I wake.

My eyes snapping open, the darkness approaching, I wake.

I do not rise from the stupor of rest slowly. My eyes search the absolute darkness, awaiting the imminent arrival of prey before I recall that I do not wait for prey. I hunt the prey.

Summoning my immense reserves of mana, I call spiders to me. Thousands and hundreds of thousands and millions of spiders to do my bidding, all of their own race, size and shape. There are no more weak ones. I have seen to that myself. Weakness is something to be devoured.

The spiders lift me off of the stone where I lay, supporting me among their mandibles and legs.

I quite like spiders. They hunt mercilessly, and when not hunting, their very homes are traps for the weary and unwary. Upon their demise, they are eaten by their brethren and empower each other further. They survive, they kill, they hunt. Even in death they work towards the downfall of all that threaten their race.

Besides, their appearance is intimidating in a most comforting manner.

Indeed, I have based my own design from theirs. My nine eyes rest in a ring upon my cover, and my edges are rimmed with venom and fangs. My covering may be ragged, but I have no need for vanity when there is no one to see it. And who would I desire to witness my glory, aside from Thaddeus?

I barely have to think anymore to command the spiders. A single tug on a thread, a pull of mana, a telepathic signal. All of my mannerisms and techniques are used in flawless synchronicity with each other in order to most effectively rule my army, my colony, my city.

As a mass, as a whole, we barge through the tunnels. These tunnels are ancient, nearly as old as I am. But not quite. Age is not something that can be caught by concepts as trivial as time or space, for what are time and space but fluids, materials to be woven through fragile reality?

Hurtling at breakneck speed through these interwoven spaces that have been so carefully dug and reformed until I am satisfied with their low ceilings and compressed walls. Not unless you are willing to barge through a four-foot hole at top speed could you ever hope to approach my haven.

For it is a haven. My home is one of darkness, of dampness, of terror and fear and all that I hold dear and close to my dead heart. No one shall encorach upon my territory without my permission, and I am not one to grant that permission lightly. Never, in fact. The only intruders are those that are dead and those that are dying, for all are food in the end.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

In a short amount of time, I sense the presence of two humans. One is weeping as it is thrown into my tunnels, a fearful young maiden of sweet taste. The other is a fat, drunken man, a storehouse of food and sustenance for my spiders. Naturally, I need no such food.

I am not biased against who is and who is not eaten. I am nothing if not impartial to the death of those that dare to enter my tunnels. After all, who is stupid enough to enter places so clearly dangerous as the ones I inhabit? None but the truly idiotic dare to wander in here of their own accord.

My spiders do not have mercy. The man goes down screaming and swinging, fists flying at crowds of the arachnids as the devour him where he stands. The woman is eaten quickly and quietly. She does not resist.

Humans do not fear me as they should. I am willing to rectify that error.

Dragging myself back to the hollow, I focus on my newest spell, and eight long legs sprout from my spine and side, extending to grip the walls as my brethren do. They hum in response, eyes glinting in the inverted light of my black mana as I become the closest thing to a spider that I can.

One day, I will find Thaddeus. I will receive praise from him. Then I will kill him, or die trying. He abandoned me and I will never forgive him for it.

What need have I of-

What is that?

I sense a presence. A faint one, young and raw in its potential, ready to be harvested. My spiders rustle in agitation, eager to hunt.

Forcing my way into his mind, I inspect his memories and mind. He has a powerful intellect, one I can use should I ever encounter him in life and not in the realm of its dreamlike casting. Looking further, I see its bond, a young girl with a surprisingly large pool. Hers is nothing to mine. However small it may be in comparison, it will still be useful to me. I can always use more mana. I can always use more food.

My spiders skitter, irate and excited for the hunt.

Not yet. Not yet, my children. This presence, this Book that I sense will not be ripe for some time. It is new and unpolished, albeit powerful in its ownership. Its Bond is not an old one and will be culled for experience.

Soon. Soon, my spiders will achieve the level I desire, and then we shall flood from this place in innumerable droves.

We shall rise from the ground in swarms.

We shall conquer this world in its entirety.

We shall devour you, insignificant Book.

I am the Arachnis Arcanus Compendium.

I am coming for you.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My eye snaps open as I wake from the nightmare. Even with my infinitesimally small Agility, I still hurtle off the nightstand near Lola's bed and fall silently on the carpet.

I can clearly feel the malice that was radiating from that thing. Even though I can recall Isaac mentioning the Compendium, along with that person near the beginning of my life, I had never discovered what exactly what that meant.

Now, though...

Now I am very very worried.