. The fiend flexed her muscles and bent the vertical bars upwards, creating a gap large enough for the chest to exit sideways. Which was precisely what it did, though not before hesitating for a moment.

Obviously, this event wasn’t doing much to help with the Mimic’s grate-related trauma.

Having been released from its prison, Boxxy immediately leapt over the counter and started unlocking the metal safe hidden in the floor. It already knew the combination, since it spied on Fizzy opening it a few times. Inside were several satchels of gold, a few gems, and a weird metal tube-shaped device. It quickly tossed everything it could into its Storage without bothering to count it.

“Master! The guards are right outside the shop!”

The Mimic sighed at Snack’s report. Now it would have to murder who knew how many people until it reached the gate, probably wasting even more of its limited resources along the way. And now that its identity was out in the open, its alter ego would probably get a bounty, making it harder to reintegrate into society. Meaning that recouping its losses would be far, far more difficult.

And today was going so well, too!

Interlude
That Nagging Feeling

It started, as many life-changing revelations seem to, with the simplest thing.

A door that should have been ajar, wasn’t.

Gnomes were often creatures of habit, and Cornie Fizzlesprocket was the embodiment of that stereotype. She woke up at precisely 6:41 every morning. She then rolled around in bed until 7:01 before getting up. Her morning routine of getting dressed, doing her hair up and eating breakfast was over and done with by 7:26, and she opened up her shop at exactly 7:30.

She spent the majority of an average day tinkering away at some project or another. On the rare occasion that a customer visited, she would yell out at them that she would be ‘just a minute,’ and exactly sixty seconds later would emerge from the back room to do business. At 12:45 in the afternoon, she temporarily closed up shop for lunch until 1:24 and resumed her business hours until 7:44. She spent the next thirty minutes cleaning up the store and organizing her workshop, before having dinner at 8:50. She was in bed by 9:15 and fell asleep by 10:43.

That last bit of her routine was a recent addition, however. Normally she’d be asleep by 8:44 after a long day of hard work, but she no longer had anyone to help out with chores. And nowadays, she normally spent nearly an hour and a half weeping in grief over the recent loss of her father and brother. They were the only family she had left in the Empire, so their deaths hit her hard. Alone in the dark with only her thoughts and memories for company, she cried herself to sleep nearly every night for twelve days straight.

People said wounds like these healed with time, but how much more would she have to endure this horrible pain? Weeks? Months? Years? She wanted specifics, an exact date and time when it would finally stop hurting, but nobody could give her a clear answer. ‘It’s not a set amount of time,’ they would say with a shrug, ‘It just happens.’ – a clearly unscientific approach that endlessly infuriated Fizzy. If she had a clear goal, then she could grin and bear it while silently counting away the seconds to that release inside her head.

Literally.

As an Artificer, Cornie was in possession of the Tick Counter Skill. It was an invaluable ability that allowed her to precisely measure the passage of time inside a corner of her mind. Using this Skill also allowed her to accurately gauge the interval between two events. It was precise enough to let Fizzy tell the difference between 2 seconds and 2.01 seconds if she put her mind to it. This was a very useful Skill when it came to building machines with many moving parts that had to work together.

It also had the side effect of allowing her to tell what the time was without having to look at a clock. Granted, it wasn’t flawless, but it was still accurate to within ten seconds of the actual time – quite enough for one’s day-to-day needs. So she was more than a little shocked when she realised one day that her internal clock was nine minutes slow. The gnome deduced it was probably caused by all the stress she had been through lately. It was a Skill that relied heavily on one’s mental state, so things like that could happen. Therefore, Fizzy simply calibrated it to match the clock in her bedroom and thought nothing more of it.

But then, three days later, she realised her internal clock was five minutes slow. She corrected it again, but the very next day it was behind again, this time by sixteen whole minutes. Her father always used to say that ‘once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, third time’s a pattern.’ So after the fourth time it happened she grew considerably worried. Was she going mad? Was the Skill somehow malfunctioning? Or maybe every single clock in her house was afflicted by some strange, identical defect?

The first one was a frightening possibility. The second was impossible and the fact she even considered that third scenario only made the first seem more likely. So she thought back on the days where she had been, for lack of a better term, missing time. And a pattern did indeed emerge.

It was all on days she was visited by her mysterious new pupil, a gigantic man who went by the slightly odd name of Boxxy. Not every visit of his was accompanied by a time lapse, but he had still been there every time there was an incident. Was that man somehow responsible? Cornie didn’t want to believe it. She refused to accept that a person who was thoroughly amazed by something simple and innocent like a wind-up toy mouse would harbour any sort of malicious intent. Someone who she could only think of as a ‘slightly awkward gentle giant.’

But then again, the door that should have been ajar, wasn’t.

Fizzy remembered that on the third and fourth times she noticed a ‘time skip,’ the door that connected her storefront and the workshop in the back had been firmly closed. She never shut that door. Ever. Not only did it block the sound of the entry bell, but it was much too big for her. It was designed for humans, after all. A gnome like Fizzy had to reach up just above her head to grab the door handle, which was so old that it often got stuck. It was inconvenient, awkward, and annoying to close and open that damned door. So she never did. The fact it had been closed on those days – and only those days – was her physical evidence that something or someone was messing with her.

And, of course, the only one present in the shop during those times was Boxxy.

She was deeply conflicted. On one hand, she had grown fond of the amazing pupil who eagerly soaked up all her teachings. It was even to the point where she chased off that guy who came asking questions. The innocent gnome did not want to believe that her only ray of happiness – that awkward, yet brilliant stranger – was somehow scheming something behind her back. But how? And to what end? She thought long and hard on those days but just could not remember anything else out of place.

That was when a creeping thought wormed its way into her head. It wasn’t that she couldn’t remember, but that she was not allowed to remember ... that her mind was being influenced somehow. And, of course, this immensely disturbing thought reared its head when she was rolling around in bed. She obsessed over it until well past midnight before sleep finally claimed her.

And that was when she had a nightmare. Of Boxxy unravelling into a collection of wood, tentacles, and teeth that held her down, tied her up, and dragged her off. A woman showed up next – a simple village girl with a plain appearance. She shared a few words with the monstrous creature and then placed a hand on the gnome’s head.

That was when Fizzy woke up screaming, drenched in sweat and out of breath. After calming down and realising it was still the middle of the night, she tried to dismiss it as just her mind playing tricks on her. She had been obsessing over this Boxxy thing all night, so it wasn’t all that surprising she’d have a nightmare.

But then she had another. One where a Bladeblossom was set off accidentally and her student was injured without uttering a peep, despite being stabbed in the face and leaking sickly-looking yellow blood. It then leapt over the counter and again bound, gagged, and dragged her off. A woman appeared again, but this one was completely unlike the village girl in every way. She was a nun, with an entirely different voice and face, but she behaved in much the same way, right up until she put a hand on the gnome’s head.

Fizzy woke up screaming once more. This wasn’t her imagination running wild. It was way too real, way too detailed, and much more terrifying than any nightmare she’d ever had. Dawn was about to break, but she didn’t wait for it. She immediately got up and ran off into the street to find a guard.

Then she remembered she was still in her sleepwear, so she sheepishly ran back inside, got dressed, and started having second thoughts. What if this was her imagination after all? What if she blamed an innocent man and was even more ostracized by the human community? Her mind remembered that ‘guard’ who dropped in asking about Boxxy and how she’d threatened him with a Lightning Thrower. Gnomes already had a bad reputation for being nutty. What if there was some inkling of truth to that stereotype? What if she was the crazy one after all?

But, there was a way to find out. A way to prove to the world, and to herself, that she was not insane. She ran into her workshop and started throwing together an orb that would discharge electricity when a button was pressed. A small, carefully calibrated charge that wouldn’t do much to a human besides zap them, maybe cause some numbness at most. There was no danger of Boxxy dying from this. He was bound to be a strong adventurer, considering the amount of money he spent on Artificer supplies while suspiciously maintaining the outward appearance of a pauper.

That was, of course, assuming she was wrong and he was not what her nightmares said he was. But if the true identity of Boxxy T. Morningwood was indeed that of a shapeshifting mimic, then the jolt would be far more devastating. Cornie was very knowledgeable when it came to electricity and magnetism. Hardly surprising, considering those areas of study were what Arclight Artificers like herself were most concerned with. She was well aware that a powerful enough current would make a shapeshifter’s body go haywire. She just had no idea she would use that knowledge to assault the only person in Erosa she could truly call a friend.

Wait, why was she so convinced about that fact? Why was it that whenever her thoughts drifted to Boxxy, they always saw him as a strangely lovable person. He was incredibly suspicious, however one looked at it. Was this more mind-fuckery at play? Come to think of it, weren’t people in the street giving Boxxy weird looks? How come she saw nothing wrong with the guy? Were her eyes even real?

Fizzy slammed her forehead against her workbench, silencing those spiralling thoughts. She had already decided on a course of action, so she willed herself to focus on that rather than the unknown. She completed her gold-plated Stun Orb (tentative name) in just under an hour, using whatever spare parts she had lying around. It was a hack-job creation that would only work once before its internals fried themselves, but it was more than enough. At least the highly conductive outer shell would make sure its payload was delivered without issue.

She stared at its slightly reflective surface. What would she do after she presented it to the man? On the off chance she was wrong and he came out unfazed, she could play her ‘gift’ off as a malfunction and offer a discount for the trouble. The real problem was: what would happen if her nightmares were indeed reality and her only pupil turned out to be a monster? Would she be able to actually … kill it? Would she be able to bring herself to do that sort of thing?

She slammed her head on the workbench again. Monsters were cruel, heartless, and thought nothing of others, and anyone who believed otherwise was a fool begging for death. That was the harsh truth of this world. And although one could argue that monsters were mindless creatures merely following their instinct, it was also true that intelligent ones existed out there. Beings who knew full well what they were doing and were perfectly capable of communicating with the so-called ‘enlightened’ races such as dwarves, humans, and elves, yet continued to act in much the same way. They chose to hurt others.

Fizzy’s dilemma should not have been an ethical or a moral one. If her ‘friend’ was a monster and she exposed it, then it would definitely try to kill her, and she would have to fight back. The real question was whether the gnome was physically capable of fighting back. She may have been Level 56, but that did not make her a combatant. Sure, she had high DEX, INT, WIS, and PER Attributes thanks to her Job and Skills, but she knew no Spells, had no idea how to swing a sword, and her END was truly pitiful. If a fight really broke out, she would surely be eaten. If she had the ability to stand up to the monster in the first place, then it wouldn’t have been able to pin and restrain her as completely as her nightmares said.

That was when she remembered her father’s security measure: the ‘Insta-Cage’ hidden beneath the floorboards. It had always been there, but it never got used on account of nobody being stupid enough to stir up trouble in the middle of the city. Especially not inside a poor-looking Artificer shop like this one.

But it was still there. And knowing her old man’s formidable mechanical Skill, it would probably still work. The only problem was, she had serious doubts simple steel would hold back that monster. So she closed up the shop and started modifying the trap. The gnome worked frantically throughout that entire day and most of the night but still wasn’t finished. Her work continued undisturbed on the second day, and then, at noon on the third day after her revelation, she finally finished electrifying the cage. She was in the middle of double-checking all the connections and preparing herself mentally for the encounter when the door swung open.

Gnomes were creatures of habit, even in seemingly stressful conditions. And Fizzy had a habit of unlocking the front door every morning and locking it only when the sun started setting. Which was why Boxxy was able to easily enter the place as if nothing was wrong. It was honestly a miracle the target of her suspicions hadn’t visited during those two-and-a-half days she was busy. Her confrontation could have ended very differently.

Though considering the events that followed, many people would argue that would have been preferable.

Chapter Four
Chaos

Part One

A squad of twenty armed guards marched steadily down the city street. The disjointed clanking noises their plate armour made with every step sounded like a stampede of steel. A female gnome with pink pigtails who went by the name of Fizzy was among them. Her adorable appearance and the slightly comical way she had to half-jog to keep up were completely at odds with the military formation.

“I swear to Teresa, pipsqueak,” complained the squad leader, “if I find you’re messing with us and –”

“I. Am not. Messing with you!” insisted the gnome. “I really did capture a mimic in my store!”

“Right, right, so you say,” said the old soldier, readjusting his steel helmet. Looking down at that gnome any longer was going to give him a crick in his neck.

“Hey Sarge,” called out one of the guards, “do we really have to do this?”

“Yes, we do, moron. A citizen demanded our help, so we’re helping. Whether there’s any credibility to her claims is another thing entirely.”

He tossed a dubious look at the citizen in question.

“I already told you I’m telling the truth!”

“We’ll see about that,” the sergeant said without even trying to hide the doubt in his voice. “This the place?”

“Yeah, that’s it. It should be locked up inside.”

The fully armed squad of soldiers stood in front of the store where the little gnome had led them. It was perfectly quiet and completely ordinary aside from the flashy sign that read ‘Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets.’ The squad leader pointed to three of his men and ordered them to enter the store. The slightly undisciplined guards idly walked to the door and opened it. Peering inside, the man at the front saw a ransacked shop, a mangled cage, and a pair of metal-clad fists flying towards his face.

“ORRAH!”

“Ge-hut!”

Kora’s powerful twinned punches sent him flying into the other two men who were with him, knocking them all to the ground. The fiend went out the door with a jump and slammed her heels right into the first man’s broken face. His head splattered against the cobblestone road as if it were an overripe tomato.

“To arms!” shouted the sergeant, doing his best to rally his men. “Rogue demon on the loose! Prepare to subdue it.”

“Ooh-rah!” replied the guards in unison, drawing their weapons and assuming a formation.

The gnome screamed and ran for cover. The other civilians followed her example. They all scattered and ran for their lives the instant they saw the grotesque scene of a man having his head crushed inside his helmet. As for the perpetrator, she didn’t skip a beat. Kora crouched down, grabbed the other two men at her feet and tossed them into the rest of the armoured platoon. They collided with their squadmates, nearly knocking them over.

*CRASH*

Something flew out of the door’s dusty window. Something wooden, rectangular, and multi-legged.

“HRRRAAAAAKKH!”

It let out an unearthly sound, somewhere between a hiss, a growl, and a scream.

“Reform the ranks!” shouted the sergeant.

The guards in front quickly formed a shield wall while those in the back prepared to cast magic or pulled back their bowstrings. While their attention was focused on the new threat, Kora threw a Mass Panic Spell Crystal towards their front line. It shattered open, and magic-induced fear gripped all the soldiers caught in its effect.

“Lion’s Courage!”

One of the backliners, a Priest, quickly chanted a Spell to combat this effect. A blue wave spread out from his position, dispelling the Mass Panic from his squadmates.

“Fireball!”

“Ice Spear!”

“Sniper Shot!”

The rest of the rearguard unleashed various ranged attacks and magic on the rapidly approaching Mimic, but they didn’t find their target. Kora leapt in front of her master and activated her defensive Demonic Carapace Skill. Grey metallic scales instantly covered her red skin, mitigating a significant chunk of that barrage. Boxxy jumped onto her back and wrapped its legs around her waist, shoulders and chest, firmly attaching itself to her like an oversized backpack. Now that it no longer had to worry about its footing, the Mimic could focus on other things for the moment.

Like chanting magic of its own.

“Hark Inhusion!”

“OOORRRRRRAAAH!”

The fiend roared as the power boost of the (slightly misspoken) Dark Infusion Spell surged through her once more, filling her with a temporary burst of strength and speed. She ran forward, crashed into the guards’ disorganized front line and went on a rampage.

“This isn’t happening,” mumbled Fizzy.

The gnome had ducked into a small alley between two buildings during her panic earlier. However, instead of doing the wise thing and running, she simply stood there and stared in horror at the scene some twenty metres away from her.

A towering four-armed demon was fighting a bunch of guards. Her heavy fists dented their plate armour and crumpled their shields. The metal scales that protected her body had fallen off and she received multiple wounds from those in front of her. But rather than following common sense and growing sluggish, her movements actually became sharper. Faster. Deadlier.

The gnome had no way of knowing this, but it was simply the effects of the demon’s Side Job. As a Level 14 Berserker, Kora had two of the Job’s Skills available to her: Level 5 Bloodlust and Level 3 Brutal Fervour. The first of those amplified damage dealt whenever she landed a killing blow, with the second increasing the effects of her DEX and AGI Attributes in direct proportion to her missing HP.

Berserkers thrived on battle. Hungered for it. These personifications of bloodshed and violence fought without regard for their own safety until either they or their enemies were dead. It was a truly reckless Job with a high mortality rate that demanded a primal and intense inner rage not many people had. There were not many willing or suitable to go down the path of a Berserker, and fewer still lived long enough to develop it in any meaningful way.

Kora was a prime example of that. Her reckless behaviour got her killed with frightening regularity. However, unlike the fleeting existence of mortals, she was a demon. A being whose soul could not be extinguished outside the most extreme of circumstances. All she needed was a master willing to summon her and fling her into battle over and over. Boxxy was a perfect fit, and she took advantage of that arrangement by fully immersing herself in the destructive rage only a demon could muster. She stood covered in wounds and neck-deep in enemies, but not showing a single sign of slowing down or taking a step back.

“This isn’t happening,” Fizzy repeated.

