Once upon a time the gods defied Death in their desire to keep their greatest [Hero] alive by bringing him back from the afterlife.
Once upon a time Death sent them an ultimatum, requesting that the soul be put back where it rightfully belonged, for that was Law and Laws were never meant to be Broken.
Once upon a time the gods refused, creating an imbalance in Creation that could’ve caused, in the long run, the End of Death and the collapse of all that was real.
Once upon a time, Death had no other choice but to break a Law herself, and Create something, for the balance had to be reestablished, and if that meant the end of all that was living, which would also cause the death of the gods, then so be it. Creation was much more important.
Once upon a time Death Created the arachne to be messengers of himself, to remind the whole of Creation that Laws must not be broken. Could not be broken without grave consequences.
Once upon a time Death was hated for what it had done, but Death had always been hated from the day it had taken the first soul away from the living, so that mattered little.
Once upon a time, in one final gesture of defiance, the gods gave the living a Law just to help them kill Death’s creations. The Law’s name was:
[The Hunters Cut the Veil Between Life and Death]
Once upon a time, the arachne hunted and were hunted. Most were killed. Many remained. And so it was that the Law remained too.
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Every single [Soldier] and arachne in the forest felt it when the Skill, no, the Law, was called upon.
Grandmother looked up from the Spell she was casting, a complex amalgama of mana that used a few souls borrowed from the Silken Orchestra that could, in her plans, sap energy from anyone with a [Soldier] Class, until everyone ended up on the ground barely capable of moving. Oh, if only the gods had found a better place to engrave Classes and Skills other than one’s soul, that would’ve made everything much more complex.
Alas, she was distracted, and immediately the whole Spell began to unravel thread by thread. It was also doing it much faster than it normally should, as if something was pushing away at her will with the same ferocity of a wild animal trapped in a corner.
But that was to be expected: after all, that Law had been called upon. The bane of the arachne. The only reason they had to stop the Great Hunt millennia ago, go into hiding.
The Law. No arachne alive or dead would ever pronounce its name. It was hated, a testament to the pettiness of gods. They were supposed to stay up there at the top of their ivory towers built on the faith of those idiotic believers of theirs, observing from afar and not interfering. That was how things were meant to go.
But no! They had to do things as they wanted, because they were gods and that meant they were better!
For the first time in… centuries, Grandmother began to feel irritated. No, no no no no, not irritated. That wasn’t enough. What she felt was… anger. True, stone cold, anger, with a hint of heat underneath. Like a volcano covered in snow and ice finally waking up, ready to erupt raging hot lava and magma on the world.
‘Fear the anger of the calm woman’, isn’t that what they said? Well, she was angry, and there were oh so many outlets around the forest ready to receive all of it.
“Let’s start with this: [Permafrost Golem].”
She activated the Skill, and in her [Web Eyes] she could see a creature of earth, snow and ice rise from the ground between a group of a hundred [Soldiers]. The body was humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but it also sprouted from its back a barbed tail and was covered in spikes. The monstrosity didn’t waste any time and began attacking the group, the arms reshaping themselves into swords as it quite literally sheared through armor and flesh.
But after the first wave of surprise, the [Soldiers] reorganized surprisingly fast, avoiding the golem’s attacks and attacking it in its blind spots.
“Hmpf, damned Law.”
She waited for them to surround her golem, then sent a little bit of Mana into a web that touched her creation. Immediately after, the golem exploded into a thousand pieces of shrapnel that skewered the surviving men.
“But not good enough. [Communicate: Pochartis Silksoul] We have to up our game, now. You know what to do.”
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It was surreal, watching the Law activate.
Nero could see them out of the corner of his eye. Not when he looked directly at the [Elite Warriors], naturally, but they were there. An afterimage copying their movements and, at the same time, influencing them.
Men wearing a black cloaks over armor of all sorts, armed with weapons that ranged from simple swords to unexpected hammers to more improbable things like saws. They all wore hats of some kind instead of helmets. It was traditional among them: usually if an arachne managed to reach your head in some kind of way, be it with a sword or an arrow or spell, it didn’t matter what you wore, you were dead. Better to wear a stylish hat than a helmet that limits your vision.
Each and every [Soldier] felt their presence. The Hunters were among the living again, even if only in memory, and they watched grimly through their eyes as, once again, they were called to fight against their eternal enemies.
And yet something was… missing.
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Desina was tired.
She and her sisters had been fighting for the last half hour against these [Soldiers]. Over a hundred bodies lay dead on the ground around them, while hundreds more, sadly still living, surrounded them.
She felt oh so tired. Fighting using one arm while being unable to use her shield and her favorite weapon, it was horrible. To that add the fact that they were greatly outnumbered, and you understood perfectly well just why she was so tired.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m paying the price for my actions. This is all my fault. If it weren’t for me, nobody would’ve died today.
Because it wasn’t only the humans and whatever fucking other species was with them that had died on this battlefield so far: five of Desina’s sisters lay dead as well. Killed by an arrow too many piercing them, or speared through the heart while they were distracted by said arrows, or simply swarmed by the [Soldiers] in an attempt to kill them with numbers alone. That last tactic was the most costly for them, but it still managed to kill an arachne, and these idiotic zealots were all for it. No sense of self preservation.
Then she felt it: the change. The Law falling on them like a boulder from the top of a mountain.
Her movements felt slower, sluggish, as if she had drunk from the wrong bottle in Iadara’s secret stash. The strength was sapped from her arms, and her feet felt like someone had attached lead weights to them.
On the other hand, the [Soldiers] looked and felt more energized. Their grips of their swords became more sure and precise, as if a [Teacher] had just made them notice that they were holding them wrong. Feet were adjusted and bodies aligned in just the right way to not leave any openings for her and her sisters to make use of.
In a few cases though the [Soldiers] looked at their weapons of choice with raised eyebrows, as if unsure of how to use them, as if… they weren’t the weapons they’d always used. That was when she noticed them: the ghosts, the afterimages, the memories come to life of their greatest enemies of the past: the Hunters.
She had been told tales when she was a spiderling, but she’d also been told that they were all dead, that the only thing left of them was the Skill that had given them the power to kill all those arachne.
How many chances were there that that exact Skill would be brought against them? That was what she’d thought when she’d attacked the village. She didn’t know how far the College’s power could reach. And that was her greatest mistake: underestimating her enemy.
“Well, whatever! It doesn’t matter! Come at us! You’ll just take longer to die!”
The [Soldiers] charged.
She got ready to play Death’s game.
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Iadara was dancing in place, pirouetting around and singing nonsensical tunes under her breath while her mind played grand orchestral songs.
She had forgotten the last time she’d felt so free, fearless, thoughtless. Sure, she was surrounded by enemies, but who cared when she had this bottle of… she squinted her eyes at the label. When had the letters began dancing with her? Oh, right! She had to keep dancing, that way the letters would move together with her and she’d be able to read them!
She did just that, and finally managed to focus her eyes.
Carminian Red. Sounded tasty.
