Mimicry of The Abyss

chapter 5

The mimic’s jaw was a black hole lined with glass needles, and it was inches from Rhael’s throat when a heavy iron pike slammed into its side.

"Get away from him, you filthy parasite!" Mavin roared, putting his entire weight into the thrust.

The creature’s body folded around the pole, its ribs snapping with a sound like dry kindling. It didn't scream. It didn't even grunt. Instead, as Ilyra’s saber followed up with a vicious horizontal arc that severed the thing's head from its distorted shoulders, a sound erupted from the rolling cranium.

"Haha... ha... stupid, stupid Rhael," the head chuckled, bouncing across the stone floor. It was Rhael’s voice—perfectly pitched, mocking, and full of a mirth he had never felt. "You think... killing the skin... stops the song?"

Rhael scrambled back on his hands and knees, his breath coming in jagged, pathetic gulps. "Shut up! Just die! Why won't you just die?"

"It’s okay, Rhael," the mimic’s headless torso whispered, its vocal cords still vibrating with his voice. "I’m already... under your skin."

Ilyra didn't give it another chance. She grabbed a flask of oil from her belt, smashed it over the twitching remains, and tossed a match. The black smoke that rose smelled like burning hair and old, wet parchment. The laughter finally dissolved into a wet, bubbling hiss before falling silent.

"Is it dead? Tell me it's dead," Rhael panted, staring at the charred heap.

"It’s dead, kid," a deep, commanding voice said from the shadows near the back of the room.

Ordan Vesk stepped into the light. The party leader looked older than he had an hour ago, his heavy plate armor reflecting the dying fire in dull, flickering oranges. He held a massive claymore, the tip resting on the floor. Beside him, Jessa Ruun, the group’s medic, clutched her satchel as if it were a shield, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.

"Tarek is dead," Ordan said, his voice flat. He didn't look at the mimic; he looked at the hollowed-out corpse of the real Tarek falling out of the vent. "Our scout. Our friend. Gone."

"Ordan, we have to move," Ilyra said, wiping black ichor from her blade. "If there was one 'Perfect' in here, there are more. The Blanks will be swarming this floor now that they know we’ve found a breach."

"Move where, Ilyra?" Ordan asked, his eyes moving slowly from person to person. "Into another hallway? Another room where one of us can slip away for five minutes and come back with dead eyes?"

"We can’t just sit here with a corpse and a pile of ash!" Kaelen snapped, his bow still drawn, though his hands were shaking so hard the arrow tip bobbed. "Look at us! We’re falling apart!"

"That’s exactly what it wants," Jessa whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the burning mimic. "The dungeon doesn't just eat our bodies. It eats the trust. It’s been listening to us the whole time."

"She’s right," Ordan said, his grip tightening on his sword. "It knows our names. It knows our voices. It even knows Rhael’s internal monologue. It’s reading the patterns of our brains."

Rhael looked up, his face pale. "How? I didn't say those things out loud. I know I didn't."

"It doesn't matter how," Ordan said. He stepped toward the center of the circle, his shadow looming large against the wall. "Here’s what’s going to happen. Nobody moves. Nobody touches their gear. And nobody leaves this room until I’m sure who I’m traveling with."

"How are you going to do that, Ordan?" Mavin asked, leaning on his pike. "You saw that thing. It had Tarek’s limp. It had his memories. It knew about the map."

"It knows the things we’ve said and the things we’ve done since we entered the Silent Dungeon," Ordan countered. "But it hasn't had time to peel our entire lives. It’s a scavenger. It takes what’s on the surface."

"So what? You want us to take a history quiz?" Kaelen asked with a frantic, high-pitched laugh.

"I want a secret," Ordan said, his gaze settling on Kaelen. "Something deep. Something shameful. Something you’ve never told a soul in this party. Something the dungeon couldn't have overheard because you haven't thought about it since we stepped through those stone doors."

"That’s... that’s insane," Mirra stammered, clutching her robes. "You want us to bare our souls while monsters are literally in the walls?"

"It’s the only way," Ordan insisted. "If you’re human, you have a weight. You have a past that hurts. These things? They’re just recordings. They don't have a 'before.' They only have a 'now.'"

"Fine," Kaelen spat, his eyes darting around. "I’ll go. When I was twelve, I stole my father’s wedding ring and sold it to a traveling merchant for three copper pieces so I could buy a wooden bow. I told him a crow flew into the house and snatched it. He beat the dog for a week because he thought it had hidden it."

The room went silent. Kaelen looked down at his boots, his face flushing.

"Good," Ordan nodded. "Mavin?"

"I deserted," Mavin said bluntly. "The Battle of Blackwood. I wasn't wounded. I just saw the first wave of cavalry and I ran. I hid in a hayloft for three days while my unit was slaughtered. I forged my discharge papers."

Rhael felt a cold stone settle in his stomach. The air in the room felt even heavier now, thick with the weight of things that should have stayed buried.

"Rhael," Ordan said. "You're new. We don't know you. Give us something."

Rhael swallowed hard. He looked at the charred remains of the mimic that had spoken his thoughts. "I... I’m not an adventurer. Not really. I told the guild I had cleared a goblin den in the south to get my license. I didn't. I found the den already cleared by a knight, took a few ears as trophies, and claimed the bounty. I’m a fraud. I came here because I was broke and I thought this would be easy money."

Ilyra looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Well, you got the 'easy' part wrong, kid."

"Ilyra?" Ordan prompted.