As terrifying as a practically-unchained demon was, the thing clinging to her back was far, far worse – a chest-shaped monster with three red tentacles growing out of it, each one gripping a bloodied longsword. Anyone who dared approach the fiend from the rear got slashed up or covered in hissing, putrid green acid. Anyone who attacked it from range saw the fiend abruptly turn around and take the hits in its stead. It was plainly obvious that, rather than covering the demon’s back, the Mimic was simply using her as a shield ... a cold-blooded, pragmatic, and overtly violent approach to combat that Fizzy never dreamed existed.

“This. Isn’t. Happening!”

The overwhelming shock of seeing the terror from her dreams lay waste to a squad of fully armed guards gripped the gnome’s heart in terror.

“Oh, but it is,” came the cold, emotionless female voice directly above her.

Frozen in fear, Fizzy could not even look up, too afraid to confront what was undoubtedly another of that thing’s minions. She felt the oddly familiar sensation of a slender hand being placed on her head.

“Sleep.”

It took about two minutes for Boxxy and Kora to completely dismantle the guards. Even if they were around Level 40, their actual offensive abilities were closer to Level 25 or so – an unfortunate downside of power-levelling. Their bodies were still much stronger than they would have been otherwise though, so it took a while to beat them down at first. Then Xera joined in halfway through the battle, raining red-hot flames and molten magma on the ground-based troops from the rooftops. Granted, she almost died from getting hit by one Spell, but her Pyroclasm Spells were an excellent diversion and deterrent, even if their damage didn’t seem like much.

“What now, Master?” asked the succubus as she clutched at the gaping hole in her stomach.

“Where is Fizzy?” Boxxy replied telepathically.

“Over in the alley.”

“We’re bringing her with us.”

“ … We are?”

Xera thought Boxxy wanted to drain the life out of her, then absorb her corpse. Any other demon would’ve done that, and the murderous box’s thought processes were quite in tune with the rest of her kind. Admittedly, its way of thinking was more akin to the fiend’s simplistic logic, but ‘mercy’ was definitely not a concept the Mimic understood. Meaning that, if it wasn’t going to kill the tiny twerp, then it must have had a very good reason for not doing so.

“Yes. I want her Artificer Job.”

Ah, there it was. Apparently even in this situation, it still wanted to take advantage of the runt’s training. It was a surprisingly good call, as there was no telling when – or even if – it could find another Artificer trainer as capable as that gnome. Or as gullible, for that matter.

“Understood, Master.” Xera limped off towards the alley where she had stashed the comatose gnome while Boxxy surveyed the empty streets.

The civilians had already abandoned the area and the road was quiet. The only sounds that could be heard were the gentle crackling of the flames left over by the pyromaniac’s magic, as well as the echoes of screams from nearby roads. Even the shops had already evacuated by that point.

However, this calm would likely not last long before more guards arrived on the scene.

The succubus returned less than a minute later, holding the little person who had been unfortunate enough to catch her Master’s attention. “Here she is, Master.”

The Mimic wasn’t sure if it was even possible to convince her to teach it again even though its cover had been magnificently blown. Snack’s sleepy-time magic tricks couldn’t be relied on anymore, either. Well, bringing the small, pink-haired woman was still worth it. She had more value alive than dead, but the Mimic could just kill her and attempt Cadaver Absorption on her if she refused to … cooperate.

The materials necessary to put together various Artificer gadgets and gizmos would not be a problem, at least for the time being. Boxxy had already taken the liberty of cramming as many bits and pieces from the gnome’s workshop as would fit into its Storage, so it was good on springs, screws, cogs, and bolts.

“Get her over to the south wall without drawing attention,” it commanded.

“At once, Master.”

Not three seconds later, the succubus had assumed a variant of her village girl disguise. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were dirty and her skirt had been ripped. The gnome in her hands was now wrapped in a thick blanket to conceal her shape, completing the image of a distraught mother carrying her sickly, slightly big-headed child to safety.

“I will be off, Master.” Xera gave a tiny bow and trotted off towards the south.

“What about me, boss?” asked Kora.

Boxxy quickly confirmed she only had 290 HP remaining out of a total of 1,512.

“Did you use Second Wind?” it asked.

“Yeah.”

As expected. There was no way this reckless demon survived that many wounds without tapping into her only means of HP recovery. Even though they had not been as durable as the murk dwellers, the guardsmen still did a considerable amount of damage in the short scuffle, mostly due to the presence of magic users among their number. She had also been used as a meat shield, so there was no way she wouldn’t be near death.

This was an untasty situation. Boxxy wanted to use Arms as a diversion to draw the people’s attention away from itself and Snack while it made its escape over the wall. And Arms would not be much of a diversion if she only lasted a few seconds. Thankfully, it could easily solve this problem. First it chugged two of its newly-bought mana potions to replenish a significant chunk of its missing MP. It then dismissed Kora and started re-summoning her. Doing this would not only restore her back to full HP but also bypass the day-long cooldown period on Second Wind.

“Over there!” came a shout from the north.

Guard reinforcements had just arrived from one of the adjacent streets. And the first thing they saw after turning the corner was a brightly glowing chest with concentric circles of bright light swirling around it.

“By the Goddess!”

And then they realised that it was standing in the middle of twenty bloodied, charred, pummelled, mangled, melted, decapitated, or otherwise completely decimated bodies of their colleagues.

This realisation was followed immediately by the appearance of a four-armed, red-skinned demon.

“T-to arms, men!” screamed the person who appeared to be in charge. The guards responded by drawing all of their blades, much like the first group had.

“Attack them, then draw them north,” Boxxy ordered.

“Hehehe! You got it, boss!”

Kora ran at the guards, screaming her lungs out. The men and women in her way seemed to completely forget about the glowing box as they turned their attention towards the fast-approaching threat. The Mimic hadn’t revealed its identity as a monster quite yet, so it was possible they mistook it for some sort of arcane artefact with the ability to call out demons. Wouldn’t be the first time something like that showed up, after all.

[Your familiar has been banished.]

“ … Huh?”

Boxxy let out a stupid-sounding noise after being notified its Snack had just been killed. Someone must have seen through her disguise. But surely she would have reported if that was the case, right? Or did she get taken out in a single hit? It wanted to ask her the details, but it couldn’t summon her under the current circumstances. Doing that would surely draw attention to itself again, and it lacked the MP to do so, even if it did drink both of its remaining mana potions. If only there was a way to speak to her without –

The soul number thing Carl mentioned! That would have been immensely useful right now, but Boxxy had completely neglected to ask her about it!

Silently cursing its own complacency, it quickly reassessed the situation. One of its familiars had been taken out and another was engaged in combat. The south wall was the closest one from its position, but it had some unknown enemy in its way. Guards would be pouring in primarily from the north, since the city’s keep was located in that direction. East seemed like the monster’s best chance of getting out of Erosa.

So the monster abandoned all pretence of being a chest, sprouted spider legs, and scuttled off into the alleyway, making a beeline for the edge of the city. Some of the guards saw it move but were unable to do anything since they had their hands full dealing with Kora. Boxxy remotely checked on her HP and determined she should be able to buy it at least a minute. Plenty of time to get some ground between it and –

[Your familiar has been banished.]

Her remaining 1,132 HP disappeared in an instant.

Okay. Now was the time to panic.

The Mimic scuttled along the alleyways more desperately than before. No, walking was too slow, it needed to get away from whatever was picking off its minions. And it needed to do so right. Bloody. Now! It quickly transformed its eight spider-feet into a set of four organic wheels and propelled itself down the tight spaces between the buildings. It used its flexible body to make twists and turns that would normally be impossible, bouncing off walls to round corners and jumping over debris and garbage that stood in its way.

It exited the tight pathways and found itself on another of the city’s main roads, at which point it turned south. Whoever or whatever was behind the deaths of its minions was no longer in that direction, meaning the Mimic had a clear path towards the wall.

“Aaaah!”

“What’s that!”

“Mom can I ride it?”

“Holy crap, what!”

It rolled through onlookers and pedestrians who probably had no idea why or how a treasure chest was rolling down the street, but they were in its way. The monster managed to avoid colliding with most of them by ducking and weaving and sometimes jumping over them without slowing down. However, it couldn’t avoid all of them. After all, it was rolling around at speeds like that of a horse in full gallop, albeit with a much smaller stature. Some crashes were therefore inevitable.

[Your target has suffered blunt force trauma. Target HP -103.]

It ran over an old woman who didn’t get out of the way in time.

[Your target has been crushed. Target HP -96.]

It hit a puppy crossing the road, killing it instantly.

[Your target has suffered blunt force trauma. Target HP -56.]

It smashed into a random adventurer’s knee before he could react.

Regardless, none of those things could drastically slow it down. It was moving at high speeds and had a mass of nearly a hundred kilograms. It was quite heavy considering its relatively compact size, meaning it could barrel through any civilians who got in its way with ease. And of course it kept two eyes wide open all the while – one in the front to watch out for obstacles and one in the rear to check for anyone who might have been following it.

The rear was clear, but there was trouble brewing at the front.

“Form ranks and stop that thing!”

A row of guards stood in its way, and it could make out the tall stone wall just beyond them. It just had to get past these guys and it would be out of the city, at which point it could keep rolling down the Imperial highway going east until it was well and truly out of sight. But first it had to clear the way since the humans had formed a shield wall in its path.

It momentarily slowed its speed and popped open its lid. The albino Xera-on-wheels made her first ever public appearance. Every single person on the street gaped at the bizarre sight of a naked, large-breasted albino lady rolling down the street while holding a staff. The two sets of pointy teeth surrounding her made the display far more horrifying than erotic.

Boxxy no longer cared about the opinions of those meals-on-legs, though.

“Dark Explosion ~♪!”

It ignored their reactions and calmly used its magic to force open the way. The shadowy shock wave that erupted in the middle of the guard’s line knocked them on their asses, allowing the Mimic to roll through them unhindered. It quickly retracted Xera’s upper body and sped up towards the base of the city’s walls. All that was left now was to hop into the air at the last moment and redirect its momentum upwards. At that point, it would bring out its arachnid limbs and finish scaling the fortification before leaping off.

It was a relatively solid plan of action, though the monster never got the chance to execute it.

*TWACK*

A black boot kicked the Mimic from the side seemingly out of nowhere, sending it flying off-course and careening into a nearby building. The monster smashed clean through someone’s living room and flew out of the other side of the house. It crashed into a random vegetable stall, sending plant matter, splinters, and monster blood everywhere, much to the distress of the stall’s vendor. The man gave up on screaming about his cabbages and made the wise decision to run away immediately.

[You have suffered major blunt force trauma. HP -1,152.]
[You have been stunned for 5 seconds.]
[Proficiency level increased. Natural Armour is now Level 7. END +6.]

“Kreh! Kphogh! Skraktktkt!”

The badly injured Mimic let out a series of guttural noises. Having been kicked through a building, it was understandably in a pretty sorry state. What was once a faux-wood chest with wheels was now a mangled mess of flesh. Its shell had been splintered, its circular limbs were torn off, and its yellow blood oozed from multiple wounds.

[Your flesh has been mended. HP +95.]

And there went the last of its MP. The cheat-like Mend Flesh Skill that gave it so much trouble in the past was simply not able to do much for its owner in this current situation.

“Oh? Still alive, are we?”

Boxxy heard a man’s voice, directly from above. It sounded very close, as if the person was leaning over the creature. However, its magical perception was not picking up anything or anyone.

“Good,” the voice said. “I was afraid I overdid things with that little love tap.”

It was a calm, collected voice. Oddly soothing and terrifying at the same time. It was also rather rough, but Boxxy had more important things to worry about than identifying its owner.

[You are no longer stunned.]

The Mimic tried to move the moment its consciousness stabilized. It grew a set of spider legs in an instant and tried to stand but immediately fell to one side.

“Don’t move, beast.”

“Rakh! Hrak?” it sputtered in its confusion. Where was this phantom speaking to it from?

“Come now, you can do better than that. I saw you grow an entire person just seconds ago.”

“…”

Taking the hint, Boxxy opened the mangled remains of its upper jaw and formed a human-like head out of its badly wounded tongue, which naturally assumed Xera’s form.

And then, when that head opened its eyes, it finally saw him.

An old man with a leather hood stood mere centimetres from the wrecked Mimic, with arms crossed across his chest. His face held two deep scars, one across his left cheek and the other on the right side of his forehead. His hair was grey from age and his skin was heavily wrinkled, yet he exuded a sense of youth and vitality as if he was in the prime of his life.

The body armour he wore was made out of thick, hardened leather that had been painted blue and bore a bizarre palm-shaped yellow mark on his left shoulder. A leather sling with several pouches on it was draped over his shoulder and two short weapons – daggers by the look of them – were sheathed on the left side of his belt. His lithe legs ended in a pair of plain black boots, the left one bearing a yellow smudge.

“Ah, there we go,” he said with a stern expression. “So you can understand me, right?”

“ … Y-yes,” Xera’s borrowed voice stammered as the Mimic spoke. It was afraid. This man was utterly beyond Boxxy’s comprehension. Not only did he nearly kill it in one blow, but he had also completely eluded the monster’s magical perception. Only its eyes were able to track him, and even those seemed to want to naturally slide off the man and look elsewhere. But it didn’t dare do such a thing.

“Good. It’s a start. Do you have a name, beast?”

“ … Yes.”

“And? What is it?”

“Boxxy T. Morningwood.”

“Morningw– Haah.” The man sighed and put a hand over his face.

“Dare I ask what the ‘T’ stands for?”

“Trap.”

“Of course it does … Well then, ‘Boxxy.’ I suppose since you gave me your name I will give you mine. I am Edward Allen, Spymaster to his Majesty Emperor Joseph Frederick von Einhart the Third.”

He went down on one knee and stared deeply into the Mimic’s face, which caused the monster to recoil and shiver in fear.

“And I will have you answer some questions regarding that four-armed demon back there and the big glowing crater far to the north.”

[General Information]
Edward Gordon Allen
Leader of The Gilded Hand
Human (Ascendant), Male, 103 years old
Level 100.00 Rogue (MAX)
Level 75.00 Spy (MAX)
Level 59.55 Occult Alchemist
4030/4030 HP (+7.5/sec)
1885/1885 MP (+3.0/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 245, DEX 964, AGI 645, END 757, INT 377, WIS 300, LCK 120, MNT 82, CHR 172, PER 342

Part Two

Boxxy woke up with its usual violent flailing.

“Hrrmmpf?”

Or at least it tried to. In the next instant, it was made painfully aware of two solid metal clamps that were bolted onto its imitation wood surface. They completely encircled its body as if it was a barrel, preventing its maw from opening up. Perhaps it was a good thing the Mimic had been knocked out; having those braces affixed to its body would have been incredibly painful to experience. Whatever damage it suffered as a result of the ‘operation’ had already healed up, that only made its current situation even worse. Its wounds had closed up around the steel screws holding its bindings, causing its flesh to fuse with the foreign objects. It would be impossible to take these things off without having chunks of its own body ripped out.

Those were hardly all of the restraints, however. The monster was hanging inside a cubic cage that was about two metres long, wide, and tall. It was being suspended by four heavy-duty chains, which connected those metal clamps to each upper corner of its new prison. The series of vertical and horizontal bars were made out of an ominous-looking black metal, and judging by the low buzzing and blue sparks that occasionally leapt between them, the bars were currently electrified. If the Mimic hadn’t been as firmly strung up as it was, it would have swung into the metal and electrocuted itself without meaning to.

As for the source of the electrical charge, that was most likely the large metal box attached to the outside of the cage. Its faceplate had a few switches and dials on it, and two bright blue wires connected its insides to the cage. Boxxy peeked inside the thing using its magical perception, seeing a complicated hodgepodge of wiring and circuitry and a glowing tank of shimmering, bright blue liquid. That must have been the fuel supplying power to the cage.

Now that it had properly regained consciousness, the monster began to remember the situation it was in. A human had completely defeated it with a single blow. After introducing himself as Edward, he then poured some strange liquid onto the Mimic which made it pass out. And now it was here.

Where was here, though?

The room the cage was sitting in seemed to be a large jail cell, probably inside the local keep’s dungeon. That would be the ‘lock them up and throw away the key’ type of dungeon, not the ‘there’s a giant exploding shiny in the middle of it’ kind that Boxxy was born in. The walls, floor, and ceiling were nothing but plain stone bricks. Well, aside from the rubber mat underneath the cage insulating it from the rest of the room.  For some reason, there was an empty wooden chair directly in front of –

“Finally awake?”

“MMFFGH!”

A voice came from somewhere in front, causing the Mimic to panic. It then recalled that the old man who captured it was somehow able to elude the creature’s magical perception. There were a number of ways one could avoid detection through mystical means, and the culprit, in this case, was the Level 80 Rogue Skill called Obfuscate. Boxxy wasn’t aware such a thing existed, though, so it was completely lost as to how such a thing was possible. The most it could do was confirm that the voice came from somewhere in front, so the Mimic grew a large feline eye on top of its lid, where a chest’s lock might be.

Once it was armed with a more mundane type of vision, Edward once more ‘appeared’ before it. He was sitting cross-legged in the chair right outside the cage and took the blinking yellow eye as a sign that the monster was, indeed, awake.

“Very good,” he said in a calm manner. “Now then, do grow back that head so we can have words. I’m sure – oh, you already did. Never mind then.”

