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

The west door still had a handspan to go when water slapped the first inside corner.

A second slap answered below it.

”Second landing is taking water,” Kril called through the gap. ”Three square turns around an open center. Gutter drops on the inside. Rail and wall stay dry outside.”

Orsa hauled harder on the latch. Wood swept stone beyond the door at ankle height, struck the far wall, and scraped back toward the gutter.

Then Hest clicked from somewhere below.

”She’s on the second turn,” Orsa said. The name came out flat. ”Dry feet. Wet left hand. She’s got another headless handle.”

Wood struck bare stone once overhead. A splash swallowed its lower end. The heavy downward blow that followed split a stair corner, and loose rock ticked into the open shaft.

”She taught it a chop,” Orsa said. ”She’s already moving down.”

Brant leaned into the doorway. ”First handle crosses from gutter to rail. Dane takes the wood. We move when it scrapes back. Miss the beat and the center has no floor.”

Vera took Dane’s clean return line from the shelf hook. It remained tied to his sound rear rail. She fed only the free end through a dry eye on the outer rail, clear of the litter and every ankle.

Dane rolled through.

His sound wheel found the top tread. The late right wheel remained one step above it. Water ran below his wounded quarter while the headless handle came out of the gutter again, its wooden core knocking inside a sleeve of mud and water.

Dane lowered a strip of Wagon grain along his old Door edge.

The sweep hit.

Silt burst over his frame. Wood caught beneath the edge and lifted his sound wheel clear. Dane slid toward the open center on his late wheel and damaged axle. The split around rod one took the impact last, a white stab through every surface he had left.

The return line snapped tight against the dry eye. Vera held the fall until his late wheel found stone.

Ada’s fingers closed around rod one. ”Still seated. Get the late wheel onto this landing before the handle comes back.”

Dane turned the intact wheel one tooth. The late wheel dropped hard enough to bruise his axle.

The handle scraped back.

Kril crossed behind Dane’s edge and cut through the packed silt. Half the false arm slapped the wall. Water sucked fresh grit around the exposed core before his blade had cleared.

”Mud grows back,” Orsa said. Her broken pole struck the collar. ”Get me the wood where it enters the gutter.”

She came over Dane’s low edge right foot first. Her left knee folded as the sweep began again. Bare skin hit stone. The Chapter 110 cut opened with a wet crack, and the blood scent drove Dane’s tongue against the underside of his floor.

Orsa caught the outer rail. Kril jammed his blade spine beneath the core. Her broken tine joined it at the wet base.

The handle struck Dane a handspan before it reached Orsa’s leg. His edge bowed. Rod one grated but stayed at its old depth.

”Rail has me,” Orsa said. ”Roll your spine. I’ll break the gutter’s hold.”

Kril twisted the blade. Orsa drove her right leg straight and dragged the handle hard across the gutter lip. Its wet base spat gray grit over their ankles and struck the dry outer stair.

The low sweep died in the middle of its return. Bare wood knocked twice against the wall.

”First landing clear,” Kril called.

The next chop hit before Orsa found a clean bend in her knee.

Hest’s voice came up the shaft with it. ”Your litter pole is high.”

The second handle smashed the riser above Buk and ripped away a slab broad enough to cave a chest. The litter pole struck low on Lye Scar’s side. Flat Hands caught the opposite pole against his braced forearm and took Buk’s weight there. Stone passed over the two crossed broom handles and burst against the outer rail.

Gray grit rattled over Buk’s litter and went into his mouth. He coughed it across his own shoulder while the chopping core climbed for another fixed blow.

”It owns the inside two treads,” Brant said. ”Turn Buk toward the rail and take him under the handle while it’s rising. Voss, the dry wood above that packed wrist is yours.”

Their footfalls reversed. Lye Scar’s waist wrap creaked low while the litter poles rotated until Buk’s shoulders faced the outside wall. Water crossed beneath him without touching either pole.

Voss slid after them on one hip. His ruined splinted legs followed by their straps and supplied nothing. He cast his surviving hook through the wet mass. Iron rang against wood above the packed wrist.

The chop fell.

Flat Hands’s knee struck stone. Lye Scar drove her end from the waist. Buk’s litter passed beneath the arc as the mud-wrapped fist pulverized the landing behind his head. Reed poles jumped in both carriers’ hands. Buk’s crossed broom handles clacked against his chest; his breath broke, but no cry followed.

Voss rolled onto his back. The forward litter cord crossed his ribs; Dane’s return line stayed on the outer rail above him. His hook held the headless core.

The coffer reached him in a racket of opposing feet. Two awake ends braced uphill. Four habitual legs battered the lower tread, trying to retreat in the wrong direction.

”The two of you pull,” Voss said. ”The other four can be useless downhill.”

The awake ends stepped away from the gutter. The coffer twisted so hard its latch struck stone. Voss dragged across one stair edge on his shoulders; shirt cloth tore beneath him and his breath came out raw while the hook bent the wooden core against its fixed downward stroke.

The limb tried to chop with him attached. Its wet base carved a groove along the inside corner. Voss’s ruined legs bounced once, dead weight at the end of his straps.

The coffer’s two chosen ends stepped again.

Wood ripped lengthwise out of the gutter. The packed fist lost its core at the top of the swing and dropped as ordinary mud. Voss rolled the handle onto the dry outside stair and left his hook around it until the last connected strand drained away.

”Litter is below the arc,” Lye Scar called. ”All bodies clear of the second landing.”

Water struck the first turn above them with more weight than before. The main surge had entered the stairwell.

