The mimic’s axe whistled through the air where Brakar’s head had been moments before. He stumbled backward, heart pounding as chips of stone rained down from where the weapon had embedded itself in the wall. The cellar’s damp air filled his lungs as he gasped for breath, trying to maintain his concentration on the spell despite the chaos surrounding him.
“Duck!” Mira yelled in the middle of battle.
Brakar dropped without hesitation. An arrow whizzed overhead, striking the creature’s flowing surface with a wet thunk. Like the others before it, the projectile slowly sank into the mimic’s substance, disappearing entirely. The creature’s body rippled, weapons shifting in an unsettling display of fluid motion.
“This isn’t working!” Pockets called from somewhere to his left. The sound of grinding gears and clicking mechanisms suggested she was assembling yet another device. “It’s absorbing everything we throw at it!”
Thadan dodged another spear thrust, his movements growing noticeably slower. “Then throw something bigger!”
The monster’s mass churned like disturbed mercury, its rack-body redistributing mass with liquid grace. The weapons it wielded moved in perfect synchronization—spear to herd, sword to strike, dagger to intercept, and now axe to finish. Each attack flowed into the next with predatory intelligence, learning and adapting to their patterns with terrifying speed.
Brakar pressed himself against a support pillar, desperately trying to maintain his magical focus. The words of his spell felt thick in his mouth, twisted syllables that matched the way mimics processed magic. But this creature was different from the ones upstairs. Where they had responded to his commands with almost eager compliance, this one pushed back—its presence in his magical awareness immense and primordial, filled with ages of insatiable hunger.
“We need a new plan!” Mira abandoned her elevated position as the mimic’s spear arm extended upward, nearly skewering her through the shelves. She landed in a roll, coming up beside Thadan with arrow nocked. “Preferably one that doesn’t end with us being turned into furniture!”
“Working on it!” Thadan’s voice carried the strain of extended combat. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and his breath came in ragged gasps. “Pockets, how’s that bigger thing coming along?”
“Almost... got it!” The inventor’s hands blurred over her latest creation—a complicated assemblage of gears, springs, and what looked suspiciously like parts of her precious mechanical compass. “Just need to calibrate the resonance frequency and—”
The mimic interrupted her explanation with a coordinated assault that forced them all to scatter. Its weapons moved in perfect concert, creating a deadly web of steel that left no safe avenue of retreat. The creature had learned their movement patterns, anticipating their preferred escape routes with unsettling accuracy.
Brakar felt his spell waver as he dove behind another pillar. The magic threatened to slip from his grasp, like trying to hold onto smoke with trembling fingers. He needed time—time to focus, time to strengthen the connection, time they didn’t have.
“This isn’t sustainable,” Mira observed, loosing another futile arrow. “We’re running out of room to maneuver.”
She was right. The mimic had been steadily forcing them into a smaller and smaller area, using its weapons to cut off escape routes while herding them toward the cellar’s far corner. Soon they’d be packed together like sheep for slaughter.
“Then let’s make some room!” Thadan’s inflection hit that particular tone that always preceded his worst ideas. “Pockets, is that thing ready?”
“Technically no, but—”
“Close enough! Mira, cover fire! Brak...” Thadan’s eyes met his across the chaotic battlefield. “Whatever you’re trying to do with that spell, do it faster!”
Before Brakar had a chance to object, Thadan launched himself directly at the mimic in what appeared to be a suicidal charge. The creature’s weapons snapped to meet him—but that’s when Mira’s arrows struck in rapid succession, forcing it to shift its mass to absorb the impacts. The momentary disruption gave Thadan the opening he needed to slip past its first line of defense.
“Now, Pockets!”
The inventor’s device activated with a sound like angry hornets being fed through a grain mill. Arcs of electricity crackled between its components as she hurled it directly at the mimic’s center mass. Its exterior quivered, as if alive with suppressed energy in what might have been surprise—or amusement.
“Everyone down!” Pockets dove behind the nearest cover, hands clamped over her ears.
The device detonated in a spectacular display of mechanical mayhem. Gears and springs exploded outward with surprising force, while the electrical discharge lit up the cellar like bottled lightning. The mimic’s substance writhed under the assault, its weapons wavering as it tried to maintain cohesion.
But Thadan wasn’t done. Taking advantage of the creature’s distraction, he executed a move that would have made their old combat instructors proud. He launched himself into a rolling dive that took him directly under the mimic’s guard, then used his momentum to drive his shoulder into what passed for its legs.
The impact sent both warrior and monster tumbling. Weapons clattered against stone as the mimic’s carefully coordinated attacks dissolved into chaos. A rhythmic pulsing danced across its surface, violently, trying to compensate for the sudden disruption of its balance.
