by Neven Iliev
“Found me out, did you?” smiled Xera. This creature in front of her was clearly misunderstanding the way their master-servant relationship worked and the succubus had no intention of dispelling it.
Her master, on the other hand, was too busy sizing up its prey to bother with the chit chat. The thing in front was clearly not human, but a shapeshifter much like itself. This meant the insides were vastly different from the outside, so traditional weak points like the heart, head, throat and lungs were unlikely to work.
The Fleshmaiden reached inside the folds of her ‘dress’ and pulled out a pair of mithril daggers, one in each hand. The silver-like blades glistened forebodingly with an oddly green sheen.
“You whore!” she wailed while lowering her stance. “How dare you take what is mine!”
She charged forward with the same abnormal speed she displayed earlier, clearly aiming to finish off the troublesome magic user first. However, she was blocked by the same trio of blades she dodged less than a minute ago. They thrust through the space she was going to be in if she didn’t immediately skid to a halt.
The Fleshmaiden’s mind rapidly changed gears at that. Even though the swords themselves were not that great, the one wielding them could not be underestimated. If the Assassination attempt from earlier succeeded she would undoubtedly be in a bad spot. However, one does not simply sneak up on a Fleshmaiden. They’re way too paranoid to trust only one pair of eyes and always have an extra two or three of them along their bodies, covering all possible angles. Indeed, she had picked out the skulking chest almost immediately, but did not expect it to attack her rather than the person she was holding down.
And the Mimic would do that again. It took the initiative and pressed the attack. The flurry of tentacle-guided blades struck at the Fleshmaiden, but they were all repelled. She had parried all the blows beautifully even though she only had two blades to the Mimic’s three. It didn’t stop there and kept swinging wildly at her, coming at her from all sorts of awkward angles. All its previous opponents were overwhelmed by this approach, but they were only human. The Fleshmaiden’s arms and hands moved with superior speed and skill while bending and stretching in ways no human arm could ever manage. She was able to stand her ground against the chaotic onslaught.
The two kept exchanging blows as sparks flew off and metal-on-metal clanging reverberated through the chamber. Xera was left with nothing to do in the meantime. Her master had given her a strict order to not use any magic near it, so she was unable to do anything in this situation. Indeed, the chaotic nature of her flames was one of the ways she used to ‘accidentally’ torch one of her previous masters. But that was then, this was now. And right now, she was left with no way of attacking, regardless of her intentions. This was also likely the Fleshmaiden’s plan since Casters would hesitate to fire on their own allies.
However, it still meant that Xera was left undisturbed for the moment. She seized her chance and ran off towards the core, clearly aiming to secure her prize while the current Dungeon Master was held at bay.
Her intentions did not slip the Fleshmaiden’s notice. The dagger-wielding monster decided to kick things up a notch and stop that infuriating woman from trying anything funny. Truthfully, even though she appeared to have her hands full, she was simply taking a cautious wait-and-see approach with her opponent. Her superior speed and excellent kinetic vision gave her quite a bit of breathing room.
She saw a gap within the Mimic’s wild swings and managed to thrust her dagger through it. The sharp blade cut into the tongue on her left, sinking in about halfway through it and causing it to stop its movements. She followed up with another strike to the same place, severing it completely. The slimy red tongue and the sword it was gripping both fell to the ground with a sputter of gooey yellow blood.
One down, two to go.
Reeling at the sudden loss of limb, the Mimic didn’t have time to react before the middle one was sliced off with three successive strikes. It realized the opponent’s aim and reeled in the last tentacle while pulling back, but the Fleshmaiden would not allow that. She swung down fiercely with her whole upper body, chopping it off just moments before it disappeared inside the Mimic’s mouth.
However, while it was by no means a bad move to disarm her opponent, she ended up narrowing her attention on the swords a bit too much. Her rushed downward swing had left her slightly off balance and within centimeters of the Mimic’s natural weapons. It swiftly tied its other two tongue-tentacles around her shoulder and neck, pulling on her fiercely while lunging forward.
