It was the next day when Vysala returned, alone. She walked up to the Hag and poked it with the spork. “Oy! Zaria. You awake?”

Zaria sent her consciousness into the body, sitting up and stretching her back. She checked the timer. Nine hours until the Fissure appeared. “Good morning. How are you, Vysala?”

“Oh, you know, doing good. Barely slept, been running wild all over the village getting ready for a demonic invasion, and come back to check on my ally to find her asleep on the job, so I’m in a peachy mood.”

Zaria chuckled. “This body is only active when I need it to be. I’ve been busy.”

“Oh?” Vysala’s eyebrow arched, although the annoyance that laced every word evaporated quickly. “Apologies, that’s new. Most of the cores we’ve interacted with only have bodies occasionally.”

“I’d like to meet some of them, since you know them It’d be good to meet more of my kind.”

“We can arrange that,” Vysala said. “The Midnight Guild would love to work with you.”

“Let’s start with introductions. I’m not so sure about a dungeon joining a guild.” Zaria stretched again, working some kinks out of her form’s back. “I really need to find a better resting pose for this body, though. But my body is permanent. I just only occupy it when I need to. I was looking at some upgrades and think I can make this into a boss mob down the line, however.”

Vysala’s eyes twinkled at the mention of boss mobs. “Speaking of which - how exactly do you plan to help? Are you going to go in and start stomping on demons?”

Zaria chuckled. “Probably not yet? I don’t know how durable my feet are - or my house is. I know a demon punched through the wall back when it was just a house.”

“You probably don’t need to worry about that,” Vysala said. She motioned for a seat, and Zaria obliged. “Dungeon materials are, as far as we can test, about ten times stronger than their mundane counterparts. But then again… I don’t know if that applies to legs.”

“I might have you try to give me a light scratch to test that. But I have other options. I can send in the mimics.”

Zaria’s eyebrows furrowed. “At Tin?”

“Special ability I have because I’m a mutant, apparently. I can send them out, but can’t change their orders once they’re free.”

Zaria took a sharp, excited breath. “Are you going to send your mimics now or later?”

“Later,” Zaria said. “They can only be out of my area of influence for thirty minutes before they become wild monsters, ravenously hungry and looking for prey. I’m sure you don’t want that near the town.”

Vysala paled. “How’d you guess that? You must be able to read minds.”

Zaria chuckled. “I may not remember being human, but I remember the terror of a monster trying to bust down your door. I wouldn’t want to do that accidentally.”

Vysala nodded. “So demons got you?”

“Yes,” Zaria said. “My entire village. Drycnon.”

Vysala winced. “We hadn’t heard from there in a couple days. I was wondering… I feared the worst.”

“The worst is what happened,” Zaria said. She felt oddly detached from the whole thing. Perhaps it was a blessing Dungeon Cores lost most of their memories. “All I remember is the demon trying to break down my door, then it succeeding, then death. In that order.”

“I’m sorry,” Vysala said, for the first time using a softer tone.

Zaria shrugged. “I’m not too upset about it. I don’t remember being human besides that. I have no attachment to my old life. Why let it weigh me down?”

“Don’t you want to find out who you were?”

“Not really. She’s dead. I read in the Dungeon Instruction - the only information I have - that I could find my Wraiths, regain my lost memories, but there’s no real reason to other than… nostalgia? For a life I lost?” Zaria made a shooing motion with her hand. “It just seems like a way to torment myself with what cannot be again. Possibly invite some grief over people that died. Better to just embrace the path ahead of me.”

Vysala nodded slowly. “I like that mentality,” she said. “But - our losses are part of what define us too.”

“True,” Zaria said. “But I’m basically immortal now, barring death or detonation. I’ll have plenty of time to accrue new losses and become a new pile of angst over that time.”

Vysala laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. In contrast to her course demeanor and brash attitude, her laughter was positively angelic. “Fuck me sideways, I can agree with that,” she said.