The sheer speed at which Xera’s flawlessly sculpted face appeared out of the monster’s front caught him a little bit unawares. It looked so real, too. As if someone had cut off a woman’s head, shaved it clean, bleached the skin, then glued it onto a chest. The man’s eyes seemed to linger on the pseudo-succubus’s pointed ears, which were normally hidden by her silky long hair.

The Spymaster took out a small, leather-bound notebook and a Never-ending Quill. He flipped the booklet open to a blank page and scribbled  ‘Erosa mimic interrogation’ at the very top as a sort of title, then got down to business.

“Let’s begin, then. First of all, why use that appearance?” He gestured at Xera’s pointy-eared face.

“It’s easy.” Boxxy answered in a hoarse voice completely mismatched with the beautiful face it was using. It was much closer to its natural way of speech rather than that of the sultry succubus.

“Easy, how?” inquired Edward.

“I know it the best.”

“Uh-huh.”

He wrote down ‘elf witch connection?’ on the first line.

“And who is it you’re imitating?”

“Snack.”

“I mean, what does this individual mean to you?”

“She is Snack.”

“What is her name?”

“Snack.”

Edward sighed sharply. This was only his third time speaking to a monster capable of both reason and language, so he had forgotten that one had to let go of certain expectations when speaking to such creatures. Some would argue he should just put the squeeze on his suspect, but he knew from experience that torture was not a viable method of gathering information. His way of interrogating prisoners was much faster, more reliable, and far less messy, although it did require a certain amount of patience.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who’s Snack?” he asked.

“My thing.”

Make that a lot of patience.

“Where is Snack right now?”

“The Beyond.”

“So it’s a demon? Then how come it’s called Snack?”

He was keenly aware demons usually had long names that were nigh-impossible to say correctly without a certain amount of practice.

“Very tasty, but not very filling.”

“ … Right, and what species of demon is she?”

“Succubus.”

“So that face you’re showing me belongs to a succubus?”

“Yes.”

“And you call her ‘Snack’ because you … like eating her?”

“Yes.”

The Spymaster quickly crossed out ‘elf connection?’ and wrote ‘perverted box’ next to it.

“Then what of the red-skinned, four-armed demon that was reportedly with you? Is she your ally?”

“Yes.”

He quickly added ‘knows 4-armed demon’ to his notes.

“What is your relationship with it?”

“She is my thing.”

He circled the words ‘perverted box’ and underlined them. He then raised an eyebrow at his own ‘notes.’

“How are either of those ‘your things,’ exactly?”

“Contracted to me.”

“ … You’re the summoner?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re a Warlock?”

“Yes.”

“…”

The human went silent for a few seconds, then abruptly stood up and walked away somewhere, outside the Mimic’s line of sight. There was the sound of a door opening and some distant voices were heard, but Boxxy couldn’t make out anything intelligible. Edward returned a few moments later and took his seat, then continued the interrogation.

“Who taught you how to summon her?”

“Carl.”

“Does he have a last name?”

“Don’t know.”

“Uh-huh, and where is this Carl?”

“…”

The Mimic hesitated for a moment, as it had never really thought about that before. Where was that guy? Was he really in the Beyond? That was where demons normally resided, but Carl seemed to have access to something physical that made clacking noises. Such a thing could not exist in a place that was supposedly made up of dreams, nightmares, and loose thoughts. Then, was he in the material realm? Or some other place?

“Answer me!” yelled Edward, completely derailing the Mimic’s train of thought.

“Ack! I don’t know!”

The Spymaster wrote down ‘Carl – Warlock mentor??’ in his notes and circled it.

“When did you contract this fiend!”

“Twenty-two days ago! I think!”

“You think?”

“It was dark! Inside!” explained the scared monster. “Not sure of actual day! Please, no more yelling!”

“…”

The Spymaster regained his composure at the sight of the Mimic swaying back and forth in fear while shaking the pale white head sticking out of it. It was oddly pathetic, almost innocent in some weird way. Edward had unwittingly put too much force behind his voice when he heard the monster say ‘twenty-two days ago.’ He could be forgiven for getting excited though, as that was the same day the Calamity happened.

He wrote in ‘fiend contract – before or after CoM?’ in his notebook.

Of course, he wasn’t simply taking the monster’s word on all this stuff. Edward was in possession of an Ultimate Skill called Eyes of Truth, which he obtained when his Rogue Job hit Level 100. It let him pierce the veil on any deception and easily see through both audible and visible lies. That was how he was able to instantly see through the succubus’s disguise the day before and apprehend her. It was a powerful ability well-suited to his line of work, but he kept it a secret from the rest of the world for three reasons.

The first of those was religion. If the temples knew he had obtained a Skill that was so in tune with the Goddess Teresa herself, he’d probably get dragged into all sorts of theological nonsense he wanted no part in. Such things would do nothing but waste his valuable time and attract unwanted attention that interfered with his work. Plus, he was never a particularly pious or god-fearing man anyway, so mingling with the clergy was more or less the opposite of his idea of a good time.

The second reason was politics. He knew first-hand that nobles were creatures who lied all the time in order to protect their various interests. Which wasn’t to say it was always out of ill-will, as even the righteous ones had secrets they wished to protect. If they knew of Edward’s flawless lie detector, they would likely plot against him or his office, which in turn would just open up more pointless work for the Spymaster to deal with. Much like with the clergy, having to ‘entertain’ the nobility was too much of a nuisance.

The third reason was effectiveness. If word spread of his Ultimate Skill, then that would make it much harder to use. People would choose their words far more carefully or lie by omission and misdirection. Erosa’s recent troubles with that nun and her ‘cousin’ were a prime example of how one could skirt the truth.

Speaking of which.

“What of the disappearance of sister Lyo Rosetta? Did you have anything to do with her?”

“Who?”

“The nun that purportedly stole the Holy Pearl.”

“I don’t know such a person.”

This was, of course, the truth. Boxxy did know of a succubus that stole a Holy Pearl, but it knew nothing about a nun doing something like that. The old human stared at it for a few seconds before jotting down a note saying that case was probably unrelated. Having warmed up sufficiently, he moved on to the meat of the matter.

“What do you know of the Calamity of Monotal?”

“What’s a Monotal? Is it tasty?”

“ … You don’t know about that place?”

“No.”

The gears started spinning in the Spymaster’s head. That statement was not a lie, but it didn’t mean it was true, either. Perhaps it knew the place by another name, so Edward altered his line of questioning.

“Have you ever been inside another city before coming here?”

“Where’s here?”

“Erosa.”

“What’s an Erosa? Is it tasty?”

The Spymaster took a deep breath.

“It’s the city where I captured you.”

“Oh.”

“…”

The two stared at each other for a while in total silence.

“Well?”

“What?”

“So have you ever been to another city besides Erosa or not?”

“No.”

“Then where were you before coming here?”

“On the road.”

“Haaah … Where did you live before moving to Erosa?”

The Mimic paused for a moment to consider this question. Did it actually live anywhere? It had been pretty much homeless ever since it got out of the dungeon, so technically speaking, that was its last place of residence.

“Litigar Dungeon Complex.”

“So, you were born in that dungeon?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you leave it?”

“Got hungry.”

‘Sweeper?’ was swiftly added to the list.

“Have you seen the human city near that dungeon?”

“Yes.”

The old Spymaster felt a bit of tension leaving his shoulders. Now they were getting somewhere.

“That place is the city of Monotal.”

“Oh.”

“So you know of it after all?”

“ … Yes.”

“Did you know it was destroyed?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know it was gone?”

“Saw the smoke cloud.”

“Did you have anything to do with that?”

“No.”

The monster had just lied for the first time in this interview, though Edward was not surprised. Right now this creature’s life rested entirely in the hands of a human, and it did not want to openly admit to murdering thousands of his kind. It was clearly a moron, but even it wasn’t that stupid. Rather than being infuriated, however, the Spymaster was actually delighted. He had finally gotten a real lead on that troublesome case, and the faster he cracked it, the sooner he would be able to get out of here and back to the capital.

“Were you the one who destroyed it?” he asked.

“No.”

This one wasn’t a lie, a fact that immediately put a damper on the man’s rising mood. As for why his Ultimate Skill had deemed it so, it was because the truth was a more subjective thing than one might think. If someone held a misinformed opinion without knowing it and shared it out loud, then his words would be honest, regardless of being factually incorrect.

In this case, Boxxy legitimately believed from the bottom of its soul that it was not responsible for the destruction of Monotal. It was that giant shiny core and the mysterious ‘voice’ behind it that were the real culprits. After all, the dungeon was close enough that the city would’ve been vaporized regardless of whether the Mimic dumped the thing on them. So while it wasn’t completely unrelated to the incident, it failed to see how any of that was its fault.

Its ability to wholeheartedly deflect blame like this was a truly frightening thing.

Edward didn’t give up so easily, though. This box knew something, so he decided to keep asking questions until he got the information he wanted.

“Did you order your familiar to destroy it, then?”

“No.”

Another truth. In this instance, Boxxy had ordered Arms to roll a ball into a city. The destruction sort of happened after that.

“Did you order anyone to destroy that city?”

“No.

“Did someone tell you to make sure it was destroyed?”

“Make sure what was destroyed?”

“The city!”

“What about it?”

“Were you working with anyone to help you destroy the city of Monotal!”

“Oh! No.”

“Then – are you affiliated with an elven witch in any way?”

“What’s an affiliated? Is it tasty?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

*CLANG*

The Spymaster had finally lost his cool and leapt out of his chair, punching the obsidian cage. It rattled and the metal bar he hit even bent slightly from the impact. It also reacted like any electrified surface would when something conductive made contact with it.

*BDZT*

“Gah!”

[You have been shocked by a jolt of electricity. HP -25.]

“Mother fucker that stung!” he cursed as he shook his shocked fist.

Relatively speaking, the jolt was completely insignificant, but that didn’t mean the sudden bolt of pain had been a pleasant one. Edward took a few deep breaths to calm himself. The answers were not an issue; he just had to ask the right question. Deciding to change up his approach yet again, he reached into his tunic and took out a rolled-up parchment.

“Okay, look, do you know this person?”

He unfurled it in front of his prisoner, revealing the expertly drawn image of a stern-looking middle-aged elf woman. She had short, spiky hair and a deep vertical scar across her left eye. This was an artist’s rendition of the culprit thought to be the main perpetrator behind the act, courtesy of Bernard Samson’s testimony.

“No.”

Again, not a lie.

“ … Is this succubus – this Snack - also your familiar?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell her to disguise herself as an elf?”

“No.”

The man kept going back and forth, exploring the possibility of the succubus pretending to be his suspect, but couldn’t get any confirmation. He rightfully felt like was on the right track, but Boxxy had no idea that Xera had gone and done something like that. As such, Edward was completely unable to grasp the connection between the woman in the picture and the box in front of him and was forced to drop that line of questioning. He also considered the possibility of this succubus acting on her own, but he had no way of confirming that.

“Do you at least know what happened to the city?”

“What city?”

Edward took another deep breath. These endless questions were getting on his nerves. Normally his Silver Tongue Skill would have his prisoners spilling their guts all on their own, but it seemed ineffective on this particular monster. The way it randomly ignored the context within the conversation was especially troublesome.

“How was the city of Monotal destroyed?”

“It blew up.”

“AAARGH!”

*CLANG*

*BDZT*

“Ghah!”

This was incredibly infuriating. Something about this moronic box ticked off the Spymaster immensely. It was partly his own fault, though. He had briefly forgotten that his Ultimate Skill was not almighty and that open-ended questions like that last one were the Skill’s weakness. He had to stick to concise questions whose answer could be a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ if he wanted to get anywhere.

After rebuilding his composure yet again, he briefly thought back on what he knew about his captive.

He had randomly stumbled upon a rampaging monster that, against all odds, seemed to somehow be connected to the Calamity he had come here to investigate. The key to that event was bound to be buried somewhere in the creature’s dim-witted mind, but Edward lacked the necessary details to ask the right questions. The animate chest had also shown to be capable of lying in order to protect itself, so simply asking about the ‘how’ and ‘why’ was likely pointless.

What about a slightly different approach that didn’t rely on just words? Granted, he highly doubted it would work on a monster, but it was still worth a try.

The Spymaster silently left the room, leaving Boxxy all on its own. One would imagine this would be the Mimic’s perfect chance to make a break for it, but it did no such thing. It remained perfectly still, suspended inside its electrified cage. Of course it wanted to escape, to break free and get away from that dangerous being that called itself a man, but it had no way of doing so.

Boxxy’s MP was currently 0 and automatic MP recovery had been disabled. The cause was unknown, but that was its current reality. It had to admit, whoever or whatever was responsible for its imprisonment knew what they were doing, as Boxxy couldn’t do anything to escape without MP.  Storage was inaccessible, Acid Spray was unusable, Mend Flesh was disabled, Metal Mimicry wouldn’t function, and Spells were right out. The only Skill that still had a use was Shapeshift, but that wouldn’t let it break out of this specially prepared cage.

How come it was always those insufferable grates that got in its way?

Several minutes passed in total silence before Boxxy once again heard the sound of a metal door opening in the distance.

“Please don’t! I didn’t do anything!” came a familiar, squeaky voice. “You can’t do this to me!”

“I can, actually,” answered Edward’s voice. “You are my prisoner, after all.”

He appeared before Boxxy once more, carrying Fizzy by the scruff of her neck as if she were a large bag. The gnome’s work clothes were gone, replaced by a rough-looking brown poncho that covered her torso and upper thighs. It looked less like a piece of clothing and more like an old potato sack. Her arms and shoulders were bare and her legs were exposed from the thighs down. Her bruised ankles and wrists were cuffed by cast iron shackles and bound together by sturdy-looking chains that rattled forebodingly as she was swung about.

“Nooo!” she screamed the moment her eyes met Boxxy’s. “No! Get it away! Please!” She struggled desperately, waving her arms and legs all about and shaking her head.

“Quiet down, prisoner,” said Edward.

“But! That thing! It’s evil! Get it- GET IT AWAY! OOF!”

She was thrown roughly to the ground, landing just centimetres away from the cage.

“I said shut up. Before I make you.”

The gnome whimpered in pain and curled up into the foetal position. ‘This isn’t happening!’ had been repeating inside her head over and over ever since she woke up in her cell. She wished she could at least tell her side of the story, but nobody was willing to listen. They didn’t even tell her why she was here.

“Better,” the Spymaster said coldly. “Now then, you in the cage. Do you know this girl?”

“Yes.”

The calm, oddly monotone voice made the gnome freeze and caused her manic thoughts to grind to a halt.

“Is she important to you?”

“Yes.”

“ … What is this girl’s relationship to you?” asked the old man in spite of himself.

“Was teacher. Now betrayer.”

Fizzy looked up at the suspended monster despite herself. She wanted to retort somehow, but the words wouldn’t come out of her throat. Objectively looking at it, that was exactly what she was. It also meant this creature, despite everything, had trusted her in some way. There could be no betrayal without trust, after all. She then curled up even harder to chase away those dangerous thoughts; nothing good could come from thinking of monsters as anything other than heartless.

“Teacher, eh?”

As for Edward, his mind was already putting the puzzle together. Of course, he was well aware of what this gnome was capable of. The Appraisal check she went through while unconscious made it clear exactly what her Job and Skills were.

“So she taught you the Artificer Job?”

“Yes.”

“Was that all she taught you about?”

“Yes.”

“Does her teaching relate in any way to the Calamity of Monotal?”

“No.”

“C-c-calamity!” stammered Fizzy. Her thoughts started running wild again.

“Oh?” asked Edward, smoothly shifting his focus to the gnome on the ground. “You didn’t know that this mimic was involved in that?”

“No! I had no idea!”

“Hmm, come to think of it …” The man’s voice trailed off as he began searching through his notebook. He found the entry concerning the site of a smashed up caravan that had been found on the Imperial highway between Monotal and Erosa.

“Ah, here we go. Rory and Lark Fizzlespricket. Your family, I presume?”

The gnome’s eyes went wide when her deceased father and brother were mentioned out of the blue. Anger flared up in her heart at him for besmirching their family name like that, but she quickly quelled it. Pointlessly antagonizing her captor was a really stupid idea.

“ … Yes,” she answered meekly.

“Interesting. You know, we never actually found any of the bodies. You wouldn’t know anything about that. Would you, gnome?” He considered the possibility of them being somehow connected to the Calamity and faking their deaths to go underground. Surely they must have mentioned something to their only living kin if they had such designs.

“Of course not!”

Operative word being ‘if.’

“What about you?” asked the Spymaster, turning to Boxxy. “Did you have anything to do with a three-wagon caravan along the Imperial highway north of here?”

“Yes.”

Fizzy’s eyes became even wider as she gazed at Boxxy in complete shock.

“Was this after the Cal– the destruction of Monotal?”

“Yes.”

He was convinced they were talking about the same thing. All merchant traffic going in and out of Erosa was logged, and that convoy was the only one that fit both the timing and the description. Well, it had taken a while to confirm this since they never found one of the wagons, but the personal effects recovered from the scene left no doubt as to the owner’s identity.

“So you were at the site of that ambush?”

“Yes.”

“Did you come upon it before it was attacked?”

“No.”

“After the attack?”

“No.”

