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

The central mouth caught the return rope before Torven’s name finished crossing the water.

The line bowed low over Dane’s rear rail. Its pull drove the protective shell plate between two riders’ shoulders until one adult rolled the curve beneath the cord.

”Rope’s cutting my forearm,” they called. ”Lift the near end.”

Flat Hands and Kril answered through the line. Near tension raised the rope; the drowned pull dragged the plate after it, grinding shell across Dane’s open grain.

Torven spoke from the spindle. His voice held the calm of a man correcting familiar work.

”Lower the rear plate three fingers. Let the draw carry it for you.”

The rider shoved the curve higher instead.

Iron struck beneath the water.

Orsa’s broken pole rang near stone. ”Wooden core rising under your rear. Fixed lift. It drops and takes the same path again.”

Wet silt packed around the core and drove it upward beneath the plate. The rider let one edge climb, then rolled the shell out of the stroke before the lift could throw Dane’s rear over his front.

The core fell. Its impact shook his intact rail and reset below the rope.

A red crossbar clanged under Torven’s boot.

Stone opened ahead of Dane. An iron core came down hard enough to whistle through the fungal air.

”Above your front!” Marda shouted.

The adults there raised a shell plate. Iron met curved shell and burst one paired filter hole. The impact folded their elbows against their chests and drove both shoulders into Dane.

”Hole split,” one said through clenched teeth.

”Keep the good one outside your hand,” the other answered. ”It can split after we live.”

Something swept low across Dane’s open center. Four kicking shins struck it almost together. Bone thudded on wet iron. The bare-heeled adult lost the broken rail and folded over their knees with a sound too raw to be a word.

The sweep cleared Dane’s damaged quarter.

A hooked red handle rose into the old RIGHT-side axle split.

It scraped rod one and stopped at the established depth. The fixed lift continued. Iron used the inside of Dane’s wound as a lever.

Pain crossed his Wagon grain in one white strike. His right plane climbed around the hook while the taut rope held his rear down. Six bodies slid toward the trapped quarter, medicine and shell moving with them.

”Hook is in him,” the adult guarding Ada’s parcel shouted. The freed shoulder stayed close to their ribs; the good hand drove the medicine toward Dane’s sound side. ”Get your hips left.”

The bleeding adult moved first, leaving a warm line across Dane’s open surface. Another rider dragged the loose shell outward. Bare heels found water again and kicked despite the iron-bruised shins.

Dane moved his ballast less than a handspan. The roll slowed. The red hook turned inside the split and made every hidden tooth bite down on empty grain.

The near line jerked sideways.

A chin-click came through the cord before Orsa shouted, ”Hest at the maintenance cut. Wet left hand. Her rake is under our clean rope.”

The curved hook caught one strand and began the same precise rescue draw Hest had used before. It pulled the line toward the gray water feeding the channel.

Hest’s voice carried above the strain. ”The low draw needs one hand, Marda. Your high root will load every back you have.”

”I have the dry tail,” Marda said. ”Use the high root. I know who is holding it.”

Rope scraped over higher iron. Flat Hands changed his pull, and the line climbed across Dane’s rear instead of following Hest’s rake down.

Orsa’s broken pole struck the rake neck with a ring that reached Dane through the cord. Kril’s blade spine followed beneath the curve. The fixed draw took half a step of slack before Marda’s new angle stopped it.

”Hook is one finger above gray,” Orsa said. ”Keep it dry.”

Hest pulled with the wet fixed hand. ”Your people will tear their shoulders.”

”They’ll tell me,” Marda said. ”You don’t get to choose the pain for them.”

The wooden draw struck again beneath Dane’s rear plate.

This time the rider’s bruised forearm slipped. The shell went up, hit the rope, and spun away on its lash. The clean cord dropped a handspan toward the central mouth.

”Plate loose!”

The adult with the freed shoulder caught the lash with the good hand. The medicine slid toward their bad side. They trapped the bundle with one knee, losing the hip position that had kept Dane level.

The overhead chop followed the exposed line.

Its iron core hit the front plate through the widened hole. Shell snapped around the gap and hammered one rider’s knuckles against Dane. The plate stayed in their hands, but its near edge folded low enough for the next sweep to take the broken reed rail out of reach.

The low iron passed through six legs. Shins lifted; heels lost water. Human weight crossed Dane’s center just as the red hook drove his damaged quarter higher.

His right plane went under on the far side of the lift.

Water covered the bleeding adult’s mouth. The cough that followed brought red warmth and black water onto Dane’s hidden teeth.

His chest wanted one hard closure. Walls gathered around the low bodies. A lid formed above six throats, promising the brutal stability of a shut box.

Dane forced every hinge beneath the surface.

The Coffin warmth had nowhere to rise. It spread flat under the adults instead, carrying their shoulders while their arms stayed free.

”My grip’s gone,” the bruised rider said at Dane’s rear. ”Rope is dropping.”

Dane pushed grain upward beneath the hand that still held. A low wooden channel followed the cord, lifting it away from mouth and axle without closing over the forearm.

The front plate bent again. Dane thickened the Door-derived waterline under its broken hole. Below the surface, the edge divided and caught the chop’s downward force as two shallow keels.

The hooked lift twisted his right side as one rider moved hips across his dead grain and another sculled with the intact shell. The bare-heeled adult drove both sore legs into the current, missed one stroke, swore, and found the next. Grain answered only where each hand, elbow, or heel supplied pressure.

Six separate grips rose low beneath six chosen holds.

Stall-fine ribs joined the new keels below the loose plates. Wagon support settled around the old split, dead rail, late wheel, and rod one without changing any of them.

