I like to think that with everything I've done and trained for, I've saved at least a couple of people in the process. That this war wasn't for nothing, and that my missions had meaning.
The wind's pressure only grew with time. With every second Milo fell, it grew harder and harder to breathe as his body adjusted to the new pressure.
Milo was spinning uncontrollably as he plummeted closer and closer to the ground.
Shit, shit, shit. They really brought me here to kill me. Why even train me? Why make me feel welcome? Why give me a name?
"Wa-hooo!"
Someone soared by.
And another.
Milo looked around and saw all of the other soldiers falling right alongside him. Some even used a specific form to fall faster.
He still couldn't stop himself from spinning. Every twist and turn only made him more nauseous.
A hand stopped his flailing. Milo looked to his left and saw Flio positioned like he was lying on the ground in a seductive position, smiling at him.
Milo laughed.
Somehow, he had forgotten, for even a second, that he was falling to his death. The others' presence warmed him, made him feel safe.
They wouldn't all jump to their deaths just for me, right?
He thought for a moment before pushing his arms out. He imitated a swimming motion and closed in on Flio.
"Are we going to be okay?"
"WHAT?!" Flio yelled back.
The wind passing by their ears made it almost impossible to hear anything.
"ARE WE GOING TO DIE?" Milo shouted.
Flio paused for a second and thought about what Milo was trying to say. His face lit up as he seemed to understand.
A large smile formed on his face as he happily nodded, holding two thumbs up.
Flio saw the horror fall over Milo's face, so he slowly stopped nodding and turned his thumbs downward.
This idiot...
Milo looked down at the ground below. Castles were scattered all across the land. The edges of the island were visible from how high they were. It felt like they were falling with great speed, but the scale of the layer made it impossible to tell how fast they were closing in.
After minutes of falling, Milo seemed to calm down. The others had grown bored with the descent, and some even started playing games.
Well, we definitely weren't sent here to die.
The boy even tried watching some of the games to see how they were played.
Eventually, Milo looked down again.
The ground was now closing in quickly.
His calm expression turned to panic. He tried screaming to warn everyone, but he was either ignored or his cries went unheard.
Switching his gaze between the men and the ground, Milo braced himself for the impact.
The ground grew closer and closer, until finally...
Milo hit the ground with full force. A force that could kill the strongest knights or the strongest beasts. But somehow, he was fine.
He opened his eyes to see the others just the same. Some dusted themselves off while others looked at their surroundings. After checking himself for any damage, he realized he was more than fine.
His ears adjusted to the newfound silence while his nose scrunched from the new smell. The whole place smelled like charred wood—a stark difference from his metallic hometown one layer above.
The thought of home made him look to the sky. It was the same as in the Kingdom of Krovlizt—blue skies covered any sign of floating islands above.
"It looks the same, but it's different from up above,"
"What do you mean?"
"At night-"
"Gather around, men!" Elias shouted.
"It seems we've landed on the south-western side of Tsunser, the kingdom we need to travel to finish what we've come here to do."
Elias looked around at the men before continuing. They all seemed anxious to know what he would say next.
Milo felt the tension build and started becoming nervous.
He clenched his fists and swallowed.
"It'll be... about a three-day trip."
The men groaned. The air seemed to release its hold on everyone.
Milo seemed confused.
"C'mon, Elias. You're telling us we've gotta spend three days in this shithole?"
"Pay better be good," one murmured.
Milo seemed disappointed in the reactions.
So they weren't scared, just lazy.
Before anyone could make another complaint, the men all stopped and turned to Milo. They stared intently at the boy.
Some reached for their weapons.
Jackson stepped forward and unsheathed a strange-looking sword. Before Milo could understand what was going on, Jackson vanished. A crater was left where his feet were.
Milo stepped back, but bumped into something.
He turned to see Jackson, covered in blood.
Milo fell and crawled backwards in a panic.
"W- Wha-"
His eyes focused past Jackson. He saw limbs and pieces of bodies scattered around the forest floor. Blood stained the tree bark and leaves.
All the visions of his orphanage came rushing back as he started panting. He felt a cold sweat form on his scalp, but his body was hot.
A hand grabbed him.
Flio had placed his hand on his shoulder.
"It's okay," he said, "they're gone."
"Not all of them, Flio," Elias responded.
"Yeah, I mean, I know. But, I just meant the ones for now."
Flio looked at Milo and shrugged.
"What do you mean by 'they'?" Milo asked.
"Goblins."
"They don't typically come out in the day, much less the morning," Jackson continued as he wiped his blade clean.
He looked to Milo.
"Means we're in a nest. Either that, or one of Ralph's mistresses is mad at him."
Ralph clicked his tongue.
The rest laughed as Milo let out a chuckle.
"Even you could kill a goblin," Elias spoke coldly.
The mood dropped once more as Elias turned to lead the way.
As the group walked, Milo tapped Flio on the shoulder. Flio turned and smiled at Milo.
"What's up, kid?"
"Nothing..."
"Just wanna chat, huh?"
The boy nodded.
"Well, there's not much to these forests. Only creatures we need to worry about are those that we can handle as a group, so we're fine. And Sir Elias was right, even without combat experience, you could kill a goblin, too."
"How?" Milo looked up at Flio as his hand felt the knife in his waistband.
