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

The buried seam pulled Harl’s sheath again before he had both hands around it.

He wrenched the leather free. Black-gold scraped north under Dane’s sound wheel, dragging a thin ridge through the salt. The ridge reached the bend and kept going.

”It will bury itself again. Move with it,” Istra said.

Dane’s rear line tightened. His late wheel rolled across the seam’s wake while the old split worked against its lash. Boots drove him after the sound. Behind his right quarter, Istra’s six contacts landed in a ragged sequence; the three on her left still arrived late.

Water struck stone ahead in a narrow fall.

The coffer entered sideways. A front foot climbed while the rear four backed, tipping Buk’s litter until water slapped across his face.

”Turn Buk over,” he sputtered. ”His back is still dry.”

Black-gold bucked against the road. The seam had been moving in one smooth draw; now it struck, released, and struck again. Each release sent a wet shiver through Dane’s wheel.

”Its skin is coming off the stone,” Vera said. She had moved ahead on his sound side. ”Only where the water hits.”

Harl dropped beside the fall. His sheath touched rock, slid, then stopped beneath metal that bent without ringing.

”I have a braid.” He lifted.

The road answered under Dane. A broad floor knock came from beyond Harl’s hands. An iron ring struck salt nearer the group.

Harl’s breath left him. ”Door moved with it.”

One of Istra’s front contacts came down on the dry side of the pull. The braid stopped retreating.

Harl lifted again. Floor and iron ring answered together.

”One root for both. Hold it,” Istra said.

Hest’s rake scraped past Harl and caught under the lifted strands. Its handle twisted in the left hand that had not opened since the Sump. Marda drove the guide beside the rake head.

Wood rose around both tools.

The iron ring lifted from the road with a door behind it. Hinges opened toward Dane. Floorboards pressed up beneath Harl’s knees, then ran inward around the black-gold braid.

Dorrin coughed against Ada’s shoulder. ”Road door. That one opened out.”

The braid jerked north. Hest went to one knee rather than let the rake turn her fixed hand.

Harl snatched the coiled continuation tail, shoved it through the exterior ring, and threw the free end across Dane’s lid. Dane caught the ordinary rope, curled his tongue around it, and set the line behind his front teeth.

”I can’t roll it from out here,” Harl said.

The forming floor climbed past his boots.

Hest crossed the sill with the rake still pulling her left arm. Marda’s guide rolled toward that wrist.

”It’ll take the shoulder first,” Marda said.

Hest planted a bare heel inside. ”Then change it.”

Marda followed. Harl ducked through after them with his sheath beneath the braid.

The door tried to come home.

Rope snapped straight across Dane’s tongue. Hest’s bare feet, Marda’s boot and guide, then Harl’s sheath and heels struck the inner floor. Their positions traveled through the door ring into Dane’s mouth.

Hunger arranged them behind his teeth.

The tail held only the door, yet his body pulled as if warm wrists might come with it. Dane forced the rope outward and kept the leaf open.

Water continued beneath the sill. It struck the exposed braid, and every wet contact came loose with a soft tearing noise. The floor curved upward around the stream. The water’s note thinned.

”It’s squeezing the run shut,” Vera called.

Inside, Harl’s sheath struck black-gold twice.

”The braid turns toward the road. Hest, lift your—”

The floor caught his near boot. The door drove into him before the sentence finished.

His shin struck the sill with a thick crack. Harl shouted once. Leather creaked under the boards; blood reached the spring water and passed beneath Dane as a thin iron smell.

”Boot’s held,” Harl said through his teeth. ”Door’s on the leg.”

Hest hauled across him; the root reversed the rake and slammed her left shoulder into wood. Her hand stayed shut.

”Her grip won’t open,” Vera said. ”The handle is turning the arm.”

Marda rammed the guide across the rake handle. The roll struck her wrapped right palm. Cloth split wet.

She pulled that hand away. ”Right’s done. Give me the low side.”

Hest’s breath broke into short sounds while Marda shifted the guide to her left hip.

From inside came a heel knocking once against floorboards. A poker scraped through coals. The latch lifted against the rope in Dane’s mouth.