“Hold it down!” Thadan grappled with the creature’s shifting mass, somehow maintaining his grip despite its fluid nature. “Mira! Pockets!”
They moved without hesitation, years of fighting together making words unnecessary. Mira abandoned her bow and dove into the fray, using her natural agility to avoid the mimic’s flailing weapons. Pockets followed suit, already pulling more devices from her seemingly endless pockets.
The creature thrashed beneath them, its substance flowing like quicksilver as it tried to escape their combined weight. Weapons twisted at impossible angles, seeking targets with deadly precision despite the chaos.
That’s when everything went wrong.
The mimic’s dagger arm, previously pinned beneath Thadan’s weight, suddenly liquefied and reformed at a different angle. Steel flashed in the dim light. Thadan’s gaze widened in surprise more than pain as the blade found its mark, sliding between his ribs with surgical precision.
“No!” The word tore from Brakar’s throat before he could stop it. His concentration shattered, the carefully maintained spell threatening to collapse entirely.
But instead of dissipating, the magic... changed. His fear for Thadan, his desperate need to prevent another loss, his bone-deep exhaustion with watching friends suffer—all of it flooded into the spell, twisting the syllables into something new. Something raw and primal and angry.
The mimic froze in place, reacting as though Brakar’s magic had stunned it completely. The presence he’d sensed earlier—that ancient, hungry consciousness—recoiled from the onslaught of emotions and memories that weren’t its own.
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Images flashed between them: Thadan offering friendship when Brakar needed it most. Mira’s quiet competence keeping them alive through countless missions. Pockets’ enthusiasm brightening even their darkest moments. The weight of failure, the fear of inadequacy, the desperate need to protect what little family he had left—all of it poured through the connection, overwhelming the creature’s defenses with sheer emotional intensity.
The mimic screamed.
The sound defied description—part metal stress, part splintering wood, part wounded animal. Its weapons clattered to the floor as its form began to lose cohesion, centuries of carefully maintained control crumbling under the assault of foreign feelings and memories.
Brakar seized that moment of vulnerability with everything he had. His magic surged forward, no longer trying to command or control, but to connect. To share understanding. To offer choice.
You don’t have to be this, his spell seemed to say. You don’t have to be alone.
The creature’s surface churned like a storm-tossed sea as conflicting impulses warred within it. Centuries of predatory instinct battled against foreign awakening—something that tasted of possibility and change and hope.
Then, with a sound like a long-held breath finally released, the mimic... surrendered.
Its form flowed like water, weapons and armor melting away as its substance rearranged itself into a gentler shape. The transformation was gradual but deliberate—edges softening, textures shifting, colors warming—until where a deadly weapon-rack had stood moments before, there now rested a perfectly ordinary-looking leather sofa.
Well, perhaps not perfectly ordinary. The leather had a slight iridescent quality that suggested its true nature, and the cushions arranged themselves with just a bit too much precision. But it was, undeniably, no longer trying to kill them.
“That’s... that’s good,” Brakar managed, his voice rough with exhaustion. “That’s very good. Now, if someone could please help Thadan before he bleeds out on our new furniture?”
The words broke the stunned silence that had fallen over the cellar. Mira and Pockets scrambled to help their wounded friend, who had somehow maintained consciousness despite the dagger wound in his side.
“It’s not that bad,” Thadan protested weakly as they helped him sit up. “Barely a scratch, really.”
“Shut up,” Mira advised, already examining the wound with practiced efficiency. “Pockets, my pack—there should be bandages in the side pocket.”
“On it!” The inventor produced not only bandages but also a small flask of what smelled like medical alcohol. “I may have borrowed some supplies from the guild’s first aid kit. You know, just in case.”
“Smart girl.” Mira began cleaning the wound with brisk movements. “Brak, we could use some of your healing right about now.”
Brakar moved to help, his legs slightly unsteady after the magical exertion. The wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been—the dagger had missed anything vital, though blood loss would be a concern if left untreated. He placed his hands over the injury, calling up what little magical energy he had left.
“This might sting,” he warned, then began the healing spell.
Thadan hissed through clenched teeth as the magic took hold, knitting flesh and muscle back together. “Might sting, he says. Like getting kicked by a drunk mule, more like.”
“Stop whining,” Mira ordered, though her tone held more relief than rebuke. “This is what happens when you tackle weird monsters without a proper plan.”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Thadan managed a weak grin. “We got ourselves a nice sofa out of it and everything.”
