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

Wind found every place Brackenvault’s stone had taught Dane to protect.

It slipped under his cradle, cooled the raw strip along his lower base, and tugged at the old blood in his hinge. Nothing overhead returned the runner’s tick or the coffer’s six-footed scrape. The sounds went up and kept going.

”Ravine on the north edge,” Brant said. His shield rim struck road on that side. ”South ridge climbs to the shortcut. Candle Row is four hundred shelf paces ahead.”

Tess limped toward the rising shoulder. Her right boot tested the first step; her injured left ankle stayed on the road. ”The ridge cuts the distance in half. First rise needs two hooks. After that, one leg at a time.”

”Buk’s litter goes upright,” one cellar crawler said. ”Our runner goes over.”

The responsive coffer tried one short leg against the rise. Wood knocked stone, slipped, and came down where it had started.

Voss tapped his only good hook against the step. His two old reinforced splints dragged behind him, along with the bound stump where his other good leg had ended.

”Mine can climb twice,” he said. ”After that, the stump takes a turn. Try not to rush it.”

Nobody laughed. Tess rubbed her bad ankle against the shelf.

”The ridge leaves Voss, both litters, and the coffer,” she said. ”So the ridge can be quick by itself.”

”Shelf wind will load your bad facet on every turn,” Vera told Dane. The external guide rope creaked between her wrapped palms. ”I can pull the yaw back while my grip holds. The edge stays on your right.”

Dane raised the knee-high side along his left and tipped it away from the ridge.

Brant set his shield against his hip, keeping the useless right arm down and the splinted left forearm clear. ”Litters behind that board. Holt and I take the front crossbar with shoulders and legs. Kril takes rear. Voss, keep Vera’s line off the stone.”

The two crawlers settled the unknown adult’s runner behind Dane’s left side. Ada tucked the linen away from his mouth and listened until the next breath came. Flat Hands and Lye Scar lifted Buk between them. The former scheduler walked beside the low-status workers with the steam-black ladle charm wound twice around her wrist.

White grit shifted inside Holt’s prayer case when he leaned both forearms against the crossbar. No bead clicked with it.

Buk faced the coffer. ”Quick worker, will you take the middle of the shelf until Holt calls stop? One yes, two no.”

One knock answered from the front.

”Slow worker, same road and same stop.”

Four old work scrapes passed before one deliberate knock sounded deeper in the wooden body. The coffer stepped between the workers on all six legs.

Brant drove with his hip and legs. Holt’s forearms loaded beside him. Kril hit the rear crossbar while Voss’s one hook drew the guide line straight. Dane’s two unfinished lower curves rolled.

The right-rear facet struck stone. One hard thump kicked the cradle toward the ravine; Vera’s rope took the weight and brought it back far enough that Buk’s litter pole only brushed Dane’s board.

They found a crooked rhythm: shoulders drove, the bad facet struck, and Vera’s rope dragged the cradle true before the next shove. Buk counted the turns under his breath while the wind dried black runoff from Dane’s grain.

At sixty paces, three high strings began to sing above the shelf. Two lower notes carried the stink of hot pitch.

”Five frames,” the former scheduler called. ”Three closed claim circles. Two fire.”

Bronze rattled from the south ridge. A split cage answered with its old bell-metal ring; farther along the same ridge, a braced road-shoe scraped twice and stopped.

”The two wardens from the canyon,” Voss said. ”Cage and shoe.”

”Cage has two claim reels tight,” the former scheduler said. ”Third is slack. The shoe brace fixes their fire on the south approach.”

Dry iron pattered across the crown of the shelf. One piece struck Dane’s left curve and spun away on four points. More bounced toward the ravine edge.

”Keep north of the crown line,” Brant said. He turned his shield with his hip. ”Make the fire cross the iron to reach us.”

The column shifted. Dane’s facet kicked against the change and nearly rolled his front curve onto a caltrop. Flat Hands stamped it clear without lowering Buk. A coffer leg touched another point, recoiled, and waited until an awake knock chose bare stone.

”They can hang that line over us until the road fills,” Tess said. Her injured foot had already begun feeling behind her for retreat. ”We move, or the shelf closes under our feet.”

Pitch heat answered her. The fire tail scraped road, then passed under Voss’s three useless legs. Kril caught the rear of Voss’s harness and hauled him bodily forward. Flame missed skin and stump, but the oldest reinforced splint dragged through the heat. Its outer binding blackened and filled the air with cooked resin.

Voss’s good hook never left the guide line. His whole weight yanked it low while Kril’s second shove struck the rear brace.

Living grain pushed out of Dane’s exposed right edge. The growth rose one thumb above the curve and trembled there, enough to shelter a dropped coin while anyone behind it still burned.

