My breath hitched watching Tovin’s hand tremble near that warped statue, the air itself seeming to ripple around its base like heat haze. He muttered something, but the rest of us were already holding our breath as there was a shift, a change in pressure, the air tightening.

  Then the damn thing peeled itself off the plinth, not like stone breaking, but unfurling, tearing loose in slow, sick stretches. The sound was wet, a sucking scrape that made my teeth ache. Its form was a mockery, not quite Grendelkin and not quite anything, a nightmare parody with limbs that bulged and twisted. Its grin was too wide, lips stretched over jagged, uneven teeth. Crystalline veins pulsed under its blackened skin, glowing faintly, echoing the Aerlyntium orb flickering above us.

  It dropped to all fours, claws screeching on the stone, then rose slowly, vertebrae cracking. Armor pushed out from under its flesh, tearing skin as it hardened, like an internal carapace growing. Those crystalline veins crawled over it, and its eyes locked on Tovin, then swept over us. It smiled, the corners of its mouth splitting even further, teeth clicking.

  Across the chamber, the grinding started as four more statues shivered, stone sloughing off them. Arms uncurled, with too many joints bending wrong, and heads tilted with hard clicks. Each one was a unique horror, as if the dungeon had tried to sculpt Grendelkin from a distorted memory. A low, unified creak, like a drawn breath, echoed from them as the air grew heavier.

  The mimic nearest Tovin lurched, its grin pulsing with a faint, sickly light, a reflection of the shard above. The others shifted, shoulders hunching, necks twisting too far. Their arms unfurled into long, sinewy limbs, and crystalline lines throbbed beneath their cracked, obsidian skin. They weren’t just copies; they were mockeries. Fog clung to them, seeping into the cracks in the floor, making the ground itself feel unstable.

  Syla’s voice cut through, low and sharp. “Those things weren’t here five seconds ago.” Daggers glinted at her sides, her stance coiled tight, sweat and grit fraying the edges of her braids. She was right; Penance had shifted, as it always did.

  Adrenaline burned through me, leaving no time to think, only to react. My hand found my blade, steel whispering from the scabbard. My eyes darted. Phantom Wolf was already poised, hackles raised, smoke rippling from its shoulders. Wraith Lizard circled low, half-phased into the wall, ready to ambush. The Blaze Ants, small and molten, clicked in formation around the plaza’s edges, mandibles sparking.

  The glyphs burned in my mind, familiar now, commands flowing like instinct. I didn’t wait. I moved, and the summons moved with me.

  Syla was already gone, a flicker in the dust, her daggers drawn. She slipped into the fog, reappearing behind a mimic’s flank, eyes narrow, tracking the largest one. She waited, silent, ready, her tactic to flank, bleed them fast, and keep moving. The mimics hadn’t fully seen her. That was Syla.

  Tovin wasn’t so clean. He flinched as the closest mimic’s head snapped toward him. “No… No…” he muttered, backpedaling, hands rising, trying to pull a spell. Energy crackled, sputtered, a weak pulse of lightning fizzling out with a hiss of ozone, almost there but not quite. His voice cracked, incantation too fast, too garbled. Sweat slicked his forehead, his hands trembling with fear, not power.

  Halver didn’t speak. While Tovin panicked and Syla vanished, he stood his ground, a wall of resolve. His breath was steady, shoulders set, arms tensed around his massive sword as he planted himself like a cornerstone. The nearest mimic twitched. Halver watched, stance dropping slightly, ready. When it moved, he would be.

  Hessa’s knuckles were white on her satchel strap, her breath caught. Prayer beads clicked. Her lips moved, whispering prayers, a thread of sound with a pulse, a weight. Her eyes were wide, fear raw but threaded with resolve as her fingers brushed a prayer stone. She didn’t run.

  The mimic closest to me snapped forward, a blur, its grin splitting wider as skin cracked. Limbs extended mid-lunge, arms unfurling into blades of dark stone and crystal, singing as they cut the air. It came fast, eyes fixed on me. After one sharp, cold breath, it was on me.

  Instincts took over. I pivoted, sword arcing in a tight slash. The blade caught its shoulder as it lunged past, a sparking gash oozing dark, viscous fluid. But it wasn’t my sword that saved me. Phantom Wolf hit it like a meteor, half-smoke, half-flesh, clamping down on its leg above the knee. Bone and crystal snapped. The mimic jerked, flailing, its blade-arm screeching against the floor. My blade followed, chopping down toward its exposed neck, the Wolf’s attack feeding my own strike. The fight was on.

  Syla reappeared from the fog, daggers flashing. Her first strike bit deep into a mimic’s side, under the ribs. A sharp, wet hiss emerged, but no blood, just thick, dark tar streaked with faint, pulsing crystal veins. Her second dagger jabbed its lower back, twisting. The mimic lurched, its spine buckling, but its grin only widened, mouth splitting deeper. Syla’s breath caught; this thing wanted the pain. She shifted, angling away, not staying in its dead black stare.