Zaria wished she could smile at Vysala and did the best she could to give the impression of a smile with her eyes. “So, why do none of you have weapons?”

Vysala’s mirth faded, and she slumped in the seat a bit. “This is our third rift this season. We had a dozen last year. Iron shipments have dried up. We could give Harlo - our blacksmith - some of our goods to melt down, but beating plowshares into swords makes for a poor harvest. So it has forced us to improvise.”

“And that’s why you have a spork?” Zaria asked.

Vysala sniffed and shifted slightly, already tensing up. “No, of course not. I’m a witch.”

Zaria blinked slowly. “There’s no judgement, just curious.”

“Ah.” Vysala sighed. “Sorry. People get annoyed. I don’t have a broomstick like every other bloody bitch with a Wyrdcore.”

“Why would you have a broomstick?” Zaria was getting amused at how much Vysala assumed she knew. Apparently witches and their workings were common knowledge.

“I’m a witch,” Vysala said.

“You say that in a tone that indicates it should explain things.”

“Oh, right. Guess you don’t have much information.” Vysala ran her hands through her hair, letting it cascade down her back. “I have a Wyrdcore. I’m sure you’ve heard of witches flying about on broomsticks?”

Zaria nodded, then shrugged. “It’s something I know, so I assume I heard of it in life, but I could not tell you how or where.”

“That’s a reason to recover your wraiths, if nothing else,” Vysala said. “I imagine not knowing how you know things is frustrating.”

Zaria held her hands out. “Eh. It just… is.”

Vysala smiled softly. “For a murderous house that eats people, I do like your outlook on the world. Well, when it comes to flying - not so much for most Wyrd classes. Except the Striga of old could. But the Wyrd classes all have unique requirements. For Witches, we cannot have a standard weapon. We instead must wield a household item as our primary tool. Broomsticks are a popular one because they’re easy to find, can function well as a staff, and you can easily replace the bristles if you need a new set of runes painted on them.” Vysala raised the spork. “I wanted something with more heft. Brooms are all well and good for spellcasting, but not much good for making a demon’s skull concave.”

“I suppose that makes sense. But how does the flying myth come in?”

“Oh, one of the earliest spells lets us reduce our weight some. Lets us float on water, and if you time it just right and have a kite and a death wish, you can get pulled along in the air. Which is also a terrible idea because it gives you no way to land.”

Zaria chuckled at the idea of an aerial flock of kite-based witches plummeting to the ground. “I can see that.”

“I’d like to see what your mimics can do,” Vysala said. “For strategic purposes. But I’d also like to not get eaten. Can we practice without that risk?”

“Absolutely. This gives me a chance to test some things too - and take a measure of your skills. Although I’d like some meat to feed them, so they won’t be hungry, though.”

Vysala swallowed hard. “I’ll be back shortly, then.”

Zaria just chuckled and made her final preparations.

***

Not long later, Vysala returned, carrying a bag that was partially soaked through. It looked like she’d just grabbed the slop bucket from the butcher and poured it into a bag - and Zaria suspected it looked that way because it was that way. “Ready?”

Zaria returned to her body. “Ready. I’m not letting you fight solo against my boss. I can control Maw, but… you’re a primary caster class. Nonlethal could still be bone breaking.”

“I’m fine with not having my bones broken, thank you very much,” Vysala said, her eyes lighting up with a unique combination of amusement and horror. “So, what have you got for me?”

“Ready? I’m going to send them out so I can see how they do.”

Vysala nodded. She tossed the bag of viscera to the stairs in front of Zaria’s porch, then hefted her spork, holding it like a battleaxe. “Ready.”

Zaria sent a command to Rav in the other mimic.

Rav’s tongue lashed out, along with the other mimics, reaching outside the door to grab onto the sack and drag it inside to consume. Vysala rolled her shoulders and did her best to look unconcerned, but Zaria could see the way she flinched at the meaty chomping sounds.

Then they came out. Together.

