When they found her body at the bottom of that ravine, Askyr knew that it had to have been the work of that mimic Leona had been so obsessed with. She had slain ogres one on one in the past, no normal foe could have gotten the drop on her.

  The girl had been like a daughter to him. Up until that point, Askyr had thought that restoring the power of the Brotherhood had been all that mattered to him. Now, however, that seemed inconsequential to him. All that mattered, truly, was avenging her death. He’d track that creature down and make it suffer, no matter the cost.

  Still, some would consider his current plan... excessive.

  He laid back on the great wooden table of Lord Bleak’s laboratory, bound by thick leather straps around his wrists and ankles. He took slow, calming breaths as his eyes scanned the rows of anomalous bottles and jars that lined his shelves.

  “You are... very brave for volunteering for this,” Lord Bleak said in his low, melodic voice. He could not see his superior but knew the masked figure was around. The air hushed and whirled around his dark cloak whenever he moved. “Few people can actually survive this infusion procedure, as you well know. But few men are built with your... considerable might, Askyr.”

  Askyr nodded. “Yeah,” he said simply. He had seen what became of those who did not survive Lord Bleak’s infusions. Those twisted heaps of flesh with horns, scales, and teeth protruding from every angle and orifice. The lucky ones died, but those less fortunate...

  But Askyr had always been built strong. He was among that rare breed of humans who seemed to have no hard limit to how fast and strong he could become. So long as he kept training himself, at least.

  If anybody could survive, it would be him.

  “You get that solution we talked about?” he asked, hoping to distract himself.

  “Indeed.” That carved, masked visage suddenly loomed over him, and Askyr could see nothing beyond the eyeholes other than pure blackness. He had long wondered exactly what his lordship looked like beneath that hood and mask, as many of his allies had. But, of course, Askyr was not foolish enough to try and look by force.

  The last man he had seen try had been a cocky little shit, a new recruit who didn’t like working for a mystery man. He had tried to snatch at his cloak in passing, and had suddenly had his arms, legs, and head twisted in three different directions by an unseen force.

  After that, the curiosity of many men in the Brotherhood had up and died.

  But, whoever he was, he had an uncanny sway over the monsters of the world.

  “It was not easy, of course. I had to dispatch agents across the border, into the humid jungles in the deep south of Eldergard. These creatures are a... rare breed in this day and age.” An unseen hand lifted a jar of viscous black liquid into view. The label printed across the glass had two words on it:

  Basilisk Essence.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “I must say it was a stroke of genius on your end to suggest this. Mimics are regarded as something of an apex predator among monsters. Their shapeshifting, their inhuman strength, their ability to derive power from devouring others... Few monsters dare to fight them,” he set the jar on a nearby trolley, beside which lay a rather massive-looking needle. “Save for basilisks.”

  Askyr had taken the time to extensively research monsters in his younger years, and had become quite thorough in that investigation. Among the many factoids he had never forgotten was the inhuman lethality of the rare basilisks which prowled in the darkest depths of the world.

  Not only were they strong enough to shatter steel, but their scaly hides were tougher still than most forms of manmade armour. In a fight they could grapple with mimics, their flesh resistant to any attempts to devour them. But, for any creature that did manage to sink their teeth in, they would be suddenly faced with a nasty surprise from the basilisk:

  Their ability to secrete a highly corrosive toxin from their pores.

  And, of course, their uncanny and luminous eyes could somehow see through any disguise a mimic would think to adopt.

  No creature actively preyed on mimics... save for the basilisk.

  “I won’t lie to you. You’re the first person to have basilisk tested on them. And even adding some ogre essence to the mix too... well, it will be extraordinarily painful.” Lord Bleak spoke tonelessly. He did not particularly care if Askyr survived, and Askyr knew that much, but there was a clear fascination behind his action.

  The man loved his scientific discovery, after all.

  “I’m aware,” Askyr replied.

  “Just so that you and I are on the same page.” He syringe floated up and plunged into the jar. Askyr looked away as the oily substance steadily filled the chamber. “A mimic that thinks like a person. Fascinating.”

  “And dangerous.”

  “Mm. He likely only got involved with us over the death of DiVenture. Left alone, it’s possible he would never threaten us again. But... if there is even a small chance of him getting in our way...” Lord Bleak trailed off.

  Askyr grunted. “I’ll deal with him. Goddess, I’ll make him wish he’d never crawled out of whatever dark hole spawned him. For Leona’s sake.”

  “Sentimentality ill suits you,” Bleak said. Askyr didn’t respond, looking away from the enigmatic man. He’d never really been sentimental before, but that girl... he only realised how much he’d cared for her until she was gone. “I have but one request. You will be allowed to kill this mimic... eventually. But I would like you to bring him to me alive, first.”

  “What? Seeking a test subject?”

  Bleak lifed the syringe into view, the glass lit by a wall-mounted lantern. “Something like that.”

  “You’ll get what you want. Whatever you plan on doing to that thing... I hope it hurts.” Much of their testing had not been done on members of the Brotherhood. Lord Bleak had a preference for taking vagrants, roadside travellers, and the occasional goblin.

  But, regardless of the test subject’s origin, the testing was always excruciating to the recipient. Askyr shuddered to think about he machinations of Bleak’s mind.

  “How do you know these... obscure mystic arts of yours?” Askyr asked, blurting the question out from his mounting nerves.

  Bleak let out a sound that could be vaguely considered a laugh. “I am a learned man, you could say.”

  “Most learned men settle for art history, or bug collecting.”

  To that, Bleak had no response. He had turned to focus entirely on his arcane surgery, his masked visage continuing to examine Askyr’s bound form.

  Askyr glanced down to the needle hovering at his upper arm. The sharpened tip had already found a vein. Try as he might to keep calm, beads of nervous sweat were already breaking out across his face, and his breathing had grown harsher.

  “Just... do it, sir.” If that needle didn’t pierce him soon, Askyr was afraid he’d lose his nerve entirely.

  “Of course. You may wish to bite down on this.” A large lump of rubber was brought up to his face, and Askyr promptly bit down upon it. Letting monstrous essence mutate his very being... He had some last minute doubts about the whole thing, if he was being honest. But if he didn’t do this, would there be any way to deal with the mimic?

  No. He needed this. And damn the consequences.

  His jaw crushed down on the rubber as the needle pierced his skin, followed by the rushing sensation of the essence flowing into his veins.

  And then his blood was aflame with white hot agony.