Aethyr’s breath came in ragged gasps as he tightened his grip on his blade, his shield bearing deep grooves and scorch marks. The Jorogumo loomed before him, her eight crimson eyes gleaming with malice, her sharp claws glinting like polished steel. The chamber echoed with her haunting hiss as she dashed forward, her movements too swift for the eye to follow.
"I need an opening... her hands are too fast," Aethyr thought, shifting his stance.
She lunged, her claws a blur of deadly precision. Aethyr raised his shield just in time, the impact forcing him to lean left. But one of her bladed limbs struck from an unexpected angle, slashing across his shoulder. His armor held back most of the blow, but the integrity was compromised. His shoulder throbbed as the sting of the cut bled through his senses.
The battlefield became a dance of chaos—sword swings met with sharp deflections, shield blocks punctuated by explosions of magical webs, and bursts of poison that sizzled against the stone walls. Aethyr had never faced an opponent like her.
The Jorogumo wasn’t just a monster; she was a collective of warriors' skills. Each swing of her limbs bore the precision of seasoned swordsmen, each spell the cunning of a master mage. It was as though he faced a hundred enemies at once.
A FIGHT ON BORROWED TIME
Aethyr’s strategy was to attack and retreat, but the Jorogumo’s agility made her an omnipresent threat. She moved between the ceiling, walls, and floor seamlessly, her eight legs making her a blur of motion. Poison webs and corrosive strands shot toward him, forcing him to keep his movements erratic. His mana reserves were empty, the vials already expended earlier, leaving him reliant on his stamina.
Thankfully, his armor—crafted with the latest tech and design—helped mitigate his fatigue. But no amount of engineering could keep up with the sheer relentlessness of this creature. He had yet to find a blind spot; her eight eyes offered an almost 360-degree view.
Then, she cornered him. A flurry of razor-sharp legs swung toward him. Aethyr raised his shield, countering with desperate sword strikes, but the onslaught was too much. A final, brutal strike landed on his chest, the sheer force cracking his armor. Another stab, and this time the blade penetrated, shallow but devastating, leaving him gasping for air.
Aethyr staggered as the Jorogumo grabbed him by the neck and hurled him across the room. Before he could even hit the ground, a powerful kick sent him spinning. He crashed hard against the stone floor, his head throbbing and blood dripping down his face. Darkness crept in as he fainted for a moment.
Then, a sharp, familiar sound roused him—the hiss of the Jorogumo’s impatience.
Through bleary eyes, he forced himself upright, his body screaming in protest. He darted behind a ruined column, clutching at the fractured remains of his armor. The Jorogumo’s eerie scream reverberated through the chamber.
"She’s getting impatient. Good. I can use that."
A MADMAN'S INSPIRATION
Aethyr rummaged through his pouch, his fingers trembling as they brushed against crystals meant for spellcasting—useless without mana. His frustration bubbled over. Then, an idea sparked, a fragment of memory surfacing.
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"My boy," Master Alious, the Mad Wizard, had once said, his eyes wide with manic glee, "What do you do when you’re out of mana?"
"I... try not to be out of mana," Aethyr had replied dryly.
The old man laughed, the sound echoing through the tower’s crooked halls. "Typical answer! But there’s a secret, boy. Some people are born with wells of mana; others, mere trickles. But that doesn’t matter. When your mana is gone, you rely on runes."
"Runes? I’m terrible with those."
"No, no, no! You’re logical, lad. Too rigid. You remember the patterns perfectly, don’t you?"
"Sure, but conjuring them gives me a headache."
Alious grinned like a lunatic. "Because you’re thinking too much! Magic is wonder, not arithmetic. Imagine, boy! Wonder! Flexibility!"
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The memory faded, leaving him with clarity. He wasn’t out of options.
"I may not have mana, but I have tools." Aethyr’s hand brushed the knife at his belt, the crystal catalyst, and the shattered remains of the spider’s fang. A plan formed, insane but worth a shot.
Using the knife, he began to carve into the spider fang, etching a crude rune. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it didn’t need to be. All it had to do was work.
The memory of Master Alious’s advice faded, leaving Aethyr with a newfound clarity.