She lifted the bottle to her lips, dodging a stupid [Soldier] and cutting him in the back of the neck with a poisoned knife. He fell to the ground, convulsing, a few seconds later. Her poison was, after all, a class two out of the seven she’d created.
The wine touched her tongue… yup! Tasted like shit.
Just because she’d once been an [Alcoholist] didn’t mean she didn’t have good tastes. This wine was completely still and she could actually taste the water they used to water it down. Clearly this was something Pochi had bought. The girl had no taste for fine things. Only beers for her.
Still, she drank it down.
[Enhance Taste]. A great Skill for someone like her. She feared what that bottle would’ve tasted like without it.
“Cooomeee ooonnnn! Youuu can do bettteeerrrrr,” she slurred out.
Then she went to grab a vial from the table… and missed it completely.
Fuck, this wine might be shitty, but it’s strong! Or maybe it’s the six bottles I drank before this one. Probably it’s the six other bottles.
She tried to lift herself from the ground, but saw from the corner of her eye a [Soldier] running towards her prone form.
She mentally sighed.
[Drunkard’s Improbably Dodge].
The Skill activated and she managed to roll under her table, dodging the attack. From there she miraculously turned the roll into a push and found herself on her feet, feeling decidedly more lucid and steady.
Hmmm, gotta fix that, she thought as she knifed the idiot and grabbed for another bottle.
The problem with all her old [Alcoholist] Skills was that, after she’d managed to leave that bad phase of her life behind (all thanks to Grandmother’s help), and fused the then transformed [Drinker] and her other Class, [Poison Crafter], becoming the [Sommelier of Poisons] she was today, they’d all changed, turning into things that were useful in a pinch but, at the same time, consumed her drunkenness, causing her to become more lucid every time.
Which was useful most of the time, but not right now, when she knew she was going to need as much drunkenness as she could get.
Luckily, she had lots of alcohol.
She opened another bottle and drank.
Then she felt it: the Law being activated.
Immediately her mind cleared a bit as she watched the [Soldiers] around her become more sure-footed and attentive, the aftereffects of her Aura leaving them completely.
That was a problem. She counted on the effect of that Skill. But, apparently, as always with anything related to her life, things couldn’t be easy.
She knew what that Skill could do. Grandmother had explained it quite clearly to her years ago. Her Skills would be a lot less effective on her enemies, she would be disadvantaged, as if Luck itself was playing against her, and her body and abilities with magic would be hindered. In general, she wasn’t supposed to count on any of Death’s gifts to her.
Which, you know, sounded like a big shitty problem… for anyone but her.
She sighed and put the bottle she was holding down. It wouldn’t help her anymore. And anyways, it was another Carminian Red.
“Well, the time for fun and games is over, it seems.”
[Commander] Lyzark looked her way as if she’d just uttered some kind of blasphemy. Which, actually, wasn’t wrong if one was to believe what the churches preached: that arachne were blasphemous things that shouldn’t be allowed to exist in any form. So yeah, every word she uttered was blasphemy. The thought actually made her giggle.
Imagine being a middle finger to the gods just by existing? What an achievement!
“Your time has come, you foul beast,” said Lyzark. The words didn’t feel completely like his own, but they felt right, so he let himself say them.
“A beastman calling me a beast? Boy, go look in the mirror before saying shit like this.”
The beastman’s eye twitched: “Attack! [Mark Target]!”
Immediately two dozen [Soldiers] charged Iadara while the remaining members of Unit 3, which had been reduced to just over a dozen [Archers] and [Mages], fired arrows and spells at her.
Fuck!
She couldn’t use [Drunkard’s Improbable Dodge] again, it was on cooldown for the next nine minutes, so she had to use her physical abilities. Normally dodging the projectiles wouldn’t have been difficult, but she was slowed by the Law, and she’d just been Marked, which made them move towards her, if not outright follow her.
[Homing] Skills were quite high Level, and for a [Commander] to have a unit-wide one would be impossible without being over Level 40 and specialized in fighting from a distance.
She was just a few centimeters too short.
The pain was, luckily, reduced by how drunk she still was, but it was nonetheless very unpleasant when an arrow pierced the flank of her spider half, going through the chitin much too smoothly (again, the Law’s fault), while another went right into her left arm, which she’d used to protect her face. She felt the bones break from the force of the hit and, this time, cried out in pain.
Then the fireball hit her in the same flank as the arrow.
The air was filled with the smell of burned grass.
The arrow was burned away, but so was a good chunk of her chitin and fur. When she glanced down Iadara could see the muscles of her spider half contracting from the pain and exposure to the open air.
Luckily for her all arachnes’ spider halves weren’t innervated as much as the rest of their bodies, so the pain was much more shallow than it should’ve been. Still, she could barely control half her legs now.
Then the [Soldiers] were on her.
She grunted in pain as she clutched the small vial of poison in the hand of her now-damaged arm. She lifted it towards her face, bit the cork away, and drunk the contents.
Immediately her taste buds were overwhelmed by a sweetness that could rival honey, but she didn’t allow herself the time to taste her delightful creation. She gulped down, and activated one of her strongest Skills: [Stomach: Atomize Contents].
She felt the buildup of gas in her stomach and, after a few moments, not even a second, couldn’t contain it anymore and… she belched. In a very unladylike way, she burped, and the contents of her stomach, which was just the poison thanks to [Accelerated Alcohol Metabolization], were released in the air in front and around her.
The [Soldiers] reached her, each and every single one of them, and were too sure of themselves when they stepped in the cloud of poison. After all, that Law was supposed to protect them from anything of the arachne, like their poison.
But here was the actual problem: the poison she had just burped out (a giggle escaped her lips, unbidden) was crafted from a special flower found in the forest she’d lived in her entire life. She’d come to call these beauties Lightning’s Embrace, because they were yellow little things that grew in big clusters only in those places where the trees parted, letting sunlight through. Their pollen was slightly soporific normally, but if it was mixed in a solution of pure alcohol, activated charcoal and sulfuric acid it rapidly turned into a semi-solid substance that, if kept at boiling temperature for up to twenty-four hours, became some kind of more-fluid tar.
Basically, at the end of the carbonation and fluidification process it turned into a contact poison that caused cessation of nervous activity wherever it was applied.
Now, imagine breathing that in. You wouldn’t die, no, but you’d be crippled for, oh, a week, unable to move your lips, swallow, speak and even the movements of your small intestines would be locked in place. It was, in her opinion, a destiny worse than death.
And she allowed the [Soldiers] to come in contact with her beautiful creation, her child!
She watched with glee as the [Soldiers] ended face first in the cloud and, after a second, shouted in surprise as their bodies simply… stopped responding to their will, falling to the ground. Then they breathed. And went silent.
Five seconds after [Commander] Lyzark had ordered what remained of his Unit to attack, the arachne in the middle of the field had a useless arm still pierced through by an arrow and half her flank burned off by a [Fireball], and was surrounded by thirty bodies that seemed very dead.