It sank its jagged, misaligned teeth deep into her side, causing the Fleshmaiden to wail in agony. Her right arm, shoulder and the side of her torso were all inside the Mimic’s maw. But so was her dagger. She thrust it upwards, piercing clean through the roof of its mouth. The mithril blade stuck out from the inside of the imitation wood lid like an oversized nail. Satisfied with the hiss of pain from her opponent, the Fleshmaiden tried to pull it out and keep stabbing the insides of its mouth.
However, it wouldn’t budge. The monster had reflexively tightened the muscles around it, locking it in place. It also wasn’t quite done with the piece of meat stuck in its teeth. It reared up on its spider legs, lifting the captive Fleshmaiden off the ground. It then swung her around to its side like a wet rag before slamming her down on the floor with a disgusting wet thud. The force of the impact severed what little flesh connected the right side of its victim’s upper torso to the rest of her.
At least that’s what it seemed like. The Fleshmaiden had willingly detached herself from those jaws, much like a lizard shedding its tail to escape. She rolled on the ground and scrambled to her feet. Her quick wits once again re-evaluated the situation. While she did have the upper hand in speed and dexterity, her opponent had her outclassed when it came to raw power and durability. Facing it head-on was not impossible, but it was a much wiser decision to cut off its reason to fight. Her new position put her in a perfect spot to bypass the still-reeling Mimic and take care of that troublesome Pyromancer.
The woman in question was busy banging on the transparent pink barrier the dungeon core had thrown up to protect itself. It was an automated security system of sorts. There was no way the core would allow anyone except its rightful owner to approach it, after all. And while it wasn’t capable of keeping that shield up indefinitely, it would still take a long time to break through.
The Fleshmaiden made up her mind and charged swiftly at the girl. Xera noticed her approach and immediately began chanting a Spell, but she didn’t make it in time. The gap between them was closed in almost an instant and a mithril dagger was stuck deep into her chest. Right where her heart would have been if she was human.
“I will have you pay for what you’ve done!” growled the Fleshmaiden while twisting her blade further inside her target. However, the face her victim made wasn’t one twisted by pain or the fear of death. Quite the opposite in fact. She was smiling with a wide, shit-eating grin that was proud of pulling off an elaborate prank. She dropped her staff and gripped the dumbfounded Fleshmaiden’s arm with both hands.
“Inferno,” she said, finishing her chant.
A swirling mass of fire enveloped them, burning away at both of their bodies. And even though they got the same treatment, they had wildly different reactions. The Fleshmaiden wailed in pain while the demon laughed maniacally.
That’s the trouble when dealing with immortal beings - they don’t hesitate to self-destruct. It didn’t help that the being in question was also a masochistic pyromaniac on top of being a summoned demon. If anything, it was a surprise she lasted an entire week since her ‘awakening’ before she thought of setting herself on fire.
The Inferno did not last long, however. The Fleshmaiden was a resilient monster that would not give in so easily. She pulled her hand free and stabbed the Succubus three more times in rapid succession before her HP was completely depleted, cutting the effects of the Spell short. Xera’s charred body fell to the g
round while giving her killer the finger in a final act of defiance. It then broke apart into bright purple particles that faded away into nothingness.
The Mimic had already recovered as best as it could. The cut off tentacles were regrown and the mithril dagger was safely put away into Storage. It hesitated to approach the burning figure of the Fleshmaiden, however. Fire was a natural enemy of both wooden treasure chests and living things in general, so it was wary of approaching her.
When Xera’s Devouring Flames faded away a few seconds later, it revealed a shocking scene. The Fleshmaiden’s burnt and charred skin was healing itself. The bitten off portion of her torso as well as her right arm were growing back rapidly. She raised her left arm, pointing the dagger towards the Mimic.
“You’re next, traitor!” she bellowed.
