I finished scrubbing down my armor and clothing between refilling the bucket twice. There was a lot of the swamp muck stuck all over my boots and under my armor and while the smell didn’t fully go away, it made it a lot more bearable.

Now… onto the thing I’ve been trying to avoid. Myself.

Cleaning myself would be as freeing as it would be laborious, and I was going to make damn sure that I got all of the accumulated gunk off my skin. I wanted to feel clean inside and out and maybe, in some convoluted way I couldn’t quite explain, scrubbing myself raw would clean my soul of a smidgen of sin as well.

However, that wasn’t what I was focusing on as I removed the last of my gambeson and unwrapped the mummy-cloth covering me from head to toe. I almost forgot that I hadn’t taken a look at my whole body yet but when I saw it in full, even under these dim-light conditions well… the big reveal didn’t make holding my tears back easy.

“Fugg”. I sniffled.

It’s not supposed to be like this. None of it!

Not the thin, emaciated muscles covered in a thin sheet of foldy skin, not the legs that were like two sticks attached to way too bony feet, the hips, the bones, not my shriveled… I’m a dried-up husk, an empty shell, you could use my rib-cage as a xylophone for gods sake. It’s mine, but it isn’t, but it is, but it isn’t, but it is and I hate it!

Gods! Please, give me a message, a hint, that somehow this really is a dream and not hell.

I grasped my hair which went right below my shoulder. My hand came back with a bushel of it without so much as a hint of pain.

I felt ill, in part due the shock of seeing the absolutely ruinous state my body, that I was in. The large amount of spider-meat in my belly was most likely the other reason.

If I keep my eyes closed, it’ll almost be like I’m washing someone else and not my own bony ass.

My hands wandered over my injured right arm, passing over a notable bump in the tissue. That’s where I was stung. Something popped and I decided enough was enough.

In a frenzy, I scrubbed my skin raw using the little pieces of cloth I could spare from my wrappings to get all the grime, all the muck and whatever living corpses sweat off of me. It had crept in between every leathery fold and was deeply nestled in every patch of my prune-like skin.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t trying to scrub off some of the horror and disgust with it. Somehow, the fervent wash helped. Even if every inch of my body stung afterwards.

The pain means it’s working. Maybe. I might have been a tad overzealous.

I was somewhat refreshed after the whole ordeal and relieved that at least my skin didn’t come sloughing off during or after it.

Stay calm, calm like the ocean. I’m clean now. I’m clean. That’s what matters. And calm. I feel… good. Better, at least. Actually no, scratch that, I feel great.

It came as a surprise when I realized that this was exactly what I had needed. I finally had a counter to that little pinprick feeling at the back of my head telling me how I was a dirty corpse, wrapped in bandages and armor for gods knows how many untold centuries. I wasn’t repulsive to others anymore and it helped to lessen the disgust I felt at my own body.

I’m clean. That’s my new mantra now.

I wasn’t looking forward to getting back into my clothing though. The bandaging was going to be a bit difficult to get right alone and I had the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t really meant to be worn as a layer of clothing (unless you were dead and weren’t planning on moving much). A few layers of my gambeson were falling apart, and it had absorbed some really nasty smells in its lifetime. I cut them out and threw them away without a second thought. Less padding but rotted as those parts were they didn’t offer much protection anyways.

I probably couldn’t even trade the scraps with Harris for something. I’d also lose all respect for him if he actually did turn out to want to trade for it, too.

Moldy cloth spiced with stewed thousand-year-old dead girl. Ew. Ewewew.

Anyways, after tightening the strips of leather holding most of my armor in place nearly beyond what I thought was possible, I was sure that they were going to give at some point. Which was worrying, but nothing I could do anything about at the moment. I’d need to get some additional tools and materials for repair.

I asked Harris if he had some leather strips, I could use to that end to which, after much rummaging around, he said yes, if I was willing to pay.

In souls or pillows, of course. I didn’t have any pillows and I was most certainly not going to pay anyone with pieces of my soul. Besides gathering souls being dangerous and slow, using it as currency just felt… wrong. Like paying for a bag of apples by hacking off a finger. It was a part of me, and I wasn’t going to give it up for anything in the world, not without a fight.