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  Halver charged, boots grinding, bringing his sword in a wide, brutal arc. The mimic met him, blades clashing like hammers, and sparks flared. Halver pushed, driving it back. Hessa, a breath behind him, stumbled as a mimic’s blade lashed for her. Halver shifted, absorbing the blow on his chestplate, metal sparking. He didn’t flinch, just tightened his stance, drove his shoulder into the mimic’s chest, and brought his sword down again, aiming to split its head. The mimic twisted, the sword scraping its collar, leaving a deep gouge. Its grin was inches from Halver’s face, teeth snapping.

  Tovin’s hands flared, the spell finally cracking into existence. The rune flared bright, perhaps too bright and unstable. “Chain lightning!” A jagged bolt leapt from his fingertips.

  It missed. The mimic he’d aimed for twitched, and the bolt crashed into a column, exploding stone and dust.

  “Damn it!” Tovin hissed, stumbling from the feedback. The mimic turned toward him, head cocking, and grinned. Tovin scrambled backward, trying for another rune.

  Another mimic snarled, lunging for Hessa, claws outstretched. She froze for a heartbeat, then her hand snapped up, gripping her mace. A glow ignited, fierce, as if her prayers were kindling. The mimic’s claws reached, but the light flared first, a searing burst of golden radiance. The mimic jerked, recoiling mid-leap, skin sizzling, smoke spiraling off its crystal veins. Hessa stood her ground, arms trembling, the light fading as the mimic scrambled back, its grin snapping shut in fury. Her prayer continued, a breathless murmur.

  Tovin’s next rune was half-formed, fingers shaking, as the mimic before him hissed, blade-tipped fingers slashing for his throat. He flinched.

  Wraith Lizard struck. It coiled from the wall, shadow to black glass. Its tail whipped around the mimic’s leg, snapping tight, and the mimic’s flesh fractured. It screeched, a sound like shattered glass on a chalkboard, twisting, but the Lizard held, dragging it down with a sickening crunch. Tovin gasped as the mimic’s blade slashed inches from his boots. The Lizard hissed, rippling back into the wall.

  The Blaze Ants, twelve molten forms, swarmed, instinct guiding them. Their bodies crackled with heat, leaving faint scorch trails. Mandibles snapped, sparks hopping, a low, building hum rising from the floor. One mimic darted for an opening. The Ants lunged. The first struck its leg, its molten body searing into stone-flesh. The mimic screeched, staggered. Another piled on, then two more, their collective heat melting grooves into its body. It collapsed, writhing, crackling as the ants tore through it. The perimeter held, at least for now.

  My heart slammed like a hot drum as my mind stretched, snapping into the summons. I mentally commanded Wolf to break flanks, Lizard to drag stragglers, and the Ants to hold the perimeter. These commands weren’t shouted; they burned. The Wolf launched left. The Lizard coiled tighter. The Blaze Ants shifted, mandibles clicking, a staccato pulse. My fingers tightened on my blade. The mimic swarm pressed, but there was a shape to the chaos now.

  One of them twitched, its spine twisting impossibly. Shoulders split, jagged crystals bursting through. Its arms stretched into thin, whip-like appendages, blades flickering. It moved differently, sliding, slithering, and flowing like liquid stone, its strikes arcing at odd angles. My stomach dropped as I realized it was adapting, learning.

  Syla darted from the fog, her blade arcing in a clean cut, biting deep into the stretched neck of the adapting mimic. Its head spun free, hitting the ground with a wet crack, trailing tar-like ooze. But the body didn’t drop. “It’s not dead!” Syla rasped, as the headless mimic stumbled, still grinning without a face. The torso twitched, arms flailing, blades slicing air. One arm lashed out, nearly catching Syla, forcing her to roll.

  Halver moved, deliberate. A mimic lunged low; he stepped through, letting the edge glance off his chestplate. His sword rose and came down with the weight of inevitability, driving into its core. The impact cracked its chest open. He leaned in, pressing it back, slamming it into the wall. Its blade-arms flailed, gashing his gauntlets, but he didn’t yield. He shoved the sword deeper, twisting hard. The mimic spasmed, then stilled, its hollow eyes dimming.

  Tovin shouted, voice raw, spellmark flaring. “Chain lightning!” The spell fired again, a jagged blue arc that slammed into a mimic lunging for Syla. Sparks showered. The mimic convulsed. The arc jumped, snapping to a second mimic closing on Hessa, searing black lines across its torso. Both collapsed, smoking. Ozone and burnt stone filled the air.

  Hessa fumbled for her satchel, gripped a charm, whispered a plea, and hurled it. It spun, glinting, then struck the floor with a sharp crack. The impact was not loud, just a pulse, a shockwave of radiant force bursting in a shimmering sphere. The mimics recoiled, jerking. The light seared them, leaving burning lines on their crystal veins. It wasn't a kill shot, but it bought space, their formations wavering.

  “Focus on the cores, hit the cores!” I yelled, indicating the faint pulse in their chests, a clear weak point.

  Halver reset his grip. Syla’s daggers flashed. Tovin’s hands sparked. Hessa clutched her mace, lips moving. We shifted, chaos snapping into a pattern with me at the center, summons poised, and the party tightening. The Blaze Ants clicked, their perimeter holding.

  The mimics twitched, faltering for a heartbeat.

  Then our counterattack began.