《Evil Celestial Spider》 Chapter 1 - Birth Author¡¯s Note: Evil Spider (name pending) starts with 3 free rolls. Consuming beings who are capable of harming Evil Spider but are below their strength grants 1 Celestial Point. If the being is too weak (like a normal ant), Evil Spider gains no points. Consuming beings near or equal to Evil Spider''s strength grants 10 Celestial Points. Consuming beings stronger than Evil Spider grants a minimum of 50 Celestial Points. A maximum of 1000 Celestial Points can be gathered per year. Evil Spider can decide whether they want to roll and can accept or decline offered perks. 1 roll maximum per month. For those unaware, the Celestial Grimoire is a System through which an ability or item from any possible universe is rolled. oo0ooOoo0oo Minecraft Universe, Dark Cave Time: Day 1 --- [Spider ¨C The Silmarillion] ¨C Free Roll, 0CP available to spend. You are a monstrous spider-thing, descended from the dark spirit Ungoliant, who devoured the light of the Two Trees, and are kin to Shelob and the spiders of Mirkwood in later Ages. You are at least the size of a human when fully-grown, can spin strong webs and have powerful fangs. You have a natural talent for stealth and trap-making and can see clearly through darkness of all kinds. Finally, you have a tough carapace protecting your more vulnerable insides, which only grows thicker and stronger as you grow in age and power. [Stock ¨C UQ Holder] ¨C Free Roll, 0CP available to spend. Life is one big game, at least that''s how you see it - quite literally, given the nature of your immortality. You possess a stock of extra lives, allowing you to respawn next to your own corpse after dying and granting you 3 seconds of invincibility upon respawn. You start with and have a maximum of three lives, but you can replenish them by killing monsters and enemies. It takes a few hundred average monsters or a few strong demons to regain a life, which shouldn''t be too difficult for a well-trained warrior. As a side effect of your immortality, there is a random chance that you will be sent to another universe upon death. [Inventory ¨C Stranger Of Paradise: Final Fantasy Origins] ¨C Free Roll, 0CP available to spend. An inventory that allows you to carry an almost limitless amount of items in a subspace that makes them weightless. Darkness pressed against the thin membrane of the egg. Pressure built from within as tiny legs pushed and scraped, seeking escape. The shell cracked - a small split at first, then wider. The membrane tore. Fresh air rushed in, carrying scents of stone and moss. Multiple eyes blinked open, adjusting to the subdued cave light. The newborn spider''s legs trembled as they touched cold stone for the first time. Around the egg clutch, blocky shapes of stone reached up into darkness. Water dripped somewhere nearby, each drop echoing through the cave system. The sound vibrated through sensitive hairs that covered newly-formed legs. The spider''s body felt wrong. Constrained. Like wearing a shell that didn''t quite fit. Something vast and incomprehensible stirred in the space between moments. Power surged through the small form, breaking apart the rigid, blocky shape. Legs lengthened, becoming spindly and articulated. The carapace softened, then hardened again into organic curves. Two sharp horns erupted from the head as chelicerae reformed into proper fangs. A stinger emerged near the abdomen, already filled with paralyzing venom. New senses developed. The darkness peeled back, revealing every crack and crevice in perfect detail. Vibrations through the stone revealed moving things - other spiders, insects, larger creatures further away. Scents carried stories of water, minerals, and living things. The newborn spider-thing flexed her new body, testing each joint and muscle. She was small, barely larger than a mouse, but the potential for growth hummed in her bones. She had knowledge - not memories, but instincts. How to move, how to hunt, how to spin webs. Near the egg clutch, other spiders broke out of their shells. They remained blocky and angular, moving in an odd manner. The spider watched them scatter into the darkness, each following preset paths encoded in simple minds. A space opened in the air beside her - not visible, but present. The spider reached toward it with one leg, feeling how reality bent around this pocket. Things could be stored here, kept safe and weightless until needed. Movement caught her attention. A small insect crawled across the cave floor, sending vibrations through the rock. The spider lowered herself, legs spreading wide for balance. The insect paused, antennae twitching. The distance between predator and prey measured three body lengths. Muscles tensed. The spider gathered herself, calculating force and trajectory without conscious thought. She sprang. Her aim proved true, but her legs tangled on landing. The insect escaped into a crack while the spider-thing righted herself. Failure brought no frustration - only information. Next time she would move differently, land better. Larger creatures moved in the tunnels above. Not prey - not yet. The spider needed time to grow before hunting bigger game. She tested her spinnerets, producing a thin strand of silk. The silk strand stretched between two legs, thin but strong. The spider tested the tension, sensing how the material would behave under stress. Each new strand came out stronger than the last as her body adjusted to the process of web-making. Vibrations from above grew stronger. A creature shuffled through the tunnels - quadrupedal, heavy. The spider moved away from the egg clutch, keeping close to the wall. Multiple eyes tracked the shifting shadows while sensitive hairs monitored air currents. A side tunnel appeared, sloping upward at a gentle angle. The spider moved sideways along the wall, testing each step. The stone here felt different - rougher, with small crystalline formations catching the light from glowing mushrooms. Water trickled down one side, creating grooves in the rock. The tunnel branched. One path led deeper into darkness, carrying the scent of stagnant air. The other sloped up toward fresher currents. The spider paused, legs spread wide to catch every vibration. The upper path held more prey - small things scurrying through cracks, flying insects drawn to patches of luminous fungi. She climbed higher, moving from wall to ceiling as needed. The tunnel widened into a small chamber. Here, the ceiling rose in stepped layers, creating natural anchors for web strands. Water dripped steadily in one corner, collecting in a shallow pool that attracted prey. The spider found a crevice near the ceiling, just large enough for her current size. From this place, she could monitor all approaches while remaining hidden from larger predators. The air currents flowed predictably here, perfect for catching the movement of prey. She began to spin, laying down anchor points for her first true web. Each strand connected to specific points, creating angles that would maximize capture area while maintaining structural integrity. The work absorbed all attention - measuring distances, testing connections, adjusting tension. A small flying insect buzzed past. The spider remained motionless, allowing her partial web to do the work. The insect flew closer, attracted by moisture from the pool. One wing brushed a strand of silk. The insect struggled, wings beating against the sticky silk. Each movement tangled it further, sending vibrations through the web. The spider watched, legs sensing every twist and pull of the strands. The prey was larger than expected - a cave beetle with sharp mandibles and a hard shell.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. The beetle''s struggles intensified, threatening to break free. The spider moved along the web, adjusting position with each step. Distance and angle had to be perfect. The beetle snapped blocky mandibles, trying to cut through the silk. Eight eyes tracked the beetle''s movements, noting weak points in the angular shell. The spider circled behind, staying clear of those dangerous jaws. Her stinger positioned perfectly - one strike would paralyze, making the meal safe. The beetle twisted, almost breaking free. The spider struck. Her stinger slipped between shell segments, delivering venom. The beetle''s movements slowed, then stopped. Only small twitches showed it still lived. Vibrations from the tunnel below caught her attention. Something large moved closer. The spider grabbed her prey, pulling it up toward the crevice. Silk wrapped around the beetle, securing it for later. A blocky spider darted from the tunnel - one of her clutch-mates. It moved in straight lines, following simple rules. The spider pressed deeper into her crevice, watching. The blocky spider passed beneath, unaware of the web above. When the tunnel cleared, the spider returned to her catch. Mandibles pierced the beetle''s shell, injecting digestive fluids. The process would take time. She settled in to wait, legs spread to monitor the web while her meal dissolved. New scents drifted up from below - more prey, more predators. The spider began planning her next web. This chamber would serve well as she grew stronger. Hours passed as the spider consumed her meal. The beetle''s nutrients spread through her body, feeding growth. Already her legs stretched longer, carapace hardening further. The empty shell of her prey disappeared into the strange space beside her - an instinct said it might prove useful later. [ 10 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 10 ] Water dripped steadily into the pool below, marking time. The spider expanded her web, adding new anchor points and support strands. Each addition made the structure more efficient, covering more space while using less silk. Movement from the upper tunnel drew her attention. Something scraped against stone - not the mindless wandering of her clutch-mates. This creature moved with purpose. The spider pulled back into her crevice. A skeleton walked out from the tunnel, bones clicking against rock. An arrow stuck out from the crude bow in its hands. The spider watched as the undead creature looked at the chamber, hollow eye sockets scanning the darkness. The skeleton moved differently from living prey - no heat, no flesh to pierce with venom. The skeleton passed beneath the web without noticing. The spider remained still. Such creatures would make poor prey, but they could lead to better hunting grounds. Where the undead walked, living creatures would follow. More vibrations rippled through the stone. The spider began another web near the lower tunnel entrance. This one would serve as an alarm, warning of approaching threats. Each strand connected to specific points, creating a network that would catch anything larger than a small insect. Time flowed like water through the cave system. The spider grew stronger with each passing day, each meal adding to her size. The alarm web caught prey and warned of dangers - sometimes both at once. A cave bat tangled in the silk. The spider struck fast, stinger finding the spot between wing and body. The bat''s struggles weakened as venom spread through small veins. [ 50 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 60 ] The bat''s body provided sustenance for several days. Each meal strengthened the spider''s carapace, lengthened her legs, sharpened her fangs. The empty shell joined the beetle''s remains in the strange space beside her. Water dripped. Mushrooms grew. Prey came and went. The spider expanded her territory, adding new webs in strategic locations throughout the chamber. Some caught food, others warned of danger, and a few served as escape routes. A cave spider wandered into the lower web. Unlike the mindless blocky spiders, this one moved with purpose. The spider watched from above as her cousin tested the silk strands. Venom dripped from the cave spider''s fangs, but the spider''s stinger struck first. The cave spider''s body dissolved slowly, tough and fibrous. [ 10 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 70 ] The spider gradually grew familiar with the rhythm of the caves. Skeletons passed through at regular intervals, marking time like the dripping water. Zombies shambled past, bringing the scent of decay. Each creature left traces - footprints, marks on walls, disturbed webs that needed repair. Three baby silverfish skittered into the chamber, drawn by the moisture. The spider caught them one by one, venom making each meal safe. Their bodies contained minerals from the stone they ate, strengthening her carapace further. [ 30 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 100 ] A second bat fell into the upper web. Larger than the first, with sharp teeth that could tear through silk. The spider approached cautiously, remembering the previous hunt. The bat thrashed, nearly breaking free. The stinger found its mark between heartbeats. [ 50 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 150 ] The chamber changed as mushrooms spread and died, as water carved new channels in the stone. The spider adapted, moving webs to match the new layout. Each change brought different prey. Small insects gathered around fresh fungus. Larger creatures followed the insects. Another cave spider entered the territory. This one noticed the webs, tried to retreat. The spider dropped from above, eight legs spreading wide. The fight lasted moments. Stinger met fangs. Venom proved stronger than venom. [ 50 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 200 ] The spider had doubled in size since birth. Legs stretched longer, moved with precise grace. The horns on her head grew sharp and curved. The stinger developed barbs, delivering venom more efficiently. New sounds echoed through the tunnels - metal striking stone, torchlight flickering against walls. The spider pulled back into her crevice, watching. These sounds meant new prey approached, prey that walked on two legs and carried weapons of steel. "Hey guys, welcome back to another Minecraft Let''s Play! We''re down in the caves looking for more diamonds today." "Yeah, and I brought extra torches this time. Last episode was way too dark." Two humans entered the chamber, wearing bright blue armor that gleamed in the torchlight. One carried a stone pickaxe, the other held torches. They moved quickly, placing blocks while placing torches on the walls. "Oh sweet, more iron! We need to make- WHAT IS THAT?" The human with the pickaxe stepped into the alarm web. Silk strands broke, sending vibrations through the entire network. The spider moved without thinking, dropping from above. "That''s not... that''s not a normal spider. What mod is this?" "I''m not running any mods! Look at those horns! And the stinger!" The spider assessed her chances. These creatures were large, armed with metal. But they smelled of flesh and blood. The stinger might find a gap in their armor. "It''s moving! Kill it, kill it!" Iron pickaxes swung through the air. The spider dropped from her crevice, legs spreading wide for balance. One pickaxe struck the wall where she had been hiding. "Oh god, it moves like a real spider! This is terrifying!" The spider darted between their legs, stinger seeking exposed flesh. A pickaxe caught her side, cracking her carapace. Pain flared through her body. "Got it! Did you see how realistic that looked?" "Wait, it''s not dead! Behind you!" The spider struck, stinger finding an ankle above leather boots. The human screamed, stumbling backward. But the venom worked too slowly - the second human''s pickaxe crushed her thorax. [ You Have Died. Extra lives remaining: 2 ] Darkness. Then light. The spider found herself beside her own broken body, three seconds of invulnerability tingling through her new form. "It respawned! That''s not supposed to happen!" ¡°It¡¯s pretty fun to kill! Are you sure you didn¡¯t install any mods?¡± She lunged again, fangs seeking revenge against the laughing human. But she was too small, too weak. The pickaxe soon split her head open once more. [ You Have Died. Extra lives remaining: 1 ] This time the darkness pulled harder, dragging her away from the cave, away from Minecraft entirely. Reality twisted, reformed. The spider''s consciousness scattered across dimensions, then snapped back together. Stone walls surrounded her once more, but these stones were different. Not blocky. Torchlight flickered, but now it came from iron sconces set in masonry. Crazed instinct took over, and she reached for more power. Power to avoid being killed. Power to get revenge on humans! [Authority of The Beast ¨C Fate/Tale of The Beasts] ¨C Costs 200CP, 200CP available to spend. A skill all Beasts have, it¡¯s an Anti-Humanity skill that enhances your capability to harm existences that are classified as humans. Even if you were only as powerful as a regular human, you would be tearing through humans like they were made out of wet tissue paper. The offer resonated through every fiber of the spider''s being. Memories of pickaxes crushing her body, of humans laughing at her death, burned fresh in her mind. The power called to her, promising revenge against all humans. She accepted without hesitation. [ Authority of The Beast acquired ] The skill merged with her predatory nature, sharpening her hatred of humans into a deadly weapon. Every part of her body became a tool for hunting them - fangs that could pierce armor, venom that would flow faster through human veins, a stinger that would find gaps in any protection. She felt vibrations. The spider quickly scuttled up rough castle walls, finding wooden support beams that crossed the ceiling, creating perfect hiding spots in shadow. She settled against the dark wood, keeping still as she monitored the subtle tremors from below. Four humans walked beneath her position. Steel armor clinked with each step. Swords hung at their sides, shields strapped to their backs. They smelled of leather and iron, of sweat and humanity. "Did you see Thomas Collins'' face when they dragged him to the square?" One guard spoke. "Yes. But what did he expect? Using magic right under King Uther''s nose?" Another answered, adjusting his sword belt. "His poor mother. The way she screamed when the axe fell." The third guard shook his head. "Watch your tongue. Lady Helen arrives tomorrow for the celebration. King Uther wants everything perfect." The fourth guard, clearly in charge, straightened his posture. The humans passed beneath her hiding spot, unaware of death watching from above. The spider remained still, absorbing this new world through every sense. The stone felt different, the air carried unfamiliar scents, and humans walked freely through torch-lit halls. But that would change. The spider''s mandibles clicked softly. Humans had taught her the meaning of death. Now she would teach them. Chapter 2 - Escape The Castle Merlin TV Universe, Royal Castle Time: Day 24 Current Celestial Points: 0 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 200/1000 Monthly Roll: 1/1 --- The spider clung to dark wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. Her legs spread wide, testing each surface. The stone here felt wrong - cut too smooth, fitted together with careful precision. Not like the rough cave walls she knew. But the shadows remained familiar, wrapping around her body like a second carapace. Torch flames flickered in iron brackets along the walls. The spider''s multiple eyes tracked the moving light, measuring safe zones between pools of orange. Heat rose from the flames, creating currents of air that carried scents of smoke, iron, and human sweat. Vibrations rippled through the stone as guards passed below. Their boots struck the floor in steady rhythm - left, right, left, right. The spider''s legs twitched at each impact. She could taste their presence through the air, smell the blood flowing beneath their skin. The Authority of the Beast hummed through her body. Every part of her had changed, adapted to hunting these two-legged prey. Her venom burned stronger. Her fangs could pierce deeper. Even her web silk had transformed, becoming almost invisible in torchlight. More humans walked the halls as night deepened. The spider watched them all, learning their movements. Unlike the mindless zombies and skeletons of her cave, these creatures followed rules she didn''t understand. They avoided certain areas, gathered in others, spoke with varying levels of respect. A door creaked open beneath her position. A human female walked out carrying wooden buckets. Water sloshed inside, spilling drops that echoed against stone. The servant moved slowly, tired after a long day of work. The spider shifted position, rotating to track the human''s path. The servant walked alone, heading toward a darker section of corridor where torches burned low. Perfect hunting grounds. Patience came naturally to the spider. She moved only when necessary, each leg finding secure purchase on the wooden beams. The servant''s footsteps grew quieter, more hesitant in the dimness. The spider''s body, no larger than a mouse, cast no shadow on the floor below. She crept forward along the beam, matching the servant''s pace. A loose strand of silk anchored her to the wood - insurance against falls. The servant stopped to adjust the heavy buckets, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Eight eyes measured the distance to the floor. Twenty body-lengths down, perhaps more. The spider tested the air currents flowing between torch flames. No humans approached from either direction. The servant stood alone in the corridor''s darkest section. Water splashed as the servant set down one bucket. The sound masked the soft tap of spider legs moving across wood. The human reached up to rub at a sore neck, exposing skin above a rough wool collar. The spider dropped. Silk unspooled behind her, controlling the descent. The servant never looked up ¨C most animals rarely did. The spider landed on the back of the wool dress. Her legs gripped the coarse fabric as she climbed toward exposed flesh. The servant scratched at her neck, fingers brushing spider legs. "What-" Her paralyzing stinger struck deep. The Authority of the Beast guided them to the perfect spot, where blood flowed closest to the surface. Venom pumped into human veins. The servant tried to scream. The sound died in her throat as paralysis spread through her body. She stumbled, knocking over one bucket. Water spread across the stone floor. The spider retreated up the wall, watching her prey collapse. The servant''s mouth worked silently, eyes wide with terror. Her fingers twitched, then stilled. Vibrations through stone warned of approaching humans. The spider waited in shadow as torchlight brightened the corridor. Two guards rounded the corner, weapons drawn. "Mary? What happened?" The first guard knelt beside the fallen servant. "She''s not moving." The second guard touched the servant''s neck. "There''s something here - like a bite?" The spider observed the guards'' reactions. Fear sharpened their movements, made them check dark corners with weapons raised. But they looked in the wrong places, never seeing the hunter above their heads. More humans would come soon. The spider retreated along the ceiling, legs carrying her silently through shadow. She needed to learn more about this stone nest and the prey within it. The corridor branched ahead. Cool air flowed from the left passage, bringing scents of food and smoke. Warmer air drifted from the right, laden with the smell of unwashed bodies and metal. The spider chose left, following the fresher air. She heard shouts behind her when more guards found the servant - frozen, paralyzed. Boots scraped against stone as humans ran through the halls. The spider pressed herself into a gap between stones, waiting as three guards rushed past below. "Get Gaius! She''s still breathing!" "Search every corner! Whatever did this could still be here!" The spider''s legs detected increasing vibrations through the stone. The entire nest stirred like a disturbed ant colony. Humans moved with purpose now, no longer following their usual paths. A new passage opened into what seemed to be a storage room for food. Herbs hung from ceiling beams, filling the air with sharp scents that confused her senses. A cooking fire burned low in the hearth. Two servants whispered near a table while cleaning the day''s dishes. "Did you hear? Mary was attacked in the north corridor." "What? But she was just here helping with the Lady Helen''s supper." "They say she''s paralyzed. Won''t move or speak." The spider stalked along a beam above the servants. These humans were distracted, vulnerable. But killing them would only bring more attention. She needed to escape this stone nest first. A window caught her attention. Moonlight spilled through the opening, promising freedom. But the gap looked out over empty space - no walls or beams to climb down. The spider remembered her cave home, how webs had helped her cross difficult spaces. She began to spin, anchoring silk to the window''s stone frame. The servants continued their work below, unaware of the predator preparing an escape route above them. Their whispered fears drifted up through the warm air. "First Thomas Collins, now this. The castle''s cursed, I tell you." "Hush! Don''t let the guards hear such talk." The spider tested her silk line, making sure it would hold her weight. A guard''s voice echoed from the corridor - too close. The servants below jumped at the sound, knocking a pot to the floor. The crash covered the spider''s movement as she slipped through the window. Cool night air wrapped around her body. The spider dangled from her silk, suspended against the castle wall. Moonlight revealed a courtyard far below, where guards carried torches in widening circles. They searched the ground while death hung above them. More silk spun from her spinnerets as she began moving sideways across the wall. Stone blocks provided plenty of grip for her legs. Each step brought her closer to a drainpipe that ran down the castle''s face. A servant leaned out a window below, emptying a chamber pot. The spider froze, pressing against rough stone. Water splashed in the courtyard. Guards shouted in disgust, moving away from the mess. The servant laughed, then yelped as a guard threatened to report him. The spider reached the drainpipe. Moss grew thick around the metal, offering secure footing. She began descending, staying close to the wall. Her legs sensed every vibration - guards walking battlements above, servants moving behind walls, rats scurrying through spaces between stones. Halfway down, a window opened beside her. A young male servant stuck his head out, breathing in night air. The spider could smell sweat and soap on his skin. The servant never noticed the small shape crawling onto his sleeve. He kept staring at the moon while death crept toward his neck. The spider''s stinger struck just as he began to turn his head.