“Well, seems like something worth drinking over, eh?” said Iadara as she clambered painfully towards her table, opened a bottle, took a sip, before offering it with an inviting smile at the [Commander].
As she had said: the Law was not a real problem for her.
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Isse ran. The [Carers] were herding them away from the main battles and out towards the approaching flames. More of those were turning white and, apparently, they wouldn’t hurt them thanks to Grandmother’s meddling.
Fuck fuck fuck! kept saying Siidi in a nearly constant mantra. More than once they’d had to stop to let a group of [Soldiers] pass, hiding in the trees. Or outright fight them when they weren’t fast enough.
Isse had killed her first person.
And she’d felt nothing other than a strange, alien, glee, pervading her body and brain. She understood immediately just how addicting the sensation could become and why Siidi liked fighting so much.
She was still surprised at how she’d felt afterwards. She’d half expected to panic, for dread to fill her mind and soul, to see herself as the monster she actually was. But, as was just stated, she felt nothing but pleasure. It wasn’t sexual, at least. Just pleasant, like eating a good meal.
She… wanted more.
Don’t get carried away Isse. If there’s [Soldiers], then there’s surely someone with that…
She didn’t manage to finish her sentence: a wave of… something, went through the whole forest. The world seemed to become heavier. She felt slower while everything around her moved faster.
Fear gripped her heart for no reason and she felt like running away as fast as she could.
Some of her sisters, especially among the spiderlings, tried to do just that, but the [Carers] stopped them:
“[Stay Together]!” one of them shouted, and the young arachne all stopped in place and skittered back to form the same tight knitted group as before.
What was that? asked Isse.
That was Their damned Law. Fuck! Now they’re going to have the advantage!
What?
What you just felt, that was the Law the gods sent to the living to fight us off. It basically makes the people under its effects much more powerful, increasing their resistance to anything made by us, and makes us weaker in all ways you can imagine.
That… seems unfair.
Yeah, well… I’m sorry, Isse, but… welcome to the real world.
Then the [Soldiers] found them and attacked.
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“I - It - It’s two sixes against… a four and a three. I - I win?” asked the poor [Soldier] with a trembling voice.
He was currently sitting at a table opposing Pochi, shitting his pants, tied to a chair, unarmed and with a single line of spidersilk tied to his neck and connecting him to the arachne sitting opposite from him.
He had been captured alive by one of their [Rogues] and brought to the arachne [Strategist] to… play a game. Only, apparently, the game would also reflect what was happening in the real world.
The rules were simple: each player had three dice they would throw to show how they attacked and defended. The player with the highest score would win the throw. If somehow both players threw the same number then the defending side would win.
A chart of the Forest of Tusca sat at the center of the table filled with small wooden figurines representing spiders and humans. The spiders were colored blue, while the humans were red as blood. If one smelled the figurines they would find out that there was actually an ever lingering scent of blood coming from them.
“Yes, you do,” said Pochi with a frown.
A group of [Soldiers] and arachne were fighting somewhere in the forest and, as the dice was thrown, their destinies were influenced. Her Skills couldn’t actually cause the win or loss of people, but they would influence the battles, giving opportunities to the winners and causing trouble to the losers in the throws. Just like in real life, someone’s abilities could overturn a battle in a matter of moments. That’s why she wasn’t too preoccupied with her loss.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to send some help.
“I’m going to send in my wildcard,” she said, moving a little spider on the board towards the attacked group.
She threw her dice and activated one of her Skills: [Battle: Surprise Advantage].
Three sixes.
Well, she couldn’t have expected anything less from Makira.
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Makira ran through the woods. She had felt it when the Law was activated, but couldn’t care less. She already knew how it felt, there was nothing to be surprised about. Her body was slowed, but the chained thing inside her strained and began clawing and biting at the ‘debuff’, as her old Elder liked to call it. The thing could be useful in its own ways.
Then she felt something else: like a hand on her shoulder, there was a force guiding her in one direction, and it was quite insistent.
Pochi? she asked to the air. She didn’t receive an answer, but at the same time the force became more insistent, so she allowed it to guide her.
She streaked through the forest at speed. The temperature was rising again now that the Law had made it possible for the flames of that Tradition to burn through some of Grandmother’s lesser strings. She didn’t like the heat. After spending all her youth in a system of caves and, subsequently, living under the spinnerets of an Elder who had a thing for Winter, she had come to rather like cold things.
She ran.
And heard the screams of [Soldiers] and arachne fighting.
Together with the screeches of fear and pain and defiance of the spiderlings.
That… made her blood boil.
Like lightning from a cloud she fell from the trees down on the fighting group.
Two [Carers] lay on the ground, dead, while one of the soldiers was attacking a spiderling who’d been separated from the central group.
He raised his sword to finish her off, but then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something move towards him. He turned around and parried the sword’s attack. Normally he would’ve died from that, but the Law enhanced him and his reflexes.
He smiled victoriously, as if managing to parry a single hit in a fight were a great success.
Makira wasn’t smiling.
And she kept not smiling as her other sword came from the soldier’s unprotected side and cut his head right off.
Blood spurted from the stump as the appendage fell to the ground, a look of pure surprise forever locked on the man’s face. A lot of droplets splattered on her clothes and face, but she remained impassive.
Without wasting one more moment she looked around, made sure that nobody was going to attack the spiderling in front of her, and threw herself into the group of fighting, and winning, soldiers.
Like an angel of death, she fell on them, her swords cutting left and right. Every time she striked, an arm, leg or head flew off before falling to the ground. A few minutes later the place was filled with bodies, the ground greedily drinking the blood down.
Luckily we’ll be leaving, because with this much blood something nasty will grow in place of this forest.
Because she knew for a fact that, at the end of this whole thing, only ashes would be left in place of the forest, just to make sure that nothing of the arachne had survived, not even an egg.
Of course, that didn’t really matter. An arachne would always make it.
“Keep running, I’ll help you out of this Airm,” she shouted. Immediately all the arachne began moving. They all wanted to survive but, if push came to shove, the older arachne would sacrifice themselves for the young ones. Because they deserved better.
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“Well, since you sent in reinforcements, I’ll do the same,” said the [Soldier] as he moved three entire units towards the group that Pochi had sent Makira to help.
“Win with numbers? Really? Alright, your choice.”
She threw her dice. One six, a five, a one.
The [Soldier] threw. Two sixes and a three.
“... You’re cheating.”
“Wha - What? No! I’m no -”
“[Detect Lie]. [Detect Truth]. One positive, the other negative. You somehow cheated. Die,” she said, casting the only two Spells she’d ever bothered learning.
She pulled on the string of spider silk tied to her finger and the strings around the man’s neck tightened, cutting off first the blood flow to the head, then the head itself.
“Can’t even find a good player in an army. Fuck it.”
But the damage was already done, cheating or not.
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Nero felt… something. Like a presence over his shoulder whispering what needed to be done. He turned around, expecting to see one of the Hunters’ memories from the corner of his eye. But he felt nothing.
“Sir, I think there’s… something’s happening,” tried to say one of the [Elite Warriors].