*
[General Information]
Puddy
Fleshmaiden, Female, 8 years old
Level 25.00 Slime
Level 19.57 Fleshshaper
407/407 HP (+0.7/sec)
619/865 MP (+1.4/sec)
[Attributes]
STR 47, DEX 104, AGI 110, END 72, INT 173, WIS 93, PER 31
Part Five
The Fleshmaiden may have been fooled by her own hubris at first, but she quickly realized the woman she had killed was not actually human. There’s no way she would have shrugged off a dagger to the heart like that if she was. The subsequent self-destruction proved that point even further. After all, humans were creatures that clung desperately to life. She respected that, though. You wouldn’t last in this world without the resolve to fight tooth, nail and tentacle for your survival.
The bottom line was that Pyromancer was a monster, which meant she was actually cooperating with the Mimic. The chest had attacked her out of its own free will. It may even have been the mastermind behind this little invasion into her lair. Her guess was spot on, although ‘mastermind’ was giving it entirely too much credit.
Regardless, it had much to answer for. She even lost one of her trusty mithril daggers to it, but that was okay. All she had to do was carve it out of its wood-like hide.
And so, once the flames had subsided, the Fleshmaiden threatened the monster. Of course, that was entirely to help heal her injured ego. After all, throwing words like ‘traitor’ at a moronic chest was about as useful as pissing against the wind.
Leaving such stupid thoughts aside, she charged at it while swinging her dagger wildly. The Mimic had already regrown its tentacles and picked up its dropped weapons, so it was ready for her. Or so it thought. The Fleshmaiden ran straight through the trio of sword strikes. One was turned away by her dagger, the second cut open her unarmed left hand and the final one left a gash on her shoulder. She ignored the wounds and got right next to the chest-shaped body and stabbed at it with her remaining dagger.
The instant she thrust her arm forward it opened its maw and threatened to eat her whole. The Fleshmaiden was forced to stop her attack and pull back, lest she lose her other weapon as well. The sudden change in momentum made her stagger, which was just enough for the Mimic to drive all three swords into her shoulder, torso and thigh, depriving her of a devastating 235 HP. She pulled away from it in a panic, but the Mimic was holding its swords with all its might and tried to pull her into the opposite direction, towards its waiting maw. The girl-shaped monster’s malleable flesh was ripped apart violently, sending indeterminate bits of red flesh and sprays of crimson blood flying all over the place. It hurt like a bitch and cost her even more HP, but she managed to escape for the moment.
The Fleshmaiden had to admit she was underestimating it. Even in the middle of a fight it still found a way to surprise her with an attack that was almost enough to kill her outright. She hated to acknowledge it, but that thing’s combat instincts were the real deal. Even now it sensed her weakened state and chased after her, trying to finish the job.
The huge wound on her thigh meant the normally faster Fleshmaiden could not run as freely as before and she would surely be caught on flat ground. So she leaped at the nearby stone wall and stuck to it using adhesive slime secreted from her palms and feet. She clambered up the four-meter tall surface, attempting to put some distance between herself and her pursuer. Even a few seconds would be enough to pull herself away from death’s door.
However, the chest vehemently chased her. It skittered up the wall after her using its imitation spider legs as makeshift climbing picks. It stabbed their hard, chitin-covered tips between the roughly hewn stone bricks, creating just enough of a hole in the aging mortar to make a foothold. It was a crude method that it thought of roughly three seconds ago, but it was reasonably effective.
Its prey expected this development, however. After all, would it really be that strange for a half-spider half-chest to climb along the wall? Granted the method it used was vastly different from how actual spiders climbed walls, but that was beside the point. The Fleshmaiden stopped going upwards and instead turned ninety degrees to the right and moved quickly to the side.
The rapid change in direction slowed down the determined Mimic even further. Try as it might, it had no chance of catching her under these conditions. It briefly considered dropping off and firing Spells after her, but it was a risky move. Its opponent already proved to be more than capable of dodging or interrupting magic, so the Mimic had serious doubts as to whether it would be able to get a shot off. To make matters worse, the deep wounds it had left on that woman’s body were already closing up as if time was running backwards.