“Ah, so you happened upon it while it was already under attack?”

“Yes.”

He scribbled some more details in his notebook while Fizzy listened intensely. She was so nervous she felt like her heart was going to leap through her skull.

“Did you kill everyone there?”

“No.”

She relaxed a bit ...

“But you killed some of them?”

“Yes.”

... then panicked.

“Did that include two male gnomes?”

“No.”

Then came relief ...

“So they’re still alive?”

“No.”

... followed by grim acceptance ...

“Then where are their bodies?”

“I ate them.”

... that instantly turned into rage.

“YOU BASTARD!” screamed Fizzy, unable to handle this rollercoaster of emotions.

A boot forced her down to the cold stone ground. It mercilessly pressed upon her back, squeezing the air out of her lungs. It was as if a mountain had just sat down on top of her, robbing her of the ability to speak or even breathe properly. Although it did little to stem the flow of tears streaming from her eyes.

She’d known they were dead. Even if the bodies were never found, she just knew. But hearing that this creature had brazenly eaten them felt like the ultimate insult to their memory.

“So they were dead when you found them?”

“Yes.”

“What about the adventurer escort? Did you kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Bandits as well?”

“Yes.”

“You ate all of those people, too?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they were there.”

That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Boxxy was a monster. A creature that attacked others without warning and for little reason ... the kind of thing that only saw the lives of others as an obstacle between itself and its goals.

The metal door outside of the Mimic’s field of vision opened up once more, followed by numerous sets of footsteps. A squad of several armoured guards stood in front of the Spymaster and saluted him respectfully.

“Spymaster Allen, sir!” said the one with the extra-shiny hat. “We’re ready for you.”

“Excellent. I think we’re about done here. Show this creature to the site, I will be there shortly. And do be careful with the cage – don’t want to lose any fingers.”

“Yes, sir!”

Edward picked the gnome up off the floor and left the jail cell to give the men enough space. Four men walked into the room and stared at the bizarre creature with looks of clear apprehension. One of them went over to the box that was stuck to the side of the cage, unlocked it, and flipped one of the switches on the inside. The electrical current coursing through the metal bars died down immediately. The cage was then picked up and carried out of the dank cell and towards the surface.

“Where are they taking it?” Fizzy asked in a quivering voice once they had gone.

Edward dropped her roughly on the ground. “Nowhere that’s of any concern to you, prisoner.”

Fizzy sat up and glared at the man. “Why am I even here?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

“No. Nobody has told me anything about it!”

“Why, it’s because you have to pay for your crimes, of course!”

“What crimes?”

“Let’s start with gross negligence that led to the death of others.”

“ … What?”

“Your incompetence sent that creature into a murderous rampage that not only cost the lives of at least twenty of the city’s protectors but also caused a riot that resulted in the death of fifteen more civilians and dozens more injured.”

“Wuh … what? You’re pinning that thing’s behaviour on me?”

“Are you saying your rash actions did not set that chain of events into motion?”

“B-b-but-but what was I supposed to do? Some monster was messing with my brain!”

“Did you not think to hire adventurers?”

Fizzy was struck speechless. Of course that had been the best possible solution. That much was painfully obvious now that someone else had pointed it out. Even if she was worried the guards wouldn’t believe her words, there was no way sell-swords wouldn’t believe her gold. Dealing with monsters was their speciality, after all. If one thought about things logically then, one could indeed say her failure to handle the monster had set off a dreadful chain of events.

She refused to believe it, though. “I’m not buying it!” she insisted. “How is any of that negligence? If anyone’s at fault it’s the shitty guards who can’t do the jobs my taxes are paying them for!”

It was a valid argument. Keeping monsters outside the walls or subduing them should they get in was the responsibility of local law enforcement. There was no way a peace-loving citizen could be expected to rationally handle a situation where they found themselves confronted with a monster. This victim blaming nonsense that was being thrown at her was ridiculous, to say the least.

Edward, however, completely ignored her protests and continued piling it on.

“You also taught it a Job without verifying its identity with an Appraisal. Moreover, you failed to register yourself as a Mentor, nor did you apply for the appropriate teaching license.”

Okay, he had a point there. Those things were undoubtedly illegal, but the treatment she was getting did not match those administrative misdemeanours.

“Then let me pay my fines and get on with my life!” she insisted.

“And it is the result of my observations that I have found you guilty of colluding with a foreign power to knowingly and willingly spread chaos within His Majesty’s territory.”

With a completely deadpan voice, this human had just said the most ludicrous thing she’d ever heard. Fizzy understood at once that her imprisonment was never a matter of guilt or innocence but simply this man’s whim. And she couldn’t do anything about it. After all, if someone in power wanted a commoner – especially a non-human like her – thrown in prison, then they could make up any myriad of reasons and nobody would bat an eye.

“Why?” she asked with a shaky voice. “What do you want from me!”

“Ah see, we have a good, old-fashioned war brewing, and I would very much like your assistance with the war preparations.”

As wondrous as they were, the vast majority of an Artificer’s creations were weapons. Instruments of death and destruction that could be used by anyone after a bit of training. It was a relatively young profession whose military applications had not been fully explored yet. Edward was quite keen to get ahead of the curve in that regard, and this pink-haired gnome was the perfect pawn to assist with unlocking that potential in secret. Granted, it wasn’t a project high on his priority list, but he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity that presented itself to him.

“You can’t make me do that!” Fizzy insisted.

“Oh, but I can,” answered Edward. “You’re a convicted prisoner. Military service is your sentence.”

The gnome’s heart sank.

Her father always believed Artificers could be more than merchants of death. That their craft could be used for the betterment of life, instead of simply ending it. He dedicated his life’s work towards that noble goal. All of his research and experiments were simply intended to create devices of convenience and nothing more. And while he did design and build a few weapons, those were only meant as a means of self-defence with the intention to stun and incapacitate, rather than kill. He was no pacifist, but that did not mean he wanted to be a murderer.

A naive and foolish ideal that had been hammered into Fizzy since her birth.

“Don’t worry,” said the old man with a rotten smile on his face. “I’m sure you’ll work off your debt to society after a few decades of hard labour!”

He tossed her inside the cell Boxxy had been in just a minute ago and shut the door, then walked off after the other guards.

Part Three

The Emperor’s Spymaster walked out of the dungeon and into the courtyard of Erosa’s central castle. The ground was hard-packed dirt with not a scrap of vegetation left after being trampled on by countless pairs of feet on a daily basis. He made his way across the open space and went into the seventeen-metre-tall white stone tower that housed the city’s branch of the Arcaneum.

The Arcaneum was a government-controlled guild in charge of magical study and research. Although Jobs and Skills came ‘pre-packaged’ with their own crafting recipes, enchantments, and Spells, that did not mean it was impossible to develop new ones. It was considerably difficult, time-consuming, and expensive, but it was definitely possible. This was the Arcaneum’s primary function but by no means the only one. The organization’s secondary duty was to investigate, document, and, if necessary, contain and/or dissect the bizarre and illogical.

In a way, it was an oddly fitting place for Boxxy’s upcoming Appraisal, as it was clearly an anomalous creature. Initially, the Spymaster had foregone analyzing his monstrous prisoner’s Status because he thought it a waste of time. After all, it was borderline impossible to properly assess a monster’s natural Job and Skills if the one doing the inspection was an enlightened.

‘Enlightened’ was the general term used to collectively refer to the civilized races of this world. The ones that flocked together, hid behind walls and achieved their goals as a species mostly through wits, intelligence, and tools. They had a completely different way of thinking and understanding from the predominantly violent and highly instinctive monsters they shared a world with. It was a gap between their mental states that was impossible to bridge, which was why Appraisal – be it Basic or Full – tended to be mostly useless on monsters. If attempted, the only outcome the appraiser would get was a head filled with garbled gibberish.

There was one exception to this, however. If the Scribe performing the check was extremely knowledgeable about the monster being appraised, then it was possible to lift the veil on its Skills and Jobs. The catch was that such a level of understanding could only be achieved after years of study, research, and autopsy of that specific species of monster. Unfortunately, Edward’s personal Scribe was no scholar, so the most she would normally get out of a monster’s Status was its HP and MP. Maybe the Attribute scores if they were lucky.

As it turned out, however, the Spymaster’s box-shaped prisoner had two enlightened Jobs. The interrogation had revealed that it was both a Warlock and an Artificer, in addition to somehow being involved in the Calamity. Hence the reason Edward found himself very eager to find out exactly what the Appraisal might reveal.

He walked into the Arcaneum tower and went to its basement. This served as a ceremonial chamber used to perform the various rituals and rites the tower’s residents required. It was a wide open space about ten-by-fifteen metres in size and an abnormally high ceiling almost four metres tall. Stone support columns dotted the inside and rows of bookshelves lined the walls. Tomes, parchments, paints, bushels of dried herbs, bowls of powdered substances, chunks of ores, jars of pickled monster parts, and a plethora of other resources, ingredients, and reagents were all lined up and waiting to be put to use. Plain-looking chandeliers adorned with white magical lights dangled from the ceiling, bathing the subterranean chamber with so much light it appeared brighter than the outdoors. The floor itself was covered in dull grey brickwork, almost like the dungeon Edward had just left. A significant part of it was charred, scratched, cracked, or otherwise stained with various dried up substances – likely remnants of past rituals.

The Spymaster looked around and spotted a group of five individuals in the far corner, huddled around the familiar black cage. He approached them briskly, eager to move his interrogation of the monster to the next step. He’d given the order to prepare this space the instant he realised his prisoner was a Warlock, but it took a while to have those wand-twirlers vacate the chamber. It would not be an exaggeration to say this was a national security situation, so minimizing potential intelligence leaks was a given. Ideally, he wouldn’t have done this in such a relatively public place, but this spot was necessary for what he planned to do.

“Sir!”

The four guards that had escorted the monster there saluted him respectfully when they noticed his approach.

He returned the salute. “Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all. Leave us, and inform the rest of the Arcaneum we are not to be disturbed. Do not let anyone in here unless it is literally a matter of life or death. Or else it will become one. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

The guardsmen quickly made their way out without uttering another peep. They didn’t quite know who this stranger was, but none dared speak up against him. They’d been told he was their superior in both rank and ability, which was all they needed to know. Besides, it was common knowledge around the keep that he had subdued that vicious creature with a single blow. He was far more intimidating in person though, to the point that a few of them were inwardly questioning which one was the real monster.

Edward waited for the men to leave the basement, then turned to face the last person remaining in the chamber. She was a woman of average height and build, shoulder-length black hair and slanted yellow eyes. Her face was mature and attractive, but her ice-cold expression was severe enough to send chills down one’s spine. Her outfit consisted of an armour set nearly identical in design to Edward’s, clearly marking her as one of his subordinates.

“Zone, are you ready for the Appraisal yet?” he asked matter-of-factly.

The woman nodded.

“Get to it then, and give me the short version.”

The female operative walked up to the caged monster, which studied her curiously with its out of place head. She unlocked the powered-down cage and walked inside. She reached out over its head and placed a hand on its lid, an act which caused Boxxy quite a bit of distress. It instinctively wanted to lash out and hurt this woman, but an overpowering glare from that man quickly erased any such rebellious thoughts. Besides, it wasn’t like it would hurt, right? Adventurers supposedly did this sort of thing all the time, after all.

The woman called Zone opened her mouth and quietly chanted two words. “Full Appraisal.”

Boxxy immediately felt an extremely disturbing sensation. As if countless tiny insects had come out of her hand and spread out across its surface, then burrowed into its faux-wood shell. The invisible bugs that weren’t actually there enveloped it completely, crawling and tasting it all over. A few seconds later, the woman started reporting on its Status in a quiet, monotone voice.

“Name - Boxxy T. Morningwood. Greater Mimic, 3 months old. HP at 1,524. MP at 1,210. Monster Job – unknown. Assumed Level 40 to 50 based on the number of unknowable Skills. Level 25 Warlock. Summon Familiar 7, Power Overwhelming 6, Demonology 6, Crystallize Magic 5. Level 12 Artificer. Clockwork Expertise 3, Explosives Handling 2. General Skills consist of Stealth 7, an unknowable Skill assumed to be Shapeshift and a total of six Mastery Skills, ranging from 3 to 8.”

Having finished her duty, she took her hand off the chest. The disgusting sensations permeating Boxxy’s body stopped instantly, leaving it with a feeling of somehow being violated. It was not a tasty sensation.

“Hmm … It’s quite tough for its Level isn’t it?” mused the Spymaster. “I’m starting to see how it could kill so many guards so quickly. Also, a total of over seventy-five levels in three months? Well, all things considered, that’s perhaps even a little low. Zone, is that there?”

“Yes. Butcher of Humanity Perk is present.”

“So it was that after all, huh?”

The Slayer series of Perks were received after killing hundreds upon thousands of beings of the same species. The first rank, known as ‘Slayer,’ was awarded after one had killed 500 of a specific species. Getting that kill count up to 2,000 would upgrade the perk to ‘Hunter.’ Racking up 5,000 would turn one into a ‘Butcher,’ and 20,000 would turn them into a ‘Natural Enemy.’ However, although these Perks did raise one’s prowess when fighting a specific species, they also had an additional side effect that was not readily apparent.

Much like Taboo, the Slayer series of Perks altered the way others perceived the holder, and it grew stronger with each upgrade stage. In this monster’s case, humans would feel an instinctive fear that caused them to shy away from it. Edward himself felt it, although it took him a while to notice since his Nerves of Steel Skill dulled the effects of external mental influences like that. It wasn’t until he had spoken to the creature for a few minutes that he did start feeling an odd sense of unease, followed by beads of cold sweat forming in his palms for no apparent reason. It affected him even though he had reached Job Level 100 and Ranked Up to become an ascendant – a being significantly stronger, faster, and smarter than a regular human.

Edward rubbed his temple. “I should have just started with the Appraisal,” he grumbled.

He felt foolish for thinking it wouldn’t yield any useful information. He trusted his common sense and wasted his own time, but it was hardly a bad call. After all, who would’ve thought this simple creature would be capable of gaining not only one, but two Jobs that would normally be inaccessible to such a monster? The Artificer one had clearly been taught by the gnome, which meant the Warlock one was likely taught by some equally naive Warlock trainer. Or a malicious one.

Still, after interrogating both its mind and body, he was finally convinced. This creature was the culprit behind the Calamity. He wasn’t sure how the simple being eluded his Eyes of Truth earlier though. Actually, being simple-minded was probably why it gave him so much trouble in the first place. Regardless of its mental faculties, this ‘Boxxy’ was guilty beyond the shadow of a doubt. There was simply no other way it could have killed five thousand people in just three months.

Edward was personally familiar with just how high a number that was. He himself was only a Slayer of Humanity and a Slayer of Elfkind, despite having performed assassinations and carrying out raids on criminal hideouts for many decades. That was fine by him though, as he didn’t want to ‘upgrade’ them if at all possible. Perks like that were more trouble than they were worth sometimes. In fact, some of them could be almost as damning as a high Level of Taboo. They were evidence of one’s past actions that would be easily laid bare with a Full Appraisal, regardless of the holder’s wishes.

And yet he’d held off having one done on this mimic until he deemed it was absolutely necessary. After all, a Full Appraisal could only be performed once every twenty-four hours. Guilds could afford to have multiple Scribes on their payroll, but Edward could not risk any of this information leaking out. He only brought one subordinate with him who was capable of performing a Full Appraisal, so he had to be prudent with its usage.

And now that it was done, he would take full advantage of it.

“Zone, does it have any other Perks?”

“Yes, five in total. One unknowable, Arcane Assassin, Butcher of Humanity, Collateral Damage, and Grand Theft Arcana.”

“Wait, no Hero Killer?”

“Negative.”

The Perk in question had no effects beyond marking someone as taking part in slaying a chosen of the Gods. It was one of those troublesome stigmas on one’s Status that could be used as evidence to get them convicted of manslaughter on the spot. This monster not having it was surprising though. Then again, Bernard Samson, the chosen Hero of Teresa, had supposedly been revived by the Goddess almost instantly, so it was possible the Perk was invalidated or the kill ‘didn’t count.’ Edward had never heard of the divines outright reviving a person like that, so it was hard for him to accurately say one way or the other.

Rather than dwell on what was missing, the Spymaster considered what was already there. The Perk that Zone referred to as unknowable was likely something exclusive to monsters, or she would’ve recognized it. Collateral Damage was … to be expected of something that blew up an entire city. Arcane Assassin was something one of his other subordinates possessed and that Perk made sense, considering the Mimic was a Warlock with Stealth. It was likewise possible that one of its unreadable Skills was the Assassination Skill, which Edward also had as part of his Rogue Job. Unfortunately, even if this creature had the same ability, it would have come from its Monster Job and would be incomprehensible to a meathead like Zone.

However, it was the last Perk in that list that piqued his interest the most.

“Grand Theft Arcana?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zone’s eyes stared off into the distance as she focused her attention on Boxxy’s Status screen that was still in her mind.

“Awarded for taking a dungeon core out of its dungeon,” she reported in the same dull monotone. “Reward is a plus ten to all Attributes. The subject has performed this feat once.”

“Such a thing can happen, huh? I see, so that’s what it was.”

