Mortimer, page 24
part #6 of Everybody Loves Large Chests Series
“Then why is it acting like this?!”
“It probably feels safer that way,” Jones butted in.
“What do you mean, Subject 49?” asked Malon.
“I don’t think you would understand. It’s a mimic thing.”
“Try me,” the bald man insisted.
“I guess… it’s sort of like slipping into an old set of clothes after a long day’s work.”
The monstrous amalgamation had been naught but a simple house mimic once. Those days were long gone, but he occasionally sought comfort in its old, familiar shape. Though he could assume any number of forms, only one of them felt ‘right’ – a natural consequence of living as a semi-sentient wardrobe for hundreds of years.
“Hmmm, I think I sort of get it. Why a chest, though? It seems so… impractical.”
Even if the corpse’s Appraisal results made it clear this Boxxy T. Morningwood used to be a dungeon-born mimic that Ranked Up into a doppelganger, Malon failed to see the logic in reverting to a more primitive shape. This was because he failed to consider the obvious fact that monsters would always appear irrational if viewed from an enlightened perspective.
“Like I said, it’s a mimic thing,” repeated Zilla, rolling his eyes.
“Alright, that kind of explains the chest shape, but says nothing about why it’s doing it,” continued Honoka. “Nor does it explain how it managed to wake up in only two days! Are you sure you didn’t revive it with half a soul or something?!”
“Are you questioning my competence, Professor Honoka?!” said Malon, dryly. “I’ll have you know, I’ve performed the procedure precisely 52 times, and never once have I-!”
Malon’s complaints were cut short when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The iron-bound chest had grown a set of eight smooth arachnid legs from its undercarriage and was slowly pacing towards him. Honoka was equally unwilling to continue the argument, as the creature she had a scientific interest in finally showed signs of movement. The animate spider-chest glided towards the front of its cage and sat down right next to the wall of light. Malon found himself stepping closer to it, drawn within a meter of the subject.
The wooden chest’s lid creaked open on its own, and a pair of round yellow eyes shone from the darkness within.
“Are you in charge around here?”
The words it spoke sounded raspy, throaty, yet eerily ‘normal.’ The kind of voice one would expect from a jaded veteran adventurer, not a murderous monster with an utter and complete disregard for living things. It was obviously a ruse of some kind, but it was hard to deny how creepy the odd disconnect truly was.
“I am indeed,” the man responded after a moment’s hesitation. “My name is Malon Gehana, and it is good to have you back amongst the living, Boxxy. Or do you perhaps prefer ‘Mr. Sandman,’ hmmm?”
Of course, the shapeshifter’s alter ego had been exposed. Zilla had already reported that Boxxy had assumed the infamous mercenary’s shape, but it was the two demons that assisted it that left no doubt regarding its identity. Well, the red-skinned fiend had one more pair of arms than what the records said, but she was definitely the same familiar that openly participated in the battles for Fort Yimin and New Whitehall. An artist’s rendition of the demon in question and Zilla’s own testimony had made it abundantly clear they both shared the same face and overall body structure. Last but not least, the slain shapeshifter’s rather… unique collection of Jobs and Skills also supported the notion that Boxxy was the Sandman.
“I see. So you’re the one that brought me back to life.”
Plus, the creature didn’t seemingly want to deny it, mostly because it had more important things to worry about.
“Why?” it asked. “What do you want from me?”
“Ah-hah!” exclaimed Malon. “Straight to the point, hmm? Well, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, you’re far more valuable to us alive than dead. You hold maaaany secrets, my busy little box, and I for one can’t wait to rip them out of you.”
One of those was the origin of the Elder Dryad’s Authority, the magic item that had the ability to force those legendary tree spirits to show themselves. Then there was whatever trick it used to control a demonic Overlord. And, perhaps most importantly of all, the process through which this less-than-a-year old monster caused the Calamity of Monotal – something that hadn’t been done since Tol-Saroth himself. Admittedly, Malon’s people had no concrete proof Boxxy was responsible for that incident, but the circumstances matched up.
