The mood within our group was becoming desperate.

We'd spent close to half the day in the Labyrinth and hadn't even made it past the first room. We didn't bring enough supplies for a multiple-day delve, expecting to have left the Maw hours ago, and our food and drink already ran low.

Voices were raised, people shouting at one another as they argued over various strategies. A number of fights had already broken out, further diminishing morale. The worst one even had to be forcefully defused by Aldwyn.

The men had gathered in the main hall after the will to search gave out, laid despondently upon the plush armchairs and pacing worriedly across the velvet carpets.

Even Aldwyn himself was feeling the strain. The headsman was currently with the group, speaking quietly and calmly to them, attempting to soothe their frayed nerves, but I could see the beginnings of panic worming their way onto his normally unflappable demeanor.

For my part, I was far from the party, sequestered in the narrow corridor that connected kitchen to dining room. I was no tracker, no ranger, no rogue. I'd be the first to admit it. What little I knew I'd taught myself from forestcraft; my main competence was and would always be in direct combat.

But without the men nearby, I could hear the song more clearly, and though the hymn of wealth still overflowed from it, there was something hidden deep within. Something secret. And it led right here. I must have scoured this place over twenty times by now, and I was sure of it.

But there was nothing here. The corridor was entirely ordinary, undecorated save for a single painting that hung right in the middle of it. I had already checked underneath it. Nothing. I had tried removing it from the wall. Nothing. But there was nothing else here. This had to be it.

So, for what must have been the hundredth time, I examined the painting.

It was a bizarre one, no doubt about that. Well matched to the general aesthetic of the place. It depicted a knight in heavy, dented plate exploring a dimly lit room. The room was made entirely of stone slabs, perhaps a church or castle. A greatsword lay strapped upon the knight's back and his hand reached out, grasping for an ornate chest before him. The chest was rimmed in gold, clearly the focal point of the image, and the knight's hand was almost upon it. His expression depicted impatient greed.

The answer had to be hidden within the painting. But I'd looked through the house already, and there was no sign of such a chest. There was no sign of such a room. And the knight from the painting was too dissimilar from the gilded knight in the main hall for the latter to be involved in the puzzle.

A sudden thought jumped into my mind. Maybe I was overthinking this. Wordlessly, I reached out for the painting, and touched the chest with my bare hand.

In an instant, the painting changed. Or, more specifically, the chest did. It was no longer an item of ornate beauty.

It had turned into a monster.

Long fangs like polished knives glinted eagerly as its savage jaws opened, threatening to swallow the knight whole. Its too long, too thick tongue had wrapped around the warrior, barbed and purple, holding him in place, ready to deposit him within its waiting maw. The knight's expression had morphed to abject terror.

Before I had time to consider it, a great gong reverberated through the house, and behind the painting, a previously invisible door swung open. As I gaped in shock, I heard the noises of the group from behind me.

They were ecstatic. There were whoops of joy and tears in their eyes as they beheld the doorway.

"Oh, my God. Oh, Thank the Priest."

"Thank the High Priest! We're not going to die!"

"We're going to get out of here!"

"That's it, Taiven, that's it my boy!"

"Oh, that was awful. I hope I never have to go through that again."

"Look alive, boys! After that long, I'd wager the floor's almost over! Can't be many rooms left after this nightmare!"

"You said it, Sanford! Hell, perhaps this place was the Champion itself!"

"Well done, lad," Aldwyn said, clapping me on the back with a broad grin on his face.

But I wasn't smiling. My brow furrowed. That was too easy. The room couldn't be finished yet. I could've figured that out by pure chance within the first ten minutes of arriving. Anyone could have. And besides, what did the painting mean? I still had no idea.

Reluctantly, I followed the group down into what must have been the manor's basement.

The basement was empty, barren, compared to the rest of the manor. It was a large space, with dirt floors and walls, similar in size to the upper bedroom, but devoid of all features save for one. In its center was a single stone pedestal. The pedestal was entirely unremarkable, lacking any manner of engraving or decoration, and on top of it rested a rusted iron key, presumably for the main door.

My stomach churned. Something felt off about this. The song was impossible to hear over the noise of the party. One of the men rushed over to grab the key.

The moment he did, a tremor shook the house, so strong it almost knocked me off my feet. I stumbled. Some of the men toppled over.

"What on earth was that?" One said.

"Who cares, let's get the fuck out of here," another swiftly replied, a chorus of agreement supporting him. The key was turned over to Aldwyn, who accepted it gratefully.

The sick feeling in my stomach intensified. My mind raced as we made our way back up the stairs. There was something I was missing. I knew it. One of the men opened the door, and together we rushed through it.

And found ourselves in the upstairs bedroom, not the first floor.

