Chapter 76: Vicious Mimicry

Chapter 76: Vicious Mimicry

“Grotto’s hiding something.”

Nuralie turned away from the ancient and disorganized art gallery she’d been watching intently, raising an eyeridge at my statement.

“Everyone hides things,” the loson said. Her expression was hard to read in the dim lighting, even with the enhanced eyesight my divine blessing gave me. Nuralie was the only person I had trouble seeing when the lights were low, and it had little to do with her black leathers or her dark sable skin and scales.

“Yeah,” I said, “but putting aside general commentary on humanity’s love of secrets, Grotto’s been pretty stingy with his advice lately.”

Nuralie paused. “Grotto hides more than others,” she admitted, then turned back to her vigil.

The rest of our party, Xim, Varrin, and Etja, all slept while me and Nuralie kept watch over the gallery. It was a strange thing to find in the depths of a platinum Delve, but everything one found within the depths of a platinum Delve was strange.

The room where our allies caught some kip was a dead end, with no other entrances or exits other than the one we guarded. We’d chosen it not just for that reason, but also because the room had only been partially full of the clutter of vases, wall paintings, reliefs, ancient weapons, armor, ornate stone furniture, sculptures, statues, effin’ dolls, and all sorts of other shit that this entire leg of the Delve was absolutely stuffed full of.

The room had looked like it belonged to my brother, whom I’d given an armchair diagnosis of third-stage hoarder to back on Earth. Compared to the rest of the place, it was practically barren.

So, we’d taken the liberty of designating it as our bedroom for the night and promptly broken everything that was inside. We’d smashed, bashed, crushed, and ground every priceless relic into smithereens. Only once no individual piece larger than my hand remained did we decide it was safe to sleep.

Because anything inside this Delve...

Anything

Could be a fucking mimic.

And these weren’t cute mimics. They weren’t silly treasure chests with a tongue hanging out or a sword with a very tail-like belt strap that purred when you reached for it. No, these were perfect copies; completely dormant and unidentifiable until you leaned a little too close to an incredibly detailed triptych to admire its masterful brushwork. Then, it grows a pair of monstrous jaws big enough to chomp your whole head off in one go.

I’d never seen a painting try to commit murder before coming into this Delve, and now I’d seen it three times. I’d had no desire to see it, but I saw it regardless. My appreciation of art had been forever changed, and I’d be haunted by the subtle suspicion that every woodblock print I encountered from hereon out would seek to end my life in a violent manner.

Everyone else in the party didn’t seem to have the same problem. Just stay away from the art! they’d said. I harrumphed at that. Harrumphed!

No threat, be it man, beast, or bloodthirsty amphora would keep me from engaging with the visual pleasures. I may have been a violent masochist with unresolved trauma hellbent on a quest for vengeance against a pair of dark gods, but dammit I was a sophisticated one!

All that to say, I did not like this Delve. It was like walking through the candy aisle, where one of the chocolates was poisoned. You could eat as many as you liked, and they were free! But one would definitely kill you... by ripping your guts out with its nine-inch fangs. The whole thing got me heated.

“Are you ok?” asked Nuralie, and I took a deep breath.

“Huh?” I said, shaking my head to clear my thoughts.

“You looked angry.”

“I am angry,” I said. “I’m angry at the injustice of this place.”

“I’d ask if you want to talk about it,” said Nuralie, “but I don’t want to hear any more about,” pause, “the exaggerated sexual features of early fertility deities.”

“The place where the claws sprang out from was totally inappropriate!”

“Did I say the opposite of what I meant to say?” Pause. “Because I’m hearing more about the thing I didn’t want to hear about.”

“How do they think thoughts?” I asked, and Nuralie pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “They don’t have brains. I smashed the head right open on the one that was an uncanny valley clone of Varrin, and it turned into a puddle of slime and slid away.”

“Maybe they don’t think,” said Nuralie.

“Nothing too deep,” I said, “but they must have some level of consciousness. Their actions are so complex, so premeditated. Do they know that imitating an exemplar of subtractive sculpture will draw me in, or do they copy random things until they ensnare me in their web?”

A deep voice came from behind me.

“Maybe it’s magic, Arlo,” said Varrin, and I turned to see him approaching, rubbing the sleep from one eye. He was still out of his armor, wearing only a thin pair of linen leggings, leaving his ghostly pale chest and arms exposed. Despite the basement-dweller skin tone that came naturally to Hiwardians, Varrin was as fit and well-muscled as they came. I couldn’t help but give the nearly seven-foot-tall man a quick up and down with my eyes.

“How do you get your shoulders that big?” I asked. “I’ve always wanted bigger shoulders.”

“Hush, Arlo,” came Xim’s smooth and upbeat tone. “You’re jacked, too. You can both be big muscly boys.”