Teresa herself revealed the one responsible for that event was a monster, and what better place for that monster to hide from those it had wronged than under their enemy’s shadow. It would also explain why it chose to join the Republic’s fight against the Empire, for a monster wouldn’t do that unless it had a personal stake in the conflict. Furthermore, the Appraisal of the creature’s body had also shown it to possess the Butcher of Humanity Perk, which meant it had somehow killed at least five thousand humans in just eight months. It could’ve only achieved such a feat if it caused the Calamity in the first place. Theoretically, it was possible Boxxy could’ve done it the old-fashioned way, but that would mean it had to kill an average of twenty humans a day since the moment it was born. While the monster was surely capable of wholesale slaughter on the regular, such constant mass-killings would have left a very obvious trail of blood.
The last nail in the coffin was the Hero Killer Perk, which Malon assumed it must have acquired by obliterating Bernard Samson at Monotal, prior to his ‘miraculous’ revival. In actuality, the monster received this ‘badge of honor’ after its Clash of Fate with the Hero of the Hammer while under its Facade’s guise. It hadn’t gotten it half a year ago because Teresa had snatched away and revived her Hero in a matter of seconds, well before Boxxy’s Status had been able to catch up and finish processing all the damage caused by the dungeon core’s detonation. As such, Bernard was already alive when the then-mimic was receiving the rewards for its ‘hard work,’ meaning the Hero of the Hammer did not count among the 8,235 souls lost that day.
As for Boxxy’s own divine gifts, those powers clung to one’s soul rather than their body, and weren’t present when its corpse was appraised. The string of post-resurrection notifications made this abundantly clear. If not for that peculiarity, Malon and his superiors would’ve had a significantly more pronounced reaction to its capture. After all, a monster becoming a Hero was unheard of. Boxxy decided to keep that part of itself hidden, as it was extremely unlikely they’d let the shapeshifter go if they found out. If anything, they’d only increase security as a precaution. It also wanted to keep its short-ranged Vengeance Skill a secret. It hadn’t gotten a chance to use it during its fight with Jones – or whatever his name was – which made it a valuable trump card for their eventual rematch.
“I’m also quite curious about your connection with the Hero of Chaos,” continued Malon, “not to mention why you assaulted Specimen 49. Most important of all, however, is your obvious hatred towards humanity, not to mention your aptitude for violence. I’m sure both will serve us greatly in our ongoing struggle against the Empire.”
“Our struggle? If you’re talking about the Republic, then the war’s over,” stated Boxxy matter-of-factly. “Or have you not heard?”
“What? That little scuffle?” scoffed Malon. “That barely counted as armed conflict. Sure, the humans may have gotten a bloody nose, but they’ll be back. Whether it be next year, next decade, or next century they’ll surely come for us again. Those vile creatures can’t help it. It’s within their nature to hate and despise those different from them. It honestly makes me question who the real monster is,” he added with a wicked grin.
“Alright, I understand,” replied Boxxy. “In that case you can count me in. Assuming you can afford my fee, of course.”
“Fee? What?”
“The price of my cooperation, of course. I expect to be adequately compensated for my troubles.”
“…”
The specimen’s business-like attitude caused Malon to blink repeatedly in confusion. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out.
“I am getting paid for this, right?” it asked insistently.
Honoka, who was content to sit and listen until now, came to the flabbergasted Malon’s rescue.
“What do you mean by ‘getting paid?’” she inquired.
“Gold. Jewels. Mithril. That sort of thing,” Boxxy clarified. “Providing compensation in exchange for goods and services is how civilization works, isn’t it?”
“What would a monster need with money anyway?”
It was a mostly rhetorical question, but one that had been bugging her ever since she heard of the high likelihood that Boxxy and the Sandman were one and the same.
“I don’t want the money itself,” came the immediate answer. “It’s just that the shiniest of shinies cost a lot of it.”
“Ah. I see.”
