1st of Fructidor, 1535

Oleander covered his chips in tartar sauce and shoveled a bunch of them into his mouth. He hadn’t had a decent meal like this since the exorcism at the Massengale manor. Moira was off-put by Oleander’s voracious appetite, but maybe there was something to these chips. She tasted a handful and the salty and acidic taste shot through her mouth—she instantly needed more.

“I think they have salt, pepper, and a spritz of vinegar on them,” Oleander remarked.

Moira, just as ravenously as Oleander did, tore through her fried food bouquet. He quickly grabbed her newspaper cone and pulled it away.

“—Now with your story,” Oleander remarked as he picked one of the fried fish from her meal and substituted it with some of his chips.

“You mean my mother’s story,” Moira corrected.

“You know what I mean.”

*****

1st of Brumaire, 1513

The morning was somber, despite there not being a single cloud in the sky. There was mostly silence along the full length of Gartenstrasse, one of the longest roads of Ursulaburg. While only seen at town halls and military establishments, many houses draped the Morrigan flag from their windows—a blue and black flag with a four-pointed white star in the center. As Alma walked out her front door, she was staggered by the number of people flooding the sidewalks.

Alma carried a pair of boots in her arms; she placed them on a low stone wall that separated her house from the sidewalk. She placed the boots next to two other pairs of boots. Her neighbors erected massive floral arrangements containing roses and chrysanthemums. Alma only held three white lilies and she placed one in each right boot among the pairs—one for her father, and one each for her old brothers.

The wind carried the sound of a trumpet’s song; it was far away but everyone knew what was coming. Prince Aethelstan III rode first with his contingent of knights following close behind and after them came the true procession. A long line of horse-drawn carts, each manned by a military officer, came into view; each cart carried one casket. The side of each casket had the deceased’s name and military rank written out. Grief, tears, and heartbreak befell the spectators as the procession marched onward to the Church of Careena at the end of town.

Alma let out a silent prayer to Careena. She was more than likely hearing thousands of prayers today, but hopefully, she could spare a moment to hear Alma. Her heart sank as one casket in particular passed by with the name Gerard Beckinsale; Behind him were Hugo and Jakob Beckinsale. Having received their boots was one matter, seeing their caskets was another entirely. A tear fell down her face, but she refrained from wailing as others had. She didn’t want to disturb the peace. She desperately wished to have her mother by her side, but she knew her mother was anxiously awaiting their arrival elsewhere. Alma turned her back on the procession as her two brothers faded from view. She couldn’t bear being outside anymore. She didn’t like seeing people cry, or having other people see her cry.

In the days that followed, Alma tried to lead a normal life, but she couldn’t. She had worked herself to the bone to keep the house pristine and well-stocked with food for whenever her family would come home from military service, but now her exhaustion kept her in a near-catatonic state. She could hardly muster the strength to get out of bed most days to feed herself. At times her house, originally built for five people, would feel like an ever-shrinking cage.

One night, when she finally gathered the strength to get out of bed, she was visited by a strange creature. It emerged from one of the walls through a black, inky portal. His visage disturbed her, but she felt powerless to run away from him. Alma initially thought her life would come to an end, but to her surprise, this devil didn’t want to kill her.

“My name is Azephra.” He asked her one simple question: “What is it that you desire most?”

Her response was immediate, “My family. I don’t want to be alone anymore.” She didn’t know why she so willingly spoke those words.

The devil walked around her. His jet black eyes looked her over like a farmer would examine his prized cow. The scurrying noise his legs made sent chills up her spine; it reminded her of hearing cockroaches or mice running about the kitchen at night.

“I can grant this desire, but as payment, all I ask for is your soul.”

The devil held out his hand for a handshake.

“But why should I trust you?”

Azephra pulled away from Alma.

“Why should you trust me? Hmm, maybe I should seek someone else then. Someone else who doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.”

The devil turned away, but Alma grabbed his arm.

“I just-I just want to know that you won’t immediately kill me and take my soul.”

“I don’t kill those that I have under contract. That’s not the kind of devil that I am. What I am—an artist is a good description—and you appear to be an excellent base for a project. Now, with my assurance that I won’t kill you, will you accept my deal?” Azephra held out his hand again.