The red hook still hurt. The new surface stayed open.

/==[ Form Response ]==\

| Form Earned: Open Hull

| Surface: Water Only

| Deck: Open

| Capacity: Six Voluntary Active Adults + Permitted Visible Cargo

| Motion: External / Cooperative

| High-Load Coordination: Unavailable Afloat

\==[ Rank / Control / Cognition Unchanged ]==/

The damaged chop came down before the last line faded.

Dane angled his new left keel into it.

Iron drove him lower, but the open deck stopped rolling. The rider at his front spat water and laughed once in disbelief.

”He held us.”

”Then move him,” the bleeding adult said.

The central mouth supplied the forward draw. Flat Hands gave one arm’s length of clean slack. Six riders supplied everything else: the intact shell dug on Dane’s right, the widened-hole shell dragged shallow on his left, the rear plate lifted the rope, and sore heels beat water until his blunt prow turned toward the spindle.

At the near channel, Hest’s rake scraped bare stone.

”Still dry,” Orsa called. ”Her right hand is off.”

The precise draw died short of the gray feed while Hest’s fixed wet left hand remained on the rake.

”High root wastes strength,” Hest said.

Marda kept the line there. ”It belongs to them.”

Dane crossed the circular pool.

Torven moved both handles; twin iron strikes reached Dane through the water. The surviving cores gathered for another cycle.

”Both shell strokes together,” Torven called. ”Let my hook carry his wounded side.”

The rider with the widened hole answered first. ”Call your own handles. We have ours.”

Their plate bit early and pulled Dane’s stern left. The opposite shell waited, then drove his front toward the spindle. At the rear, the rope guard raised the clean cord while the adult with the freed shoulder hugged Ada’s parcel to sound grain. Bare heels kicked between the low sweep’s returns.

The broken reed floated against Dane’s prow. The bleeding adult caught it and felt along the red-ribbed spindle as the hub turned.

”Open ribs on the next handle knock,” they called. ”I’ll put the rail between them.”

Dane held his deck open and aimed the blunt prow at the sound beneath Torven’s hands.

Two handle knocks.

Split reed entered the red ribs. Dane hit the hub.

The impact drove the hostile hook against rod one’s limit. Pain blew through his right quarter and left his new keel shuddering under six adults. The rail bent double inside the spindle. One drive rod sheared with a crack that traveled through every mouth.

The chopping core tore free of its socket. Its silt arm collapsed across Dane as heavy mud, burying the front rider to the waist. Another rod punched through the spindle floor and sent one handle snapping back to ring empty.

The remaining low sweep kept moving.

It hit the widened-hole plate and ripped the lash through the broken opening. The rider held an empty cord. Shell spun away, and Dane’s left keel took the next iron pass without its brace.

”One mouth dead,” Brant called. ”Three rods still turning. Torven left the near handle.”

Wet boots struck the tilting spindle and carried through the bent rail into Dane’s prow. A palm slapped stone above the water. Orsa’s call kept pace with the impacts. ”Both handles empty. He’s taking the older stair.”

The central draw pulled Dane’s prow deeper into the split hub. Near hands pulled his rear away. Opposed force held him on the broken rail and ground the red ribs into his open keel.

The near line offered retreat.

The bleeding adult tightened both hands on the bent rail. ”Again while it’s inside.”

”Medicine tied,” the freed-shoulder adult said. The injured arm stayed against their ribs. ”My good hand is free.”

At the rear, the bruised rider lifted the rope into Dane’s wooden channel. ”Line clear.”

Dane knocked once through his sound keel and kept his prow against the hub.

Flat Hands understood the hold. Kril and Lye Scar stopped taking line. Current loaded Dane forward until Brant gave one sharp call.

”Haul.”

Near rope snapped tight. The intact shell sculled hard on Dane’s right. Bare heels churned. The loose plate with the broken hole returned on its lash long enough for one adult to fold it over the low sweep and ride the core down.

Dane chose the second impact.

His blunt prow drove the bent rail through the hub. Human sculling broke one red rod at its collar, near-line pull broke another, and Dane’s keel took the last while the central mouth dragged the opposite way.

Every fixed stroke lost its wet core.

Iron fell below the feeds. The lift vanished from the hostile hook, leaving red metal lodged and painful beside rod one. The low sweep became a dead bar. Silt that had carried the draw and chop collapsed into grit-heavy water across Dane’s open deck.

The return rope rose as the central mouth folded inward.

Pressure left the distant short drain. Voss’s hook knocked free against stone; two awake coffer feet stepped out of their hold while four habitual legs kept retreating until Marda caught the frame.

”Outer seams are lying down,” Marda called. ”Thirty-two still high. Six still breathing.”

Orsa dipped her broken pole into the exposed feed and scraped it across bare stone. The report came without triumph.

”Black water. No gray film. Those mouths can’t take another hand.”

Four separate pulls vanished from around Dane’s waterline. Mud and fallen cores knocked against his new keels, then settled. Three loose shell plates held their human-chosen places: two against his sides and one under the rope. Ada’s parcel stayed dry on the open deck.

Warm blood still reached Dane from the hairline cut. The freed shoulder stayed close. All six riders kept their grips by choice.

Rake pressure drained from the clean rope. Hest’s chin-click repeated farther inside the same maintenance cut, followed by a heel splashing beyond the bend.

”Hest is clear of the line,” Marda called.

Each of Torven’s wet steps struck a lower stair beneath the ruined spindle. The vibration reached Dane through his keel, smaller every time.

Dane held the open surface level while the sound sank below the stair. The red catch remained beside rod one, painful and still. Behind Torven, the four outer mouths stayed full of broken iron.