Chapter 42: The Mimic

The sound was sickening—sharp and final. "Chump!" The mimic’s jaws snapped shut with brutal force, crushing bone and flesh alike. The crack of Andrea’s bones breaking echoed in the dim, suffocating room, cutting through the silence like a death knell. Her body crumpled instantly, limbs limp and lifeless as if every thread holding her together had been severed. Her final groan, weak and filled with agony, hung in the air for only a moment before the blood began to pool, dark and thick, dripping from the mimic’s teeth and spreading across the cold, stone floor.

It all happened in a blur—so fast, so merciless. No one had the chance to act, to save her. Andrea was gone before they could even scream. The group stood frozen, paralyzed by shock, their minds struggling to catch up with the horror before them. Niko’s breath hitched, his throat tight with a mix of grief and disbelief. How could it have happened so fast? One wrong move, one slip in judgment, and Andrea’s life had been brutally stolen from them. The fragility of their existence in this nightmare world had never been clearer.

Kyle’s wide, tear-filled eyes were fixed on Andrea’s broken form, his mind unable to process the loss. His tail twitched violently behind him, and then, with a cry of raw anguish, he lunged at the mimic’s chest. “No! Andrea! No!!!” His voice was cracked, desperate. His tail slammed into the mimic over and over, piercing its wooden body with sharp, vicious blows. Each strike sent a spray of purple blood from the mimic’s back, but Andrea’s blood—her blood—flowed freely too, mixing with the mimic’s. The sound of tearing flesh and the gurgling squelch of each hit only deepened the horror.

Kyle didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His sobs wracked his body as he pounded the mimic, his blows becoming more erratic, less focused, until finally, he collapsed beside Andrea’s body. His strong arms wrapped around her limp form, pulling her close as if he could somehow keep her from slipping away entirely. Blood smeared across his chest, but he didn’t care. He rocked back and forth, crying out her name over and over, each cry more broken than the last.

The others watched, unable to move. Fumito’s face was streaked with tears, his usual composed demeanor shattered by the sheer tragedy of what had just happened. He stood nearby, staring down at the scene, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, his body trembling with restrained emotion.

Niko’s heart pounded in his chest, a deep, suffocating guilt settling over him. Andrea was dead, and he could have prevented it—he should have seen the mimic for what it was. His skill, [Celestial Probe], could have warned them. But he hadn’t used it, and now Andrea was gone, another casualty in a world that showed no mercy. His hands shook as he forced himself to look at her crumpled body, the life drained from her eyes, and the blood-soaked ground beneath her. This world was a cruel teacher, reminding them all that no matter how much power they gained, death could come swiftly and without warning.

Veronica stepped forward, her voice soft, almost pleading. “We need to move… We need to—”

“No,” Ivanic interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. His arm reached out, stopping Veronica in her tracks. “This is a moment that needs to be felt. We need to let ourselves grieve, to feel the loss. Otherwise, it will haunt us forever.” His eyes were distant, filled with the weight of too many similar losses. He knew this pain all too well.

The group stood in somber silence, their breaths shallow, their hearts heavy with grief. Time seemed to stretch, the room holding them in its cold grip. Only Kyle’s soft sobs and the slow drip of blood broke the stillness.

Eventually, the tears dried, and the weight of reality set in. Kyle, face streaked with blood and sorrow, pulled a cloth from his inventory and gently draped it over Andrea’s body. His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke, his tone hollow. “Let’s… go.” The strength he once showed in battle had crumbled into something fragile, something barely holding on. The sadness in his voice was palpable, and none of them dared challenge his words. There was no point in staying here any longer.

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With the grim task done, the group turned away from the room of horrors and made their way up the stairs, the sound of their footsteps muffled in the oppressive silence that now followed them. The air was heavy with despair, but they moved forward, as there was no other choice. The orb leading them cast a pale light, its glow feeling colder than before, as if it too had absorbed the grief that hung over them.

