F-Rank Mimic Chest: My SSS Mimic Skill Lets Me Become Anything

The maul entered Dane’s stall before its owner did.

Air struck his front boards. A flat iron face skimmed the lane hard enough to peel wax from stone. Kril’s blade tips clicked overhead. Voss dropped beneath the swing, and his three bound legs rasped clear an instant before the iron passed.

The weapon took most of the space between the stalls.

”Twelve paces, wall to wall,” Brant called from Buk’s side. ”Perfume glass against Dane’s left. Tooth bar one pace past his right wheels. Two clamp posts behind it. There is no clean lane.”

Nine bells stirred on the awning chain above them. Mire’s eight brass feet stopped two paces ahead of Dane, black wax sloshing in the basin on her back.

Her top mouth opened the call. ”Nine-bell dismantling. Registered buyer enters.”

The middle mouth read the raised letters for Dane. ”Purchased scope: stall fixtures and witness effects. Buyer gait pledged against wrongful damage. Caller bears the rest.”

Mire’s lowest teeth clicked toward the retreating collector’s uneven steps. The bandaged hand smelled freshly opened again.

Four iron cuffs scraped along two rings on the maul shaft. The pair dragging it pulled in different rhythms. The left ring came hard and fast; the right checked once whenever Buk’s litter poles knocked the stone.

”Visor shut, apron measured from collar to boot,” Brant warned. ”Two laborers share the handle. Furnace-scarred at the left ring, mortar packed into the other’s shoulders at right. All four wrists banded.”

The dismantler’s voice arrived behind the tool.

”Front-left joint. Finish the swing.”

The bands cinched. One carrier sucked breath through clenched teeth. The other made a wet sound in the throat and hauled anyway. A brass weight crawled along the handle, ticking faster as the flat face came around.

”Dane, right half-turn,” Ada said. ”You’ll lose the corner if you stay. You’ll lose the axle if you give me more.”

He turned.

His wheels had barely begun their fraction when the maul caught him. The face missed the center of the joint by one finger and caught the rail squarely.

Wood burst where the front-left rail entered his bed. The blow went through living grain, down into his floor, and into every protected hollow beneath it. His rail sagged on a strip of tissue. Before the first pain could finish, the crawling weight reached the maul head.

Something struck inside the iron.

The second blow drove the crushed joint half a finger inward. Dane’s hostile axle loop cinched. The one-grain split pulled at rod one, and Ada answered with both hands on the brace before it could lengthen.

Their next target came at once.

”Litter next.”

Brant’s arm straps creaked as he turned with Buk instead of trying to lift. ”Crawlers, medical stretcher under the perfume roof. Keep the runner level. Laundry pair, take Buk toward the tooth bar. Nobody crosses Dane’s bed.”

Two sets of crawler feet retreated left. The unknown adult’s breathing traveled with them, shallow but unbroken.

”Still no response,” one crawler called.

Buk’s litter went right between the lye-scarred woman and the flat-handed man. Its poles kept an uneven rhythm, every knock deliberate.

Iron rotated in Dane’s broken joint.

The maul’s hollow face opened around his fallen rail and shut with two ridges biting the living wood. The handle dropped. One nail-width of seam opened beneath the joint. Air found tissue that had never felt air.

Hunger found it too.

”Pull.”

Both rings slammed outward. The furnace-scarred carrier planted hard. The mortar-gritted one hesitated at the sound of Buk’s litter, then the cuffs ground against wrist bone and dragged the pull through.

The seam widened to a second nail.

”Dane, intact front-right post,” Vera said. Rope burned through her wrapping with a wet rasp, and fresh blood joined the market smells. ”Let me take the guide left until Ada stops me? Rope only.”

One knock answered through his floor.

”Then don’t close those hands on it,” Ada told her. ”Lean through the forearms.”

Four workers set their weight behind Vera. Across the bed, the coffer’s six feet crowded the side strap.

Buk struck Pell’s meal tab across Mother Kesh’s crossed brooms. ”Awake pair. That strap, this pull, until Vera drops it. Do you choose it?”

One knock came from the front of the coffer. A second answered from the rear.

The maul cuffs rang. Four other patterns repeated the iron’s timing without words or choice. Buk struck tab to brooms again. One coffer foot landed between the false beats, then another. Six legs pushed on the strength of the two answers.

The hollow face stopped peeling Dane open.

”Roof chain,” Brant called. ”Holt, your side.”

Holt caught the awning chain with both forearms. His prayer case sprang open against it. Spent grit skittered through broken wax and vanished under the next laboring step. The case knocked shut with the cut cord and inert fragments still inside.

He heaved.

The violet roof came down on the maul handle.

Glass throats burst along Dane’s left side. A seller screamed, ”Courage, seasickness, first kiss! Masks, you fools!”

The first vapor hit like a stranger’s certainty. The furnace-scarred carrier laughed once, too loud, and dragged until the ring shrieked. The second took a choking breath and vomited across the shaft while the cuffs kept both wrists moving. A brief taste of nervous teeth and rain-damp hair touched Dane’s exposed seam, then broke apart in hot wax before he could give it a face.

