Elena's nod came quick, a silent dance of determination in her violet eyes. She nocked an arrow, its soft cackle of electricity a promise against the squawks and flutters of the parrot. "I'll keep it busy," she declared.

Around them, the cervidians' hooves dug into the earth, their antlers poised like crowns of war against the dusk pointing at the other sinewy beast. They stared at the muscled abomination before them, a grotesque parody of nature's intent, veins bulging beneath skin too tight, eyes wild with bloodlust. Yet they stood resolute.

"Temp," Jaxon grunted, shame flickering across its rough-hewn features. "Do not die."

Cal grunted, a grim smile tugging at his lips. His blue eyes locked onto each cervidian face, seeing the weight of unspoken apologies there. They were all warriors, bound by the bonds of impending violence.

"We regroup here. We’ll support you when we can." Jabor added, his voice a strained bellow.

Cal's breath was a mist in the air, cold and sharp. He knew they too couldn't fight alone - they would wait for Elena.

Whispers snaked out from the shadows of the cave, curling around his senses like tendrils of smoke, luring him to face what lurked within. There was no choice but to move forward. He nodded towards the gaping maw of darkness, accepting the challenge laid before him. For some reason, he felt that the vase would really explode if he did not.

"Spider queen – that’s me then," he muttered to himself. Kristina, the name tasting like venom on his tongue, but so human in origin.

The cervidians, Elena, and Cal formed a triangle of defiance. Their gazes outward towards their opponents, a silent accord pulsing between them. Back to back they stood, each facing their designated terror. With one last shared glance, they broke formation, a dance of necessity as they parted ways to meet their fates.

Temp's voice cut through the din of battle, mechanical yet tinged with urgency. "Stall, Cal. The team needs time to help you."

"Understood." Cal's fingers tightened on his blade, ready to parry a surprise attack.

He waited for the queen to approach, out from the shadows. The spider queen loomed ahead, her form an intricate horror of an arachnid, with horrifying proportions.

"Kristina," Cal began, his voice steady as he observed the creature, "you don’t sound like a monster? Can we not settle this without fighting?"

“Little monkey, what defines a monster to you? Perhaps I look like one.”

“She is open to talk with you.”

“Hmmm. Maybe the concept of a monster is a warning – a being with misguided purpose, perhaps lacking it altogether? I see purpose in your eyes.”

The spider queen paused, her multifaceted eyes reflecting a glint of curiosity. "Monstrosity is power unadorned by art," she hissed, mandibles clicking with each syllable. “What is power when vulgar and base, without sophistication or civilization to guide it.”

"Then we are all monsters here," Cal shot back, shadows playing across his features. "Our survival hinges on it, especially in this wilderness. What of nature, when nature claims might and often also claims right."

"An empty sentiment," Temp interjected internally, "devoid of substance. We killed her mate. We are wrong, despite carrying might."

Cal caught the hint of criticism in Temp's tone.

"Perhaps nature makes fools of us all," the spider queen conceded, her gaze drifting to the chaos outside. "Yet my brood thrives under rules, under order."

Cal's fingers closed around the beast cores nestled within his pocket, their pulsing energy seeping into his skin. He felt the surge of power within himself, a tide of strength reaching a crescendo.

"You're capped now at 350," Temp's voice echoed in his mind, a clinical observation amidst the brewing storm.

"Yet you have power over your brood – is power not the sole caretaker of these rules?" Cal asked aloud, rolling the last core between his fingers before it dissolved completely. The spider queen towered before him, her silhouette a jagged crown against the cave's dim light.

"Power is truth, I’ll admit," she replied, her voice a silk thread laced with venom. "Art, however, lies in the wielding. For I too, do not see myself as a monster. I have choice and will."

"Then by that logic, you wield art but through your choices, no?" Cal responded. "You can choose not to fight here."

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

"Justice is also a construct of civilization. An antithesis to monsters, perhaps. My ruthless god has deemed you unjust, and I am bound by my duties as servant to defeat you. For that, I will be rewarded." the queen countered, her legs shifting soundlessly on the stone floor. "We weave our fate with strength and intellect, but even I too am bound by the rules above. Such is art."

"Yet here we stand," Cal mused, "two intellects questioning the morality of our violence." He stepped closer, blade low but ready. "Does will not grant us the right to rewrite such rules?"

The queen affirmed, her posture unyielding. "It is the way of worlds, monkey."

The air between them charged, heavy with the weight of unspoken challenges. They were two entities, circling the precipice of conflict, bound by the inevitable clash of ideology and survival.

Kristina's gaze shifted from himself to the battlefield beyond the cave's mouth. The cervidians, agile and fierce, darted around the hulking abomination, their antlers glistening with a lethal sharpness. Their eyes betrayed a reckless determination and their movements were fast and ruthless, likely so they could return to support himself.

