“Don't you eat?” Tyr asked. They'd been together for three days. Ayla had taken on the form of a slender and tall woman, changing shape as Nala could. He had said an unkind thing in his frustration and she had seemingly taken it to heart. Not arguing, doing her best to accommodate his arachnophobia.

Her eyes were bright red orbs, but she otherwise appeared human. The only thing separating her from any other woman he'd seen were the unnatural tint to her eyes and black, sharp fingernails on her dainty hands. Like talons. Beautiful too, incredibly so, but Tyr had noticed that pretty much anything of any capability was beautiful in his experience. Human or not. Long ago he had been told of the orc and beastkin, how 'ugly' they were – but in his experience they all looked better than the common man or woman. Girshan himself, if not for the ears, would pass for one of the most handsome men he'd ever seen.

She was fairly friendly, surprisingly. Calm and patient, and easy to talk to. Kind, even. But in some things, she could be overbearing and imperious, looking down the bridge of her noise in disgust as he buried his face in the leg of a roast chicken. He had enough food for weeks down here, maybe even months if he paced himself. She, on the other hand, had not partaken in any of his meals. Usually leaving the draped canopy of webs that served as their living space when he ate. Something like a tent, with her taking up the leftmost end, and he the right.

Neither required much space. Tyr didn't sleep, meditating in the incredible presence of mana to refine his core. Cultivating for a day here would achieve months of effort in his own world. It wasn't just the density of the mana, but the purity of it, too. No spira to disrupt it came from anywhere but his own body – and Ayla's. Showing him that she was indeed 'real', and not an illusion like everything else.

“Not that.” She huffed, disgusted at the sight of the oily fat pattering his lips. More disgusted when he presented her with the fresh corpse of a bear. “Not that, either... What is wrong with you?”

“I just want you to eat, I guess. I... Uh... Care?” Tyr shrugged, enjoying the juicy chicken regardless of whether it 'disgusted' her or not. “Ah, wait. Spiders, like... Suck the blood out of a creature – right? I think I have an unbled stag somewhere in here. Do you want that? It should be nice and clean. Or you can have one of my arms, I don't mind.”

“Your... Arm?” Ayla arched an eyebrow at him skeptically. All he did was nod, and she didn't question him further. “I'm a vegetarian.” She huffed. “It's a far superior form of subsistence, better for your skin and hair, and your mammalian digestive tract. Many of my people have realized the foul nature of consuming me--”

Tyr groaned. “Not another one...” He mumbled under his breath. Letting her drone on about the benefits of 'eating green' and wondering what kind of cruel god kept throwing such ridiculous plot points like this at him. Well, at least the kobolds had eventually come to start eating meat, as grisly as it had been to watch them swarm over half charred corpses and gorge themselves.

“Regardless...” Ayla cleared her throat, well aware that Tyr was long past listening to her. She'd dealt with people like him before, back home. “I've a month left of food in my stomachs. You humans eat so much, its disturbing. Always taking. We only eat once every few months, unless our lifestyle requires us to eat more.”

“I see.” Tyr said. “Sorry. I didn't mean to offend.”

“It's fine.” She gave a capitulating sigh. There was no arguing with carnivores like Tyr. As far as she was aware, nephilim shouldn't need to eat, and yet he produced three or four meals a day from his ring. Always training and meditating, never letting his eyes linger overlong on her form out of some concern of alarming her. Which was appreciated, but... Arachne were the most beautiful and divine creatures of any world. The weavers of fates threads. To any man, they'd appear as goddesses. And yet, Tyr didn't not fall to her allure. The siren call of her appearance alone should be enough to sedate him into submission, with her voice going a measure beyond. Men and nim had literally killed themselves in their homeland, trying to beat down the gates of their secluded cities after being caught in the 'spell' that was their existence.

Because of that, they'd been forced to isolate themselves from the wider world. Until the humans were gone, that is. Killing themselves in a series of incredibly violent wars. Beasts of the land, and the other races did the rest. Not much left of them around, if any.