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. "Wha-" His voice cut off as paralysis spread through his body. He toppled forward, through the window. The spider leaped clear as the servant fell. His body struck the courtyard stones with a wet crack. Guards shouted in alarm, torches converging on the fallen human. The spider used their distraction to continue her descent. Eight eyes divided the world into overlapping sections. Her front pair tracked guard movements while side eyes monitored the walls for threats. Rear eyes kept watch above, where more humans might look down from windows. Darkness held no secrets from her vision - every shadow revealed details as clear as daylight. The drainpipe ended ten body-lengths above the ground. Guards clustered around the dead servant, blocking her planned escape route. The spider sensed their agitation through vibrations in the stone - rapid heartbeats, shuffling feet, armor clinking as hands gripped weapons. "Another one! Like Mary in the corridor!" "Search the walls! Whatever did this must be nearby!" "Get more torches! Alert the captain!" A rat scurried past below, fleeing the commotion. The spider''s eyes tracked its movement beneath a grate in the courtyard wall. Water trickled through the opening, carrying scents of waste and rotting food. The smell promised a way out through the castle''s gut. She released fresh silk, lowering herself toward the grate. A guard''s torch swept past, light reflecting off her thread. The spider pulled herself flat against stone as boots approached. "Did you see something?" "Just shadows. This whole business has us jumping at nothing." The guard moved away. The spider dropped the final distance, legs finding purchase on wet stone around the grate. Water seeped through gaps in the metal. The spaces between bars measured three body-widths - more than enough room to squeeze through. Shouts from above announced the discovery of her silk line on the window. The spider slipped between the grate''s bars as torchlight brightened the courtyard. Cool water embraced her legs as she entered Camelot''s sewers. The tunnel widened into darkness. Water flowed in a shallow stream along the center, while raised stone paths ran along both sides. The spider''s eight eyes adjusted instantly, revealing every crack and crevice. Rats squeaked in the distance, their tiny hearts beating rapid rhythms through the stone. She chose the driest path, legs testing each step. The sewers reminded her of her cave home - the constant dripping, the echoes, the way sound traveled through connected spaces. But these tunnels bore marks of human design. Polished stones fit together in regular shapes, and metal grates divided sections at measured intervals. The spider began to spin. Each web served a different purpose, just as in her cave. Alarm strands crossed intersections, warning of approaching threats. Capture webs filled spaces where rats commonly passed. Guide lines connected safe spaces, offering quick escape routes. A young rat wandered into her first web. The spider struck without hesitation, stinger finding the spot between skull and spine. The rat''s body provided food for days. [ 10 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 10 ] Weeks passed in darkness. Small insects gathered near water provided steady meals. [ 15 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 25 ] Another rat, larger than the first, tested her improved hunting skills. The fight lasted longer, but her venom proved stronger. [ 10 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 35 ] The sewers marked time differently than the surface. Instead of sun and moon, changes came with water flow. More water meant humans above were awake and working. Less water meant night had fallen. The spider learned these rhythms, hunting when water ran slow. Two months brought five more rats and dozens of insects. Each kill improved her skills. [ 75 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 110 ] By the third month, her legs stretched longer. Her carapace hardened further. Rats began avoiding her territory, forcing her to expand into new tunnels. Three more rats fell to her venom before winter arrived. [ 30 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 140 ] The fourth month brought colder water from above. Ice formed near grates. Rats grew desperate for food, making them easier prey. Four more died in her webs. [ 40 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 180 ] Winter deepened in the tunnels. The spider had grown to match the size of a large rat, her legs now spanning the width of the stone paths. Each step echoed with the click of hardened claws against rock. Her hunts grew bolder as size brought confidence. The fight that changed everything started with an ambush. Four rats ran out from different tunnels, surrounding her hunting grounds. These were not the usual prey - scars marked their faces, and missing tails showed they had survived previous battles. The first rat lunged at her back legs. Sharp teeth scraped against her carapace as she spun to face the attack. A second rat darted in from the side, aiming for her joints. The spider reared up, fangs bared. "Skreee!" The lead rat''s cry echoed through the tunnels. The sound carried challenge, territory, hunger. The spider answered with a harsh clicking of mandibles. Her stinger struck out, catching the third rat as it charged. But the venom sac ran low from previous hunts. The rat stumbled but didn''t fall. Teeth found purchase in one of her legs. Bone cracked. Pain flared through her body as the fourth rat tore the limb free. Blood dripped onto stone as the spider backed against a wall. The rats pressed their advantage. Claws scratched at her carapace, seeking weak points. The spider''s remaining legs lashed out, throwing one rat into the sewer stream. But another climbed onto her back, teeth gnawing at the base of her horns. She rolled, crushing the rat against stone. Bones snapped. The dying rat''s screams drove its companions into a frenzy. They attacked as one, a mass of fur and teeth and hatred. The spider''s stinger found an eye, bursting it. Her fangs sank into a throat, tasting blood. Legs kicked and clawed as bodies thrashed in the confined space. Water turned red around them. A rat''s teeth pierced her abdomen. The spider''s screech echoed through every tunnel. Rage and pain drove her forward. Her remaining venom pumped into the nearest rat. The creature convulsed, foam spraying from its mouth. Two rats dead. Two remained. The spider''s blood left trails on stone as she faced the survivors. The larger rat charged. She met it with spread fangs, venom long spent. They rolled together into the stream. Water filled her lungs. The rat''s weight pressed her down. The spider''s legs found purchase on the rat''s belly and pushed. Intestines spilled into the water. The rat''s screams bubbled up through red foam. The last rat fled, leaving three broken bodies behind. The spider dragged herself onto dry stone. Her missing leg would take weeks to heal. The wound in her abdomen leaked with each movement. She consumed the dead rats slowly over many days, healing between meals. [ 30 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 210 ] Spring brought warmer water from above. The spider''s missing leg grew back, covered in thick carapace. Her hunting grounds expanded as smaller rats fled deeper into the tunnels. Only the largest rats remained to challenge her territory. The fifth month yielded rich hunting. Twelve rats fell to her venom, each larger than the last. Insects swarmed in the warming air, providing steady meals between larger prey. [ 140 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 350 ] By the sixth month, her body had grown longer than her leg span. The spider''s horns scraped stone when she moved through smaller tunnels. Rats no longer fought back - they fled at the sound of her approach. She caught fifteen before the month ended. [ 170 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 520 ] Summer heat drove more prey into the cooler tunnels. The spider''s webs filled with rats seeking escape from the surface warmth. Twenty rats died in her silk during the seventh month. Each meal strengthened her carapace, lengthened her fangs. [ 220 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 740 ] The seventh month marked the end of summer. The spider now rivaled a small dog in size. Her webs spanned entire tunnel sections, turning intersections into deadly mazes. Twenty-five rats and countless insects vanished into her mandibles. The smaller tunnels no longer fit her growing body. [ 60 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 800] The spider rested in her largest web, legs spread across tunnel walls. Eight months of hunting had changed her. Time passing strengthened not just her body, but her mind. Thoughts formed clearer now, moving beyond pure instinct into something more. Her pocket space bulged with remains she couldn''t fully consume - bones, fur, and other useful materials. The spider had learned to save everything. Even the smallest piece might serve a purpose later. The hundreds of kills had restored her lost lives. She could tell that her stock was full - three chances to survive death. But mere survival wasn''t enough anymore. The spider wanted more. The spider flexed her legs against the tunnel walls. She had gathered power, saved it like storing prey for winter. Eight hundred Celestial Points gathered through patient hunting. Perhaps it was time to spend them. The spider reached out with her mind, seeking more power. Something stirred in the space between moments - an offer of change. Of fertility. [Superior Mother ¨C Generic Fertility] ¨C Costs 500CP, 800CP available to spend. Anything birthed from your body is a superior life form. The reasons for this are many. The superior quality of your reproductive abilities leads to far superior offspring, easily outmatching other members of the same species. None of the weaknesses of your female form will bleed into your children, as they take only the better traits from you and the father. Your offspring have a high chance of inheriting one or more of the parents'' powers, and pregnancy is sped up greatly. Spawn have high loyalty, grow at an accelerated pace, and can be summoned to you with increasing amounts of blood sacrifice. The spider''s eight eyes focused on nothing as she considered the offer. Her body could create superior offspring, children that would inherit her strengths without her early weaknesses. Any male could father them, regardless of species. The eggs would develop quickly, and blood sacrifice could summon her children to her side. The thought sparked something new in her mind. An army of spiders, each one deadly to humans. Each one sharing her hatred, her ability to hunt them. No more hiding alone in sewers - she could fill every shadow with eight-legged death. The spider''s mandibles clicked in amusement. To think she had once worried about finding a mate among the pathetic specimens in these tunnels. Now she could breed with anything, create children far superior to normal spiders. She accepted the power. Pain shot through her abdomen as changes ripped through her body. Her egg sacs transformed, becoming something more. Something potent. The spider''s legs twitched against stone as the sensation passed. [ Superior Mother acquired ] The sewers had served well as a sanctuary, but the spider had outgrown these tunnels. Her body, now the size of a small dog, scraped against low ceilings. The remaining rats avoided her territory completely, making hunting less productive. Water dripped steadily as the spider moved through her tunnels one last time. Each web held memories of successful hunts, of growth, of learning. She gathered useful strands into her pocket space, along with bones and other materials that might serve later. The spider''s eight eyes tracked movement in a side tunnel. A rat watched her pass, pressing against the wall in terror. She ignored it. Such prey no longer interested her. The spider needed a proper lair, somewhere she could expand without stone walls constraining her. She followed the water''s flow downstream, toward where the sewers emptied into the surrounding forest. The tunnel widened as it approached the exit. Moonlight shone through a rusted grate, painting silver lines across dark water. The spider''s front eyes measured the grate''s spaces. Too small for her current size. But the metal had weakened over years of water flow, creating gaps where rust ate through iron. She braced her legs against stone and pushed. Metal groaned. The spider pushed harder, carapace scraping against corroded bars. The grate bent outward with a sharp crack. Cool night air rushed in, carrying scents of trees and earth. It was time to birth an army. Chapter 3 - First Brood Merlin TV Universe, Darkling Woods Time: Month 8, Day 17 Current Celestial Points: 300 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000 Monthly Roll: 1/1 --- The forest grew quiet around the spider¡¯s new territory. Four days had passed since she''d begun spinning her webs between the ancient oaks, and the local wildlife had learned to avoid the shadowy grove. Dark strands stretched from trunk to trunk, some as thick as rope, others nearly invisible in the slight amount of light that shone through the dense canopy above. Eight eyes took in every detail of her expanding domain. The primary web network spread across thirty trees, creating a deadly maze for anything larger than a mouse. Smaller webs filled the gaps between branches, while warning strands crisscrossed the forest floor. Every breeze made the silk vibrate, sending information through her legs about movement in the area. She rested in the center of her territory, eight legs spread wide across multiple anchor points. The position let her monitor the entire web complex while conserving energy. A sparrow landed on a branch near the outer edge of her territory. The tiny heart beat rapid rhythms through her silk, but the bird was too small to bother hunting. The spider remained motionless, letting the creature hop closer to her webs. Perhaps it would attract larger prey. Time meant little to her kind. The sun rose and set, but she measured days by the vibrations in her web. Dawn brought deer picking their way carefully around her territory. Noon saw rabbits testing the edges of her domain. Dusk meant owls swooping through gaps in the canopy, hunting mice that thought her shadows meant safety. A strand trembled on the western edge of her web. Something large moved through the underbrush, breaking smaller warning lines. The spider''s legs shifted slightly, adjusting her position to face the disturbance. The movement had purpose - not the random wandering of prey, but something searching. More strands broke. Whatever approached ignored the warning signs that kept most forest creatures away. Her mandibles clicked softly as she considered this development. Even the largest deer knew to avoid areas where webs blocked their path. This prey acted different. A grunt echoed through the trees. The spider¡¯s front eyes caught movement - coarse brown fur pushing through ferns. A boar emerged into the shadowy grove, tusks gleaming dully as it rooted through fallen leaves. She remained perfectly still. The boar had not yet noticed the deadly maze it approached. Its small eyes focused on the ground, seeking food among the rotting vegetation. Each step brought it closer to her stronger webs - silk thick enough to hold even its considerable weight. The boar''s tusks scraped against tree bark as it dug through the soil. Clumps of earth flew behind muscled shoulders, exposing wriggling worms and grubs. The animal''s bulk pressed against lower web strands, making them vibrate with each movement. The spider adjusted her position, spreading her weight across multiple anchor points. Her legs sensed every tremor through the silk - the boar''s heavy breathing, the scrape of hooves against roots, the steady thump of a large heart. The beast would make an excellent meal, but only if she struck at the right moment. A strand snapped near the boar''s flank. The animal''s head jerked up, nostrils flaring as it tested the air. More strands broke as it turned, finally noticing the web closing in around it. The boar backed away from the nearest visible strands, but its movement only entangled it further in the near-invisible warning lines. The spider felt the change through her web - quickening heartbeat, tensing muscles, faster breathing. The beast wheeled around, trying to retreat the way it came. Silk wrapped around its legs with each movement, slowly binding them together. The boar squealed, a high-pitched sound that echoed through the grove. It thrashed against the web, powerful muscles straining against sticky strands. But the spider had designed these outer webs to handle large prey. Each struggle only wrapped more silk around the animal''s body. She began to move, legs carrying her silently through the upper web network. The boar''s struggles had turned it away from her approach, leaving the neck exposed. Her stinger¡¯s venom sac felt heavy, full. One precise strike would paralyze the beast. The spider dropped onto the boar''s back. Her legs gripped coarse fur as the animal bucked, trying to dislodge her. The stinger struck true, sliding between vertebrae at the base of the skull. Venom pumped into flesh. The boar''s struggles weakened as paralysis spread through muscle and bone. The massive body swayed, then collapsed onto leaf-covered ground. Breath came in shallow gasps while small eyes rolled wildly, tracking the spider''s movement. She wrapped fresh silk around the boar''s legs, creating sturdy drag lines. The beast outweighed her many times over, but the spider had no problem moving larger prey through her territory. Web strands connected to higher branches provided leverage as she began the slow process of moving her catch. The spider''s legs worked quickly, pulling and adjusting silk lines. Each movement brought the paralyzed boar closer to the heart of her domain - a hollow between three ancient oaks where roots had created a natural chamber. Webs filled the space completely, turning bark and soil into a cocoon of silk. Strong muscles beneath coarse fur. Thick meat that would take days to fully consume the nutrients of. But more interesting was the raw power she had felt during their brief struggle. The beast had nearly thrown her off despite being tangled in web strands. The spider paused, front legs testing the boar''s flesh. The paralysis would wear off eventually - her venom wasn''t meant to kill such large prey immediately. The beast''s heart still beat strong, pumping blood through a body built for survival. This boar had proven worthy prey, demonstrating strength and resilience. Perhaps it could serve a greater purpose than mere food. ... The moon had risen and set three times since her decision. Now the spider had long wrapped the boar''s body in layers of silk. The beast still lived, kept paralyzed by regular doses of venom. Fresh webbing covered the previous layers as she circled the massive form, sealing away any remaining exposed flesh. Her abdomen felt heavy with fertilized eggs. The mating had served its purpose, and her body would ensure these offspring would inherit the best traits from both parents. She could sense them developing already - faster than normal spider eggs... The spider''s legs worked on the silk as she secured the boar to the chamber''s ceiling. The cocoon swayed slightly, web strands creaking under the weight. More silk anchored it firmly in place, spreading the load across multiple support points. The beast would remain fresh this way, preserved until she needed to feed. She moved to the center of her chamber where the egg sac grew. The translucent membrane pulsed with dozens of developing spiders. Through the thin walls she glimpsed movement - legs already forming, small bodies taking shape. Two weeks passed as the spider worked tirelessly to prepare for her brood. Each sunrise brought new prey to store - rabbits wrapped in silk, birds caught in higher webs, even a young deer that had wandered too close to her territory. The growing collection of food hung from branches throughout her lair, ensuring her children would have plenty to eat upon hatching. The egg sac had doubled in size, the membrane now stretched tight around the developing spiders. Small movements inside grew stronger each day. The spider checked the sac regularly, legs gentle as she tested the membrane''s strength. The spider paused when she felt something stirring in the space between moments. A new month had begun, bringing with it the chance to gain more power. She reached out with her mind, considering what might best serve her growing brood. An offering appeared, whispering of magic that could touch the very soul: [Bullet Patterns ¨C Undertale] ¨C Costs 100CP, 300CP available to spend. Magic is part of being a monster¡ªit''s literally a part of you! As such, all monsters have at least a rudimentary understanding of White Magic¡ªthat is to say, they can use magic to attack. Like almost all magic, this magic directly attacks the SOUL of an opponent and does not actually physically harm them. They might show bruises, cuts, or other superficial signs of damage, but the pain is felt entirely on a spiritual level. Since magic is so tied to their being, a monster''s innate magic invariably represents their personality or appearance. A frog-like monster might use flies to attack, a skeleton might use bones, or a dog might use... dog-shaped attacks. This innate magic is typically rudimentary and easy to avoid, but many monsters prefer to use their bullet patterns as a way of expressing themselves rather than as actual attacks.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The spider''s legs twitched as she considered this new power. Magic that could strike directly at the very core of a being, bypassing physical defenses entirely. The power resonated with her nature - a predator that killed through more than mere venom and fangs. She reached out and accepted the power. Magic surged through her body, settling into every leg and mandible. It reminded her of spinning web, but instead of silk flowing from her spinnerets, small shapes sprang out from the air around her. [ Bullet Patterns acquired ] Tiny spiders appeared, each no larger than a dewdrop. These magical constructs floated on invisible currents, spreading out in a sphere around her body. The spider watched through eight eyes as her creations spun miniature web bundles, the strands glowing with a faint white light. She directed the floating spiders toward a nearby tree trunk. The constructs responded instantly, launching streams of glowing web that struck bark with soft impacts. Where the magical silk touched wood, she felt something deeper than physical contact - as if the tree''s very essence shuddered under the attack. More spiders appeared as she experimented with the magic. They moved in waves, following the subtle shifts of her legs. Each one carried a piece of her will, ready to unleash soul-piercing webbing at her command. A rabbit wandered into the edge of her territory. The spider sent her magical spiders forward in a wide arc. Glowing strands struck the rabbit''s fur, but instead of tangling in physical matter, they sank straight through. The animal froze, eyes wide as the magic touched something far more vital than flesh. The flying spiders circled back to hover around her body once more. This new weapon would serve well in defending her growing brood. No amount of armor or thick hide could stop attacks that struck directly at the soul. Another seven days passed before the first egg sac split open. Two dozen spiderlings climbed out, each the size of a mouse. They shared her demon horns and multiple eyes, but thick bristles covered their bodies - a trait inherited from their boar father. Small tusks protruded from their chelicerae. The spider watched as her children took their first steps. Strong legs carried them easily across silk strands, showing none of the hesitation normal spiders displayed after hatching. A second egg sac grew heavy with another clutch, secured firmly in the chamber''s highest point. She led the spiderlings toward the stored prey, moving slowly so they could follow. The young ones matched her pace perfectly, spreading out behind her in a coordinated formation. Each step revealed more of their inherited intelligence - they understood concepts that should have taken weeks to learn. A weak clicking sound drew her attention. One spiderling lagged behind the group, legs trembling with each movement. The malformed creature struggled to climb even the simplest web strands. The spider observed this weakness for several moments before acting. Quick as thought, she snatched up the defective offspring. The spiderling disappeared between her mandibles without a sound. The remaining children showed no reaction to their sibling''s death - they understood the necessity of culling weakness. The spiderlings grew at an astonishing rate. Within two weeks, they reached half her size. Thick carapaces developed, protecting their bodies just as hers did. They learned to spin webs and set traps, expanding their hunting grounds deeper into the forest. The spider watched her children coordinate their hunts. They moved like shadows through the trees, using tactics she had never taught them. When a deer wandered into their territory, three spiderlings herded it into a prepared web while two others struck from above. Movement from the second egg sac drew her attention. The membrane bulged as new life stirred within. Her first brood gathered around as the sac split open, ready to welcome more siblings into their growing colony. The new spiderlings came into a thriving colony. The first brood had established clear roles - hunters patrolled the outer territories while builders maintained and expanded the web network. Guards watched over stored prey and developing egg sacs. Each spider-thing had a purpose, coordinating through subtle leg movements and mandible clicks. When the spider moved through the colony, every child paused to acknowledge her presence. A hunter dragged fresh prey to the storage area, lowering its head as she passed. A group of builders suspended work on a new web section until she had moved beyond their workspace. The spider sensed another offering from the space between moments now that the month had gone by. [Omniglot ¨C Marvel: Age of Krakoa] ¨C Costs 100CP, 200CP available to spend. Simply put, this is the power to speak and read every language. Any language you encounter, be it written, spoken, or otherwise is something you understand intuitively and can learn to communicate with almost instantly as long as you are physically capable of doing so. Note that this also includes body language, programming languages and secret codes... With enough time you could learn to communicate with beings that lack an innate form of communication or create your own unique languages that can only be used by those you allow to learn. The spider could understand how this would allow the colony to thrive, so she accepted the power. Her eight eyes stared into nothingness as something became clear to her - not just the existence of words, but of every possible way to convey meaning. More importantly, she grasped how to create entirely new forms of communication. [ Omniglot acquired ] She gathered her children around her. The spiderlings assembled in a circle, mandibles clicking with curiosity. The spider began to experiment, combining leg movements with specific sounds. Each gesture and click carried meaning. "Listen," she conveyed through a series of movements. The word occurred as a combination of raised front legs and a soft clicking sound. The spiderlings mimicked her instantly, raising their own legs and clicking. The spider continued, building more words through different combinations. A tap of the right front leg meant "danger." Three quick clicks translated to "food." A slow wave of multiple legs indicated "web." "We need better ways to coordinate," she explained through the developing language. The spiderlings absorbed each new word eagerly, adding their own variations. One discovered that rubbing its legs together created a scratching sound perfect for expressing urgency. The language grew more sophisticated as the colony worked together. Hunters developed special signals for different types of prey. Builders created terms for various web structures. Guards established warning calls that could be relayed across the entire territory. "The humans will never understand our speech," the spider told her children. "This language belongs only to us." A spiderling near the edge of the group raised its front legs. "Mother, I smell approaching prey," it communicated through clicks. The spider felt satisfied at how naturally her children used the new language. "Show me," she responded with a gentle leg wave. The spiderling led the way through the web network, moving quickly across silk strands. Other spiderlings followed, spreading out in a hunting formation they had developed over the past weeks. The spider moved behind them, observing how her children coordinated without needing direct guidance. "Two humans," clicked the lead spiderling. "Walking east through our territory." "Armed?" asked another through a quick leg tap. "Metal weapons. Bows." The scout''s mandibles clattered softly. "Hunters seeking deer." The spider watched her children react to this information. The hunters shifted positions, moving to surround the approaching humans. Web builders began reinforcing nearby strands while guards secured stored prey deeper in the territory. "Stay hidden," the spider instructed. "Watch how they move." The humans walked beneath the canopy, unaware of multiple eyes tracking them from above. One carried a drawn bow while the other held a spear ready. They moved carefully, checking the ground for tracks. "Look at these webs," the spear-carrier said, pointing upward. "Never seen silk this thick before." The spider''s children remained motionless as the humans examined their handiwork. The bow-carrier reached up to touch a strand. "Strange... almost feels like rope." "Mother," clicked a spiderling near her. "They threaten our home." "Patience," she responded. "We learn from watching. Knowledge makes better hunters." The bow-carrier