”Mind the mat,” a man’s tired voice said from inside. ”It catches when it’s wet.”

The root wrenched Hest’s rake through the hearth. Iron scattered coals. Her fixed knuckles scraped stone and opened with a wet rasp, but the hand held. One coal came out with the rake head, skipped across the spring line, and rolled onto dry salt beside Istra’s front contacts.

Marda paused at the old turn, waiting for Hest’s left hand to change.

Orsa struck her healthy shoulder against the exposed braid outside.

”She can’t give you that turn,” Orsa said. ”Move before the water goes.”

Marda drove from her left hip.

The root shifted one finger toward the road.

Lye’s long right step landed behind Orsa. Serrick joined with his shoulder, both damaged hands held against his chest. The black-gold strands came another finger into open water and stuck there.

”Wet line is closing,” Vera said. ”Two fingers—”

A plate strike cut across her last word. One black-gold contact passed through the falling water and seated on the dry join beyond. Gold flashed along the thread at Istra’s waist.

Moisture fled that single joint. Pale salt-metal opened inside it and cracked across the braid. Istra’s five other contacts dug grooves in the road. Blood ran from the upper edge of her wrapped left seam.

The gold stopped. A shorter line remained lit against her side.

The door took a handspan of rope from Dane.

His tongue burned beneath the tail. The late wheel slid; the outer wedge chattered, and the wounded right quarter bent until the old Hull scar found its half-angle. The split drew open along the same torn line. Hot grain dragged beneath his band.

The rake beat carried Hest’s racing pulse. Marda slipped and recovered while Harl’s pinned leg struck the sill again.

Dane bit the rope until fiber entered the cut beside his tooth. He drove his sound wheel crosswise against mineral and shortened the tail by the width the door had stolen.

Harl roared and turned the sheath.

The inner braid rolled under Marda’s guide, and Hest’s rake tore sideways through the salted fracture.

Outside, Orsa’s shoulder dropped. Lye’s right boot drove behind her; Serrick’s shoulder struck half a beat later.

The braid surged through the sill. Wet fibers slapped Dane’s wheel, pale salt shards peppered his lid, and half the floor hit the rope before he could separate one break from the next.

Harl’s boot tore free. He came out on one leg and struck the salt beside Dane, blood running from his crushed shin into the spring.

Marda backed through with the guide across her body. The door caught its far end; she changed her hip and ripped it clear.

Hest reached the sill last.

The rake remained buried in the root. Her fixed left hand pulled her shoulder back toward the hearth while the door folded against her ribs.

Marda wedged the guide beneath the handle and drove from her left side. The changed angle lifted both of Hest’s bare feet and threw her out still holding the rake.

One breath of rope left Dane. The door slammed through the space her hips had occupied and tore loose with the rest of the floor.

The whole braid struck open salt and curled north with the rake hook still inside. Hest slid after it on one hip, her fixed arm stretched straight toward the coal in its path.

Orsa hauled away from the spring as Marda struck the handle again. Rolling onto her knees, Hest drove the hook down.

The opened root folded over the coal.

Water smothered the first orange edge. Steam spat from the wet side while the salted side broke into white-edged cracks. Black resin bubbled between them and fed the coal.

Flame broke out under Hest’s rake.

The root thrashed against Orsa’s pull. Istra stood over the dry joint on six contacts and spent no more gold. Harl, breathing through his teeth, got both hands back on the sheath and held the curling end away from the water.

Lamp oil reached Dane in the smoke; bitter resin filled the next breath.

Beside the fire, Vera said, ”The square road mark is blistering off.”

An unseen latch lifted into emptiness.

Farther inside the collapsing wood, the waystation bell began one stroke. Its tongue met metal without a chamber around it. The note died before it could ring.

The braid sagged beneath the rake. Gold-black strips became dull slag. Pale salt burst from the seams and fell through ash.

Dorrin listened until the last hearth crackle stopped.

The burned floor stayed flat.

Harl drew the continuation tail through the dead ring, loose and weightless.

Under Dane’s wheels, the surviving black-gold seam wrenched north. It reached back once through the road, found slag and ash, and left both behind.