Honoka was starting to understand somewhat. She’d known Zilla most of her life, even before she, Malon, and the others began experimenting on him. He had an unhealthy obsession with clothes ever since he was a simple-minded house mimic, a trait that somehow survived his forced transformation into a changeling. While the source of this compulsion was somewhat of a mystery, it made a certain amount of sense considering his previous lifestyle. After all, what better place to keep one’s snappy attire than a lavishly decorated wardrobe? It was a somewhat childish theory that made Honoka’s peers roll their eyes, but at the same time it was hard to refute.
Considering Boxxy’s current shape and its Appraisal results, it was quite clear it was originally a chest-shaped mimic. One most likely born in the Litigar Dungeon Complex if the Monotal connection was to be believed. When Honoka used Zilla as her basis for standard mimic behavior and applied the same logic to Boxxy, she already had her answer. It was blindingly obvious, now that she thought about it.
Fancy clothes were to wardrobes as treasure was to a treasure chest, and nothing said ‘treasure’ like a pile of glistening gold coins and shimmering jewels.
“Hmpf!” Malon scoffed, having somewhat regained his composure. “Your cooperation is not up for debate. You’ll serve this nation and its people, regardless of your opinion on the matter. And you won’t bleed a single coin from her coffers ever again!”
“I see. So, that’s how it is,” Boxxy said with a sigh. “Well, you did bring me back to life, so I guess I’ll at least tell you one thing free of charge.”
There was a brief, deliberate pause for dramatic effect.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you when I get out of here.”
The shapeshifter had been trying to keep an open mind about this situation. Sure, it might have died to this ‘Zilla’ fellow, but it was then brought back to life by his allies, which sort of balanced things out. The opportunistic monster thought it might be able to strike some sort of deal to work with its captors while it plotted its inevitable revenge. In other words, it was giving them a chance to prove themselves useful to it, and thus keep their lives a while longer. It was a mercy that Malon forfeited when he not only rejected Boxxy’s generous offer, but also implied he planned to control its mind.
“Is that a fact?” the flat-faced elf sneered. “Sorry to break it to you, but even at your full power you couldn’t budge your containment field. You’ll have to try a lot harder if you plan to threaten someone of my-”
The wooden lid suddenly flipped open, and what looked like a massive segmented worm wide as a tree trunk shot out from the inside. It opened its round maw, revealing numerous concentric circles of dagger-like teeth as it crashed into the magic cage with a loud din. Zilla moved in front of Honoka to protect her, while Malon stumbled backwards and fell on his ass in a panic. He stared in terrified reverence as a countless number of razor-sharp edges scratched against the magic cage’s surface, producing an array of bright sparks accompanied by ear-splitting scratching. It was a profoundly unnerving noise, as if a thousand fingernails dragged along a thousand blackboards.
“That’s not a threat, meat!” roared Boxxy, its monstrous voice easily overpowering the hellish cacophony. “It’s a promise!”
Malon barely had time to react before Zilla grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him towards the exit like a sack of dried cabbages. The guards outside the chamber had heard the racket and opened the bulkhead in advance, allowing the two scientists and their prized specimen to hastily vacate Boxxy’s holding cell. The massive, circular door rolled back into its usual spot, and a series of clangs informed everyone that the locking clamps were back in place.
However, even though the door was shut, the prisoner’s ungodly thrashing and howling could still be heard through the fifty centimeter wide slab of enchanted adamantite.
“Holy shit, sir! You poked open one nightmare of a hornet’s nest!” commented Simmons, more out of surprise than malice.
“Sir, it’s not going to bust out of there, is it?” asked one of the guards while nervously eyeing the door.
“It’ll be fine, rookie. That Stasis Field was designed to contain far more dangerous things than a restless shapeshifter.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate this creature if I were you, Mr. Simmons,” Zilla warned him. “While it’s true not even I can breach that barrier, your prisoner is a monster that possesses considerable physical strength, formidable magical might, and outstanding adaptability. You would be wise to keep your guard up.”
