The smoking gun. The moment the alert lines were cut, the signal was sent into the depths.. A single Arachkin rushed into the bowels of the den, skittering with haste to the central lair where the family had inconveniently gathered. In the meantime, the Arachkin scouts watching the threads retreated to their initial defensive positions, establishing a protective wall. They would be the first line of defense. A task given to them with every expectation that they may perish. But, with a hope that their sacrifice would give the rest of the nest time to prepare and organize. When facing adventurers, every second mattered. Especially to protect the spiderlings.

The messenger raced to the lair, leaping through the passages until her legs brought her before those waiting. Two larger Arachkin, males standing ready should such a message come, were the first to receive word. An incursion on their home, and there wasn’t just one this time. The large guards ushered the messenger into the den and urged her towards where the family gathered. Then, assuming their role, their bodies glistened with power as they marched into the tunnel to meet their violent guests.

At the appearance of the racing spiderling, Jake paused his story and rose to his feet. The sea of black and brown carapaces parted, and the broodmother’s eyes narrowed. The message was relayed once more, and the broodmother looked to the tunnel to where her sons had been waiting. Seeing them gone already, she knew that this was no laughing matter. In a single response, the den stirred to life.

“Then if we have guests, we shall give them a proper reception.”

The younger spiderlings were quickly corralled and escorted into the furthest depths of the den, led to the safety of the inner tunnels by a handful of Nursing Arachkin and pairs of Guardian Arachkins. The rest, regardless of age and experience, dispersed into the tunnels to meet the invaders of their nest. The broodmother watched over the frenzy, descending from her web to act as the single, grounding voice in the controlled chaos. In doing so, Jake bore witness to what dozens of attacks on this den had inevitably created: an Arachkin family refined and sharpened, honed to be the perfect counter to Adventurers.

Though the Arachkin brood scattered in every direction, each spiderling knew exactly how to respond to the approaching threat. They already knew their positions, already knew their roles, and not a single one panicked. Even the youngest of the family remained calm and orderly, following the directions of their older siblings as they skittered away. This was a brood that had survived multiple interactions with adventurers. For them, the approaching threat was routine.

If only the Oryx were so organized and disciplined, then maybe they too could have found a way to survive the Maedra.

“Human.” After the family had dispersed, leaving only a dozen or so Arachkin in the main lair that would support their mother in the case of a final stand, Rey’ra turned towards Jake. Her eyes glistened as the mana within her stirred. “What will you do?”

It was then that Jake realized his position and the predicament he had fallen into. The invading group was likely a party of Adventurers, individuals just like him who’d come to fight. The defending party were Arachkin, monsters and otherwise considered ‘enemies’ of those on the surface. Through his circumstances, Jake no longer found the Arachkins to fall into that category. Thus he found himself in the center between them. For the first time, Jake found himself standing in a limbo where there was no “correct” answer. As a result, this would be the defining moment where he would need to decide something crucial. Which side would he stand with? The surface? Or the monsters they sought to defeat?

When fighting beside the Oryx, the enemy was one that all hated and feared. The enemy was clear and undisputed. The Maedra. There was no side to take in such a circumstance, as joining the Maedra would have ended in death. Here it was different. Siding with the Adventurers would turn the family of his closest friend on him, along with Lady Rastua. Aside from Lady Ferynith, who’d blessed him with Magic, Lady Rastua had given him purpose and chose to give him the freedom of choice.

However, though that fact was true and he was still Human, the Adventurers coming would not see things so clearly. No, they would challenge him. They would challenge his sanity, curse him for siding with monsters, and they would denounce him. He would be cast out from humanity and be turned into an enemy of everyone from the surface.

Only if there are survivors.

The thought crossed his mind and Jake instinctively placed a hand on the pommel of a sword. His mind reeled from what those words meant and he felt his jaw tense. His fingers gripped the pommel of his blade, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. If there were no survivors, there would be none left to tell the world of his transgression here. No story of an Adventurer who fought with the Arachkin. No outcast in the tunnel, and none to spread his description or point him out in a crowd. He could leave this place without fear, knowing that he would not have to deal with the repercussions of fighting for the descendants of a man who’d given him the life he had so desired.

But, he would still be left with the memory of it. The weight of having killed other people would bear on his shoulders, and his hands would be forever stained red with their blood. Especially if he took their lives himself. Unless he simply assisted the Arachkin. Even then, would the circumstances change? His involvement here at any level would lead to the demise of other people, other adventurers, other humans. Their blood. Their deaths. They would still be on his hands, on his shoulders. Lives taken because he had made a choice, because he had chosen a side. The side that was not theirs, that was not “good”. A side that was with the enemy.

