The next few hours were… fraught. Delicate. Uncertain.

I learned that I was terrified of packs of riding-mower-sized scorpions. I discovered a chameleon-looking lizard around a blind corner that tried to poison me with billowing pink fog-breath.

I followed the mimic as it carved a path of death and consumption through a dungeon I could have never handled on my own. At a distance; unwilling to get close.

The chest had its knife-arms out, even more wickedly sharp and deadly than I remembered. There was a purpose in its steps that hadn’t been there before.

It dove forward at a pool of still water ahead off to one side of the corridor, arms slashing in a frenzy. Blue froth rose to the surface, along with chunks of what looked like giant crab.

It snatched the pieces into its mouth with precise lunges, splashing less than seemed possible. Every movement it made bled tension, taking out its frustration on its prey.

(I wasn’t stupid; this had something to do with the arcane chest it had found, the one it had gone all weird about.)

The water surged as I edged closer to where the chest ate. As it lunged again one of the crab pieces disappeared in a ripple and flash of light from the water.

The chest paused for just a second, then dove in open-lid-first, roaring. It disappeared from sight and left me in the empty hall. The smooth polished walls around me sparkled and glimmered in the flickering torchlight.

I plopped down on the floor, grabbed my bag, and dug out a cloth-wrapped potato. Cracked the skin open along the slice while it steamed, shoved in || lard to melt. Because why not? Either way I was stuck waiting for the chest to reappear. I could panic or I could chill and eat.

I was chewing on dregs and potato skin when bubbles started forming on the water’s surface. I looked over, bundled up my potato remains into my bag, and dusted my hands off on my pants.

The mimic burst out in a huge splash, dragging what looked like an eel as big around as a manhole cover.

The eel’s tail was already disappearing into the chest’s mouth. Crackles of lightning flashing weakly from around its head, its eyes sunken. The mimic swung its arm as I watched, half-decapitating the thing with one blow, then slurped it down as it bled.

The chest’s focus fell on me like a spotlight. Part of me wanted to shift in place, take a step back. There was malice in that gaze. Intent. Something remote and deadly and dangerous.

—I guess I could’ve — scooted away, pled for my life. Acted like prey. But the thing is— all that does is let any kind of predatory manipulative shithead know that they got to me. That the scare tactic worked. That I’m now afraid and alarmed. The shithead gets satisfaction and confirms a target is a target if there’s any doubt, and I get to get ready for some shit.

So yeah, I could back up, or panic, or run, sure. I wasn’t gonna, though. I’d seen how fast it was. How powerful. If it wanted to turn violent on me… I was dead. I was dead hopefully before I could even register what happened. There is no other scenario.

No sense in panicking my way into terror before that actively happened; I was too burnt-out for that shit. It was either going to get over itself and calm down, or it would eat me. Wasn’t much I could do.

Its focus intensified, emotions leaking out towards me. It felt… coiled. Predatory. Intent. Cold and calculating.

Fuck it.

I put up a cheery hand and waved. “Hey there, friend. How you doing, bud?”

It paused. Confusion rolled off of it.

Slowly, moment by moment, the attention and malice receded. Eventually all that was left was a hollow sort of longing— a deep wellspring of apathy and despair.

My lip quirked despite myself, humorless and a little raw as I climbed to my feet.

No wonder it kept me around.

My relief was distant— something I really didn’t want to feel too much. Who the fuck cared. Right? I was alive.

Whatever.

“You done here?” I asked. “I mean, I’m done here. I’m almost out of potatoes, so, y’know, anytime you want to get out of here I’m game.”

—-

It let me lead.

I wasn’t sure why— but… fuck it, you know? If the damn thing wanted me making the decisions for a while, who was I to argue? At least I wasn’t chest food. Things could be worse.

Things could always be—

Anyway.

The corridor widened out slowly. As I walked multiple dark passages branched off to either side, half-lit. I ignored all of them. This central passage felt right, like it was my most direct path to the end.

Not really sure how I knew that… and probably not a good idea to navigate purely off of gut instinct. But hey, why not, right? I came here for an adventure; if I was stuck here, I’d have a goddamn adventure.

It was as I was walking past another side corridor that I felt a change. I’d ignored dozens of doorways— but this one called to me too strongly to not explore. I angled down it instead of continuing on.

It was empty, at first. Just another pretty granite hallway with high ceilings. Normally I guess I’d have turned back, but I didn’t really feel like it. The mimic thumped behind me, and I felt like if I showed indecisiveness I might not get to lead again.

Ahead, against the wall, a chest came into view.

I slowed down. Stopped. Observed.

What sat in front of me had smooth, polished wood and an intricately-shaped brass latch. It looked like the epitome of a treasure chest, like it embodied the very idea of what a chest full of high-value loot would look like. The urge to go up to it and fling open its lid was almost overwhelming.

… Yeah. So. Three guesses what this thing was, and the first two don’t count.

I did not go up to it and fling open its lid. Instead I twisted a strap off my shoulder and slid my bag in front of me, digging out my potato remains from earlier. I held up the mushy crispy bits.

“Hey, mimic!” I said, addressing it directly. “You want some food?”

I mean… it had worked with my current magical partner in dungeoning. Two is better than one, right? If I kept this up, maybe I’d end up with an army.

I expected the wooden mimic in front of me to shiver. To crack its lid. To react in some manner and let me feed it. I did not expect absolutely no response at all.

“Uh…” I said, stumped. “Pretty chest? Hello?”

It sat there, utterly still. Like— it was waiting for me to come just a little closer.

I stopped dead. Forced my feet to stop moving. Because they were; I’d moved over a foot closer in.. holy shit. Had I lost time?!

I twisted, looking back behind me. My chest sat like a lump, legs nowhere in sight, watching me drift closer like a total fucking idiot.

“What the actual fuck, bro?!” I yelled back to it. Because I was pissed, holy fuck, if I’d come any closer— pretty chest was not a friend—

Derision rolled towards me, and indifference. I snorted. “Yeah fucking right, bro. What the fuck ever. Cut your shit, you love me way too fucking much to let me just die to some other chest.”

Scorn enveloped me, crushing in its force. Scorn and mocking, scoffing disbelief.

I was halfway through the most epic monumental eyeroll ever in response when my stomach flipped. The nausea that hit me fast and hard in my gut made me sway.

Those emotions had been from the pretty chest. Not from my own.