Maybe I was being naïve, maybe I was being stupid. Probably both, but somewhere in my mind I still trusted that something good would happen if I kept mine pure and intact. I distantly remembered anecdotes along those lines, such as someone being rewarded for dedicating their whole life to building quality roads.

Setting matters of the soul and eternal damnation aside, I found myself a nice dry-ish corner to lie down in and go to sleep, accompanied by the feeling of muscle pains and exhaustion.

Tomorrow, I was planning to go back into the woods. Get some spiders to eat, preferably some bristly ones. I didn’t want to fight the big ones but those were the only bristle spiders I’d seen out there. I’d probably have to make do with the sticky variant. I was planning on playing it safe, never going further than the chapel, even stopping well before it.

Can’t forget that I’m still injured. Gotta be careful out there, stay on my toes.

All I need is some food. And time. Once I have my right arm in good enough condition to use the wood buckler I found, I think I’ll be a lot safer out there. Then I can eat bristle spiders instead of the rancid sticky ones.

A plan was forming in my head.

Rye’s one-week spider extermination & stamina training plan.

I’ll need to take it slow, build up my body without taking any big risks. Kill small spiders, walk around a bit, come back. Clean, sleep, talk with Harris, explore around the temple a bit, then go out again.

More sleep. More walking. More spider killing. More cleaning.

I’m getting tired just thinking about it. Sure, I haven’t been awake for more than half a day, but it was an exhausting day. Mentally and physically. I can probably do one round of spider hunting a day, maybe two if I get better. For now, I need to rest. And then, I’ll take another step on the way to redemption.

I’ll show Glom. ‘Nothing but a worm’ my ass. I’ll show them all.

----------------------------------------

Seventeen heads lolled at the table. It was a bright winter morning; mum was armed with a ladle.

The girl was there, too.

“Mum’s said we get some potato t’day!” Annoying.

“Pota’o, Pota’o, Pota’o.” Simple.

“I scrounged up sum ‘erbs today. They fit well with the tubers.” There’s not enough.

A large heart shaped face looked down at her. “’ere, you go, Elia. Biggest one for my biggest daughter.”

She was an owl, jolly and with a beak but with eyes that could stare. She gave the girl her potato. It had a worm in it. The worm looked up at her.

They both recognized each other, wearing the same face.

Just a worm, a worm, worm, worm…

“Please don’t eat me Rye.” It said. “I’ve got a family and nearly two-dozen young children.”

It did. This was true.

“Winter’s been hard living for a worm. What’ll they do without me?”

They’ll starve, that’s what.

“Please. Have mercy.”

But she had to eat, too. The worm sighed.

“Well… then there’s no helping it.”

There wasn’t. If only it hadn’t been for the worm, she could’ve enjoyed her meal with her siblings.

If only it hadn’t been for the worm.

If only…

I jerked up from my sleep, gasping, sweating…

I finally remember!

Remember… something. The smell of hay. The concept of chickens. The sounds of so many animals. I, I was born on… a farm? I was a farmer’s daughter, I churned bread, baked butter, flipped cows and, and, and…

I had brothers. And sisters. Younger than me, all seventeen of them. Woah, that’s a lotta kids. How does that even work, does the math even add up, how old am I? Ugh, however old I was, I was the oldest. Oldest farmer’s daughter. Huh. I feel… plain, all of a sudden.

I wasn’t too sure how to, well, digest that revelation just yet. It didn’t tell me much and just created more questions. If I wasn’t a knight, why was I buried in armor then? Was my family that rich?

Vague images of the dream drifted in and out of my mind, one more disturbing than the other. They all vied for my attention and while it didn’t give me a headache, I had the feeling that today wasn’t going to be all that great.

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The solution I came up with? Put it all into the box of unwelcome thoughts!

I had to reorient myself a bit after that, before remembering why I was sleeping in armor in a very, very dark place.

Calm down Rye. You’re dead. You’re in hell. You’re a demon. You’re ok.

My stomach grumbled once more, demanding a sacrifice of spider meat. Or anything else, but spider meat was the only thing I had any outlook of getting a hold of. It was reminding me that some time had passed and that I had to get up, but I was still feeling too sleepy to have slept a full night.

