The slime-thing looked like a towering shadow. I thought a Slime King had found us.

  Then the rest of it stepped forward.

  The creature was tall enough to scrape the cavern ceiling, but its body was stretched thin, as if someone had slapped a giant’s worth of slime onto a wire skeleton and hoped no one looked too closely. Its torso bowed and unbowed with a wobble so awkward it looked more flustered than frightening.

  Anabeth gasped, clutching my arm. “A Colossus-class! Surely this would be a monster worthy of Sir Henry’s aether!”

  No. A Colossus wouldn’t exist in a dungeon this irrelevant. That would be a Fake Colossus.

  Big, fast, horrifyingly-looking, and about as structurally sound as a damp scarecrow.

  Ceralis, ever helpful, showed me the creature’s information.

  This creature was almost as strong as the Slime King, meaning it could deal 5 damage through my armor for every strike. Still, I could dispatch it. If only the creature didn’t show up the exact moment I had just drunk my slime vial.

  My DEX right now was only 11—

  The first strike hit. A flailing limb smacked against my shoulder plate, and I parried instinctively . . . after the limb had retreated.

  Anabeth was already a safe distance away, in full scribbling mode, leaving me to handle the creature.

  The Fake Colossus lunged again. Its legs slapped the floor in bursts so fast I could hardly believe the movements were made by a slime. Each attempt at a clean parry risked a glancing blow.

  I couldn’t match its speed, that was obvious. I needed the environment, which meant I needed to reach the narrow section behind the monster, where walls closed just enough to hinder sprawling limbs.

  Don’t hesitate, Henry. A knight must take the valiant path (so long as it’s sound).

  So I lunged.

  The Fake Colossus’ nearest arm whipped toward me just as I launched to the creature’s left. It connected with my pauldron, but I persisted.

  Momentum carried me past the strike and into the narrowing corridor. The walls pressed in, forcing the creature to compress its sprawling limbs. Its next swing clipped the side of the wall with a squelching sound.

  I drew in a breath and swung my sword at the exposed junction of its midsection. The tip sank into the wobbling membrane, and the creature faltered before retreating from the corridor.

  Hold on. Did it just heal itself by 7 HP?

  The creature’s semi-transparent torso stretched and convulsed like a jelly-filled balloon on stilts. Its speed hadn’t slowed much, as the ‘limbs’ I managed to cut off didn’t stay destroyed. Like any other slime, the limbs would just reshape itself moments later.

  This reshaping must’ve healed it. This was probably the locked skill I couldn’t access earlier. To kill it, I would need a strike so hard its regeneration didn’t matter.

  I chanced a glance behind me. The corridor was narrow, but not impossibly so. My eyes caught a slight bend where the ceiling dipped and the floor narrowed, a natural pinch in the stone that created a sort of half-circular alcove. If I positioned myself there, the creature couldn’t fully extend its mass without colliding with the wall, while I could move laterally just enough to dodge and strike without overextending.

  I slid into the alcove, pressing myself against the curved wall and waited. However, the creature was so much faster than I could anticipate. Its next strike whipped across the corridor before I could adjust my stance. My sword swung instinctively, but the motion was too slow.

  A thick limb smashed into my breastplate.

  By Saint Merin’s flailing codpiece! The perfect chokepoint meant nothing against halved reflexes.

  Still, I reminded myself, a well-timed Slimebane Strike could still deal 30 HP. If I tank the next hit, I could punish it again. It was a gamble, but one I had to take.

  I tightened my grip on my sword, readying to let the first swing land, tank the blow, and strike back with precision.

  A muffled voice echoed from the corridor’s mouth. “Sir Henry! Have you used your aether yet?”

  Ceralis bellowed for me, “SILENCE, WOMAN! I USE MY AETHER WHENEVER I PLEASE!”

  “A man who knows what he wants is most alluring, Sir!” Her laughter rang in the corridor.

  Anabeth chose just the right time to distract me, for the creature had slithered in before I could react. I aimed for the Gelid Strider’s exposed midsection, but my timing was off. The tip of the blade barely nicked its membrane.

  A limb smashed into my chestplate once more.

  The situation was dire. The Gelid Strider had slid fully into the alcove, now close enough that its superior DEX once again dominated the encounter. I pressed my back against the curved wall, trying to limit the angles I had to defend. At least one less direction to worry about—but even that was hardly consolation. The first strike came, and I managed to parry it with a grunt.

  Two more limbs whipped at me in rapid succession.

  I could feel my energy draining. I had no room for a full counter.

  Then two more limbs came.

  I was cornered. My debuff would not run out in time. A fake knight dying to a fake colossus. What a fitting end it would be for me.

  No.

  I would not die here.

  Saint Merin would not allow it.

  And that was when I saw the opening.