When the Hero, Bernard Samson, described the giant orb thought to be the source of the Calamity, it painted the image of an oversized dungeon core. Edward was no expert on the matter, but general knowledge dictated that the size of those things was directly proportional to the amount of mystical energy they controlled. Therein lay the problem though, as the Litigar Dungeon Complex next to Monotal, which would be the most likely origin of said core, was much too weak to produce one of that size. The place had completely caved in from the blast and was within range of the ever-swirling death cloud, so there was no way to verify if its core was still there.

At least until this monster’s Status had given Edward all the confirmation he needed.

Not that Boxxy had any idea that its deed had been exposed. It was still immensely nervous, however. It had just been through its first and highly unpleasant Appraisal, the thing that it had determined must be avoided at all costs. It was afraid of what would happen to it, of whether this terrifying human and that similarly dressed woman would just kill it off on the spot. Still, it held onto a feeling vaguely resembling hope. They clearly wanted something from it or they would have eliminated it already. It was the same reasoning the Mimic itself had used when it tried to run away with that gnome in tow.

“Interesting,” Edward mused as he tapped his chin. “Very interesting indeed. We’ll have to bring it back to headquarters so Hook can extract the details from it. We might even be able to avoid asking Arcaneum for assistance.”

It seemed Boxxy was right in assuming its life would be spared, at least for the moment. If they were transporting it somewhere else, then that could present it with a good opportunity to escape.

“In the meantime, let’s make sure it doesn’t try to pull anything too clever. Zone, get rid of those two Jobs.”

The Mimic’s head swivelled around to look up at the black-haired woman standing next to it with a panicked stare. Get rid of Jobs? Was such a thing really possible?

“What if the Warlock Job is necessary?” she asked.

“Irrelevant. We just need its memory. Do it.”

Judging from their exchange and the mechanical way that woman was moving her hands towards it, Boxxy quickly concluded that its Jobs were indeed in danger. It felt a type of fear distinctly different than that of death. It was something it hadn’t felt since its connection to its home dungeon was severed – the fear of the unknown. That wasn’t all, though. It also felt anger. Rage, even. How dare these damned humans attempt to separate it from what was rightfully its own? Did they even know how much time, effort, money, and murder it had to go through to get those Jobs to their current state?

Desperate and cornered, it lashed out. A dozen fleshy tendrils sprang forth from its surface and wrapped around the woman’s hands, feet, and neck. Now that it had hold of a hostage, it just needed to –

“Hnng!” it groaned. “Eh? … HNNNNG!”

It tried to spin her around, pin her down and threaten her, but it couldn’t. She didn’t budge a muscle no matter how much it pulled on her limbs. In fact, if anyone was getting pulled in this situation, it was the Mimic whose suspended body leaned closer towards Zone. The monster should have been the heavier one, yet Boxxy felt as if it was trying to pull down a mountain.

At the unexpected assault, Zone had briefly stopped her movements, but she did not appear to mind the interruption. No, that wasn’t quite right. The unfazed way she carried on despite the shapeshifter’s utmost effort made it seem like she didn’t even register its attempts at taking her hostage. As if this monster’s full strength was little more than a bad joke to her. That may actually have been the case, given the tiny smile on her normally expressionless face.

In the end, she placed her hand upon the chest once more, completely unhindered by its attempts at ‘restraining’ her.

“Job Removal: Warlock.”

A trio of previously inert runes etched into the stone floor under the cage lit up in response to her quiet words. A white light flowed forth from them and enveloped Boxxy, drowning out the creature’s senses and assaulting its consciousness.

[Proficiency level decreased. Crystallize Magic is no longer available. INT -10. WIS -10.]
[Proficiency level decreased. Demonology is now Level 5. WIS -2. MNT -2.]
[Proficiency level decreased. Power Overwhelming is no longer available. INT -24.]
[Proficiency level decreased. Summon Familiar is no longer available. INT -14. WIS -7. MNT -7.]
[Your Warlock Job has been removed. INT -50. MNT -50. END -50.]

It was over in an instant. The stress of having its Skills and Attributes removed all at once rendered the monster unconscious. Its tendrils uncoiled themselves from Zone and hung limply down to the ground. The next time it woke up, it would find that all the knowledge it had regarding magic and demons was now gone, obliterated from its mind as if it was never there.

Well, almost all of it.

“Odd,” said Zone. “Demonology won’t go below Level 5.”

“What? Why not?” Edward asked.

“Unknown.”

“But the Warlock Job and its other Skills were successfully removed?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm …”

Edward had made sure to brush up on his knowledge of Warlocks and their familiars ever since he heard demons were involved in the Monotal case. As such, he was familiar with the Summon Familiar and Demonology Skills and had already deduced his monstrous prisoner was in possession of them during the interview. Exactly why the second of those refused to go away completely was beyond his understanding, but it wasn’t necessarily an issue.

“It’s good enough,” he stated. “Demonology is practically useless on its own anyway.”

The monster would probably retain some knowledge pertaining to demonic rituals and lore, but the Skill’s main function was to upgrade Summon Familiar. Which was no longer in its possession. Not only did it now lack the means to call out its pet demons, but their contracts would be severed as well.

“Do the next one,” he commanded, and Zone complied.

“Job Removal: Artificer.”

[Proficiency level decreased. Explosives Handling is no longer available. DEX -4. WIS -4.]
[Proficiency level decreased. Clockwork Expertise is no longer available. DEX -6. PER -6.]
[Your Artificer Job has been removed. DEX-24. WIS -24. PER -24.]

More untasty notifications flashed inside the Mimic’s mind, but its owner was currently out for the count.

“Done. No abnormalities,” Zone reported.

“Good,” said Edward while staring absentmindedly at the unconscious monster. “Very good indeed. Looks like we’re done here.”

Zone tilted her head. “We are? What about the elf connection?”

“Non-existent. As expected, this entire incident was either a fluke or an accident rather than an elven conspiracy.”

Of course, the Spymaster never quite believed those knife-ears were actually responsible for something like the Calamity of Monotal. He’d kept his mind open to the possibility, but a man of his experience was able to easily sense that the young Hero had been deceived. And while it certainly helped that he caught and spoke with the real perpetrator, he really didn’t need to do that in order to doubt the young man’s words. The testimony still served to pin the blame on the twig-infested nation to the north, but that was a bit divorced from reality.

To begin with, the cowards of the Ishigar Republic to the north would never dare incur the wrath of the Lodrak Empire. Their territory may have been larger than the Empire’s at a glance, but they were far behind when it came to matters of military strength. And while such acts of terrorism were right up their alley, they were far too competent to be responsible for the farce at Monotal. If an agent of theirs was indeed responsible for the Calamity, then there was no way they’d ever allow it to be traced back to them. Elves took their spying and skulking in the shadows very seriously.

Then there was the matter of these supposed perpetrators’ choice of target. Considering the destructive power of the Calamity, hitting a place like Monotal made very little sense. That city had very little strategic or economic value in the grand scheme of things. If they truly had the capability and the intention of wounding the Empire in such a way, then the Republic would have gone after a more valuable region. It made a lot more sense to blow up the royal capital and gouge out the heart of the Empire. It was what Edward would have done in their position.

In fact, that was more or less what he was planning to do to the Republic at this very moment.

“Sir, requesting permission to keep suspect as a pet.”

His subordinate’s bizarre question made Edward’s scheming grind to a halt. The black-haired woman was gently stroking the unconscious Mimic’s imitation wood surface with a tiny smile on her face.

“Really, Zone? This again?”

“Affirmative.”

“Haah. Alright, I’ll bite. Why?”

“I have determined it is quite cute.”

So it was that after all. This problem child always had a twisted sense of aesthetics. It wasn’t the first time she’d made the ludicrous request to keep a murderous monster around as a pet. Normally he might consider it if Zone was a Monster Tamer like her colleague with the codename Bandit, but she wasn’t.

“Also, there is a high chance that it likes me,” she added.

“I highly doubt that. It just tried to take you hostage. That’s not something you normally do to people you like.”

“It did? When?”

“You know, when it wrapped those tentacles around you?”

He wiggled his fingers for emphasis, causing his subordinate to blink her yellow eyes in confusion.

“That wasn’t a hug? But it was so squishy and warm …”

Edward sighed. Did she really not notice? While it was true that the monster had no chance of overpowering her outrageous STR Attribute, that didn’t mean it was being nice. Honestly, how come she was this ignorant even though she was also a ‘Ranker’ like him? It boggled the mind how dense this woman could be sometimes.

“No, Zone, it wasn’t showing affection. It tried to hurt you.”

“I don’t mind. I promise I’ll discipline it. Therefore –”

“Forget it. We’ll be disposing of that thing once Hook is done rooting around in its mind for the Calamity method.”

The man with the codename Hook was another subordinate of Edward’s. His primary Job was a Psionic, a rare occupation from the southern continent that utilized mind-based Skills and Spells in combat. Their Domination magic was powerful and versatile, easily dwarfing a Warlock’s potential for mind-fuckery. The task of sifting through the monster’s memories to get details surrounding the Calamity was child’s play for a Psionic of Hook’s calibre. Granted, such forceful methods usually left the subject a drooling vegetable, but Edward was going to execute the thing once he was done with it anyway.

“…”

His female colleague should’ve known all this, yet she kept staring expectantly at him.

“Don’t give me that pleading look, Zone. You know we can’t risk the truth of the Calamity leaking out.”

The elves destroyed a human city and murdered thousands of humans.

This was the ‘official’ story he’d fed to the immature and hot-blooded Emperor. It wouldn’t be long before that lie was propagated throughout the Empire and spoon-fed to its citizens. With the entire country’s disdain and distrust towards the elves rising, it would be the perfect opportunity to finally engage in open warfare and wipe those twigs off the face of this world. Once that was over, the Empire would be in a position to gobble up or vassalize the remaining nations, securing its dominion over the continent.

Some small part of Edward actually wanted to thank that moronic mimic. Not only did it inadvertently give his country a plausible reason to get the populace to support this war, but it was also going to provide them with a weapon of mass destruction. If the Calamity could be replicated and weaponised, then even world domination would be within the Empire’s grasp.

Or at least, that was the way he would manipulate that juvenile of an Emperor into seeing things. As far as Edward was concerned, all these wars on the horizon were nothing more than a way for him to further his Jobs and Skills. He was so close to achieving a second Rank Up that he could almost taste it, but a man of his position found it difficult to raise the Spy Job and its related Skills during such peaceful times. He was so close to a Breakthrough, and then he just had to diligently work at becoming a Level 100 Spy, at which point he would achieve his second Rank Up.

Of course, one could argue he should have picked an easier Job to Level Up, but being a Spy gave him benefits beyond Skills and Attributes. To begin with, the Job was a closely guarded secret of the very elves he would use it against. He had no time for such things. Being able to steal it away from them decades ago was what allowed him to become Spymaster in the first place. It was a position of power with many benefits, such as first-rate equipment and information, not to mention the freedom to act as he saw fit.

There was also the benefit that, strictly speaking, Spy was not a combat-oriented Job. It still gained some XP from murdering the ever-living piss out of stuff, but it was the act of infiltration and subterfuge that made it go up in Level to any significant extent. The need and opportunity for such acts would increase tremendously during open warfare, as well as during the months leading up to the ‘official’ start of the campaign. Hopefully enough to allow the Spymaster to obtain his second Level 100 Job

This was Edward’s primary concern, as he was running short on time. Even if his lifespan may have been extended after he Ranked Up into an ascendant, he was already over a century old. His body and mind were both in good enough condition to allow him to remain on active duty, but his time until forced retirement and subsequent death was rapidly running out. However, once he achieved his goals and maxed out his second Job, he would be allowed to Rank Up once more. At that point, he would not only gain another Ultimate Skill but would also evolve into an immortal being that no longer had to fear the passage of time. After that, he would have literally all the time in the world to work on achieving the mythical third and final Rank Up an enlightened could attain.

Until then, however, he had to be prudent, patient, and careful.

“Now go fetch those guardsmen and tell them to drag our friend back to its cell,” he ordered. “Prepare both it and the gnome for transport back to the capital. I want them out of here by tomorrow.”

Part Four

“Teach!” demanded Boxxy.

“No!” replied Fizzy in a shrill voice. “Don’t wanna! Go away!”

“I want to! But! Cage!”

The Mimic swayed front to back while suspended inside its special cage as if to make a point. Not too hard though – the highly untasty zappy stuff was back, and it didn’t want any part of that.

Boxxy had been in a rage ever since it woke up half an hour ago and found itself back in the cell minus two Jobs. It was still coming to terms with its more … limited brain capacity. After all, it had lost about a third of its INT and a good chunk of WIS. Its mental processes had regressed back to what they were three weeks ago, just after the Calamity that started this whole mess.

And it did not like that. Not one bit.

“Teeeach!” yelled Xera’s misplaced head again.

It wanted to reclaim what it once had. The Warlock Job? It had no idea where it would get that. The first time was a total lucky fluke; it was highly unlikely for that to happen again. At least Artificer could be recovered easily enough as long as that insufferable gnome granted it the Job again.

“Please! Just leave me alone!”

She was, understandably, not especially willing to do so. Fizzy hadn’t had the chance to come to terms with the horrible reality of her unjust imprisonment before those guards came back and left this terrifying box in the same cell with her. She begged them to put her in a different place, but the humans just stared at each other awkwardly before locking them in together and walking away. A man bearing His Majesty’s royal seal had given them an order, and they carried it out. Nothing more, nothing less. Even though all of them sympathized with her, none of them were willing to risk incurring the wrath of someone who wielded the Emperor’s authority.

“HHHRRAAAHRG!” roared the Mimic.

“Shut up!” snapped Fizzy. “Shaddap-shaddap-shaddap!”

“No! Teach! Me! Art! Fisher!”

“Idiot!”

*CLANG*

*BDZT*

“Ow!”

Now, why had Fizzy gone and kicked the cage? She knew full well it was electrified. Maybe the real idiot was her after all?

“Okay, look!”

The gnome decided it would probably be better to just explain, so she lifted her bound arms for emphasis.

“You see these things? These are mana-sealing shackles, you dimwit! Not only do they drain your MP, but they also disable its recovery! And I can’t activate my Mentor Skill without MP! Therefore, I can’t give you the Job even if I wanted to! Which – big surprise – I don’t!”

“You lie! Betrayer! Liar! Untasty, nasty thing!”

“You have the same stuff bolted onto you, moron! You don’t have your MP, either, right?”

“ … No.”

“So if you understand then please just shut the fuck up!”

“…”

And it did indeed go silent. The gnome stared at it, her small shoulders going up and down as she steadied her agitated breathing. She really should have just said that stuff at the start. Boxxy was always good at listening to her, so it wouldn’t ask again once it had no choice but to accept her words. Alas, once the gnome finally calmed herself down, she was instead gripped by anxiety and uncertainty.

She had just yelled at and insulted a monster that could gobble her up in one mouthful. That realisation was more than enough to cause her to back off into the far corner of the cell and lay down in the foetal position, facing away from her cellmate. At least this arrangement was entirely temporary. Those guards said something about moving both of them the next day, so all she had to do was grin and bear it until they were separated.

And then continue grinning and bearing it. For years. While she was forced to build war machines. And would likely be whipped and beaten if she did a poor job of it. That was only if she was lucky. If not, then she would probably be whipped and beaten regardless of how well she did. Would they even release her once her sentence was up? Would that sentence even end? Or was death the only thing that would set her free?

“How fast?”

Fizzy looked over her shoulder at those words. The Mimic had regained its composure and was asking her something with a determined face. Granted, it was the borrowed face of its once-familiar, but it was a determined one nonetheless.

“ … How fast what?” answered Fizzy, despite herself.

“How fast does MP go away?”

“What does it matter?”

“How fast?” it repeated.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Talk is free. Nothing to lose.”

“…”

The monster had a point, but communicating with it any more than this was ill-advised. Yet she couldn’t just sit there quietly. The mentor inside her still wanted to answer the student. More importantly than that though, if she didn’t speak up now, that stupid box would probably start shouting like a spoiled child all over again. If Fizzy was going to wallow in her own misery, then it would be better if she did so without having a horrible creature screaming at her.

“I think it was fifty per second or something like that.”

The room fell completely silent after that. The pale-faced head retreated back inside its shell, leaving the monster’s appearance as that of a simple, suspended chest. It appeared to have no more desire to speak with her, and Fizzy was more than happy to oblige. Conversation was the last thing she was looking for right now.

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. She desperately wanted someone to at least hear out her troubles, but she wasn’t going to get a shred of sympathy from that thing. Monsters were wholly incapable of empathy, after all. Why did she have to share a cell with this horrible creature that had caused her so much pain? First it … Huh?

She sat up and looked at it curiously. Did it actually do anything to her?

No, no, no, Boxxy had clearly stated it was responsible for the death of her father and brother! That was more than enough reason to hate it, right? Wait, that wasn’t right. During the interrogation, it mentioned being at the scene of their deaths, but it claimed it didn’t kill them. It merely … ate them. Still, desecrating the dead like that was surely deserving of scorn, right? But it had also gone on a murdering spree and wiped out both the bandits that killed her family and the adventurers that failed to protect them. As well as that shady bastard who lured them away in the first place.

Looking at things objectively, didn’t Boxxy avenge their deaths? Anyone and everyone who could be held responsible for her father and brother’s untimely demise was sitting somewhere at the bottom of that monster’s gullet. Or at least, that was what it claimed. But if that scary government spy was willing to believe its claims, then nobody would blame Fizzy for doing the same, right?

