Kyaappucino\_Boneca

Chapter 94: A Concerned Mimic Citizen

Chapter 94: A Concerned Mimic Citizen


After her late meal, Marron cleaned up and then took a long, warm bath.


"Being promoted does have its perks," she said softly. The dwarves had figured out how to get clean water underground, and had a heating system for it.


"I wonder what it would be like..." she murmured, drying her hair. "to actually see the dwarves underground, doing their thing."


Marron had barely fallen asleep after her late meal when sharp banging jolted her awake.


BANG. BANG. BANG.


She sat up straight, heart racing. For a moment she thought the Jilted Lover had come back, but this was different. No wailing or screams. Just fists that didn’t know how to knock properly.


"Marron! Marron!"


The voice was high and desperate, with that broken quality all mimics had when they tried to speak human words.


She pulled her blanket around her shoulders and crept to the door. "Who is it?"


"It’s me! Hungry!"


Of course it was.


Marron pressed her forehead against the wooden door and sighed. "It’s the middle of the night. I just finished cooking the Lieutenant’s breakfast."


The mimic’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Smelled something. Sweet... warm... not for us."


Her stomach dropped. The onion rice. Even though she’d eaten it hours ago, they’d still caught the scent.


"Go back to your room," she said firmly. "If you wake the Lieutenant, he won’t be happy with any of us."


Silence stretched out too long. Then came soft scratching—fingernails dragging down the wood. "We only want to be strong. Like him. Your food makes us... more."


The words made Marron’s skin crawl. She remembered cooking in the diner on the third floor, watching the mimics split and reshape themselves. They murmured about her cooking being delicious, and some of them had even bitten their own fingers in the process.


Her food was changing them in ways she didn’t understand.


She kept her voice steady. "I’ll cook for you. But not now. In the morning. Understand?"


A pause. Then that awful warbling laugh. "Morning. Yes. Morning."


The footsteps shuffled away, scraping against stone until they faded completely.


Marron slumped against the door. The faint smell of onion rice still hung in the air—a reminder of home that had become a dangerous beacon.


She touched the bone shard at her hip. It pulsed gently, as if it had felt the tension too.


"Morning," she whispered. "I’ll deal with them in the morning."


But first, she had real work to do. Phantasm Moss.


The System chimed quietly in her mind.


[Quest Reminder: Stealth Broth EX]


[Ingredient Required: Phantasm Moss – Sixth Floor, near a collapsed dwarven shrine.]


Marron took a deep breath and began preparing for the journey.


She opened her lacquered storage box and cleared space in one corner, then carefully placed the remaining stealth broth inside. Protective magic sealed around it, keeping it fresh and cold.


Next, she gathered her supplies:


Her sharpest knife, cleaned and honed to a fine edge.


Small glass jars stolen from the mimic pantry, perfect for holding delicate moss specimens.


A half-empty pouch of rice crackers for the road.


Her bone shard, which she tied securely to her apron strings so it wouldn’t swing loose while she moved.


As she looked around her room, something uncomfortable settled in her chest. The mismatched chairs the mimics had brought her. The bed that no longer felt like sleeping on stone. The stack of stolen books she hadn’t dared open yet.


It was starting to feel lived-in. Like a real room instead of a prison.


That thought scared her more than the mimics did.


This wasn’t home.


This would never be home.


Comfort & Crunch was home—her food cart, her regular customers, the freedom to cook what she wanted when she wanted. Not this underground maze where creatures begged for her food so they could become something more dangerous.


She was a chef, not a prisoner. A business owner, not a mimic’s pet cook.


But here she was, sneaking through tunnels to steal ingredients so she could spy on her captors more effectively.


Funny what life does to you sometimes.


Marron shook her head and tightened her apron strings. Self-pity wouldn’t get her out of here. The Phantasm Moss would.


She folded her hand-drawn map and traced the marked location with her finger. The collapsed dwarven shrine lay deep in the sixth floor, past at least two patrol zones. Her current stealth broth only lasted fifteen minutes—nowhere near enough time.


