Boomer stumbled to his feet and looked quizzically at Sir Kevin. “What happened?” he groggily muttered, quoting Hamawk right after Dave resurrected him.
“You jumped down the ladder like an idiot and face-planted yourself into unconsciousness and I healed you,” the knight frustratedly replied. Boomer glared at him before turning to look around the room. He was in a cellar, dimly lit by a few torches affixed to the walls. Against one wall was a rack containing several bottles of wine.
Ever on the hunt for valuables to steal, Cloud immediately decided to examine the bottles. She began reading the label out loud:
Contains genuine neutralized mimic saliva.
Pairs well with pufferfish and last rites.
P.S. Please purchase this so we can afford to buy food instead of eating you.
Cloud nervously put one hand on a dagger as she finished. She recognized this as an expensive wine brand for bored nobles. “The stuff rich people buy,” she muttered under her breath.
“I want a taste!” Hamawk shouted, sprinting toward her. As he reached for a bottle, he felt a sharp pain in his face as Cloud slapped him down.
“This is too valuable for a bozo like you to be drinking.” She admonished.
Hamawk angrily stomped off toward the open, stone archway leading to the next room. He was joined at the entryway by Sir Kevin and Boomer as Cloud was busy shoving bottles of Totally Not a Mimic™ wine into her bag of holding. Through the archway was a large, circular arena with a flat stone floor and rows of seats filled with mannequins. As the three adventures cautiously entered the arena, a portcullis closed behind them with a loud thunk.
“Thank you everyone for coming here today to witness this slaughter! Today our battle will be three rookie adventures, a maimed goblin with anger issues, a birdbrain who only knows how to explode things, and a brash, overconfident knight who thinks his god can save him! They will all be facing the reigning champion!” shouted an unseen announcer.
The remaining party members looked at each other nervously. “What sorcery beith this?!” Boomer exclaimed. Before his friends had time to respond, the commentator began speaking again.
“Introducing … champion of this arena, slayer of hundreds, Darrak the Butcher!” the announcer bellowed. A portcullis on the opposite end of the arena began to slowly rise with a low, metallic grating sound as a chant of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” echoed from the stands. Out from the darkness walked a spectral warrior clad in bloodstained, black platemail. In his left hand, he held a longsword and, in his right, a battleaxe, both dripping with spectral blood.
“Batten down the hatches!” Boomer shouted in his perfect pirate impression as he backed up.
“Wait, where’s Cloud?” Sir Kevin worriedly asked.
“Your so-called ‘friend’ has wisely abandoned you,” Darrak mocked as he strode toward them. As the party assumed defensive stances, the spectral warlord raised his weapons into the air and shouted, “Arise, my soldiers, and together we will gain glory!” With that, four ghostly warriors rose out of the ground around Darrak.
“Darrak has called forth his warriors. This is not looking good for the newcomers!” the announcer exclaimed.
“I can take him. You guys handle his warriors!” Hamawk confidently shouted while raising his mace above his head. The goblin sprinted toward his foe and leapt into the air. As the barbarian landed, he swung his mace in a deadly arc aimed directly at the spectral knight’s head.
Clang! Hamawk’s mace was intercepted by Darrak’s two weapons.
“You will never defeat me, goblin!” the ghost hissed, pushing his weapons against the barbarian’s mace and shoving him back a few steps.
“I have only ever lost two fights, and I will not allow myself to lose another!” Hamawk spat.
Darrak advanced toward his diminutive adversary, raining blow after blow with sword and axe upon the goblin’s defenses. Although he hated to admit it, Hamawk was losing ground.
“The goblin is being pushed back! It looks like the champ has him on the ropes!” bellowed the commentator.
Sir Kevin leaped out of the way of one ghost’s swinging blade and raised his shield just in time to deflect a swing from another spirit. Hearing a loud boom behind him, he quickly parried yet another specter’s sword just in time to sidestep out of the way as the fourth ghostly swordsman hurtled past him.
This was it. Hamawk was backed against the wall with nowhere to run. He had to do something quick if he wanted to survive. In a last-ditch effort, Hamawk lunged forward and swung his mace at Darrak. The spectral knight swiftly blocked it with his crossed blades. “Just die already!” the goblin spat though gritted teeth. After a brief shoving match, Darrak leapt backwards, disengaging his weapons from Hamawk’s mace. Having been unprepared for this, Hamawk stumbled forward a few steps. He quickly recovered, however, and began advancing toward his foe, swinging his mace furiously.