If he chose to do nothing, then Jake would need to bear the burdens of their deaths as well. When given the opportunity to help, he would choose to stand by and watch. Watch the children of his friend’s sister perish, all because he couldn’t handle the decision to help them. Because he was too scared to defy his own kin for their sakes. If he did nothing, what would the casualties amount to? If the party was skilled and experienced with fighting Arachkin, or numerous enough to withstand the brood’s numbers, the brood might be thinned out quite a bit. Then, if another party came again, the brood might once more find itself in danger. Danger it might not be able to sustain.

The hand Jake pressed against his sword squeezed around the leather as he gnawed on what to do. Rey’ra saw the indecision on his face and waited for several patient breaths until the first sound of a screech reached their ears. Jake’s head jerked upwards and Rey’ra tilted her head to look toward the noise. Both stared towards the main tunnel, listening as the sound of steel met chitin. The fighting had begun.

“I understand your hesitation, Human. I will not try to sway you to either side nor will I blame you should you decide to remain impartial.” Rey’ra spoke as she moved to the center of her lair. “But, know this. It is not just I who will judge you here. He will as well. And so will They.”

At her words, Jake turned to the pedestal he had placed Chul’s mana shard on. The purple crystal reflected in his eyes and the man felt his forearm flex even tighter. To the point his muscles ached. He then looked around the lair. The glinting eyes of the Arachkin scattered about all looked at him, waiting to see his choice; Was he an ally to them, one who would bring them salvation in this dire moment? Would he be a bystander? Or would he be an enemy? The Human proclaimed to be an Emissary of the Arachkin, friend of their late Uncle.

What will you do, boy? He could hear Chul ask him that question, the Arachkin’s deep baritone voice itching at Jake’s mind.

The party marched ahead, their weapons and shields drawn as they slammed into the bunch of spiders that had raced up to meet them. The front line hid behind their armor, smashing into the armored bodies of the creatures as the Mages behind them cast fire spells. The spiders resisted the initial volleys but their carapaces quickly caught fire, burning as their resistances were overwhelmed. The mages chanted in quick succession, rotating through as their spells finished in order to keep the spider’s pinned low to the ground.

Up close and in the thick of the fray, the warriors with their blades sliced and chopped. They aimed for weak points in the thick armor of the creatures, hacking off limbs and cutting off venomous fangs and stingers. The brood wasn’t exactly numerous and with the support from the mages, the larger spiders were kept at bay since they were easy to target over the tank’s heads. Leaving only the smaller runts for the fighters to dispatch.

The party made steady progress, advancing through several small waves of spiders until they finally reached their first set of splitting tunnels. Here, they acted as planned. Team B split off from the main group and picked the left tunnel. Team C went right, while the rest progressed along the central route. Each team was given a scout who attached to the teams and lingered towards the back, staying out of the fighting. Once the teams were set, they moved out in unison. Torches were carried by the lead warrior and sporadically through the groups, illuminating the tunnels as they walked. In doing so, they blinded themselves beyond the cover of the flames.

At the rear of the main party, the two brothers kept their distance, remaining out of the fighting thus far. No one complained to them nor shouted for their help. They weren’t here to deal with the runts. No, they were here for an entirely different purpose. That didn’t keep the fighter from quipping every now and then.

“All smooth so far, but we’ll see how long that lasts,” he muttered to his brother. He folded his hands behind his head and walked along, looking left and then right down the tunnels towards the split teams as he passed. Team C disappeared behind a bend, while Team B found itself already in another fight. The mages at the rear of the team were casting as quickly as they could, while the fighters lunged to stave off the horde of legs and fangs.

The mage brother looked as well for a few moments, but then his eyes began to search the tunnel ahead. Unease creased his brow as sweat trickled down his back. He squinted and clenched his teeth. His hand on his staff stiffened as he grabbed his brother to stop him. The pair paused, the fighter looking at the mage with a raised eyebrow.

“Something ahead. Something bad.” The mage signed with his left hand.

“Yea, the broodmother. I hear she’s a real bitch.” The fighter laughed and waved off his brother’s worry. The mage smacked the fighter’s shoulder.

“Worse.”

The fighter stared at the mage with, at first a blank stare. Then, his eyes sharpened. “How much worse?”