”Fire frame climbing back south,” the former scheduler called. ”Still on its reel.”

A fresh bronze note struck Dane’s right-rear facet and wrapped around it. Wind took the tether before the cradle completed its next turn.

The guide rope tore through Vera’s wraps. Dane’s right side lifted; the shelf under that curve lost its solid answer. The ravine pulled cold air beneath him.

”Two paces to the edge,” Vera said. Her heels scraped for purchase. ”Let the facet kick once. When its line slackens, everybody gives me left.”

Brant drove the front toward the drop with his hip. Holt went with him on forearms and shoulder. Kril wedged both blade limbs beneath the rear bar, and Voss lowered his body across the guide rope.

Dane allowed the bad handspan to fall.

The tether’s song dipped. Vera hauled left. Brant, Holt, and Kril reversed together, ugly and late, while the workers behind the board fought to keep both litters level.

Dane’s lower curve trapped bronze against the road.

The next forced rotation drew the filament around his right rear. It cut one cord-wide path through living grain. Black blood and wet wood pulp packed the line, then squeezed out as the bronze kept moving. Pain circled him from base to mouth and back again. The palm-wide facet lengthened beneath the saw by half a finger.

Ada drove rod one beneath the tether where stone had flattened it. ”Bronze is soft at the bend. Lift now and it stays soft.”

Kril’s blade struck the raised span.

The tether parted. Sudden slack whipped through Dane’s wound; high above, the split cage rang as one reel unloaded. A distant frame hit the far ravine wall, followed by the separate clatter of bronze and wood falling.

”Circle tore open on the rock,” the former scheduler said.

The pushers tried the next turn before Dane’s body understood what the longer facet had changed.

The damaged curve hit once at the front of the groove and again where the flat ended. Two impacts threw the cradle right. Vera caught the guide rope against her hip. The unknown adult’s runner lifted on one side; both crawlers swore and brought it level before the linen shifted.

Three lines entered the wind together. One claim tether hummed high with an iron pouch still knocking against it. A second combed low across worker height. Between them came a new pitch roar from the shoe warden’s fixed south angle.

The middle fire tail snapped iron toward Brant. A heated caltrop punched through his shield near the rim and stopped a finger from his coat.

Neither arm moved. Brant folded his shoulder blade behind the shield, turned his hips, and drove the pierced rim into road dust. He walked the metal backward through the hole until one point snapped. The caltrop dropped outside the formation with a dead red tick, leaving only a scorched puncture.

”Shield holds,” he said, breath scraping. ”Runner stays behind my hip.”

The low claim tether descended toward the workers.

The former scheduler unwound one loop of the ladle cord. ”That line knows my old rig. I can make it take the ladle before it takes them. Nobody touches the short cord. It stays mine.”

She threw.

The ladle struck bronze, turned twice, and wound its cord around the moving tether. The pull reached her wrist. Voss put his good hook through the short cord behind her fist. Flat Hands caught Voss around the waist; three low-status workers caught him in a chain that ended against Dane’s cradle.

The low line stalled between the wind and their weight.

Vera let one handspan of guide rope run. Kril struck the rear brace at the same instant. Dane’s next two impacts kicked the thumb-high lip beneath the trapped tether.

Bronze loaded the new grain. The lip stretched to Voss’s shin, thin enough to shake with every gust.

Heat raced down the tether from above. The pitch frame between the claim lines had crossed its own heart against the bronze. Fire poured through the trapped line into Dane’s growing edge, then ran back toward the inked hide.

”Circle opening,” the former scheduler shouted. ”Let the fire have it.”

The low claim hide tore along one bronze spine. Its closed ink path split. The pitch frame burst against the south shoulder, scattering burning rag into gray scrub. Workers stamped the fire into the dirt before the wind could lift it. Kril kicked the broken claim spine away from the cradle.

Voss eased his hook. The former scheduler reeled in the ladle charm and wound the hotter, blacker cord around her wrist herself.

The pitch song that had blackened Voss’s splint came back low from the south. Above it, the crown-line claim kite still carried a closed circle and one pouch of iron.

Its pouch opened over the shelf ahead. Caltrops struck close enough that Tess had to run outside Dane’s left curve. She used the right boot to kick a narrow path; every landing on the injured left ankle shortened her next reach.

Behind her, the returning fire tail brushed dust and sent heat under Dane’s exposed right edge.

The shin-high lip buckled against Voss’s guide tension. Workers crowded its inner face while Brant and Holt forced another rotation. Pressure entered Dane through the rear brace, the guide rope, the two curves, and the bodies trying to keep their own feet.

The same grain rose to knee height.

It stayed open underneath. When the push eased, the long new side sagged toward the road. Hands on the external cradle and Voss’s rope gave it shape again.