"Look at them," Kristina said, her voice steady. "They fight with everything they've got."

"Indeed," Cal agreed, his eyes reflecting the chaos outside.

"But for the beast, it is a crude dance. A desperate struggle devoid of any true artistry."

"It fights to survive, though." Cal turned back to her, a frown etching his features.

"That is not art," she elaborated, "that is struggle. A monster can also struggle. Art is the elegance of control, the beauty in precision, the embodiment of will. Those beasts wield brute force, nothing more."

"Isn't survival at its core an exertion of will?" Cal challenged, watching as Elena dodged the parrot's talons, her bowstring humming with tension. Her violet eyes were focused, calculating—every shot a testament to her skill.

"Survival is instinct," the queen dismissed. "Art is conscious intent. It transcends the base needs."

"By that definition," Cal mused, "you're calling us monsters for defending ourselves." He glanced at the spider queen, trying to gauge her intent.

"You," she said, her tone cold as the cavern stones, "only you. Your companions have purpose. Perhaps they intend to save you. You, however, fight without regard to the tapestry. For a being with such power over the tapestry as yourself, that makes you the true monster, not I. Not ignorant, but without purpose."

"Monster or not," Cal replied, tightening his grip on his blade, "we fight for more than just survival. I fight for more than survival"

“Perhaps, them,” Krisina pointed outwards. “But do you?”

“I fight for my own truths... don’t I?”

Cal's hands were steady, even as the air around him thrummed with tension. The dim light of the cave cast long shadows over his features, but his eyes held a resolved gleam.

"We killed your mate," he admitted, the words falling heavy between them. "But to you, does that justify this... justice? Why did it not speak as you do? Are we to be tarred as monsters for defending ourselves against yours?"

The spider queen's legs clicked on the stone. "It is ordained, and I am neither judge nor jury. Killing for the sake of power alone—where does it end? Indeed my mate... Calvin... was neither bright, nor an excellent lover. But where do we draw the line and say, this is right, this is just. In this we must follow god’s will."

Cal's breaths were measured, eyes locked onto the spider queen whose mandibles clacked with a sound like the ticking of some eldritch clock. Around them, the cave seemed to whisper an ancient rhythm, as if it too awaited the unfolding drama.

She paused then continued. "Civilization is not born out of anarchy."

"Nor is it sustained by tyranny." Cal shifted his stance, muscles coiled like springs.

“You are naïve then, for a monkey who believes in might.”

"To rise, to grow stronger – yes, we look to those above us. We challenge, we adapt—or we perish. That is how we are being pushed by this system, this world. To question our truths. To question the truth."

"Questions," the queen mused, her voice a silk thread winding through the air. "Is that what you call this conquest of flesh and spirit?"

"Conquest?" Cal's blue eyes narrowed. "No. It is the measure of self, set against the universe. Conflict to pursue strength."

"Conflict," she repeated, a slow nod causing her spindly crown to bob. "Yes, it is the essence of nature. We are bound by it, prisoners to its whims, but is it art or is it the justification of a monster?"

She paused and considered.

"Prisoners," Cal whispered, "or participants. We make the choice, don't we?" His gaze never wavered from hers, even as the shadows danced like specters on the cave walls.

"Choice," she said, the word hanging between them like a challenge.

[Quest corrupted: parity conditions have exceeded tolerated karmic balance. Escalation parameters have initiated generation of hidden quest]

[Hidden quest: parlay with the spider queen.]

The air stilled, thick with the scent of damp earth and the musk of ancient silk. The spider queen paused, her angular limbs casting grotesque shadows against the stone.

"If I am to have choice, then I must also reject this guidance," she breathed, a note of reverence in her otherwise steely tone.

“Fuck. This. Stupid. System,” Cal swore.

“My oh my. That was unfortunate. How slippery.”

"We don’t need this conflict. You made your choice before your god did!" Cal echoed, holding her many-eyed gaze. A frisson of unease danced down his spine.

"But now I must prove my art is my own." she continued, the ambient light glinting off her carapace, "is it not the first rule to break in pursuit of divine strength. That you have your own choice?" Her mandibles twitched, betraying a flicker of philosophical conflict.

Cal wrestled with the notion, her words slicing through his certainty. His mind raced to reconcile the dichotomy between choice, conflict, and survival. "But -"

"Enough." Her voice sliced the silence like a blade. "We speak of gods and morality while war waits at our doorstep." She reared up, towering over him, her form both mesmerizing and monstrous. "Now, we fight."

"Fine then... let's dance to the tune of fate," he muttered, eyes blazing with a resolve forged from the fires of countless battles and the icy chill of clandestine nights. His stance widened, and he drew both dagger and pistol from their sheaths once more.

[Escalation, stage 2: Survive the entrapment of hungry predators. Time limit: 200 hours]