“We’ll die, worse.” The mage signed.

The fighter stared at the mage, his brow knit tight as he pondered over what that might mean. The lingered dark expression caved as a smile crossed his face. One that radiated a sort of comfort, even in the face of a potential dire threat. “Then it sounds like we’ll earn our pay today.” The fighter turned and waved for his brother to keep walking. “Let’s see what’s got you so spooked.”

The spider bodies were pushed aside as the party advanced, but progress steadily ground to a near halt after a short time. Fatigue was baring its fangs and the warriors to the front were finding it difficult to keep their original pace. The mages at the rear were also beginning to struggle, as their mana reserves were emptying. Some pulled small vials from waist pouches or vial holsters, which seemed to rejuvenate them temporarily. Yet, it was indeed temporary. Deathly so as one mage very quickly found himself overburdened by the constant casting and had his first spell fail to materialize. Add in the overwhelming number of spiders and it was quickly becoming clear that this endeavor may be unlikely to be successful.

Aside from the dwindling magic power of the party, the two clerics alone wouldn’t be able to support the injuries the team was facing. Small cuts here and there weren’t scary but if just one fighter was hurt excessively, the clerics might not be able to heal them in time. These were all thoughts lingering in the minds of the party members, yet none verbalized their worries. Rather, they marched forward dutifully. Following behind the sturdy and unyielding back of their party leader. The anchor of their faith that they might just survive this, so long as he remained standing.

After another engagement, mistakes began to happen. A fighter failed to notice their proximity to the wall and their sword bounced off the rock, leaving them open to a jumping spider. Jumping on the chance, an Arachkin tackled the fighter to the ground and stabbed its fangs into the woman’s neck. Another fighter shifted to help, but it was too late.. She spasmed on the ground, paralyzed and frothing at the mouth as the venom ran its course. The spider hissed and backed off, fending off the aiding fighter as it retreated back into the safety of the brood.

On the other end of the frontline, a warrior failed to fully block another spider and his shield was knocked aside. He was punched in the chest by a more burly Arachkin and then kicked backwards, leaving a small gap for a few smaller spiderlings to rush through. The spiderlings crawled up legs and bit at the less armored individuals. The Adventurers quickly rallied, cutting down the smaller spiders as they covered their recovering ally. The fallen warrior scrambled to his feet and rushed back to his spot, resealing the line. At the call of the party leader, the adventurers backstepped, backing up in order to keep the Arachkin at bay while the spiderlings were dealt with.

Thus, their advance fully stagnated.

The Arachkin noticed their failure to progress and also took the moment to back off, collecting themselves and gathering just beyond the light of the torches. This gave the adventurers ample opportunity to kill off the last of the spiderlings and dispose of the near-dead monsters they had pushed aside for later. The party leader called for healing and the group took a tactical pause, tending to their injuries and taking a second to drink a vial of rejuvenating liquid or two. Fighters drank an orange colored one, while the mages drank vials of blue and purple.

As if sensing a change in the tunnel’s pungent air, the mage at the rear signed to his brother. It’s come.

The mage instinctively backed up and gripped onto his staff. Every inch of his being cried out for him to flee, to turn away and run for safety. If it weren’t for his brother, he likely would have. So he fought that urge and dug in his heels. He stared forward, his mouth going dry as he watched sparks of fire flash to life beyond the party’s torchlight.

From the belly of the tunnel a terrifying barrage of fire spears surged forward, aimed directly at the front of the party. In a brief moment as the spears soared toward them, the party bore witness to the true horde of the Arachkin. Dozens of black bodies stared up towards them from the depths of the tunnel. Each bearing a set of fearless eyes full of the determination to kill them, or die trying. At least a hundred strong of various sizes and strength, all fully capable of murdering the humans encroaching on their home.

At their back, for a brief moment, the mage brother could see something else. Standing there, beside the origin point of the flickering lights stood a figure. A figure clad in black with a hood over his head, concealing his face. Yet, his shape was undeniable.

It was a human. A human mage.

