The Gift of Loot Chapter 22: Chapter 22: Finding Balance (And Loot)

Read chapter 22 of The Gift of Loot by Jack_Golightly on NovelPedia.

Thomas stood in the middle of yet another cleared room, breathing hard with the katana loosely in his hand. Then, with a groan, he leaned over and raked his fingers through the goop of the mimic he'd just killed. His hand struck something metallic and round, and he picked it up to hold it uselessly in front of his face as if there were light to see. It was... a pocket watch? That was weird. There had to be some trick to it, but he had no idea how to find out what it was. Well, if he ever found a top hat and a monocle, he could be the Monopoly Man. With one last pass to make sure that the final mimic had not also dropped any crystals, he added his snazzy pocket watch to his backpack of holding. He had to shift it around a little to make sure his new loot settled comfortably around all of the crystals and other things he'd picked up. This wasn't his first item drop. He had been going through the mimics for... well, he had no idea how long it had been, since he couldn't tell time. (Maybe that was why the dungeon took pity on him and dropped a pocket watch.) After clearing out the ballroom of mimic infestations, he'd gone through at least three other rooms, methodically hunting every mimic down. That made for plenty of chances for rare drops. There was what he thought might be mimic skin, or at least some kind of greasy fabric that was folded over. He'd picked up what was either a marble or a mimic eye and had wiped it off as best he could before putting it in his backpack. He'd also gotten another knife, this one shaped much like a butcher knife. It didn't have a sheath, so he hoped it wouldn't cut through his nice new expensive backpack. Oh, and he'd collected an approximate metric butt-ton of mana crystals. He'd lost track of counting them a long time ago. Aside from the semi-occasional zings from Adaptation mana, he had no idea what colors he had. Thomas turned to the wall and tiredly ran his hands along it until his fingertips found a change, a seam followed by the feel of wood. His new healing-sight did not tell him where doors were. It also didn't help with real pieces of furniture, of which there were actually a few. He had barked his shin a couple of times already while his hands were full with the katana. Anyway, he found the door and opened it, already pushing his healing-sight forward to learn what he was going to be facing next. Intense, bone-dry heat rolled over him, making him wince away. That was like being blasted with a giant hair-dryer. And his healing-sight found... Zach?! It also found about twenty mimics surrounding him. Thomas's first jolt of surprise was followed by relief and happiness that the guy was somehow alive, and maybe more than a twinge of guilt because... Oh no, did that mean that he'd left him behind? Then he properly took in the scene, and his wash of relief was replaced with confusion and growing concern. Zach was burning at the far end of the room. Not metaphorically. He was absolutely hemorrhaging fire in every direction. To Thomas's healing-sight, he looked orange with heat and white-hot at his core, which was a new development for Thomas as apparently he had color-healing vision... and probably not a good sign for Zach. And the mimics surrounding him were shaped like people. All of them stood in place like statues. None of them moved as Zach rage-burned through one after another. The flames were so hot that only a wisp of smoke was left behind before they were gone. The moment Zach moved on, another mimic was generated from somewhere off to the far left side of the room, where Thomas could sense a really, really big presence. Zach let out a roar that sounded like crackling fire and burned yet another one to a crisp. His life signature became that much more orange, the white growing a touch more as if it longed to engulf him. What the hell? Thomas jogged forward, making sure to avoid the mimic shapes. It wasn't hard. They were just standing there, unmoving. Meanwhile, even from this far a