No shit idiot, you’ve discovered warm water, he thought.
He tried to put the feeling out of his mind, but it kept nagging at him. It kept on telling him to go in a specific direction. Without malice, only with a desire for help.
Clearly this isn’t an arachne’s Skill, otherwise the Law wouldn’t allow it to interact with me, he thought.
In the end, he ordered the [Warriors] to follow the direction given by that sensation and, for a moment, he was sure he heard a sigh of relief.
A minute later, they reached a battlefield: a group of arachne protecting many children were currently being held at bay by what looked like two entire Units of [Soldiers].
They were being slaughtered by one arachne with two swords dancing through them as if completely unaffected by the Law.
The Hunter that stood over his shoulder shivered. She could feel the arachne’s power, understood her abilities. It was like looking at one of their [Warriors] of old, the ones the Hunters themselves had fought and succumbed to.
“Three of you, stay here and help them fight off that one.”
Then he thought about something, and sighed: “[Memory: Ever Onwards, the Knights of Lifeblood Fought].”
They watched the battlefield grimly, knowing their chances of winning this battle was close to nothing. But the lives of their people depended on them, so they stood proudly on their powerful horses and waited for the sun to disappear, for them to be able to attack without fear of being burned by sunlight. The vampires grinned like men standing on the gallows with the noose around their necks. They drank from bottles of blood, feeling the life-giving liquid energize them. Ever onwards, they would fight until death and then after!
This was just a Memory. A single moment, forever crystallized in his mind. For that reason alone he managed to stay on his feet without even feeling nauseous.
On the other hand, he watched as his [Soldiers]’ movements became even more sure, their fatigue disappearing, their muscles seemingly bulking up as they swung with more strength and finesse.
This was the true power of Memories.
“Go! Help them. You three, follow me. To the Elder!”
They began running.
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Aru walked through the forest with her possé of flesh puppets and Bloodsilk Golems. Her creations attacked anything that moved, just like any undead would. The only difference was that these were better in all aspects: better weapons and armor, better movements, better damage. They were an upgrade!
Or rather, they had been, until that Law was activated.
Now the [Soldiers] were fighting her army of puppets and golems as if they were going against a group of toddlers. But it didn’t matter: her puppets could take the hits and keep on attacking, unlike the soldiers, who needed to only make one mistake before they were forced to join her forces.
“[Puppets: Claws Out],” she said. Suddenly, all of her puppets and golems sprouted claws out of their hands and feet, shredding through armor and clothes. She flexed her fingers and all the strings connected to them tensed, causing her little army to throw itself into the enemies.
Shouts of surprise filled the air, followed by a few screams of pain. Chelicerae bit into necks but, instead of injecting poison, they sucked out blood, feeding the ever thirsty strings connected to Aru. When they’d had enough, they tore the flesh apart, killing the enemy in an instant.
And every time someone died, threads sprouted from the ones that hung over the other dead bodies, connecting to the new bodies’ joints, increasing the number of little puppets under her control.
Aru had seldom felt so happy and realized in her life as she did right now. Forget using animal bodies as Puppets, this was even better!
“Cut the threads!” shouted someone from the throng of to-be-puppets, “She’s controlling them with those!”
She chuckled to herself as she heard that: they wouldn’t be able to cut those threads! They were too strong, and blood and mana enhanced them, together with some very old traditional magic. You’d sooner cut in half a block of steel with a wooden sword than these threads.
Or at least, that’s what she thought. A [Soldier] took a swing at one of the Puppets when it next attacked, dodging like the usually did, and reaching out with his weapon towards her threads. She waited nearly with baited breath for the sword to come in contact, for the moment where she would get the chance to wind her threads around the weapon and then the man, watching the despair in his eyes as his life and soul were drained from him, turning him into a Puppet.
Instead, the blade slid through the threads, cutting them off, with the same ease it would have in cutting a piece of paper.
Impossible, she thought.
Fear began forming in her heart as she realized this wasn’t a stroke of luck, as more and more soldiers began cutting the threads apart, as she watched her beautiful Puppets fall lifelessly to the ground.
This was the power of that Law. The power to render anything she created… useless.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The pot of fear in her stomach began to change, boiling over into anger, then fury.
Monsters! They were destroying her art, her beautiful creations, as if they were nothing! They didn’t understand her! They’d never understood the beauty of what the arachne had made, not now, not ever in the past as they’d burned down their Silken Palaces.
She screeched in fury and began moving the strings tied to her fingers around, as if both performing some strange dance and playing the most complex instrument ever crafted.
Her little army of Puppets and Golems began moving rapidly, attempting to dodge the attacks to their strings while at the same time trying to kill everything that moved around them.
The world slowed down for Aru as she began whittling down the numbers of soldiers, her puppets sprouting claws now and then, or turning into masses of spikes as she commanded their bones. Whenever one fell, mana would be released into some kind of self destructive Spell, from simple [Fireballs] to [Lightning Barrages] to other much more esoteric things even they couldn’t name. Aru wasn’t a [Mage], no, but she knew how to shape strings better than anyone in this forest, even better than Grandmother.
She fought with all her might.
And when her Puppets and Golems became not enough to protect her, when new soldiers came in to support their surviving comrades, she produced more silk, tying the strings to her hands, and turning them into sharp whips with her [Razorsharp Strings]. More fell, but she never managed to turn them into Puppets, for the other soldiers were there to prevent it every time.
Little by little, she began backing away.
Until one of them finally reached her.
The sword pierced the flank of her human half first, going right through her stomach.
She cried out in pain and anger as she felt the acids inside coating the blade and flowing into the wound, burning more than any flame could. She instinctively felt like vomiting, but blocked the sensation down: it would’ve only made things worse. Same for taking the sword out.
Instead she strangled the man with her strings, letting them drink his blood, reddening her dress. Soon it would start dripping.
She skittered away, never turning her back to the soldiers, but wasn’t fast enough: the Law made them faster and her slower.
Another sword pierced her, this time in the arm, which she’d used to protect her heart.
She felt the pain blossom again from the deep cut that nearly severed her limb, but ignored it as best as she could, instead killing the bastard. Before she could try anything else a third sword pierced through the flank of her spider half. That one wasn’t painful, but it was still one more place from which she could bleed out. The [Soldier] died a second later as he tried to wrench the weapon free from the grip of her spider half’s powerful muscles.
She breathed heavily as, slowly, she extracted the weapon embedded in her arm, using it to parry a strike from an incoming soldier, before killing him with that same weapon. She didn’t even try to turn him into a Puppet. Instead, she looked at her arm, hanging limply and only attached to the rest of her body by a few strings of muscle and tendon.
She spun some thread and summoned a [Bone Needle] from a splinter of her own bone. A [Fast Stitch] later and her arm was back in place. Although, she still couldn’t move it because, you know, cut nerves.
But that was easily solvable: she just had to move it with the strings tied to her other hand: it was free now that all her Puppets and Golems were dead.
As she got used to the sensation of moving her own body with strings, the soldiers reached her again.