“Cover!” The party leader shouted. Then, he and the other warrior locked shields out of pure reaction. Two other fighters with smaller bucklers stepped up beside them, hoping to assist the warriors in their daunting task. Yet, it was futile. As the spells crashed into their steel, they were introduced to a magic strength well beyond their capabilities. It was a baptism into the world of what a refined mage was truly capable of. Upon impact, the pair of fighters on the sides were immediately blown off their feet. Both were knocked onto their backs, their smaller, wrist-held bucklers twisting around broken arms as the thin metal melted against their skin. One of the warriors was pushed backwards as well, but he only stumbled and was able to catch his balance for a mere breath until a second spell crushed the center of his armor. Even the party leader was forced to a knee. Though he kneeled, he grit his teeth and dug in, holding his position even as his shield burned and scalded his skin.

Yet, the initial crashes of spells to steel was not the worst of it. Barely a wink after the spells struck, runes floating within their tips flared and exploded. Bright, blinding flashes of concussive strength and intense heat rocked through the tunnel. Armor and shield warped from the intense heat. Leather melted beneath the flames, and several of the adventurers caught fire as their clothes lit up. Skin and flesh blackened and burned beneath the layers of protection.

Chaos spread through the frontline as the waves of fire spears blew them apart, fully exposing the backline and the less protected members of the party. Even though the party leader was on a knee, having used all of his strength to keep from being blown on his ass, his singular shield was barely able to stop any of the follow-up spells. The trailing fire spears soared passed him, tearing into the squishier members of the party. The clerics to the rear started to chant their recovery spells as two mages who knew water magic worked to put out the flames.

But, they were all too slow. The party wasn’t given any time to recover or react before another wave of fire spit forth. Already scattered and unable to truly defend themselves, there was nothing to stop the spells this time. Fallen warriors watched with wide, shaking eyes as they watched their failure in real time unfold. The spears sailed over their heads, unimpeded.

With nothing to stop them, the spells exploded in the heart of the party, killing two fighters instantly, dismembering another, and knocking several of the mages off their feet. Clothes were set ablaze, weapons and equipment scattered. Open pockets and pouches scattered vials, tools, and coins. The tunnel shook from the concussive bursts. The floor and walls cratered from the powerful blasts that tore into the adventurer’s group. In the wake of the magical attack, those left still standing were met with a view of absolute disarray as their allies were either dead or dying.

However, once more there was no time given for the party to react. The spells had done their work. With the adventurer party effectively crippled, the spiders took their chance. The brood surged out of the darkness and poured into the carnage. Their feet kicked aside the scattered torches, their glistening bodies pouring forward from the darkness like a wave of death. The fighters and warriors were isolated, tackled, and injected promptly with a paralysis venom. The mages, unable to protect themselves for more than a spell, were overwhelmed and similarly brought to the ground.

Screams and wails of terror poured into the air as the main party was ripped apart. The brood bore its fangs in earnest, crushing the invaders without mercy.

At the back of the carnage, the mage and fighter watched from a safe distance. Having seen enough, a pair of runners bolted by, rushing to alert the other two teams of the surprise attack and also to warn them of the additional threat. The mage and fighter remained in place, however. The fighter stood with his hands on his hips. The mage was shaking.

The fighter whistled and laughed, watching as a fighter was dragged away still alive. “Looks like you’ve got some competition!” The fighter grinned at the mage before once more admiring the scene. The spiders tore apart any who resisted, killing two of the fighters. One of the female clerics tried to crawl away, her hand reaching towards the brothers for help just before an Arachkin shoved its fangs into her spine. She flopped to the floor, either dead or paralyzed.

Having seen enough, the fighter nodded. “Welp, let’s go to work. Can’t get paid if we just watch this bullshit all day.” The fighter huffed and grabbed for his sword. He pulled it free and then reached over his shoulder to equip his shield. As he prepared to enter the fray, the mage smacked his thigh with the staff.

“Careful.” The mage warned.

The fighter grinned. “That’s why I’ve got you, my dear brother.” He cackled and strode ahead. “I can be as stupid as I like! Fight without a care in the world! Because my brother is the strongest support I could ever ask for!”

As the fighter lunged into the remnants of the Adventurer party, the mage let out another silent and excessively heavy sigh. He shook his head, then raised his staff’s head out in front of him. His left hand centered on his chest, his index and middle fingers pointing skyward as his thumb folded over his ring and pinky finger. Mana channeled from his core into his hand, then into the staff, using the object as a medium for his magic. The runes, gems and jewels in the staff flared to life, shining brightly as mana coursed through the object. Seconds later, the fighter’s body glowed a bright green, a bright blue, and then his body was covered by a thin purple veil.

The fighter’s grin remained as his feet picked up. He rushed forward, feeling the power of the support spells rush through him. His body felt light. His muscles tightened as strength flowed in. His mind opened, giving him better awareness of his surroundings. His breathing steadied.