“Argh!”

She screamed and rolled around on the ground. What was she thinking? There was no way that monster had acted out of anything other than self-interest. It would have definitely killed her family if the bandits hadn’t gotten to them first. Regardless of that, it also killed and ate people. It had a lot of crimes to answer for, to be sure – especially for all those times it messed with her head!

Come to think of it, why did it do that? To protect its identity? If it was just that, then shouldn’t it have been easier to kill her? If Fizzy had simply talked to it rather than betrayed it, then wasn’t there a chance they could be practising their craft in her workshop right now instead of sitting in a jail cell awaiting some dismal fate? Maybe, just maybe, if she hadn’t forced it to defend itself, then none of this would’ve happened. From what she was able to gather, it had even tried to carry her away from all that madness.

The more the confused gnome thought about it while curled up on that hard, damp floor, the less Boxxy seemed like a villain to her. For one thing, it had given her heaps of business. Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets was never a prosperous shop, and the unfortunate gnome was struggling to keep it afloat all on her own. The vast majority of her clients had cancelled their orders once they found out her father and brother were no more, so she’d really been in a pinch about how to maintain her father’s legacy.

“ … Boxxy, can I ask you something?”

The Mimic was currently trying to organize its fractured mind, so it didn’t feel like engaging with the pink thing in the corner. All the information pertaining to magic and almost everything it knew about demons had vanished in a flash of light, along with its knowledge of cogwheels, gears, sprockets, springs, and explosives.

No wait, it wasn’t all gone. Those one-on-one tutoring sessions with Fizzy were still in the back of its mind. The conversations with Carl and most of the memories it had concerning its familiars were still there. The information Xera had gathered for it before it got captured was mostly intact as well. Perhaps it could recover from this after all?

“Why did you want to become an Artificer?” asked Fizzy.

She had taken the monster’s lack of response for silent confirmation it would speak with her, when in truth it wasn’t paying attention to her at all. If it could magnificently ignore a couple of demons having violent sex for hours on end, then some nosy little gnome was no trouble at all. But still, perhaps there was some merit in speaking with her. It was possible she would yield some more useful information, and the Mimic would need all the help it could get if it was to break out of this place. And if not, then it wouldn’t have lost anything. In its own words, talking was free.

Xera’s bald face emerged from the chest’s front. The gnome didn’t even flinch at the bizarre action, though she was a tiny bit surprised she was already used to it.

“Machines are tasty,” it said simply.

“ … What?”

“Machines are tasty.”

“You … eat Artificer-made tools?”

“No.”

“But you think they’re tasty?”

“Yes.”

“How can you claim they’re tasty when you don’t want to eat them?”

“Because they are.”

“ … What’s with that inane reasoning?”

“You don’t think art fishers are tasty?”

“Um, no?”

“Then why teach art fishing if you don’t think it’s tasty?”

“…”

The gnome decided it would be better for everyone involved if she just minded her own business after all. She lay down in the foetal position once again, but with one small change. This time she lay facing the Mimic so she could quietly stare at it. Boxxy didn’t seem to mirror that sentiment and returned to its mental cataloguing after making its head disappear.

The cell remained silent for the rest of the day and evening, save for the footsteps of the odd guard patrol, Fizzy’s own breathing, and the gentle hum of the electrified cage. The mentally exhausted gnome ended up focusing on that last one.

It was a nostalgic sound, for she was the one who built the thing over six months ago at the behest of the local Lord-Mayor. She never found out why he wanted an electrified cage, nor did she want to know. She just let that oddly comforting sound lull her to sleep. It was a minor thing, but it still reminded her of a better, happier time.

Perhaps it was because of that noise that she dreamt about the time she had an argument with her brother over what constituted a ‘clean work environment.’ How that guy managed to find anything inside that ‘organized chaos’ of his was a complete mystery. He even had the audacity to get angry when Cornie tidied up the mess of tools and parts that was his workstation. The argument got so intense that they nearly came to blows over it, but it was still a strangely happy dream.

“Look alive in there!”

One that was suddenly cut short when a guard shouted at her.

“Ack! Wha-! Oh …”

She was now back in the real world, much to her disappointment. At least she didn’t feel quite as depressed about it as yesterday. Somehow, watching the Mimic quietly sit there made her strangely calm, as she realised that wailing and thrashing about wasn’t going to help her in any way. Also, she really didn’t want to lose to Boxxy. If that stupid box could calmly await what Fizzy assumed would be a much crueller fate than her own, then the least she could do was not be a crybaby about her predicament.

The guards escorted both her and the caged monster out of the dungeon and into the courtyard. Waiting for them there were a duo of griffins – barn-sized winged monsters that resembled the front half of an eagle. Their beak-tipped heads and long necks were covered in brilliantly white feathers that turned to a dark brown around their chest and forelegs. The front two feet ended in birdlike talons and were covered in brown plumage, much like their front shoulders. The rest of a griffin’s torso and its hind legs were like that of a huge cat with a golden coat that seemed to glisten in the morning sun. It also had a long, slender tail tipped with a smattering of feathers but was otherwise feline in appearance.

If one were to describe these magnificent beasts in a single word, ‘majestic’ was the most fitting. That was probably why they were pictured prominently on the Empire’s flag, though the images upon the blue banners hanging around the courtyard didn’t do them justice. The feeling they gave off when met in person was completely different from some caricature. It was like they had the aura of a ruler, their very presence demanding people grovel before them.

Then again, that last bit was probably because of their sheer size. Standing with their heads held high put their eye level a good seven to eight metres off the ground. The massive feathered wings that were just above their front legs unfurled to a wingspan of nearly fifteen metres. No wonder griffin eyries were built only at the highest points of a castle; they wouldn’t be able to land anywhere else.

Strapped to each of their wide backs like a pair of oversized backpacks were two specially designed cabins. The front one was made out of wood and had round glass windows. It was clearly intended to ferry passengers while shielding them from the frigid winds that usually accompanied high-altitude flight. The temperature inside was likely regulated through magical means to ensure maximum comfort. As for the other one, the only way to describe it would be like a giant steel box – a place to strap in the cargo and luggage of the passengers in the primary cabin.

“That’s how we’re being transported?” asked Fizzy with an oddly enthusiastic tone. “I’ve always wanted to ride a griffin!”

“Easy there, girlie,” said one of the guards escorting the two prisoners. “Don’t get your hopes up. You and that thing over there are riding with the cargo.”

And there went what little optimism the female gnome could muster. Now she really felt like crying.

She and Boxxy were brought before the gigantic beast that was currently lying down. A large wheeled ramp had been brought out to provide access to its back, which was a few metres off the ground. The guards dutifully escorted both prisoners up the wooden slope and unlocked the double doors at the back of the windowless metal container. They swung open to reveal a largely empty space. Beams of sunlight entered through a series of small holes along the sides near the top. It wasn’t hard to imagine those would be the only sources of air and light once the door was shut tight.

Boxxy’s cage was carried off to the far right corner of the container, as far away from the door as it could go. It was placed on a mat of processed Bouncewood bark. One that was, in a fit of irony, made from the same raw materials the monster itself had delivered. The cage was then strapped securely to the floor using a number of ropes that were coated in some type of resin. They wrapped around the bars of the cage and were tied to specially designed hooks that poked out of the floor and walls of the container itself. Once the cage was properly secured, one of the guards re-started its electric field. The floor mat and special ropes served to insulate the device, lest it electrify the entire container and the beast it was carrying.

As for Fizzy, she was also put in a cage that was attached to the floor, although this one was considerably smaller, likely intended for animals rather than people. It wasn’t strictly necessary though, as she had nowhere to escape to while flying thousands of metres up in the sky. Which was also partially why this container would be left unsupervised during the forty-hour flight back to the Imperial capital of Oshinas.

This was by no means negligence on the Spymaster’s part though, as he was confident Boxxy’s restraints would be sufficient. With its MP drained and unable to recover, the monster would be unable to fuel any of its active Skills. It could still use the passive ones like Shapeshift, but any attempts to break free or try something funny would be cut short by an electric jolt. In some ways, the gnome was far more likely to escape her shackles. An Artificer was able to take apart pretty much anything, provided they had the right tools. Of which Fizzy had none, rendering her about as useful as a half-rotten potato.

In some ways, locking her up was unnecessary, but Edward made sure she was securely strapped in all the same, lest she do something profoundly stupid. At least he had the common courtesy to provide her with some basic necessities: A small cot filled with hay to lie down on, thick blankets to shield herself from the cold, a number of water skins and dried military rations for sustenance, and a small bucket for her leavings. This wasn’t out of kindness or pity but necessity. He couldn’t put her to work if she ended up starving or freezing to death during the trip, after all. And if she was the kind of person who would give up on life and let herself die, then that would be that.

Once the prisoners were securely strapped in place and Edward had personally inspected their restraints, he left the cargo container and locked its doors. About an hour later, Fizzy and Boxxy heard the griffins’ eagle-like cries. Their temporary dwelling then started shaking violently and Fizzy felt an invisible force press down on her body as the griffin rapidly ascended into the air. This lasted for about twenty minutes until the creature climbed to cruising altitude, at which point the container levelled out.

What followed was a surprisingly smooth flight, with just the wind howling outside and the odd pocket of turbulence to remind its passengers they were actually in motion. Fizzy spent her time staring idly at the box in the corner. There wasn’t any particular reason for that, though. There was simply nothing else around to distract her from her depressing thoughts. Plus, the container would shake occasionally and cause the box to sway into the electrified cage and get zapped, to which it would react with a yelp and a growl. This was oddly entertaining to watch.

The hours rolled by. Morning turned to noon, then to dusk, then to night. The beams of clear sunlight that poked through the holes near the ceiling and bathed the interior in a soft yellow light gradually disappeared. They were eventually replaced by moonlight, though it was so weak that it failed to light up anything at all.

The gnome could not sleep though. The sound the wind made as it rushed into those holes and the occasional shaking of their container made such things pointless. The luxury carriage on the other griffin was probably stabilized to the point where its occupants would feel like they were on solid ground the whole way through. And it would be heated by magic, whereas she only had a bunch of loose blankets that smelled funny. While she probably wouldn’t freeze to death, it didn’t mean she wasn’t cold. The chilly rations and water she’d been given didn’t help much either.

As for the Mimic, it did what simple-minded and less complicated creatures do. It sat perfectly still, waiting for the right moment to come. It had taken a lot of patience, a good amount of pain, and having to give up two of its Jobs to get to this point, but that chance had finally come. And the opportunistic chest would seize it without fail.

Because that was what Boxxy T. Morningwood did best.

Part Five

When a prisoner escaped custody under their own power, it could almost always be blamed on a single act of negligence. Edward Allen knew this better than most people, having been incarcerated in and escaped from prisons many times throughout his troubled youth and long career in subterfuge. Which was why he made sure to keep a very watchful eye on the mimic that held the answers to the Calamity in its box-addled mind. It was denied freedom at all times and was given absolutely nothing, not even food or water. Its pathetic attempt at restraining Zone served as a prime example of a situation that could’ve gone awry if it wasn’t for that woman’s superb strength.

Containing monsters was a special case, however. On one hand, being slaves to their basic instincts meant they were not as unpredictable as they would appear. They all had certain behavioural patterns and their abilities were confined to a specific theme or concept. Unfortunately, mimics were not usually considered a major threat, since they didn’t appear outside of dungeons. So information regarding them was minimal. It was known they had limited shapeshifting capabilities and favoured tactics that relied on stealth or ambushes, but that was about it.

Yet even if Edward wasn’t completely certain what specific Skills and abilities his prisoner had at its disposal, they would undoubtedly have a certain weakness: their fuel source. Much like the rest of the world, any supernatural tricks and magical gimmicks on Boxxy’s part would require MP to activate. Meaning that once the mana-draining restraints were in place and had robbed the animate chest of its magical reserves, all that was left was to make sure its physical restraints were not lacking. Even on the odd chance it somehow escaped those bindings, it would be unable to lay a single splinter on the electrified cage it was in.

In short, the experienced spy had done everything in his power after capturing Boxxy to make sure it would not escape. However, the singular act of negligence – the one thing he had overlooked – that would provide the key to Boxxy’s escape had occurred just before the monster was taken into custody. In the gap between getting kicked through a building and being knocked out with that weird potion, the Mimic had managed to withdraw a single MP recovery potion from its Storage. It had originally intended to drink it, heal up, and run away with all due haste, but it couldn’t do any of that before it had been caught.

Which allowed that last crystal vial to remain in its maw, where it had been rolling around under its tongue this entire time. It had multiple urges to pop the thing and make a break for it, but Edward’s constant hovering kept it from trying anything. Well, apart from the time it tried and failed to take that black-haired woman hostage. Thankfully it had realised that wasn’t going to work before it blew its only chance.

With that moment gone, the Mimic persevered and waited for a better opportunity, and now the time to act had finally come. It was in the dead of night, in transit through the air, and with nobody around to stop it. If that detestable human was able to catch it even under such circumstances, then its chances of running away with its life were truly zero.

Boxxy began its escape attempt by growing a short, thick tentacle from its faux-wood frame. It pointed the appendage at the small box that was electrifying its prison, then crunched down on the mana potion in its mouth, setting its plan into motion.

[You have used a Mana Potion. MP +200.]

Acid started forming inside its appendage while the Mimic accessed its Storage and took out the other mana potion, its last healing potion, and those two shiny daggers it liked so much.

[Your magical power has been forcefully dispersed. MP -50.]

The metal restraints bolted onto its body started glowing with a faint red light right just as the corrosive liquid gushed forth and splattered against the control box. The deluge did not last longer than a second and a half, however. That small spurt was all the monster could muster before what little MP it had regained ran dry.

“Hm? Huh?”

Fizzy, who was currently preoccupied with trying to tear into an ice-cold piece of dried meat, heard splashing sounds coming from the corner of the cargo container. She turned her attention in her cellmate’s direction just in time to notice the fading glow of its restraints amidst the sea of blackness. She kept staring at that spot as if expecting something, though she failed to see anything else since the moonlight shining through the holes near the ceiling was much too weak.

*KKKHRRT BBZZZZZT PTSUN*

Or so she thought, until a certain control box let out a number of worrisome noises accompanied by a few errant sparks.

With the humming noise gone, Boxxy slowly stretched out a tentacle and tentatively touched the black bars of its cage, confirming they were no longer electrified. Although the acid did nothing to eat away the sturdy bars themselves, the Mimic had accomplished its immediate goal of shorting out the device. The monster may not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it still knew enough about Artificer-made equipment to know it didn’t take much to make it go haywire.

That was all well and good, but that had been the easy bit. The next part of the Mimic’s escape plan would not be so easy, nor anywhere near as painless.

“HRRRMPPH!”

The monster let out a muffled scream of pain as two pure-white blades pierced its lid from the inside out. It kept forcing them upward from the inside, working the handles via a pair of tongue-tentacles to widen the wounds, shrieking all the while. Once those were big enough, it carefully gripped the pointy ends with a pair of external appendages, pulling them out of its mouth cavity. It then forced the wounds closed with its shapeshifting and waited patiently for the pain to subside and its HP to recover.

As for Fizzy, she had no idea what was going on. Her gnomish eyes were unable to completely pierce the darkness and the only thing she’d heard for the last while had been agonizing yelps of pain. And then, whether it was because the griffin changed course or because the clouds had shifted, the moonlight was allowed to shine right on the Mimic’s cage. It was then she saw it holding two glistening blades above its lid, only to thrust them down upon itself.

The creature let out more groans and muffled screams as the twin daggers dug into its flesh. The monster then slowly but carefully carved away at the meat around one of its magic-draining restraints. After about half a minute of self-harm, Boxxy finally managed to dislodge one of the bolts that was keeping the enchanted metal brace in place. It was then removed from its hole and discarded onto the ground with a metallic rattle.

“Hnn! Hnn! Hnn!”

The monster panted heavily as thick yellow blood oozed out of its open wound. Even if the cuts weren’t very deep and caused very little damage to its HP, they still hurt immensely. It was also the only way to get those bolts out of its body. Even if it was a shapeshifter, it didn’t have complete control over its flesh. Its imitation wood frame could not be made to ‘spit out’ the bolts, which was exactly what that man Edward was counting on. What he didn’t anticipate, however, was that Boxxy had both the means and willingness to essentially operate on itself.

One down, fifteen to go!

After mentally psyching itself up a bit, the Mimic moved on to the next one. And then the next. And then the next after that. One after the other, the metal bolts keeping its mouth firmly sealed came loose as Fizzy looked on in a mix of horror, shock, and disgust. Not knowing what to do, she once again tried running away from reality by burying herself underneath her blankets. That did little to stop the harsh sounds of metal cutting into flesh, however, nor did it deafen Boxxy’s pain-filled wails, which lasted for a solid hour.

[Your magical power is no longer being suppressed. Automatic MP recovery has returned to normal.]