Sir Kevin’s sword glowed with radiant light as he plunged it into the chest of the ghostly warrior in front of him. Another spirit lunged at him but was intercepted by a bolt of fire and knocked to the floor. “Thanks for the assist!” The knight shouted at Boomer. The bird man winked a beady eye and gestured back with finger guns.
The ghostly warlord easily dodged the first few swings before catching Hamawk’s mace with the hook of his axe. Before the goblin had time to free his weapon, Darrak twisted his axe, wrenching the mace out of the adventurer’s hand and sending it spinning across the room. A split-second later, the champion’s sword flashed through the air and Hamawk’s remaining arm sailed off in an arc. “It seems you have been . . . disarmed,” the ghostly knight mocked. As the goblin beheld his bleeding stump in horror and rage, he was sent flying into the wall by a kick from his spectral assailant. Hamawk slumped to the ground and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, he was decapitated by a single, brutal axe chop. “Who’s next?” Darrak shouted threateningly.
“Aaaand that’s a knockout!” the commentator shouted. “Looks like Darrak has already taken out that foolish goblin and is moving to do the same to his companions!”
The other two adventurers had just finished off the last of their attackers. “This isn’t good. Do you think we can take him?” Sir Kevin worriedly queried as he looked at Boomer.
“Together, we will gain glory!” the birdman shouted, parroting Darrak.
“I’ll take that as a yes!” Sir Kevin charged at Darrak, and as the two knights began to cross blades, Boomer muttered a series of arcane words, creating a ring-shaped wall of fire that encircled the two fighters. I’m safe now, the birdman thought.
Kevin drove Darrak back with a series of divinely-charged strikes before delivering a powerful shield bash. Caught off guard, the ghost was sent sprawling through the fire wall. The burned and smoking specter quickly stood up and furiously barreled toward the birdman. The terrified kenku hastily fired a bolt of lightning from his outstretched hands. Darrak barely dodged the bolt and was struck by several small arcs of electricity as it went past. The sorcerer almost didn’t have time to summon his invisible barrier. “Mere parlor tricks will not save you,” the ghostly knight mocked as he smashed through Boomer’s barrier with both weapons grazing him. The birdman stumbled back, squawking with pain. He dispelled the fire wall, freeing Kevin, then with a wooden staff pulled from his back, Boomer clumsily swung at Darrak. The spectral murderer easily sidestepped the blow. Before the kenku could swing again, his staff was cleft in twain by his foe’s axe.
Boomer teleported out of the way of a sword swipe aimed at his neck, but realized too late that his hasty casting had gone awry. Not only had he teleported away from Darrak, but away from the house, and the town. The birdman had no idea where he was.
Looking frantically around for his avian foe, the champion was caught unaware by the furious Sir Kevin. Without hesitation, the vengeful knight plunged his divinely-charged blade into his opponent’s back. Darrak the Butcher sank to his knees and dropped his weapons, which rapidly dissipated into nothing.
“You…” The champion hissed before he, too, disappeared from this world.
“Good riddance!” Kevin spat.
“We have an upset!” the announcer shouted excitedly. “The champion has fallen! And the winner is… me!”
“What?!” Kevin shouted, confusedly scanning the room for the source of the voice. A deep, menacing laugh echoed all around him. It seemed to be coming from the house itself. After a few moments, the laughing voice was joined by numerous others coming from the stands.
“Thanks for the show, but now it is time for dinner,” the voice mused.
“Who are you?” Kevin angrily asked.
“I am Mimicos … but your delectable kin know me in legends as The Haunted Devourer!” the voice proudly stated.
Realization flashed across the adventurer’s face. Sir Kevin, like most adventurers, had heard the tale of The Haunted Devourer. It was said to be an ancient mimic of such enormous size that it could disguise itself as whole buildings to attract prey. The stories also claim that it possessed the ability to summon the spirits of those it has eaten to fight on its behalf. Kevin knew that if the house he had entered truly was that legendary creature, he was doomed. The knight raised his shield, assuming a defensive stance, as a massive maw filled with huge, acid-dripping teeth formed out of the wall before him. Several large eyes soon formed above it.
“Welcome to the team,” the mimic ominously stated. “You’ll make a perfect replacement for Darrak.”
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