stepped deeper into the web-filled area, scanning the trees. "These strands... they form a path. Like someone designed them." "We should report this to the knights," said the spear-carrier. "Could be dangerous creatures nearby." A spiderling clicked quietly. "The metal they wear is weak at the joints." "Yes," responded another. "The neck especially. No protection." The spider observed how her children analyzed the humans, noting weaknesses and potential strategies. The hunters had spread into perfect ambush positions while the humans remained focused on ground level. "Look here," the spear-carrier pointed at a wrapped deer carcass hanging above. "Something''s been storing kills." The bow-carrier nocked an arrow. "We need to leave. Now." "They learn fear," clicked the spider. "But not enough. Not yet." She released her magical spiders, sending them in a wide circle around the humans. The tiny constructs floated silently through shadow, ready to unleash soul-piercing webs. The spear-carrier turned toward movement in the corner of his eye. "Did you see-" The glowing strands struck both humans simultaneously. They stumbled as the magic bypassed flesh and bone, touching something deeper. "Now," clicked the spider. "Watch how they run." The magical attack struck deeper than expected. Both humans dropped to their knees, faces twisted in pain as the Authority of the Beast enhanced the soul-piercing effect. The bow clattered to the ground while the spear fell from trembling fingers. "My head..." The spear-carrier pressed his palms against his temples. "Can''t... think straight." The bow-carrier tried to stand but stumbled sideways. "Everything''s spinning. We need to..." The spider watched with interest. Previous soul attacks on animals had caused discomfort, but humans suffered far more intensely. The Authority of the Beast had transformed a simple magical strike into something that shook humans to their core. "Take them," she clicked to her children. "Alive." The spiderlings obeyed. Two dropped behind the humans on strands of silk while others circled to cut off escape routes. The humans didn''t even notice the approaching predators, too focused on the pain wracking their souls. "Which way..." The bow-carrier grabbed a tree trunk for support. His legs shook with each attempted step. A spiderling shot web strands around the man''s ankles. He toppled forward, unable to catch himself in time. The spear-carrier didn''t even resist when silk wrapped around his arms and chest. "Mother," clicked one of the hunters. "The soul attack leaves them helpless." "Yes," the spider responded. "Bring them to the core area. We have much to learn." Chapter 4 - Inherited Gifts Merlin TV Universe, Darkling Woods Time: Month 11, Day 6 Current Celestial Points: 100 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000 Monthly Roll: 1/1 --- The captured humans lay bound in thick webs against the chamber wall. They had stopped struggling hours ago, exhausted from fighting against silk stronger than rope. The spider watched them from her perch. Eight eyes tracked every twitch and shiver, every bead of sweat that rolled down their necks. The soul-strike had worn off, leaving them aware but weak. Perfect for questioning. Her children moved through the shadows around them. Some hung from silk lines above, while others patrolled the ground below. The humans flinched whenever a spiderling passed too close. "Please," the younger hunter whispered. "Let us go. We meant no harm." The spider descended on a strand of silk, stopping at eye level. "You entered my territory. Examined my webs. Threatened my children." Both humans jerked back at her words, eyes going wide. The older one pressed himself harder against the wall. "It... it speaks?" "I speak many languages now." The spider moved closer, mandibles clicking softly. "You will teach me about your world. About Camelot. About humans." "We won''t tell you anything, monster!" The older hunter tried to sound brave, but his voice trembled. One of the spiderlings dropped onto his shoulder. He went very still as eight tiny eyes stared into his face. "You misunderstand," the spider said. "This is not a request. Tell me of your king. Of your kingdoms. Of your ways." The younger hunter broke first. He spoke of Uther Pendragon, ruler of Camelot. Of the Five Main Kingdoms that made up Albion - Camelot, Mercia, Caerleon, Gawant, and others. His voice grew steadier as he described the politics and alliances between realms. The spider listened as they revealed the workings of human society. They told her of castle life, of how people organized themselves into nobles and commoners. Of markets and trade, of armies and patrols. But it was their tales of magic that interested her most. They spoke of sorcerers and witches, of creatures born from the Old Religion. Dragons that once filled the skies. Trolls that lurked in mountain caves. Griffins that hunted at twilight. "And your king hunted them?" she asked. "These magical beings?" The older hunter nodded slowly. "The Great Purge. Uther declared war on magic itself. Hundreds died. Sorcerers burned. Magical creatures were driven to extinction or deep into hiding." "Why?" "Magic killed his wife. Or so they say. Now it''s forbidden in Camelot on pain of death." The spider considered this information. A human king who destroyed magic out of grief and rage. Who burned his own kind and drove ancient creatures from their lands. Dawn approached. Light snuck through the webbed trees, touching the humans'' faces. They had grown calmer during the long night of questioning, perhaps believing their knowledge would spare them. The spider moved to the younger hunter. Thick strands of web pinned his arms against the chamber wall, while more silk wrapped around his chest and legs. He couldn''t even turn his head away as she drew closer. "Thank you for this knowledge," she said softly. Her fangs pierced his throat. Blood welled up around her chelicerae as venom pumped into the wound. The hunter tried to scream but could only manage a wet gurgle. His body convulsed against the web restraints, but her silk held firm. The older hunter thrashed wildly in his bonds. "Stop! Please, for the love of God, stop!" She ignored his pleas, focusing on her meal. Her fangs tore away a chunk of flesh, exposing muscle and windpipe. Blood sprayed across her face as the hunter''s heart continued pumping. His eyes rolled wildly, desperately searching for escape, but the webs might as well have been iron chains. The spider worked her way down his body slowly, enjoying her first human. She cracked open his ribcage to reach the organs beneath, pulling them out one by one while he still lived. His muffled screams grew weaker as she consumed his liver, his kidneys, his intestines. The older hunter vomited down his chest, but couldn''t look away. The web held his head in place, forcing him to watch as she dismembered his friend piece by piece. "Please... he has a family... children..." She paused her feeding to look at him. Blood and gore dripped from her mandibles. "So do I." Then she returned to her meal. The younger hunter had long stopped moving. She took her time with what remained, swallowing down each morsel of flesh and muscle. Her children watched from the shadows, learning how to properly feed on human prey. When only scraps of meat clung to blood-stained bones, she turned to face the surviving hunter. Tears streaked his cheeks. A dark stain spread across his trousers where he''d lost control of his bladder. "Please..." he whimpered. "I told you everything..." "Yes," the spider agreed, stepping closer. Fresh blood still coated her fangs. "You did. Do not worry, you will serve another purpose." ¡­ The spider stepped back from the fertilized egg sac, looking around her chamber. Many of her children had gathered around, watching carefully. She noticed several spiderlings shifting their weight impatiently, bristles twitching. The pheromones and their mother''s movements had clearly stirred their own instincts. The spider raised herself up on her hind legs, mandibles clicking for attention. All eyes turned toward her as the room fell utterly silent. "My children," she began slowly. "You have seen how I breed powerful offspring." Many affirmative clicks answered her. The spiderlings closest to the webbed male leaned forward. "Some among you carry the Superior Mother gift within." The spider''s pedipalps stroked her fresh egg sac gently. "Soon you will need mates of your own." Her head turned toward the human male, still pinned against the chamber wall. "Bring strong mates back here. Whether boar or deer, their traits will strengthen the colony. Take humans whenever possible, but be cautious to not take any covered in metal armor." Several spiderlings shifted forward at her words, legs twitching with excitement. A rust-colored female with thick bristles clicked her mandibles rapidly. "Mother, I have felt the heaviness beginning in my abdomen these past few days." The spider regarded her daughter with multiple eyes. "Then it is time for you to take a mate. Choose a strong male from any prey you can capture and bring him back here." Another spiderling, this one slate-grey with darker mottling across her carapace, moved closer. "I too have begun developing an egg sac, Mother. What is your guidance?" "You must both find powerful mates immediately," the spider said, gesturing with a foreleg. "Our colony''s future strength depends on injecting new bloodlines with each generation. Take any buck, boar or human male you can subdue without risking serious injury."If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. More spiderlings clicked in acknowledgment. Several swayed their abdomens from side to side, displaying the signs of maturity. One particularly large offspring tapped the ground sharply with his front legs. "What of this human male, Mother? Will you consume him once your eggs are formed?" The spider turned to regard the webbed form still hanging against the wall. The man flinched under her scrutinizing gaze. "No, this one may still provide use. Keep him secured and prevent him from harming himself. I will decide his ultimate fate once the next batch of eggs hatch." The spider turned away from the webbed human, satisfied her children understood her instructions regarding finding new mates. Several spiderlings were already moving toward the chamber''s exit webs, mandibles clicking with excitement. A small group approached her, clicking eagerly. The spiderling in the lead had brilliant turquoise markings streaking across her abdominal chitin. "Mother, we''ve been practicing the subspace power you passed to us." She extended a foreleg to demonstrate. A ripple appeared in the air as the turquoise-marked spiderling reached into seemingly empty space. She pulled out a chunk of preserved deer meat, the flesh as fresh as the day it was stored. "We discovered something important about these storage spaces," she clicked excitedly. The other spiderlings crowded closer, mandibles twitching with shared enthusiasm. "The meat never spoils inside. Time stands still within." The spider examined the deer meat with her front legs. The blood remained bright red, muscles still firm and unmarked by decay. "Show me more." Five more spiderlings stepped forward, each opening their own invisible pockets in the air. They withdrew various stored items - rabbit carcasses, bird meat, even segments of another boar from weeks ago. Every piece remained perfectly preserved. "We can keep our food safe this way," another spiderling clicked. "Hidden where enemies cannot find or destroy it." The spider moved between her children, once again surprised at how smart they were. "You cannot store living prey?" "No, Mother. We tried with a mouse, but living creatures cannot enter the space." The turquoise-marked spiderling gestured to her siblings. "But we can divide our food stores among those who inherited this power. Each of us carrying a portion." A smaller spiderling with unusually long front legs clicked rapidly. "The spaces move with us wherever we go. If we must abandon the territory, our food comes too." The spider considered these discoveries. Her children had not only used the inherited ability well, but found new applications she hadn''t considered. The colony would be stronger for their initiative. "This changes how we store our kills," she clicked decisively. "No more hanging meat in the open. Keep everything in these spaces except what we need for immediate feeding." The subspace spiderlings began moving through the territory, carefully removing wrapped prey from the web network. Each bundle disappeared into invisible pockets, safely preserved until needed. The exhausted human male watched with wide eyes as hundreds of kills vanished into thin air. One of the hunters dropped down from above. "Mother, what of the human''s body?" She gestured toward the picked-clean bones still wrapped in silk. "Store the bones," the spider clicked. "They may prove useful for future hunting strategies." The hunter nodded, gathering up the bloody skeleton. It too disappeared into a subspace pocket, leaving only dark stains on the web strands. She settled back onto her web, content to watch her offspring busy themselves. Three weeks passed as the colony grew stronger. More egg sacs hatched, bringing the total number of offspring to seventy-nine. The new storage system proved invaluable as the growing numbers required more food. The spider felt a familiar stirring in the space between moments. She could once more reach for power, and that was exactly what she did. [Wolf in Sheep¡¯s Clothing ¨C Shin Megami Tensei II] ¨C Costs 100CP, 100CP available to spend. While many demons roam the world as ravenous hordes or hired muscle, some take a more...refined approach. Regardless of how inhuman or strange your form is, you are able to disguise yourself as a human, appearing as one by all intents and purposes even by detailed technological scanners. However, this disguise is a thin one...should you use any offensive powers or spells, the facade will melt away and your true form will be revealed. You may assume and discard this disguise at will. The spider considered this power carefully. The captured hunter had spoken of powerful magic users hiding among humans. Sorcerers who could cast magic, witches who commanded the elements, druids who spoke with nature. Such power would strengthen her brood immensely. But approaching these magic users in her true form would only lead to battle. They would see her as a monster to be destroyed. Unless... She could walk among them undetected. Learn their ways, find the strongest among them. When the time was right, she could take what she needed to ensure her next brood carried magical blood. The disguise would serve another purpose. If knights discovered the colony, she could appear as a helpless captive. They would waste precious time trying to "rescue" her while her children prepared proper welcomes. The spider reached out and accepted the power. Magic flowed through her body, reshaping chitin and muscle into softer flesh. Her eight legs merged into two arms and legs. Multiple eyes melted into a single pair. Demon horns shrunk away as black hair sprouted from her scalp. The transformation completed, leaving behind a tall woman with pale skin and dark eyes. [ Wolf in Sheep¡¯s Clothing acquired ] The spider tried to take a step forward in her new human form. The movement felt wrong - only two legs to balance on instead of eight. She wobbled uncertainly, missing the stable connection to her web through multiple limbs. Her spiderlings watched with concern as she attempted another step. The ground rushed up to meet her face as she toppled forward, unable to compensate for the strange center of gravity. Leaves and dirt pressed against her new skin, so much more sensitive than her old carapace. "Mother!" Several offspring rushed forward, helping her up with gentle leg touches. The spider wanted to reach out with her front legs to steady herself, but found only human arms responding. No spinnerets to shoot a safety line. No sensitive hairs to detect air currents. She felt blind and deaf compared to her true body. "This body is wrong," she clicked, the sound coming out as human speech instead. Even her voice felt strange vibrating through soft throat tissue rather than mandibles. She missed the security of her eight eyes. The human''s two eyes left massive blind spots that made her feel vulnerable. The urge to transform back grew stronger with each passing second. More spiderlings gathered around as she made another attempt at walking. They formed a protective circle, ready to catch her if she fell again. The spider focused on moving one leg at a time, fighting against instincts that expected six more limbs to coordinate with. "The ground feels different," she told her children. "I cannot sense vibrations through these feet. How do humans detect approaching danger?" A spiderling touched her leg gently. "We will watch for you, Mother. Our eyes will be your eyes until you master this form." The spider nodded, immediately regretting the unfamiliar head movement. She missed the precise control of her chelicerae, the ability to inject venom into prey. These dull human teeth seemed useless for hunting. "There is a stream nearby," one of her offspring clicked. "You can see your new shape in the water." The spider accepted her children''s guidance as they led her carefully through the web network. Multiple legs supported her awkward steps, preventing further falls. She kept reaching for web strands that weren''t there, muscle memory expecting silk that would never come from these human hands. Branches scraped against her exposed skin. She longed for her protective carapace, for the familiar weight of demon horns on her head. The human body felt fragile, like a newly-molted spiderling before its shell hardened. The stream came into view between the trees. Clear water flowed over smooth stones, creating tiny ripples in the surface. The spider knelt down, supported by her concerned offspring, and looked at her reflection for the first time. Human eyes stared back at her from a fair face framed by long black hair. The features were sharp, almost predatory - a hint of her true nature bleeding through the disguise. But to any observer, she would appear as nothing more than a tall human woman. A strange face stared back from the water''s surface. Long black hair framed pale features, falling past shoulders in straight lines. The spider tilted her head, watching the reflection mimic the movement. Dark eyes blinked back at her, set above high cheekbones in a face she didn''t recognize. "I cannot tell if this form will attract or repel humans," she told her children. "Their standards of appearance make little sense to me." The spiderlings clicked encouragingly. "The hunters we captured might provide insight, Mother." She nodded, slowly growing more comfortable with the motion. Her offspring guided her back toward the heart of their territory, catching her whenever the two legs threatened to betray her balance. Five men hung suspended in web cocoons near the central chamber. The spider''s daughters had captured four more over the past three weeks - two woodcutters and two more hunters who had wandered too close to the colony. The exhausted men looked up as she approached, eyes widening at the sight of a human woman. "Please," one of the woodcutters called out. "Help us! These monsters will kill us!" The spider stepped closer, testing her new legs carefully. "Monsters? I see no monsters here." "The spiders!" Another captive struggled against his bonds. "Giant demon spiders everywhere! You have to run before they return!" She examined the men''s reactions, noting how they strained toward her. Even weak from her daughters¡¯ efforts and paralyzing venom, they tried to protect what they saw as an innocent woman. "Lady, please," the youngest hunter begged. "Cut us free. We''ll escort you to safety." The spider smiled, the expression feeling strange on her new face. "You find this body appealing then? Attractive by human standards?" The men exchanged confused looks. The older woodcutter spoke up hesitantly. "My lady, this is hardly the time to... but yes, you are very beautiful. Now please, help us before those creatures come back!" "Beautiful." The spider tested the word. "That will be useful for walking among your kind undetected." The captives'' eyes widened as several spiders the size of small dogs came from the shadows. The men watched in horror as the spider-things gathered around the woman''s feet, clicking excitedly. "You''re... you''re one of them?" The young hunter''s voice cracked. The spider nodded, growing more confident with each human movement. "I am their mother. Thank you for confirming this disguise will serve its purpose." She turned away from the men''s struggles and desperate pleas. Her children followed close behind, ready to steady her still-awkward steps as she practiced walking on two legs. "We should find you proper human coverings, Mother," one spiderling clicked. "The captives wear strange skins over their bodies." The spider looked down at the heavy breasts on her torso. "Yes. Humans seem oddly concerned with hiding their flesh. Bring me something suitable from the next prey you catch." Chapter 5 - Kindness of Willowbrook Merlin TV Universe, Darkling Woods Time: Month 12, Day 2 Current Celestial Points: 0 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000 Monthly Roll: 1/1 --- The spider hung motionless in her web, watching her latest batch of eggs begin to crack. The silk sac pulsed as tiny legs pushed against the walls from within. Several of her daughters clung to nearby strands, their own egg sacs heavy with developing offspring. The first spiderling broke through the protective silk. It paused at the edge of the sac, testing the air with sensitive hairs. The spider''s eyes fixed on its front limbs - two of them had formed into shapes resembling human hands, complete with small fingers. More spiderlings followed, each bearing the same mutation. She clicked her mandibles thoughtfully. Those hated human hands that had wielded pickaxes against her in that other world... perhaps they would serve her children well. The ability to grasp and manipulate could prove useful. One of her offspring with the subspace gift skittered over without prompting. The air rippled as he reached into his invisible storage, pulling out globs of liquified meat. The newborns sensed the food instantly, scrambling toward it with eager clicks. The spider left them to feed, crawling up to a massive web stretched between oaks. She secured herself with all eight legs, feeling the vibrations of her territory through the silk. Her children moved below, expanding the colony''s reach. Some wove new web structures while others maintained existing ones. Hunting parties departed in different directions, coordinating through clicks and leg signals. Near the central chamber, several captive humans hung in their cocoons. One of her daughters was currently wrapped around a male, securing him for breeding. The spider didn¡¯t care - such things were natural. More interesting were the discussions happening among her offspring. They clicked back and forth about patrol patterns, web placement, prey movement. Their strategies grew more refined with time. A grey-marked hunter suddenly scrambled up her web, legs twitching with excitement. "Mother, we found something during our forest sweep." The spider turned all eight eyes toward him. "Speak." "A griffin, Mother. Nesting in the deeper woods. We tracked it to an old ruins where it''s made its lair." The spider shifted on her web. "A griffin... the humans mentioned that such a beast threatened Camelot months ago. A relative?" She remembered the captives'' descriptions - a creature with a lion''s body and an eagle''s head and wings. Such a being could strengthen her brood immensely. "How large is this griffin?" she clicked at the grey-marked hunter. "Could we defeat it?" The hunter''s front legs rubbed together nervously. "The beast stands five times taller than a human, Mother. We watched it take down a full-grown deer with one swipe. Even with our numbers, subduing it would cost many lives... unless we could trap it in enough webbing." The spider considered this. The potential benefits were clear, but the risk to her children... "Mother," the hunter clicked softly. "We discussed this among ourselves. Perhaps we should not attack yet." Her mandibles clicked sharply. "Explain." "The cost would be too high right now. Even with your soul-strike magic, victory isn''t certain. But the griffin serves us in another way - it keeps humans away from these woods. They avoid griffin territory, which helps hide our presence until we grow strong enough to challenge it." The spider''s legs stilled as she weighed the hunter''s words. The logic was sound. Better to let the griffin guard their borders while they built up their strength. "Very well. Keep watching the beast. Learn its habits." She waved a dismissive leg, and the hunter scurried away. Her eyes swept across her territory. The colony had grown impressively, but now she needed to walk among humans. She needed to find magic users who could enhance her bloodline. But first... The spider dropped from her web, transforming as she landed. Her new human feet carried her to one of the bound captives - a young man whose face was streaked with tears. "Demon!" he spat when he saw her. "Monster! The knights will-" "Quiet." She pressed a finger to his lips. "I require a name." He tried to bite her finger. She pulled back with a frown. "Help me choose a name, and you won''t be used for breeding." The man''s expression changed instantly. "I... what kind of name do you want?" "Something suitable for this body." "Well... there''s Nerys, which means ''lady''. Nephele means ''cloud''. Elena is ''torch'' or ''bright one''. Enid means ''soul'' or ''spirit''..." He licked his dry lips. "Amara means ''bitter'' or ''eternal''." She tilted her head. "Amara..." The name felt right. She was eternal - death itself couldn''t hold her. And bitter... yes, she was bitter. The humans who killed her had ensured that. "Thank you." Amara smiled at the captive. "I lied about the breeding, of course." She clicked at one of her daughters waiting in the shadows. The spider-thing moved forward eagerly as the man began screaming curses at her back. "You lying whore! Demon bitch! I''ll cut your heart out and feed it to-" The man''s shouts turned to muffled grunts as thick webbing covered his mouth. Amara walked away from the sounds of struggle, looking down at her bare human form with a frown. The lack of clothing would draw unwanted attention. They needed to capture female humans, but for now... She clicked her tongue - an oddly human gesture that felt natural in this body. Her children crawled from the shadows and web-covered trees, gathering around her in a circle. "I will visit the nearby village," she announced. The spiderlings shifted uneasily at her words. "There I can practice moving among humans before heading to the citadel of Camelot itself. There will surely be magic users hiding within its walls." One of her daughters stepped forward, bristles twitching with concern. "The village is one hour away by human walking, Mother. Will you be safe alone?" "I won''t be alone." Amara gestured to the trees. "Several of you will follow at a distance. Stay hidden in the forest edge, but be ready if I need help." The spiderlings clicked in agreement. They had already mapped the village''s location during their hunting sweeps. A small settlement of maybe fifty humans, with no walls or guards. "Perfect for learning how humans behave," Amara said. "And for finding proper coverings for this body." A rust-colored spiderling moved forward. "Mother, what story will you tell the humans? They will ask questions about a naked woman coming from the forest." Amara considered this. The humans she''d captured often spoke of bandits raiding travelers on the roads. "I will claim bandits attacked me, stole my belongings. Humans seem protective of females in distress." "What if they search the forest?" Another offspring clicked nervously. "Or send knights to hunt these imaginary bandits?" "Let them search." Amara smiled. "The griffin will keep them from straying too deep, and any who slip past will simply... disappear. More prey for our colony." The spiderlings chittered in approval. Several moved toward the trees, ready to follow their mother at a distance.