Merlin TV Universe, Willowbrook Village
Time: Year 1, Month 9, Day 14
Current Celestial Points: 0
Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000
Monthly Roll: 1/1
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Thomas woke before dawn, as he did every morning. The forge wouldn't light itself, and there were horseshoes to make for William's farm. He dressed quietly, not wanting to wake his mother. She had insisted on staying to help with the baby, and was surely exhausted by now.
His son. The thought brought a smile to his face, but then anger caused his heart to beat rapidly. Adrian was perfect - strong, healthy, with green eyes that seemed to take in everything. But every time Thomas looked at his boy, he remembered how the tax collectors had...
He pushed the thought away, focusing on gathering his tools. The metal wouldn't care about his troubles. Iron was honest - it bent or broke, nothing in between. Not like people. Not like his wife.
The morning air bit cold as he walked to the forge. Frost coated the grass, making each step crunch. A few early risers nodded to him - Sarah carrying water from the well, Old John heading to check his sheep. Normal morning sounds filled the village: roosters crowing, dogs barking, the distant bleat of sheep.
Thomas lit the forge fire, watching orange flames climb higher. The heat would drive away the morning chill soon enough. He sorted through his tools, laying them out in order. Everything in its proper place, the way things should be.
The sound of weeping made him pause. He stepped outside, frowning. Old Mary from the baker's house stood in her doorway, face buried in her hands.
"What troubles you?" Thomas called.
She looked up, tears streaming down wrinkled cheeks. "The shadows," she whispered. "They move wrong."
Thomas shook his head. Old Mary often spoke nonsense these days. Age addled minds, everyone knew that. He returned to his work, letting the rhythm of hammer on anvil drown out her continued sobbing.
The sun climbed higher. More villagers passed by, carrying out their daily tasks. But something felt... off. Thomas couldn't place it at first. Then he realized - too many of the older folk were crying. He saw three more elders weeping in doorways, muttering about darkness and wrong movements.
Martha appeared at midday, carrying bread and cheese. "Have you seen Adrian today?"
Thomas shook his head. "Been working since dawn."
"You should visit," Martha said carefully. "He's growing so fast. Almost doesn't look like a newborn anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"Just... different. Bigger maybe?" Martha wrung her hands. "Amara says it's normal, but..."
Martha never finished her sentence.
A scream tore through the village - high, wet, and wrong in a way that made Thomas's bowels turn to water. Not fear. Not pain. Something deeper, as if the sound itself had been pulled from a throat already dissolving.
Thomas dropped his hammer. "Stay here," he ordered his mother, though every instinct screamed to flee. He stepped into the street just as Old Mary's cottage bulged.
Wood splintered. Thatch rained down like burning snow. Eight segmented legs punched through the walls, each thicker than a man's thigh and glistening with mucus. A bulbous abdomen breached the roof, scattering rafters as a nightmare face appeared - compound eyes like fractured mirrors, mandibles dripping green fluid, and twin horns curling upward like a ram's. The thing chittered, a sound that drilled into Thomas's skull and vibrated his teeth.
Old Mary's weeping stopped abruptly when a barbed stinger the length of a short sword impaled her through the chest. The spider-thing lifted the old woman like a child's doll, her limbs flopping as it brought her twitching body to its mouthparts. Thomas watched, frozen, as mandibles sheared off the top of Mary's skull with a crack like splitting melons.
Thomas’s boots rooted to the earth as the spider-thing tilted Old Mary’s corpse over its maw, slurping brain matter like marrow from a bone. Villagers spilled into the street, their screams converging into an ungodly sound.
CRUNCH.
A thatched roof collapsed three houses down as another monstrosity smashed into the walls - this one sporting human hands grafted to two front legs, fingers twitching in mock waves. Sarah sprinted past Thomas, her tavern apron flapping, until a near-invisible thread of silk snapped around her ankle. She fell face-first into the mud, screaming as the hand-legged spider dragged her backward, its other limbs signing rapid clicks in the air.
“Thomas!” Martha yanked his arm, her nails drawing blood. “The baby!”
They ran.
Elderly villagers writhed in silk cocoons strung between houses like festival decorations. Young Peter the shepherd boy floated past upside-down, web-bound and wide-eyed, a spider with a boar’s bristled hide carrying him toward the woods on barbed hooks.
Thomas’s lungs burned. He recognized Will the blacksmith’s roar of defiance cut short by a short scream - turned to see his childhood friend with a dull look in his eyes, four translucent spiderlings bursting through his body, somehow leaving Will physically unharmed.
“Adrian!” Thomas screamed, skidding around the corner to their home.
Thomas skidded around the splintered doorframe, Martha's wail ringing in his ears. His eyes darted to the crib - empty, blankets shredded. A wet crunching sound came from the bedroom above.
"AMARA!" He took the stairs three at a time, boot slipping on something slick. His hand came away red from the banister.
Amara huddled in the corner, clutching the swaddled infant to her chest. Her nightdress was torn at the shoulder, revealing unblemished skin where Thomas had struck her with a belt buckle just yesterday.
