Dark Age Year 872
Twelfth day of the Forth month
As they rushed through the woods, Tharos felt his arms and legs where as light as feathers and noticed that his vision was blurring with the rushing colours of greens, browns, and yellows. The sounds of birds and crickets chirping merged into one in his mind as he hurried ahead, with his companions following closely behind. The sounds of tree branches snapping beneath his boots and the rustling of leaves or bushes brushing against his armour filled the air.
The beams of sunlight poured through the trees, illuminating Tharos’ path and warming his skin. As he drew closer, he could smell the lingering scent of fresh water; they must be approaching a small lake or watering hole. Tharos sensed the presence of a few dozen creatures as he got closer, perhaps a few hundred feet away. However, he couldn’t discern what manner of creature they were; the feeling and sensation they emitted were unfamiliar to him. Perhaps this was a new species that had emerged in recent years. Regardless, he would soon discover the nature of these creatures. All he knew at that moment was the faint echoes of many little feet scurrying and the eerie skittering noise they made. The other creature, one that was magical in nature, was a bit more fuzzy, but he knew for certain that he had never sensed another creature like it before. In a way, he felt a feeling of intellectual excitement at encountering something new, even if he would most likely be ending its life. The joys of a higher mind could never truly overlap with the baser urges of power and the love and thrill of battle, where the battle of life and death could be settled with a single swing of a sword.
In contrast to these unknown creatures, he sensed the presence of three other people. While these creatures were starting to disappear one by one, two out of the three presences felt odd. One of them was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time, a presence he thought he would feel for a long time. It was the presence of a dwarf. He had heard that they were still around, but they had fallen far from their once illustrious heights. There used to be dwarven holds that stretched far and wide across the planet, from the hills and mountains to deep underground. However, from what he heard, there are only a few holds left in the area where there were once hundreds, perhaps even thousands across the known world. This was just another reminder in the many, almost too many to count, to him that the world he knew didn’t exist any more, or what he lived in was a pale reminder, a poor, inferior copy of what he once knew. This fact alone should be enough to fill him or those of lesser will and spirit with loneliness and a fear of dread that can’t be compared by mere words, for no mere words could even equal or equate such a feeling. Only those who know it and have experienced it first-hand could truly understand it.
However, just knowing they were still around, even in this twilight state and clinging on, filled him with hope he knew he shouldn’t have. Perhaps, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, they will return to their once great heights. Just as he wished for the human race to achieve. It was a goal that, no matter how long it takes—centuries upon centuries, millennia upon millennia—those times when the golden spires touched the waters and winds rich with magic, and the skies filled with dragons, would come back again someday. He was going to make it happen, brick by brick if he had to.
The next person was definitely human, but there was something inhuman about them. They were neither a mage nor a chi art user; or did he think that they were affected by some supernatural curse. That much was clear. However, they had a presence that no normal human should possess. Tharos couldn’t make sense of it. If they were a regular person, Tharos wouldn’t have been able to sense them as clearly as he did at this range, but he did. The others he felt were faint, like small flickers of torchlight. This person, however, was like a raging storm at sea with roaring waves, dark storm clouds overhead raining down hail, and bolts of lightning while thunder echoes upon all who would bear witness. It was as if this person’s mortal shell was merely a vessel for the raw, uncontrollable power that raged within, trying to claw its way to the surface.
“What are we expecting this time?” Cenric asked quickly, who was only a few paces behind him, trying to keep up.
“I don’t know. All I know is that there are at least a few dozen foes before us, and three people holding them back.”
“So this nobleman is still alive?”
“He might be, or he might be dead, if so only there servants and retainers are all that remain.” Cenric looked downcast for a moment.