Gods I could eat a cow. I’m still so hungry, even after gorging myself on crispy legs all day yesterday. Anyhow, time to get up and get that bread! Spider bread! Ew!

With a moan and a grumble, I did, making my way to the underground spring to wash up, drink a bit and force myself to actually wake up with a few splashes of cool water to my face.

I still hate waking up early.

----------------------------------------

For the next three days, measuring after my rhythm of long slumbers, I went into the boggy forest on the regular. I was hunting for food, yes, giving Harris his fair share as well, but also to train my body. To become more than I was. To get my mind off of the worries that were piling up in my mental box and just move. To find a sense of normalcy again, a rhythm.

Kill. Eat. Clean. Sleep.

Needless to say, but having to clean every orifice of spider-gunk and swamp-gunk and as well as me-gunk became an integral part of my gunky everyday routine. No matter how much I tried to clean myself before heading out, after an hour or two of exertion I always came back nearly as nasty as when I washed myself the first time.

I get the feeling I’m sweating blood. Literally. Every time I wash my skin, it smells like iron afterwards. That can’t be healthy. Or normal.

At the end of each day, every muscle in my body was screaming bloody murder and my stomach was making a bit of a fuss over my spider-based diet. I just had to tough it out and so I tried, even stuffing myself after every bite felt like it’d make me want to throw up.

Because I was only out in the swamp for two hours at most, I was spending most of my free time after cleaning up with either napping, talking to Harris or exploring the temple complex. A rough idea of its layout was forming in my mind, but with just the dim light – I was at ten feet – it was hard for me to recognize where exactly I was going at times.

Harris assured me that it was entirely cut off by an endless fall in any direction you walked in, barring the bridge, which meant that as long as I didn’t get lost in the attendant graveyard for rich people, I wasn’t running the risk of falling off any high places.

Still, I was running into, or even more fun, off of surprise steps with an annoying regularity. The brief feeling of falling wasn’t doing any favors for my heart.

This place has decidedly too many stairs and randomly placed single steps.

Anyhow, the layout was centered around the big round central room which I have oh so graciously dubbed ‘The Lair of Worms’. I was debating calling it “The grub hub”, but it didn’t sound as ominous and intimidating. Branching off in every direction were rectangular hallways of varying size. Counting the steps it took to reach the end of each one became a small pastime.

Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-…

I was bored out of my mind, ok?

When on the third day I found what looked to be a dry spot with a thick albeit dusty carpet on it, I immediately claimed it as my own. It wasn’t a bed, or mattress, or a bundle of straw, but for me, it was an improvement.

I slept less unsound that day.

I also found a bunch of metal tools and rocks in a corner of the thing. I, honestly, had no idea what they were for, their odd shapes only confusing me further. My memory told me that one thing was a hammer and that it was used to flatten ground meat into patties but that just made me question the reason for these tools’ existence even more. And the anvil’s as well.

So I asked Harris.

“Smiths tools.”

“Wuh?”

“Y’know. Anvil, tongs, files, cold furnace, hammer, the works. You’d probably be able to find a sharpening stone or two if you looked around a bit. Do be careful though. Some of the tools are sharp and the sharpening stones can be a bit… magical.”

Nice. Time for cool rocks. I dig cool rocks.

I found them after some searching. They were the carriable type, fitting comfortably into my palm. Most were cracked or scrawled over and over with weird carvings and symbols for whatever reason, but I found one that was still round and whole. It was a bit big for my hand and had another symbol that kind of looked like a deer to me, but I sat down and immediately went to work all the same. My arm glid down the edge of the blade, down, down, down again.

Hey, I have no idea what I’m doing while also feeling like I know exactly what I’m trying to accomplish. Story of my un-life.

Then, something happened. I can’t describe it any other way, other than something going zing, then pop. I zoned out for quite a while and when I came to, my arms hurt like they were covered in a million ants.

Ow. OWow, shit, w-w-what was that? Is this what Harris was trying to warn me about? I feel – OW – horrible, ugh. Like someone threw me on a horse and crashed me through barn wall. Stupid horse. Where’s that damn stone? People shouldn’t let things like this lie around, someone could get seriously hurt.