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. "Remember," Amara said. "Stay hidden unless I signal. Watch how the humans move, how they speak. We must learn everything about them." She took a few experimental steps, still adjusting to the strange balance of two legs. The ground felt cold against her bare feet ¨C something else she disliked about the human body. At least walking had become easier with practice. "When I return," she told her children, "we will discuss what I''ve learned. And then... then we begin planning our approach to Camelot itself." Amara didn¡¯t waste any more time, and stepped out of the web-covered trees into the dense forest, stepping carefully over roots and fallen branches. Her children followed silently through the trees above, moving from shadow to shadow. After an hour of walking, the trees began to thin. Her children stopped at the forest edge, melting into the shadows of thick bushes and gnarled trunks. Amara glanced back at them - eight pairs of eyes gleamed from the darkness, watching. She continued alone toward the village visible in the distance. Smoke rose from crude chimneys, and she could hear the bleating of sheep. The dirt path felt strange under her bare feet. A young man rounded the bend ahead, carrying an empty water bucket. He froze when he saw her, eyes going wide. "My lady!" He dropped the bucket, rushing forward. "Are you alright? Were you attacked?" Amara stared at him. The proper response would be... what? Humans showed fear when threatened. She made her lips tremble. "I... yes." She tried to remember how the captured hunters had acted. "The bandits took everything." "You poor thing." The man shrugged off his jacket, holding it out. "Here, cover yourself. I''m Thomas. The village is just ahead - my mother can give you proper clothes." Amara stared at the jacket with multiple eyes that weren''t there anymore. She reached out slowly, unsure how human arms were supposed to move in this situation. The fabric felt strange against her fingers - no sensory hairs to properly gauge its texture. "Thank you." She held the jacket awkwardly, examining it from different angles. How did humans put these on? "You... put it on like this?" She draped it over her shoulders upside down. Thomas laughed, stepping closer. "No, no. Here, let me help." He gently turned the jacket right-side up, guiding her arms through the sleeves. His cheeks flushed red when his fingers brushed against her skin. "The temperature doesn''t bother me," Amara said. Humans seemed obsessed with covering themselves, but she didn''t understand why. Her old carapace had been much more practical. "You must be in shock." Thomas picked up his bucket, glancing at her bare feet. "Did you walk far? Your feet aren''t even scratched..." Amara looked down. Should human feet be damaged by walking on grass? "I am... very careful where I step." "Like a cat." Thomas smiled. "So graceful. Where are you from? I haven''t seen you in these parts before." "I came from..." Amara paused. The captives had mentioned many places. "Mercia." "Mercia! That''s quite a journey." Thomas moved closer, speaking softer. "Did the bandits hurt you?" Amara tilted her head at his change in volume. Was this some human social signal? She mimicked his quiet tone. "No. They were very inefficient predators." Thomas blinked. "That''s... an unusual way to put it. But I''m glad you weren''t harmed." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. "You have a strange way of speaking. It''s... nice." "Strange?" Amara frowned. She needed to observe humans more carefully. "How should I speak?" "No, no! I like it." Thomas stepped forward quickly. "It''s unique. Special." His face grew redder. "Like your eyes. I''ve never seen such dark eyes before." Amara didn''t understand why the human''s skin kept changing color. Was he ill? She reached out to touch his cheek. Thomas froze at her touch, eyes going wide. "My lady..." "Your temperature is elevated," Amara stated. "Are you unwell?" "I''m fine!" Thomas squeaked, jumping back. "Just... we should get you to the village. My mother can help." Amara nodded. The young human male was acting strangely, but perhaps all humans behaved this way. She would need more observation to understand these odd social behaviors. "Yes, take me to your mother." She started walking, then stopped. "What is the proper way to walk?" "The... proper way?" "You keep looking at my legs. Am I moving incorrectly?" Thomas made a choking sound. "No! Your walk is perfect! I wasn''t... I mean... this way to the village!" He hurried ahead, still clutching his bucket. Amara followed, studying his movement. Humans seemed to swing their arms while walking. She tried copying him, but the motion felt unnatural. The village came into view - wooden buildings with thatched roofs. Amara missed her multiple eyes. These human ones gave her such a limited view of her surroundings. She kept wanting to sense vibrations through her legs, but these human feet felt deaf to the world around her. "What do you call this village?" Amara asked. She noticed Thomas glancing back at her every few steps. "This is Willowbrook." Thomas smiled. "Not much to look at, but it''s home." A group of children ran past, chasing a ball. Amara tracked them with predatory focus until she remembered humans might find that unsettling. She forced her eyes away. "Your dwelling is where?" She tried to make her words sound more human-like. "Just up ahead. The one with the blue door." Thomas pointed. "My mother''s a seamstress. She''ll have something proper for you to wear." Amara noticed more humans watching her. Some women whispered to each other, while men quickly looked away when she met their eyes. She copied their head movements, trying to match what seemed socially acceptable. "Thomas!" A woman called from a doorway. "Who''s this then?" "Mother, this lady was robbed on the road. She needs clothes and..." Thomas lowered his voice. "She''s a bit... odd. Maybe in shock?" The older woman stepped closer, looking Amara up and down. "Poor dear. Come inside, let''s get you decent." Amara followed them into the house. The space felt confining after her open web chamber. She resisted the urge to climb the walls for a better view. "Sit here," Thomas''s mother gestured to a wooden chair. "I''m Martha. Let''s find you something suitable." Amara sat down stiffly, unsure how to arrange her limbs. She tried copying Martha''s posture. "Where did you say you were from, dear?" Martha asked, rummaging through a chest. "Mercia," Amara repeated her earlier lie. "The bandits were... very rude." Thomas made that strange choking sound again. Martha shot him a look. "Thomas, fetch some water for our guest." She pulled out a simple dress. "This should fit. You''re quite tall, but it will do for now." Amara held onto the dress. More human coverings. At least observing Martha would show her how to put them on properly. "Thank you for your assistance," she said carefully. "Humans are very... helpful." Martha paused. "Humans?" "People," Amara corrected quickly. "People are very helpful." "Yes..." Martha shared a look with Thomas. "Dear, where exactly in Mercia did you say you were from?" "Tamworth," Amara said. The captured hunters had mentioned it - a large settlement near Mercia''s center. "I lived near the castle." Martha nodded slowly. "And what brought you so far from home?" Amara opened her mouth, then closed it. The humans were growing suspicious of her behavior. She needed a better explanation for her awkwardness. "I..." She touched her head, remembering how the hunters acted when struck with the soul-piercing strike. "Everything is... unclear. The bandits struck my head." She looked at her hands with confusion. "Sometimes I forget... simple things." Martha''s expression softened immediately. "Oh, you poor dear. Memory loss from a head wound - that explains everything." "The way you walk," Thomas added eagerly. "And talk. You''re remembering how to do it all again." Amara seized the opportunity. "Yes. Walking feels... strange. And I keep forgetting words." She looked down at the dress in her lap. "Even dressing myself seems difficult." "Don''t worry," Martha stepped forward, maternal instinct clear in her eyes. "We''ll help you remember. Thomas, go fetch Sarah - she''s about the same size, she can help our guest dress properly." Thomas lingered by the door. "What should we call you?" "Amara," she said. "Such a lovely name." Martha shooed her son away. "Now dear, let''s get you sorted. Do you remember anything else? Family? Friends?" Amara shook her head. "Only fragments. Everything before the attack feels..." She struggled to find the right word. "Distant. Like looking through muddy water." "Memory will return with time," Martha patted her shoulder. "Until then, you can stay with us. Thomas can take the spare room, you''ll have his bed." "That''s very..." Amara searched for appropriate human gratitude. "Kind." A young woman entered - Sarah, presumably. She carried a bundle of clothing and wore a friendly smile. "Come on," Sarah took Amara''s arm. "Let''s get you properly dressed. Then we can see about fixing your hair - it''s a mess from your ordeal." Amara followed Sarah to another room, studying how the girl moved. Humans had so many little gestures and expressions. Perhaps this ''amnesia'' would give her time to learn them all. Sarah helped Amara navigate the strange human clothing. The dress felt confining compared to her natural carapace, but she noted how the fabric moved with each step. The undergarments were particularly puzzling - so many layers just to cover flesh. "There," Sarah stepped back, smiling. "You look lovely. The blue brings out your eyes." Amara touched the dress, memorizing how it hung on her body. The shoes pinched her feet, but Sarah insisted walking barefoot wasn''t proper. "Thank you for teaching me," Amara said. She had watched Sarah''s movements carefully, storing away each gesture and expression for future use. "Of course! Come visit me at the tavern tomorrow - I''ll show you how to pin your hair properly." Sarah waved goodbye, leaving Amara alone with Martha and Thomas. Thomas stared at her, mouth slightly open. His eyes kept moving from her face to her waist, then quickly away. Martha noticed and smacked the back of his head. "Stop gawking, boy. It''s not polite." Martha turned to Amara. "Are you hungry, dear? You must be famished after your ordeal." Amara considered this. Her true form preferred fresh meat, still warm with blood. But humans ate differently. "Yes, I should eat." "I''ll fetch some bread and cheese." Martha headed toward what seemed to be a food storage area. Thomas cleared his throat. "You look... different. In the dress, I mean. Good different." "The fabric is... interesting." Amara smoothed the skirt, copying a gesture she''d seen Sarah make. "In Tamworth, did I wear such things? I cannot remember." "I''m sure you did. All ladies wear dresses." Thomas stepped closer. "Your hair looks nice too." Amara touched her black hair. Sarah had brushed it until it shone, explaining how human women maintained such things. "Do you remember anything else?" Thomas asked. "About your life before?" "No." Amara shook her head, remembering to blink occasionally. "Only fragments. Colors. Sounds." She paused. "Darkness." Thomas nodded sympathetically. "It must be frightening, not remembering." "I am not afraid," Amara said automatically. Then she remembered humans expected fear in such situations. "But... yes, it is strange. Not knowing who I was." Martha returned with food, and Amara studied how they ate. Such inefficient feeding methods - all this cutting and chewing. She missed simply injecting digestive fluids into prey. But she had to learn. She needed to understand these humans completely if she wanted to find magic users in Camelot. And Thomas''s continued staring suggested she was at least succeeding in appearing attractive to human males. She took a small bite of bread, careful to chew like Martha did. The texture felt wrong in her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow. "Good?" Thomas asked eagerly. Amara nodded, not trusting herself to speak while eating. She had much to learn about disguising herself as a human. Chapter 6 - Apprentice Merlin TV Universe, Willowbrook Village Time: Month 12, Day 4 Current Celestial Points: 0 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000 Monthly Roll: 1/1 --- Several days passed in the village of Willowbrook. Amara sat at Martha''s workbench, watching the seamstress''s fingers guide fabric through her sewing machine. The rhythmic clicking reminded her of her children''s language, though far less complex. "You''re a natural at this," Martha said, glancing up from her work. She gestured at the simple dress Amara had helped stitch yesterday. "Your hands are steady, and you have an eye for detail." Amara inspected her human fingers. They felt clumsy compared to her true form''s precise limbs, but she was learning to use them. "The work is... satisfying." Martha set aside her current project - a farmer¡¯s torn jacket. She turned to face Amara fully. "I''ve been meaning to speak with you about something." Amara kept her face neutral, the way she''d observed humans do when unsure. Her true form would have twitched its front legs. "Your memories haven''t returned," Martha continued. "And winter''s coming. I thought perhaps..." She smoothed her apron. "You could stay here. Learn the trade. Thomas and I have plenty of room." Thomas, who had been pretending to organize thread spools nearby, perked up visibly. "You would teach me to make clothing?" Amara asked. The offer was perfect - exactly what she needed to study humans more closely. "Of course! Every village needs a seamstress, and I''m not getting any younger." Martha smiled warmly. "Besides, you''ve picked up the basics so quickly already." Amara thought of her children waiting in the forest. They were patient hunters, like her. They would understand the need to learn everything about their prey. "I would like that," she said softly. Thomas knocked over a basket of buttons in his excitement. He scrambled to pick them up, face reddening. "It''ll be nice having you here," he mumbled toward the floor. "I mean, for mother''s sake. The help, and all." Martha shot her son a knowing look. "Thomas, dear, why don''t you fetch more firewood? The evening''s getting cold." Once Thomas left, Martha leaned closer to Amara. "He''s a good boy. A bit shy around pretty girls, but he has a kind heart." Amara nodded, remembering how Thomas brought her extra blankets each night, claiming the autumn air was getting colder. She didn''t feel temperature the way humans did, but she accepted them to maintain her cover. "Now then," Martha picked up a length of wool. "Let me show you how to properly measure and cut fabric. We have orders to fill before the harvest festival." Amara watched Martha''s movements thoroughly, memorizing each cut and fold. The wool felt rough against her fingertips - she missed the sensitivity of her true form''s sensory hairs. "Always cut along the grain," Martha explained, guiding Amara''s hands. "See how the threads run? Follow them." The door creaked open as Thomas returned with an armful of firewood. He paused to watch them work, a small smile on his face. "Mother makes the finest clothes in three villages," he said proudly. "People come from miles around for her work." Martha waved off the praise. "They come because I''m the only seamstress who''ll adjust their clothes when they get fat from too much ale." Amara tilted her head at their interaction. Humans often spoke untruths to each other, but with no malice behind them. She was learning to recognize these social behaviors - the gentle teasing, the false modesty. Days passed. Amara learned to thread needles, to measure and pin fabric. She discovered humans had different measurements for men and women''s clothing, different styles for different occasions. The complexity was interesting. Thomas brought her cups of water throughout the day, claiming she needed to stay refreshed. He would linger nearby, asking questions about what she was learning, telling her stories about village life. One morning, as autumn dyed the trees in red and gold, Thomas approached her workbench. "Would you like to walk through the village? The weather''s nice." Martha looked up from her mending. "That''s a fine idea. Amara''s been cooped up inside too long. Show her around properly." Amara set aside the shirt she was working on. A chance to observe more humans up close would be valuable. "Yes, I would like that." They left the house, and Amara looked around curiously. Farmers brought in late harvests, children chased each other between market stalls, women gathered at the well to trade gossip. Thomas stayed close to Amara''s side, pointing out different buildings and people. "That''s the blacksmith''s shop - old Will makes the best horseshoes in the region. And over there''s the tavern where Sarah works..." A young man with sandy hair stepped into their path. His eyes fixed on Amara immediately. "Well now, who''s this lovely creature?" He smiled widely. "I''m James. I don''t believe we''ve met." Thomas stepped slightly in front of Amara. "She''s staying with us. Still recovering from an attack by bandits." "Is she now?" James moved closer. "Maybe she''d like some company besides yours, Tom? I know all the best spots around the village." "She''s not interested," Thomas said firmly. "And you know your reputation with girls, James. Stay away from her." James held up his hands in mock surrender. "No need to be hostile. Just being friendly." He winked at Amara before walking away. Thomas watched him go, jaw clenched. "Sorry about him. James thinks himself irresistible to women." "You were angry," Amara observed. "Your heart rate increased." Thomas blushed. "I just... I know what he''s like. He''s not a good person to get involved with." They walked to the edge of the village, where an old oak tree provided shade. Thomas sat on a fallen log, patting the space beside him. Amara sat down carefully, still not entirely comfortable with how human bodies bent. "Do you remember anything?" Thomas asked softly. "About your life before?" Amara shook her head. She had prepared for this question. "Sometimes I dream of darkness. Of moving through shadows. But nothing clear." "Maybe that''s for the best. If bandits hurt you..." Thomas clenched his fists. "At least you''re safe now." Back at the house that evening, Martha pulled Amara aside while Thomas was out feeding the chickens. "Come sit with me, dear." Martha gestured to the chairs by the hearth. "We need to have a proper talk, woman to woman." Amara sat down, watching Martha''s face. The older woman seemed concerned about something. "I''ve heard how James looked at you today," Martha began. "And other young men in the village. You''re a beautiful young woman, and that can be dangerous without proper guidance." She patted Amara¡¯s knee. "Since you can''t remember your upbringing, I feel responsible for teaching you how a proper woman should behave." Amara nodded. This would be valuable information for blending in. "First, you must never be alone with a man who isn''t family. It''s not proper, and it leads to gossip." Martha smoothed her skirts. "When men speak to you, keep your eyes lowered. Be modest in your responses. Short answers are best - men don''t like women who talk too much." "I understand," Amara said quietly, copying Martha''s posture. "Good. Now, a woman''s place is in the home. We serve our fathers until marriage, then our husbands. The man is the head of the household - he makes the decisions, handles the money, deals with outside matters." Martha''s voice grew firmer. "A good wife keeps a clean home, prepares meals, raises children, and most importantly - obeys her husband without question." Amara thought of her colony, where her daughters made their own decisions about hunting and breeding. How strange these human customs seemed, entirely the opposite of how her own species lived. "When you marry - and you will need to marry, dear - you must submit to your husband''s authority. Even if you disagree with him, you must never argue or contradict him in public." Martha sighed. "It''s not always easy, but that''s a woman''s duty." She continued speaking about proper behavior - how to walk (small steps, never rushing), how to eat (tiny bites, lips closed), how to dress (modestly, nothing too revealing).The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "You''ve noticed Thomas watching you," Martha said delicately. "He''s a good boy. Hard-working, gentle. He''ll make some lucky woman a fine husband." Amara remembered Thomas''s protective stance against James. "He seems... different from other males." "He takes after his father, God rest his soul." Martha smiled sadly. "A kind man who never raised his voice or hand to me. Thomas will treat his wife the same way." The lesson went on. Martha explained how women should never laugh too loudly, never speak unless spoken to in formal settings, never show anger or strong emotions. "Men don''t like shrewish women," Martha warned. "A good wife is calm, quiet, and agreeable. She makes her husband''s life peaceful and comfortable." Amara nodded. These rules would help her move unnoticed among humans. Already she was learning to copy their restricted movements, their carefully controlled expressions. "Remember," Martha concluded, "your reputation is everything. One mistake can ruin your chances for a good marriage. Be careful who you speak to, how you behave. The village watches everything." "Think about what I''ve said," she whispered. "Especially about Thomas. A woman in your situation needs protection, and he would be a good match." Amara watched Martha walk away, considering everything she''d learned. Humans had such rigid rules about breeding pairs. So different from her children, who chose mates based on strength and superior traits. Still, she would follow these customs. She needed to maintain her disguise, to learn more about human society. And Thomas... he could be useful. The weeks passed steadily. Amara learned to sew buttons and repair torn clothing, while observing how Thomas grew more confident around her. He no longer stammered when speaking to her, and his touches lingered - a hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing as he passed her thread. She remembered to act appropriately shy, lowering her eyes and letting a blush color her cheeks. Martha beamed whenever she saw these interactions. A month slipped by. The harvest ended, and winter''s chill crept into the village. Thomas insisted on bringing Amara extra blankets and warm drinks, hovering over her like a protective mate. She found his behavior amusing - so different from the simple, efficient mating habits of her kind. "You shouldn''t work so late," Thomas said one evening, watching her finish hemming a dress. "Your hands must be tired." "I don''t tire easily," Amara responded, then remembered humans were supposed to be weak. "But you''re right." He took the dress from her hands, setting it aside. "Come with me. I want to show you something." Amara followed him outside. The moon hung full and bright above the village, reminding her of nights spent waiting in her webs for foolish prey to get trapped. She pushed the thought away, focusing on acting human. Thomas led her to the old oak tree where they often sat. He seemed nervous, wiping his palms on his trousers. "I''ve been thinking," he started. "About us. About how well you fit here, with mother and me." Amara tilted her head. "You''ve both been very kind." "It''s more than that." Thomas stepped closer. "These past weeks, watching you learn to sew, seeing you smile..." He reached for her hand. "I think maybe losing your memories was fate. Bringing you here, to us. To me." Amara let him take her hand, remembering Martha''s lessons about being passive and agreeable. She made her voice soft. "Maybe it was." Thomas moved even closer. His heart beat faster - she could smell the blood rushing through him. In her true form, such prey responses would make her want to web him up. But here she remained still. "Amara..." Thomas lifted his other hand to her cheek. "I think I''m falling in love with you." Before she could respond, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, hesitant. Amara forced herself not to recoil at this strange human contact, reminding herself to respond appropriately. She let her eyes flutter closed, the way she''d seen other village women do when kissed by their men. Thomas made a small sound and pulled her against his chest. The warmth of Thomas''s body seeped through her dress, and something unexpected happened. Her human form responded to the contact, sending unfamiliar sensations through her. Her lips tingled where they met his, and a genuine blush spread across her cheeks. This wasn''t part of her act. These reactions came from the body itself, and Amara found herself... enjoying them. How strange that this human shell could feel such things. Thomas pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. "Was that... alright?" Amara touched her lips, surprised by how they still tingled. "Yes," she whispered, and meant it. He smiled, relief clear on his face. "I''ve wanted to do that for weeks." The night air grew colder around them, but Amara barely noticed. She was too focused on these new sensations, on how her human heart beat faster when Thomas stroked her cheek. "We should go back," Thomas whispered. "Before Mother starts wondering where we are." Amara nodded, remembering Martha''s warnings about proper behavior. But as they walked back to the house, she found herself wanting to kiss Thomas again. The desire confused her - she''d never experienced anything like it in her true form. Thomas squeezed her hand before they went inside. His touch sent another wave of warmth through her, and Amara wondered if all humans felt this way when touched by their chosen mates. The weeks that followed brought changes. Thomas grew bolder, stealing kisses whenever Martha looked away. He would wrap an arm around Amara''s waist as she worked at the sewing table, press his lips to her neck when they walked through the village. Martha glowed with approval. She taught Amara more intricate stitches, showing her how to make delicate embroidery and sturdy work clothes. "A good wife needs these skills," she would say with a meaningful look. But something nagged at Amara. The power within her stirred, demanding to be fed. She needed to consume worthy prey, but couldn''t risk suspicion by disappearing too long. One morning, while Thomas helped at the blacksmith''s and Martha visited a sick neighbor, Amara slipped into the forest. Her children waited in the shadows, multiple eyes gleaming. "Great Mother," they clicked in greeting. "We''ve missed you." Amara shed her human form with relief, stretching her eight legs. "I need prey. Strong prey, daily if possible. Bring me creatures at least as powerful as boars." A rust-colored spider stepped forward, reaching into the air. Space rippled as he pulled out a silk-wrapped bundle. "We prepared for your needs, Great Mother." Amara''s mandibles clicked. She tore into the pre-digested boar meat. "Tell me of the colony," she clicked between bites. A grey-marked spider skittered closer. "The Mothers have produced five hundred new offspring. But we worry about sustaining such numbers. We suggest halting reproduction until we gain more power through superior bloodlines or new gifts from you." Amara considered this as she finished her meal. Eight eyes studied the gathered spiders - each one intelligent, patient. They understood the need to build slowly, carefully. [ 10 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 10 ] "You speak wisely," she clicked. "Better to grow strong than to grow numerous. Hold off on new broods for now." Her children raised their middle legs in acknowledgment. Amara resumed her human disguise, smoothing down her dress. The village waited. She returned home just as Thomas walked through the door, smelling of smoke from the forge. He smiled when he saw her. "I missed you," he murmured, pulling her close for another kiss. She responded instinctively, parting her lips and letting his tongue explore her mouth. Her human disguise desired this greatly - to be touched and caressed. Thomas pulled Amara close, molding his body against hers as their kiss deepened. His tongue traced the seam of her lips until she parted them, allowing the intimate exploration. Amara felt her cheeks blush red - strange sensations intensifying with each press of Thomas''s mouth. He walked her backwards into the house, guiding them toward the small bedroom off the main living area. Their feet tangled together clumsily until Amara''s back met the wall beside