Chapter 8:

Daybreak lit the lands aflame. Like tiding waves, dazzling rays of the dawning sun slowly covered the fields with their gentle warmth. Demure zephyr played with the teeming green grass sending ripples across the pastures.

Alastair opened his eyes. Assaulted by an endless onslaught of blinding white light, he was forced to blink repeatedly, trying to regain his senses. He slowly tried to get up. Failed. The ground seemed to be somehow shaking, keeping him from completing the simple task. Confused, Alastair looked around, his eyes widening in surprise. He was moving, or, to be more precise, the wagon was, and as a consequence, the spider was forced to follow suit.

Gradually realisation began to shine in Alastair’s eyes; he remembered how he defeated the rat, how he ate its remains and how he went into hiding to evolve.

‘That’s right,’ he thought, ‘I hid to evolve, and the hiding spot… it happened to be a carriage.’ He blinked in understanding, having finally connected the dots - the wagon must’ve been used again while he was unconscious.

‘Strange,’ the spider was visibly perplexed, ‘They had just returned from a long journey; who would have thought that they would leave again so soon, perhaps….’

Bang!

Suddenly, his line of thought was abruptly cut as the cart stumbled over a stone; an irresistible force lifted the spider into the air and ruthlessly flung him backwards onto the gravel road. Still weakened after the evolution, Alastair was vaguely discombobulated; though he somehow landed on all eight, he had to take a few unsteady steps to stabilise himself on the newfound surface. By the time his vision regained its clarity, the spider was already left in the dust.

Alastair sighed briefly at this turn of events - return to the wild was the last thing he wanted, but, alas, there was nothing he could do at this point.

Only grass and occasional trees could be seen in close vicinity. Trying to avoid any daytime predators that roamed the sky, Alastair was forced to leave the pavement and travel through the tall grass alongside it somewhere into the distance in the direction where the wagon had long disappeared. He had thought about returning but soon understood that he would probably never make it back on his own.

It was only by dusk that Alastair started to realise that he was lost. The road that he had followed was nowhere to be seen, and the surrounding greenery only increased. The spider found himself on the outskirts of a forest.

Alastair continued to move forward. Despite the weakness he was feeling, despite his disappointment and regret, he persevered; there was no turning back. He didn’t know where he was going, nor could he say that this journey would bring him anything but pain; only one thing was for sure: if he stopped here, this would spell the end of his path.

No—Alastair didn’t think he would die had he stopped; he was certain that catching a few insects would not be a difficult task; he had already eaten quite a few on his way to this point; what he was truly worried about was the idea of giving in, surrendering to his own weakness and returning to the life of a typical spider. Had he taken a step from his path to power once, he would be bound to do it again and again until he would find himself walking in a completely different direction.

While the spider was walking, the atmosphere on the edge of the forest grew restless. Crows cawed as they roamed the cloudy sky, and animals silently hid in their bores, curling into tiny balls of fur as they tried to look as small as possible. Occasionally the sound of breaking sticks could be heard amidst the trees. Wind whistled melancholically, and cicadas’ buzzing was no more.

Roar!

An ear-piercing growl resounded through the forest. It was so loud and shrill, so frighteningly filled with pain and agony that even the bravest and the dumbest of those who had heard it involuntarily began to retreat.

The cracking of shattering sticks began to intensify as two large silhouettes dashed through the trees at breakneck speeds, one after the other.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Their movements were erratic and unpredictable; the leading shadow would occasionally change directions, but the second would always follow. If one were to look closer at the ravaging beasts, he would notice that with every second, the distance between them would inevitably collapse a little, and with every leap, the leading figure would always slow down. This was not a game nor a fight; it was a hunt.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into pain. With every tick of the clock, the running beast felt weaker; waves upon waves of pain and tiredness assaulted its wounded body while the fog of lethargy clouded its desperate mind—the creature was balancing on the thin line between life and death.

As if to mock its prey, to prolong its suffering, the chaser would always step back at the last moment, make a mistake, give an impression of success—a false hope of survival. It worked. Every time the beast would manoeuvre, jump to the side, narrowly escaping its chaser’s claws, its mind would light up, and the dying will to survive would spark once again. But this could not go on—nothing in this world was eternal.

The beast’s legs buckled. Driven by its powerful momentum, the creature rolled limply along the rough earth. Sharp stones and broken sticks painfully punctured its worn skin leaving behind a long crimson trail of thick blood. The chaser stopped a few meters away from its bested prey; its sharp carnivorous gaze slowly slid across its torn opponent. A look of palpable disdain surfaced on its inhuman face. The creature growled.

Under the dim moonlight, the two figures could be finally seen. A large ashen wolf akin to a mountain towered over its prey. Its elongated muzzle looked ferocious, with razor-sharp fangs sticking out of it like knives ready to butcher its prey. Blood drooped from its pitch-black claws as its only eye that seemed to glow in the darkness devoured its prey with a murderous gaze. A deep bloody gash divided its scowling face into uneven halves going right through its left eye, now closed forever. Beneath it lay another wolf; it was smaller and darker in colour with few lighter patches scattered around its wretched croup—a mongrel. The wolf was at its last breath, its chest was barely able to rise, and its heart was playing its last rhythm. A dark pool of blood and bits of skin mixed with wet fur slowly anoint the earth below.