I found the stone at my feet, shaved down from a perfectly oval rock the size of my hand to a misshapen clump about half that. I poked it, carefully. It didn’t bite me and so I picked it up again. It was still warm but as I inspected it, nothing else seemed off about it. Now it was just a normal rock.

Ugh, I can’t do anything much with my arms like this. At least I’ve already done enough hunting today. Yes, look on the bright side. My broken sword is really sharp now. It’s almost shining, though it’s probably just reflecting my light back at me.

Heh, what a polished turd. You and me sword, we’ll go far. I dub thee spider-bane, the broken sword of legend!

I kinda wanna try it out now. I’ll have to wait a bit though. Arms bad.

After I finished resting up and it turned to probably evening, I immediately went out to hunt squishy spiders again, despite having just done in the morning. My legs and arms really didn’t like that idea, but I wasn’t planning on staying long or going deep at all.

I just want to try it out. I’m so giddy with anticipation I could burst.

I found a sticky spider at the edge of the boggy forest and instead of stabbing it, tried slashing.

I felt the cut going through the outer fatty layer and cracking something on the thin layer of armor it had below. The spider screamed and limped away before I could pull back for a stab, but that definitely gave me something to think about.

So, cutting was possible, but stabbing was still way better if I wanted to deal a lethal blow, even with the broken tip.

I decided to try it out a few more times, but I didn’t find a single sticky spider on the outskirts, and I really wasn’t prepared to go in deeper.

Guess I’m getting somewhat of a reputation out here.

I went back, deciding to see if I couldn’t file down the diagonal edge of the tip to something a bit pointier. I didn’t have much success and didn’t want to ruin whatever my whacko magic-induced sharpening mania did manage to get out of my sword, so I put that on hold for now.

It was at the end of the fifth day and the start of the sixth when I noticed a change come over me. I flexed my arms, bent them, extended them, rolled them at the shoulders. I took Harris’ bucket, filled it with water, then raised it above my head with just my left hand.

Then I did the same thing with my right. A twinge of pain in the joint was all that was left of the spider stings from my first day, a distant memory of a time that still took up too much space in my mind. But now was not the time for that, now was the time for good thoughts.

Hooray for natural healing! I’m so glad I wasn’t poisoned. Or maybe I was and it just wasn’t very effective? It took out my arm for a whole week, of course it was effective. Maybe I was just really unlucky that I got stung in a joint? Eh, potato potato.

The stiffness in my arm returned slightly after a few more bucket-lifts, but it was good enough for me to try something new. I had a buckler shield, made of heavy-set wood. I had what was effectively a short sword. And now, I could use them together to their full extent.

On the sixth day, I squashed twenty-three sticky spiders. A new record.

Raaaaaargh! I am your doom!

I skewered them on my sword. I cut their legs off with the sharpened edge. I pinned them to the ground with my buckler shield, putting my whole bodyweight behind it until I felt a plop followed by squishing sounds.

One spider in particular was sitting at roughly head-height on a tree, no doubt waiting for me to cluelessly wander past like the dumb idiot it thought I was.

This fool is neither dumb nor an idiot, vile spider! You shall pay for this insult with your life!

I punched it with my shield. It didn’t exactly die, but its wiggling form as it fell on the ground showed that I had definitely done enough. I finished it with my sword, pulling it back and wiping the gunk off on the back of my vambrace. It was then that I heard what seemed to be yet another spider walking through the swampy landscape.

Oh? Another challenger dares approach me, the great Rye, bane of all that is eight legged and vile? Reveal thyself, wretch and taste my steel.

A brushing noise of many legs.

A skittering with some weight behind it.

A decidedly un-sticky sound.

There it stood, a big bristle spider, the biggest I had seen so far. It went slightly above my knees and its legs were wide set. A nervous bead of sweat made its way down my nose. I checked for any other bristly spiders, but there were none around but this big boy.

Cool it. The sticky-spiders were easy. Playtime’s over. This is where the real challenge begins.

You can do it, Rye.