"Thomas!" she sobbed, black eyes wide. "What is happening? Please, please tell me!"
A skittering came from the rafters. Thomas looked up as someone he didn’t recognize dropped from the shadows. Except his limbs bent backward, fingers fused into chitinous hooks. The young man's face split open vertically, mandibles snapping open to release a high-pitched clicking that echoed Amara's terrified whimpers.
Thomas grabbed the fire poker. "Stay behind me!"
The spider-thing wearing human skin lunged. Thomas swung, but the poker passed through nothing but air as it dodged to the side. White light burst from its hands - not fire, but silk, hardening midair into jagged shards that embedded in Thomas's thigh. He screamed, falling against the hearth as the pain burned deeper than any forge injury.
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"Stop!" Amara shrieked, clutching Adrian tighter. The spider-thing froze, head tilting at an impossible angle, and then crawled out of the window.
Thomas didn't notice. He was too busy staring at the wound - the silk shards were dissolving, leaving his flesh intact but the pain intensified deep in his soul.
"What on earth," he gasped. "Amara, run!"
But she was already moving, helping him stand.
"They're herding us," she whispered as they staggered into the street. "To the church. Father Michael's ringing the bell…"
Thomas dragged Amara and Martha through the carnage, past broken cottages. Villagers ran in panicked groups - some snatched mid-stride by silk traps, others collapsing as translucent curved horns pierced their chests and left their bodies intact but screaming with soul-deep agony.
"Almost there!" Thomas barked, though the church spire seemed to recede with every step. His thigh burned where the phantom silk had struck, the pain burrowing into his marrow.
A child’s laugh stopped him in his tracks. A little six-year-old girl skipped toward them, pigtails bouncing. Her eyes were wide. "This way! The spiders hate holy places!"
Martha reached for her. "Oh thank God -"
"No!" Thomas yanked his mother back as the trickster girl pouted at them.
Amara clung to Adrian, her sobs too perfectly timed. "Why is this happening?!"
The little girl's face split open like overripe fruit, mandibles erupting from her jaw in a spray of saliva. Thomas barely yanked Martha back as silk strands snapped through the air where his mother's neck had been.
The girl-spider scuttled away into the village. Thomas stared after it, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from his chest. This couldn't be real. Any moment he'd wake up beside Amara, before the tax collectors came...
He struck her across the face, hard enough to make her stumble. "Wake up!" Another slap. "This isn't real!"
Martha grabbed his arm. "Thomas, stop!"
But Thomas couldn't stop. His world had crumbled into madness. Bear-sized monstrosities prowled the village streets, clicking to each other in some unholy language. Web cocoons hung from every building, the elderly villagers inside dissolving into soup as venom dripped from curved fangs.
"Look!" He yanked Amara's hair, forcing her to watch as Old John melted inside his silk prison. "Look what your perfect behavior brought us! If you'd just shown shame-"
A scream cut through his ranting. James, the man who'd been eyeing Amara for months, thrashed in the grip of a spider with boar-like bristles. The creature didn't harm him, simply wrapped him in silk and carried him toward the forest like a precious gift.
"The church," Martha whispered. "We must reach the church!"
They kept running. Hundreds of spider-things moved through the village with terrible purpose, a few wearing human faces that peeled away like masks when they attacked.
Father Michael stood in the church doorway, ushering survivors inside. "Quickly! In God's name, hurry!"
They stumbled through the entrance. Eight other villagers huddled in the pews, faces blank with terror. Thomas recognized Sarah's father, the miller and his wife, three farmhands, and two women who worked at the tavern.
The heavy doors slammed shut. Father Michael barred them with a wooden beam, hands shaking as he made the sign of the cross.
"The holy ground will protect us," he assured them, voice cracking. "These demons cannot-"
A thud shook the doors. Something scratched at the wood - a child’s voice whimpered. “Please! Let me in!”
The miller’s wife lunged for the beam, but Thomas tackled her. “Don’t! It’s one of them!”
The child’s face pressed against a stained-glass window—rosy cheeks, tears glinting. Then its jaw unhinged, a second set of mandibles unfurling to screech against the pane. The survivors screamed as the glass cracked.
“Blessed salt! Around the doors!” Father Michael hurled pouches at the farmers. They fumbled, spilling grains in shaky lines. The scratching stopped. For now.
Martha knelt by Adrian, cooing through her terror. “Shh, sweet boy. Grandmother’s here.”
Adrian’s swaddle shifted. A leg slid free - spindly, glistening black.
Martha froze. “Th-Thomas…?”
Amara snatched the baby back. “He’s cold. The blanket slipped -”
“Let me see him!” Martha reached, but Amara turned away.
Thomas didn’t notice. A crash above made them all pause. Rafters splintered as a spider-thing dropped into the nave - human hands glowing with pale magic.
Thomas threw a pew candlestick. The creature laughed, twisting to the side and weaving a web with its hands that hardened into jagged shards midair.
“Down!” Amara screamed.
The survivors ducked. Shards embedded into the altar, dissolving moments later. The thing hissed, retreating as Father Michael flung holy water.