They reached another door at the top of the stairs. It loomed before them, dark and foreboding. Their nerves were frayed, their bodies tense with anticipation, but when the door opened, they were not greeted by the hellish horrors they had come to expect.

Instead, they stepped into a grand hall, a breathtaking contrast to the nightmare they had just left. The floor gleamed under the soft glow of lanterns, made of smooth, polished wood that looked almost too perfect for a place like this. A luxurious velvet carpet, deep red with intricate floral designs, stretched across the floor, its richness only adding to the sense of surrealism. The walls were lined with paintings, detailed and beautiful, depicting strange, fantastical landscapes and scenes of battle, their golden frames catching the light in ways that made the art seem almost alive.

For a moment, the group was lost in awe, their grief momentarily pushed aside by the sheer magnificence of the hall. But the respite was brief.

“Above us! Watch out!” Priya’s voice shattered the fragile peace as she pointed toward the balcony.

Six ratmen, filthy and feral, leaped down from the balcony, their rusty daggers raised high, glinting in the light. Chaos erupted once more as the creatures fell upon them. Candreva, slow to react, was the first to fall victim, his massive form crumpling under the weight of two daggers that pierced his shoulders, sending blood spurting in all directions.

The ratmen descended like a plague, their screeches filling the grand hall with an unbearable cacophony. Their rusty daggers, stained with the grime of countless kills, glinted as they slashed through the air, hungry for blood. Chaos erupted the moment they hit the ground, their feral forms darting toward the group with terrifying speed and precision.

Candreva was the first to be caught off guard. His massive frame, usually so imposing, was a glaring target. Two of the ratmen pounced on him, their daggers plunging deep into his broad shoulders. Candreva’s roar of pain echoed through the hall as blood sprayed in an arc around him. His knees buckled, and the giant of a man collapsed, his strength drained in an instant. The rats moved with cruel efficiency, their beady eyes gleaming with satisfaction as they prepared to finish him off.

"Get away from him!" Eitan shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation. Without thinking, he charged forward, his sword raised high. The blade gleamed for a moment in the dim light before it sliced through one of the ratmen attacking Candreva. The rat screeched in agony as it fell backward, but Eitan’s heroic act left him exposed. Before he could react, another ratman lunged at him from the side, dagger aimed at his throat.

Priya, positioned near the back, saw the danger and attempted to intervene, but she wasn't quick enough. A third ratman, faster than she anticipated, darted toward her, its filthy claws slashing across her thigh with brutal force. She screamed in pain, her legs buckling as blood poured from the deep wound. She staggered, trying to keep her balance, her spear still in hand, but the pain was too intense. She collapsed onto one knee, desperately fending off the ratman with quick jabs from her spear.

Meanwhile, Eitan’s focus never wavered. As the ratman's dagger closed in on his throat, he twisted just enough to avoid the killing blow, but the blade still found purchase in his shoulder. With a growl of pain, he thrust his sword forward, skewering the ratman through the chest. The creature gurgled in its final moments before crumpling to the ground.

Niko, his mind racing, released all his spirits into the chaos. They darted through the battlefield, distracting the ratmen with ethereal strikes, their ghostly forms slipping in and out of visibility. Zheng, his claws gleaming with an almost animalistic hunger, charged into the fray. His purple-furred arms slashed wildly at any ratman that dared approach, shredding through their brittle armor like paper.

Candreva groaned, struggling to rise, blood pouring from his wounds. Eitan, despite his own injuries, grabbed Candreva by the arm and yanked him to safety, positioning his own body between the rats and his fallen comrade. But as Eitan turned, another ratman leaped from the shadows, its dagger glinting in the air, aimed for his heart.

The battle was a whirlwind of blood, pain, and desperation. Niko could barely keep track of what was happening. As the final ratman lunged toward Eitan, a sickening sense of dread filled the room.

The dagger came down. Slashing Eitans back sending him to the ground in pain, as Zheng killed the ambushing ratman with a slash. Their nightmare was just beginning.