CHAPTER 74: HOLLOW FEAST (PT 1)

The massive doors, unsurprisingly, led into yet another stone corridor, lit with dying torches.

Okay, so they like dim lighting...so their eyes have got to be terrible. No wonder they like copying other people’s faces. That’s how they experience sunlight, maybe?

She almost laughed out loud.

I’m lost in a dungeon full of mimics and I’m wondering about their biology right now. Okay. Let’s keep going, me.

It felt like she had been walking for hours through various stone corridors. Her torch cast dancing shadows on the walls, and it seemed to grow taller and press closer with each step.

The dungeon’s architecture shifted without warning—smooth passages gave way to rough-hewn tunnels, then opened into chambers that felt too deliberate, too planned.

She’d lost count of how many times she’d paused to sprinkle spices from her dwindling supply, leaving a trail for Mokko’s sensitive nose to follow. If he and Lucy were still looking for her. If they’d found a way down this far.

The thought of her companions sent a pang through her chest, but she pushed it aside. She couldn’t afford to doubt herself now.

+

The corridor ahead curved sharply, and warm light spilled around the corner. It didn’t look like the aggressively loud glow of dungeon fungi. It was almost...warm and welcoming.

Marron approached cautiously, her free hand resting on the handle of her knife. As she rounded the bend, she saw another pair of massive stone doors. This time, their surfaces were carved with intricate patterns.

The doors were slightly ajar, and the scent flowing through the gap made her stomach clench.

She smelled a pot full of chicken, soy sauce, and garlic.

All of them were required to execute her recipes.

+

Did I stumble into a diner?

Before she opened the door wide enough for her to enter, Marron made sure her torch still had enough light. It wasn’t burning as brightly as before, but it lit up what was in front of her nicely. Slowly, she placed the torch on some boxes before she walked in.

A breath of warm, stale air rushed out as she carefully pried the door open, and the wind blew out her torch.

+

There was a large room filled with diners, separated from the door with a two-step staircase. The lamps above them were barely lit, casting long shadows that let her blend in with the mimic silhouettes. But she couldn’t help shaking when she saw their shiny eyes.

Dozens of them hunched over stone booths, their forms twitching and unstable, draped in scavenged clothing.

Every now and then, the wooden counters pulsed with muted blue light. Marron’s stomach twisted as she recognized the carving.

Dwarven runes.

Her eyes tracked across the far wall, where she could just make out a mural of mountains painted in bold reds and golds. Smoke and time had worn the details down, but the peaks still jutted proudly toward an imagined sky.

Oh my god. This used to be a dwarven diner.

And now the dwarves are gone.

Her chest tightened. Whoever had carved this place had built it with love. There were angular booths, solid counters, and a hearth for warmth.

"Welcome in, new friend," said a voice.

Marron flinched.

The mimic behind the bar beckoned with one clawed hand, its face shifting like wax under heat. "Yes? Are you just gonna stand there, stranger? Come in. The new chef just made lunch."

Her pulse thudded in her ears, but the shadows hid her well. At least in this lighting, no one’s going to think I’m human.

Perhaps it was a small blessing mimics were never fully stable in their shapes.

"Sorry," Marron forced out, lowering her voice and rasping her tone. "Earthquake from the surface. Just made it here."

The bartender mimic tilted its melting head, then nodded. "Ah. Of course. Don’t worry, friend. When the Captain gets the Legendary Food Cart to the Dungeon’s Core, the earthquakes will stop."

Her blood ran cold. They had her cart and were planning to drag it deeper.

"Chicken rice, please!" another mimic slurred from a booth, its jaw sagging crookedly as it slurped from a half-empty bowl.

"One minute!" the bartender called back. "Sorry. Please, stranger, find a place to sit. We’ll serve you shortly."

Marron nodded stiffly and shuffled further in, trying to look casual. There was a stone table near the kitchen, and she lowered herself onto the seat.

She could see the crude kitchen now—pots and pans clattering in hands that weren’t meant to hold them.

A mimic stood at the counter, its flesh rippling and struggling to wear her face. The features wouldn’t settle: one eye too high, a mouth stretched wrong, cheeks sagging. It looked like a nightmare reflection in broken glass.

And it was cooking her food.

The smell was almost right, but when she glanced at the dish as it landed on a cracked plate, the System whispered its brutal truth.

[Aegis Chicken Rice]

A basic recovery meal.

Restores +3 HP over 10 minutes.

Texture: Mushy. Flavor balance: Poor.

Note: Missing essential seasoning techniques.

The mimics didn’t care. They shoveled it down, groaning in warped voices.

"Delicious."

"Chef Marron... so talented."

"Better than the last one."

Marron’s jaw clenched. The last one?

The mimic cook plated another dish—triangles of rice wrapped in torn seaweed, their edges leaking filling like open wounds. Her chicken onigiri.

The System chimed again.

[Chicken Onigiri]

A passable snack. Restores 1 HP.

Flavor: Bland. Rice overcooked. Filling underseasoned.

She bit down hard on her lip, fighting the urge to scream. Her recipes reduced to mockeries, served to monsters who praised them as if they were masterpieces.

"This is the best," one mimic slurred, its teeth sliding into a new shape as it chewed. "Best since... the last chef."

"Yes. The last one... absorbed. Her recipes... finished."

The words turned her stomach.

How many chefs had been here? How many met the same fate?

So many chefs had their craft stolen, and their identities stripped away until the mimic was the only pale imitation left.

Marron’s heart hammered. Hidden underneath the table, she reached into her pack and gripped her knife for comfort.

Then, slowly, forced herself to breathe.

I will not be next.

Soon, it would be her turn to eat, and she really wasn’t looking forward to that.