As Alma’s hand reached out for his, she hesitated slightly.

“I won’t offer this again,” the devil sternly reminded.

Alma grabbed his hand. The devil’s smile widened. He tightened his grip on her hand. Alma suddenly felt an alternating sense of being very hot and very cold.

“Praise unto the Mother of the Night, Lord Nellika, grant our notice.” Alma’s alternating sensations began speeding up. She felt as if part of her body was being pulled away from her, but she was standing perfectly still. “I shall grant this human what she most desires. Upon her death, upon this conclusion of our contract, I will obtain her soul, her fledgling ember of creation. If the killing of this human is done by my own hands, I forfeit her soul unto you oh merciful Mother of the Night.”

Black markings burrowed themselves into Alma’s hand and traveled up to her wrist. Alma pulled her hand away, but the pain in her arm magnified. A tattoo was burned onto her flesh; its appearance was that of two snakes spiraling around her wrist with the heads meeting each other on the underside—between the heads was a black diamond. The marking flashed. Each time it turned red, Alma felt faint. She stumbled back and forth. Her legs grew numb. The world spun endlessly. She fell to the floor with a searing pain in her pelvic region.

“What did you do to me!” She shrieked.

“I gave you the means of having a large family,” the devil spoke as a black portal opened up behind him.

“I thought you would bring my family back.”

His head snapped back and laughed, “Resurrection is an impossibility human, remember that well. Azephra stepped back into the portal and disappeared from Alma’s life. Alma writhed in pain on the floor as the lower half of her body began to glow and forcibly change. It felt like her very spine was being stretched beyond its limits. Her pelvic region expanded—to the point that it was twice as big as her torso. She’d completely lost the feeling in her legs. She looked down in horror as her legs glowed a deep red color; each of her legs split into four thin spider legs. Alma crawled to one of the hallway mirrors to gauge what had happened to her. From her hips down, she had a spider’s body.

Her screams of pain had alerted her neighbors. But when they came to check on young Alma, they found her monstrous new form. Despite barely being able to use her new legs, she was forced out of town by a scared and confused populace. Alma continued running, fleeing across Morrigan desperately trying to find someplace where no one could hurt her. She traveled into the Scrublands, where most of the soil is tinged gray and ashen storms are frequent.

Alma would find solace in an abandoned fort. She lay there undisturbed for nearly two years until a small group of scientists discovered her. The man in charge of the expedition was Dr. Tilman Kallenburg.

*****

“The scientists were only supposed to stay in the vicinity of Caligær for six months, but Dr. Kallenburg and my mother were enamored with each other. His stay, along with a select few, became permanent,” Moira explained.

She turned around and pulled the back of her dress down a bit to show the back of her neck. “K1-10. Kallenburg 1st Brood, 10th child.”

“Do all your siblings have identification numbers?” Oleander asked.

“Yes.”

“What for?”

Moira bluntly remarked, “Experimentation, and to reduce inbreeding amongst our race.”

“How would you stop inbreeding? Aren’t you all Kallenburg’s children?

“No.”

Moira explained, “Every male scientist who stayed mated with my mother. Dr. Kallenburg said it was for the good of our race if we had more variation.”

Oleander stared at Moira for a few moments before mumbling to himself, “Multiple people mated with a giant spider woman.”

“What was that, Herr Swine?”

“Nothing,” Oleander shook his mind clear of any lingering bizarre thoughts, “I barely know how to process everything you told me. I’m just amazed Azephra could just make a new race like that.”

“When he first appeared in the tunnel, he said that the Spiderkin and three other races have made it longer than twenty years.”

“Why make new races though? If I were a devil, and I had created you, I would’ve enslaved you or something. Azephra didn’t have any demands for your mother or anything?”

“Mother only met Azephra once ever, and I think I’m the only Spiderkin to have met Azephra too. He gave neither of us instructions.”

Oleander sat back in his chair. He asked, “But why—why grant someone’s desire in that way?”

“He likened himself to an artist. He referenced the goddess Maelonya. I believe she created the Humans, the Kassedians, and the Bemerogs.”

“He also considered himself a god when he left the battlefield,” he chuckled to himself, “It’s got to be inferiority that drives him.”