Several spiders noticed the new threat, their jaws chittering as they alerted the rest of the brood. Multiple larger spiders stepped forward first to meet the new threat, their jaws and front legs splaying outwards in a display of strength and to incite fear in the lone Adventurer. An action that was for nothing, as the man charged forward without hesitation.

Contact.

The fighter stepped down heavily and then swung his blade heavily from right to left. The spider to his direct front swung a limb to block the blow, only for the limb to be cleanly cut through. The blade, unimpeded, sliced through the armored shell of the spider’s front two legs and then swiftly cut its head in half, killing the creature in an instant.

A moment later, two large fireballs flew past the fighter’s flank, smashing into two other spiders. The heat wasn’t as intense as the fire spears from before but the spells were strong enough to set the spiders ablaze and cause them to stagger. The fighter moved quickly to take advantage of his mage’s supporting attack. He charged past the falling corpse of his first kill and sliced off the legs of an Arachkin to his right. Then, he cut the body of another in half.

His shield shot up in front of him, protecting him from a jumping spiderling, then his sword replaced his shield as he cut the monster in half. More fireballs flew by, picking off the smaller spiderlings one by one as the mage worked to thin their ranks. The fighter danced in the middle of the floor, weaving through the fireballs and the falling bodies as he cut apart the larger spiders.

Working together, the mage and fighter made much quicker work of the brood than the larger party. The thin, well-maintained sword of the fighter carved apart the thick shells of the Arachkin foes like butter. A veil of mana coated its edge, enhancing its sharpness for the task. His shield and armor radiated a purple glow, displaying an enhancement to their protective capabilities. Enough so that the fangs of the Arachkin failed to puncture his armor even when he failed to block properly.

The mage walked steadily forward behind his partner, his staff waving and glittering as his mana flowed outwards. Spell after spell appeared at the head of the staff. A wave of the stick sent each fireball spiraling down into the tunnel, signaling the end of another spiderling with each flick of his wrist.

The brood, overwhelmed by their battle prowess, was thinned and then forced back into the tunnel. The fighter made to give chase but was cut off by a massive wall of fire that seemed to appear out of nowhere. It scorched his face and singed at his armor, forcing him to stop his advance. The Arachkin took the opportunity to retreat, fleeing into the depths of the tunnel and away from the powerful enemy. The fighter sucked his teeth and lowered his arms, annoyed that his prey had escaped. The mage canceled his spells as well, sighing as he leaned on his staff, tired from the constant channeling of mana.

The pair regrouped in the heart of the fallen party. A few of the bodies had been taken down with the brood, carried off by the larger Arachkin beasts, but most lay scattered where they had been bitten or killed. The pair collected the dead into one pile and then worked to help those who were still alive. Those who were just paralyzed were healed by the mage and given a thick, green vial filled with an antidote to drink. Of the twelve; both the heavy warriors were dead to include the party leader, one cleric was missing and the other was dead, two mages were dead, one mage was paralyzed, one mage was missing, and three of the four fighters were missing. The remaining fighter was paralyzed. Though, he was missing a leg.

“One actual survivor, huh?” The fighter brother muttered as he watched the mage brother heal the bleeding stump.

The mage didn’t answer, focusing on the recovery work. The fighter sighed and went to work collecting the supplies he could from what had been scattered around the space. The massive flame wall continued to burn, impeding forward progress but providing plenty of light to work with. He kicked aside a few limbs and then tossed them into the pile of corpses for later. Any dead spider bodies were nudged to ensure they were dead, then stabbed to ensure it. Once the area was cleared and searched, he returned to his brother’s side.

“What do you think? Should we keep walking?” The fighter asked, staring towards the flame wall as it began to subside. It seemed the mana fueling it was running out.

The mage lit a light ball to provide illumination in the tunnel as the wall fell, then walked slowly to the pile of adventurer corpses. He knelt down close and inspected the marks left behind by the magic that had cracked the party’s defensive shell. The mage then looked around the area, sniffed at the air, and ran his hands over the impact points.

“Mana dense. This wasn’t Spider.” Uncertain of what he truly saw, and not believing his eyes, the mage refrained from sharing the detail of the human figure.

“What? Not Spider?” The fighter asked, both confused and a little unnerved. “Does that mean we’re dealing with something else now? The fuck?”