The rose-skinned Cleric walked out from behind a pile of broken furniture, already dressed in her thick robes and chainmail, complete with a blood-red tabard that sported a dark and mind-warping symbol. It shifted and changed when you looked at it. Her old tabard hadn’t done that, but we’d all gotten a few upgrades that were flashier than our starting gear from the year before.

“Your beard’s bigger,” said Nuralie, looking between the two of us.

“Varrin doesn’t have a beard,” I said.

“Yes.” Pause. “So what I said is true.”

“Youd’ve made a good lawyer,” I said, then looked to Xim. “Is Etja still sleeping?”

“She is. I’m starting to wonder if golems need extra rest for some reason, or if she’s just generally a sleepyhead.”

We dominated Delve after Delve, which was beginning to cause some powerful people to ask some difficult questions. Nonetheless, we pursued our goal relentlessly, eschewing subtlety in favor of power leveling, and trying to unravel the mystery of the card.

So far, the leveling was going great, but the investigation had been a bust.

“Not using the card, Xim,” I said. “A priceless magical artifact with unknowable power isn’t worth sacrificing to skip a few mimics.”

“But, but, they’re art mimics!” she said, walking up and gripping me by the arms. She peered up at me, her amber eyes glistening with fake tears. “Isn’t that right? You hate art mimics!”

“Eh, at this point I think I’ve gotten over it.” I heard Nuralie choke a bit. “Besides, the mystery of the card is why we’re here. It’d be a shame to waste it.”

“Half the reason,” Xim said, releasing me and stepping back, her pleading facade wiped away in an instant. “We’re also learning more about Delves in general.”

“And I thought we were here to grow more powerful,” said Varrin, who’d begun to don his armor. It was impressive that he could put on the heavy, frozen-steel plate without assistance, but the armorsmiths of Hiward had better designs than the ones of medieval Earth. That, and an auto-equip manaweave. He pulled at the cuff of a gauntlet, fitting it tightly over his hand, then looked up. “I didn’t realize you both considered this a research mission.”

“The card is one-third of the reason we’re here?” I said.

“Money,” said Nuralie. “Chips. Essences. Gear.” Pause. “Loot.”

I counted those off on my fingers.

“One... eighth of the reason we’re here?”

“Call it ten percent,” said Varrin. “Etja, are you ready to move?”

“Yep!” said Etja, walking out from behind the broken stack of furniture that she and Xim had made their fort for the night. The golem-turned-Delver was fully dressed in light-blue robes, the exposed skin of her neck and arms already transformed into the crimson chiton that she used in place of armor.

She’d continued to refine her appearance over the last year, her features now indistinguishable from human, although her clay-red skin tone made her stand out in Hiward. That, and the fact that she had four arms.

“Ready to kick ass and smoke grass!”

“Etja,” I said, “I taught you that phrase with the understanding that you’d only use it when appropriate.”

“When is it appropriate?” asked Xim. “Who smokes grass?”

“The Hyrachon,” said Nuralie. Pause. “It stinks.”

“I thought it meant that I was excited to do something,” said Etja, waving her hand in the air like a showman. “Kind of like when you say ‘I’m ready to rock out with my co-!’”

“Nope!” I interrupted. “I’m having regrets about our lessons.”

Etja dropped her hand and pouted a bit.

“Then which one should I use?” she asked.

“Um, how about,” I cleared my throat and dropped my voice an octave, “Spooon!”

There was a moment of silence for my dignity.

“What do utensils have to do with anything?” asked Xim. “Is that a Shog thing?”

“What?” I said, “No, why would it be?”

“Because he ate that c’thon that tried to eat him, then stole one of his tentacles. The one that made cutlery.” Xim squatted a bit and did her best Shog impression. “C’thons do not need tools to consume, so I devoured that heathen and his brothers such that their heresy would not spread to the impressionable broodlings.”

“I don’t remember that,” I said. “I only remember that he grafted a new tentacle to his body because ‘the c’thon it belonged to was tasty, and I like the smell.’”

“Shog says a lot of things,” said Varrin. “I doubt most of it is true. Also, Xim just made that last one up.”

“Why would you ruin my joke like that, Varrin?” Xim asked. “I could have gotten him to confront Shog about it. Start subtly testing whether his summon is haunted by a sudden urge to craft the finest silverware.”

“So, I shouldn’t say spoon?” said Etja.

“Every morning,” Varrin grumbled, looking up at the ceiling. “These conversations. Every. Morning.”

“You could try ‘Hulk smash!’” I said. “Or, ‘Plus Ultra!’” I ran a hand through my beard, happy to find it free of gore for once. I was doing exceptionally well on the Arlo hygiene scale this Delve. “You know what, maybe try out a few of your own. I’m sure you’ll get something.”

“Ok!” said Etja, clapping her hands, then lifting her upper arms into the air, hands balled into fists. “Let’s hunt some mimic!”

That one still sounded a bit familiar, but I let it slide.

And hunt mimic we did.