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

Istra’s first contact stopped beside Dane’s sound wheel. The other five settled one after another, each strike softer than the last.

“Take the wall,” she said. “Leave the door.”

Harl moved past her and crouched at the bend. His knuckles brushed planks, then salt. “Downhill wall is cracked from the floor to the roof. Door faces the road, shut tight. No daylight underneath.”

Buk’s litter creaked behind Dane. “Is that a roof or a lid?”

Vera leaned for a better angle. “Roof. The far half is taking the weight.”

His broom lowered against the litter poles. “Buk has finished with lids.”

Kril worked a sheathed blade from his belt without lifting his raw left shoulder. Harl took it by the leather and pushed the tip into the wall crack.

“Loose at the bottom,” he said. “If this side comes out, nobody follows it in.”

Hest planted her rake beneath the split plank. Her fixed left hand stayed closed around the shaft. Marda slipped the shortened guide through a gap higher up and took the loop across her healthy left forearm.

Hest’s chin clicked.

Marda waited until after it. “Now.”

The rake rose. The guide pulled. Nails came out of wet wood with three separate shrieks, and the downhill panel fell outward onto the salt.

Cold air crossed Dane and entered the shed.

A ladle tapped twice inside.

One bowl scraped over a table.

“Shift your elbow. That’s hers.”

The second voice came from nearer the stove. “Istra said after the west pin.”

“Then leave the lid on.”

The shed went quiet.

Istra’s last contact stopped before it reached the fallen panel.

Dorrin drew a breath that caught halfway through his chest. Ada steadied him at the elbow without turning him from the opening.

“Same space between the bowl and the first word,” he said. “Same breath before the second.”

“Stay where the floor is salt,” Ada said.

Dorrin’s boots ground into salt as he spread his splintered fingers against his coat and stayed where Ada had put him.

Harl slid Kril’s sheath through the opening. Leather rasped over one groove, bumped wood, and caught in another farther east.

Vera spoke from Dane’s good side. “Low stove at the back. Bench in the wall. Three bowls. The coats are sunk into the boards.”

The sheath crossed the floor again.

“Two drags,” Harl said. “Adult width. Both run out through the wall we dropped.”

He stopped speaking to move the blade. Its tip clicked against metal inside the shed.

“Three black plates in the floor,” Vera said. “Set between teeth.”

Istra reached the fallen panel. Five contacts held on open salt. The sixth hovered over the black-gold seam at the shed’s edge.

Harl laid his free hand on her missing left arc. He kept his fingers on plate and away from the open flesh above it. The sheath moved against the first buried fragment.

“This break is yours,” he said. “The road scar continues across it.”

He marked the length with his thumb and carried it to the next empty place along her side. It ended beneath the wet edge of her oldest scar.

“All three fill the missing run,” Vera said.

Harl returned the sheath to the floor. “The center gouge is the old brace width.”

He pushed the leather tip into a narrow channel, then shifted it to a second. “Heel tracks. Both stop at the teeth.”

Ada crouched near Istra’s human waist. “The scar above those gaps came before the fusion line.”

Harl dragged the sheath outward along one of the wider marks. The scrape softened near the broken wall.

“This one ends in a boot print,” he said. He found the other. “Second one does too. Two people came out and put their feet down.”

The leather tip returned to the middle. Metal received it with a deep knock.

“Both load marks start here,” Harl said. “One went each way. The brace stayed in the bite.”

Istra lowered her sixth contact.

Harl caught her forearm. “Let me test the plate.”

“You measured it.”

The contact touched the exposed floor edge.

The seam under Dane’s sound wheel snapped tight.

He struck one warning knock. Black-gold force ran beneath his axle toward the shed, taking salt with it.

“Istra, back!” Vera shouted.

Three buried plates turned in the floor. Their broken edges entered the gaps along Istra’s left side with the sound of knives dropped into a drawer. Her six contacts skipped; five caught open road, and the last vanished under the fallen panel.

The panel began folding upright.

Dane drove across it.

His sound wheel climbed the loose sill and pinned the plank against salt. The late wheel struck a breath afterward. Pain opened through the old right split, sharp enough to turn the fixed supper voices into a single distant murmur.