the door. Thomas took her wrists, pinning them gently above her head as he trailed kisses along her jawline. "I want you," he whispered against her skin, voice thick. "So badly..." Amara let her head fall back, exposing the column of her throat to Thomas''s attentions. Everything felt utterly new yet somehow instinctual at the same time - as if deep within her human disguise, something recognized and craved these acts. Thomas released her wrists only to grab her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. Amara wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her through the doorway. They tumbled onto the bed in a mess of tangled limbs and grabbing hands. ¡­ Amara slowly opened her eyes, feeling utterly relaxed. She could feel Thomas''s body curled around her from behind, arms securely wrapped around her middle. Thomas stirred behind her, pressing a sleepy kiss to her shoulder. His hand slid across her stomach in a gentle caress. "Good morning, wife." Amara stretched her legs, a deep sigh escaping her lips. This human disguise... it frightened her how easily she''d lost herself. In her true shape, mating was simple and practical - a means of producing stronger offspring. But these human bodies experienced everything so intensely, so differently. She had never imagined surrendering control like that, letting pure instinct take over. The memory made her uneasy. She needed to maintain better discipline over this shell she wore. "We should get up," Thomas whispered against her neck. "Before Mother comes looking for us." Amara nodded, pulling away from his warmth. She tried to stand, but her legs shook violently beneath her. The floor seemed to tilt as she stumbled forward. "Careful!" Thomas caught her before she fell, steadying her with strong arms. "Here, let me help." He retrieved her dress, helping her slip it over her head. When she swayed again, he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Lean on me," he whispered, guiding her toward the kitchen. "I''ve got you." Martha stood at the hearth, stirring a pot of porridge. She turned as they entered, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Ah, done at last." She ladled breakfast into wooden bowls. "I trust you both slept well?" "Mother..." Thomas warned, but Martha ignored him. "I hope to hear the patter of little feet soon." She set the bowls on the table. "I''m not getting any younger, and I''d love to hold my grandchild before winter''s end." Amara knew she should be embarrassed, so she did her best to blush. The thought of giving birth in this form... would the offspring be human? Or would they take after her true nature? Would the child be powerful? She might as well find out now. Her eyes widened as a concerning thought popped up in her mind while she sat at the table. This human shell was perfect in every way - too perfect. The reproductive system would work exactly as a human woman''s should. But would the growing child transfer if she changed forms? She doubted it. That presented difficulties. She needed to gain points by consuming the prey her children brought. But perhaps... yes, she could still eat in this form. She would need to instruct her offspring to cook the meat properly, prepare it as humans did. Martha sat beside her, eyes bright with excitement. "Just think - in nine months we could have a little one crawling around here." She touched Amara''s hand. "My Thomas was such a beautiful baby. All pink and round, with the sweetest smile." Thomas cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. "Mother, please..." "Oh hush." Martha waved him off. "Let me dream about my grandchild. I''ll teach the little one to sew, just like I taught you." She squeezed Amara''s fingers. "And you''ll see - nothing compares to holding your baby for the first time. The way they curl those tiny fingers around yours..." Amara nodded, trying to look appropriately moved. She thought of her own offspring - dozens of spiderlings hatching from silk sacs, already knowing how to hunt and kill. This would be different, right? She really hoped her child would be the same species as her, because she would kill it if it was purely human¡­ Martha ladled more porridge into Amara''s bowl, then sat back down with a determined expression. "Now, about the wedding. We''ll have it next week - we can''t delay now that you''re with child." Thomas nodded in agreement, not even glancing at Amara for her opinion. "I''ll speak to Father Michael today." Amara watched them plan her future, remembering Martha''s lessons about women being passive and agreeable. The humans assumed she carried a child - she wasn''t certain yet. In her true form, she would know immediately if eggs were forming. "Sarah can lend you her wedding dress," Martha continued, already making lists in her head. "We''ll need to let it out a bit - you''re taller than she is. And we''ll need flowers, of course, though not many bloom this time of year..." Thomas reached across the table to squeeze Amara''s hand. "Don''t worry about anything. Mother and I will handle all the arrangements." Amara nodded demurely, keeping her eyes lowered as Martha had taught her. Inside, she found the situation amusing. These humans rushed to bind her to them with ceremonies and traditions, never suspecting what she really was. "And we''ll need a proper feast," Martha declared. "Nothing elaborate - we can''t afford that. But bread and cheese, some meat if we can manage it. The whole village will want to celebrate." The mention of meat made Amara think of her children waiting in the forest with pre-digested boar. She would need to be careful about feeding during pregnancy, if she truly was pregnant. Everything had to appear normal. "Actually, I''ll start on your wedding clothes today," Martha stood up, excitement making her move faster than usual. "Maybe we can use that cream-colored wool we got in trade last month. You''ll look beautiful." Thomas smiled at Amara. "You already do." Martha began clearing the breakfast dishes, still talking about wedding plans. Amara didn¡¯t mind. She was in no rush¡­ Chapter 7 - Villagers Wife Merlin TV Universe, Willowbrook Village Time: Year 1, Month 1, Day 5 Current Celestial Points: 150 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 150/1000 Monthly Roll: 0/1 --- [ 140 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 150 ] Two weeks after that night with Thomas, Amara stood in Martha''s bedroom as the older woman made final adjustments to her wedding dress. The cream-colored wool felt soft against her skin, though she missed the sensitivity of her true form''s sensory hairs. "Hold still, dear," Martha murmured around a mouthful of pins. She knelt at Amara''s feet, carefully marking the hem. "We want everything perfect for tomorrow." Amara stared at her reflection in the small mirror propped against the wall. The dress was simple but well-made, with tiny embroidered flowers along the neckline - Martha''s special touch. Her black hair fell loose past her shoulders, and her dark eyes seemed larger than usual. "Thomas won''t be able to take his eyes off you," Martha said, sitting back on her heels. She wiped sweat from her brow with her sleeve. "Though I daresay he already can''t." That was true enough. Thomas had been almost insufferable these past weeks, constantly seeking her out for mating. The human shell responded eagerly each time, but Amara found the frequency tiresome when she was left bedridden the entire time. "You''re very quiet today," Martha mentioned, rising slowly to her feet. Her knees cracked with the movement. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?" Amara considered how a human bride should act. "A little," she said softly, lowering her eyes. Martha patted her cheek. "That''s natural, dear. I was terrified on my wedding day. Could barely eat breakfast." She smoothed the fabric across Amara''s shoulders. "But once you''re standing before Father Michael with Thomas, everything else falls away." The door creaked open and Thomas poked his head in. Martha immediately shooed him back. "Out! You can''t see the dress before tomorrow - it''s bad luck!" Thomas laughed, holding up his hands. "Sorry, Mother. I''ll go back to chopping wood." He winked at Amara before leaving. Martha shook her head, but smiled fondly. "That boy... Now, where was I? Ah yes - when Father Michael asks for your vows..." Amara''s thoughts drifted to her children in the forest. They brought her cooked meat now, understanding her need to maintain appearances. Some had even learned to butcher prey the way humans did, making it easier for her to eat without suspicion. "Amara? Are you listening?" "Yes," Amara blinked, focusing on Martha again. "I promise to love, honor, and obey." "Good girl." Martha patted her cheek. "You''ll make Thomas very happy. And soon we''ll have a little one to spoil..." Amara placed a hand on her stomach, where a child might be growing. She still couldn''t tell - this human body''s signals were confusing. "I hope so," she said softly, because that''s what a human woman would say. Later that afternoon, Amara walked to the village well where Sarah worked. The tavern girl had become a frequent companion over the past weeks, teaching her about human customs and gossip. "There''s my favorite bride-to-be!" Sarah called out, wisps of flame-colored hair clinging to her flushed face as she lifted a bucket from the well. "Come help me carry these inside." Amara grabbed two buckets, following Sarah into the tavern''s kitchen. The cook barely glanced up from kneading bread dough as they entered. "Martha''s done wonders with that dress," Sarah mentioned, pouring water into large pots. "I saw you through the window earlier. The embroidery looks beautiful." "She worked very hard on it." Amara mimicked the way other women smiled when discussing things they liked. "And how''s Thomas handling the wait?" Sarah wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Still sneaking into your room every night?" Amara tilted her head. "He comes to mate frequently." Sarah nearly dropped her bucket, sputtering with laughter. "Gods, Amara! You can''t just say things like that!" She wiped tears from her eyes. "But I suppose that''s why you''re getting married so quickly, isn''t it?" "Martha wants grandchildren," Amara stated simply. "Don''t we all know it." Sarah grinned. "She''s been telling everyone who''ll listen about the baby you''ll be carrying after the marriage." The kitchen door creaked open and James slipped inside. He smiled when he saw Amara. "Ladies," he nodded to them both. "Sarah, your father needs help with some rowdy customers." Sarah rolled her eyes. "There''s always rowdy customers." She hurried out, leaving Amara alone with James. "You look lovely today," James moved closer, reaching out to touch Amara''s hair. "That color brings out your eyes." Amara remembered Martha''s lessons about being alone with men, but she wasn''t sure what to do. Running away would draw attention. Staying still seemed safer - like waiting in a web. She lowered her eyes as James approached, the way Martha had taught her. Her fingers twisted in her skirts, mimicking the nervous gestures she''d seen other village women make. "You know," James spoke softly, moving closer. "It''s tradition for a bride to receive well-wishes from everyone in the village before her wedding." Amara kept her gaze down. "Martha didn''t mention that." "Oh?" James reached out, lifting her chin with one finger. "But you wouldn''t remember customs, would you? With your memories gone and all..." Amara blinked at him. Her heart beat faster, but not from fear. These bodies responded so strangely to touch. "What kind of well-wishes?" she asked, voice quiet. James smiled. "A kiss for luck. To ensure a happy marriage." His thumb brushed across her lower lip. "It would be terribly unlucky to refuse." She hadn¡¯t known that, but Amara needed to learn human customs. And Martha had said to be agreeable... James leaned in, pressing his mouth against hers. The kiss was different from Thomas''s - harder, more demanding. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer. Amara allowed it. Her skin tingled pleasantly, much like when Thomas kissed her. Interesting how these bodies reacted the same way to different males. James pulled back after a moment, looking pleased with himself. "There. Now you''ll have good fortune in your marriage." He winked and walked away, whistling. Amara touched her lips, puzzled. Humans had such odd rituals around mating. Sarah burst back into the kitchen, face flushed from dealing with customers. "Sorry about that! Some farmers got into an argument over sheep prices." She grabbed another bucket. "Now, where were we? Oh yes - the wedding! Have you decided how to wear your hair?" "Martha wants it braided with flowers," Amara said, following Sarah to the well again. "Perfect! We can gather some late blooms from the meadow tomorrow morning." Sarah hauled up more water. "And don''t worry if you feel nervous. Just remember to smile and nod when Father Michael speaks." Amara helped Sarah carry the water back to the tavern, listening to her chatter about wedding preparations. The day passed quickly, and soon Martha was hurrying her home to rest before the ceremony. "A bride needs her sleep," Martha insisted, shooing her toward bed. Amara lay awake in the darkness, counting heartbeats like she used to count prey struggling in her webs. Martha woke her early, before the roosters started crowing. "Up you get, dear. We have so much to do!" Sarah arrived with an armful of white flowers, already dressed in her best gown. Together, they helped Amara into her wedding dress while Martha fussed over every detail. "Hold still," Sarah whispered, weaving flowers into Amara''s braided hair. "These little ones keep slipping." Martha dabbed at her eyes with her apron. "You look beautiful, dear. Just beautiful." Amara studied her reflection. The cream-colored wool dress fit perfectly now, flowing down to her ankles. White flowers crowned her dark hair, and her cheeks looked pink from all the attention. "Remember what I taught you," Martha straightened Amara''s skirts one last time. "Eyes down, speak softly, and-" "Let Thomas lead," Amara finished. She''d memorized all the rules. The small church filled with villagers. Amara waited outside while Martha arranged her dress and veil. She could smell the nervous sweat on the humans around her, hear their excited whispers. "Ready?" Martha squeezed her hand. Amara nodded, keeping her eyes lowered. The church doors opened, and she walked inside with small, measured steps. Wooden benches creaked as people turned to watch her. The stone floor felt cold through her thin shoes. Candles flickered in wall sconces, filling the air with the scent of beeswax. Thomas stood at the altar, wearing his best clothes. His face brightened when he saw her. Will the blacksmith stood beside him as his witness, both men cleaned up and freshly shaved. Father Michael waited with his hands clasped, wearing simple brown robes. The old priest''s eyes were kind as Amara approached. "Dearly beloved," he began in a clear voice. "We gather here today..." Amara focused on breathing slowly, the way humans did when trying to stay calm. The veil Martha had arranged tickled her cheeks. She wanted to brush it away but remembered she should stand still. Thomas took her hand when Father Michael instructed. His palm felt warm and slightly damp. She remembered to squeeze back gently, the way she''d seen other women do.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Do you, Thomas, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" "I do." Thomas smiled at her, his voice steady and sure. "And do you, Amara, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" "I do." She kept her voice soft, just as Martha had practiced with her. The rings were simple bands of iron that Will had made as a wedding gift. Thomas slipped one onto her finger with trembling hands. She put the other on his finger more smoothly. "I now pronounce you man and wife." Father Michael raised his hands in blessing. "You may kiss the bride." Thomas lifted her veil carefully. His kiss was gentle, mindful of their audience. The villagers clapped and cheered. Martha rushed forward to embrace them both, tears streaming down her face. "My children," she kept saying. "My beautiful children." Sarah hugged Amara next, then more villagers came to offer congratulations. Amara remembered to smile and thank them quietly, the way a proper wife should. The celebration moved to the tavern, where Martha had arranged a small feast. Fresh bread and cheese filled wooden platters. Someone brought out cups of ale. "To the happy couple!" Will raised his cup. Everyone drank. Thomas kept one arm around Amara''s waist as they accepted more well-wishes. She noticed James watching from across the room but didn''t meet his eyes. "Are you happy?" Thomas whispered in her ear. Amara considered the question. The human shell felt warm and content. "Yes," she answered. Three months slipped by like water through a stream. Winter settled over Willowbrook, bringing short days and long nights. Amara adjusted to married life, learning to cook meals and keep house the way Martha taught her. Every morning, she walked to the edge of the village to collect eggs from the chicken coop. The hens no longer scattered when she approached - they''d grown used to her presence. On her way back, she would stop at a hidden spot where her children left carefully prepared meat. The villagers noticed her growing belly with approval. Martha beamed whenever she saw Amara, already planning for the baby''s arrival. "You''re carrying high," Martha observed one morning as Amara helped her mend clothes. "That means a boy, mark my words." Amara smoothed a hand over the small bump beneath her dress. The pregnancy felt strange - so different from laying egg sacs. But the human shell seemed designed for it, changing slowly to accommodate new life. "Have you felt it move yet?" Sarah asked during one of her visits. She brought fresh bread from the tavern, claiming pregnant women needed extra food. "Not yet," Amara replied, breaking off a piece of warm bread. Thomas proved to be a gentle husband. He never raised his voice or demanded anything unreasonable. Each morning before leaving for the forge, he kissed her forehead and told her to rest if she felt tired. "Will says I worry too much," he admitted one evening, rubbing her feet by the fire. "But I want everything perfect for you and the baby." Amara watched the flames flicker, remembering the thousand Celestial Points she''d gathered over the last three months. "You''re a good husband," she told Thomas, because that''s what wives said to caring mates. [ 850 Celestial Points Gained. Total: 1000 ] Martha hurried into the room carrying a basket of yarn. "Time to start knitting for the little one! Every baby needs proper blankets." She settled into her chair and began teaching Amara to knit. The needles felt awkward at first, but Amara''s fingers soon learned the movements. "My mother taught me this way," Martha explained, guiding Amara''s hands. "And her mother before her. Family traditions matter." Amara nodded along to Martha''s words, focusing on the knitting needles. The repetitive motions reminded her of web-spinning, but she pushed that thought aside. "I need to rest," she muttered after a while, setting down the half-finished blanket. Martha immediately stood up. "Of course, dear. You must take care of yourself now." She helped Amara to her feet. "Go lie down. I''ll bring you some tea." Once in her room, Amara sat on the bed and closed her eyes. The power she''d gathered over these months demanded to be used. She reached into that space between moments, where possibilities waited. [Major Boon ¨C Generic D&D 5e] ¨C Costs 500CP, 1000CP available to spend. You can have one Major Boon for this. This could be proficiency in everything, immunity to all forms of a type of damage, or similar. ¡°Boon of the Stormborn¡± is an example of a Major Boon. BOON OF IMMORTALITY Time''s grasp can no longer claim you. Your body ceases to age, and the natural course of time leaves you untouched. Death by old age becomes impossible for you. BOON OF ENERGY INVESTMENT You attune to the fundamental energies of the universe. You can transmute fire, thunder, lightning, and cold into another of those types at will. You become completely impervious to one of these forces, and your body takes on physical traits of your chosen element. Your mere presence intensifies natural energies around you, causing nearby elements to become more dramatic and volatile. BOON OF THE STORMBORN The fury of storms flows through your veins, rendering you completely immune to both lightning and thunder. At will, you can unleash a devastating wave of thunderous force without any preparation or ritual. BOON OF THE FIRE SOUL The essence of flame becomes one with your being, making you completely immune to fire in all its forms. You can summon and direct a fan of searing flames from your hands at will, without any preparation or ritual. BOON OF SKILL PROFICIENCY You become proficient in all possible skills and areas of expertise within D&D. There is no discipline or craft that you cannot perform with the skill of a seasoned expert. BOON OF IRRESISTIBLE OFFENSE Your attacks become so potent that no creature''s resistances can diminish their effect. You pierce through any such protection as if it weren''t there. Immunities not included. BOON OF MAGIC RESISTANCE Your very essence becomes resistant to magical forces. When faced with spells or magical effects, you possess an inherent ability to better avoid or resist their influence. BOON OF FATE You gain limited power over destiny itself. Once between periods of rest, you can alter the fate of any creature you can see within 60 feet, either helping or hindering their efforts in a significant way. Amara considered each option carefully, weighing the benefits against her needs. Immortality held little appeal - she knew her kind lived for a very long time naturally. The energy boon seemed flashy but situational. Storm and fire abilities would be useful, but too obvious. She needed subtlety while living among humans. Learning skills would come with time and practice. Magic resistance tempted her - this world had sorcerers after all. But defense alone wouldn''t help her grow stronger. The power to change fate sounded useful, yet limited. She preferred reliability over chance. No, what she needed was the ability to ensure her attacks would always strike true. Nothing would resist her soul-piercing webs or any future powers she gained. Even if she encountered beings with special defenses, her strength would cut through them like silk through water. She reached for that boon, accepting it into herself. Warmth spread through her body, settling into her bones. The human shell shivered slightly. There was another benefit to this offer as well. Any of her children that inherited it could pick their own major boon¡­ [ Major Boon ¨C BOON OF IRRESISTIBLE OFFENSE acquired ] A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. "Amara? I brought your tea." Martha''s voice came muffled through the wood. "Come in," Amara called softly, straightening her skirts. Martha entered carrying a steaming cup. "Here you are, dear. Chamomile with honey - good for the baby." Amara accepted the cup, breathing in the sweet scent. "Thank you." "How are you feeling?" Martha sat beside her on the bed. "Any sickness today?" "No." Amara sipped the tea. "Just tired." Martha patted her knee. "That''s normal. Your body''s working hard to grow that little one." She smiled warmly. "I remember when I carried Thomas. Couldn''t stay awake past sunset for months." Amara nodded. The older woman loved sharing memories and advice about pregnancy. "I should start dinner soon," Martha stood up. "Thomas will be home from the forge soon. You rest a while longer." A week passed, bringing strange changes to Amara''s human shell. One moment she felt content, the next she wanted to cry or shout. The emotions bubbled up without warning. "I hate these shoes!" Amara flung the offending footwear across the room. "They pinch my toes!" Thomas ducked as a shoe sailed past his head. "I''ll get you new ones," he promised quickly. "Bigger ones." "I don''t want new shoes!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I want my feet to stop hurting!" She could have suppressed these reactions easily. The real Amara watched from somewhere deep inside, fascinated by how pregnancy altered her human disguise''s behavior. These mood swings provided excellent examples of human emotional responses. "Here, sit down." Thomas guided her to a chair. "Let me rub your feet." "Don''t touch me!" Amara pulled away. "Everything hurts when you touch me!" Thomas stepped back, hands raised in surrender. "What can I do? Tell me how to help." "Nothing! Go away!" She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs. Thomas backed away toward the door, shoulders slumped. Martha watched from the kitchen doorway, shaking her head. "Thomas, come here." Martha beckoned her son over. "We need to talk about this." "Mother, please..." Thomas glanced nervously at Amara. "No, you listen to me." Martha''s voice grew firm. "My own mother taught me about marriage, and now I''ll teach you. Being gentle is good, but a wife needs a firm hand sometimes." Amara''s sobs quieted as she listened. This was new information about human relationships. "Look at you, tiptoeing around like a scared mouse!" Martha gestured at Thomas. "You''re the head of this household now. Act like it!" Thomas straightened his spine slightly. "But she''s with child..." "And that''s exactly why she needs guidance!" Martha planted her hands on her hips. "A pregnant woman''s mind wanders. She needs her husband to keep her grounded, to show her proper behavior." Amara peeked through her fingers. Martha''s voice held authority she''d never heard before. "Your father never let me carry on like this," Martha continued. "When I grew unreasonable during my pregnancy, he''d give me a stern talking to. Sometimes a smack if I truly needed it." Thomas looked horrified. "Father hit you?" "Don''t be dramatic. A proper correction from a husband isn''t beating." Martha sighed. "It''s love, boy. Structure. Protection. Without it, a wife becomes wild and unmanageable." Amara lowered her hands. She hadn''t known humans had such clear hierarchies in their mating pairs. "Amara." Martha turned to face her. "Stand up." Something in Martha''s tone made Amara obey instantly. She rose from her chair, keeping her eyes down as she''d been taught. "Now apologize to your husband for that disgraceful display." "I''m sorry," Amara whispered. The words felt strange in her mouth. "Louder," Martha commanded. "And look at him when you speak." Amara raised her eyes to Thomas''s face. "I''m sorry for my behavior." "Thomas?" Martha prompted. "I..." Thomas cleared his throat. "I accept your apology. But Mother is right - this can''t continue." "Good boy." Martha nodded approvingly. "Now go to your room, Amara. Think about how a proper wife should act." Another week passed, and Amara learned more about human marriage customs. Thomas grew firmer in his decisions, following Martha''s guidance. The household settled into a new routine. The winter morning air bit at Amara''s cheeks as she stood near the village boundary. She had just finished collecting meat from her children, carefully wrapped and stored away into her subspace for next year. The small bump beneath her dress felt warm under her palm. The crunch of boots on frozen grass made Amara turn. James walked toward her, breath forming white clouds in the cold air. "Good morning," he smiled, reaching out to brush her cheek. "What happened here?" Amara kept her eyes lowered. "I behaved poorly. Thomas corrected me." "Did he now?" James trailed the bruise gently. "Seems a bit harsh for a man who claims to love you." "Martha says a good husband must guide his wife." Amara repeated the lesson she''d learned. "Structure keeps us from becoming wild." James stepped closer. "And do you feel guided, Amara? Protected?" His hand slid down to cup her chin. "Or trapped?" "I..." Amara hesitated. The human shell responded to his touch, but she remembered Martha''s warnings about being alone with men. "I should go. Thomas will worry." "Let him worry." James didn''t release her chin. "You deserve better than a boy who hits his pregnant wife." "He doesn''t hit me," Amara corrected. "He disciplines me when needed." "Is that what Martha told you?" James sneered. "That old woman''s filled your head with nonsense. You lost your memories, so you believe