"I may not have mana, but I have tools," he muttered, determination surging. His hand brushed the shattered remains of a giant spider’s fang. A reckless plan formed in his mind.
Aethyr dashed toward the corpse of a fallen spider, slicing one of its massive fangs. The cut was jagged, far from perfect, as the enraged Jorogumo lunged at him. He rolled to avoid her razor-sharp claws, zigzagging through the battlefield, her shrieks echoing like a haunting melody.
Deep in the inner chamber, he found what he sought—a fallen Ushi-Oni’s horn. With frantic precision, he severed it from the beast’s remains, narrowly evading the Jorogumo’s venom-laced web as she relentlessly pursued him. Sliding under a narrow opening in the ruins, he bought precious moments to work.
The fang, the horn, and the crystal catalyst came together in his trembling hands. Sweat dripped from his brow as he etched runes into the crude wand, his mind racing to recall every lesson about rune crafting.
The first attempt fizzled, the rune dissipating into nothingness.The second sparked, then faltered.The third? Too heavy; it exploded in a burst of energy that singed his hands.
By the fifth attempt, a faint glow pulsed through the wand—a flicker of hope.
"You’re starting to bore me, little hero," Jorogumo hissed, her voice venomous.
"Boring? You wound me," Aethyr replied, a smirk curling on his bloodied lips. "How about a magic show?"
With a shout, he unleashed his first spell: a fiery blast that erupted from the wand’s crimson rune. It struck Jorogumo, forcing her to recoil, her screech a symphony of fury.
The battle shifted. Disarmed of his weapons, Aethyr fought with newfound ingenuity. The wand became an extension of his will, channeling raw energy. With red crystals, he summoned fire and explosions. Blue conjured ice and wind, yellow molded earth into traps and barriers, and gold weaved powerful status effects.
Jorogumo, despite her wounds, was relentless. Her eight bladed limbs struck like a storm, forcing Aethyr to fight with both cunning and desperation. He conjured a sand serpent, its fangs snapping at her, while summoning an earth golem that towered over her. The serpent scattered sand, blinding her many eyes, as the golem pummeled her with crushing fists.
Aethyr’s vision blurred as blood trickled from his nose and ears—the toll of controlling multiple constructs. Still, he pushed forward.
"G-Gotcha!" he gasped as the golem’s massive hand crushed several of her bladed limbs. Jorogumo howled in pain, but her rage fueled her. She shattered the golem’s head with a devastating strike and severed the serpent with a powerful slash.
Aethyr seized the opening. Channeling the last of his strength, he conjured an ice spear and hurled it with unerring precision. The spear pierced her chest, freezing her mid-step.
Jorogumo staggered, her monstrous form dissolving into that of a woman. She collapsed, her human eyes soft and filled with regret. Aethyr rushed to her side, cradling her frail body as she trembled.
"You freed me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Freed me from the monster inside. I feel… light… calm."
"Stay still," Aethyr urged, his voice cracking.
She shook her head weakly. "It’s too late… But before I go, lean closer, young warrior. I promise, no harm will come to you."
A strange pink glow surrounded her head as she transferred her memories into Aethyr’s mind—battle strategies, ancient knowledge, and magical skills. His head throbbed as the flood of information overwhelmed him.
"Now… you are the weaver of the web," she said with a faint smile, her fingers brushing against the spider tattoo that appeared briefly on his forehead before fading.
Aethyr stared in disbelief as his wounds vanished, the scars on his shoulder healed by some divine spider silk. His body felt rejuvenated, but his heart ached.
"What’s your name, boy?" she asked, her voice weak.
"Aethyrvald Whitemane," he replied.
"Whitemane… fitting for a hero of your lineage. The gods have blessed your family, and I am honored to fall to one so noble." She coughed, blood staining her lips. "If we’d met in another world… we might have been friends."
"Maybe," Aethyr whispered, tears brimming in his eyes.
"My name… is Silkara Aratress," she said, her voice fading. "Go to my chamber… take my will… I know you are honorable."
Silkara died with a smile, her human form serene and at peace.
Aethyr created a grave for her, marking it with the shards of her broken blades. He stood silently, her final words echoing in his mind.