Don’t give me that look. We’ll be there shortly,” he said, glancing quickly at Cenric as he drew his sword. “I suggest you draw your weapons and get ready for battle.” Cenric nodded at the instruction and readied his spear and shield. Behind him, he saw Rayner preparing his axe. As they approached the clearing, the smell of fresh water and blood became too strong to ignore, accompanied by the sounds of battle and shouting. In the clearing, a small lake was surrounded by many trees, some of which were covered in a thin layer of webbing. Tharos saw several dozen massive spiders, with dripping fangs the length and size of small swords, encircling the lake. Most of them were the size of a large dog and were a mix of dark and light green in colour with yellow or brown spots. However, one spider stood out, much larger than the rest. It was more like a fusion of a beautiful woman and a massive spider. Its top half was a pale woman with a fine, thin face, black hair, brown eyes, and a modest hourglass figure with her long hair covering the tips of her breasts, which were like well-shaped melons. Her mouth was thin and pale pink, and though pleasing to look at, it contained a pair of elongated fangs, and her hands were chitinous with finger-like claws. The bottom half, where her hips would be if she were a normal woman, was the start of the spider body. At the front, it had several black eyes and massive mandibles and fangs that were dripping, with its front four legs sharp like blades from a scythe continuing to a spider body which was perhaps two to three times the size of all the others, maybe the size of a small wagon, that was black in colour, with a red stripe running down its back and to its abdomen. Its enormous abdomen was swollen, almost as if it was ready to burst, with webbing dripping out of the tip. She was speaking in a voice that was shrill and grating on the ears, saying, “Food, food for my children,” she screeched out like a women possessed.
It is a shame she is a man-eating monster, and not a woman of great beauty and wit. She would make great company. Tharos thought to himself while glancing at the top half of this creature, which he found quite appealing, much more appealing than the various encounters he had in whatever town or village they stopped in for the night.
As he glanced to the side, he saw the fallen bodies, many of which were being dragged away by the smaller spiders. Among the fallen bodies, only a few figures remained standing. Some had met their end in the lake, staining its waters red with blood, while others lay on the grass and flowers, their lifeblood seeping into the ground. The three figures amidst the carnage included a young man who was short in stature with an athletic and lean build, appearing to be around the same age as Tharos. He was clad in finely decorated breastplate armour of a golden colour, wielding a bastard sword in one hand and a banner of an embroidered flower in the other. He had short, wavy dark blonde hair and dark blue eyes, possessing a handsome visage with a sharp jawline marred by a prominent scar that ran from his left eye down to his chin. He was also missing teeth on his lower jaw, which had been replaced by a plate etched with lines in a poor attempt to mimic teeth. He slashed and stabbed at the spiders approaching him with controlled and focused aggression. As one spider tried to leap at him, he swiftly cut it in half mid-swing, green blood and pieces of exoskeleton scattering about. He spoke so loudly that even they could hear him from several tens of feet away.
“Quintus, next time you decide you want to go swimming, let me pick the spot. Every time you do this, stuff like this always happens. If it’s not Assassins, it’s monsters from Gods know where,” the figure said, flicking some of the spider blood out of his face and hair using his forearm. “I don’t think my face and hair can take it.”
“I think it’s too late for that. You have a face only a mother would love,” the next figure said, his voice stern and coarse.
“But I have to agree with Noctis,” the stouter and shorter figure clad in dark grey full plate armour chimed in. “You have a habit of hiding trouble, even when not looking for it.” He carried a massive halberd in his hands and a short sword tucked within his belt, with a symbol of an axe on his chest that Tharos recognised. Although it had changed slightly, he remembered the core design. It was the symbol of the Clan Stone Axe, one of the dwarven clans that the Zarbarians often encountered and did business with. Tharos felt a strange twinge in his heart, knowing that something from his time still existed after all these years, albeit in a different form. The figure was stabbing and cleaving spiders with the unyielding stubbornness typical of dwarven people.
The final figure in the centre, flanked by the other two, spoke up with a commanding and smooth voice. “Remind me, Noctis and Volcan, when did you trade in your arms for the skirts of scared little girls? We will either fall here or emerge victorious.”
Volcan retorted, “At this rate, you’re going to be the death of me. Your father, his father, and his father before him never gave me this much trouble, unlike you.”
“Don’t lie to me, Volcan. I know you’re enjoying the blind madness of battle just like myself and Noctis are,” Quintus replied.
“Speak for yourself, Quintus,” Noctis interjected. “At least for you, Volcan, the oath your forebears made only applies to the head or main branch of the Florianus family. For my family, the oath applies to all members of the Florianus family. So I have to follow this madman around until he dies or I die.”
“You two worry too much. Minerva said today would be a rather fortunate day,” Quintus said. “And so far, she has never led me astray with her visions.”
“Quintus, I think you place too much trust in that woman’s prophecies. You’re just like your father and every human I have ever come across, putting too much stock in superstition,” Volcan said as he impaled another spider on the end of his halberd. The spider struggled before twisting and curling up its legs. Volcan then picked it up at the tip of his halberd, flipped it over, and tossed it into the lake behind him with a massive splash.