“Perhaps,” Moira replied.

*****

The black philosopher stone shook violently as Cormag’s eighth Signomancy spell fizzled out. He fell back onto the ground taking in big breaths of air. He could see the symbol inside the crystal that Azephra used to perform his short-range position switching, but it was too small to make out the finer details. At this point he was fresh out of ideas, he’d gone through every trick in his arsenal, or at the least the spells that wouldn’t immediately destroy the stone.

He paused for a moment and thought, “Have I really tried everything? What about—,” an idea flashed through his mind. He’d only used it on ghosts and spirits, but considering the process of making a philosopher stone, it could possibly work. Cormag drew a stylized trident on his right palm and with a single drop of blood his hands were engulfed in bluish-purple flames.

Gripping the stone just tight enough in his left hand, he pushed his right hand into the crystal. Pulling out spirits was very cold business, but the stone’s interior proved to be insanely hot, especially the symbol itself. He captured the symbol and wrenched it from its crystalline prison. Once in the air, Cormag could see it start reacting. Thinking quickly, he slammed the symbol onto a nearby tree. The symbol turned green and before Cormag could understand the symbol’s full effect, he and the tree he was touching switched places. The tree was completely uprooted and started falling away from him.

He was amazed at what the normal version of the symbol could do. He took out his notebook and carefully redrew the symbol.

“Excellent work as always Cormag,” the goblin self-congratulated.

As Cormag sealed his notebook, the empty black stone started vibrating. It floated into the air with small jets of black smoke erupting from within. The philosopher stone generated a certain amount of force every few seconds that sent everything near it, including Cormag, back a few paces.

“The black ones are unstable,” Cormag remarked as he tried to jot down notes as he was sliding away.

The geysers of black steam turned red and the crystal itself shook more violently. Moments later, it exploded sending a massive shockwave through the area. Cormag was sent tumbling, most of the plum trees were stripped of their fruit, and many small, unwitting animals were sent flying. Tinnitus was rampant in Cormag’s ears as it sounded like a massive cannon going off.

After regaining his hearing, he glanced at the space in the air where the philosopher stone once was. There was a hole. It was the damnedest thing, it looked just like Cormag took out his dagger and poked a small gash in the middle of the air. It appeared stationary. Cormag grabbed the gash and tried to close it, but it wouldn’t move. It was no bigger than the size of his thumb, but he could see into the void.

The endless flowing sea of white, black, and gray particles was mesmerizing. Since the day he sent his house through the void itself, it weighed heavily on his mind, especially the strange purplish lights that had appeared. This time nothing stared back at him. His examination was cut short by something else catching his attention. A strange twinkle appeared off in the distance. It gradually got bigger; it quickly became clear that it was heading Cormag’s way. He fled for the safety of the nearby trees right before the object slammed into the ground.

Cormag carefully peered around the tree. It was humanoid in shape, but it appeared to be made of metal. It had less defined facial features. The machine’s body was white with black accents; the barely visible parts of the major joints were deep green—similar to orichalcum. Its movements were almost natural. Something about it unsettled Cormag.

After the mechanical humanoid examined its immediate area, it noticed the gash in the air. From within the machine’s chest cavity, it pulled out a blue wisp. It slammed the small bundle of burning energy into the hole. At the moment of collision, sparks and flames erupted in every direction. The flames changed from blue to alternating black and white until the hole was forcibly sealed.

As Cormag tried to get a better look at the machine, he stepped on a tree branch. The machine’s head turned ninety degrees and its eyes pierced right through Cormag. He barely had time to formulate a plan before the entity stood right over him. Its wrist and hand opened up revealing the inside of its arm to be a cannon with green light coming from inside. The amount of energy being funneled into the machine’s arm started to alarm the meek goblin.

A horizontal beam of green light shone from the mechanical humanoid’s eyes—scanned Cormag from top to bottom. The energy it was channeling dissipated near-instantly and its hand reformed. “No devil detected,” it said in a deep voice as it turned away. Two sets of three different-sized triangles erupted from its back; they all turned bright green and much to Cormag’s surprise the entity lifted off the ground and flew back into the sky.

“So…those are real too,” Cormag opened his little sketchpad and scribbled down some more notes.