The pair made their way back to the city under the cover of darkness. By the time they arrived, the gates were firmly shut for the night. Vivienne tilted her head, her glowing eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “I could shift into my colossus form and scale the walls. Wouldn’t take long.”
Rava, cradled in Vivienne’s arms, groaned. “Absolutely not. The last thing we need is for you to send the entire city into a panic. Use that head of yours for once.”
“Hey,” Vivienne said with mock indignation, “I’ll have you know my head is used frequently—for terrifying my enemies and looking fabulous.”
Rava sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just knock.”
Vivienne huffed but complied, striding up to the gate and giving it a firm knock. The sound was unimpressive, so she followed it with a series of deafening pounds that echoed through the night like thunder. Almost immediately, the sound of hurried footsteps approached from the other side.
“What in the gods’ names—who’s there?” a nervous voice called out.
Vivienne leaned in close to the gate, her voice low and gravelly. “We’ve got an injured clan member. Open up before I decide to climb over.”
A startled cry came from beyond the gate, followed by the unmistakable clatter of weapons being drawn. “Monster! There’s a monster at the gate!”
“Great,” Rava muttered, rubbing her temple. “Could you not sound like you’re about to eat them?”
Vivienne rolled her eyes, then spoke again, though her tone remained dry. “Relax. I’m carrying Rava, your injured clanmate. She’s the one who’s going to yell at you if you don’t open this gate in the next thirty seconds.”
There was a beat of hesitation before a smaller, shaky voice responded. “Rava? That can’t be true. She wouldn’t travel with—whatever you are.”
“Rava,” Vivienne said sweetly, her grin all fangs. “Would you like to do the honours?”
Rava lifted her head with a visible effort. “Open the damned gate,” she growled. “She’s telling the truth, and if you don’t let us in, I’ll report every single one of you to my mother.”
That did the trick. The gate creaked open just wide enough to reveal a cluster of guards, their weapons half-raised and their expressions a mix of fear and disbelief.
One of them, a younger-looking guard, pointed a trembling spear at Vivienne. “You’re... you’re sure she’s not dangerous?”
“Only if you poke me with that stick,” Vivienne replied, stepping through with a predatory grace. She made sure her grin lingered just long enough to send a shiver down his spine.
The guards stepped aside hastily, murmuring among themselves as Vivienne carried Rava past them.
“See?” Rava said, her voice weary but tinged with amusement. “They listened. That's what happens when you ask nicely.”
“Or they were terrified of me,” Vivienne replied with a smirk, though she kept her steps light, avoiding drawing too much attention as they entered the city proper.
Sticking to the alleys and shadows, Vivienne navigated the quiet streets with ease, her natural affinity for darkness making them nearly invisible to any late-night wanderers. Despite her earlier quips, she was careful not to unsettle Rava further.
The warm glow of the clanhall came into view, a beacon against the otherwise still night. “Almost there,” Vivienne murmured, her tone softer than usual.
“Good,” Rava mumbled, her voice faint. “I’m ready to pass out somewhere that isn’t your arms.”
“Careful,” Vivienne teased. “You’ll wound my pride.”
Rava huffed a weak laugh but said no more as they approached the entrance. A lekine guard at the door straightened at their approach, his eyes narrowing at Vivienne’s imposing figure.
“I’m with her,” Vivienne said dryly before he could speak, nodding to Rava.
The guard hesitated, then stepped aside, holding the door open.
“About time,” Vivienne muttered as she floated through the doorway into the familiar, warm bustle of the clanhall.
Her imposing frame drew attention immediately. Whispers rippled through the hall, servants exchanging nervous glances, while a few younger clan members darted into side rooms to avoid her gaze. Vivienne sighed but pressed on, floating forward with deliberate care, her glowing eyes scanning the hall for some semblance of direction.
“Where’s Rava’s room?” she mumbled to herself, turning down a corridor lined with wooden doors.
Her search wasn’t as inconspicuous as she’d hoped. A startled shriek from a passing servant echoed down the hall as she floated by, and in another instance, a pair of guards stormed in, weapons half-drawn, only to freeze at the sight of Rava cradled in her arms.
“She’s alive,” Vivienne said dryly, her tendrils curling lazily in the air. “She just needs rest, so point me to her room.”
The guards exchanged glances before one of them stammered, “End of the hall, second door on the left.”
“Thanks,” Vivienne said with a toothy grin that sent them scurrying.
When she finally reached the door, she paused, her tendrils extending to fumble awkwardly with the handle. The process was anything but graceful, and Vivienne let out a quiet huff of frustration before the latch finally gave.