"I have a daughter," Ilyra said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp. "She’s six. She thinks I’m a merchant. She doesn't know her mother kills things for gold. I don't even use my real last name. Veyne is a lie. If I die in here, she’ll never even know where my body is."

Ordan nodded slowly. He turned his head toward the medic. "Jessa. Your turn."

Jessa Ruun didn't move. She was still clutching her bag, her knuckles so white they looked like polished bone. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her breathing shallow and rapid.

"Jessa?" Ordan repeated, his voice losing its warmth. "Come on. Just a secret. Anything."

"I can't," Jessa whispered.

"It’s okay, Jessa," Mirra said, reaching out a hand. "We’ve all said something. It’s just us."

"No," Jessa said, her voice cracking. She looked up, and for a second, Rhael saw a flash of something in her eyes—not fear, but a blank, terrifying void. "I mean I literally can't."

Ordan raised his sword an inch. "What does that mean, Jessa?"

"I can't remember," she said, her voice becoming unnervingly steady. "I’m trying to think of something from before. A childhood. A home. A mother. But when I reach back... there’s just... gray. There’s just the sound of the wind in these halls."

The silence that followed was deafening. Kaelen backed away, his arrow pointing directly at the medic’s heart.

"Jessa, don't joke like that," Mavin said, his voice trembling. "We’ve known you for a year! You told us about your medical training in the capital!"

"I remember telling you that," Jessa said, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I remember the words. I remember the way I felt when I said it. But I don't remember the capital. I don't remember the school. I just remember... the data."

"Kill it!" Kaelen screamed.

"Wait!" Rhael shouted, stepping between them. "Look at her! She’s crying! Would a monster cry?"

"The Tarek-thing laughed with your voice, Rhael!" Kaelen yelled back. "They can do emotions! They can do anything!"

"I’m not a monster," Jessa sobbed, dropping to her knees. "I feel like Jessa. I have her hands. I have her tools. I want to save you all. Why don't I have a past? Why is it gone?"

"Maybe it hasn't finished the process," Mirra suggested, her voice shaking. "Maybe it took her body but couldn't bridge the memories yet. Or maybe... maybe the real Jessa is still alive somewhere, and the link is broken."

Ordan’s face was a mask of stone. "If she doesn't have the memories, she’s a Blank. A high-level Blank, but a Blank nonetheless."

"I'm right here!" Jessa shrieked. "Ordan, please! I healed your arm yesterday! I used the marigold salve!"

"The dungeon saw you do that," Ordan said coldly. "Mavin, secure her hands."

"Touch me and I’ll scream," Jessa warned, her face twisting into something jagged and sharp. "I’ll scream so loud every shadow in this floor will find us."

The social contract of the group snapped like a rotted thread. Trust didn't just dissolve; it evaporated. They stood in a circle of mutual, lethal suspicion, weapons pointed at friends, hearts filled with a mounting, claustrophobic dread.

"Nobody moves," Ordan growled. "Nobody."

"We’re already dead," Mirra whispered, tears streaming down her face. "If we can't trust our own memories, how do we know any of us are real? Ordan, how do I know your secret about the war wasn't just something you overheard Tarek say months ago?"

"Because I know who I am!" Ordan roared.

"Do you?" a new voice asked.

It was Nira Pell, the group’s second archer who had been silent throughout the entire ordeal, standing near the door. She hadn't participated in the secret-sharing. She hadn't even looked at the mimic. She had been staring at Rhael.

"Nira, what are you doing?" Kaelen asked.

Nira didn't look at Kaelen. She raised her bow, but she didn't point it at Jessa. She pointed it straight at Rhael’s face.

"Nira, put that down," Ilyra commanded, her hand moving to her hilt. "The kid’s the only one who actually spotted the Tarek-mimic."

"That’s exactly the point, isn't it?" Nira said, her voice eerie and calm. "A perfect distraction. Bring in a 'straggler.' Make him seem vulnerable. Make him the hero who 'saves' the group so we never question his presence."

"Nira, I’m real!" Rhael cried, his hands up. "I don't know what you’re talking about!"

"I’ve been watching your eyes, Rhael," Nira said, her finger tightening on the string. "While we were all talking, while we were sharing our 'secrets'... you weren't just listening. You were blinking."

"Blinking? Everyone blinks!" Rhael shouted.

"Not like that," Nira said, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Short, long, short. Three quick, two slow. I’ve spent ten years scouting the deep woods. I know signals when I see them. You weren't blinking to moisten your eyes, Rhael. You were pulsing."

Rhael felt his heart stop. "I... I wasn't. I didn't even notice—"

"He was," Nira said, her voice turning into a snarl. "He’s been signaling the walls. Every time someone told a secret, he signaled. Look at the shadows behind him. They’re moving in sync with his eyelids."

Everyone turned to look at Rhael’s shadow. It was tall, thin, and stretched out toward the door. And as Rhael’s eyes flickered in a panicked, involuntary twitch, the shadow’s fingers began to tap against the stone in a perfect, rhythmic code.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

"I’m not doing that!" Rhael screamed, his voice cracking. "I’m not moving my hand! I swear!"

"It doesn't matter if you are doing it," Ordan said, his claymore rising. "It means the dungeon is using you as a conductor. You're a transmitter, kid."

"Wait!" Rhael backed into the wall, the cold stone pressing against his spine. "I'm me! I'm Rhael Dorne! I'm a fraud! I'm a coward! I—"

"You're a beacon," Nira said, and she released the string.