The mage shrugged. “Not sure. Can’t tell. Need more to be certain.”

The fighter smirked and nodded. “Guess that means we continue. Stay close to me.”

The fighter lay his blade across his shoulder and adjusted his grip on his shield, tightening his hold on the leather straps as he stepped over a spider corpse. The mage fell in behind him and the pair continued into the dark, their way ahead illuminated by a pair of floating light balls. As they walked, they listened to distant explosions and felt the tunnel quake. They could hear the screams, the shouts, and the sounds of the other party members being exterminated. Indeed, there was something quite scary here. Something much scarier than a simple broodmother.

Which meant a big payday should they kill it.

The fighter grinned even wider than before, his excitement bleeding outwards as his adrenaline pumped. It had been a long, long time since he’d felt this way. He couldn’t wait to face whatever this thing was.

It wasn’t out of fear or pressure that he made his choice but out of a mixture of respect for the bonds he’d forged within the Ravine and his own pride. A man was only as good as his word, and Jake had sworn that he would be Lady Rastua’s hand.

Chul, in his final moments, remained true to himself, his kin, his task, and to Lady Rastua. He fought the Maedra with unwithering strength and diligence. For centuries, he reigned over the Ravine not as a specter or some lackey of the gods, but as a King who ruled his lands with an iron will. When Jake extended his hand in fellowship, something Chul had likely long forgotten, Chul chose to guide the boy. Lady Rastua had then given him the new task of protecting and leading Jake. And, with his dying breath, he shielded Jake from the jaws of the Maedra. Because of that stubborn Arachkin’s resilience, even after centuries of living alone and burdened, Jake now stood, alive and well, within the home of that Arachkin’s sister.

Chul was the pinnacle of honor and truth. He would not sway from his duty or his bonds, even if it meant losing his own life. Having lost his family once before, Chul refused to do it again.

There was no choice to be made here. No decision to be had. No side to take or position to choose. Long ago, the choice had been made for him. The moment he bore the mark of the Arachkin and the Guardian, a mark that matched the very same one Chul also wore on his scarred carapace, his fate was sealed. No matter if it was right or wrong, Jake would stand with the Arachkin. Just as he would stand with the Dragonkin should they call for him. That was his role as their Emissary, their Apostle. The Hand of Lady Rastua and Lady Ferynith.

Even if it meant killing other Humans.

That still did not make his actions any easier.

From the depths of the den, Jake watched the Adventurers struggle against the Arachkin horde. Fighting for their lives and for their own purpose as they pushed towards the den’s inner sanctum. Those humans, those adventurers, sliced through the Arachkin brood viciously, hungrily, angrily. Carving apart the spiderlings Jake had been sitting with mere minutes prior.

Jake empathized with them. He knew full well why they were trying so hard to conquer this den and eradicate the horrors within its maw. Every swing of their swords and call of magic that ended the life of an Arachkin meant that their village was just a little bit safer from danger. Jake fought the Maedra much the same in the Ravine. This wasn’t a battle waged out of pure malice but out of a desire to enhance the survival of one’s home.

And yet…

And yet it made him angry. Watching them fight. Both of them. Watching Arachkin and Human clash with the intention of killing one another made his face run hot. Having long crossed the bridge of species and having made friends with an Arachkin, Jake found it saddening that others could not do the same. Though he understood their emotions and their hesitation, he did not understand why they did not even try to communicate or find a peaceful solution.

When Jake first saw Chul, he too felt fear when he found himself face to face with such a creature. The terror he felt was hard to describe but he remembered being shook to his very core. That helpless feeling he felt was hard to forget. But he still had tried. He’d extended a hand to the terror in front of him, in hopes that there might be a sliver of kindness within the Arachkin.

Maybe Jake was just lucky in that regard. If it were not Chul but any other Arachkin, would the result have been the same? Would Jake have been given safe passage to the Gates of Judgement, or would he have just been eaten where he stood? Maybe. Maybe if it were any other Arachkin he would just be a pile of chewed up bones in the Ravine. Yet it wasn’t. Jake found Chul in that pit and Chul had given him an opportunity to prove his worth. All done it seemed for this very moment.

Raising a hand to direct his mana flow, Jake conjured several Fire Spears and called for the Arachkin to clear a path. The word was passed ahead and the spiderlings moved away from the Adventurers. Doing so gave Jake a clear angle to strike, and he did so without further hesitation. The first wave knocked the front line off balance, then the second tore into the party’s center, leaving the Humans scattered and broken. Screams of pain and agony reached his ears. With those wails, Jake felt his heart callous and his resolve harden.