“It feels oddly soothing, knowing that the axe lays so near my neck.”

“An axe?” Tyr asked. Confused, because he had only used the daggers or his fists in her presence.

“I've heard of this before.” She mused. “Old legends, apparently there was some truth to them. People of all races disappearing into a rift to end up elsewhere. Usually hunted and killed by humans. We were on a trading route out of our city state of An'tahk when we passed through the ruins of an ark. Maybe some ancient mechanism of the device misfired. I wonder if my companions are alright...”

Tyr wasn't sure what to say, wiping his mouth and hands clean with his cloth and staring at the ground. “I won't kill you. I can't.”

“I think you have to.” She replied calmly. “I don't want you to, surely, but you've been given this task. Not I. I've lived a long life, but you are still young – as nim you can walk the rift where I cannot – and even if I were to kill you first I would be stuck here until I eventually starve to death. All that I know of the rifts is that we exist as playthings to them. The malign intelligence that governs this place is not going to give much heed to my wants or needs. Gods are cruel, but they are crueler.”

“They?” Tyr asked. “Do you know who they are?”

“Builders.” She nodded. “Another form of nim, I think, but we do not communicate with your kind. Ever. Our last experience was a long war that saw half of our civilization lay to ruin. Only when all of the nephilim were dead or had left did we manage to recover. I don't know that much about it. My focus is economics. I just negotiate the price of trade goods between us and our neighbors. You don't know anything about the planes?”

“Not a damn thing.” Tyr replied flatly.

“Odd for a nephilim. You beasts come from this place, the place in between.”

“I still don't really understand what that is, either. I'm Tyr, I won't judge you for the color or your race, and I'd ask that you afford me the same respect. Or, at least, I'll try. It's hard to wrap my head around a vegetarian shapeshifting lady spider that doesn't lay eggs in living things. A whole race of them, somewhere on another world.”

“Actually.” Ayla corrected. “That's exactly what we do. Well, not me, but the silkengard. There are many races who prey on us for a variety of reasons. Typically they are dead before a laying, but it's always someone killed in war. Their tribute to us are their bodies, in the form of reparation for killing our sisters. Almost never are they sentient beings, but it does happen at times. If they commit a crime that warrants the punishment, we will force them to swallow eggs until they are fit to burst, watching in horror as our young eat their way through the innards. Revolting, but deserved. Tyr? Are you alright...?”

“I'm going to go take a walk.” Tyr said. “Thanks for that.”

“Of course. I am happy to instruct.” She replied with a wide and far too toothy smile. Completely oblivious to the images flashing through his mind.

–

Three more weeks down in the crystal forest. Or perhaps it was up, neither of them had any idea whether it was in the bounds of the tower or not. They would range out for hundreds of miles at a time, never finding an end to it. When he ran too far, he'd get a message about being 'outside the play-field' and teleported back.

“I think it would be okay.” Ayla said. They were reclining in twin hammocks hanging in the air, tied between the branches of the crystal trees with her silk. A thing she generated with her hands, pulling it out of thin air rather than 'spraying' it as he'd expected. A stereotype, maybe, or the arachne from his own world were different than her own. But he doubted it. Intelligent monsters seemed to exist elsewhere, and somehow got caught in a rift to be brought to other worlds. Ayla was an academic, at heart, and she knew a lot despite claims otherwise. All of this time together had lead them to become comfortable in each others presence.

No longer so anxious around one another, he considered her a friend. Less intrusive than Nala, teaching him things and always telling him an interesting story about her world.

“What would?” Tyr yawned. Her silk was as soft as any fabric he'd ever felt, and many times the tensile strength of steel. It was amazing, snuggling into the voluminous hammock and feeling more relaxed than ever. He wondered if he could make weapons of this stuff. If he could, he wondered what something made of such a mechanically contradictory material would look like.

“If you killed me.”

“We've talked about this.” Tyr's tired voice turned hard. But Ayla was unrelenting, not dropping the argument like she had all those other times.