The beast whimpered, no longer daring to look its opponent in the eye. Its ragged tail was now tucked under its frail body, and its foggy gaze seemed to be full of regret. The creature was begging for mercy. The victor growled deeply as it began to unhurriedly approach its enemy, evidently ignoring the unspoken pleas. The forest had its own laws, and they had to be obeyed. The mongrel understood it.

Grrrr!

With its last powers, it slowly curled into a tight ball, trying to protect the vitals for as long as it could; despite the hopelessness of the situation, it did not want to give up; its darkening eyes glowed with rebellion. Its body may have fallen, but its mind was still up, ready to fight in its last battle.

Like a vulture, the ashen wolf began to leisurely circle the mongrel, the latter's cautions stare not leaving it even for a second. Despite the bloody cuts and small tears, the wolf seemed nonchalant as it walked around its prey; it appeared to be enjoying the feeling of unlimited power—feeding on the weaker’s fear. With every new loop, the mongrel’s eyelids were becoming heavier; the severe loss of blood and the pain which was formerly suppressed by its adrenaline rush were now beginning to scream for attention. The wolf was struggling to keep its eyes open—another loop, another step… and it was afraid that it would succumb to weakness—give in and lose its sight forever. The halfbreed growled.

The grey wolf stopped halfway around its umpteenth circle. Its hostile gaze locked onto the struggling beast. As if to question the mongrel’s audacity, it moved its bared muzzle just within the creature’s range, mocking it, daring it to make a rash move. Silence. The wolf grinned devilishly, satisfied by the beast’s obedience—the mongrel didn’t dare show defiance; it suddenly knew its place.

Grrrr…

The wolf snarled at the mongrel’s face; the latter turned away—compliance was its only option.

Rarrrh!

The mongrel screamed as the wolf’s unforgiving fangs bit into its body, tearing its thick skin to shreds; it did not retaliate.

Rarrrrr!

One after the other long waves of sharp pain brutally ravaged its fragile body. The creature held on. Its strong teeth were pressed hard against each other, almost causing themselves to fracture like glass and fall apart as agony permeated its whole being. The beast’s eyes reignited with a whole new spectrum of emotions; there was fear, regret, pain, sadness, but there were also hits of joy and satisfaction. The mongrel seemed to be reliving its whole life.

Suddenly everything stopped. The pain somehow faded away, and the body stopped convulsing on the ground. With utmost effort, the halfbreed tilted its head. Nothing. The attacker was gone, and only trees could be seen swaying in the breeze. It could finally relax. Though the mongrel didn’t consciously understand it, it felt that there will be no tomorrow; it was long past the point of no return. Its eyes slowly closed as its head dropped to the ground, giving into its weight. The proud wolf was no more.

Meanwhile, Alastair’s patience was nearing its end; he had already wandered the forest for hours, yet he had not encountered a single living being. Everything was submerged into deathly silence. Though he didn’t want to admit it, the spider was a little scared. He could not comprehend this silence, and what one could not understand, he was bound to fear.

Even at night, the forest was never this quiet; there would always be the buzzing of insects, the cracking of sticks under the careless feet of a stray beast, the chirping of restless birds even, but never silence. The deeper Alastair went, the heavier it grew. A chill ran down the spider’s back as he took another step. He stopped. This could not be ignored any longer; it was too unnatural for this silence to remain. He slowly looked around, searching for any sort of clues. Nothing. Only trees and the barely discernible smell of something sweet that wafted in the air.

‘The aroma!’ Alastair suddenly jerked as he felt goosebumps run down his back—he was all too familiar with this smell; it was the stench of death. Alastair breezed in, trying to determine its origin. It was no easy task. The smell was ephemeral, and even his superior senses needed a minute to barely catch a hint of its presence.

‘There!’ After some time, all eight of the spider’s eyes momentarily shifted in a particular direction. ‘Found you!’ He muttered under his breath. Though Alastair was excited by the prospect of filling his bottomless stomach with something new, he was still unnerved by the eerie silence; it could not be there without reason, and whatever caused it had to be guilty of the creature’s death; otherwise, there was no chance that a corpse would be left alone to rot.

Taking one last look around, the spider started to move; he had nothing to lose and felt like abandoning this opportunity would be stupid; it is not often that he is given a chance to eat in peace. As Alastair neared the body, the sweet aroma became heavier, and the spider could begin to feel the oddly pleasant taste of metal in his mouth. This bloodthirst reminded him that he was no longer human.

At long last, the corpse was finally within sight. It was quite unsightly as it lay limply on the dirty, cold ground like a ruined plush toy. Its ravaged hairs were wet with blood, and only its white ribs shined under the undying moonlight. The once ferocious creature looked pitiful.

‘Pathetic,’ Alastair thought as he eyed down the deceased. ‘Truly, what a waste for such a fine creation to die a vermin’s death,’ he thought regretfully as his eyes landed on the wolf’s sharp fangs that, in contrast to the rest of the body, still managed to somehow retain a fragment of their former beauty.

‘This is what I need.’ Alastair thought firmly as he closed in on the body. He slowly entered the beast through the hollow between its protruding ribs; a powerful smell of metal and something rotten assaulted his nostrils. ‘If only I could get this form, further evolution would be a matter of time… too bad… my vitality would be barely enough to reap only the smallest of benefits that this body can offer… a waste indeed.’

The spider’s curved fangs entered the wolf’s flesh.