The panel bucked beneath him. He kept his mouth shut and put wounded Wagon weight into wood, not the blood that had begun running down Istra’s plates.

“One contact is keyed into the floor,” Vera said. “Her left side is moving in.”

Istra’s five free plates spread until their edges cut white fans through the salt. Her torso bent away from the shed. The old seam above the trapped gap pulled open and laid a warm pulse into the road under Dane.

Harl drove the sheathed blade between the first old fragment and a floor tooth.

“I can bring them out along the break,” he said. “Hold this angle.”

The floor drew Istra another finger inward. One free contact folded, caught again, and left a black streak behind it.

“Across,” she said.

Harl’s blade stopped. “Across snaps them.”

The clamp pulled. Blood touched the fallen panel and worked into Dane’s wheel grain.

Istra put both hands on her own left-side plate. “Turn it across.”

Harl changed the sheath angle.

The shed roof dropped on the sound side. Hest thrust her rake beneath the falling rafter. Its weight entered her fixed hand and drove her bare heels backward.

At the stove, an iron leg punched through the broken wall. Marda caught it with the shortened guide and pulled the loop across her left hip before it could bar the opening.

“Your roof,” she told Hest.

Hest’s jaw clicked against the load. “Your stove.”

Inside, the ladle tapped twice.

The bowl scraped at the same distance from the first tap.

“Shift your elbow. That’s hers.”

The same pause passed.

“Istra said after the west pin.”

Istra hauled against five contacts. Harl levered crosswise.

The first buried plate bent in the middle. Its route scar split with a high iron cry. A floor tooth tore free and struck the inside of the stove.

The clamp tried to close deeper around the next missing space.

Istra twisted her torso until the oldest scar pulled white at one edge and wet at the other. The second plate sheared across its road name. Her trapped contact came halfway out with a strip of black floor wrapped around it.

“Then leave—”

The third fragment broke.

Istra ripped backward.

Five contacts struck salt together. The sixth came out under her, still joined to her body and dragging two floor teeth through the opening. She drove it down. The teeth punched through the fallen panel inches from Dane’s wheel.

The remembered voice lost the rest of its sentence in the collapse.

Kril’s sheath struck salt as Harl rolled clear. Beneath Hest’s shove, the split rafter fell inward; Marda dragged the stove leg through the room and cleared the opening. Roof and stove tore free from opposite walls.

Istra caught the exposed clamp between three front contacts and three rear ones.

“Move the Wagon,” Ada called. “She has six under her.”

Dane reversed off the sill. The late wheel dropped hard enough to rattle every support plate. Ada’s hand struck the outer wedge, followed it through one shiver, and kept it seated.

The loosened wall snapped upright as Istra pulled the clamp the other way.

Floorboards split from stove to door. The bench came out of the wall in one long piece and broke across the two old drag grooves. Bowls rolled from a table that no longer met its legs. The ordinary plank door fell inward with its latch still shut.

Every torn joint stayed open.

The smell of old onions thinned in the cold air. Silence replaced chair creak and ladle.

Harl recovered the sheathed blade and pressed its side against the broken floor joint. The dead edges shifted apart under his thumb and stayed there.

The three old brace fragments lay in six pieces among the teeth.

His hand stayed around Kril’s sheath.

Ada waited until Istra had planted each contact separately. “Six. The left seam is open where it was open before.”

“Then bind the upper edge,” Istra said. “The plates need the gap.”

Ada used a narrow dry wrap and left black-gold metal exposed. Istra watched the ruined floor rather than her hands.

Dorrin stood at the broken wall. Both splintered palms remained against his own coat.

“The supper won’t start again,” he said.

Harl pushed the stove half away from the floor. “There is no room left to remember it.”

Istra turned north on six contacts.

Dane’s wheel had not completed its first straight turn when the black-gold seam beneath the wreck jerked away from the dead shed. Salt jumped along the bend in a narrow line. The pull traveled north under the road and took the buried end of the seam with it.

Harl’s sheath followed half a finger before he snatched it clear.

The shed pieces stayed dead.

Istra set all six contacts after the moving load.