“I have my reasons.” She said.

“And you keep saying that.” He pointed his finger at her, brows furrowed. “Every time. And yet you never elaborate. Do you want to die? Is that it?”

It angered him to see how accepting she was of her impending death. They both knew it was coming, but Tyr had gradually fallen into the trap until he treasured their easy relationship and conversation. She was a lot like Nala, only much younger and more stiff in demeanor. Not quite so playful, but Ayla was old and wise. He knew that it'd make it harder. Like naming a herd animal that was bound for slaughter one day. Even if he didn't do it, she'd starve to death eventually. Arachne would gorge themselves every month or two, and could go months without eating, but there was no vegetation here. And according to her, his food stores might last her another month before they were exhausted. Even if she did partake in the eating of flesh. Staving off the inevitable in this empty place was an exercise in futility, the administrator would not answer him when he called out for it.

“In my culture, strength of merit is everything. You said 'what twisted webs we weave' as some sort of joke, but the twisted web is a real thing in our society. I am part of this twisted web. We are not immortal, us arachne. I have maybe another century in me before I will become too weak to contribute to society, and I will be exiled or killed. That's if I do get home.”

“Are you not important in your duties?” Tyr asked. “I thought you were some big shot over there, with your abacus and piles and coins.”

“We trade in teeth. Monster teeth. Metallic coinage can only lead to inflation whereas... Never mind. Arachne society operates on a series of social and economic factors. Scores, they call them. Those who make it into their elder years are given points as they toil under the machinations of our consumer based economy. I am important, but I could never breed. Silver arachne are rare. Seen like... Like your primus' once upon a time, just without the aspect – as you called it. Priestesses and the like, but we've abandoned most religion. We revere the goddess, but have no need for a priesthood. Only in living fulfilled and productive lives can we honor her.” She sighed, looking sad, before the sigh turned into a glib chuckle. Accepting of what her life was.

“Let me guess.” Tyr looked her in the eye. “You cannot breed, so you'll never be able to clutch and raise industrious members of your society. The little spiders that you use for small tasks. Because of how important it is to develop your young and awaken them, since none are born arachne, you will not possess the social currency enough to become an elder or leader?”

“That is the rough way of things.” She said. “I hate that I have to die, but it's okay if it's you.” Ayla smiled. “You are good.”

Tyr snorted. “Good. I have done many terrible things. Most of which I do not regret, and I would continue doing them if it were to my benefit.”

“I do.” She said. “Whether you've killed ten men or a million does not matter. Your deeds are a truth in who you are, but you've an aura. I can't describe it. I should fear you, but I felt no threat to my life throughout all of our encounters. Not even the day you tried to stab me. It's like... A resonance. A mating call of sorts.”

“...Mating call...?” Tyr squinted his eyes before opening them again, tilting his head and pondering it over. “Honestly, if you hold to this form, I wouldn't mind. It's not bad, really, a bit skinny but I could do far worse. Just don't scratch me.”

Ayla laughed, loud and bright. Not so glib now, her worries melting away under his raw and honest stupidity. Maybe not stupidity. Ignorance would be more appropriate. He was what he wanted to be in the moment. In any moment. She liked that about him, the fact that he tried to just be, not flippant or fickle, but considerate of the need to adapt and change. “You're a bit young for me. I can smell your being, and while you appear ageless, you are just a boy. Yes?”

“About twenty cycles old, as the less nimish measure things.” Tyr replied.

“Indeed.” Ayla smiled softly. “I've no compulsion to mate with you, but if you must know, you're not so bad yourself. For a nim. You smell quite nice.”

“Everyone tells me that. I don't really get it. But are you sure?” Tyr frowned, almost disappointed. After he'd been cast out... Well, he'd been stimulated into thinking about it by Jura. He was still very much a virgin, and he'd have to get it over with eventually. This wouldn't be so bad, though a romp in a hammock ten meters above the ground sounded... Precarious. That was if they copulated in the way of humans, if she meant laying eggs in him – that was a hard pass. He'd gladly kill her if she tried to do that, infertile or not.