There was no going back now. He would need to kill them all. The Humans here were his enemy.

“Apostle.” A deep voice tickled his ears and Jake looked to his right. Attached to the wall, a thin Arachkin peered over at him. “Two other groups of Adventurers have been found. It seems they split up.”

So, there were more. “Lead me to them.” Jake gave one more look towards the party as the Arachkin horde overwhelmed them, then turned away to follow the messenger to his next targets.

There were two other groups to be dealt with. They were smaller in number and far less equipped in terms of defensive ability. However, the numbers of Arachkin fighting to counter them were also lower comparatively. A fair balance of power that just barely leaned in favor of the Adventurers who were using a mixture of magic and steel to grind forward. From how they fought, they were also well seasoned and experienced. Both their team cohesion and their knowledge of how to deal with the Arachkin threat was commendable. It gave them confidence in the face of the numbers they were dealing with, but it also made them complacent.

Jake eliminated the first of the two groups with Fire Spears, much like how he handled the main party. A quick surprise attack that could not be easily defended and caused the frontline to crumble. The overwhelming force of magic knocked out the fighters and the armored warrior, exposing the mages to a follow up strike that crippled them. Afterwards, the Arachkin dispatched them with little resistance.

For the second group, however, Jake used Rock magic. He attacked the backline first, skewering the mages from below with massive spikes of rock. The heavily armored warrior in the front was then crushed by a large section of stone that Jake dropped on his head. As they watched their leader vanish beneath the fallen ceiling, the fighters were both smashed into one another by boulders Jake jettisoned from the cave walls. A systematic slaughter done to cause the utmost amount of pain to the enemy. The fighters and the armored warrior died almost instantly. The mages gurgled and whimpered from where they were pinched against the ceiling, their insides and limbs leaking onto the spires they dangled from..

After destroying the party, Jake advanced through the Arachkin horde. The spiderlings moved aside for him, clearing a path forward as their Apostle stepped through the human party. He casually walked over the slab pinning down the crushed armored human, not even glancing down as he passed. Due to how the bodies of the fighters were balled together in the middle of the tunnel, Jake used wind magic to push them and the boulders aside. He then broke apart the earthen spikes, causing the bodies of the mages to drop to the tunnel floor. With a wave of his hand, the Arachkin moved to finish them off.

All except one.

“Wait! Please!” At the very back of the massacre, the party’s cleric clung to life. He begged for mercy as he clawed at the ground, desperately backing away with every ounce of remaining strength. He dragged his body across the floor, unable to walk due to his right leg being mangled beyond repair. In hopes of increasing his chances of survival, he had cast some light magic in order to stem the bleeding. It hardly helped. Jake had completely crushed the limb in order to handicap the Human. There would be no running. Only a miracle would save him from the Arachkin aligned mage. “I beg of you! Please! I’ll leave!”

Jake felt his eyes harden almost instinctively as he approached the Cleric. Every word that seeped from the fallen mage’s mouth stirred the fire of rage bubbling in his core. It was hard to contain himself when he finally reached his prey. To shut the Cleric up, Jake raised his boot and shoved it against the mage’s chest. Jake forced the man to the floor, knocking the wind out of him from the force of the impact. The Cleric grabbed his ankle, clinging to Jake as the boot compressed down on his ribs.

“Why do you lot keep coming here?” Jake demanded. When the Cleric only coughed and squirmed, refusing to answer, he pulled a sword off his hip. “Speak, or I’ll carve you open and see how much pain you can really take.”

“No! Wait!” The Cleric pleaded, his eyes widening as he continued to struggle. “Mercy! Please! I’m just a healer!”

Abstaining from his question was as good as not speaking at all, so Jake twirled his sword and stabbed it through the Cleric’s right thigh. He cut deep, but did so wisely. He plunged the blade down directly into the outer center of the thigh, careful to avoid the femoral artery. It would do him no good to kill the Cleric too quickly. The Cleric squealed in agony, writhing beneath his boot.

“Answer!” Jake barked.

“Bounty! A bounty from the Guild!” The Cleric whined, his head rolling as his body trembled beneath Jake’s foot. “It’s an open bounty! Anyone who takes it can come and try! They want the brood exterminated!”

Jake yanked his blade free from the wound. “Why? There isn’t a village close to this place. This brood isn’t a threat.”