This is not tasty.
The chest knew a thing or two about shapeshifting. Replacing lost limbs or closing up wounds did not recover lost HP. The severed flesh and spilled blood both needed time to recover. Damaged tissue, on the other hand, was still there even if the wound wasn’t visible on the surface. The most it could do with its current Skills was to supplement the missing bits of its limbs by shifting Biomass around or force its wounds closed so they wouldn’t bleed as much.
But what this Fleshmaiden was doing was beyond that. She was regenerating. It looked similar, but any shapeshifter worth its tentacles would be able to grasp the difference. She didn’t simply shuffle flesh around. Entirely new muscle tissue grew rapidly on the spot, allowing her to restore both her body and her HP at the same time. Whether this effect was due to a Skill, a Spell, or came from the power of the dungeon core was a complete mystery to the Mimic. But one thing was crystal clear.
This situation is very much not tasty!
Once the female monster had recovered enough, she did a hundred and eighty degree turn while still clinging to the wall. She swung around one hand like she was an unreasonably fast clock and used that momentum to slice two of the Mimic’s front spider legs off in one slash. The animate chest, deprived of two of its anchors, lost its balance and fell towards the ground. It just barely managed to kick off the wall and rotate itself in a three-quarter circle so that it landed squarely on its legs, the missing ones already being rebuilt out of spare Biomass.
The Fleshmaiden leaped down immediately afterwards with her body in perfect health. She pressed the attack, but this time she did not rush in carelessly. She fought on the edge of the Mimic’s range, stabbing away at its tongues or legs. It retaliated by slashing away at her limbs in turn. It grazed her a few times but failed to land a telling blow on its quicker, more agile opponent. She didn’t make things easy, either, and kept running around it in circles, constantly hounding it at all sides and not giving it a single moment to rest. The Mimic used its magical perception to track her position and its flexible tongues swirled around it, covering it on all sides. And while it didn’t have any blind spots per se, it still struggled to keep up with her movements.
And so the two reached a sort of stalemate. One ran in circles and struck at any tentacles or spider legs she could reach. The other one responded in kind and aimed at her arms and feet. It even managed to chop them off a few times, but the Fleshmaiden took a page out of its own book and replace
d them swiftly through shapeshifting. Her seemingly endless regeneration would undoubtedly restore her HP afterwards.
Severed limbs rained down in the area around them as they sliced at each other’s bodies. Indeed, the surreal scene was a duel between monsters - creatures with enough vitality to fight until their last drop of HP was gone. And looking at the way things were, the Mimic was undoubtedly going to be the first to fall. Even though it did almost twice as much damage as its more nimble opponent, it was still not enough. The enemy kept regenerating at a rate that was much faster than what it could dish out, but had no way of recovering its own HP. The Fleshmaiden had the clear upper hand in a battle of attrition like this.
Then why did she not do this at the start? If she was this strong, why did she feel the need to block the Mimic’s blows and deprive it of its weapons? Was it because she wanted to kill off the Mimic’s Snack? No, that was certainly the cause of it. After all, taking out the magical support first was something the Mimic desperately tried to do. But Xera clearly was an offense-type Caster, which meant her magic was a bigger threat.
This is regret?
The Mimic had passed on not one, but two whole chances to hit the Fleshmaiden with its own magic. It was possible that the high output of Warlock Spells might be able to overpower that regeneration, but there was no chance to use it now. The chest was under too much pressure, it couldn’t focus on casting magic like this.
Regret is not tasty!
In fact, the current situation was so un-tasty it almost made it want to puke in disgust. Things could not be allowed to carry on this way, otherwise it would surely be killed off. Therefore, it had to change the circumstances so they became more favorable. Much like how it desperately threw that spear during its struggle against the guard patrol, it needed to create an opening where one did not exist. It hastily threw together a plan that just might work, then put it into action.