“You almost died!” Pockets’ voice cracked. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What she means,” Mira translated, “is that we care about you, you reckless idiot.”
“I know.” Thadan’s smile softened into something more genuine. “I care about you too. All of you. Which is why...” He trailed off, his expression suddenly distant.
“Thadan?” Brakar paused in his healing. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Thadan sat up straighter, ignoring their protests. “Everything’s right. Don’t you see? It’s perfect!”
“The blood loss is affecting his brain,” Mira decided. “Brak, can you—”
“No, listen!” Thadan’s voice took on that particular tone that meant he’d had an idea—one that would either be brilliant or catastrophic, with very little middle ground. “The store. Our store. We’ve been trying to figure out what to sell, right?”
“Yes,” Brakar said slowly, “but I don’t see—”
“Furniture!” Thadan’s eyes practically glowed with enthusiasm. “We’ll sell furniture! But not just any furniture—we’ll sell mimic furniture!”
Silence fell over the cellar as they processed this declaration. The sofa-mimic’s outer layer twitched in interest.
“Think about it,” Thadan continued, his words picking up speed as the idea took shape. “We’ve got multiple mimics upstairs who can transform into whatever we need. With Brakar’s ability to communicate with them, we could offer any style, any design! Need a bookshelf? Want a fancy desk? Looking for a comfortable chair that will literally adjust itself to fit you perfectly? We’ve got that covered!”
“That’s...” Pockets tilted her head thoughtfully. “That’s actually not a terrible idea.”
“It’s certainly creative,” Mira admitted. “But there are some rather obvious problems.”
“Like what?”
“Like how we’re going to explain to customers that their new dining table might try to eat them if they don’t feed it regularly,” Brakar pointed out. “Not to mention the fact that we have a limited number of mimics. Even counting our new friend here”—he gestured to the sofa—“we don’t have enough to stock a proper store.”
“Details!” Thadan waved off these concerns with his usual optimism. “We can start small, just with the mimics we have. Test the market, build up a customer base. Once we prove the concept works, we’ll figure out how to get more.”
“And the whole ‘furniture that eats people’ issue?”
“We’ll be upfront about it! Market it as a feature, not a bug. ‘Living furniture for the discerning customer’ or something like that. People love unique products, right? And with your ability to keep them calm and friendly, we can guarantee safety.”
The scary part was that it almost made sense. Brakar could already see the possibilities—custom furniture that could adapt to any space, pieces that could repair themselves, designs that could change with the seasons or owner’s whims. It was exactly the type of crazy idea that might just work.
“It seems you’re dead serious,” he realized. “You actually want to sell mimic furniture.”
“Why not?” Thadan’s grin had returned full force. “It’s not like our original plan of ‘figure something out eventually’ was working. And hey, at least this way we’re playing to our strengths. Your mimic-whispering and my salesmanship. It’s the perfect combination!”
Brakar looked around the cellar—at the scattered weapons their new sofa had wielded moments ago, at the scorch marks from Pockets’ device, at the friendly mimics upstairs who had already changed their lives in unexpected ways. Maybe... maybe Thadan was right. Maybe this was crazy enough to work.
“We’d need to set up proper feeding schedules,” he found himself saying. “And training protocols. And safety measures—”
“Is that a yes?” Thadan’s eyes lit up with hope.
Brakar sighed, but he could feel a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s a ‘let’s try it and see what happens.’ But!” he added quickly as Thadan’s grin threatened to split his face, “we do this carefully. Properly. No rushing in half-prepared like we did today.”
“Absolutely!” Thadan agreed with suspicious enthusiasm. “We’ll plan everything out. Take it slow. Be responsible business owners.”
“So, we’re really doing this? Opening a furniture store staffed by reformed mimics?”
“Looks like it!” Thadan tried to stand, only to be firmly pushed back down by Mira. “Ow! Fine, fine. But once this wound heals up, we’re going to build the best damn furniture store Ironweave has ever seen!”
The false furniture quivered with subtle waves, leaving them to wonder if it understood their scheme or was simply enjoying their foolishness.
As Brakar watched his friends bicker about potential store names and design choices, he felt something settle in his chest. A sense of rightness, of possibility. Maybe this wasn’t the future any of them had imagined, but perhaps that was the point. Sometimes the best paths were the ones you never saw coming.
A silent acknowledgment of change, of choices made and roads taken. There would be challenges ahead—there always were—but for now, in this moment, everything felt... right.
“Oh!” Pockets suddenly exclaimed. “I just realized! We could install mechanical components into the mimics to enhance their transformation capabilities! Maybe add some steam-powered articulation points, or—”
“No,” everyone said in unison.