The upgraded version was her only real chance at following the Captain undetected. And following the Captain was her only chance at understanding what these mimics really wanted with her.


She blew out the mimic lantern by her bed. Complete darkness pressed in around her, the kind that could swallow someone whole and never give them back.


"All right," she whispered, adjusting her pack. "Let’s see what’s waiting down there."


She stepped into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her, louder than she would have liked.


The bone shard pulsed once against her hip, steady and reassuring.


Marron walked into the dark.


+


As expected, the tunnels leading to the sixth floor weren’t empty.


Marron had expected guards, but seeing them still made her freeze. Two mimics stood at the narrow chokepoint ahead, both shaped like human soldiers—broad shoulders, heavy armor, helmets split by thin seams that flexed when they breathed. Their weapons hung at their sides, but their perfect stillness was more threatening than any raised blade.


Her pulse hammered in her ears.


If they caught her wandering into restricted territory, they’d drag her straight back to the Lieutenant. Or worse—they’d ask questions about why she wasn’t in the kitchen where she belonged.


She crouched low against the tunnel wall, mind racing.


Think like prey. They’re small and clever, and trying their best to survive.


A loose pebble sat near her boot. She picked it up, hand trembling slightly.


It was ridiculous.


Marron was about to bet her life on a rock throw.


She took a breath, then flicked it down the opposite corridor.


The pebble clattered and bounced, the sound echoing much louder than it should have in the stone passages.


Both guards’ heads snapped toward the noise in perfect unison. Armor creaked as they turned, weapons sliding free with practiced precision.


"Noise."


"Check!"


Their voices overlapped in that unsettling way mimics had, like a choir that couldn’t quite find harmony. Together they stalked toward the sound, steps heavy and deliberate.


Marron’s heart jumped into her throat. Now or never.


She slipped from cover, pressing her back against the opposite wall, and crept past their abandoned post. Every step felt like walking on glass, the silence around her fragile and dangerous. She didn’t dare breathe until the bend in the tunnel hid their shapes completely.


Only then did she allow herself a whisper: "Thank you, rock."


The tunnel sloped down sharply, and the air grew damp and rich with mineral scents. Thin veins of glowing crystal ran through the walls, providing just enough light to navigate by. The map in her apron pocket grew warm against her leg with each step, confirming she was heading in the right direction.


"All this trouble for moss," she muttered.


But it wasn’t just moss. It was her chance at a stronger stealth broth. Her chance to tail the Captain without being caught. Her chance to understand what the mimics really planned for her—and maybe find a way out of this underground prison.


She adjusted her pack and pressed deeper into the tunnels.


As she walked, Marron tried not to think about what would happen after she got the moss. The mimics wouldn’t just let her walk away once she had what she needed from the Captain. They’d invested too much in keeping her here, in making her comfortable, in feeding off whatever her cooking did to them.


Getting the information was only half the problem.


Getting out alive with her food cart would be the real challenge.


But she could worry about that later.


Right now, she had moss to find.


Eventually, the tunnel widened into a cavernous hall. It was much bigger than anything she’d ever seen before, but also...much more rustic.


If rustic was a word to use within a dungeon, anyway.


Marron stopped short and glanced around, feeling safe and warm thanks to the stealth broth.


Collapsed pillars jutted from the floor like broken teeth. There were half-smashed stone benches arranged like a circle around a cracked altar.


She hadn’t even realized dwarves had gods. Most of the ones she encountered never mentioned any. But here was one, though long abandoned. Dwarven runes were painstakingly carved on its face, too weathered to read.


Faded murals climbed the walls: dwarves bowing to a radiant figure, weapons raised in salute.


The air was musty and cool, but it didn’t smell like a crypt. As Marron walked deeper into the shrine, there was something else that caught her attention. Small white flowers sprouted from the walls near the altar, their deep blue anthers vivid against the pale petals.


Huh. I wonder what they smell like.