"Simple, really. You beat the shit out of it. Hit it hard and fast and don't stop until you know it's dead. And even when it's dead, you kick it some more," Flio smiled as he acted out kicking something on the ground.
Their conversation carried on for a while. Flio explained some minor things about goblins and their habits, as well as his first time killing one.
Shortly after their conversation started, the group stopped at a long, narrow bridge. It spanned a wide canyon on the island.
Elias looked at his map while a couple of the men threw some rocks off the side and watched them fall into the dark pit below. They giggled to themselves quietly.
"Something's wrong," Elias said.
"What is it, Sir?" Jackson asked.
"This bridge. It's not supposed to be here."
Jackson held his hand out.
"May I, sir?"
Elias pushed the map into Jackson's chest and walked over to the edge of the path. He pinched the dirt and twisted it between his fingers. The others spread out and made themselves comfortable.
"Shit," Elias whispered.
As he turned to his group, he noticed two of the men messing with the bridge.
"Hey! Stop you fools!"
Elias reached out to them, but was too far. As his fingers closed, he could see where they once stood. The men disappeared without a sound.
"Oooh- oh shit!" Flio backed away.
Milo looked up from the calluses on his hands, confused.
There were nine of them left.
Jackson, Ralph, and another named Conrad all pulled out their weapons.
The bridge swayed in the men's sudden absence, and the forest went silent.
"What the fuck was that?" Conrad choked, "Ehm, sir."
"Now's not the time for formalities, Conrad," Elias responded, "and... it's a mimic."
A mimic?
Elias continued, "I need everyone to back away from the bridge. This isn't something you fight."
"Right, you are good, sir."
A voice came from the direction of the bridge. It was high-pitched and feminine.
Out of the fissure crawled a small blob of mud. It had two front limbs, each ending in a hand. It slowly pulled itself up and over the ledge. The backside dragged across the ground as it made its way to the side of the bridge. It positioned itself towards the men.
Small pockets of teeth and eyes floated around in the mud-like substance. A trail stained the ground behind it with the same brown goo it was made of.
"Sorry for the party intrusion, teehee."
Its mouth hardly moved, but the voice was that of a middle-aged woman. The laugh made Milo sick. He turned to puke, but stopped himself. Others seemed to share the same sentiment.
Elias stepped forward.
"Tell us."
"You know your stuff, good sir," the mimic continued, "three questions and a dungeon."
"Only three," Elias mumbled to himself.
"Elias, sir, please explain!" Conrad shouted in fear.
Elias sighed and rested his arm on his sword's handle.
"It's a mimic, you can't kill it. You get a limited number of questions, and the punishment and solution vary between mimics."
The men turned to the mimic.
They hesitantly put their swords away.
"We can't run, or we fail, we can't cross until we know the solution... or we fail."
None of them had time to process much of what was happening.
"That's why those two are gone... but not dead. There is a chance they live. The mimic said 'dungeon,' which means the two were sent there. Some mimics have instant-death penalties, but we were lucky."
"So-"
"Stop," Elias raised his hand.
"Don't ask any questions after the mimic has appeared, or we lose one of ours."
Everyone seemed to think intently about their words as a heavy silence fell on the group.
"Elias," Flio said, "please take the lead. I believe everyone here would like you to speak from now on."
Everyone nodded.
Elias nodded in return.
No one spoke for hours, not even the mimic.
Nightfall came. The sky turned pitch black. It lacked the usual star-scattered array Milo was used to. The moon brought a hue of blood that washed over the whole layer.
This is tough. What's the best first question? We only know that two men disappeared on the bridge, and that they were messing with the ropes.
Should we ask what the solution is? No, there must be something against that in the mimic's rules. Maybe it has to do with weight, how many steps they take, or the order of names, or-
Everyone seemed engrossed in their own fantasies about what the solution could be.
Elias clenched his jaw.
He wanted to ask the obvious. What are the rules? How do we cross? What did they do wrong?
But mimics twist words. Straight questions led to crooked answers.
"W-" He hesitated, "Were there too few men walking on the bridge?"
Silence.
The mimic opened its eyes.
"Yes. Two questions remaining."
Its voice had warped into a man's.
"Does the solution have to do with the number of men touching the bridge or the number of men crossing the bridge?"
"..."
"...Crossing. One question remaining."
The mimic stared at Elias. No emotion showed, but an annoyance radiated from its aura. Elias squinted at the beast.
Elias retreated to thought once more. He seemed closer to the answer, but lacked the final solution.
Too few men and the amount crossing. But how many? Aughh! Why is this so hard?!
Milo scrunched his hair up with his hands and silently thrashed around.
"We know we need more than two men, and a number we can manage with the amount of men we have here," Elias said.
Ralph spoke up, "We have nine of us here. Three should be the logical answer. Three cross at a time."
"No, it'd never make it that easy," Elias replied, "We had eleven at the beginning. That's not divisible by anything greater than two."
Elias walked over to the mimic and knelt.
Suddenly, he shoved his hand into the mush. His arm bumped around eyeballs and teeth as he swished it around.
When he pulled his hand out, there was nothing but brown residue on his arm.
"Teehee..." the mimic laughed in yet another voice as the mouths and teeth shifted around.
"Damnit," he whispered.
The group seemed disappointed by the outcome.
But Milo's eyes widened.
He stood up... and used the last question.