There was no warmth in the mother’s embrace. Only cold chitin piercing into the child's body, and gleaming eyes, evaluating her worth. The evaluation was quick and decisive. Frail, and sickly, her chitin could not even withstand the grip of the mother, she was slow getting out of her egg, nothing to show her worth. Little arachne was tossed aside like a broken toy moments after her birth. To the heap of similar children who were unfit to live.
Moments after the arachne hatched, she had to figure out a way to stay alive. The nest went deep underground and branched around. She saw at least three possible exits and some small holes where she could hide. Without knowing where she was, the child ran to the closest hole. This attempt to escape did not go unnoticed. A huge spear-like leg pierced into her body with unmatched precision. Her undeveloped abdomen was nailed down to the wall. The food must stay in the basket. Others looked at her horrified. They knew better than trying to escape, now they watched an example of what would happen to those who tried. Moments after little arachne was born she was dying, bleeding to death, too weak to struggle.
She disagreed with such an outcome. This one was not born to be food for stronger brothers and sisters. She will decide how her life ends. Her abdomen spit out silk from the glands around her spine and bottom. The frail arachne shot webs to the ceiling and pulled herself upwards. The pain of her stomach ripping apart almost paralyzed her. She pushed forward, splitting her body in half through the sharp leg, and ran upwards.
The mother arachne was not ready for such a suicidal dash. The monster struck again, but not in time. The child squeezed herself into the crack in the ceiling and dashed away from the nest. Two huge legs crushed into the sandy soil behind her. The hole was small, barely enough to fit the little arachne. It was torn open right behind her with a vicious strike.
The little arachne jerked her twelve legs through the ground in a mad dash. The human arm reached after her, scratching her bleeding womb. The little arachne crawled forward in a panicked frenzy. She ended up in a hole surrounded by rock walls. Unable to run forward she lay in the cavities of the surface, hiding, too afraid to breathe. Mother’s arms thrashed at the entrance, but her large body could not force through. The human face peered through the hole at a terrified child.
“Hide if you want. My children will drag your lifeless body back.” Mother had retreated, but the hungry mouths would come for her corpse. The power left her. With the remaining silk, the little arachne tied her torn stomach together in an attempt to stop bleeding.
The little arachne fell between the roots of a plant. Her life streamed out of her, and she could feel the countdown to her inevitable demise. She was born weak, born to be food. At least her death would be on her terms, even if it changes nothing.
Pain pulsed through her body, making her tired limbs twitch at each heartbeat. The terrifying image of mother’s angry face, the unknown of death, these thoughts were more chilling than her bloodless limbs. The little arachne grieved, unable to cry, but still mourning her short and misplaced life. One strike was all it took to end her. She shook, hugging the root, and waited until dreams would fully take her.
The plant pulsed with life. She felt the same compassionate heartbeat inside the roots. If her heart beat like a cowardly mouse, afraid of the next breath, the root throbbed like the heart of a beast. The little arachne bit into it. Such a thing mocking her dying minutes. If she is dying, this thing is dying with her.
First a little nibble, but as soon as the bitter juice streamed down her mouth, she pierced her teeth with more vigor. Sharp bites viciously chopped at the plant. The juice drifted into the arachne’s mouth, spilling across her face. It sated her. The soothing sensation spread through her body. Somehow, the pain went away. Her stomach, tied by the silk, started to stitch together. The blood loss stopped.
Arachne leveled up to Arachne level 1. New skill available.
Only later she learned the root was the key component for healing potions. Raw it was weak, but enough to restore her small body. She ate it out of sheer defiance, and it brought her enough subsistence to survive. The arachne raised her head from the devastated plant with a grim expression, her eyes sparked with determination. She will never die, and those who hunt her will perish.
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She had a quick nap, then continued eating at the root. Soon it stopped sating her. She needed meat. The wound was completely healed leaving only an ugly scar. The root went upwards into the ground. The frail and sickly arachne tried to dig up more, only to find a stone half her size stuck in the ground at the ceiling.
The time was short. Soon mother would send someone to collect her body. She heard noises down the hole. Time was not in her favor. Any of the selected arachnes would be far stronger in combat than she was. The little arachne could never win a direct fight. All she had were a couple of stones that she could throw, and it would barely stop anyone.
Soon she heard a muffled scratching through the tunnel from which ran here. She could not run. A massive boulder stopped her. The hole was her grave, but an idea struck the little arachne. She quickly began to spin her web.
Soon a head of a draider peeked inside, the boyish type of the arachnes. Their species were naturally adapted to darkness. So, it did not take the boy too much effort to look around. He frowned not finding his body. Soon multiple blade-like limbs pierced into the entrance and began to widen it until he was able to fit inside. This was an example of how one should be born to be considered strong. The draider was tall and his chitin already developed the strength useful in combat.
He strode forward, looking around, and soon he noticed a hole dug in the ceiling. As soon as he approached, he felt a tight thread on his leg. He pushed through it tearing it with a little touch. The ceiling screeched suddenly as if reacting to his actions. When he looked up, he noticed a large boulder heading his way. The draider gawked at it, and it crushed the boy smashing him against the floor.
The little arachne came after it. She felt like a genius at making such a simple trap. Her threads were able to hold the boulder. She tied it over a root, and the lower end of the thread was tied downwards, reacting to the approach. As soon as the thread tore, it untied the boulder, letting it fall. Thanks to her cunning she survived another day. Satisfied, the arachne crawled down and tore her teeth into the flesh of the drider still twitching in the dying agony.
This simple trap raised her to the 3rd level. She felt stronger. Soon her skin shed, and a larger body emerged. After the boulder was cleared, she managed to push through the ground inside a cave. The arachne found herself in an underground field of white flowers. Similar to the one that was connected to the root that she ate. The one that brought her back to life. She fell in love with the flowers.
Caves that arachne were born to have many monsters. Some were weaker than her, but many more were stronger. Still, she survived. The little arachne has grown. Cunning and smart, she trapped monsters stronger than her and preyed on those who were weaker. Soon she became a threat to all who lived in caves. Mother sent her children to dispose of this threat, not even realizing that it was the same frail arachne from before. Finally, it was time to confront her.
The arachne walked into mother’s nest unafraid. In her hand a young drider she held by the skull. It was badly beaten, but still alive, he led her into the nest. Mother looked at the long-lost daughter in horror. She could not match her strength. Smiling, the young arachne bit through the skull of the drider, crunching on it like on an apple.
“Hello, mother.” She spoke in their language. The children gasped and whispered in horror.
“Skreet-thalok. Skreet-thalok. Skreet-thalok.” The night terror. The nickname that was given to the terror hunting in these caves. Suddenly they found their exits were all closed by the tough web. Mother jumped forward but got tangled in an invisible thread as well. They all were trapped.
“You will be the last.” The young arachne talked to her mother and walked towards the children grouped together in fear. The stronger ones tried to organize a defense, but all for naught. They were thirty levels behind her. They could not damage her even with their strongest attacks.
Before she was frail and unfit to live, now they all were her food, and she needed a mother to see it. To make her relive the horror she herself felt, fleeing from that monster.
“Skreet-thalok.” She tasted the name on her lips. She turned to the bleeding and slowly dying arachne. “Yes. This is my name, mother. Skreet-thalok.”
She poked pleasingly before finishing the elder arachne’s life.
Skreetha never forgot the meaning of her name, even if it lost its original sound when she learned a human language. It was still her, the strongest arachne to ever live.