Kril’s next report came from the rail. ”Third landing has the flood slab. Two chain loops, toothed release on dry stone. Hest is beside it. There’s a shoulder-wide maintenance cut at her right, water on a stone floor.”

Hest clicked.

”Third handle’s rising,” Kril called. ”Dry end caught under the teeth. One notch up, and it’s resetting against the bar.”

Wood scraped down, reversed, and knocked the toothed release upward again.

Orsa dragged her injured leg down the second flight with the rail taking half her weight.

”Own curved rake in her wet left hand,” Kril called. ”Dry outer foot. She’s waiting beside the maintenance cut.”

”Left knee soft,” Hest said. ”Shoulder too high when you spare it.”

Her rake entered under Orsa’s ribs in the same rescue hook that had caught a falling worker at the intake.

Orsa dropped before the curve could lift her. Her kneecap hit again. Blood ran warm over the old cut while the rake’s teeth tore vest cloth clear of flesh. Orsa trapped the curved back under her broken pole and let both handles bind.

The tool fight rang through the rail into Dane’s wheel.

He rolled down the dry outside tread. Vera walked the free end of his line to the next rail eye, keeping it clear and slack until water caught his wounded quarter. The current lifted that side toward the shaft.

Dane moved retained ballast less than one handspan toward sound grain. His sound wheel found the flood-slab track. He returned the weight before the late wheel touched the wet tread.

”Third handle is lashed straight under the teeth,” Kril called. ”Wet base stays in the gutter.”

Dane spread his low Door edge across that gutter. Water struck his grain and turned along the landing. The repeated upward pull weakened, but the wooden core still held the release bar off its seat.

Kril put one blade spine between wood and iron. His other blade cut the visible wet reed lash.

The handle kicked sideways.

Hest twisted her rake. The rescue stroke tried to take Orsa beneath the ribs again. Orsa released her left hand, stepped on the right leg, and drove her shoulder through Hest’s chest.

Both women hit the wall beside the maintenance cut. Hest’s heel splashed into its running water. Her fixed hand tightened; the rake reset against Orsa’s vest.

”She’s in the channel water,” Kril warned. ”Own rake still connected.”

Orsa crushed the bound tools against the wall and caught the third handle with her free hand.

”Give me dry stone under this wood.”

Kril levered with the blade spine. Dane raised his edge one grain. Orsa dragged the wet base over it. The core landed on the outer side as the next pull began, and the false arm collapsed around the toothed bar before it could lift another notch.

Hest’s curved rake tore free. Her footfalls entered the maintenance cut; Orsa’s pole struck the wall one beat behind them.

Cloth and knees scraped inside the maintenance cut. Water slapped both of Hest’s shins. Her rake dragged after her, iron teeth striking stone on every crawl.

”She’s through on hands and knees,” Orsa called. ”Heels at the bend.”

The scrape receded beneath the gutter.

”Gone past it,” Kril said.

The roar above deepened until all three landings vibrated beneath Dane. There was no time to chase.

Brant gave the whole order in one breath. ”Buk on the outside rests. Coffer under both loops. Flat Hands takes left chain, Lye Scar right. Voss pulls the toothed bar. Orsa and Kril keep the tracks alive.”

The litter poles struck two dry iron rests. Voss’s hook left the drained second handle and closed around the release. The coffer planted beneath the loops; its two awake ends knocked separately while four habits kicked at the bottom stair.

Orsa and Kril rolled the dry third handle away from the slab track. Dane turned his low Door edge upright along the outside rail. Vera kept his return line through the dry eye and left slack until his late wheel skidded toward the shaft.

”Take it,” Brant said.

Voss pulled.

The toothed bar cleared. The iron slab dropped until both chains took its weight with a sound that punched dust from the wall.

Flat Hands bled the left loop across his forearm. Lye Scar walked backward under the right with her shoulder. The coffer’s chosen ends lowered together while its four habitual legs hammered against them.

The main surge hit the top landing.

It swept the first dry handle from the wall and flung it into the open shaft. The drained second followed, both falling as bare wood.

The descending slab screamed against its left track and stopped.

”Left side caught,” Brant said. ”One stone.”

Orsa’s broken pole rang once. A chip skipped across the landing. Kril’s heel struck the right track clear before the iron could twist.

Chains moved again.

Water struck Dane’s upright edge and shoved every wheel toward the closing threshold. Rod one held the split. His late wheel crashed down after the rest of him stopped, and the return line took the sideways fall without choosing his shape.

Flat Hands lost a skin-width of chain through his forearm wrap. Lye Scar answered with one backward step. The coffer bent between its two choices and four useless retreating legs.

The slab slammed into its floor groove.

The flood hit hard enough to bow iron toward the cavern. It groaned back while water burst along both outside walls and climbed three stairs; both chain loops snapped taut and stayed down.

”Water stops one tread below Buk,” Flat Hands called. ”Litter rests are dry.”

Iron held through a second impact. Nobody fell.

Then water tapped the slab from the other side.

The sound was thin and spreading, nothing like the flood hammering outside.

Ada climbed one dry tread to the upper inspection grille. ”Five reed tiers. Six adults on each. Thirty adults, and every one is breathing.”

She shifted along the bars. ”Wax plugs on the nearest beds. They slept through the gate.”

Inside the cavern, water whispered through floor seams.

”Floor seep is under the bottom tier,” Ada said. ”The bottom six mattresses are darkening.”

Reed creaked. Water displaced in one broad push.

The lowest six frames lifted together.