Erik’s head pounded like a war drum as he blinked into the dim, flickering light. It wasn’t the comforting glow of his monitor or the chill blue hue of his room at night. No, this was different. The air smelled of damp stone and something metallic. He could feel the weight of… something. Something strange.

He tried to move, but his body didn’t respond the way he expected. His arms wouldn’t lift. His legs wouldn’t shift. Panic set in as he tried again, straining against an invisible force. He felt heavy, as if his body wasn’t quite… his.

Finally, his vision adjusted, and the reality of his situation began to set in. He wasn’t in his room. He wasn’t even human. He was… a box?

No, not just a box. The gilded edges, the slight shimmer of magic running along its surface, and the faint, gnawing hunger that thrummed in his mind told him exactly what he had become.

A mimic.

Erik wanted to scream, but no sound came. Inside his very core, a primal urge to devour stirred, threatening to overwhelm his thoughts. It was a strange, alien sensation a hunger not for food, but for life, for mana, for essence. But beneath that urge, the gamer in him couldn’t help but marvel.

He recognized this place. The damp walls, the faint hum of magical wards, the torches burning with eerie green flames. This was the Dungeon of Sorrow, one of the mid-level zones in the game he’d spent countless hours playing, Mimic Requiem.

But how? How was he here? And why, of all things, was he a mimic?

Before he could spiral further into confusion, a sound echoed through the dungeon footsteps. Multiple sets, growing louder with each passing second. Erik’s instincts flared to life, the hunger within him sharpening like a blade. His body or rather, the mimic’s body responded on its own. He felt his wooden lid shift slightly, his tongue curling against the roof of his hollow interior.

The adventurers entered the chamber, their voices carrying easily in the still air. There were three of them: a mage clad in robes that shimmered with enchantments, a burly fighter gripping a massive sword, and a rogue whose daggers gleamed wickedly even in the dim light.

“Looks like an ordinary treasure room,” the rogue said, her eyes scanning the rows of chests lining the walls. “Think we’ve hit the jackpot?”

“Don’t let your guard down,” the mage replied, her voice sharp and commanding. “This dungeon is notorious for its traps. And mimics.”

Erik’s metaphorical heart sank. Of course they’d be wary. Any seasoned player or adventurer, apparently knew better than to trust a chest outright in a dungeon like this.

The fighter grunted, stepping forward. “Only one way to find out.” He raised his sword and pointed it directly at Erik.

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Panic surged within him. He wanted to move, to shout, to do anything, but his mimic instincts overrode his thoughts. Instead, he felt the dormant magic within him stir, ready to spring the moment they got too close. It was a trap he couldn’t stop, a dance he was destined to perform.

The rogue approached cautiously, daggers drawn. “If it’s a mimic, we’ll know soon enough.”

Erik’s hunger reached a fever pitch. The rogue’s life essence called to him like a beacon, and he could feel his body preparing to pounce. But something inside him resisted. He didn’t want to attack. He didn’t want to devour this person. He wasn’t a monster… was he?

The rogue’s hand hovered over Erik’s lid, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. Then, with a single motion, the rogue flipped the chest open.

Erik lunged. His lid snapped shut with a speed and force that startled even him, but the rogue was faster. She rolled backward with a curse, her daggers already poised to strike. “Mimic!” she shouted.

The fighter charged, his massive sword swinging down. Erik braced for impact, and when the blade struck, pain unlike anything he’d ever felt before rippled through his body. It wasn’t the sharp pain of flesh being cut but the splintering agony of wood cracking under pressure.

Instinct took over. Erik lashed out with his tongue a grotesque, muscular appendage that wrapped around the fighter’s sword and yanked it from his grasp. The weapon clattered to the ground, and for a brief moment, Erik felt a surge of triumph.

But the mage was already chanting, her hands glowing with arcane energy. “Flame Lance!” she cried, and a spear of fire shot toward him.

The impact was blinding. Heat seared through his body, and Erik could feel his strength waning. The hunger that had driven him moments ago was now a distant echo, replaced by a cold, sinking dread. Was this it? Was his second life about to end before it even began?

“Wait!” Erik’s voice burst forth, startling everyone in the room including himself. The words came out garbled, his mimic form clearly not designed for speech, but they were enough to halt the adventurers mid-attack.

“Did that mimic just talk?” the rogue asked, her daggers still at the ready.

Erik tried again, forcing the words past his wooden frame. “Not… enemy. Don’t… kill.”

The mage lowered her hands slightly, suspicion etched across her face. “Mimics don’t talk. They don’t beg.”

“I’m not… a normal mimic,” Erik managed, the effort draining what little energy he had left. “Please. I don’t want to die.”

The adventurers exchanged wary glances. The fighter retrieved his sword, but he didn’t attack. The rogue circled Erik, her eyes narrowed. “If you’re not a normal mimic, then what are you?”

Erik hesitated. How could he explain this? How could he make them understand that he wasn’t supposed to be here, that he was just a gamer who had somehow become trapped in this world?

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I… I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to figure out what happened to me.”

The mage studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “This is insane. But… if you’re telling the truth, we can’t just leave you here.”

“Are you serious?” the fighter said, incredulous. “It’s a mimic. We should destroy it before it turns on us.”

“And what if it’s not lying?” the mage countered. “What if this is something we’ve never seen before? We can’t just kill it without knowing more.”

The rogue sheathed her daggers with a sigh. “Fine. But if it so much as twitches the wrong way, I’m gutting it.”

Erik’s lid creaked open slightly, enough for him to see the adventurers more clearly. Relief washed over him, though it was tempered by the realization that this was only the beginning. He had no idea how he’d ended up in this world, why he was a mimic, or what would happen next.

But one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to face it alone.