And the cycle began anew. Fight, kill, be hurt, lose blood, stitch back in place, repeat.
Fight, kill, be cut apart, lose blood, stitch, repeat.
Fight.
Kill.
Be cut!
Scream in pain, sorrow and hate.
Slowly die.
Stitch.
Repeat.
She didn’t know how long she did this. She only knew, at some point, that she was tired. Her body now looked more like one of her Puppets than an actual body, her legs, arms, neck, everything covered in stitches. She couldn’t speak anymore. They had cut her vocal chords together with her throat.
Only a few dozen remained. But she didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.
She just wanted to get back to her clearing and fall asleep among her many beautiful creations.
Maybe she’d get enough strength to get there if only she closed her eyes now.
One moment.
A few seconds.
What’s the worst that could happen?
She didn’t dare answer that question.
Her legs buckled underneath her body, and she used a nearby tree to not fall completely to the ground.
Her head spun as she closed her eyes.
There was so little blood left in her.
She was going to need a transfusion.
[Conditions Met: Stringmistress of Colors -> Puppeteer of Flesh and Silk]
[Puppeteer of Flesh and Silk Level 52!]
[Skill - Puppet: My Own Body Obtained!]
[Skill - Body of Silk Obtained!]
[Skill - Fuel: Blood Obtained!]
Aru opened her eyes, and they were glass. Her body felt light, like the silk of her beautiful dresses. She was no longer tired too! It had worked! That little rest had given her the energy to continue!
Then she felt it: the hunger. She wanted it, needed it: blood. There wasn’t enough flowing on her strings. She needed more if she wanted to keep fighting. To keep living.
And would you look at that, there were so many blood sacks coming right her way!
She lifted herself from the ground, taking the sword out of her flank. A small spurt of blood left with it, but she quickly knit herself back into good shape.
She spun some silk over the sword so that she’d manage to drink her fill as she killed the [Soldiers]. Meanwhile, she drained her dress of all the blood it had accumulated in this fight. It wasn’t nearly close to enough, but it helped.
Then she went right back into the fray.
This time the screams weren’t her own: after all, silk doesn’t feel pain. Silk is just silk. Its only reason to exist is being worn and being beautiful. She was both. Wait, did it count as wearing if her body was of silk? Bah, who cared!
She stabbed and was stabbed, drinking blood and losing it in a seemingly endless cycle, but she didn’t care! She felt alive, powerful, she was perfe -
A [Fireball] hit her in full.
And then she felt pain again as the flames ate through her body.
She fell to the ground, trying to snuff out the flames, but the snow wasn’t enough to put out the magical fire. Then she did the other most logical thing: she used the blood to quench them.
It worked, even though it left her drained.
A few [Soldiers] and a [Mage] loomed over her. Their weapons were raised, ready to stab her again and again, to kill her, to ruin her body forever.
The weapons fell.
Her hands rose.
Strings met steel. The former were cut.
But they sailed on through the air, towards their throats, right where she had aimed.
Cutting them apart.
Just as their swords cut into her body.
They died.
The last of them, finally, died.
How many was that? Seven, eight Units? She… had lost count…
It was so hard to think…
She was so tired…
So thirsty…
But they were safe…
Her sisters were safer thanks to her…
And that…
That was beautiful…
Such…
A…
Beautiful…
End…
Arunielle Silksoul, [Puppeteer of Flesh and Silk], Level 52, died that night at the age of fifty four.
Her last dress, white as the snow around her, was untouched.
----------------------------------------
How does a [Seamstress] say goodbye? By making something beautiful.
But this doesn’t answer our original question, right?
----------------------------------------
The Silken Orchestra felt the Law activate.
But they were [Musicians], and a true musician never stopped playing, even if the world fell around them.
Especially if the world fell around them. Because what could be better than dying while playing a song? That’s what they, rightfully, believed.
So they played on.
They kept on playing when the souls of those that tried to escape their songs were consumed by their instruments, giving them better material to craft new even more beautiful songs from the experiences of those that died.
Dying for the art, for their craft. What could be better? No death could be greater than one that allowed something to progress!
They kept on playing even when the strange man who tasted like things that should’ve been long forgotten walked into the clearing accompanied by three men wearing armor who felt like blood and death.
They stopped playing when the man uttered words that they couldn’t steal from his mouth:
“[Tradition: The Librarians Upheld their Vow of Silence, Forevermore]!”
Then they could no longer speak or play songs. Their instruments remained silent even when they tried to play them, and the voices they’d stolen were no longer in their ruined throats.
The Silken Orchestra, the Gestalt of Song, the Sisters-Who-Are-One, were silent.
They didn’t want to be silent.
The reason for this forced silence was the man at the bottom of the clearing, ordering the [Soldiers] who were supposed to become part of their songs around, empowering them with Skills and telling them tactics on how to… kill them.
Ha! Or rather, ha!, because they couldn’t speak.
They were going to kill him first!
They began moving, stalking through the trees without making a rustle. They were slower, but still faster than most thanks to their Skills.
After all, they were a [Shadowed Gestalt Hive Mind of Song]. A complex name for a simple Class: they were one. They felt what each and every one of the others felt. What was of one was of the whole. What one knew, everyone knew.
The [Hive Mind] attacked as one from multiple sides.
Fifteen [Soldiers] fell in a moment, knives from the dark reaching much further than they should and cutting their throats.
It happened so fast and without sound that it took the survivors a few seconds to notice what had happened. Then panic began to bloom.
“Don’t worry, it’s just [Rogues]. You know the protocols for fighting those!” shouted one of the men. He felt important to the arachne. He tasted like blood and life, promises kept. And one broken just now, probably thanks to them.
The [Hive Mind] snickered together soundlessly. Amusing. But it was their fault that things had ended up going this way. They should’ve remained in their little cities, fighting among themselves like complete imbeciles, instead of disturbing the proverbial sleeping monster.
Commander Frenix had realized this quite some time ago and was regretting with all of himself ever deciding to join this extermination mission. He had heard the stories of these monsters, but never in his life had he thought they could be this nasty. He thought it would be like fighting murders of night crows*, not… this. This was a fucking massacre and they had yet to even see the enemy.
(*A.N: Night Crows are, basically, crows that are as big as a human. They are black as the bottom of a well at night, which, by the way, is one of their favorite places to nest, and move only at night. They are omnivorous bastards that have been known for wiping out entire cities in a single night when working together, forming the accurately named ‘murders’. If you see one, hide, because it’s probably seen you. And they never hunt alone)
But the [Mages] were safe, which meant they could at the very least keep them at bay with anti-[Rogue] tactics now that the music had stopped.
Not a moment later the [Mages] finished chanting their Spells.
The air was filled with their voices:
“[Fireball]!”
“[Fire Wall]!”
“[Air Shield]!”
And many more.
By the end of it the [Commander of Survivors], whose Class would be certainly changing tonight if he survived (pun intended), the remaining people of his Unit and two [Elite Warriors] were surrounded by a fiery no-man’s land and shielded from any incoming attacks by multiple layers of of magical shields.