Sliding into the dimly lit room, she floated over to the cot in the corner and carefully laid Rava down. The lekine groaned faintly but settled into the mattress without protest.
“Will you be okay?” Vivienne asked, her voice quieter now. Her glowing eyes studied Rava’s face with an uncharacteristic softness. “I can barely taste your aether now.”
Rava let out a low grunt, her ears twitching. “I’ll be fine. I just need sleep—lots of it. Don’t freak out if I’m not up early.”
“Freak out?” Vivienne repeated with a wry grin. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.” She chuckled, though the sound felt foreign to her. For a moment, it struck her how strange it was to feel humour at all, given what she’d become.
“Good,” Rava murmured, already half-asleep. “Night.”
Vivienne’s grin softened. “Sleep well, fuzzball.”
Rava didn’t respond, already slipping into a deep, steady breathing rhythm.
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Vivienne stood there for a moment, her tendrils curling idly as she watched Rava sleep. The faint tension she’d carried since they left the farm finally eased. She turned and floated toward the door, casting one last glance over her shoulder before slipping out into the hall.
She entered her room, just a few doors down from Rava’s, and let out a deep breath. The jagged bones and wispy cloaks of her revenant form began to dissolve, melting into smooth, pliant flesh. Dangerous curves took their place, and her feet landed softly on the wooden floor. This form, which she’d started calling her prime form, felt more... her. For now, anyway.
Her lips curled into a sly smile. Time to see what I can do with those spiders.
The memory of the giant spiders she’d consumed burned vividly in her mind, their forms etched into her body’s instincts. Shifting into their likeness came almost effortlessly, like a second nature she hadn’t realised she possessed.
Vivienne’s body rippled and contorted, her soft flesh reshaping itself into something alien and monstrous. Her arms and legs split in two, each segment lengthening and rearranging themselves as her torso expanded into a broad cephalothorax. Coarse, bristly hairs sprouted across her body, the sensation odd but not entirely unpleasant.
Her head sank into the forming mass, merging seamlessly with her new body. Yet, as her transformation completed, she noticed a peculiar detail—her eyes. Unlike the eight gleaming orbs the original creatures had, her own simply shifted into a semicircle, maintaining their unnerving glow.
Vivienne tilted her new form experimentally, testing the strength of her legs. The floor creaked beneath her weight but held firm. A grin formed—or at least what she imagined might look like a grin on a spider’s face.
“Well, aren’t I a work of art,” she murmured, her voice emerging in a distorted rasp.
She tested her movements, skittering lightly around the room. Her newfound agility surprised her, the grace of her many limbs coming naturally. The room seemed smaller now, now that she could climb up every wall and hang off the ceiling, something she entertained herself with for a few minutes before resting herself back on the floor.
Her thoughts turned analytical. The spiders had been fast, their movements precise and coordinated. Could she replicate their strength? Their silk? She paused, focusing her will, and flexed her unwieldy abdomen. A fine, glistening thread of webbing spun forth, sticking to the wall with ease.
“Well, that’s handy,” she said with a chuckle, her voice echoing in the small room.
Satisfied with her trial, Vivienne began shifting back to her prime form. The coarse hairs receded, and her body reshaped itself smoothly. She stood once more on two feet, flexing her fingers and rolling her shoulders.
Vivienne had always admired spiders in her own peculiar way. Industrious, efficient, and vital to the ecosystem, they were nature's silent hunters, weaving traps of uncanny beauty. Yet as much as she respected them, her mind was never content with imitation. Spiders had their place, certainly—but she was no simple mimic. The thought of pushing beyond their limitations sent a thrill through her. What could she create by merging forms?
Taking a slow breath, she began to shift. This time, rather than letting her entire body melt and reform, she isolated the change to her lower half. Her legs trembled as they softened and began to flow together like molten wax. The transition wasn’t graceful; it bubbled and rippled, flesh churning and expanding as it reshaped. Her calves and thighs fused, the skin taking on a darker, glossier sheen. Coarse, bristling hairs erupted across the growing mass, and her lower body began to swell into a bulbous, rounded abdomen. A shiver ran through her as she felt spinnerets form, twitching experimentally at the base of this new structure.
The transformation continued upward. Her pelvis stretched and elongated, widening even further to connect to the burgeoning spider half. It was an odd sensation—both familiar and alien. She swayed slightly, testing her balance as her perspective rose with the growth of her new body.
“Fascinating,” she murmured to herself, watching her reflection in the mirror in the corner of the room.
