Mimic

The red orc’s name is Dur, or possible that was just the sound his mother made when he was around, either or he came to answer to it.

Dur stands over a box of pizza.

Antonio’s Pizzeria is scrawled on top in red bubbled cursive with a generic Italian chef holding a cartoon pizza in one hand and extending out his other with a giant thumb pointing up.

Dur reaches out slowly and lifts the lid. His hand shakes and drool drips from his open rotten tooth jaw.

His stomach growls angry.

He can’t remember how long it’s been since he ate that goblin.

Squirmy dirty little shit.

A day?

Two days?

The indigestion is just subsiding and he is starting to feel hungry again.

He needs to eat again soon, but he has a problem. How does a fresh baked steaming pizza make it to the bottom layer of the moss and mold covered cave his clan calls home?

His little mind is working on the problem while his right hand inches closer to the pie.

It just doesn’t make sense, is what he works on as he grabs a slice and curls it up to his mouth. His eyes widen with want at the melting cheese and reddish grease pooling around the bend, dripping off the angled tip and staining his dirty fingers.

Must be a trap he decides, shoving the pizza into his open mouth and grabbing another slice in two quick motions.

As he munches on the second slice he starts to feel something.

It’s like a burning ouchy feeling in the middle of his chest. He looks down and sticking from out of his sternum is long sharp wedge of bone.

He has time to finger the sharp end as another piece of bone juts through his skull.

Dur falls dead onto the gore slickened floor of his home.

From out of his mouth slithers a mimic.

If mimics laugh that probably explains the CheCheCHe sound.

As the first mimic begins his dinner it is joined by eight smaller mimics slowly turning from slices of pizza and the pizza box into slithering tentacle blobs that work their way over the to giant red orc to begin feasting on their fresh kill.