He looked back, trying to ask for directives to [General] Nero, but the man had seemingly disappeared. Probably left after leaving someone to help them.
Meanwhile, the [Gestalt Hive Mind] of arachne watched the wall of flames separating them from the escaping [Memoir Holder General] and their prey.
This was unacceptable! But what could they do? Their voices had been taken away, their instruments silenced. Except for their Skills and weapons they were unarmed. This was clearly an encounter they couldn’t win… easily.
They thought, and the solution came fast. One of the advantages of being fifteen minds working together in synchronicity, trying to find a solution to the same problem.
They smiled. It was a crazy idea, but so what? They were crazy! And this was the end, one way or another! They didn’t expect to survive this night. At least, this way, they’d be getting rid of some big enemies.
They met at the point of choice for their assault and… embraced. A few of them kissed, while other nuzzled themselves.
One last show of love.
They weren’t sad. They could never be sad, not as long as they were one. They just smiled and looked Death in the face, offering their hands to shake. They were ready to dance at its tune, for the first and last time in their life. As long as they got to do it together, it would be alright.
Death looked at them, her eyes shining behind the cowl of its robe in appreciation and thanks, before she took out of her robes a strange small instrument the [Hive Mind] had never seen. They couldn’t describe it, because they weren’t seeing it as much as they couldn’t actually see Death, only perceive its presence hanging over this entire forest.
If they looked up, they were sure they’d be able to see her warm cloak open, inviting all the souls of the dead to warm themselves by her gentle fire, before being sent to Judgement.
But there was nothing up there. Only the uncaring Stars, looking and judging.
They embraced again, one last time, and sprung into action.
[The Mind Goes Where it Wants], they shouted the Skill in their mind.
They disappeared from outside the defenses erected by the [Commander] and his people, reappearing back inside the clearing, right in the middle of the Unit, as silent as the snow falling.
They began knifing people left and right.
They attempted to do the same with the [Elite Warriors], but their reflexes were much better than those of the soldiers, enhanced as they were by their Skills and the Law.
They dodged, riposting at the same time.
The [Hive Mind] wasn’t fast enough and they were nicked by the sword. All of them felt the pain, but at the same time it was divided among their fifteen bodies and mind.
[All Is Shared Among Us]. Their greatest Skill. It would come in handy now.
They skittered back, and meanwhile the [Commander of Survivors] shouted a Skill: “[Unit: Reduce Bleeding]!”
Which, you know, pretty good idea when your enemy is attempting to either kill you outright or bleed you out.
More Skills were used, the [Commander] and [Soldiers] not caring for things like cooldowns. They only wanted to live. They didn’t think that, if they won against the Silken Orchestra, they’d still have to escape from the woods and, potentially, fight more of their sisters.
They let them do this: so long as more of their enemies died it would mean they had succeeded.
The [Elite Warriors], on the other hand, were a real pain in their abdomens. Literally: one of them had pierced one of their abdomens. It stung! Idiots still hadn’t understood in millenia of fighting them off that the biggest target wasn’t the one that would lead to their death. The contrary, actually. It was a means to distract the enemies from what actually mattered, which was the human part.
But, even with the Hunters’ help, in the heat of battle nobody really thought about what they were hitting. So long as you damaged your enemy it was enough.
They fought with all they had, but they were at a clear disadvantage: after all, they were [Rogues] and [Musicians] at heart, not [Warriors].
But what they were doing, the real reason they were fighting for their life in this clearing while clearly losing bit by bit was another. Hidden from the sights of those little humans. Because the whole time, as they danced to Death’s endless tune, they kept producing spidersilk. It was so fine that, to the naked eye, it was invisible. And, for now, it was really just that, just spidersilk. The [Soldiers] were getting facefuls of the things, but the worst it did was disturb them, and even then not by much thanks to the Law.
Then it happened.
They made a mistake. A step out of place in this lethal dance.
One of the [Elite Warriors] took the chance immediately and buried his sword right into the arachne’s back.
They felt that.
They felt the steel pierce through their light armor, parting the delicate flesh underneath with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Then he speared the heart and esophagus.
They coughed. Blood came out of their mouth. And the others felt like their own hearts had been pierced and reflexively coughed, expecting to see blood. None came out, but that didn’t matter. They were one. They felt what each and every one of them felt, reduced. And while the pain wasn’t overwhelming, the knowledge that this was the end made tears sprout from their faces.
The dying arachne managed to escape the [Elite Warrior]’s clutches and limped as fast as she could away from the fight. Her sisters joined her.
For the first time in over a decade they became two. The second one proposed to separate herself, so that she wouldn’t bring them down with her.
They refused.
They wouldn’t abandon her.
She smiled as she heard this, and she was no longer just she but, again, they.
They turned towards their enemies.
And smiled.
The arachne on the ground smiled brighter of all, her fingers raised in the air, as if she were holding something.
They tensed their fingers.
And together with them tensed all the threads of spidersilk they’d spread around the clearing, creating a web of gigantic proportions where each and every single one of their enemies was trapped.
They opened their mouths to say something, but their voices were still silenced by that Memory. So, instead they did the one thing that, universally, meant this was the end.
They bowed.
As all good [Musicians] worth their Class, no, worth their very souls, always do when the spectacle has come to a close.
The [Soldiers] screamed, realizing just what was about to happen. They reached their hands out, towards the arachne, as if trying to stop them.
But it was too late.
The bowing arachne began keeling over as they finally let go of life.
Their weight pulled on the strings as they fell.
Strings which had been enhanced by one final Skill. A [Musician]’s Skill: [Convert: Spidersilk to Violin Strings].
The strings tensed.
And cut into pieces each human in the clearing.
Silence fell.
----------------------------------------
As said before, [Musicians] have it so easy when it comes to goodbyes.
Even he, my old friend, tried to bow when he died in that dreadful place.
…
I miss him so much. These centuries have been so lonely.
----------------------------------------
Grandmother stood in her clearing as she watched her daughters die one after the other. Sure, the [Soldiers] were dying by the thousands in this attack, but so were the arachne. Centuries of growing their population, all gone down the drain in a single night. Whoever survived would be forced to start from scratch. She wouldn’t give such a weighty task even to her worst enemy.
Alas, that was the nature of the arachne. To rebuild each and every time, even after everything was destroyed again and again.
She cast another Spell.
Ice exploded from the ground, impaling an entire Unit of enemies. She would’ve done this more often, but she was trying to conserve her energy for when He came. Nero, the envoy from the College.
Tonight, no matter what, she was going to change things, to take away their greatest weapon.
Because, already, she could feel it.
The Law.
It was weaker.
She looked up as Nero walked into her clearing. Alone.
He had left his last [Elite Warrior] in the clearing with Pochi. They were all dead now.
“Hello, Elder. How may I call you?” he asked.
Grandmother raised an eyebrow. Was he… showing respect?
“[Memoir Holder General] Nero something-something, you may call me Grandmother. What death would you like to die of?”
“None, if possible. I’m close to retirement, you know?”