Other than that, though, nothing seemed amiss. The bedroom was just the same as it had always been, corners void of any manner of furniture, and massive bed absolutely overflowing with pillows. There were so many of them that they almost hid it from sight, a great pile, a mountain of feather-filled cushions. Must have been close to a hundred. The door downstairs was just on the other side of the room.

As we made our way over to it, the men still laughing and congratulating each other, I lagged slightly behind. Unease washed over me, tensing my muscles and raising goose pimples on my flesh. My body was on high alert, but there were no enemies to be seen. I focused, sharpening my hearing to its peak, blocking everything else out.

The song cried out at me, suffocating my mind with a single word:

'mimic.'

From the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the pillows twitch.

The ornate chest. The gilded furniture. The hapless knight. The monster hiding in plain sight. My mind spun and everything fell into place.

"Fucking Priest, it's the WHOLE HOUSE! ALDWYN, WATCH OU-"

The pile exploded, pillows metamorphosing into malformed beasts, all stringy muscles, mangy feathers, lolling tongues, and sharp teeth. They washed over the group entirely, a tsunami of white feathers and purple flesh. Aldwyn's eyes were so wide I could see their sclera clearly just before he disappeared.

My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline spiking as I raced forward, the screams of friends and fathers I'd known all my life echoing in my ears. I swung my sword blindly, all training forgotten as I lunged at the closest mimic with a roar.

I split it in half with barely an effort, opening it from stem to stern in a grisly shower of pale plumage and violet viscera. Its hot blood stung my flesh where it landed, and I panted for a moment, head whipping back and forth so the creatures wouldn't surround me.

One darted in on my left and snapped at me, yelping at the slash I gave it in reply. Hearing the song blare behind me, I spun and thrust, impaling another on my sword. I backhanded a third as it jumped up to maul my face, teeth scraping the flesh of my palm and drawing blood.

My breathing was smoother now, pulse calming, near decades of practice taking over as I cut and diced.

I danced with monsters, swings smooth and precise, conserving energy. Every movement led to another. The song wove through my swordcraft in a great crescendo, shifting my feet, guiding my hands. I missed nothing. They were fast and many, surrounding me, every mimic I cut down seeing two more take its place. But their flesh was soft and weak, and my blade parted it like wheat in a field.

I inhaled, deeply.

My wrist twitched, sword flickering out in an instant and severing a spine.

Spin, cut, parry, pivot, strike.

I exhaled, slowly.

My arms blurred, muscles screaming, two handed grip bisecting three in a single blow.

Left, right, below, behind, above.

I inhaled, eagerly.

The very air around me seemed saturated with the creatures' toxic blood, so thick I sent forth waves of it with every sword stroke. The scented song of iron and lavender filled my lungs to the brim. I was beginning to enjoy its aroma.

Gore, pierce, stab, stick, spear.

I exhaled, fiercely.

A mad grin was forming on my face. And why shouldn't it be? This was what I had worked for ceaselessly, the one moment for which I'd trained my entire life. Fuck Blessings. Here, I was immortal. Here, I was free. The song thrummed with pleasure at my revelation. I felt wetness running from my nose. I licked my lips and relished the salty taste.

Gouge, crack, slam, shatter, burst.

I inhaled, fearlessly.

Blood seeped from dozens of wounds across my body. I barely felt the pain. It was the shame that bothered me. Pathetic. Sloppy. I should be better. I should be faster.

And suddenly, impossibly, simply by thinking it, I was. I spun, dashed, repositioned. The song burned hot in my veins, fueling me with its fire. I met the creatures at every turn. Their numbers were endless, but my speed was limitless.

Faster, Stronger, Savage, Mangle, MAUL.

I snarled, thirsty for more.

The song screamed, and I screamed with it. The world was a canvas of purple and white, and I was its artist. The creatures fell before me in droves, shrieking deliciously, as they should. For they were not the monsters, no, it was me, it always had been. I was the beast hiding in plain sight, the void between stars that swallowed light, I was,

I,

I–

I BELLOWED, roaring madly, for I was SONG made flesh. The cowards ran, but they could not hide, for I would hunt them, I would find them, I would make them SQUEAL FOR ME–

"TAIVEN! TAIVEN, STOP! STOP!"

I blinked, slowly, head spinning, mind buzzing, arms shaking, blood weeping from every pore.

Grasped brutally within my left hand was Aldwyn's trembling frame. My right was raised high, sword poised to strike. His eyes were wide, wider even than when the creatures attacked him before, I noted idly. And he was staring right at me.

He was afraid of me. There was something wrong about that, but I couldn't remember what.

His mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear him, the song had burst my eardrums. I tried to read his lips but my eyes were drooping, tried to hold him but my body was numb. The lacquered, violet ground rushed to meet me, and I greeted it gladly, with open arms.

As I slept, I dreamt of blood and slaughter.