A Mimic Novels & Stories

“Why not just replace me directly?” “Because there is one thing I cannot fully replicate,” the Mimic replied. “The weave inside you. That shifter spirit and the human soul. They are part of your essence, yet they are separate entities that chose to bind themselves to you. It is... complicated. But not impossible.” He raised his hand, and his palm began to glow with a faint gold and blue light, a mockery of Siron’s power. “With enough time with you, I can learn to mimic that too. Or at least, enough to fool the others.” Siron felt a chill. This was worse than he had imagined. The Mimic didn’t just want to kill him; he wanted to take over his life, his relationships, even his allies.

Luna asked. “I moved from place to place. I changed my name and even changed my appearance. I grew a beard and a mustache and even lengthened my hair. And in that look, no one liked me. I was mistaken for a lunatic.” Simon smiled as he remembered that moment. “But now, I have a lot of competitors with you. What if you could bring that look back? Keep your hair long, don’t shave so no one else will like you.” said Luna. “You are the only one I want, even though the world wants me. You will not have a competitor because the competitor is when two people have a choice, but I, you, are the only one I want,” said Simon.

It stopped directly in front of her, close enough that Eva could smell it—not the antiseptic and lilies, but something deeper, something that smelled like the inside of a mouth that had been clenched shut for too long, like the breath of someone who had been holding in a scream for years. "But that's not how this works," the mimic whispered. "You know that. You've always known that. The only way to pass this trial is to admit what you've spent seven years trying to drown in studying, in serving, in praying, in *saving*. You have to say it out loud, Eva. You have to finally *say* it." "Say what?" Eva's voice came out barely audible, a scratch against the vastness of the hall. The mimic leaned

I stated the knowledge that I had, and honestly didn’t even know much about werewolves at all, other than they existed. “Well, it’s not just creatures.” Simon said, and raised his arms above his head. Pulling at them, at if he was stretching out the muscles. “My species mimics what’s around them. That means, I can shift into an exact copy of the people and creatures around me, but only if I have physically touched them. No more, and no less.” I nodded, having a basic understanding of what he was explaining to me. He reached out and brushed his fingers down the skin of my arm, so fast I wouldn’t have even noticed if I had not of been staring right at him.

I snapped my gaze at him as I tried to decipher his words. “You mean they weren’t who they claimed to be? But wouldn’t someone have recognized them?” Both Finn and Ivan were quiet. “We weren’t looking for it. Someone could have come in and pretended. None of us asked the hard questions or really talked enough to make them give themselves away.” Finn clicked his tongue angrily. “It could have been a fucking mimic.” A mimic was a creature that little was known about. They were closely related to ghosts but their nature was associated with demons, yet their magic was similar to a fairy. They had the uncanny ability to ‘mimic’ any appearance of any creature. This

The third was a man she didn't recognize, but whose face felt familiar from the Vance archives. "We’ve brought the tea, Meilin," the Liling-Mimic said, her movements jerky, like a film with dropped frames. "Leo is so hungry. Why aren't you sitting down?" "You're not them," Meilin said, her violet eyes flaring. She tried to tap into her "Void" resonance, but the Mimics were broadcasting a Validation Frequency that interfered with her focus. It was a sound that mimicked a mother's heartbeat, designed to pacify the human brain.

The three mimics on the floor below lit up in Jack's perception like counterfeit bills under ultraviolet light, their false signatures suddenly, obviously wrong. Jack folded space. He materialized in the corridor of the forty-seventh floor face-to-face with a perfect copy of himself. Same dark-gold eyes. Same gauntlets. Same predatory stance. The mimic smiled with Jack's smile. "Hello, Father-blood." Jack didn't hesitate. He drove the compass directly into the mimic's chest. The device's reality-frequency resonance clashed with the construct's void-language foundation. The mimic shrieked, its form destabilizing, Jack's face melting into grey static.

I shout, I am certain my eyes and hair are red. “Look!” someone else shouts, their facade melted away revealing the true form of a mimic black, with hollowed eyes, no nose or ears and a mouth like an Angler Fish. I keep my hold onto them but retract my flames “who put you up to this?” “we know nothing” they answer in unison, “if you do not answer me I will destroy your core and disintegrate them” “you know not where our cores are located so your threat means nothing”

"You're a bit of a mystery. You keep to yourself, rush to help anyone and everyone. You hate the idea of being thought of as a mooch or victim. That makes you push yourself into uncomfortable situations and do so with apparent aplomb. That tells me that you, too, are a wonderful mimic. Mimicry is not always seen as a good trait, but it serves its purpose well. Especially in mission objectives. You're quick to help others because you know what it is to be beaten down. From your history, that includes physically, I'm assuming. Due to this, you quickly jump into danger to help others, but when the violence is turned on you personally, you seem to fade away. I can see you working on fixing that,

"It wants me to rebuild the Ouroboros Clan. To become their king." He gripped my wrist, his thumb brushing the plague. "We'll cut it out." "You can't." I pulled free. "But maybe I can *use* it." --- **KELLY'S POV** The mimic returned at the full moon, dragging a retinue of plague-twisted wolves. Their howls harmonized with Eden's silver magic, a chorus that shattered windows and split stone. *"Give us the king,"* the mimic demanded, *"or we'll carve him from your ribs."*