Cloth snapped near Buk. The former scheduler shoved the blackened ladle deeper into her coat; its bowl knocked once against a rib.

”My testimony is not a handle.”

”It was purchased as one.” The dismantler struck the maul shaft. ”Split the rings. Bring me the ladle and the litter.”

Both sliding rings shot toward opposite ends. The furnace-scarred carrier was hauled into the scheduler. A banded hand closed on her sleeve while the other passed within a breath of her throat.

”Sleeve,” she said, feet skidding. ”You chose the sleeve. Keep choosing.”

At the far ring, the other carrier caught Buk’s rear pole instead of his injured arm. Vomit hung in every breath.

”Pole,” they managed. ”I’ve got the pole.”

The grip still pulled Buk toward the maul.

The flat-handed man jammed his ruined right palm against the pole end. His fingers stayed flat while the palm stopped the wood from rolling. The lye-scarred woman locked both arms around his waist, and their boots scraped backward together.

Tess’s bad left ankle announced her before her voice. The inert collector cord dragged beside her. Her bitten thumb stayed bound crooked against her palm.

”Those tags buy the dismantler’s feet,” she said. ”Get one onto the tooth bar and that stall can collect the buyer.”

”Can you move it?” Vera asked.

”I cannot command a dead knot.” Cord rasped through Tess’s good hand and her teeth. ”I can still tie one.”

The dismantler heard. Apron cloth swept low over the right boot.

Then the tagged left boot landed on Dane’s intact low side. The little red board laced above it scraped his grain as the dismantler drove the lever down.

Every load-bearing fiber in the crushed joint let go.

The rail fell against his wheel. One narrow living strip kept the dead weight attached. Market air poured through the hollow. Dane tried to take Vera’s guide tension there and found nothing left that could bear it.

”Joint purchased,” the dismantler said, voice still flat. ”Bring the witnesses.”

Mire’s middle mouth repeated the attempted purchase. Her lowest teeth began counting the sounds of damage.

Kril drove both blade limbs into the hollow face beside Dane’s hanging rail. Iron teeth jammed against the blades. The dismantler reversed the handle before Kril could open them, turning the jam into a hook that dragged Dane toward the lane.

Dane moved one slow inch to keep his axle beneath him. The hostile loop sawed at the old split. Ada held rod one up into it. With her other hand she shoved cracked rod two under the maul collar. The black length bent farther and stopped the head from closing on another mouthful of bed.

Voss hooked the furnace-scarred carrier’s sliding ring with his one surviving limb.

”I know which part iron takes first,” he said. ”Keep that shoulder behind the ring and it keeps your hands with the handle.”

Borrowed courage made the answer louder than the fear beneath it. ”Get the damned thing away from my arms.”

The carrier released the scheduler’s sleeve. Voss hauled the ring back toward the maul’s center.

Tess’s one-handed loop brushed the scheduler’s sleeve. ”One tie. You place it. I take it back.”

The scheduler took only the cord beyond the knot.

”I borrow the cord. Nothing else.”

She dropped the loop over the red tag still laced to the left boot. The free end went to the flat-handed survivor, who trapped it beneath his ruined palm against Buk’s litter pole.

They pulled.

The cord bit tag, boot, and ankle together. The planted foot dragged off Dane’s low side, scraped across his front-right corner, and struck the neighboring brass bar. Tension stayed in the line. Lifting that shin now meant lifting Buk’s pole and three braced adults with it.

The dismantler stamped the concealed right tag onto Dane’s low side and swung the maul toward Buk. Both laborers came with the handle. The mortar-gritted carrier lost the rear pole.

Buk fell six inches.

The laundry pair caught the litter before his wounded flank hit stone. Pell’s tab spun away. Holt dived, closed both swollen hands over it, and curled as the tagged boot hammered down beside his head.

The dismantler twisted the heel toward him.

Voss’s cord pull checked the hips. The maul jammed against Kril and rod two. Holt rolled with the tab against his chest while iron scuffed the stone where his ear had been.

”Second tag under the apron,” Tess said. ”Kril, hem only.”

One blade slit cloth, and the red board slapped free above the right boot. Vera sent the guide rope around the ankle. Its bight struck iron and fell behind the heel. She kicked the loose side across the instep; Voss moved his hook from the sliding ring and caught it, making the loop cinch when the dismantler tried to step.

”Coffer,” Brant called. ”Same push, new rope. Awake pair, will you take it until Vera releases?”

The front knock came first. A rear answer landed under the maul’s buck; four habitual rhythms followed the cuffs, but the six feet drove only after the two chosen knocks.

Fighting for the right leg, the dismantler hauled the maul toward Holt. Kril’s blades held the collar; rod two bowed; the left cord dragged across the bar without losing tension. Dane turned beneath the planted boot, one inch of living surface moving where a quick fighter expected stone.

”Split holds at one grain,” Ada said. ”Finish this inch. No more.”

The right boot slid from Dane and hit brass beside the left.

”Both tags flat,” Tess called. ”Both still laced. Left shin under the near jaw. Right under the far.”