Once free of its restraints, the Mimic landed roughly on the floor of its cage. But it wasn’t quite done. Next was its age-old enemy: the metal grating that surrounded it on all sides. Thankfully, its captors had revealed the weakness of this once-formidable foe. So it took the opportunity to just sit quietly on the ground, revelling in the sensation of once more being able to open its maw. Its MP had largely recovered after several minutes, at which point it placed all of its belongings back into Storage. It then stretched out a tentacle, slipped it through the bars in the cage, used Metal Mimicry to recreate the cage’s key from its memory, and unlocked it.

And then, with a vague sense of pride and accomplishment, the monster finally stepped out of its cage. It opened its mouth as wide as it would go, letting out a hearty, throaty laugh to celebrate its victory through sheer perseverance.

“Hashashashasha! HAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH!”

It was official. Freedom. Was. Tasty.

Hearing the oddly cheerful noises coming from her cellmate made the gnome peek out from under her covers. And what she saw was a spider-legged chest that had broken completely free from its restraints rapidly yet silently approaching her own cage. She stared at it blankly and silently like a deer would a meteorite falling straight towards it, as if standing completely still would somehow make the incomprehensibly scary thing go away. This lasted until the monster opened its jaws to reveal two rows of jagged, mismatched metal teeth, which were promptly used to mangle the roof of her cage.

“No … NO!” she yelled. “Stay away! Please!”

Boxxy ignored her screams as it chewed its way through her cell. The wrought iron bars groaned and creaked and cracked as they resisted, but were ultimately no match for the monster’s Metal-Mimicry-reinforced jaws. The rods of Fizzy’s cage were mercilessly torn and ripped out as the monster made a huge hole in the gnome-sized jail. It then reached inside the cage with a trio of tongue-tentacles, wrapping them around the gnome’s feet, neck, and torso.

“Nooo! *Sob* Don’t hurt me! Please don’t eat me!”

And then, without paying any heed to her pleas for mercy, it unceremoniously put her in its mouth and closed its jaws around her.

Now that Fizzy had been dealt with, Boxxy moved to the next obstacle in its path: the metal double doors in the back of the container. Not that they proved to be much of a challenge. The Mimic simply sprayed the area around the locks with acid for about a minute until they gave way. The doors then swung open and dangled erratically as the midnight sky stretched out before the creature.

Boxxy stood and stared at the view ahead with its frontal eye. The sky was clear, without a single cloud, providing an unobstructed view of the heavens and its countless shiny stars. The griffin’s feather-tipped tail swung about slightly with the beast’s every motion and its golden-furred rump was visible directly underneath the exit. The large metal doors flapped wildly to the left and right, at least until the wind snapped them off their hinges. They fell backwards, dancing erratically in the air as they plummeted towards the ground far below.

This exquisite scenery had a profound impact on the relatively simple creature. It reminded it that it was actually in mid-air. A detail that seemed to have temporarily escaped Boxxy’s mind, what with all the self-mutilation and jailbreaking. Well, at least altitude wasn’t much of a problem for a shapeshifter. All the Mimic had to do was gather whatever loose biomass it had remaining and send it towards its rear. A few seconds later, two wide bat-like wings – yet another body part mimicked from its favourite Snack – grew out from its back. The creature took a bit of time to gather its courage and then made a running leap off the container and into the night, unfurling its borrowed demonic wings.

It then proceeded to magnificently fall like a rock.

Boxxy had made a slight miscalculation. It was currently carrying some extra mass. A female gnome’s worth, to be precise. As such, it took a little flailing about, but it managed to coax itself into a glide before things went awry. Full-blown flight was out of the question since the wingspan-to-weight ratio wasn’t in its favour, so controlling and adjusting its descent was all it could do. This wasn’t the monster’s first freefall; it had tried and failed multiple times to copy Snack’s flying skills. Who knew all those times it had flung itself off cliffs would pay off like this?

The monster chanced a glance upwards and confirmed that the two griffins continued on their way at ludicrous speeds. Its escape appeared to have gone unnoticed, at least for the time being. Which was definitely a good thing. It felt proud of itself for waiting until nightfall to pull this off, as that no doubt made it more difficult for someone in the lead cabin to notice the Mimic’s descent. Granted, it didn’t believe simple darkness would be enough to completely hide it from those people, but it was surely better than escaping in broad daylight. There was also the vague hope that some or all of them would be asleep. Whether that was indeed the case or not, one thing remained clear:

Boxxy T. Morningwood had succeeded in running away.

If all went well, its breakout would go unnoticed until the group reached their destination. With some extra luck, they would think the Mimic died on impact with the ground, though they’d probably organize a search for it anyway. However, they would have no idea exactly when and where this breakout occurred. There would be too much ground to cover, and the monster would not simply stand still and wait to be found.

Not that Boxxy could actually piece any of this together. If it was a few days ago, it might have had the mental capacity to come to such reassuring conclusions on its own. As of right now, however, it was far too preoccupied with not falling to its death to worry about the maybes and the what-ifs.

After what felt like an eternity, the Mimic’s guided descent finally ended. It touched down somewhere in the Sawblade Mountains, in a sparsely forested area that had a steep slope to it. It latched onto a pine tree and withdrew its wings, scanning its surroundings from its high vantage point. Once it was convinced nobody was giving chase, it climbed down the old trunk. It was only when its arachnid limbs touched down on solid ground that it finally allowed itself to relax a little.

‘A little’ being the operative phrase. Boxxy had no idea where it was, what monsters lurked around or, most important of all, where it could find food. It had to be more careful than ever, as it was in a relatively weakened state. It didn’t have its familiars, its magic, or what little expertise at handling gadgets and grenades it had picked up. Losing those two Jobs had been a huge setback, to say the least.

At least it held the key to recovering one of them.

It opened its maw and spat out something small, pink-haired, and unconscious. It would appear the drool-covered Fizzy had fainted from terror at the prospect of being eaten. After all, she was surrounded by teeth and a fleshy tongue wrapped firmly around her to keep her from resisting. Boxxy had also very nearly swallowed her whole on reflex on a few occasions, but it managed to keep a firm grip on its appetite. All things considered, her passing out was probably for the best.

As for the reasons it saved her, it had two. The obvious one was that it wanted its Artificer Job back. The second one was that it needed someone around to teach it things. Now that Snack was gone and Carl was unreachable, it had nobody around to guide it through civilized society. Granted, it didn’t quite trust this gnome, but it was the best source of information it could dig up on short notice. If it wasn’t for her valuable input concerning those mana-draining shackles, it might not have managed to escape like it did.

Speaking of which, it would probably be best if it got rid of her bindings. It reached down with its trio of tongue-tentacles and started fiddling with the locks on the shackles. It wasn’t able to create a key like it did for its cage, but that wasn’t really necessary. The monster’s mind still held some memories from Fizzy’s Artificer lessons, and it could clearly grasp the tumblers through its magical perception. It didn’t take long to pick the locks.

[Proficiency level increased. Lockpick is now Level 1. DEX +3. PER +1.]

The gnome’s shackles slid off her hands and feet and fell to the ground with a small rattling noise, which caused her to stir.

“Uuugh …” she groaned. “Hnn? Waaaah!”

She suddenly sat up screaming, her eyes as wide open as they could go. In front of her was a dark, creepy pinewood forest. Above her was the clear night sky. She was sitting on a steep and oddly muddy slope. To her left was a wooden chest. To her right –

“AAAAAAAAHHH!”

Brought face to face with a man-eating monster with nothing between them, she had no choice but to scream and crawl away backwards. Every fibre of her being told her she was about to be eaten ... except for one: her logical mind and observant nature. The same things that arguably got her into this mess in the first place.

“Haah, haah, haah,” she panted, taking in her surroundings. “You … didn’t eat me? We’re outside? And my cuffs are – You freed me?”

A woman’s pale-skinned head appeared in front of her.

“Yes,” it said simply.

“Why? How? What?”

“Art fisher. Teach.”

“…”

Right. It wanted something from her. What other reason could it possibly have for letting her live?

“And … Will you eat me after I teach you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Not tasty.”

“…”

“Also, good teacher. Smart. Liar and betrayer, but good teacher. Therefore – teach, and will not eat.”

Her life did not seem to be in immediate danger and would likely remain that way so long as she was useful to this animate box with teeth.

“Wh-what about after I’m done teaching you all I can? You’ll kill and eat me then, right?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Need you.”

“You … what? You? Need me?”

“Yes.”

“What for!”

“For stuff. And things.”

“And you’re willing to trust me? After all I did to you?”

“No trust. You liar and betrayer. But machines don’t lie. They’re tasty. Not like you.”

“…”

She stared dumbly at the pale head that bore a stupid, loopy smile. ‘Machines don’t lie.’ The wording was a bit different, but that phrase was originally the same one her father liked to say. ‘Machines had no sin.’ That was what he used to say.

“I must be out of my mind,” she mumbled as she hugged her knees.

Maybe it was that accidental line. Maybe it was the thought that this thing had somehow avenged her brother and father. Or maybe it was the fact that, like it or not, this creature in front of her was the only one in the world she could turn to right now. Whatever the cause, she just couldn’t help but chase away the insane thought that maybe, just maybe, partnering up with this thing might work out somehow.

“Alright. I’ll teach you.”

No matter how much she debated the matter though, what choice did she really have? She would either be useful or get eaten. That was her world right now, and she would rather try to avoid the latter.

“Good,” said Boxxy with an even wider smile.
*Clap*
*Clap*
*Clap*

A sharp, loud noise repeated itself slowly for a total of three times. It seemed to pour in from all sides at once.

“Well done! Good show!”
*Clap*
*Clap*
*Clap*

In the next instant, Fizzy and Boxxy both found themselves seated next to each other at a large square dining table instead of on the forest floor. The table had dozens of plates with all manner of things, although none of those seemed to be food. A tiny stone bridge, a human kidney, a small leather bag, a hammer, a guitar, a legless fox, and a small key-shaped lump of mud were a few of the random objects gathered. The scenery beyond the table was a huge white space that seemed to go on forever, completely different from the dark and dreary woods they were in just seconds ago.

And sitting opposite them was a moustached dandy-looking old man in a black suit and a top hat.

“Forgive the sudden intrusion,” he said with a youthful voice that did not match his apparent age. “But I simply had to congratulate you. That escape was a truly marvellous performance.”

“What?” blurted out Fizzy.

She blinked in surprise, only to realise the man sitting at the table was now a purple goat with a tiny rowboat for a head.

“WHAT?”

She blinked again, and the goat turned into a floating kettle. The next time, the entity became a lizardman with a Mohawk and dark glasses on his snout. She blinked once more only to see a green-skinned woman in an evening gown and no face.

She was speechless.

The thing in front of her took a different shape every time her eyelids covered her sight for a tiny instant. She looked at Boxxy as if asking for help, but the Mimic in question had already retreated inside its not-actually-wooden shell and was currently chesting with all its might.

“I think I’ve finally gone nuts,” Fizzy said uncertainly.

“Nah, you’re probably fine,” said the breakdancing gecko. “It’s just that you mortals have difficulty perceiving me. Even the other Gods have difficulty maintaining eye contact sometimes.”

“Mortals? Other Gods?”

“Oh, my apologies!” exclaimed the inside-out sock. “I know you two as the illustrious Mister – is it ‘Mister?’ Let’s go with ‘Mister.’ Ahem! As the illustrious Mister Boxxy T. Morningwood and the lovely Miss Cornie Fizzlesprocket ... but neither of you have any idea who I am! In that case, allow me to introduce myself.”

The bare-bones skeleton stood up and took off its wings as if they were a book.

“My name is Bob, the God of Chaos.”

The inside-out elephant then sat back down on its nails and let a fish float onto his foot.

“And I have called you two here to make an offer you will most likely not refuse.”

Part Six

“Wait, hold on a minute!” screamed Fizzy. “There’s no such thing as a God of Probability!”

“Now that’s just supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” screamed Joseph.

“ … Whu-what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” apologized Mulder. “I thought we were playing my favourite game: ‘Scream random things that make no sense!’ Fair warning though – I’m the reigning world champ!”

“I was doing no such thing!”

“Yes you were. I assure you that the God of Chance is not only quite real but that he’s also sitting right in front of you.”

“Then prove it!” the gnome insisted.

“Try and say my name three times in a row.”

“Tyrone, Jose, Amy. Now wh–”

She froze mid-sentence. The gnome was sure she was saying Delilah’s name right, but it always came out differently. Even thinking back on it, she was certain she was referring to the same entity, despite that making no logical sense.

“Not convinced!” she insisted. “The only thing you’ve proven is that you can mess with me, but that doesn’t mean you’re some rogue deity! I won’t be fooled by some stupid illusions! I mean, I’ve never even heard mention of a God of Uncertainty!”

The same oddity seemed to apply to his title, too. Just now, she unintentionally called him the ‘Goddess of Luck,’ not the ‘God of Randomness’ as he introduced himself just moments ago.

Daniel smiled back at her from his brick.

“Just because you haven’t heard of me doesn’t mean I don’t exist. Just like syphilis. Or the brain-sucking aliens from Ulk’Narob. I assure you not only am I real, but I’m perfectly capable of wrecking your shit with barely even a thought if you don’t watch your mouth. Like so.”

*Snap*

Linda snapped her trees, causing the gnome’s head and neck to disappear, leaving behind nothing but smooth skin between her shoulders. Her arms immediately went to grab her missing appendage but failed miserably. It was as if it had never been there to begin with. Her headless body then started squirming and flailing around, completely unable to deal with the situation.

*Snap*

Her head popped up from between her shoulders like it was a jack-in-the-box.

“Aaarh! Haah, haah, haah!” she panted.

“Are we clear, young Fizzlesprocket?”

“Haah, haah. Yes, crystal clear. Mister Goddess of Chance, sir.”

“Much better. Now then, Boxxy. Ah, now that we’re face-to-face, this is awkward. Talking to a chest like this is pretty weird.”

The gnome nearly made a comment about how hypocritical that sounded coming from a basket with legs but held it back.

“Here, let’s try this!”

*Snap*

A finger-snap was heard. The chest next to Fizzy flickered out of existence and a small naked child appeared in its place. It had brown skin, snow-white hair, red eyes, and looked about six or seven years old. The face was oddly androgynous, making it hard to tell if the child was male or female, but it was undeniably cute. It was smiling a sweet, innocent smile and had a thoroughly vacant look in its eyes.

“How’s that?” asked Kerry.

The child blinked a few times and stared at its fingers, then its lower body. Fizzy followed its gaze and ended up staring at its crotch almost involuntarily. She almost turned her face away in shame but realised that would be a pointless gesture. After all, the child had nothing between its legs but smooth skin, which was to be expected of a genderless creature.

“Feels weird,” said Boxxy with a fittingly neutral voice.

“Well, it’s only temporary, so please bear with it.”

“Okay.”

“B-Boxxy?” stammered the gnome. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” answered the child matter-of-factly.

She turned around to stare at the God of Anarchy with accusatory eyes.

“Ah, this is simply what the Mimic would look like if it were human,” explained Estel. “This is merely an image I dredged up from its subconscious, so don’t look at me like that, okay? I swear I’m not into naked little kids or anything, alright! I’m a firm believer in the glory of large chests!”

Kishralbadaz the Inheritor stifled a giggle at her own bad pun. She then leaned forward, put her salamis on the table and looked right at the Mimic. Which was impressive considering she had three-and-a-half heads and snowballs for eyes.

“Anyway, now that that’s over with I can finally have a proper chat you.”

“You know me?” asked Boxxy.

“Oh yes. Better than you might think. This isn’t the first time we’ve spoken, you know.”

“It’s not?”

The Mimic was sure it would remember meeting something bizarre like Russel.

“Hmm, technically speaking, I was the only one doing the talking at the time, so calling it a conversation would be hard. I also said some hurtful things, but I hope you’ll forgive me. I get just a little bit ABSOLUTELY LIVID when some random box tries to steal my dungeon core for no good reason.”

“ … Oh.”

So the mysterious and slightly annoying entity behind that dungeon core had finally revealed itself.

“And sorry for trying to blow you up like that. It was uncalled for and totally my bad. Unexpected, as well. I was so certain you would just leave the core behind when you found out it was going to go, but it appears I miscalculated.”

“It’s okay. Got many tasty Levels.”

“Hahaha, that you did. I must say, you genuinely surprised me that day. Not everyone would be willing to blow up an entire city if the opportunity presented itself.”

“Blow up a city?” Fizzy butted in. “You’re telling me this thing really did cause that Calamity?”

“Uhm … Yes and no. It’s complicated.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Why would I?”

“Don’t you care that so many people died!”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do!”

“Really? Then I suppose you mourned and prayed for every last one of those 8,235 souls?”

“Err … ”

“You only selfishly mourned your own father and brother, did you not? You’d probably put the incident completely out of your tiny mind if those two weren’t tangentially involved.”

“…”

Jack was right on the money. Even though Fizzy understood it was, objectively speaking, a horrible tragedy, she just couldn’t bring herself to truly care about some humans being killed off somewhere. They were, after all, not her people.

“Now, do you have any more inane questions?”

“ … Just one. Why does this thing get to meet an actual god face-to-signpost? What’s so special about it?”

“It’s consistently unpredictable, even before the big bada-boom. I actually went and reviewed the dungeon’s logs and found them to be quite entertaining. Here, let me give you some examples.”

The flagpole pulled out a small booklet and opened it to a bookmarked page.