Now came the next step. She willed her upper legs to change, but rather than fusing, they split apart at the joints, sprouting additional limbs. The new legs extended outward, each one tipped with sharp, claw-like points. Eight in total, they spread in a wide, commanding arc beneath her. She flexed them one by one, marvelling at how natural they felt despite their alien appearance.
The room tilted as her centre of gravity shifted, and for a moment, she teetered unsteadily. Then her spider legs caught her weight, pressing against the floor with a surprising amount of strength. She stretched experimentally, the sharp points of her limbs scratching faint grooves into the wood.
Her human torso remained unchanged for now, creating a striking contrast between the soft, curvaceous flesh of her upper body and the thick, predatory menace of her lower half. The melding of forms was seamless, a perfect fusion of beauty and terror.
Vivienne turned toward the mirror, taking in her full reflection for the first time. Her prime form’s alluring curves sat atop the monstrous bulk of a spider’s body, each detail sharp and deliberate. The bristling hairs, the gleaming chitin, the unnerving symmetry of her arachnid legs—it was all as exquisite as it was horrifying.
“Not bad at all,” Vivienne mused, her voice rich with self-satisfaction as a smirk curled her lips. “Honestly, I don’t see why arachne were considered ugly. I look amazing.”
She extended one of her spindly, glossy spider legs toward a small table by the wall, the limb moving with an unnerving grace as it knocked a chair aside. Her spinnerets twitched, releasing a gossamer strand of silk. She caught it deftly between her claws, pulling it taut. The strength of the thread made her eyebrows lift in surprise.
“Oh, this is delightful,” she murmured, twisting and weaving the silk experimentally. Her grin widened with malicious glee. “Practical and intimidating. I simply must scare housekeeping in the morning with this.”
For the next few hours, she indulged in a series of experiments with her arachnoid form. She adjusted the size and curvature of her abdomen, expanding it into a rounder, more orb-weaver-like shape, then thickened her legs to make them sturdier and more imposing. She tried adding splashes of colour and intricate patterns to her shadowy exterior, imagining vivid reds and yellows streaking across her glossy black limbs. But, to her frustration, her spider half stubbornly remained inky and ethereal, refusing to adopt anything but shadowy, otherworldly hues.
As she tinkered with her form, an observation nagged at her. She still felt lighter, less substantial, after the Nexus Arbiter had severed her limbs in their fight. It wasn’t just physical—there was something about her core essence that felt diminished.
Perhaps the more aether I consume, the larger and more solid I can make myself again, Vivienne mused, her thoughts lingering on the peculiar limitations of her form. She felt hardy and grounded in her prime state, but her colossus form—imposing as it was—had an unnerving lightness, almost as if it lacked substance. The realisation that severed parts weren’t just destroyed but lost troubled her. It wasn’t simply a matter of regrowth; the essence of those parts seemed to dissipate, altering both her current state and her future potential.
By the time she finished her experiments, sunlight began creeping through the shutters, illuminating the room in soft, golden hues. The warmth of the light brushed against her inky form, but it failed to reach her chill.
A knock interrupted her reverie.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she tasted the aether in the air. Hmm. Weak. Definitely not Rava.
“Come in,” Vivienne called, her grin widening into something just shy of predatory.
The door creaked open, revealing a timid figure—a young servant, perhaps no older than Taron, clutching a tray of food with trembling hands. His wide eyes darted to Vivienne’s arachnoid form and immediately widened further, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the tray.
“M-my lady?” he stammered, voice barely above a whisper.
“Lady? Ooh, I quite like that.” Vivienne chuckled, her spider legs shifting slightly, causing the boy to flinch. She leaned forward, her grin showing more teeth than comfort. “What have you brought me, little one?”
“J-just the morning meal,” he said, setting the tray down on a small table without meeting her eyes. “I—I didn’t know—”
“Relax,” she purred, waving a claw dismissively. “I don’t eat everything I see. Well, not always. You’re safe... for now.”
The servant audibly gulped and took a cautious step back, glancing toward the door as if calculating how quickly he could make an exit.
Vivienne’s grin softened into something almost approachable. “Thank you. Could you bring me a dress to wear? I accidentally shredded the last one.”
The boy nodded as if he wasn’t being asked. He bolted from the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
Vivienne turned her attention to the tray, raising an eyebrow at the modest meal: a few slices of bread, a small block of cheese, and a cup of tea. Not a lick of aether in the meal whatsoever. She sighed theatrically.
“Well, it’s no spider buffet, but I’m not going to be rude.”