The lure kindled through Dane without his consent. Gold warmth rushed along his low side, found the two red boards, and made both hum against the sale bar.

The tooth stall woke.

Two sets of metal molars clashed at mid-shin. The left leg broke first, one heavy crack followed by a thinner snap that Dane felt through the taut cord. Blood struck his front corner hot enough to wake his mouth.

”Left tibia through the apron,” Ada said. ”Fibula broken and lodged beneath the outer calf skin.”

The far jaw closed a fraction higher. Three hard failures ran up the right shin. A fourth snapped below the knee. Something wet struck cloth, then three glass seals behind the post.

”Right tibia broken in three places, fibula snapped clean below the knee, and an open shard has gone through trouser and muscle,” Ada called.

Soup warmth flooded the lane. It carried the first mouthful after famine, so precious that Dane’s hunger tried to swallow the smell. A child’s last loose tooth followed as a phantom root ache. Then rain touched his exposed joint, cold and impossible, carrying eleven years of waiting beneath stone.

He kept his mouth shut.

The clamp ratchets dragged backward, and one post groaned inward under the dismantler’s torque. Both lower legs folded out while the knees stayed forward. The scream above them rang all nine bells.

”Knees seated. Thighs intact,” Ada said. ”Do not open either jaw. The clamps are holding the bleeding. Open them without a healer and this person dies.”

The maul handle hit stone.

Kril twisted the unloaded collar. The hollow face released Dane’s hanging rail, and its central completion tooth sprang beneath the dismantler’s hand.

The flat-handed survivor struck it with the full face of his ruined palm. Voss caught the tooth on his hook. Kril cut one retaining cord, crossed the shaft, and cut the second.

Four cuffs opened. Iron hit stone around two pairs of free wrists.

From between the clamps, the dismantler dragged air into a command. ”Take the handle. Complete it.”

The left cuff rattled with the first carrier’s shaking. Their boots backed away from the maul.

”Keep your maul. I need my arms.”

”Both hands empty,” Brant said.

The other carrier retched once more. Their voice came from beside Buk’s litter.

”He stays there. I’m done pulling anything for you.”

Mire’s middle mouth recorded the abandoned hire. Neither adult touched the handle again.

”Medical stretcher,” Brant called.

”Level,” a crawler answered from beneath the fallen awning. ”Breathing. No response.”

”Buk?”

”Still disagreeable,” Buk said, breath tight. ”My tab?”

Holt crawled the last pace and pressed Pell’s meal tab back into his grip. ”Hold it better. I have one dive left and no knees to waste.”

Cord fibers rasped free of the trapped tag. The scheduler let the loop strike stone beside Tess’s good hand; her ladle remained quiet beneath her coat.

”Your knot,” she said. ”Nothing else.”

Tess retrieved it without asking for more.

Mire called the medics first.

A flat carry board struck stone beside the clamps. Rigid splints knocked onto it, compression cloth rasped open, and two long keys touched the jaw locks. Ada kept every tool outside until the splints were bound above and below each ruined shin. The dismantler stayed conscious, breath scraping through the visor.

At Ada’s count, the medics took the bleeding into their cloth and turned both keys together. The molar jaws opened. The fractures held their shapes and the torn flesh stayed open. The team lifted the dismantler onto the board with knees and thighs aligned, then carried them away from the three stalls. Reconstruction, if Candle Row could buy it, remained ahead.

The opened clamps dripped onto their posts; one hinge scraped at its new inward angle. Mire’s middle mouth ordered the maul, four opened cuffs, fired completion tooth, and two cut cords left in the lane for assessment.

Only then did Mire begin charging the caller. Her high mouth sent the fallen perfume roof, broken sensation throats, released hire, and the enforcer’s removal after the collector’s uneven retreat. Her middle mouth left the tooth stall open against the hands that had deliberately presented the tags.

The caller answered with retreat. Two quick footsteps became three, then vanished behind the stalls.

Dane felt what the victory had cost him. His front-left rail hung from one living strip and knocked his wheel whenever he moved. Rod one remained under the hostile loop and the one-grain, two-finger split while rod two stayed bent beneath the open collar. Every older wound still hurt in exactly the same place.

Four cheek hinges clicked from the tooth stall. Wrapped molars rattled at their owner’s chest as the trader approached the bent post.

”Two claim clamps full of another buyer’s blood,” the trader said. ”One post pulled inward. Three seals opened without buyers. First soup after famine, a child’s last baby tooth, and rain after eleven years below.”

Holt closed his depleted prayer case. ”Can any of them be put back?”

The four hinges opened together.

”Can you put rain back in a throat?”

Holt’s depleted case clicked against Buk’s litter pole. He had no answer.

”Next bell, this stall is compensated,” the trader said. ”I will not take a worker, a patient, or a responsive coffer. Bring a witnessed return of personal metal given back while its keeper was hungry. The witnesses must prove ownership and return were separate choices. Miss the bell, and I price the stall sentence.”

Far above Candle Row, a brass ring answered once.

Then again, nearer, descending through the market chain.