“More like her beauty and skills in worldly pleasures, since she is the favourite for now.” Noctis corrected, as he stabbed his blade deep into another spider, green blood splashing out onto the ground.
“Why, Noctis, is that a hint of envy I sense? If you want her, you’re free to have her. She’s not my woman,” Quintus retorted as he swung his sword at Arachne again, the blade arc going wide. The Arachne spat a slimy goo at him, melting the plants around him, before he dodged out of the way.
“Not at all, Quintus. I have a loving wife waiting for me at home, unlike you, who won’t settle down and instead beds other people’s wives,” Noctis replied. “I just hope for your sake and that of your family that none of these seeds bear fruit.”
“For the record, Noctis, I don’t plan for these things to happen; they just happen,” Quintus responded before continuing to attack the Arachne. He slashed at it wildly, while it countered with its blade-like front legs and his claws parrying and redirecting his strikes. “You’re lucky I am a man of honour. Some would take your words as treacherous.”
“If you were not a man of honour, I would not tell you these things nor would I be proud to fly your standard over mine,” Noctis added as he cut another spider in half.
“Well, it’s better that you say it here, rather than having all of Aria hear it,” Quintus said with a wry smile.
“Well, perhaps you can work your charms on the woman in front of us. She seems to like you,” Noctis said, gesturing to the Arachne. “Perhaps she is waiting for her fated prince to give her a kiss.”
“Sorry, but she doesn’t inflame my passions.”
“What will inflame your passions, then.” Noctis asked sarcastically.
“Those who are more open than a Navertin trade port,” Volcan said with a throaty chuckle that echoed underneath his helm.
Tharos was amazed that this exchange was going on amidst the chaos and the almost cavalier nature of it. While all three of them were fighting for their lives, such fearlessness was to be admired. The strong presence he felt before was coming from the one they called Quintus. He was a handsome and broad-faced youth with short black hair and piercing gray eyes. A deep scar ran over his left eye. He was solid in body and stature, tall with long and lean limbs like a tiger’s. He wore tattered fine robes, and his only protection was a thin sheet of chain mail, leather greaves connected to his sandals, and a bastard sword carried in both hands. This figure fought the largest spiders along with a few smaller ones in a whirlwind of death that even he struggled to keep up with. All three figures were coated in red and green blood. As they arrived at the scene and were about to charge, Rayner muttered under his breath, “Forest spiders, with an Arachne. Well, at least I won’t be bored.”
He turned to him and said, “You know what these creatures are.”
“Yeah, they’re big bugs that we’re going to crush,” replied Rayner.
“I hate to correct you, but they are arachnids, not insects,” Tharos explained.
Rayner rolled his eyes. “What’s the difference?”
“Well,” Tharos continued, “Insects or bugs, as you called them, have six legs, while arachnids have eight legs.”
“Wow, learn something new every day,” Rayner said sarcastically.
He smiled, “I’m happy to help. But I am puzzled as to what an Arachne is. In the books about this current era, such a creature never came up.” Cenric raised his hand.
“Yes, Cenric?”
“I know what an Arachne is. They are a monster, half woman, half spider.” Tharos looked at the creature and then at him. “Yes, I can see that, but where do they come from?”
“Well, the village elder told me a story about a woman who was cursed by the gods. He didn’t know much besides that.”
“Well, that is helpful. But regardless, we have a nobleman to save.” With that, he rushed into the fray, with Rayner and Cenric following behind him. They charged into the clearing, with Rayner shouting at the top of his lungs, “Fear not! I, Rayner the Crimson Wolf, have come to the rescue!” This drew the attention not only of the spiders but also of the three people who were about to be overwhelmed by the spiders, as most of the spiders turned their attention to them.
Tharos saw Quintus point to the three of them. “See, I told you everything would be fine,” with Nonus shooting him a glare. Several spiders crawled towards them with rapid pace, their fangs dripping with a substance that was killing the planet’s life as it dripped on the grass and flowers. Some of them started crawling up, almost standing, and tucking their abdomen, then started shooting webs at them. Tharos saw flashes where the webs were about to hit him and dodged out of the way. He and Rayner crashed into the main horde of spiders, which was now being attacked from both sides.
