The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

The thwang of a bowstring echoed through the night, a crossbow bolt whistling toward Coin. The mimic lurched forward, the sharpened tip brushing his flesh as he charged toward the nearest bandit. The stocky man cursed, jabbing his spear forward as Coin closed the gap.

The head of the spear sliced the side of Coin's cheek, blood bubbling from the wound before the flesh knit itself together. Coin countered with a swift jab of his hand, shattering the wooden shaft.

Of all the weapons that had ever been turned on him in his old life, he had a particular dislike of spears. From goblins trying to stick him like a pig, to humans jabbing at him from the safety of looming tower shields... he had nothing but bad thoughts about them.

His right hand swung down like the blade of a guillotine, shattering the bandit's clavicle and unleashing a spray of blood from the torn flesh. The man cried out, dying just as the tip of his broken spear clattered to the dirt.

Another crossbow bolt shot through the air and punched into Coin's shoulder. The mimic snarled and turned toward the marskman, who was moving to reload with a trembling hand. The bones of Coin's jaw twisted and elongated, and from the nose down he was soon sporting the toothy and long-tongued maw of a normal mimic.

"D-demon!" one of the bandits cried, his swords trembling in his grasp. "A demon from the Bleak! Sentinel preserve us!"

Coin, in truth, did not know what either of those terms meant. But, on the other hand, he didn't much care either.

He turned and raced towards the marksman, who was cursing and swearing to any deity willing to lend him an ear. But, in his haste, Coin didn't notice the first bandit he'd downed charging at him. He was sweating profusely, grimacing from the colossal pain in his chest. Yet, even so, he pressed on and slashed wildly at Coin's chest.

The tip of his scimitar whistled through the air, cutting into material tougher than leather. Coin's robe and the flesh beneath was sliced open, only for the wound to reforge itself with stored biomass. Coin hissed, murky blood oozing from his closing wound. He rounded on the bandit, the bones of his right fist growing larger and denser as he funnelled his mass into it. His fist crashed into the bandit's face, caving his skull in with a blow harsher than the swing of a sledgehammer.

The distraction gave the marksman enough of an opening to aim and shoot. But in his panic, his aim was rather poor. The tip of the bolt cut through the outside of Coin's thigh, ripping away a chunk in the process. The mimic bristled, his well-organised human features growing twisted and exaggerated as his anger tore through him.

"Stop. Doing. That!"

His body warped, inhuman muscles tensing to shunt out the bolt embedded in his flesh. The wound closed swiftly after, but the ache remained.

Two of the other bandits rushed at him, brandishing scimitars in both hands. Blades whistled through the air, the frantic storm of steel forcing Coin onto the backfoot. He narrowly avoided several of the slashes, but the two pronged assault was quick and coordinated.

The flesh of Coin's arms shifted, the skin and muscles growing denser. He raised them in unison, hissing as the steel bit into his forearms. A normal man would have had his limbs severed, but Coin's arms were tougher than tree trunks. He shoved both men with an immense surge of strength, very nearly bowling them over.

He lunged at the nearest man and bit into his neck, tearing through chainmail and the flesh beneath in a single bite. He swallowed a massive chunk in one fell swoop, before turning on the next bandit as he was struggling to his feet. He ducked under a pair of slashes, a few strands of 'hair' being sliced off in the process. Which, to Coin, was as painful as having a pinstripe of skin being plucked off. His fist collided with the bandit's helmet, the steel crumpling inward and his head being damn near torn off his shoulders.

Four down, Coin noted.

The marksman was suddenly flanked by another of his cohorts, both men taking aim with crossbows. A third bandit, the last of the group, set his lantern on the ground and drew a mace from his belt. "Figure the Wizard's Guild will pay a nice sum for his corpse," he uttered, glaring at Coin behind his helmet.

Coin launched himself to one side as the first crossbow was fired, but the second marksman had accounted for that and snapped his aim to where Coin was jumping. The second bolt thudded into the mimic's shin, pulling a pained snarl from his lips. He snatched the fallen spearhead from the ground in a fluid motion and launched it into the darkness. The blade punched through the chest of one attacker, his crossbow clattering to the ground as the spear exploded from his back.

The largest of the bandits charged at Coin as he forced himself upright, with the mimic stumbling from the bolt skewering his shin. A crushing blow caught Coin in the ribs, flinging him onto his back. He winced, his dented flesh swiftly moving to mould itself back into a proper shape.