The spider turned its body towards me. I had already entered my vision long before. I turned my right towards it, right foot forward, presenting the buckler shield. I massaged the grip of my broken sword in my left hand.

The spider charged. I readied myself for its leap, bending my knees.

It didn’t leap, to my surprise.

No fair! Every other one did that!

It nipped at my right boot. I pulled back, feeling its pincers or mandibles nick my greaves. They were only made of a single, slightly bent plate and I felt that its mandibles could easily reach around and tear into my calves if it managed to get a good hold on me.

It went for a second lunge, but this time I expected it. As it went for my leg, I pulled it back and punched it in the face with my buckler.

Hah! Suck on that!

It made some chittering noises, aborting its assault.

I stepped forwards and stabbed down at its exposed back.

It went right through, piercing deep. I felt some bristles cut into my leather gloves – still wearing those underneath the metal ones despite the smell – but I could take that bit of pain.

This time, it screeched even louder, sounding almost desperate. It jumped back, two forelegs covering its frontal body.

I had it now.

“Spider!” I yelled, my voice still hoarse, but improving at a steady pace.

It couldn’t understand me of course. I didn’t expect it to. It may have a soul, but it wasn’t intelligent, and it couldn’t understand my language either. It didn’t matter, I was mostly talking for my own sake. I truly did feel like a hero of legend, about to slay a vile beast terrorizing the land.

A small, scrappy hero with a broken sword and a tiny shield.

Hey, a lady can dream, ok?

I held my buckler close to my heart, standing as straight as I could while not exposing myself fully. From up here, the spider almost looked puny and insignificant to me. That was a feeling I could get used to.

“Square. Up. Bristle. Boyo.” This time for real! I really hope no one’s looking at me taunting a bug.

The spider ceased all movement, eyeing me warily.

Then it charged.

“Oh shi–“ I thought as it jumped. It could jump high, higher than the ones before, and as it leaped, I could see its stinger extending and aiming right for my neck.

My buckler met its stinger as the full weight of the spider hit me a moment later.

“Hnnnngh. Not. Today”

I grit my teeth. My feet sank a hand width deeper into the mucky ground. But I stood and the spiders stinger scratched along the wooden shield as I heaved it over me. It landed on to its back and I wasted no time.

Right for the neck!

A stab, a stab, a hack, another stab, and it was done. Its corpse lay unmoving, the faint smell of burnt pepper poking at the edge of my awareness. I inhaled slowly, once, and it was gone. The feeling of success felt like a warm tingle on the inside of my heart. It was… nice.

Phew. Gods above, that went well. I feel a bit winded, but I think I could go for another round or two like that.

I immediately looked around once more.

No movement? Good. Let’s not put that theory to the test.

I learned the hard way that being paranoid about potentially being ambushed was better than actually being ambushed. Even if that meant moving at an excruciatingly slow pace and double-triple checking every damn rock.

For most of the time spent in the bog, I was jumping at shadows in the most literal of terms. If hunting in a swampy, dim forest filled with spiders taught me anything, it was that it paid to be thorough. Nine out of ten times, it was nothing. But if I didn’t jump that tenth time, that’s when something would get me.

They were all out to get me.

On to tastier thoughts: time for food.

I gathered the least horrible bits – the legs –, cutting them off with my sword. Even though it was sharper than before, it took a few decent hews and a strong yank. The sword was shorter and by the gods did its reduced weight make it so much easier to wield with one scrawny hand, but that meant its cutting power was severely lessened. Not that it mattered much, with how I was leaning towards plunging the pointy end into my foes, but I’d have to wait and see how that changed my approach to killing things.

Combat. Changed my approach to combat. It’s not all about killing things. I have to remind myself of that. I could come across somebody or something I don’t want to, or, more importantly, don’t have to lethally wound. That I actively have to remind myself of that is already worrying me.

I’m adapting a bit too easily to the life of a demon.

An unwelcome reflection. Box!

I jammed the eight legs under my armpit, making sure that there were absolutely no spiky bristles attached, and made my way back to the temple. Later that night, while I was still avoiding thinking about things and looking at my body, I felt a bit fuller than before, if only by a little bit.

My light now extended eleven feet.