Inara was the first to move. Despite James and Desiree’s advancements, she was still the strongest of the group. Trouble was, her class required a lot of room to move, and the cell was small. She had to push past James, and then her scythe barely had any room to move. She was able to drag the point of the blade across the side of the chest, causing some damage, but it was a weak attack with very little force behind it.

  Desiree went next. Rather than try and force her way into the already-crowded cell, she called out, “Holy Imbuement!” Inara’s scythe glowed with holy white light. It was too late for this round, but even a minor scratch would at least be critical, with the enchantment added to the weapon.

  James was actually kind of excited for his turn. He wouldn’t have gone looking for a fight, given the alternative, but now that one had found him, he could test out his spell.

  “Fireball!” As he spoke, his hands twisted in a form he couldn’t have consciously replicated, but which felt somehow familiar. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw the torches bend for a millisecond, but then they straightened and his attention turned to the writhing bundle of flames between his palms. The fire didn’t hurt — he trusted it would not burn him, the same way he would trust a chair to hold his weight.

  He tossed the ball onto the mimic chest, and the fire quickly spread across the wood. The chest opened its mouth as wide as it would go and let out a shriek that splintered the air.

  Was a mimic chest really made up of wood, then? James idly wondered. Did a mimic mimic the internal makeup as well as the external appearance of a thing? Or was the fire effective because fire was effective in more than one scenario?

  A more feminine scream jerked his attention back to the fight. Inara was too close to the chest to be unscathed by the fire; they were harmless to James but not, it seemed, to his party.

  He choked back a laugh at the sight of her singed eyebrows and blackened hair. From the way her eyes darted to his face, he imagined he could see smoke emerging from her ears as well.

  All told, they dealt almost half damage to the chest. One more turn would be enough to knock it dead, so long as nobody got terribly hurt in the meantime.

  Virgil’s turn passed in uncomfortable silence. The explorer did little more than wring his hands outside of the prison cell, waiting for the duration of his turn to end.

  Enemy turn!

  The chest lashed out at James. Its tongue was six inches wide and at least three feet long, and it possessed far more dexterity than a tongue ever ought to. It wrapped twice around James’s body and pulled him towards its maw.

  Unable to move, James could only watch as the rows of teeth grew closer, then chomped down on his body once— twice— a third time before the mimic’s turn was finally over.

  It released him then, bruised, bloody, and scared out of his mind, back to where he’d been standing. He felt like he’d just been through a meat grinder.

  As soon as Inara’s turn began, his injuries healed as if they had never been. His health plummeted so far that he was faced with the terrifying realization that had he not increased his CON on his last level up, he would be dead.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  If not for the haze of combat, he would be shaking.

  Inara scraped her scythe against the side of the chest, this time dealing far more damage. Before her turn ended, she pressed herself flat against the wall.

  Critical hit!

  Desiree was forced to wait out her turn as Virgil had done, unwilling to elbow into the cell for marginal gain.

  And then it was James’s turn.

  “Fireball,” he croaked. The flames consumed the chest, and as they did, James imagined that he was among them. He imagined that he was taking his revenge on the vicious creature, overloading its every cell with more energy than it could handle, disintegrating each splinter into ash.

  Defeated lvl 21 Infernal Mimic!

  Fire Affinity +1!

  EXP +10,000

  Level up!

  James fell to his knees and cast Vital Pulse. That was close. It was way, way too close. He dumped all ten stat points into CON.

  “Are you okay?!” Virgil took a quick step toward James, then hesitated to approach.

  “No thanks to you,” Inara glared. She knelt beside James and rubbed his back. “I know,” she said softly. “That was frightening.”

  James wanted to straighten up. He wanted to stiffen his upper lip and tell her no, it wasn’t that bad — but it was that bad. It was ten times worse than even the apple tree, which had tried to chew off his arm.

  He didn’t say anything. He was strong enough, at least, not to completely break down in front of the entire party. Fortunately, he didn’t need to. Inara gave his arm a comforting squeeze, and that touch — that understanding — made all the difference.

  “I do apologize,” said Virgil, wringing his hands. “As a scholar, my skills are not well suited to combat. It is better if I hang back during the fighting. If there is any way I can support from a distance, please let me know.”

  James rose to his feet. He kicked the chest, dissolving it in a spray of brown sparks, and pocketed three gold coins into his inventory.

  “Let’s keep moving,” he said.

  The party fanned out. Aside from a damaged crate turned out to be filled with more rat poop, there was nothing of note.

  “Hey guys, I found some stairs!” James called out. He had to move aside a heavy door that looked to have been busted off its hinges, and he couldn’t help but check every couple seconds that rats weren’t about to swarm out of the dark stairwell.

  It was like his first time playing Dark Souls all over again, jumping at shadows. If he had a shield, he’d constantly have it raised.

  “I’ll go first,” Desiree bravely volunteered.

  “Absolutely not,” Inara yanked her daughter back by the collar.

  “No, that’ll be me,” James said. “I’m the only one with a light source.”

  “Ah! I do believe I can help with that.”

  Everyone looked with surprise at Virgil, who raised a tentative hand.

  He spoke the word, “Light,” and a soft glowing sphere rose above his palm. He twisted his fingers like he was controlling it on invisible strings, and the light bobbed over their heads until it rested just over James’s shoulder.

  “Perfect! Thank you, Virgil.” James gave Inara a meaningful glance. He understood the basis of her suspicions, to an extent, but Virgil had proven his worth twice over. Without the scholar, they’d have to use a fireball to light the way, and they’d just seen how dangerous that could be in close quarters. Without Virgil, he wouldn’t even have a Fireball to see by!

  She rolled her eyes, but he took it as a victory anyway. At least she acknowledged the look.

  Without further discussion, he went up the stairs.

  With every step, James was ready for a monster to jump out at him. In the absence of a shield, he held his sword at the ready. He walked slowly, and at every landing he paused for the group to catch up.

  Yet all his caution was in vain. The stairwell was entirely clear of danger, and their slow rise was unmolested. Before long, they reached a hallway, at the end of which was another door, this one still on its hinges, and closed.

  Inara grabbed his arm, holding him back. “That’s the boss door,” she said.

  James looked up at her, surprised. “How can you tell?”

  “Look.” She gestured at the bottom of the door. He had to squint, but then he saw that gray fog seeped under the crack. Once he saw that, he could see it coming out from the other edges of the door, as well.

  “And see? It is titled.” Inara pointed at the center of the door. A placard was set into the wood. Ornate lettering read, “The Warden.”

  “Cool,” James said. “Cool cool cool. Boss door.”