He rolled to the side, avoiding a blow aimed at his head that punched a crater into the road. Coin's foot shot out, kicking the man's feet out from under him, snapping the bolt from his shin in the process. He pounced on the bandit, who only barely managed to let out a panicked cry as Coin killed him with a hard punch that sank his helmeted skull into the ground.

The last of the bandits stumbled back, cursing as he loaded a bolt into his crossbow. But Coin was already on him by the time he pulled the drawstring back, and the man was dead before he hit the ground.

Coin surveyed his handiwork, panting for breath. Killing a group of people was nothing new to the mimic, but it felt no easier now than it had back in the day. If anything it was harder in some respects. The pain of his slowly mending wounds was far more pronounced to his enhanced mind than it had been to his old, beastly brain.

He winced and focused, willing his proportions back to normal. "Firstly," he uttered under his breath. "I'm owed a snack. Munching on a few of those will help my wounds heal better." And it would make him stronger, in the long run. He just needed to put their bodies aside to make sure Illyana didn't see anything.

It'd be too awkward to explain, he reasoned. From his understanding, humans and humanoids didn't eat each other. Well, that wasn't too new to him. Goblins didn't eat other goblins, and even mimics didn't eat their own kind.

Coin set about his business, munching on some human meat to help heal his wounds. The remains, thereafter, he dumped in the brush a considerable distance to the side of the road. Though, as the tang of blood lingered on his tongue, he couldn't help but think that human meat didn't taste as good now as it had in the past. He also took the time to check the men for any gold and found only a miserable pittance of ducats for his trouble. But some gold was better than no gold at all, he reasoned.

It was as he returned to the wagon, the last of the bodies tossed away, that he spied the old man stirring. He groaned, rising to his feet and using the wheels of his carriage to support his modest weight. He blinked a few times, scanning his surroundings.

"Good grief!" he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. "All gone! Did I get them? Didn't think I still had it in me," he said, rubbing the injury on the back of his head.

"No, that was me," Coin said, as he casually approached. He'd been hoping to just grab the gold and leave before the old timer got up. And now, as odd as it sounded in Coin's head, he would have felt... bad if the old man saw him take it. And he would have felt similarly bad if he killed a person who couldn't defend himself.

What was that all about? He'd never had to worry about something like that before he evolved.

The old man's eyes brightened, a grin breaking out across his face. Coin swallowed hard as he saw the glimmer of two golden teeth in the old man's smile. People could get golden teeth?! "Aha, that's right! You appeared to save me, didn't you? My own trusty and stalwart Varangian, sent from the Aether itself!"

"... Sure," Coin awkwardly replied.

The old man breezed past him with impressive quickness, making for the lockbox that had fallen to the ground during the prior commotion. He quickly scooped a fistful of coins into his wrinkled hands, and offered them to Coin. The mimic blinked in confusion, taking them into his palms. People would... give money to other people to thank them?

"The least I can do to thank you! No, actually, you deserve a little something extra!" He hurried beyond the bewildered mimic, rummaging through some of the containers on the back of his wagon. He returned soon after, returning with a rectangular chunk of lemon-scented bread, glistening with a glaze of sugar. The smell made Coin lick his lips on a reflex.

As it happened, Coin had seen such things in the past. The goblins had been prone to dragging their plunder underground, and he still had vague memories of the baked goods the goblins would gorge themselves on.

"Gold and sugar, the lifeblood of the upper crust!" the old man said, grinning. "Wish I'd been awake to see you give those rodents what for! Bet they begged for mercy, cowards always do. But I am truly grateful, my young chum!"

Coin snuffed the cake a few times before taking a bite. He froze, a shiver racing through the entirety of his body. In that moment he decided he needed more sugar in his life. Much, much more.

The old man sighed, glancing to the one corpse Coin hadn't touched. "Shame about my bodyguard. I get the feeling the old boy lied about his qualifications. Ah, still, always a shame to watch a fellow get cut down."

"You won't be seeing those other guys again, at least," Coin replied, before gnawing on another corner of the lemon cake.

"Quite right, quite right. Never thought the road to Wheat Valley would draw in fellows like that... Ah, where are my manners? I'm Elijah DiVenture. And I am oh so glad to meet you."

Humans having two names was a new phenomenon to Coin. His jaw tightened. He'd need to come up with a second name whenever his mind wasn't so... frazzled. "Call me Coin."

"Coin, eh?" Elijah grinned, holding out a gnarled hand to the mimic. Coin hesitated, before offering his free hand over. It was the complete wrong hand for a handshake, but this didn't seem to bother Elijah who gripped it and shook it all the same.

"A fine name, for a fine lad," the old man said, a twinkle in his eye.