Ayla shrugged. “We could. Honestly. If you want to, but I don't care for it. We arachne do not feel... Ah, stimulation? When in our shifted forms, that is. I would have to become my original form. I'm not sure at that point where you'd...?” She raised and eyebrow. The allusion clear.

Where he would 'put' it. Spiders, as far as he knew, didn't have the necessary parts. “Well, you could always rub it somewhere, I don't mind. I'm not sure how human copulation works in totality, but we have orcs where we come from and they do it the same – or so I hear. There are no male arachne, we are for all intents and purposes asexual. We only require host flesh to lay young, but I would not do that to do, we do participate in ah... Well. Suffice it to say that I would not deny you if you were to ask, I am a sexually liberated woman and quite capable of fulfilling your needs.”

“...”

On one hand... Spider... On another, she was far more... Uh... Proportioned in her original form...

“...”

In any event, he understood why she had been so confused at his assertion that arachne would seduce and 'rape' men, like they were some kind of savage species of warrior women. They just laid the eggs, no mate was need to fertilize them. As for how copulation went, they bonded with each other in a 'mating ritual' via a telepathic connection. Tyr wasn't sure he wanted to try. Once bonded, always bonded. Ayla could not lay, so she'd never been. Though, according to her, one of the other partners would die if they weren't properly matched. Withering into a husk, so the matchmaking process was quite complex, sometimes taking decades to ensure married partners were suitable.

“I like you.” He said, laughing aloud. “You are my friend. I'll have to consider your offer for later though, so watch what kind of promises you make. Maybe I'll wake up feeling ravenous one day.”

“I'd like to think that you are mine as well, little nim. You have taught me a great many things about the diversity of men. At least in your thought. You view us as monsters, and we view you mostly the same. All perspective, though I am sure you are not like the nephilim my kind have faced. Not at all. They were fearsome warriors, and I mean no offense to your skill, but you are not so bloody in purpose, I think. In the old stories, my brood mothers told me of the nim, how they could smash entire cities to pieces, just one of them. They were few, those of your variant, but they were mighty.”

Two more days, and it was ready. Tyr had come to terms with it, and so had Ayla. She had a power to soothe him, which she said came from her pheromones. 'Magic pheromones' that would drive men up the wall with lust. Other creatures, too, but lesser men – as in true humans – were by the far the most effected. That which made them unwilling to kill one another was like the worlds greatest aphrodisiac to humans, for some reason. Those on her world were blood crazed lunatics, and the soothing component must've activated something in their 'monkey brains'. Her words.

Further conversation had brought him to acceptance. He didn't cry, or weep, or feel any form of pity as he held the hammer over her head. One of the few weapons yet remaining in his dimensional storage, the same hammer he'd pulled off that paladin. Ayla said it was a beautiful piece, wishing to be done in by a blunt object. In her shifted form, unlike Nala, her body was a physical illusion and simulation. Her organs were still mostly inhuman in nature. A long brain stem that extended down to her abdomen, and her heart was in her neck. A doughnut shaped organ that wrapped around her trachea and served as both circulatory muscle and an aid to breaking down harder bits of the prey her kind were wont to eat. Those that weren't vegetarian as she was.

“Goodbye, Tyr of House Ebonfist.” He did the same for her. Something about him was almost... Irresistible. Like she had to listen. Dominating her spirit through no apparent force of will. Not in a romantic way, as arachne did not feel those kind of human emotions without a soul bond. In an instinctual way. Like he was her superior in all things, whether experience would prove otherwise or not. “It really has been a pleasure. Send me to my goddess.”

“Mmm.” Tyr nodded, as calm as ever. When faced with a choice of letting himself die, or taking her life, it suddenly became easy. Not so heavy was that hammer in his hand as he swung it. She clenched her fists, waiting for the blow. “Goodbye, Ayla the Barren of An'tahk.”