whatever they say." Amara blinked. She hadn''t considered that humans might lie about their customs. "How do you know what''s nonsense?" she asked, genuinely curious. James stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I''ve traveled beyond this village. I''ve seen how people really live." He glanced around before continuing. "Let me show you. There''s an old shepherd''s hut nearby where we can talk properly." Amara considered the offer. Learning more about human customs would be valuable, and James seemed to know things Martha hadn''t taught her. "Will it take long?" she asked, mindful of her morning duties. "Just a little while," James smiled, offering his arm. "Thomas won''t even notice you''re gone." The shepherd''s hut stood empty, used only during lambing season. James led her inside, closing the wooden door against the cold. "Sit," he gestured to a rough wooden bench. "You shouldn''t stand too long in your condition." Amara sat down, watching James pace the small space. Straw crunched under his boots. "Now," he turned to face her. "First thing you should know - no decent man strikes his wife. Not even for ''guidance'' as Martha calls it." "But Martha said-" "Martha is stuck in the old ways," James interrupted. "She believes women are property to be controlled. But that''s not how the world works anymore, not in civilized places." Amara tilted her head. "What about being wild and unmanageable?" James laughed softly. "Is that what you feel like? Wild?" He knelt in front of her, taking her hands. "You''re the gentlest woman I''ve ever met, and I¡¯d like to show you that." ¡­ An hour later, Amara stepped out of the shepherd''s hut. The winter air felt cool against her flushed skin. James followed, adjusting his clothes with a satisfied smirk. "Remember," he winked at her. "This stays between us. For both our sakes." Amara nodded, watching him walk away. She ached in new places, but she''d learned more about how humans showed dominance. It was interesting that different regions had different customs. The walk home gave her time to think. She smoothed her dress and fixed her hair, making sure she looked presentable. Martha always said a wife should be neat and tidy. Thomas stood by the front door when she arrived, splitting logs for the fireplace. His face brightened at her approach. "There you are! I was starting to worry." He set down his axe. "Where have you been?" "Collecting eggs." Amara kept her voice steady. "The chickens were restless today." Thomas stepped closer, reaching toward her neck with a frown. "What''s this? Did you hurt yourself?" Amara touched the spot where James''s mouth had been. "Oh. A branch caught me while I was gathering eggs." "Poor thing." Thomas kissed her forehead. "Be more careful next time." She followed him inside, rubbing her sore bottom. Some men used their hands for discipline, others really preferred different methods... Martha looked up from her knitting. "Amara! Your dress is wrinkled. That won''t do at all." "Sorry," Amara smoothed the fabric. "I''ll change." "See that you do." Martha nodded approvingly. Chapter 8 - Baby Adrian Merlin TV Universe, Willowbrook Village Time: Year 1, Month 5, Day 1 Current Celestial Points: 500 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000 Monthly Roll: 0/1 --- Amara sat by the window in Martha''s home, working on the delicate embroidery for Miss Catherine Walsh''s new dress. The merchant''s daughter wanted roses and vines woven along the neckline, each petal stitched in great detail. "Keep the spacing even," Martha guided, reaching over to point at an uneven stitch. "Miss Walsh will notice if one rose is larger than the others." Amara nodded, adjusting her grip on the needle. Time moved differently when she worked - minutes and hours blending together as she focused on the task. "You have steady hands," Martha praised. "Much better than when you first started." A knock at the door interrupted them. Sarah burst in, her cheeks red from the cold. "You''ll never believe what I heard at the tavern!" Martha clicked her tongue. "Close that door before you let all the heat out." Sarah shut the door quickly. "Robert the miller''s son was caught with Mary from the bakery. Behind the storehouse!" "Gossip isn''t proper," Martha scolded, but her eyes sparkled with interest. "But I suppose we should know what''s happening in our village... Tell us more." Sarah sat down on a nearby stool, and started chatting. "Well, Robert and Mary have been meeting in secret for weeks now. His father promised him to that girl from Oakvale - the one with the crooked teeth? But Mary''s got him wrapped around her finger." Martha set down her sewing with a sigh. "That poor girl from Oakvale. Her father already paid the bride price." "Three silver pieces and two sheep," Sarah nodded. "That''s not even the worst part," Sarah lowered her voice. "They say she might be with child." "Her poor mother," Martha clicked her tongue. "The shame of it. And Mary was such a good girl before Robert started sniffing around." Sarah nodded eagerly. "Father Michael will make them marry, of course. But can you imagine the wedding? Everyone knowing why..." "Speaking of weddings," Martha glanced at Amara. "How is Miss Walsh''s dress coming along?" Amara held up the embroidery. "Almost finished." "Beautiful work," Martha approved. "We''ll deliver it tomorrow. The merchant''s caravan leaves in three days." Sarah peered at the stitching. "I wish I could afford something so fine. But tavern work doesn''t pay for silk and silver thread." "Perhaps when you marry," Martha suggested. "A good husband provides for his wife." "Like Thomas provides for Amara," Sarah smiled. "He''s so attentive lately." Amara kept her eyes on her work. Yes, Thomas had grown very attentive. Just yesterday he''d struck her for not refilling his drink at dinner. The human shell had learned to stay quiet and still, like prey trying to avoid notice. "A firm hand shapes a good wife," Martha said approvingly. "Amara has learned well these past months." Sarah sighed dreamily. "I hope I find a husband like Thomas someday. Someone who''ll take care of me properly." The conversation drifted to other village matters - whose cow had gone dry, which fields needed planting first. Amara let the words flow around her, focusing on each stitch. The afternoon light faded as she worked. Sarah left to help her father at the tavern. Martha dozed in her chair, worn out from a long day of sewing. Thomas returned from the forge smelling of smoke and iron. He kissed Amara''s forehead, then frowned at her embroidery. "Still working? You should rest more in your condition." "Almost finished," Amara murmured, keeping her voice soft and eyes lowered. "One more hour," he decided. "Then bed." His hand squeezed her shoulder in warning. Amara nodded, finishing the last few stitches. The human shell might need rest, but her true nature could work for days without pause. Still, she had learned to obey Thomas''s commands. Two days later, Martha wrapped the completed dress in clean linen. "Remember to be polite," she told Amara as they walked toward the merchant''s caravan. "Miss Walsh can be... particular." The caravan stood at the edge of the village - five wagons painted in bright colors. Guards lounged nearby, watching the villagers with bored expressions. Catherine Walsh stepped out from the largest wagon when Martha called for her. She wore an expensive blue dress, but her face twisted when she saw Amara. "Finally," Catherine sniffed. "I was beginning to think you''d never finish." Martha bowed slightly. "We wanted every stitch perfect, my lady." Catherine barely glanced at Martha, staring instead at Amara. "So this is your new apprentice? The one who lost her memory?" "Yes, my lady. Amara did most of the embroidery herself." "Did she?" Catherine''s eyes narrowed as she looked at Amara''s swollen belly. "Well, I see she''s been busy with other things as well." Amara kept her gaze down, the way Martha had taught her. The human shell recognized the hostility in Catherine''s voice, but Amara found it amusing. Humans put such importance on appearance. Martha unwrapped the dress, holding it up. The roses sparkled in the sunlight, each petal carefully stitched with silver thread. Catherine snatched the dress, eyeing the needlework with sharp eyes. "I suppose it will do. At least the stitching is even." She glared at Amara again. "Unlike some things." Martha named the price they''d agreed upon. Catherine counted out the coins slowly, as if hoping to find an excuse to pay less. "There," Catherine dropped the money into Martha''s hand. "Next time I''m in the area, I expect better service. And maybe your apprentice will remember her proper place by then." They walked home in silence. Martha counted the coins again, tucking them into her purse. "Don''t mind her words," Martha patted Amara''s arm. "Some women can''t bear to see others blessed with great beauty." At home, Martha went to visit a sick neighbor, leaving Amara alone to clean. As she swept the floor, Amara decided it was time for more power. The space between moments opened up, offering something new... [What¡¯s a Dress Code ¨C Generic TCG Anime] ¨C Costs 0CP, 500CP available to spend. Let¡¯s be honest - whether you¡¯re a sorceress, a twelve-foot-tall stone statue, or just another Duelist-in-training, there¡¯s no way you¡¯re dressing like a pedestrian. Whatever you want to wear will be considered ¡°suitable attire¡± whenever such things matter. Wear that fur bikini over a chainmail one-piece if you want, even if it chafes like sandpaper, to your brother¡¯s-wife¡¯s-niece¡¯s wedding... Amara accepted the power with mild interest. The ability to wear anything without raising suspicion might prove useful someday, and it didn¡¯t cost her any Celestial Points anyway. She returned to sweeping, mind already moving to other matters. [ What¡¯s a Dress Code acquired ] Two weeks passed. The morning brought a chill wind and the sound of hooves on the road. Amara stood in the doorway, watching four riders enter the village. The tax collectors wore the red cloaks of Camelot, metal badges gleaming on their chests. "They''re early this year," Martha wrung her hands. "And asking for more than usual, thanks to that new queen." The villagers gathered in the square as the collectors dismounted. The lead collector, a thin man with graying hair, unrolled a scroll. "By order of King Uther and Queen Catrina, taxes are due today. The rate has increased to account for the kingdom''s needs." The villagers muttered among themselves as the collector continued reading. "Each household must pay five silver pieces, plus one-tenth of all goods and produce." "Five silver pieces?" Will the blacksmith stepped forward. "Last year it was two!" "The kingdom''s needs have grown," the collector smiled thinly. "Queen Catrina requires certain... accommodations." Martha gripped Amara''s arm. "Five silver pieces? But that''s more than we made from Miss Walsh''s dress." The collectors moved through the crowd, demanding payment. Some villagers handed over coins with trembling hands. Others begged for more time. "Please," Sarah''s father pleaded. "The tavern barely makes enough-" "Are you hiding coins from us?" The collector gestured to two guards. "Search the premises." Sarah watched helplessly as the guards ransacked the tavern. They came out with a small pouch of coins from beneath a loose floorboard. "Holding back on your taxes?" The collector clicked his tongue. "That''s an extra silver piece for attempting to deceive the crown." When they reached Martha''s house, Amara counted out the coins from Miss Walsh''s payment. The collector weighed them in his palm and frowned. "This isn''t enough." He looked at Martha''s neat home, at the bolts of fabric visible through the window. "A seamstress of your skill must have more hidden away." "We don''t-" Martha began, but the collector cut her off. "Search the house," he ordered two guards. "And the forge as well. These people clearly prosper from their trade." Thomas stepped forward. "Sir, please. My wife is with child-" "Then you should have saved more carefully." The collector pushed past them. "Every corner, men. Queen Catrina expects full payment." The guards searched the forge first, turning over tools and scattering coal across the floor. They found nothing but Thomas''s day-to-day earnings. Inside the house, they were just as thorough. One guard dumped Martha''s sewing basket, sending spools of thread rolling across the floor. The other checked beneath floorboards and inside the cooking pots. "Nothing here," a guard reported to the collector who waited in the living room. The collector stood near the hearth, studying them all with sharp eyes. He was well-dressed for a tax man, with a trimmed beard and clean hands that had never known real work. A silver ring glinted on one finger as he tapped it against his sword hilt. "No hidden coins?" He clicked his tongue. "How unfortunate." The collector stepped closer to Amara, eyes roaming over her body. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement." He smiled, showing clean white teeth. "Two days of... service, until we leave for the citadel. That would cover the remaining tax." Thomas stiffened. "My wife is with child." "Even better." The collector shrugged. "No risk of additional complications." "You can''t-" Thomas started forward, but Martha grabbed his arm. "Thomas," she pulled him aside. "Let''s discuss this." "Discuss what?" Thomas yanked his arm free. "He wants to-" "Lower your voice," Martha glanced at the guards. "Come outside with me. Now." The collector smiled, settling into a chair by the hearth. "Take your time. I''ll wait here with your lovely wife." Martha dragged Thomas out to the yard behind the house. "Listen to me carefully. We don''t have the coins." "So we''ll find another way!" "What way?" Martha crossed her arms. "Sell the house? Your tools? Then how will you feed your family?" Thomas paced, hands clenching into fists. "There must be something..." "Two days," Martha said softly. "That''s all. The baby is already growing - what harm can come to it now?" "What harm?" Thomas spun to face her. "My wife-" "Will survive, like many others before her." Martha''s voice grew firm. "You think this is the first time? That other women haven''t paid their taxes this way?" Thomas stopped pacing. "What?" "Sarah''s mother, when she was young. The miller''s wife, three years ago." Martha counted on her fingers. "The baker''s daughter last summer - why do you think she married so quickly afterward?" "But..." Thomas shook his head. "Nobody ever said..." "Of course not. We don''t speak of such things." Martha touched his arm. "But it happens. More often than you''d think." "That doesn''t make it right!" "Right?" Martha laughed bitterly. "What''s right got to do with anything? We''re common folk, Thomas. We bend or we break." "There has to be another way..." "Look at me." Martha gripped his shoulders. "If we don''t pay, they''ll take the forge. Everything you''ve worked for. Your future children will starve." Thomas''s shoulders slumped. "But..." "And if you fight?" Martha continued. "They''ll kill you. Or worse, drag you to Camelot''s dungeons. What then? Who''ll protect Amara then?" "I should protect her now!" "You are," Martha insisted. "By being smart. By surviving. By making sure your child has a future."This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Thomas leaned against the wall, face pale. "How can I..." "The same way other men do." Martha''s voice softened. "Close your eyes. Pretend it never happened. In a few months, your child will be born, and life will go on." "What about Amara? How can I face her?" "She''s a woman. She''ll understand." Martha patted his cheek. "Women always understand these things. We have to." "But she''s pregnant..." "Which means she''s safe from the worst consequences." Martha glanced at the house. "And she''s strong. She''ll endure." "I can''t..." Thomas slid down the wall, head in his hands. "You can. You must." Martha knelt beside him. "Think of your child. Think of the future. Two days means nothing against a lifetime of safety." "Does Father Michael know about this? About all the women..." "Of course he does." Martha snorted. "Why do you think he never speaks against the tax collectors? The church needs its coin too." Thomas looked up at her. "How many? How many women in the village?" "More than you''d believe." Martha stood, brushing dirt from her skirts. "Some were lucky - just a night or two. Others..." She shrugged. "Well, some collectors stay longer." "And everyone just... accepts this?" "What choice do we have?" Martha helped him up. "We''re not nobles, Thomas. We can''t fight back. We can only endure." "But Amara..." "Will survive, like all the others." Martha straightened his shirt. "Now come. The collector is waiting." Inside the house, Amara sat perfectly still in her chair, watching the collector warm himself by the fire. "Such a quiet one," the collector smiled at her. "Most women weep and beg by now." Amara kept her eyes down. She didn¡¯t really care who mated with her. But humans were really obsessed with it, this was the third person who was pursuing her in the village¡­ Thomas and Martha returned. Thomas wouldn''t meet her eyes as Martha spoke. "We accept your... arrangement," Martha said. "Two days, and the tax debt is cleared?" "Two days," the collector agreed. He stood, adjusting his cloak. "I''ll send a guard to collect her tonight. Make sure she''s clean and properly dressed." Thomas stormed out of the house as soon as the collectors left, heading for the forge. The bang of his hammer against metal echoed through the village. Martha hurried around the house, gathering items. "We need to prepare you," she pulled out a clean dress. "The blue one, I think. Men like blue." Amara watched Martha move about the room. The older woman''s hands shook as she folded the dress. "Now listen carefully," Martha sat beside her. "These men expect certain things. You must be quiet, obedient. Never look them in the eye unless ordered." "Like with Thomas?" Martha paused. "Yes... but different too. These men aren''t your husband. They want to feel powerful." "By having sex with me?" "Shh!" Martha glanced around. "Don''t say such things out loud. But yes." She smoothed the dress fabric. "Just... let them do what they want. Don''t fight. Don''t cry." Amara nodded. The human shell understood submission - Thomas had taught it well these past months. "If they hurt you..." Martha wrung her hands. "Just think of something else. Count the boards in the ceiling. Name all the threads we use for embroidery. Anything to keep your mind away." "What if they want me to respond?" Martha''s face reddened. "Some do. Make little sounds, like you''re pleased. Even if you''re not." "Like when I¡¯m-" "Stop." Martha stood up. "We don''t discuss such things. Now, let''s wash your hair. They''ll expect you clean." As Martha heated water over the fire, she kept talking. "The collector seems the type to brag. He''ll want to show you off to the others." "Others?" "The guards." Martha tested the water temperature. "Sometimes they share. Don''t react if that happens. Just... endure." Amara let Martha wash her hair, considering these new human customs. They were so strange about mating - making rules about who could do it, when, and how. "Keep your hands folded in your lap," Martha demonstrated. "Head down, shoulders relaxed. Like a proper lady." "A lady?" "Some men like to pretend..." Martha poured clean water over Amara''s hair. "That they''re bedding someone above their station. Play along if he does." Martha spent the next hour brushing Amara''s hair until it shone. She helped her dress, adjusting the blue fabric to show off her curves while still looking modest. "Remember," Martha pinched Amara''s cheeks to bring color to them. "Whatever happens, you survive. That''s what matters." A guard arrived at sunset. He leered at Amara as Martha gave her a final inspection. "Ready then?" The guard grabbed Amara''s arm. "The collector''s waiting." Martha caught Amara''s hand before she left. "Remember what I taught you. And..." she hesitated. "If you need to cry afterward, come to me. Not Thomas. Men don''t understand these things." The guard pulled Amara away towards the outskirts of the village. The collector waited in a large tent set up near the caravans. More guards stood outside, grinning as Amara approached. "Welcome," the collector smiled, holding out his hand. "Shall we begin?" ¡­ The door creaked open in the gray morning light. Amara stepped inside, the blue dress now stained and torn at the seams. Mud and grass clung to the fabric, and her dark hair hung in tangles around her face. Thomas sat at the table, a cup of ale untouched before him. His face turned ashen at the sight of her. Martha rushed forward, hands fluttering like nervous birds. "Come, dear. Let''s get you cleaned up." Martha reached for her arm. "No need." Amara walked past them both, steady on her feet despite the limp. The human shell ached in various places, but she found the experience educational. Martyn the collector had proven quite informative about human desires once she''d seduced him as taught to her by James. "Amara..." Thomas stood up, knocking over his cup. Ale spilled across the wooden table. "The tax is paid?" Amara asked calmly. Martha nodded quickly. "Yes, dear. All settled now." "Good." Amara studied Thomas''s face. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. Humans were so strange about mating. The collector had been eager to claim her, yet her husband now acted ashamed that another man had her in his bed. It was his own fault for agreeing to share her, wasn¡¯t it? "I''ll heat water for a bath," Martha walked toward the kitchen. "And find you a clean dress." "The blue one served well," Amara considered. "Martyn liked how it tore." Thomas made a choking sound and stormed out of the house. The door slammed behind him. "Don''t," Martha whispered. "Don''t speak of it. Not to him. Not to anyone." Amara tilted her head. "Why not? The collector was pleased with my performance. He wanted to keep me longer." "Please," Martha grabbed her shoulders. "These things... we don''t discuss them. Ever. Do you understand?" "No," Amara admitted. "But I''ll remember for next time." Martha''s face paled. "Next time?" "Well," Amara smoothed down her torn dress. "Men look at me. The baker watches when I walk past. The miller''s son follows me to the well. James likes me." She paused, seeing Martha''s growing horror. "And now the tax collector wants me to go to Camelot next year to serve him." Martha grabbed her arm. "Stop. Just stop." She glanced at the door Thomas had slammed. "You can''t say such things." "Why not? It''s true." Amara tilted her head. "You told me to be honest with you." "Not about this!" Martha''s fingers dug into Amara''s arm. "These things must stay secret. The baker has a wife. James is... and Thomas would..." She took a shaky breath. "Some truths destroy families." "Humans are strange about mating," Amara observed. "The collector didn''t mind sharing me with his guards, but Thomas can''t bear to look at me now." "Please," Martha begged. "Stop talking like this. You sound..." She stepped back, eyes wide. "You sound wrong." "Wrong how?" "Like..." Martha shook her head. "Like you don''t understand. Like you''re not..." She pressed her lips together. "The shock has addled your mind. That''s all. A hot bath and rest will help." "I''m not shocked," Amara explained. "My body responded well to-" "Enough!" Martha clapped her hands over her ears. "I don''t want to hear anymore. Just... go upstairs. Clean yourself. I''ll bring food later." Amara climbed the stairs, listening to Martha mutter prayers below. Humans put such importance on who mated with whom. James and the collector had taught the importance of seduction, yet she couldn''t share this knowledge? She touched her swollen belly. The baby kicked against her palm, strong and healthy. This was probably why humans cared so much about whom she mated with - they worried about whose offspring she carried. Not that it should matter¡­ The sound of breaking pottery echoed from downstairs, followed by Thomas''s angry voice. "Where is she?" "Upstairs," Martha answered. "But leave her be. She''s not herself." "Did they hurt her? Did they..." "She''s alive. That''s what matters." Footsteps thundered up the stairs. The door burst open as Thomas stormed in. "Amara!" He stopped short at the sight of her calmly removing her torn dress. "I... are you..." "Hello, Thomas." She folded the ruined fabric neatly. "Did you need something?" Thomas stared at her, face darkening. "Need something? You''ve been gone two days with those men, and that''s all you have to say?" "What should I say?" Amara picked up a clean shift from the bed. The blow caught her across the face, snapping her head to the side. The human shell registered pain, but Amara found it interesting how quickly Thomas had changed. He used to be so gentle. Humans really were unstable, and she had understood since Minecraft that this race of mammals should be culled in the future. But that wasn¡¯t going to happen for a while, her colony still needed to gather strength. "You whore," he spat. "Standing there like nothing happened!" Martha appeared in the doorway. "Thomas, no!" He shoved her back, slamming the door. "Did you enjoy it? Spreading your legs for those men?" "The tax is paid now," Amara touched her stinging cheek. "Isn''t that what you wanted?" Another slap silenced her. Thomas grabbed her shoulders, shaking her hard. "Shut up! Just shut up!" Spittle flew from his mouth. "My own wife, acting like a common whore!" "You agreed to send me," Amara pointed out. The human shell trembled, but she remained calm. "To pay the tax." Thomas threw her against the wall. "Because I had to! Because there was no choice!" He punched the wall beside her head. "And now you stand here, talking about it like... like..." "Like what?" "Like you wanted it!" He grabbed her throat. "Like you''re proud of what you did!" Martha pounded on the door. "Thomas! Stop this! Think of the baby!" Thomas released Amara, stepping back. His hands shook as he looked at her. "The baby," he whispered. "My child... watching while you..." His face twisted with rage. "How can I ever look at either of you again?" The punch knocked her to the floor. Blood filled her mouth as Thomas kicked her side. "Thomas!" Martha screamed from outside. "Stop! You''ll kill her!" "Maybe I should!" Thomas grabbed Amara''s hair, yanking her up. "Better a dead wife than a shameless whore!" Amara frowned at Thomas. She might have to reveal her true form and tear him apart. But she had invested a lot of time in this experimental pregnancy¡­ She didn¡¯t want to risk losing that now just because her husband got emotional. Will the blacksmith''s voice came from outside. "Thomas! Come quick - something''s wrong at the forge!" Thomas released her hair, breathing hard. "This isn''t finished." He pointed at her. "Stay here. Don''t move." He stormed out, boots thundering down the stairs. Martha rushed in as soon as he left, helping Amara up from the floor. "Oh, child..." Martha dabbed blood from Amara''s lip. "He''ll calm down. Give him time." But Thomas didn''t calm down. Over the next four weeks, he found reasons to strike her daily. A poorly cooked meal earned a slap. A wrinkled shirt meant a beating. Speaking without permission brought the back of his hand across her face. Martha watched it all with pursed lips, saying nothing when Thomas dragged Amara around by the hair or kicked her legs out from under her. "It''s for your own good," Martha whispered one evening while cleaning a cut on Amara''s cheek. "You need to learn proper behavior. To show shame for what happened." "Shame?" Amara touched her swollen belly. The baby kicked strongly, unharmed by Thomas''s violence. "Yes, shame!" Martha grabbed her shoulders. "You act like nothing happened! Like those men didn''t..." She shuddered. "Thomas beats you because you won''t react properly. Won''t cry or beg forgiveness." "Should I cry?" Amara considered this, but she wasn¡¯t sure how to force herself to cry. Tears often slipped out during beatings, but outside of that, her human shell wasn¡¯t too inclined to cry unless she got in one of her moods because of the pregnancy¡­ "You should feel something!" Martha threw up her hands. "Anything! Not just sit there like... like..." "Like what?" "Like you''re not even human," Martha whispered, crossing herself. Four weeks after the tax collector left, Amara reached for power in the space between moments. [A Prophecy ¨C The Seven Deadly Sins] ¨C Costs 400CP, 