Warm breath gathered behind it. Hunger tightened the side inward, aiming the protected bodies toward the closed mouth below. Dane forced the living edge away from them until the buckling muscle held outward. His lid remained sealed.

Buk called to the coffer over the pitch roar. ”Quick worker, will you take the gap behind the new side until Holt calls clear?”

One knock.

”Slow worker, same gap, your choice.”

The second answer came after four habitual lift-set scrapes. Six legs carried the coffer under the side while the workers ducked beside it. Their steps rang through the road beneath the overhang; none touched Dane’s grain.

The fire tail struck the outer face.

Pitch slapped living grain and burned across the new side. Dane smelled himself scorch. The side tried to curl harder around the people at the same moment his mouth pushed upward from below.

Dane flattened the side away from their backs and ground his lid against the cradle until his hinge quivered.

Ada drove rod one through a rag-wrapped rib. Two workers caught Lye Scar’s end of Buk’s litter; she seized Ada’s belt before the wind could pull the professor off her feet.

”Heart is under the right curve,” Ada said. ”One turn while I pin it.”

Brant’s legs and shoulder, Holt’s forearms, Kril’s rear strike, Voss’s rope, and the workers’ push carried Dane forward. The wounded curve came down over the pitch heart.

It burst with a wet crack. Hot tar flattened across stone and died beneath the next turn they forced through him. The new side kept a broad superficial scorch; the living grain beneath it stayed whole.

Ada’s rod remained trapped under the crushed ribs.

Kril slid one blade beneath the charred frame and levered. Ada pulled rod one free, wiped pitch from its shaft on the road, and returned it to her good grip before the formation moved.

High above, the crown-line tether tightened. Its last iron pouch knocked against the spine as the wind carried it toward Candle Row.

Buk’s litter poles creaked. His next breath rattled halfway in. ”That circle takes our road to the gate. Wall hears it before Buk gets there, drops both slabs, and feeds us to the ravine. Bring the tail down.”

The two cellar crawlers changed grips without lowering the unknown adult. One took both runner handles and planted all four feet. The other climbed Dane’s outer left side, keeping clear of his mouth.

”Tail crossing now,” Vera called.

The crawler jumped.

For one instant their weight left Dane. Wind caught something above the ravine; the claim tether snapped taut through the road and tried to lift its new burden. The crawler cried out once, still holding.

Voss released the guide rope. His only good hook closed around the crawler’s rear limb. Kril caught Voss by the harness before the upward pull could take all four ruined legs over the edge. Flat Hands and two workers threw their weight onto Kril.

The split cage rang on the ridge as the bell warden locked the last reel.

Wind pulled one way. The chain of damaged bodies pulled the other. Claim hide began to tear along both bronze spines.

”Center ink is splitting,” the former scheduler said. ”Keep the tail fixed.”

The frame folded. It struck the shelf hard enough to jar Dane’s curves, the crawler landing with it against road rather than ravine air.

Brant planted the punctured shield on the bronze spine with hip and boot. Holt stamped the reel joint. The former scheduler found the last intact inked corner and crushed it beneath her heel.

Tether tension vanished.

Two releases snapped on the south ridge. The bell cage’s ring retreated with one uneven set of steps; the braced shoe scraped beside it.

”Both wardens pulling south,” Vera said. ”Neither bleeding fresh. No frame with them.”

Kril kept his blades under Voss until the one good hook released the crawler. Then he put the external guide rope back into that hook without comment.

The column moved.

For twenty paces, the new groove made Dane’s curve strike twice and yaw right. The long side sagged whenever Voss’s pull slackened. Vera corrected from the rope; black blood worked out of the groove until the drops thinned to tacky beads.

Ada walked beside the runner and listened to the unknown adult breathe. From the coffer came one quick knock, one delayed knock, then four familiar work scrapes that had outlived another master.

Flat Hands tested the blackened binding on Voss’s oldest splint while they walked. It stayed hard beneath his broad palm. The former scheduler turned her darker ladle once around her wrist and kept her distance from Tess.

The first warning bell rang from Candle Row.

Heavy chains began feeding through the gatehouse. Stone ground ahead in two separate grooves.

”Seven links above the outer slab,” the former scheduler called. ”Nine above the inner. Both coming down.”

A voice from the wall carried over the open shelf. ”Unlisted labor off the threshold. Witnesses and buyers behind the chain. Any unlisted body under those slabs belongs to seizure.”

Every member of the column was still outside.

Voss set his one hook deeper in the guide rope. Brant drove his punctured shield toward the outer groove.

”Next double strike throws us right,” Vera said. ”Give me the left pull before it lands.”

The first impact started under Dane’s wounded curve.