The other mob was one of the Candle Mimics. One of its arms was curled up, holding Rav on its shoulders, with the Crate Mimic’s mouth facing forward and snarling. The Candle Mimic’s other hand clutched the discarded shield of the knight from yesterday, holding it between itself and the Witch.

Rav’s tongue lashed out at Vysala, and the witch blocked it with her spork. Zaria expected Rav to grab the weapon, but Vysala was too fast for that, already leaping to the side. She lashed out with her spork, thrusting with the tines forward, but the candle mimic was able to pivot and bring up its shield in time to intercept the blow.

Then one rune in the bowl of Vysala’s spoon sparked to life. From the simple impact of weaponized utensil on shield, there was a secondary impact as energy detonated outwards, shoving the candle mimic back. The motion ripped away its wax feet as they scraped across the ground, leaving only the iron underneath to dig another couple feet of furrows in the soft earth.

Rav cooed, impressed, while the candle mimic opened its chest mouth and snarled. Wax flowed from its calves to reform its feet, and then the wax all across its body started to drip. It had activated an ability Zaria had discovered during earlier testing.

Candle Mimic unique ability:

Heated Malleability: Increases speed, strength, and agility by 100%, but the heat will damage the Candle Mimic, reducing resistance by 5% per second.

The Candle Mimic shifted, now strong enough to hold Rav without the need for its shoulder, and charged back in.

Vysala was almost immediately on the back foot. Not only was the Candle Mimic lashing out with its tongue, not only was Rav snapping and whipping his tongue at her, but the Mimic was also bringing the shield to bear, meeting every one of Vysala’s strikes with an answering thrust, forcing her off balance. When she looked like she was regaining her stance, the Candle Mimic swung Rav like a club. Vysala barely managed to block with her spoon, and Rav cooed in excitement at being used as a blunt instrument.

Vysala, for her part, was starting to sweat under the sustained assault. She ducked under the next dual tongue lash before smacking the ground in front of her with her spork.

There was another flash from a rune, and then Vysala was airborne, the impact propelling her up and over the Candle Mimic. She turned the launch into a controlled flip, lashing down at her adversary with a Spork strike. Only the Candle Mimic’s currently enhanced speed let it block in time - and this time, Vysala was ready to activate a new rune on her spork.

This time, instead of propelling the Candle Mimic backwards, it rammed the Candle Mimic into the ground, sinking it up to its knees. The strike gave Vysala another aerial burst and landed a few feet away, well out of reach. She shoved the handle of her spork against the ground and started to trace a circle around herself.

The Candle Mimic couldn’t free itself in time to prevent whatever Vysala was trying to do. It also didn’t need to. The mob dropped its shield, grabbed Rav with both hands, and hurled the crate mimic at the witch like a javelin.

Vysala just had time to widen her eyes in shock, but it was too late for her to respond. Rav’s tongue launched out, wrapping around Vysala’s waist and pulling her in.

“I yield!” Vysala shouted, her eyes fixated unblinkingly at Rav’s open mouth and rows of teeth.

The command stopped Rav in his tracks, and both he and the candle mimic followed Zaria’s command to immediately turn around and head back into the house. Vysala wiped at her forehead, panting. “Well,” she said. “Bugger me with Saint Reogoth’s splintery prosthetic, but that was harder than I expected. Had to use three runes.”

“In your defense, it was two on one,” Zaria said, preening at the praise. She did look at Vysala’s spork - sure enough, all three of the runes were gone. “Did you use any mana based abilities?”

Vysala shook her head. “Don’t have any. That’s the other thing about Wyrd classes - Runes replace mana for us.”

“Oh really?” Zaria leaned forward. “Can you put them on anything? Not just your spork?”

“Any object, yes.” Vysala blinked slowly. “Oh. Fuck me sideways. They might count as objects.”

“Yes, they might,” Zaria said, practically purring. “Why don’t you come inside and find out?”

To her credit, Vysala barely hesitated before entering.