“Indeed? I can assure you, when this is done, you will be retired, one way or another.”
He sighed, unsheathing a sword from his flank. It was a simple shortsword, but Grandmother could clearly see the many enchantments carved on the perfectly pure alloy.
“Let us end this. I am too old for this. And so are you, I believe,” he said, taking a comfortable starting position.
Grandmother got ready to fight.
----------------------------------------
Once upon a time, the Gods gave all living being a Law to end the arachne.
But they forgot one detail. A very simple thing relative to the ways their own world worked: Laws are nothing more than Memories given enough time to anchor themselves into the beliefs of people and become something much more permanent.
But Memories can be forgotten.
So it was that, when the arachne understood there was no way for them to end their Hunt as the True Hunters, they chose to hide.
To disappear from the planet they had so thoroughly ravaged and colonized as their own in many places.
They did this, in the hope that the people would forget about them. That the arachne would turn into a story to tell bad children to make sure they stopped acting up. A boogeyman, a shadowed pile of clothes that, in the night, looked like a monster, but in the light was just a smelly pile that really needed washing.
They waited for thousands upon thousands of years.
And, while the College held onto the gods’ gift, they didn’t notice how, but by bit, in their ‘sacred’ need to hoard, their greatest weapon slowly began to rust.
----------------------------------------
Makira was surrounded by the three [Elite Warriors].
Which wasn’t really a problem.
The problem was that the other [Soldiers] were fighting against the [Carers], the spiderlings and the young adults. Arachne who weren’t trained for fighting, or were too young to be good enough at it, especially while being debuffed.
Makira was bleeding.
But that wasn’t a problem.
She [High Jump]ed over the [Warriors]’ heads and skewered a [Soldier] who’d been about to kill one of her sisters.
And then one of the warriors took out of his bag of holding and actual honest to god whip and used it to hook Makira and lead her back towards them.
She tried to cut the intricately laced rope, but failed miserably. It was reinforced with a Skill.
“Fuck off dipshits. You ain’t worth my time!”
She attempted to use another Skill to escape the whip’s grasp, but, again, it was useless.
And she was back at the center of that circle of silent, armored, warriors.
They attacked as one, their swords pointing at her vital organs or in probable locations where she could try to escape.
They’re good, and not just because of the Law, she realized.
[Impossible Dodge]!
She used one of her most powerful Skills and, somehow, managed to dodge each and every attack coming her way, her body seemingly fazing through the weapons and the whip as she escaped her encirclement.
…
Only to find herself right at the center of another one.
Another Skill? Fuck!
They attacked. And this time didn’t miss.
One of the blades pierced her flank, while the other two went for her arms, one blade cutting straight through her forearm while the other she somehow managed to parry.
They tried to move from there, to do some kind of follow up attack, but then a snowball hit one of the warriors in the back of the head, making him lose concentration long enough for Makira to manage to escape again.
She clutched at her useless arm, looking around.
Her eyes alighted on an arachne with chestnut hair holding clumsily a sword stolen from a dead [Soldier]. Their eyes met for a single moment, and Makira smiled gratefully.
She reached for her belt, looking for a healing potion, only to realize that she’d either used them all or they’d been smashed in the fight. Bastards!
You could free me. Then it wouldn’t matter, said that hateful voice. It had been so long since she’d last heard it do more than just screech in anger or plead for freedom. Since she’d last tempted her with that power. But it was wrong. She knew what she could do.
Yes, you do. But so what? You need power now, or these [Warriors] will kill you, or hurt you too much for you to keep fighting. And what then? They’ll go for the spiderlings.
That’s why she always hated her. She always made so much sense.
But that trick wouldn’t work again.
She attacked again.
----------------------------------------
Iadara fell to the ground, her body riddled with arrows, more bits of her charred by fire Spells.
But at least it was nearly over. They were dead. Each and every single one of them. Only the [Commander] was left.
She tried to lift herself from the ground, but her mind was muddled by blood loss, pain, and alcohol. The last one helped a bit at least.
She heard him walk towards her.
She reached for a vial on her table, but only found empty ones in her reach. All her poisons had been used up to turn her clearing into a literal death zone. But, at the last moment, one of the [Mages] had used some kind of Wind Spell to move the cloud out of the way, just before her knife had nicked him on the arm, poisoning him.
“Not so tough now, are we?” the boarkin [Commander] said with a smile in his voice.
She felt his hand wind around her hair and pull her head upwards.
She allowed him to do it, just so that she could spit into his face.
Luckily for him, he was still wearing a helmet, so the probably caustic spit only left a mark on the steel instead of killing him.
“Nice try,” he chuckled, pressing his sword to her throat.
Iadara couldn’t contain herself: she chuckled.
“Let’s even the playing field, ehhhh? [Transfer Drunkenness].”
Immediately her mind became completely lucid. Which made the pain all the more sharper. She winced and groaned, trying not to give the man the satisfaction of seeing her cry out in pain. Where had she hidden the painkillers? Oh, right, under that one tree in Aru’s clearing, after Makira had first arrived to their clan, half crazy and in need of a way to stay calm.
“Whaaa - diid ya do?” asked the boar man as he lost his balance and fell on the ground, incapable of keeping his eyes open because of just how fast the world was spinning.
“Gave you a good time. You should be grateful. It’s gonna be your last one,” she answered as, with what little strength remained in her arms, she lifted her poisoned knife and, slowly, cut his arm.
But there wasn’t any more poison on the blade. The blood had washed it mostly off.
Well, time to do things the good old way.
She reached for his arm again but, this time, she tried to lift it to her mouth.
Her second set of canines came out and she bit, injecting him with her own poison. The Law protected him, naturally, but it was still a second grade poison, and she had given him a big dose. He would die. It would just take some time.
Finally, exhausted, she fell to the ground beside her table.
She tried to reach for one more bottle of wine, but her arms were too weak, and they flopped back to the ground uselessly.
“Fuck. Well, gonna die sober,” she chuckled, her vision beginning to blur at the edges.
Suddenly, she heard something. A fluttering of wings.
Something landed on her shoulder, then crawled down her arm. A moment later, a colorful head appeared in her view. A little parrot. It cawed a hello.
“Hi Abraham. What are you still doing here, little guy? I told you to leave.”
The parrot didn’t answer, instead moving his head under her chin in affection.
She smiled: “I love you too, you dumbass bird.”
[Commander] Lyzark watched the scene unfold from his position, paralyzed from the neck down. What in the names of the Old was happening? An arachne… showing affection? To a pet?
Iadara sighed: “Guess I won’t be tasting that Tiurnian Gold anytime soon, Abraham. I’m… sorry.”
She tried to lift her hand and pat him one more time on the head, but her arm didn’t move.
Abraham, though, little intelligent Abraham, understood, and he walked down her arm and to her hand, putting his head under her fingers.
She moved them a bit, giving him something like a pat.
“Thank you, Ab. Thank you.”
She smiled.
And closed her eyes.
----------------------------------------
“[The White is Always Hungry],” said Grandmother.