“This thing survived its first two weeks in this world through a mixture of luck and ability. It took all chances that the flows of chaos presented it with and, for better or for worse, latched onto them with all its might without any hesitation. I respect that sort of thing, you know. A chance exists to be taken, after all.”

The three-eyed fork turned the page on the pamphlet it was holding in its bottles.

“It then absorbed the Warlock Job from a corpse. You know what the odds of it succeeding at that were? Four thousand to one! And it managed to pull it off on only the third try! Well, its current chance of succeeding at that same outcome is closer to about four hundred to one, but that’s beside the point.”

She turned the pigeon upside down.

“And that magnificent stroke of good fortune happened right after it broke out of the dungeon through what I can only describe as dumb luck and a total fluke. I can’t say that failed to impress me. Then it sort of did its own thing outside the dungeon for a bit, fought some adventurers, ate some people, yadda yadda yadda. Oh – here’s a good one: It gibbed a dwarf just as she was teleporting away with a Portal Key! Her friends’ reactions when they saw a pair of disembodied legs appear out of thin air was really something else, let me tell ya!”

Lawrence rolled up the parchment and put it away inside his igloo.

“So that’s roughly the time when I started keeping an eye on it, mostly through those two familiars. And here’s the really amazing part: I realised that I’d actually been sort of introduced to it before that Calamity stuff even happened! This thing right here somehow managed to forward me its Status when making a demonic contract! Do you know how many times that has happened!”

“I don’t –”

“Never! It has never, ever happened! I have absolutely no idea how the fuck it actually did that, either!”

“I did?” Boxxy said with a stupid look on its face.

“Uh, yeah?” said Nick. “Oh right – you wouldn’t know, but I’m actually Katorolomaongott’s boss.”

“Who?”

“Uhm… I believe he introduces himself as Carl to mortals.”

“You know Carl?”

“Well, I don’t really ‘know’ the guy, he just works for me. All demons do, technically speaking. Even the Demon King, though he’s more widely known as Overlord of the Infinite Abyss.”

“Overlord? Like Punchy?”

“More or less. Him too, by the way. You know, I was the one who created them. Demons, I mean. Completely by accident, too. It started as a little experiment that went really out of control, you see. And the result was a selfish, uncooperative bunch that don’t give a flying fuck about mortals. Those kids – I’m so proud of them! Ah, forgive me. I don’t often get to brag so I got a little sidetracked.”

Frank reigned in his enthusiasm and proceeded with the meat of the matter.

“Point is, I wasn’t actually planning on making an appearance at all. Sort of ruins the fun if I do that. But that’s when two particular demons started raising a huge fuss over their ‘unauthorized and unwarranted contract termination’ or what have you. I mean, the fact your random acts of violence somehow got a fiend and a succubus to agree on something is just mind boggling! So, all things considered, I decided I would help you out. And that’s why I brought you here.”

“Then you’re going to make me a Warlock again?” Boxxy’s face looked like it was about to explode from excitement.

“No.”

And then sank into the depths of despair.

“I’m going to give you a chance. That’s the best I can do, and I’m only doing it because I like you. Also, it’s partly because that bitch Teresa cheated, and I don’t like that. Therefore, I’m going to even the odds a little, as it were. So, without further ado –”

*Snap*

A window popped up into the Mimic’s mind.

Defeat the lich
Description: There’s an undead lich hiding in these mountains. It has been raising its own personal army of the undead in secret. Find it, defeat it, and claim victory for chaos.
Difficulty: ������������
Time Limit: Until the God of Uncertainty gets bored
Reward: Your Warlock and Artificer Jobs will be fully restored. You will become the chosen Hero of the God of Chaos.
Progress: 0/1

“No rush,” Chris said reassuringly. “It’s a big undertaking, so do consider it carefully.”

Boxxy understandably had a few questions about this proposition. The reward was exactly what it wanted right now, but that difficulty rating of six turtles was more than a little odd. However, it decided it was probably better to address a more pressing concern first. “What’s a lich?”

“Oh right, you have no idea. Hmm. Basically, a super-powerful undead being that commands hordes of the dead. They also love throwing magical attacks at people’s faces.”

“Like Warlocks with skeletons?”

“Well … you’re not exactly right, but not exactly wrong, either.”

So it was a Spell-slinging opponent that had many familiars. A dangerous thing to have as an enemy to be sure. Still, the Mimic would probably end up accepting the Quest anyway. The reward was way too tasty to ignore. Speaking of the rewards, that second bit raised quite a few questions as well.

“Do I have to be a Hero?” it asked.

“I’m afraid so. I’m not doing this out of the kindness of my spleen. I actually expect to get something in return from you.”

“Oh.”

“Do you not like the idea?”

“No.”

“Well, why not?”

“Being hero – not tasty.”

“Tasty? Oh, right, I see. Hmm, that’s too bad. And here I had estimated there would be an 84.255% chance of you finding it tasty. I admit your ability to beat the odds was the whole point of this, but this just seems personal. Is being a Hero really all that, uh, untasty?”

“Yes.”

“How come?”

“Heroes share their tasties and shinies with others. Heroes die fighting scary things instead of running. Heroes are idiots. I want to be less idiot, not more.”

“Oh! No, no, you’re thinking of the wrong kind of ‘hero,’ Boxxy. I’m not referring to the selfless people who sacrifice themselves for the good of others.”

“You’re not?”

“I’ll explain. Being the Hero of a God basically means you’ll become their chief representative in the mortal plane – the living embodiment of the virtues they stand for. In my case its random acts of whatever. You do get a few unique divine powers to play around with too, so it’s not like the title doesn’t have its benefits.”

The Mimic had to agree, that certainly sounded much tastier than what it was imagining initially. It sounded like Morrigan here would be its boss, but it could probably live with that arrangement. Just so long as it was in the form of Quests or tasks, rather than being directly controlled like when it was a simple dungeon monster. Of course, that was only if it actually managed to kill that lich-thing.

“What if I fail Quest? Or give up?” Boxxy would certainly try to do it, but it wanted to know if backing out to preserve its own life was an option.

“Then you’ll just have to get your Jobs and Levels back the old-fashioned way.”

So there were no apparent downsides to abandoning this endeavour entirely? Come to think of it, the Quest didn’t ask for a deposit like those Mercenary Guild assignments, so that made sense. Having confirmed that it had the option of simply giving up was the last thing the Mimic needed before making up its mind.

“Okay. I accept.”

[Boxxy T. Morningwood has undertaken a Quest: Defeat the lich.]

Fizzy raised her arm like a schoolgirl requesting permission to speak. It appeared she had finally realised that rudely interrupting an actual God was probably not a smart idea. Especially not one whose entire domain hinged on unpredictability and randomness.

“Yes, what it is, Fizzlesprocket?”

“Earlier you said the Goddess of Truth and Justice cheated. I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah, she cheated! She got super butthurt her chosen Hero got one-shot by a box and revived him! She’s not supposed to do that! If not for her involvement, Boxxy over here wouldn’t be in this mess! Well – it would be in a mess, just not this one. The trouble this thing gets up to really is something else.”

Nick turned his gills to face Boxxy once again.

“By the way, great work with that priestess from about a week ago. Oh man, you should’ve seen that stuck-up bitch’s face when I showed her the image of her faithful servant taking it up the ass like a champ! It got even uglier when I told her the one that killed her also stole a Holy Pearl and pinned the blame for the crime on that dead nun! That really rustled Her jimmies, let me tell ya! She got so mad that she threw a gigantic hissy fit – it was amazing!”

The sister Lyo incident that Erosa was up in arms about had apparently been staged by a monster. And yet that tidbit was somehow the least surprising thing Fizzy had heard tonight.

“Haah, I will treasure that memory for a long while. Anyway, being the sore loser that she is, she went and sent a divine revelation to her oracle saying something along the likes of ‘The perpetrator is in Erosa.’ That’s why that Edward guy was there a few days ago.”

“…”

The dumb smile Boxxy sported instantly turned into a huge frown. The way it understood things, the whole reason it was in this position was because these deities were having some sort of internal dispute that it had nothing to do with.

Noticing the scornful glare, the God of Probability tried to make an excuse. “Hey, you were bound to get found out eventually, so don’t put the blame on me, alright?”

But it just kept silently staring daggers at him.

“Okay! Okay, I admit it was almost entirely my fault. I’m here taking responsibility for my rash actions though, aren’t I?”

“But did not help with escape?” it questioned.

“How do you know I didn’t?” countered the deity. “My manipulations are so subtle that nobody can spot them before it’s too late. Someone overlooking to check the inside of your mouth, or the watertight seal on your cage’s control box eroding away. Perhaps it may not have been as obvious as sending the four Overlords to bust you out, but I could’ve easily been responsible for facilitating your escape.”

“So did you help or not?” repeated Boxxy, clearly not buying into Clarence’s cryptic bullshit.

“Alright fine. I could’ve, but I didn’t. Interfering with the lives of mortals in such a direct manner is cheating, and I don’t wanna stoop to Teresa’s level. That would only spark a godly miracle-measuring contest that I want no part of. Besides, watching you struggle to break free all on your lonesome was far, far more fun than just letting you out.”

The Mimic thought on those words. It considered their implications and came to a singular conclusion which it decided to share with this mysterious entity.

“I don’t like you.”

“Hahahaha! Well said, Boxxy, well said! That sort of childish attitude of yours is exactly the reason I like you! One never truly knows what’s going through a child’s head, you know? Tell you what, since I was slightly to blame for that whole incident, I’m going to make things a bit easier on you.”

Jacob turned his attention back to the gnome. “You there, Fizzlesprocket. Since you’re just an extra, how about you make yourself useful and help my new friend here with its Quest?”

“What – with fighting some mighty undead? Nonononono! I have the combat ability of a flea! I have no place on the battlefield! Or out of town! Or out of my own house, for that matter!”

“I know, but I have a fix for that. I’ll just make you a Paladin! Nobody can kick bony butt quite like a Paladin can! You even get to champion my name! That sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

The God of Probability lifted an arm and went to snap its feathers –

“No, it doesn’t!”

– but was stopped by Fizzy’s outburst.

“I can’t accept such a thing!” she continued. “Why do I have to help this man-eating monster with anything! Besides, you’re way too shady! If I have to live with your voice in my head, I’d probably go insane within the week!”

Rupert stared at her intently with his meatball-tipped toes.

“ … Roll a D20.”

“Huh?”

A fist-sized object fell onto the table, bounced a few times and rolled towards her before stopping within arm’s reach. It was a wooden shape with twenty equal faces and numbers etched on each side.

“Roll that die. If you get fifteen or higher, you win.”

The gnome swallowed audibly. This was sudden, but it sort of made sense considering Craig’s occupation. She picked up the so-called D20 and gave it a roll across the table with her short arms.

*Kotororororororrr*

And it landed on a seventeen.

“Oh, lucky you!” exclaimed Beatrice. “Congratulations! You win!”

*Snap*

A bright light abruptly enveloped Fizzy, only to disappear just as rapidly.

[Congratulations, you are now a Level 1 Paladin! STR +2. END +2. INT +2.]
[The Faith (FTH) Attribute has been created through a special action. FTH +1.]
[The Luck (LCK) Attribute has been created through a special action. LCK +1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Champion of Chaos is now Level 1. FTH +2. LCK +2.]

“What the shit!” she protested. “I won the roll, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Then how come you forced this on me anyway!”

“Because I had already decided on it.”

“Then what was that roll about!”

“To see whether I would shatter your fragile mind for daring to question my authority.”

“ … Oh.”

“Good thing you won,” commented Boxxy.

“Yeah … Why me, though?”

“That’s the question everyone asks when things aren’t going their way,” said Lucy. “Why me? Why did this happen? What did I do to deserve this? The answer to all of those is really simple.”

A single silver coin fell from above and bounced on the wooden table with a small ding, landing heads-up in front of Fizzy. She only had to look at it for a moment before comprehending its meaning.

“ … There is no reason. Just the luck of the draw.” The words floated out of her mouth almost all on their own.

“Very good! See, you have a handle on this Champion of Chaos thing already!”

*Ding ding ding ding*

The sound of a small bell ringing suddenly filled the area.

“And it would appear that is all we have time for. I’ll be sending you two back to the physical realm now. Just watch that first step.”

He raised his left thorax and prepared to snap his leaves for the final time.

“It’s a doozy!”

*Snap*

Epilogue

Boxxy and Fizzy suddenly found themselves high in the sky – higher than even the griffins flew – and were plummeting downward. The sheer speed at which they were falling was well beyond any rhyme or reason, causing them to reach the ground within seconds, whereupon they crash-landed into a couple of unconscious bodies.

“HISSSS!”

“GYAAA!”

They both woke up screaming, as if meeting with the God of Chance had been nothing more than a nightmare. However, their current conditions left very little doubt in their minds that the meeting had been quite real.

“Okhsy? Haht? Hasha! Haaaaaaaaah! His ishn’t hakkehinh!”

The Mimic let out a series of confused noises while the gnome stared at it with a stupid expression. She then looked at her hands, her legs, then back to the monster, then back to her own body. Satisfied with her inspection, she then raised her face and both arms to the sky.

“Willie!” she shouted. “Wrong body! Not mine!”

“Oh, shit!” came a disembodied voice. “I fucked that up! Wow! Here, let me fix it!”

*Snap*

Boxxy’s vision blurred and the world seemed to spin around wildly for a moment as it was instantly put back in its own body. Fizzy must have gone through pretty much the same, seeing as how she collapsed on all fours and started pounding the ground with her tiny fist.

“I almost! Became! A fucking! Box!” She then raised that fist towards the heavens. “You incompetent divine bastard! I’ll get you back for this!”

“Hey now,” came the voice once more. “I’ll overlook that this one time since I was at fault, but take it easy with the blaspheme, alright? It’s not healthy.”

“Fine, whatever!” Fizzy said. “Then as your Champion can I just say I’d appreciate it if you took things more seriously!”

“This God thing isn’t as easy as it looks you know! I’d like to see you try and pull off a double Reverse Astral Projection without messing something up. Anyway, I seriously have to go now. You guys take care.”

Silence dominated the forest again. The two mortals quietly stared at each other, now fully aware they were little more than playthings for the God of Inconsistency.

“So … what happens now?” asked Fizzy.

“Time to teach.”

“Huh? Oh, right. You still want me to give you the Artificer Job.”

“No.”

The Mimic had every intention of fulfilling that Quest and earning back what was rightfully its own. It decided to do something that would be a lot more useful than waste time and resources on pointlessly raising the Artificer Job.

“ … Then what?”

“You have new Job?”

“Yeah. I’m a Level 1 Paladin now, apparently. I can’t teach you that one, though.”

The Mentor Skill required her to have Level 25 in a Job before she could pass it on to others.

“No, mistaken. I teach you.”

“Oh please! What could you possibly teach me?”

“How to fight like monster.”

The gnome swallowed audibly. This wasn’t going to bode well for her. Especially since she’d just heard Bruce’s amused cackling somewhere in the back of her head.

Afterword

Well, so ends another instalment of this weird and disturbing series. Maybe it was a bad idea to wait until the second book to introduce any sort of overarching plot, but hey, the main character is only a few months old. Naturally it won’t have grand motivations like trying to become the pirate king or aiming to achieve godhood or whatever. Boxxy is a spiteful little bastard though, so you can rest assured it will definitely aim for Edward’s head if given the chance.

I feel quite proud of how things turned out in this volume, to be honest. Especially the God of Luck. So many times when you hear about a God/Goddess of Chaos in fiction they’re represented as someone who brings naught but destruction, death, and carnage. That’s not what Terry’s about. Well, not all of it, anyway. The Goddess of Inconsistency is all about change, which doesn’t always have to be brought about by bloodshed. It’s just that violence often accompanies any large shifts in a culture or society in this fictional world of mine.

The other deities are also not as stereotypical as one might imagine. For example, the God of War does not wish to plunge the world into armed conflict, he just wishes for the mortals to conduct themselves honourably and respectively when the time comes. Likewise, the God of Death is there to manage the souls of the deceased and make sure their remains are not befouled or besmirched. He’s also quite interested in commerce – because nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.

Fizzy was a curious little creature. Originally I intended her to be just a throwaway character, another minor footnote in Boxxy’s murderous path towards … wherever it was going. But as I wrote about her, the more attached I became, and she ended up becoming something I never intended her to be. Not that I’m complaining though. I dare say she’s my personal favourite character, especially after the metamorphosis she will go through in the next volume.

I should also warn you that although I will try to keep the kinky stuff to a minimum (it’s one of the biggest complaints I hear about this series), it will never truly disappear. While it may seem like those elements interfere with the story, this would be a very different tale without them. I also think it adds a layer of irony that all this lewd stuff happens around a monster that lacks any sort of biological or psychological drive to get naughty with anything, despite all its potential for depravity.

In closing I would like to invite you to check out the RPG GameLit Society on Facebook. It’s a great place to discuss the budding genre and get the scoop on the latest releases.

Well, I suppose that’s it for me for the moment.

Toodles!

Table of Contents

- Everybody Loves Large Chests
- A book by Neven Iliev
- Prologue
- Chapter One Science!!!
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Part Six
- Chapter Two Fine Print
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Chapter Three Gainful Employment
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Part Six
- Part Seven
- Part Eight
- Part Nine
- Chapter Four Chaos
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Part Six
- Epilogue
- Afterword