With the wound now clear of a solid object, the Cleric breathed to control the residual pain he felt. His leg burned regardless as blood trickled from the fresh injury. “I-I don’t know. I just followed what my party wanted to do!” The cleric fumbled through his words, gasping and stumbling as his skin slowly lost its color. Jake didn’t have much time left. Though the Cleric had stopped much of the outer bleeding, the internal injuries were severe. The Cleric’s shattered leg was turning black.

“How can I get the bounty to be canceled?” It seemed that the bounty was the cause of their persistence. Regardless of the level of danger this brood was to the villages, so long as that bounty remained active then Adventurers would seek this place.

The Cleric grinned and coughed, his breathing steadying for a moment as Jake shifted his weight. “You can’t. Not until the brood is exterminated and the broodmother is killed. Seeing as you’re on their side, then I doubt you’ll be able to do that.”

Jake scoffed and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t question what I’m capable of. If I have to, I’ll just burn your entire village to the ground.” The young man leveled his blade with the Cleric’s face as the mage’s eyes widened. “Are there any more of you? I wiped out your other two parties. Who else is there?”

An expression of helplessness washed over his face, then the Cleric shook his head. “That’s it. That’s all of us…” He blinked, as if uncertain of something. Seeing his hesitation, Jake lowered his sword to the Cleric’s thigh- a threat. The Cleric immediately squealed. “I swear! Please!”

At that same moment, Jake heard an explosion followed by shrills from injured Arachkin. He looked up the tunnel in the direction of the noise, then back towards the horde behind him. A few of them shook their heads, it wasn’t them. Not needing an order to know their role, a messenger in the rear darted off to investigate.

The Cleric chuffed and grinned. “Are you sure you killed all of us?”

The way he spoke radiated danger, and Jake gripped his sword’s hilt. “What’s that mean?”

“I mean the Twins. Did you kill them too?”

Jake took a moment to think, checking over who he’d killed in the previous two engagements. Of the three groups, Jake hadn’t seen twins. But, then again, Jake didn’t exactly check the bodies. Especially of the main party itself. He’d left them to the Arachkin since he’d figured they were all dead anyways. A slip in judgment, it seemed. He had exchanged being thorough for the safety of the brood. Was that choice about to bite him?

“Who are the twins?” Jake poked his sword against the fresh wound in the Cleric’s thigh, but the man didn’t answer.

The Cleric just clenched his teeth and reeled in agony, groaning as the color in his skin continued to fade. Jake stabbed him again in a new spot, earning a loud holler of pain from the Cleric. Yet the Cleric only grinned and cackled. Before Jake could stab him again and press him further, the messenger Arachkin returned.

“Apostle! Two humans! One mage, one swordsman! They’re cutting through the brood! We can’t stop them!”

Jake had his answer. “Retreat into the central lair. They sound like a problem and I’ll deal with them myself.”

Without another look down, Jake sliced open the Cleric’s throat. The Cleric grabbed onto the opening in his neck and flailed, gurgling and wheezing as he tried to breathe. Jake wiped off his blade and then sheathed it, leaving the Cleric and his friends to the Arachkin as he rushed out of the side tunnel and for the main route. Led by the smaller Arachkin, Jake returned to find the brood being cut apart by a frenzied Adventurer.

Behind the fighter by barely a few meters, a stoic mage wove spell after spell with his staff, easily covering the fighter’s sides with his fire spells. They weren’t particularly powerful, but the spells were enough to keep the fighter from being overwhelmed. There was something about the fighter as well that made Jake uneasy. His movements were accelerated and almost unnatural. After checking with his Sensory magic, he noticed mana radiating from his body. Residual evidence of magic having been cast on him directly.

Enhancement magic. These two weren’t like the others.

“Call everyone back!” Jake shouted as he shoved mana into the floor. The Arachkin responded like a chorus, chittering and screeching to one another as their Apostle sounded for a retreat. After a final clash, the Arachkin backed off and scattered, giving Jake enough space to trigger a massive protective wall of flame. He made it thick and hot, enough of a deterrence to make even a skilled mage think twice before testing the barrier.

Jake channeled mana directly into the fire wall until the Arachkin had completely pulled out, leaving the once packed tunnel entirely vacant. Only then did he cut the connection. He left a small pool of mana behind to maintain the wall for a short period before he too retreated into the heart of the den.

Those two would be trouble. It seemed he was going to have to prove his worth today more than he thought.