This… this was her most powerful Skill. The one she’d used, partially, to subvert the effects of the flames empowered by that Tradition.
Now, she activated it in full.
And, everywhere where there was something white, the color began to spread, eating away at anything and everything.
[Soldiers] watched as their armor was leeched of all colors. As, suddenly, everything that was white began falling off, turning into snow.
As, ever so slowly, the white began eating away at the color of their skin.
Nero pierced Grandmother’s heart through with his sword.
But, naturally, that wasn’t enough to kill her.
----------------------------------------
Makira was dying.
They were everywhere. Whenever she moved somewhere, the [Elite Warriors] were there to intercept her.
She tried to reach the enemy [Mages], who had long since started to indiscriminately shoot [Fireballs] into the arachne, not caring if they hit their comrades. Many spiderlings were lying unmoving in the snow.
She screeched in rage as, again, the [Warriors] blocked her off.
Come on, do it!
She didn’t want to.
But the children were dying. Just like the did decades ago, in her old home.
She couldn’t let this happen again. She was going to save them.
No matter the cost.
She walked towards the thing trapped in those old chains in the back of her mind. A key hung limp in her hands. She reached up with it.
And cut the chains, opening them. Freeing her.
Thank you. You won’t regret it.
She had always been so kind. That was why she scared her so much.
Makira and the monster, the herself that she’d chained down for so long, embraced.
She was thirsty.
[Conditions Met: Swordmistress of Silk, Protector of Children -> Bloodthirsty Spider of Lost Chances]
[Bloodthirsty Spider of Lost Chances Level 54!]
[...
Makira didn’t care about the Skills. She remembered them perfectly, as if she’d last used them yesterday. She remembered this Class. She remembered the power, the insanity. The memories.
She could hear them again. She had tried to forget them, but they would always come to hunt her again and again.
[Condition - I Still Hear Their Pleas and Screams Contracted!]
[Condition - …
So many Conditions. But that was the one that mattered.
Then she felt it: that beautiful, sharp, pain.
The twin scars under the armpits, the ones running down her whole flank, bulged outwards, as if a tumor had decided to speedrun her death.
With a sound like ripping paper, the skin was parted, and two new arms emerged under her original ones. She moaned in sweet agony.
The [Elite Warriors] took a few steps back at the spectacle.
They took one more when blades formed in the arachne’s hands: [Their Sorrow Cut More than any Sword].
They turned head over tails and ran when she began cackling madly and looked at them with a smile that promised agony unlike any they’d ever imagined.
She ran towards the first one. Her swords, all four of them, went right through his armor, cutting the arms off. She laughed as she leaned in and started sucking on the spurting stream of red, her thirst abating ever so slightly.
But her pleasure didn’t last long as the man’s heart stopped beating, the blood no longer pumping out into her mouth like a little drinking fountain. The white also began eating away at his corpse even faster.
She pouted, but then remembered there were also two other [Warriors]. What a delight!
Oh, no, wait, there were also the bad [Soldiers] trying to hurt the spiderlings. She had to deal with them first.
She began killing.
----------------------------------------
“Fuck… you,” wheezed out Nero, his own sword planted right into his own heart.
Karma was a bitch.
Grandmother… smiled. Blood flowed out of her mouth. Her throat had been cut multiple times, and at some point her magic had refused to heal it. Probably an effect of one of the enchantments on that blade. On the other hand, Nero’s armor was no more, as were his clothes, and his feet were slowly turning white.
“You chose this. It is your fault. Now, pay the price,” she reached out towards him, her hand moving not to touch him physically, but deeper. In his soul.
Nero understood immediately what was about to happen.
He wasn’t going to allow it, no matter what.
But what could he do? He was unarmed, slowly becoming snow, and bleeding out if that wasn’t enough. Really, the people in this world didn’t seem to care about the fact that their hearts were being cut apart. They tended to survive much longer than anyone without a working heart should. And while this may seem impossible… this was the power of High Levels. Not even Skills, no, just high Levels.
High Level people were notoriously difficult to kill, and not only because of their experience.
Then he remembered. There was a way. And, really, there wouldn’t be enough left of him for the College to punish.
He reached inside his mind, his soul, where the Laws and Traditions and Memories were kept chained down under his control. There were many, but he was looking for one in particular. The one with which he had started this battle.
He found it: [Tradition: The Holy Flames Burned Ever Bright Against Our Enemies].
He grabbed the chain, yanking at it… and broke it in half.
Freeing the Tradition.
The last thing he saw before his body was disintegrated in an expanding ball of fire was the expression of pure hatred on Grandmother’s face.
Then, the world burned.
----------------------------------------
Grandmother saw him free the Tradition. She perceived its hate. And knew, without a doubt, that it would retaliate against its captors now that it was free.
The giant ball of fire expanded outwards, enveloping first Nero, then the ground around him, then her, and onwards it went. She knew, for sure, that the forest would burn. Every… single… thing.
She… wasn’t scared. After all, there was a way to fix this situation:
[Tradition: Always, One Survived].
She activated the only Tradition left to the arachne.
And prayed to Death that, whoever survived this, wouldn’t come to hate her. She wouldn’t survive this.
Then she looked at the man in front of her, and let her Skill do its work: the white ate away at his charred corpse. Of course, she couldn’t see this, because her eyeballs had already melted out of her sockets, but she didn’t need them to see.
She only needed to find… there.
The White, the very essence of Winter, reached that Law. It attacked it, beginning to feed. The memories of hundreds of thousands of Hunters screamed in pain and hatred, attempting to stop her.
But no one could stop Winter when it wanted something.
That, was the true nature of that season.
And then, finally, nothing was left of the Law. Of the Hunters. The arachne… were free.
She died.
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She opened her eyes.
The world around her had stopped, turning gray. The fire, monochrome, was eating at the world around her, but it also wasn’t. Stopped, as if the hands of time had decided to rest for a while.
“You did well, Grandmother. Thank you,” said a voice to her side.
She turned her head. And couldn’t help but smile: “Button Man!”
He nodded, his shadowy face frowning, his lips trembling.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through all this.”
“Don’t worry. I chose this, like you told me a long time ago. I had to make a choice, and I did. I have no regrets.”
“...Thank you.”
And Grandmother was happy.
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How does a [Mage] say goodbye then? The answer is simple: by destroying something dear to the whole world.
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Isse opened her eyes.
Something was on top of her. Something heavy.
She looked up. It was what remained of a tree’s trunk.
What…
Memory came flooding back. The battle. The flames. Everything burning. Her finding refuge under this tree. She scrambled with her hands in an attempt to move the trunk, but she was too weak. She tried to call for help, but she only managed to cough out ash.
“Ah, there you are, little one. I knew someone had to still be alive,” said a kindly voice above her.
Then the trunk moved.
And an old man with a kind, sad, smile looked down at her. His face was wrinkled and clean shaven, his eyes deep brown, his nose crooked as if it had been broken one too many times.
“Oh my, an arachne. I’m… I’m sorry, little one, but I think you’re the only one left.”