For several moments, Cenric and Rayner clashed with the large bodies of spiders like thunder, with Cedric beside them. He threw his spear, hitting one of the spiders straight in mid-air and pinning it to the ground as it thrashed around in its final death throes before stopping still. Cenric grabbed his spear and yanked it out of the spider’s body. However, he soon lost sight of Cenric and Rayner; all he knew was that they were in the melee with him and the people they came to help. All he could see were flashes of green and brown as spiders were cut into pieces around him, their blood splashing on his face and through his hair. Flashes of gray steel whizzed past his eyes, the rush of battle overwhelming him. He felt a renewed vigour surging from within, as if he were made of fire and lightning. The feelings of fear, anger, sadness, and joy that hung in the air rushed through him like an empty cup needing to be filled.
All around him, he could see flashes of when, in a few seconds’ time, the spiders would try to leap upon him and shoot their webs. However, before they could do so, he would stab or slash at them mid air or dodge or roll out of the way as if he had seen their attacking coming before, and in fact, he did. Although he couldn’t control when it happened, especially in his current state. Sometimes he would see attacks or danger several moments before it happened, giving him ample time to prepare, and to him, these spiders were nothing more than a slight annoyance to him.
As the horde of spiders thinned out, Tharos noticed another flash. This time, it was the Arachne charging at him. However, standing in its path was Cenric, who was distracted fighting another spider and wouldn’t move out of the way in time. If he didn’t act quickly, Cenric would be bisected by the Arachne, tearing through his armour and flesh as if he were made of paper. Tharos couldn’t let that happen. Turning toward Cenric, he shouted, “Cenric, move out of the way!” Cenric turned just in time to see the Arachne about to charge right through him. Kicking back the spider he was fighting, Cenric jumped and dodged the Arachne’s charge, landing a few feet away from the creature. He tried to fight them off with his spear as he struggled to get to his feet. Before the Arachne or the spider could attack again, a group that had come to save them returned the favour and came to their aid. They helped Cenric to his feet, fighting off the Arachne and the few spiders that were descending on them. In the chaos, they managed to cut off two of the Arachne’s blade legs and kill the smaller spider. As Cenric got to his feet, Tharos seized the opportunity and rushed at the Arachne, lunging at it and stabbing it right in its human abdomen.
As Arachne turned, its full attention was on Tharos. It screamed in pain, a screech that threatened to blow out his eardrums, grabbing him by the arms and tightly gripping him with its mandibles. It clung onto his legs, its claws digging into his flesh and punching through his arm braces as if they were made of paper. It lunged its head back for a massive bite with its fangs extended, but Tharos had already dug the blade deep into its abdomen. “My, your breath is foul,” he said as the creature held him even tighter in desperation. Then, it chomped down on his neck, its fangs piercing through his leather shoulder pads as if they were made of mere paper. He felt something being pumped into him, stinging and worming its way into his bloodstream, through his entire body, as if he were being violated from the inside out, like he was being probed by some foreign object. He felt like his organs, muscles, and bones were on fire, as if he had tiny spiders running throughout his entire being that were slowly eating away at his person. The random sword slashes or stabs he would get often in battle paled in comparison to this. In fact, the only equal to this moment of pain was creatures back in Zarbar, who tore through his flesh like nothing, often leaving wounds that still stung even though they had been healed long ago.
The next thing he felt was a pleasant sensation, a feeling that washed away the previous one. It was the type of feeling he would get when he was entertaining women and had, by some miracle or luck, just hit the right spot. His head now felt light-headed, and his limbs felt as if they were made of clouds. He felt like his entire essence, his being, was being drained before him, and it happened so quickly that he didn’t have time to react. However, the Arachne stopped and recoiled back as he started to cough up his own blood.
“Dead thing, dead thing, dead thing,” it shouted, repeating over and over again.
Seizing this chance, Tharos used the remaining strength he had to move the blade upwards towards the creature. With a quick push, almost as if he were lifting something heavy with the tip of his sword, his blade moved upwards through the creature’s chest and up through its head, slowly cutting and cleaving it into two. The creature then let him go and dropped him to the ground as it swayed wildly, without rhyme or reason, and charged straight into the lake, avoiding an axe blow from Rayner as it changed paths. The water was only up to its legs before it thrashed around again, dropping dead in the shallow waters of the lake. Its blood was black, and then the last twitch from its spider end shot out what looked like a few oval-shaped eggs wrapped in a loose layer of webbing, perhaps the size of a chicken, that landed in a small bed of reeds.
As Tharos lay on the ground, everything around him was a blur as several figures gathered around him. His head felt like it was about to split open. “Tharos, are you okay?” a voice called out as his vision started to go dark, and he lost consciousness. A small ringing in his ears was his final thought before everything faded to black.