“They’re toying with us,” Agnes whispered. “Why not just break in?”
Because she’s here, Thomas realized. His eyes locked on Amara, who cradled Adrian a little too gently.
Martha tugged his sleeve. “The cellar - we can hide!”
They fled towards the stairs. Amara frowned. “I’ll… keep watch.”
Thomas shoved her inside. “You’ll stay here.”
Adrian began to cry - a clicking, chittering sound. Martha reached for him again. “Let me soothe him, dear -”
The swaddle fell.
Eight legs unfurled, each thicker than Martha’s wrists. Adrian’s cherubic face split open, mandibles snapping as he lunged. Martha screamed as his stinger plunged into her chest.
Amara sighed. “Adrian, manners.”
The survivors recoiled. The miller’s wife retched.
Thomas swung the shovel at Amara. It stopped midair, held by threads too fine to see from spider-things dangling from the ceiling.
“You,” he choked. “All this time, you –“
"Watch," Amara commanded, gripping his arm tightly. "Watch what your seed helped create."
Martha's screams turned wet as Adrian's mandibles sliced through muscle and sinew. Blood pooled beneath her body while the spider-thing that had been Thomas's son gobbled up his mother’s right leg. The paralytic venom kept Martha conscious the entire time, terrified beyond words as her own grandson fed upon her living body.
The other villagers wept, pressing themselves against the walls. Sarah's father vomited on the floor. The miller's wife fainted dead away while her husband sobbed prayers.
"Stop this!" Thomas thrashed out of Amara's grip. "She's your mother too! She cared for you!"
"And I thank her for the lessons." Amara watched Martha's suffering with a gentle smile. "She taught me so much about human behavior. How to walk properly, speak softly, lower my eyes..."
"You monster!" Thomas spat in her face. "What are you?"
"I am the first." Amara's smile widened. "The Great Mother of all these children you see outside. Each one born from the creatures I mated with – boars and humans." She stroked Thomas's cheek. "You helped create something special. Adrian is already so large at birth, it’s something I hadn’t thought possible…."
Adrian clicked happily, mandibles deep in Martha's chest cavity. Martha's eyes rolled back as the spider-thing pulled out her still-beating heart, drinking the blood like wine.
"And now..." Amara released Thomas, stepping back. "I must thank you for giving me a good lesson on human behaviour. But that lesson has come to an end." Her black eyes gleamed. "Now it is time to feed."
Thomas watched in horror as Amara's skin split open. The beautiful woman he had married peeled away, revealing chitinous plates black as midnight. Eight spindly legs unfolded from her torso, each tipped with razor-sharp claws. Twin horns curved up from her head while multiple eyes opened across her face. A paralyzing stinger emerged from her abdomen, dripping with venom.
The church doors exploded inward. Bear-sized spider-things poured through the opening, mandibles clicking in excitement. Thomas started laughing. A high, broken sound that echoed off the stone walls.
He laughed as Adrian finished consuming Martha, leaving only bloody scraps of cloth behind. He laughed as the other spider-things descended upon the villagers. Sarah's father tried to fight back with a wooden cross, but a stinger pierced his chest and he collapsed. The miller's unconscious wife was dragged away in silk, while her old husband's screams turned to gurgles as mandibles tore into his throat.
The spider-things coordinated their attacks through clicks and leg movements. Thomas saw how they deferred to Amara, the smallest among them. She directed them with quick leg-gestures, deciding which villagers would die and which would be taken.
His laughter grew louder as he watched his wife - this thing he had beaten and cursed - command her cursed offspring. The beautiful woman he had married was now a nightmare of chitin and fangs, yet she moved with the same grace she had shown while sewing dresses.
Silk strands wrapped around Thomas's legs. He kept laughing as a spider-thing with human-like hands began cocooning him. The webs felt cool against his skin, surprisingly gentle as they bound his arms to his sides.
The spider carried him out of the church. Thomas's hysterical laughter echoed through the village as they passed burning homes and bloody cobblestones. His son Adrian skittered alongside them, clicking happily at his mother while bits of Martha's flesh still clung to his mandibles.
They passed through the forest, and the deeper they went, the more it transformed into something alien. Massive webs stretched between trees, creating walkways and chambers high above the ground. Hundreds of spider-things moved through this aerial maze, some carrying wrapped villagers, others standing guard with stingers ready.
Thomas couldn't stop laughing as his captor climbed the silk paths. Young people from the village hung in cocoons throughout the web structure. He recognized James in one chamber, still alive as a female spider-thing mounted him.
The spider carrying Thomas placed him in a chamber filled with young male villagers. Some wept quietly, others stared blankly ahead. A few had already been mated with, lying limp in their cocoons as spider-things guarded them.
Thomas's laughter echoed through the web chamber. He laughed at the absurdity of it all. Laughed at how he had tried to beat proper behavior into a monster. Laughed at how his son had eaten his mother while wearing a baby's skin.
He was still laughing when a female spider-thing entered the chamber, mandibles clicking in interest as she approached his cocoon.