[Hunger: 60/100]
[Status: Level 6 Iron-Bound Mimic]
The smell of ozone and burnt wood still lingered in the air when my *Mana Sense* began to tingle. It wasn't just a flicker this time. It was a bonfire of signatures approaching the door.
*Clank. Step. Whisper. Clang.*
They weren't hiding. They were confident.
I immediately pulled my lid tight and activated *Deceptive Stillness*. My new obsidian-black wood was harder to spot in the shadows, but my iron bands were polished and tempting. I looked like a 'Boss Chest'—the kind that held a Rare-grade weapon.
The door was kicked open. Not floated, not creaked—kicked.
Four silhouettes filled the doorway.
[Human Guardian - Lvl 8]
[Human Swordsman - Lvl 7]
[Human Archer - Lvl 6]
[Human Healer - Lvl 6]
"See? I told you Kael and the others wouldn't leave a room like this untouched," the Swordsman said, pointing his blade at me. "But look at that chest. It's pristine. No scratches, no signs of a struggle."
"Wait," the Healer whispered, clutching her holy symbol. "The air feels... heavy here. I smell charcoal."
The Guardian, a mountain of a man in full plate armor, stepped forward and slammed the butt of his halberd against the stone floor. *Thump.* "The Mage probably had a duel here and moved on," the Guardian grunted. "Check for traps, Elara. Quickly. We're behind schedule."
The Archer, Elara, approached me. She didn't use magic; she used a thin wire probe. She poked at my base, her eyes inches from my iron-teeth-lined rim.
My *Bio-Detection* was screaming. Her heartbeat was a rapid *thump-thump-thump* right in my ear. I could have snatched her head right then. I could have tasted her jugular.
But I didn't.
I remained a box. I was a rock. I was a piece of the floor.
"Clean," Elara declared, standing up and wiping her brow. "Lock's complex, but no pressure plates or needles. It's a heavy one, though. Probably filled with ingots or plate armor."
"Good," the Guardian said. He sighed, the sound echoing inside his helmet. "Let's take five. My joints are killing me. Sit, everyone."
Then, it happened.
The Guardian, weighing probably four hundred pounds with all that steel, turned around and dropped his massive backside right onto my lid.
[Warning: Excessive weight detected on lid.]
[Structural Integrity: 98%]
It felt like a mountain had landed on my head. I wanted to snap. I wanted to lunge. My hinges groaned under the pressure of his armor. But I knew the math. If I attacked now, the Swordsman would gut me from the side, and the Archer would pin me to the wall before I could swallow the Tank.
"This is a sturdy chest," the Guardian remarked, bouncing slightly. Every bounce sent a jolt of pain through my frame. "Better than those flimsy pine ones on the upper levels."
"Move over, let me check the map," the Swordsman said, leaning his back against my side.
I was being used as a bench. I was the centerpiece of their lunch break.
The Healer sat on the floor nearby, closing her eyes to pray, while the Archer began to restring her bow. They were relaxed. They were "safe."
They had no idea they were sitting on the mouth of a volcano.
I waited. I counted their heartbeats. I waited for the exact moment the Healer—the only one who could save them—was at her most vulnerable.
*Patience,* I told myself, tasting the metallic scent of the Tank's armor through my lid. *The bigger the party, the bigger the buffet.*