The guards stared intently at their resident living weapon with obvious unease at being directly addressed.
“You heard the man!” shouted Honoka. “Triple the guard detail! I want eyes on it at all times! I want you to raise the alarm the instant you so much as suspect it might escape! I’ll make sure Zilla is on hand to subdue it at a moment’s notice!”
“Yes, ma’am!” replied the guards.
“Bah. You’re overreacting,” Malon sneered from the side. “That cage was designed by Tol-Saroth himself. There’s no way some ignorant savage can breach it!”
Haughty attitude aside, it was quite obvious he didn’t come out of that room entirely unscathed. His bald scalp glistened with sweat and the tips of his fingers trembled somewhat as he adjusted his spectacles. He couldn’t hide that Boxxy’s violent display had rattled him quite a bit. For all his bravado and self-importance, Malon Gehana was still a scholar whose fighting prowess and battle experience were pretty much nil. He’d have surely soiled himself if he wasn’t used to cutting up various horrific creatures.
“Are you… feeling okay, Malon?” Honoka asked her visibly shaken colleague.
“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine,” he said with a dismissive wave. “It just… startled me a bit, that’s all.”
“No. It’s not fine,” she insisted. “We need to talk. Come with me.”
Honoka grabbed him by the shoulder and forcibly dragged him down the hallway, away from the gawking guards. Zilla was going to follow after her as per usual, but she motioned for him to stay behind. Once she and Malon were reasonably out of earshot, she spoke to him in a stern, nagging tone of voice.
“Now, I don’t mean to undermine your authority or anything, but what you did in there was idiotic.”
“I beg your pardon?!” came the indignant response.
“You responded to its provocations! Not only that, but you needlessly fed it information!”
“So what?! It needs to learn its place! And who cares if it went berserk? You can’t expect all of those brutes to be as subservient as your freakish boy-toy.”
“For the last time, Zilla is not my-!”
The female elf reigned in her outrage with a tired sigh. Talking to Malon about pretty much anything was exhausting. Not only was he lacking in common sense, but he was clearly dismissive of Zilla’s rather worrisome words of warning. Her companion had never once given such a high evaluation of another being, be it man, monster, or demon. It was pretty evident he even respected it in some aspects, which was why she was treating this matter with such severity. That was also why she couldn’t just stay silent about Malon’s brazen attitude this time. He needed to get with the program before his ego got himself and everyone at the facility killed.
“Listen to me, Malon. This one is not like the rest. Just think about it. Not only did it wake up far ahead of schedule, but was also perfectly docile until someone in charge came along. And when it realized that person was you, it engaged you directly. It tested you, and you failed.”
“Oh. I ‘failed,’ did I?” he spoke arrogantly. “And what is it that I was being tested on, Professor? Please, enlighten me.”
“Your resolve, Malon. You stared into a bottomless abyss of hatred and malice. And when that abyss stared back at you, you flinched.”
Part Four
Professor Honoka was on her way to visit Boxxy’s cell accompanied by three of her lab assistants, one of whom was pushing a metallic cart. It was loaded with vials, jars, boxes, syringes, beakers, smokeless burners, and other alchemical appliances, though the silver-plated cauldron stood out the most. It was all necessary for the specimen’s first round of treatment involving one of Honoka’s personal inventions – the Attitude Adjuster. This magical concoction, much like the vast majority of this place’s projects, was based on Tol-Saroth’s original research. The ancient elven sage had been so blindingly brilliant that it had taken the rest of the world four hundred years to catch up. In fact, this was the entire purpose of the institution Honoka belonged to. Known simply as the Foundation, this clandestine, government-funded think-tank had been created roughly twenty years ago by one of the Ishigar Republic’s previous elected leaders. Its goals were to study, adapt, and develop Tol-Saroth’s varied works in an effort to grant the Republic an edge against both internal and external threats. Given the endeavor’s sensitive nature, the place was a strongly guarded secret with funding often omitted from any official records and accounts.