500CP available to spend. You are the child of prophecy - the one who shall pull out the legendary sword and wield it against a great evil. Or at least it could be you, considering you mysteriously fit every single prophecy that has ever existed and will ever exist. Mysteriously, you seem to be able to wield every weapon that has a prophesied wielder, and you can kill anybody who needs to be killed by a specific person. No matter who, what, when, or where, you are innately able to make everything happen, even if the conditions aren''t met. Need to kill someone at midnight? Well, midday is good enough. Amara accepted it without much hesitation, and she smiled. No matter what requirements existed, she could fulfill them. Kill anyone who needed specific conditions met. Use any weapon meant for a "chosen one." Useful. [ A Prophecy acquired ] Another month passed. Thomas''s rage grew when he realized beating her didn''t change her behavior. He made her sleep on the floor, fed her scraps, worked her until she collapsed. The baby grew steadily despite Thomas''s treatment. Amara''s swollen belly became a shield of sorts - he avoided striking her there, focusing instead on her face and back. The human shell bruised and healed, bruised and healed, while Amara watched with detached interest. Martha brought her extra food when Thomas wasn''t looking. "For the baby," she would whisper, sneaking bread and cheese under her apron. One quiet afternoon, while Thomas worked at the forge and Martha visited a sick neighbor, Amara felt that she had another chance. She reached into that space between moments, curious what would be offered. [Kitsune Wear ¨C Fate/Legends: The land of The Rising Sun] ¨C Costs 100CP, 100CP available to spend. Keeping up appearances across different forms can be challenging, especially when trying to stay stylish and fashionable. After all, what outfit could possibly suit both a curvy human and a small fox? The answer lies in clothes that transform just as you do. These magical robes can be summoned to you at will and will always repair themselves - even if completely destroyed or burned to ashes. The robes can shapeshift at your command, not only taking the form of traditional Japanese garments but also any of the modern outfits Tamamo would wear. Whether you prefer a form-fitting police uniform, a military dress outfit, or flowing robes that tantalizingly cover just enough, these garments adapt perfectly. They''re enchanted to provide comfortable protection from both the elements and minor attacks, allowing you to confidently wear even the skimpiest swimsuit with the defensive benefits of full samurai armor. Any additional enchantments will require your own magical enhancement. The clothing would adapt to any form, repair itself, and provide protection. Most importantly, she could summon it at will - useful if she died and moved to another world. Her children might inherit this ability too. Amara accepted the item but kept it hidden in her subspace pocket. Thomas would grow suspicious if his fists started bouncing off invisible armor. [ Kitsune Wear acquired ] Three more months sneaked past. Thomas''s violence became routine - a slap at breakfast, kicks before bed. Amara had tried to act like she was ashamed of how she had acted, but it seemed Thomas had gotten so traumatized by what happened that it didn¡¯t matter what she said or tried. He just took it as another excuse to beat her. Martha fussed over Amara''s massive belly. "Any day now," she would say, measuring the bump with her hands. "The baby''s dropped lower." Even Thomas grew less violent as the birth approached. He still struck her face, but the kicks stopped. "Don''t want to harm my child," he muttered one night, lowering his raised fist. The pains started at dawn. Amara stood in the kitchen, water running down her legs onto the floor. "Martha!" she called. Martha rushed in from the yard. "Oh! Oh, it''s time!" She grabbed Amara''s arm. "Upstairs, quickly. I''ll fetch the midwife." "Thomas-" "Will stay at the forge," Martha cut her off. "Men have no place in birthing rooms." Sarah appeared as Martha helped Amara upstairs. "I saw you running," she told Martha. "Is it the baby?" "Yes, yes. Run and fetch Agnes - tell her it''s started." Sarah dashed off while Martha helped Amara into bed. The pains came stronger now, making the human shell gasp and clutch at the sheets. Agnes arrived minutes later, her gray hair escaping from under her cap. She shooed Martha aside, checking Amara¡¯s condition. "First baby," Agnes nodded. "Could be a while yet." She glanced at Amara''s bruised face but said nothing. The sun climbed higher as Amara labored. Sarah brought water and clean cloths. Martha paced by the window, muttering prayers. "Push now," Agnes commanded hours later. "The head''s coming." Amara pushed harder and harder. So different from laying egg sacs. The pain meant nothing to her true self, but her body screamed and thrashed. "One more," Agnes encouraged. "Big push!" The baby slid free in a rush of fluid. Agnes caught him, clearing his mouth and nose. A loud cry filled the room. "A boy!" Martha clapped her hands. "Oh, praise God!" Agnes cleaned the baby, wrapping him in a soft blanket. "Here," she placed him in Amara''s arms. "Healthy little lad." Amara looked carefully at the infant. He looked human, but she sensed his true nature beneath the disguise. The Authority of The Beast remained quiet - this was no human child, but one of her own kind. She would not need to consume him after all. "Beautiful," Martha wiped tears from her eyes. "What will you name him?" "Adrian," Amara decided. She had heard the name mentioned by merchants, and humans expected such things. The baby rooted against her chest. Agnes helped position him at Amara''s breast, showing her how to feed him. "There now," Agnes nodded as the baby latched on to her nipple. "He knows what to do." Amara felt milk flow from her breasts into her child. Strange, but effective. The baby suckled strongly, already showing good survival instincts. "I''ll tell Thomas," Martha headed for the door. "He''ll want to see his son." "Wait until the afterbirth," Agnes called after her. "Men have no stomach for such things." An hour later, Thomas walked into the room. He stared at the baby, then at Amara''s tired face. "A son," he whispered. "I have a son." "Strong and healthy," Agnes assured him. "Takes after his father." Thomas reached for the baby with trembling hands. Amara let him take Adrian, but she watched him carefully. The child might look human, but she would kill Thomas if he tried to harm him. "Adrian," Thomas tested the name. "A good, strong name." He smiled at the baby, then glanced at Amara. For a moment, the old gentleness returned to his eyes. Amara watched Thomas cradle Adrian, seeing that the gentleness in his eyes didn''t last. The moment passed, and his face hardened again as he looked at her. "Rest," he commanded, turning away. "You''ll need strength to care for my son." My son, not our son. Amara settled back against the pillows as Thomas left her with the baby. She had learned enough from this village. The experiment with pregnancy had succeeded - Adrian had a human disguise but carried her true blood. Now she needed to expand her breeding program. Martha was cleaning up the mess from the birth. "Such a beautiful boy," she kept saying. "He''ll be strong like his father." Amara closed her eyes, pretending exhaustion. Her children had grown larger, stronger over these months. Most were larger than her at this point. The human genes had also produced a couple of offspring capable of taking on a human disguise through the inherited Wolf in Sheep¡¯s Clothing, while others remained in their true spider shape. Agnes packed up her supplies. "Call me if the bleeding grows heavy," she told Martha. "And make sure she drinks plenty of water." "Of course, of course." Martha showed Agnes out, then returned to Amara''s side. "Sleep now, dear. I''ll watch over Adrian." Amara pretended to drift off, listening to Martha coo at Adrian. The woman would make an excellent first meal for her new child - tender flesh, well-marbled with fat. Thomas''s footsteps echoed up the stairs. He entered carrying a bowl of soup. "She needs to eat," Martha reminded him. "To keep her milk strong for the baby." Thomas set the bowl down without looking at Amara. "Make sure she does." He touched Adrian''s head softly, then left. Martha helped Amara sit up, spooning soup into her mouth. "Such a good boy," she cooed at Adrian. "Already sleeping so peacefully." Amara swallowed the bland soup. The human shell needed sustenance to heal, but tomorrow she would feast properly. Her children had specific orders - take the young and healthy ones alive. The old could be eaten. "I''ll stay tonight," Martha decided. "In case you need help with feeding." "No," Amara kept her voice weak. "You should rest. I can manage." "But-" "Please." Amara touched Martha''s arm. "You''ve done so much already." Martha hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. But call if you need anything." She kissed Adrian''s forehead before leaving. The house grew quiet. Thomas slept in the spare room now, unwilling to share her bed unless he wanted release. Adrian opened his eyes in the darkness. Amara clicked softly in the language of her kind, "Soon we go home." Adrian''s tiny legs moved, making clicking sounds that held no meaning yet, but showed he understood the language. His eyes, looking human but seeing in the dark like hers, focused on her face. Chapter 9 - True Nature Merlin TV Universe, Willowbrook Village Time: Year 1, Month 9, Day 14 Current Celestial Points: 0 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000 Monthly Roll: 1/1 --- Thomas woke before dawn, as he did every morning. The forge wouldn''t light itself, and there were horseshoes to make for William''s farm. He dressed quietly, not wanting to wake his mother. She had insisted on staying to help with the baby, and was surely exhausted by now. His son. The thought brought a smile to his face, but then anger caused his heart to beat rapidly. Adrian was perfect - strong, healthy, with green eyes that seemed to take in everything. But every time Thomas looked at his boy, he remembered how the tax collectors had... He pushed the thought away, focusing on gathering his tools. The metal wouldn''t care about his troubles. Iron was honest - it bent or broke, nothing in between. Not like people. Not like his wife. The morning air bit cold as he walked to the forge. Frost coated the grass, making each step crunch. A few early risers nodded to him - Sarah carrying water from the well, Old John heading to check his sheep. Normal morning sounds filled the village: roosters crowing, dogs barking, the distant bleat of sheep. Thomas lit the forge fire, watching orange flames climb higher. The heat would drive away the morning chill soon enough. He sorted through his tools, laying them out in order. Everything in its proper place, the way things should be. The sound of weeping made him pause. He stepped outside, frowning. Old Mary from the baker''s house stood in her doorway, face buried in her hands. "What troubles you?" Thomas called. She looked up, tears streaming down wrinkled cheeks. "The shadows," she whispered. "They move wrong." Thomas shook his head. Old Mary often spoke nonsense these days. Age addled minds, everyone knew that. He returned to his work, letting the rhythm of hammer on anvil drown out her continued sobbing. The sun climbed higher. More villagers passed by, carrying out their daily tasks. But something felt... off. Thomas couldn''t place it at first. Then he realized - too many of the older folk were crying. He saw three more elders weeping in doorways, muttering about darkness and wrong movements. Martha appeared at midday, carrying bread and cheese. "Have you seen Adrian today?" Thomas shook his head. "Been working since dawn." "You should visit," Martha said carefully. "He''s growing so fast. Almost doesn''t look like a newborn anymore." "What do you mean?" "Just... different. Bigger maybe?" Martha wrung her hands. "Amara says it''s normal, but..." Martha never finished her sentence. A scream tore through the village - high, wet, and wrong in a way that made Thomas''s bowels turn to water. Not fear. Not pain. Something deeper, as if the sound itself had been pulled from a throat already dissolving. Thomas dropped his hammer. "Stay here," he ordered his mother, though every instinct screamed to flee. He stepped into the street just as Old Mary''s cottage bulged. Wood splintered. Thatch rained down like burning snow. Eight segmented legs punched through the walls, each thicker than a man''s thigh and glistening with mucus. A bulbous abdomen breached the roof, scattering rafters as a nightmare face appeared - compound eyes like fractured mirrors, mandibles dripping green fluid, and twin horns curling upward like a ram''s. The thing chittered, a sound that drilled into Thomas''s skull and vibrated his teeth. Old Mary''s weeping stopped abruptly when a barbed stinger the length of a short sword impaled her through the chest. The spider-thing lifted the old woman like a child''s doll, her limbs flopping as it brought her twitching body to its mouthparts. Thomas watched, frozen, as mandibles sheared off the top of Mary''s skull with a crack like splitting melons. Thomas¡¯s boots rooted to the earth as the spider-thing tilted Old Mary¡¯s corpse over its maw, slurping brain matter like marrow from a bone. Villagers spilled into the street, their screams converging into an ungodly sound. CRUNCH. A thatched roof collapsed three houses down as another monstrosity smashed into the walls - this one sporting human hands grafted to two front legs, fingers twitching in mock waves. Sarah sprinted past Thomas, her tavern apron flapping, until a near-invisible thread of silk snapped around her ankle. She fell face-first into the mud, screaming as the hand-legged spider dragged her backward, its other limbs signing rapid clicks in the air. ¡°Thomas!¡± Martha yanked his arm, her nails drawing blood. ¡°The baby!¡± They ran. Elderly villagers writhed in silk cocoons strung between houses like festival decorations. Young Peter the shepherd boy floated past upside-down, web-bound and wide-eyed, a spider with a boar¡¯s bristled hide carrying him toward the woods on barbed hooks. Thomas¡¯s lungs burned. He recognized Will the blacksmith¡¯s roar of defiance cut short by a short scream - turned to see his childhood friend with a dull look in his eyes, four translucent spiderlings bursting through his body, somehow leaving Will physically unharmed. ¡°Adrian!¡± Thomas screamed, skidding around the corner to their home. Thomas skidded around the splintered doorframe, Martha''s wail ringing in his ears. His eyes darted to the crib - empty, blankets shredded. A wet crunching sound came from the bedroom above. "AMARA!" He took the stairs three at a time, boot slipping on something slick. His hand came away red from the banister. Amara huddled in the corner, clutching the swaddled infant to her chest. Her nightdress was torn at the shoulder, revealing unblemished skin where Thomas had struck her with a belt buckle just yesterday. "Thomas!" she sobbed, black eyes wide. "What is happening? Please, please tell me!" A skittering came from the rafters. Thomas looked up as someone he didn¡¯t recognize dropped from the shadows. Except his limbs bent backward, fingers fused into chitinous hooks. The young man''s face split open vertically, mandibles snapping open to release a high-pitched clicking that echoed Amara''s terrified whimpers. Thomas grabbed the fire poker. "Stay behind me!" The spider-thing wearing human skin lunged. Thomas swung, but the poker passed through nothing but air as it dodged to the side. White light burst from its hands - not fire, but silk, hardening midair into jagged shards that embedded in Thomas''s thigh. He screamed, falling against the hearth as the pain burned deeper than any forge injury.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. "Stop!" Amara shrieked, clutching Adrian tighter. The spider-thing froze, head tilting at an impossible angle, and then crawled out of the window. Thomas didn''t notice. He was too busy staring at the wound - the silk shards were dissolving, leaving his flesh intact but the pain intensified deep in his soul. "What on earth," he gasped. "Amara, run!" But she was already moving, helping him stand. "They''re herding us," she whispered as they staggered into the street. "To the church. Father Michael''s ringing the bell¡­" Thomas dragged Amara and Martha through the carnage, past broken cottages. Villagers ran in panicked groups - some snatched mid-stride by silk traps, others collapsing as translucent curved horns pierced their chests and left their bodies intact but screaming with soul-deep agony. "Almost there!" Thomas barked, though the church spire seemed to recede with every step. His thigh burned where the phantom silk had struck, the pain burrowing into his marrow. A child¡¯s laugh stopped him in his tracks. A little six-year-old girl skipped toward them, pigtails bouncing. Her eyes were wide. "This way! The spiders hate holy places!" Martha reached for her. "Oh thank God -" "No!" Thomas yanked his mother back as the trickster girl pouted at them. Amara clung to Adrian, her sobs too perfectly timed. "Why is this happening?!" The little girl''s face split open like overripe fruit, mandibles erupting from her jaw in a spray of saliva. Thomas barely yanked Martha back as silk strands snapped through the air where his mother''s neck had been. The girl-spider scuttled away into the village. Thomas stared after it, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from his chest. This couldn''t be real. Any moment he''d wake up beside Amara, before the tax collectors came... He struck her across the face, hard enough to make her stumble. "Wake up!" Another slap. "This isn''t real!" Martha grabbed his arm. "Thomas, stop!" But Thomas couldn''t stop. His world had crumbled into madness. Bear-sized monstrosities prowled the village streets, clicking to each other in some unholy language. Web cocoons hung from every building, the elderly villagers inside dissolving into soup as venom dripped from curved fangs. "Look!" He yanked Amara''s hair, forcing her to watch as Old John melted inside his silk prison. "Look what your perfect behavior brought us! If you''d just shown shame-" A scream cut through his ranting. James, the man who''d been eyeing Amara for months, thrashed in the grip of a spider with boar-like bristles. The creature didn''t harm him, simply wrapped him in silk and carried him toward the forest like a precious gift. "The church," Martha whispered. "We must reach the church!" They kept running. Hundreds of spider-things moved through the village with terrible purpose, a few wearing human faces that peeled away like masks when they attacked. Father Michael stood in the church doorway, ushering survivors inside. "Quickly! In God''s name, hurry!" They stumbled through the entrance. Eight other villagers huddled in the pews, faces blank with terror. Thomas recognized Sarah''s father, the miller and his wife, three farmhands, and two women who worked at the tavern. The heavy doors slammed shut. Father Michael barred them with a wooden beam, hands shaking as he made the sign of the cross. "The holy ground will protect us," he assured them, voice cracking. "These demons cannot-" A thud shook the doors. Something scratched at the wood - a child¡¯s voice whimpered. ¡°Please! Let me in!¡± The miller¡¯s wife lunged for the beam, but Thomas tackled her. ¡°Don¡¯t! It¡¯s one of them!¡± The child¡¯s face pressed against a stained-glass window¡ªrosy cheeks, tears glinting. Then its jaw unhinged, a second set of mandibles unfurling to screech against the pane. The survivors screamed as the glass cracked. ¡°Blessed salt! Around the doors!¡± Father Michael hurled pouches at the farmers. They fumbled, spilling grains in shaky lines. The scratching stopped. For now. Martha knelt by Adrian, cooing through her terror. ¡°Shh, sweet boy. Grandmother¡¯s here.¡± Adrian¡¯s swaddle shifted. A leg slid free - spindly, glistening black. Martha froze. ¡°Th-Thomas¡­?¡± Amara snatched the baby back. ¡°He¡¯s cold. The blanket slipped -¡± ¡°Let me see him!¡± Martha reached, but Amara turned away. Thomas didn¡¯t notice. A crash above made them all pause. Rafters splintered as a spider-thing dropped into the nave - human hands glowing with pale magic. Thomas threw a pew candlestick. The creature laughed, twisting to the side and weaving a web with its hands that hardened into jagged shards midair. ¡°Down!¡± Amara screamed. The survivors ducked. Shards embedded into the altar, dissolving moments later. The thing hissed, retreating as Father Michael flung holy water. ¡°They¡¯re toying with us,¡± Agnes whispered. ¡°Why not just break in?¡± Because she¡¯s here, Thomas realized. His eyes locked on Amara, who cradled Adrian a little too gently. Martha tugged his sleeve. ¡°The cellar - we can hide!¡± They fled towards the stairs. Amara frowned. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ keep watch.¡± Thomas shoved her inside. ¡°You¡¯ll stay here.¡± Adrian began to cry - a clicking, chittering sound. Martha reached for him again. ¡°Let me soothe him, dear -¡± The swaddle fell. Eight legs unfurled, each thicker than Martha¡¯s wrists. Adrian¡¯s cherubic face split open, mandibles snapping as he lunged. Martha screamed as his stinger plunged into her chest. Amara sighed. ¡°Adrian, manners.¡± The survivors recoiled. The miller¡¯s wife retched. Thomas swung the shovel at Amara. It stopped midair, held by threads too fine to see from spider-things dangling from the ceiling. ¡°You,¡± he choked. ¡°All this time, you ¨C¡° "Watch," Amara commanded, gripping his arm tightly. "Watch what your seed helped create." Martha''s screams turned wet as Adrian''s mandibles sliced through muscle and sinew. Blood pooled beneath her body while the spider-thing that had been Thomas''s son gobbled up his mother¡¯s right leg. The paralytic venom kept Martha conscious the entire time, terrified beyond words as her own grandson fed upon her living body. The other villagers wept, pressing themselves against the walls. Sarah''s father vomited on the floor. The miller''s wife fainted dead away while her husband sobbed prayers. "Stop this!" Thomas thrashed out of Amara''s grip. "She''s your mother too! She cared for you!" "And I thank her for the lessons." Amara watched Martha''s suffering with a gentle smile. "She taught me so much about human behavior. How to walk properly, speak softly, lower my eyes..." "You monster!" Thomas spat in her face. "What are you?" "I am the first." Amara''s smile widened. "The Great Mother of all these children you see outside. Each one born from the creatures I mated with ¨C boars and humans." She stroked Thomas''s cheek. "You helped create something special. Adrian is already so large at birth, it¡¯s something I hadn¡¯t thought possible¡­." Adrian clicked happily, mandibles deep in Martha''s chest cavity. Martha''s eyes rolled back as the spider-thing pulled out her still-beating heart, drinking the blood like wine. "And now..." Amara released Thomas, stepping back. "I must thank you for giving me a good lesson on human behaviour. But that lesson has come to an end." Her black eyes gleamed. "Now it is time to feed." Thomas watched in horror as Amara''s skin split open. The beautiful woman he had married peeled away, revealing chitinous plates black as midnight. Eight spindly legs unfolded from her torso, each tipped with razor-sharp claws. Twin horns curved up from her head while multiple eyes opened across her face. A paralyzing stinger emerged from her abdomen, dripping with venom. The church doors exploded inward. Bear-sized spider-things poured through the opening, mandibles clicking in excitement. Thomas started laughing. A high, broken sound that echoed off the stone walls. He laughed as Adrian finished consuming Martha, leaving only bloody scraps of cloth behind. He laughed as the other spider-things descended upon the villagers. Sarah''s father tried to fight back with a wooden cross, but a stinger pierced his chest and he collapsed. The miller''s unconscious wife was dragged away in silk, while her old husband''s screams turned to gurgles as mandibles tore into his throat. The spider-things coordinated their attacks through clicks and leg movements. Thomas saw how they deferred to Amara, the smallest among them. She directed them with quick leg-gestures, deciding which villagers would die and which would be taken. His laughter grew louder as he watched his wife - this thing he had beaten and cursed - command her cursed offspring. The beautiful woman he had married was now a nightmare of chitin and fangs, yet she moved with the same grace she had shown while sewing dresses. Silk strands wrapped around Thomas''s legs. He kept laughing as a spider-thing with human-like hands began cocooning him. The webs felt cool against his skin, surprisingly gentle as they bound his arms to his sides. The spider carried him out of the church. Thomas''s hysterical laughter echoed through the village as they passed burning homes and bloody cobblestones. His son Adrian skittered alongside them, clicking happily at his mother while bits of Martha''s flesh still clung to his mandibles. They passed through the forest, and the deeper they went, the more it transformed into something alien. Massive webs stretched between trees, creating walkways and chambers high above the ground. Hundreds of spider-things moved through this aerial maze, some carrying wrapped villagers, others standing guard with stingers ready. Thomas couldn''t stop laughing as his captor climbed the silk paths. Young people from the village hung in cocoons throughout the web structure. He recognized James in one chamber, still alive as a female spider-thing mounted him. The spider carrying Thomas placed him in a chamber filled with young male villagers. Some wept quietly, others stared blankly ahead. A few had already been mated with, lying limp in their cocoons as spider-things guarded them. Thomas''s laughter echoed through the web chamber. He laughed at the absurdity of it all. Laughed at how he had tried to beat proper behavior into a monster. Laughed at how his son had eaten his mother while wearing a baby''s skin. He was still laughing when a female spider-thing entered the chamber, mandibles clicking in interest as she approached his cocoon. Chapter 10 - Champions Trial Merlin TV Universe, Darkling Woods Time: Year 1, Month 9, Day 28 Current Celestial Points: 0 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000 Monthly Roll: 1/1 --- Amara anchored herself at the heart of the web nexus, her eight legs splayed across silk-strung oak branches. The lattice pulsed with the colony¡¯s activity - vibrations signaling hunts, repairs, and the restless stirring of captive humans in their cocoons. Her spinnerets twitched reflexively, mapping the rhythms of her territory. Liberation, she thought, flexing chitinous plates that had cramped for many months inside human skin. Two tiers below, Adrian crouched over a half-eaten stag, his carapace already rivaling some of his older siblings in size. At two weeks old, his horns had hardened into serrated curves, and his chelicerae - still flecked with marrow - clicked in a disjointed rhythm as he dissected the carcass. A human femur snapped between his forelegs, its splinters woven into the web as reinforcement. Three senior hunters approached along the eastern silkway, their boar-bristled legs leaving faint tremors in the strands. The lead hunter halted precisely four body lengths from Amara, spiracles hissing a greeting. "Great Mother," she clicked, forelegs sketching a tactical map in the air. "The northern woods¡¯ Griffin weakens the colony. Its territory overlaps ours. We propose a joint strike." Amara¡¯s pedipalps stroked the silk, parsing vibrations from the hunting grounds. Deer carcasses grew sparse, their blood trails thinning. Expansion or starvation. Her offspring¡¯s unexpected size strained the forest¡¯s limits - Adrian alone consumed half a stag every two weeks. "The Griffin¡¯s health?" she clicked, mandibles parting to taste the wind. "Perfect," the hunter replied. "But we can lure it to the ravine. Silk-nets to ground it. Then¡­" A jerk of her abdomen - venom. Adrian skittered upward. "Let me lead the ambush," he pulsed, new vocal sacs swelling with authority. "My human disguise can bait it. A wounded traveler, screaming¡­" His chelicerae twitched into a mock grimace. One of her older children bristled, horns tilting skeptically. "You lack molt-hardening, hatchling. One misstep¡ª" "¡ªWould teach more than a thousand successes," Adrian interrupted, silk spraying from his spinnerets to bind a stray branch. The strands glistened with pheromones - confidence. "Once our Great Mother breeds with the Griffin, our territory could be gifted with a brood of greater size, durability and aerial tactics. Imagine web-nests in cliff faces. Prey fleeing skyward, only to¡­" His forelegs snapped shut, miming a kill. Amara¡¯s spinnerets tingled. Ambition. Adrian¡¯s mutations had birthed not just strength, but foresight. Yet his carapace still softened at the joints, vulnerable. "Learn from your siblings first," she decided. "Then lead." Adrian''s POV The breeding chamber stank of human sweat and venom. Cocooned humans dangled from the ceiling, their muffled whimpers vibrating through silk strands. Adrian crouched beside his sibling - a female twice his size with patchy boar bristles matting her carapace. Her human disguise changed at regular intervals: one moment a freckled woman with straw-colored hair, the next a spider-thing with black eyes. "Watch," Silara clicked, mandibles parting to release Thomas from a nearby cocoon. The man hung upside-down, face purple from blood pooling. His screams had grown hoarse over days of practice. "Observe the throat vibrations. Note the pitch variance between terror and despair." Thomas thrashed as Silara¡¯s barbed leg sliced his forearm. "Please! No more¡ª!" Adrian¡¯s chelicerae twitched, recording the way human vocal cords strained. Fear sharpens the "e" sounds, he noted. Silara dragged another claw down Thomas¡¯s chest, slowly peeling skin. "AAAAAH! GOD, STOP¡ª!" Deeper resonance on "stop" - diaphragm contraction. Silara released Thomas, letting him gasp. "Now you. Human skin first - remember the jaw hinge." Adrian flexed his spinnerets. Kitsune Wear was summoned from his subspace pocket - a torn tunic and breeches appearing over his fair skin as the disguise took hold. Green eyes widened artificially, muscles tensing in a flawless mimicry of human terror. His vocal chords flexed, mimicking the vibrations. "P-please," he stammered. "D-don¡¯t hurt me!" Another sibling scuttled forward. "Eyes wrong. Humans leak water when afraid." Adrian¡¯s disguise obediently produced tears. He let saliva drip from the corner of his mouth, shoulders hunching. "Please¡­ no, not the eggs! Don¡¯t make me eat them again¡ª!" Silara¡¯s horns tilted critically. "Convincing whimper. Now escalate." Thomas¡¯s screams hit a fever pitch as Silara jabbed her stinger near his groin. "NO! NO, PLEASE¡ª!" Adrian¡¯s mouth gaped open, replicating the raw, wet shriek. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP¡ª!" The sound echoed through the chamber, startling even the seasoned hunters monitoring from silk perches. Silara¡¯s spinnerets twitched approval. "Laughter after. Prey mocks itself to deny fear." Thomas¡¯s cries dissolved into hysterical giggles as venom seeped into his veins. "Sh-she¡¯s in my head¡­ Amara¡­ laughing, always laughing¡ª" Adrian clicked his tongue, dissecting the unstable cadence. He let his human disguise melt just enough to reveal fangs, then barked a jagged laugh. "Haa! Haa! You thought you could beat her?" The hybrid sound - half human mockery, half spiderish chitter - made Thomas piss himself. First Hunt Moonlight speckled the forest floor. Adrian crouched in human disguise, wearing a torn traveler¡¯s tunic. A stag grazed ahead, antlers glinting. Wind direction: southwest. Heartbeat: regular. Fear-scent: nil. He clutched his "wounded" leg - a convincing ruse, thanks to Silara¡¯s training. "Help¡­" he whimpered, voice trembling. The stag¡¯s head snapped up. Adrian let tears fall. "Please¡­" The stag approached, nostrils flaring. Five meters. Three. Adrian¡¯s spinnerets twitched. Silk threads shot from his sleeves, anchoring to birch trees. The stag reared as webs snapped taut around its hooves. Now. Adrian shed his disguise fully, carapace glinting black. Bullet Patterns ignited - spectral mandibles appearing midair, snapping at the stag¡¯s soul. The beast screamed, thrashing as its resolve frayed. "Mine," Adrian pulsed. He lunged, fangs piercing the stag¡¯s neck. Venom liquefied muscle within seconds. The kill was clean. Efficient. Silara skittered out from shadowed ferns, legs applauding. "The Great Mother¡¯s gifts serve you well. But the Griffin¡¯s wings¡­" She flexed her own barbed limbs. "...require subtler lies."Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The Griffin Hunt Adrian¡¯s human disguise bled just so - a precise trickle from the temple staining his torn tunic. His limp favored the left leg, tendons artificially strained to mimic a traveler mauled by bandits. The ravine walls was above him, pockmarked with silk anchors where his siblings clung motionless, their carapaces dulled to match the granite. Wind shifts east. Griffin¡¯s musk detected: ozone and rotting eagle feathers. Nest proximity: 200 meters. He let his "injured" leg buckle, collapsing against a lichen-crusted boulder. "H-help!" The cry quavered, throat bobbing with manufactured panic. "Someone - please!" Above, wings snapped like war banners. Adrian counted the Griffin¡¯s wingbeats - seven before it banked, talons scoring the cliffside. Molten gold eyes locked onto him. The beast landed with a thunderclap of displaced air, lion claws gouging furrows in the soil. Adrian¡¯s disguise prickled with sweat, pores exuding scents harvested from terrified humans. "Bandits¡­" he rasped, crawling backward. "T-they took everything¡ª" The Griffin¡¯s beak snapped, shearing a sapling in half. Hot breath reeked of charred flesh - recent kill: boar, male, six months old. Adrian¡¯s spinnerets tingled. Three meters. Two. The first silk net struck hard, weighted with boulders taken from a nearby field. It draped over the Griffin¡¯s wings, threads imbued with paralytic venom. Success? The silk net held, but the Griffin''s muscles barely tensed from the venom coating. Its golden eyes blazed with contempt as talons shredded through reinforced strands like paper. Three hunters dropped from above, their stingers plunging deep into the Griffin''s haunches. Toxins that could dissolve a boar''s bones in minutes merely beaded on magical feathers. The beast''s wing swept out, catching the smallest hunter mid-leap. Chitin cracked like pottery against granite. The spider''s death-clicks echoed through the ravine - a warning frequency that set Adrian''s spinnerets trembling. "Regroup!" Adrian''s human disguise melted away as he skittered backward. The Griffin''s magical nature seemed to render conventional attacks useless. Even as more siblings glided down on silk lines, their fangs and stingers might as well have been striking stone. The Griffin''s beak snapped through another hunter, spattering ichor across lichen. No time for analysis. Adrian''s chelicerae clicked rapid commands: "Fall back! Reform defense pattern three!" His surviving siblings retreated in waves, leaving silk tripwires in their wake. The Griffin charged through them all. Adrian''s legs splayed across the ravine wall as falling stones clattered around him. The Griffin''s roar vibrated through his carapace, making his spinnerets quiver. Eight eyes tracked the beast''s movements - primary pair focused on its beak, secondary pairs monitoring wing positions, peripheral vision scanning for exposed weaknesses. Silk strands trembled with death-signals from his siblings. Three more hunters fell, their legs curling inward as the Griffin''s talons shredded through their bodies. The beast''s golden eyes blazed with fury, magical protection deflecting venom and physical attacks alike. "Soul-strike formation!" Adrian''s chelicerae clicked rapid commands. His remaining siblings - fifteen now, down from twenty-two - skittered into position. Those without soul magic would serve as distractions. The Griffin''s wings swept outward, span wider than three horses. Adrian''s spinnerets released anchor threads, letting him drop to a lower ledge. Wind from the beast''s wings buffeted his carapace, but he managed to hold on. Two siblings darted forward, their boar-bristled legs scraping stone. The Griffin''s beak snapped shut inches from the first hunter''s head. The second managed to sink fangs into its shoulder, but might as well have tried biting granite. Crack The Griffin''s wing crushed another sibling against the ravine wall. Ichor sprayed across lichen as the spider''s legs twitched their final signals: Breach... attempted... failed... Adrian''s chelicerae spread wide. Spectral mandibles shot at the Griffin, snapping at its soul. The beast screamed - not physical pain, but something deeper. Its magical protection meant nothing against attacks targeting its very essence. Three more siblings used their own soul magic gift from the Great Mother. Ghostly fangs, demon horns and stingers tore at the Griffin''s spirit while physical bodies served as targets. The beast thrashed, crushing two more hunters beneath its lion paws. But its movements grew erratic as soul-wounds accumulated. "Press harder," Adrian commanded through leg-signals. He saw subtle changes in the beast - the Griffin''s eyes dulled slightly. Each soul attack fractured its soul further. Another sibling died, spine snapped by the Griffin''s tail. The death-clicks carried tactical data: Wing joint... exposed... when turning... His remaining siblings coordinated through silk vibrations, positioning themselves at different angles. The Griffin couldn''t defend against attacks from all directions. Adrian''s pedipalps tasted blood in the air - both Griffin and spider mixing into a bitter cocktail. A sibling to his left clicked rapid coordinates through the silk network. The ravine walls amplified every sound: talons scraping stone, wings beating air, dying spiders releasing final clicks. Eight eyes tracked movement above as another sibling launched from an overhang. The Griffin''s beak snapped upward, but spectral mandibles tore into its soul while physical fangs missed completely. The beast stumbled, golden eyes flickering like dying embers. "North face clear," leg-signals rippled through surviving hunters. "Strike formation." Four siblings skittered across granite, leaving silk trails that gleamed in the sunlight. The Griffin''s head whipped between targets, soul-wounds rapidly accumulating. A wing swept out, crushing one hunter against jagged rock. The death-clicks carried vital information: Soul fractures... turning physical... from wing joint... Adrian''s spinnerets released rapid signals through the silk network. Soul fracture detected. Wing joint vulnerable. Physical attacks now possible. The remaining boar-gene siblings absorbed this information through leg contact with the silk strands. Eight pairs of bristled legs tensed against granite. These hunters carried the strength of wild boars in their genes - thick carapaces meant for charging, mandibles designed to crush bone. The Griffin''s golden eyes flickered between targets, magical protection wavering around the wounded wing joint. Cracks spread through its magical defense like humans losing their will from breeding. Each soul-wound left behind by spectral mandibles created new weak points. Three boar-gene hunters launched forward, bristled legs scraping furrows in the rock. The Griffin''s beak snapped at the first, but the spider twisted mid-leap, allowing the second hunter to sink fangs into the exposed wing joint. Mammal blood sprayed this time - not just ichor. The beast screamed, wing thrashing. The third hunter''s mandibles crunched through feathers and muscle, venom flooding the wound. Magical protection crumbled around the injury, rapidly spreading outward. Adrian''s chelicerae spread wide, launching another barrage of spectral mandibles. The soul-strikes tore deeper now, finding purchase in the Griffin''s weakened defenses. More cracks appeared in the beast''s golden eyes. A wing sweep crushed one boar-gene sibling against the ravine wall. The death-clicks came slower this time: Venom... working... keep striking... The remaining hunters coordinated through silk vibrations. Two distracted the Griffin''s beak while another charged its wounded flank. Bristled legs gouged bloody furrows across the beast''s side. Magic sparked and fizzled, unable to repel physical attacks as the soul continued fracturing. Adrian''s pedipalps tasted victory in the air. The beast''s movements grew sluggish as venom spread through its system. Each soul-strike widened the cracks in its spiritual defense. Press attack. No mercy. The commands rippled through silk strands. Adrian''s remaining siblings understood - this was not about clean kills or preserved breeding stock. The Griffin''s soul would shatter, but the body would impregnate the Great Mother just fine. Two more hunters died beneath lion claws, but the death-clicks carried no regret. Each sacrifice exposed new weaknesses, every drop of ichor paid for in Griffin blood. The beast''s roars grew weaker, golden eyes dulling as soul-wounds accumulated. Adrian launched the final assault, spectral mandibles tearing through what remained of the Griffin''s spiritual protection. The beast''s soul shattered, leaving behind an empty vessel wrapped in failing magic. Adrian''s legs scraped against granite as he looked at the aftermath. Of thirty hunters who began the assault, only seven remained standing. Four boar-gene siblings still drew breath, while three others capable of soul-strikes had survived by staying out of the Griffin''s physical reach. The ravine walls were a mess - ichor stained the rocks in thick streams, broken legs and shattered carapaces scattered across ledges. Adrian''s chelicerae clicked a command, and the survivors began gathering the remains of fallen siblings. No part would go to waste. Broken chitin would reinforce web structures. Intact spinnerets would produce silk for egg sacs. Even the ichor could be processed into venom enhancers. The Griffin lay bound in layers of silk, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Magic still sparked weakly around its wounds, but the soul-fractures had spread through its entire being. The beast''s eyes stared at nothing. "Prepare for transport," Adrian clicked to his siblings. The boar-gene hunters positioned themselves around the Griffin, bristled legs digging into stone for leverage. More silk strands wrapped around the creature''s limbs, creating a network of anchor points. A hunter with the soul-strike gift approached Adrian, mandibles working in agitation. "Twenty-three dead for one breeding stock." The spider''s horns tilted forward, expressing displeasure at the unprecedented cost. Adrian''s pedipalps brushed against silk strands, reading the vibrations of the surviving group. "The Great Mother will spawn just as many from one breeding session with this capture. Our siblings'' deaths ensure the colony''s growth." The hunter''s legs shifted in acknowledgment. Spider-things measured success in offspring produced, not lives preserved. The Griffin''s magical genes would strengthen future generations far beyond what twenty-three deaths could diminish. Silk lines snapped taut as the survivors began moving the Griffin. The beast offered no resistance - just dead eyes and shallow breathing. Adrian''s eight eyes tracked every movement, watching for signs of recovery. But the soul-fractures had done thorough work. Nothing remained of the proud creature that had ruled these skies. Chapter 11 - New Broods Merlin TV Universe, Darkling Woods Time: Year 1, Month 9, Day 28 Current Celestial Points: 0 Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000 Monthly Roll: 1/1 --- Amara''s pedipalps twitched as she sensed the vibrations through the silk strands. Adrian was returning, together with seven survivors from his hunting party. But they weren''t alone - a large beast trudged alongside them, bound in layers of webbing. She adjusted her position on the web, eight eyes focusing on the approaching group. They drew closer, and Amara recognized the creature as the Griffin that had ruled the northern woods. Its golden feathers were matted with ichor, wings drooping in silk restraints. The once-proud beast now moved with a sluggish gait, eyes dull and unfocused. Her offspring had been successful in their ambush, though the cost seemed high. She awaited Adrian''s report, pedipalps brushing against anchor threads to better interpret the web''s signals. Adrian and his siblings deposited the Griffin in a central chamber, allowing the webbing to suspend it from the ceiling. The young spider-thing approached Amara, his horns tilting in a gesture of respect. "Great Mother, the Griffin has been captured as you desired. But..." His mandibles worked in agitation. One of the boar-gene hunters stepped forward, bristled legs rasping against stone. "Twenty-three perished in the assault. All attempts at physical strikes proved ineffective against its magical defenses." Amara''s eyes narrowed as she processed this information. Such losses would need to be replenished. Still, her primary concern centered on the prize now hanging before her. "And its soul? The condition?" Adrian responded with a commanding click. "Shattered. We employed soul-strike tactics that fractured its spiritual essence piece by piece." His pedipalps gestured towards the Griffin''s lifeless eyes. "Only an empty husk remains, but it lives - ready for breeding." Amara''s chelicerae clicked in satisfaction. A soulless beast would breed just as well as one with spirit. She turned to the surviving hunters, legs tapping against silk strands. "Move it to breeding chamber three. The one with the human females." The hunters responded immediately, coordinating through leg signals to shift the Griffin''s weight. Silk lines creaked as they guided the creature down tunnels lined with webbing. The beast''s wings dragged against silk walls, golden feathers leaving trails in the dust. Amara''s pedipalps twitched with anticipation as she entered the breeding chamber. The Griffin hung suspended from the ceiling, its powerful wings bound by silk restraints. A dozen human females surrounded the beast, their cocoons swaying gently as they whimpered in fear. She turned toward Adrian, inclining her horns. "Begin the breeding process. Take all of the females." Adrian clicked an acknowledgment, skittering over to the nearest human cocoon. The woman inside screamed as his chelicerae sliced through the silk, causing her to tumble to the silk floor. She scrambled backward, eyes wide with terror. ¡­ Amara relaxed, disregarding the pathetic sobs filling the air. A simple tap of her legs against the webbing summoned more of her offspring from outside the breeding chamber. They scurried inside dutifully, dextrous palps already working to spin fresh cocoons around each female impregnated by Adrian. Giving a final look around the breeding chamber, Amara made her way out to one of the egg chambers. Once there, she began the process of spinning silk to prepare for her eggs. Her spinnerets continued working, creating a small, dense pad of silk that would form the base of her egg sac. When the base was ready, Amara positioned herself above it. Her abdomen contracted rhythmically as she released a cluster of small eggs onto the silken foundation. Within minutes, several dozen eggs formed a neat pile. Then she began the crucial work of wrapping her clutch. Her spinnerets began layering protective silk around the eggs. The outer layer she spun was particularly dense and tough, designed to shield her offspring from predators and harsh conditions. Some strands she infused with special silk that would help maintain the proper humidity and temperature within. The entire process took less than an hour. When finished, Amara inspected her work - a small, round egg sac securely anchored to the web, destined to hatch into the next generation of superior Griffin-gene offspring. Amara skittered along silk lines toward the center of her territory, legs weaving signals through the strands. Female offspring who carried the Superior Mother gift responded immediately, scurrying from various tunnels and chambers. "Begin breeding with the Griffin," she clicked, mandibles working precisely. "We must maximize the potential of this capture." The females rushed to obey, horns tilted in acknowledgment as they disappeared into breeding chamber three. Amara settled into her web, eight eyes half-closed as she focused on the vibrations flowing through the silk network. Three weeks passed. The egg chamber hummed with life. Amara''s two griffin-gene egg sacs pulsed with movement, the silk walls stretching as the spiderlings inside pressed against them. Nearby, terrified screams echoed from the human breeding chamber as the dozen females began giving live birth.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The first egg sac split open. A dozen spiderlings crawled out, demon horns already sharp despite their tiny size. But what drew Amara''s attention were the wings - delicate membrane-like structures sprouting from the abdomen. One spiderling tested them immediately, rising a few inches into the air before settling back onto the silk. The second egg sac hatched moments later, releasing another dozen winged offspring. A lot of little spiderlings began flying back and forth in front of her pedipalps. From the human chamber came wet sounds of birth, followed by the skittering of new legs. These spiderlings came out covered in afterbirth. Each one bore the mark of human-gene influence - two front legs ended in flexible hands rather than standard spider appendages. Amara watched the newborn spiderlings explore the silk strands around them. The Griffin genes had produced interesting results, but she needed to consider the next step for expanding her brood. More magical creatures would need to be captured, perhaps even dragons if they could be found. Silk strands vibrated as Adrian climbed onto her web, his horns tilted in a respectful greeting. "Great Mother, I have discussed matters with the elder siblings." His chelicerae clicked thoughtfully. "We believe it would benefit the colony if I were to breed you." Amara''s pedipalps twitched as she considered his words. Adrian continued, mandibles clicking together. "I share most of your gifts - the subspace pocket, soul-strike magic, and human disguise. Our offspring would have a higher chance of inheriting multiple gifts." She shifted her weight on the web, eight eyes studying her most capable child. Adrian had proven himself during the Griffin hunt, displaying tactical thinking beyond what she expected. His suggestion made sense - breeding between gift-bearers would strengthen the bloodline. Her front legs tapped against the silk in agreement. Several weeks passed as the colony expanded. Amara watched from her central web as the Griffin-gene offspring grew at an accelerated pace. The winged spiderlings darted through the air, testing the limits of flight. A group of them swooped down on a wild boar, easily overwhelming the beast despite still being very young. "The wings are stronger than expected," clicked one of the elder hunters, observing as the Griffin-children tore into fresh meat. "And look how the boar''s tusks barely scratched them." Amara''s pedipalps twitched. While these offspring hadn''t inherited the Griffin''s complete immunity to physical damage, they shrugged off blows that would have cracked the carapace of her boar-gene children. A month later, Adrian approached her web again. "Great Mother, we should preserve the Griffin''s seed in your inventory." His chelicerae worked as he explained. "If we lose this territory, we''ll maintain access to these superior genes no matter what happens. Even if you had to respawn in another world." She tested the concept immediately, drawing some of the Griffin''s essence into her subspace pocket. The seed remained viable - apparently living material on this scale didn''t trigger the pocket''s restrictions. Adrian''s suggestion proved valuable, as always. The breeding chambers remained busy. Human females screamed every three weeks as Adrian maintained a steady breeding schedule. Their wombs produced strong offspring with human-like hands that sometimes inherited the human disguise gift, perfect for infiltration work. Meanwhile, the Superior Mothers focused entirely on breeding with the Griffin. More winged spiderlings hatched each month, strengthening the aerial capabilities of the colony. Amara herself bred regularly with Adrian now. These sessions produced offspring in which each spiderling inherited at least two gifts - usually some combination of Authority of The Beast, Major Boon, subspace storage, soul-strike magic, human disguise, or Omniglot, though there was more variety than she had expected. The offspring hatched more intelligent than standard broods, already communicating in complete sentences within days of hatching. One morning, as Amara inspected a fresh clutch of eggs, Adrian brought news. "The Griffin-gene offspring have surpassed the boar-gene offspring in size," he clicked, legs tapping against silk strands. "They''ve developed an effective hunting strategy - three fly high while two attack from below. No prey escapes." Amara¡¯s pedipalps brushed against silk strands, sensing the vibrations of griffin-gene offspring soaring through nearby chambers. "The boar genes have served well, but we must focus on superior bloodlines now." Adrian¡¯s horns tilted in agreement. "Breeding with common animals wastes resources. Even human men provide minimal benefits compared to magical creatures." His front legs gestured toward the breeding chambers. "I can continue seeding the human females since it requires little effort, but the Superior Mothers should dedicate themselves to Griffin-gene production as they have done for some time." Silk strands vibrated as several offspring approached. One of the elder hunters spoke up. "The human males consume more food than they''re worth. We should process most into foodstock for the new broods." The spider''s chelicerae clicked thoughtfully. "Keep a few alive for those learning human mimicry." Amara rose from her web, legs spreading as she issued commands through the silk network. The vibrations spread outward, reaching every corner of the territory. Within minutes, spiderlings began dragging dazed men from cocoons toward the feeding chambers. The spiderlings began processing them for food, causing the prey to let out loud screams. Web strands carried vibrations of efficient butchery - limbs separated, organs stored, bones crushed for marrow. Nothing went to waste. A month passed. Amara inspected the growing colony from her central position. The Griffin-gene offspring had established aerial patrol routes, wings humming as they soared between chambers. Below, new human-gene spiderlings practiced shifting between forms, mimicking the expressions and movements of their old food supply. A full two years had passed since her spawning in Minecraft. Amara felt the shift in time through her carapace - a new cycle beginning, which meant she could gather another thousand Celestial Points. She clicked commands through the silk network. One of her subspace children deposited a fresh boar carcass on her web within seconds. Amara tore into the meat, consuming the entire animal... but she gained no points. Her mandibles clicked in frustration. The boar posed no real challenge anymore - she had grown to the size of a black bear, with a carapace thick enough to shrug off boar tusks. Even without using soul-strike magic, she could easily overpower such prey. She needed stronger food. Amara descended through silk-lined tunnels into one of the practice chambers. Thomas huddled in a corner, clothes hanging in tatters as he watched a female offspring practice human seduction. The spiderling wore a human disguise similar to Amara''s disguise, but with brown hair and smaller breasts. "Great Mother." The offspring stepped away from Thomas, bowing respectfully. Thomas''s mad laughter echoed off the walls. "My wife! My beautiful wife returns!" He crawled forward, eyes unfocused. "Did you bring more eggs? More beautiful eggs for me to eat?" Amara''s mandibles snapped shut around his head. Bone crunched between her fangs as she consumed his body... but again, no points appeared. Mere humans had become too weak to challenge her. Her mandibles chomped down on the remnant skull fragments. Knights might prove different - they wielded steel weapons and wore metal armor. Their trained strikes could potentially harm or even kill her. But none had been captured by her offspring, since they rarely went this deep into the Darkling Woods. What to do¡­