Barrett lay there for several long seconds, mouth still open, breath shallow, as if the thought itself needed time to settle into his bones.

  “How…?” he finally managed.

  Rebby’s laughter came easily, bright and unburdened, echoing softly against the stone. “The venom, Barrett. The venom!”

  He didn’t answer right away. His attention was fixed to the floating lattice of numbers and text before him. He wasn’t sure how he was seeing it. Everything else was still swallowed in darkness, yet the stat window hovered in perfect clarity, as if reality itself had decided this was important enough to illuminate.

  He read it once.

  Then again.

  [Name: Barrett Donovan]

  Race: Human (Earth-Origin)

  Level: 14

  Free Points Available: 0

  Strength: 65 (+33)

  Endurance: 60 (+30)

  Dexterity: 49 (+25)

  Mana: 48 (+24)

  Titles:

  [Red Dot Venom Adaptation] (Your body adapts to Red Dot Venom. Each exposure grants increased attributes and heightened poison resistance.)

  Skills:

  – [Iron Reflex] [Bloodline Ability] (Passive: Detects danger moments before it occurs.)

  – [Blood Rush] (Active: While active boosts Strength and Dexterity. The greater the danger, the stronger the effect.

  – [Deadeye Domain] (Active: While active, it allows sensory fusion with a bonded entity.)

  The numbers were wrong. They had to be wrong.

  Strength. Endurance. Dexterity. Mana. All of it swollen far beyond where it had any right to be. And then there was the title, sitting there like a quiet confession.

  [Red Dot Venom Adaptation].

  His pulse quickened. He could feel it now, the venom still burning through him, no longer just pain but something else like a heat or pressure. Like his body had been cracked open and stuffed with something feral that hadn’t finished settling yet.

  “Rebby?” he said at last, voice low.

  “Yeah, Barrett?” she answered, immediately attentive.

  “…Can I get some more of that healing stew?”

  “Of course!” she replied, cheerful as ever.

  Barrett leaned back against the bedding, the stone beneath it cold and solid, grounding him as the venom flared again through his veins. A laugh bubbled up in his chest before he could stop it, quiet at first, then louder, rougher, until it echoed through the cave like something unhinged.

  It wasn’t joy.

  It was hunger.

  “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?” Rebby asked, her tone suddenly cautious.

  “No pain, no gain,” Barrett said, teeth flashing in the dark. “As soon as I’m back on my feet, I’m heading out there to get a few more of those bites. And then—”

  His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to familiar faces. Grimm. Maku. Granny. Pippy. Even Rei flickered through his mind, if only for a moment. He snorted softly and shoved the thought aside. Some lessons didn’t need to be learned twice, or in his case…well, he’d lost count. But could one more lesson really hurt?

  “Well,” Rebby cut in, gently but firmly, “hate to ruin the fantasy, but that venom doesn’t keep juicing you forever. There’s a ceiling. And I’d say you’re getting pretty close to it.”

  The laughter died instantly.

  Barrett lay there, staring into the darkness, the heat in his veins suddenly feeling a lot less infinite.

  “…Damn,” he muttered.

  Then his brow furrowed, a new thought clawing its way to the surface.

  “Well,” he said slowly, a dangerous edge creeping back into his voice, “are there worse spiders out there?”

  —Maku—

  —2 weeks ago—

  Maku watched, frozen, as the spiders closed in around Barrett.

  His notifications were still lighting up—kill after kill flashing through his vision—but the numbers no longer mattered. There were too many bodies moving, too many shadows crawling over one another. The swarm didn’t thin. It flowed, endless and hungry, burying Barrett beneath chittering legs and glinting fangs.

  “Come on…come on, Grimm,” Maku whispered, panic tightening his chest.

  Chirp.

  The sound was sharp, distressed. Grimm flapped uselessly, wings snapping against the air as if he could somehow dive back into the chaos. Maku didn’t give him the chance. A construct of pale mana wrapped gently but firmly around the bird, pulling him close. Grimm resisted for half a heartbeat, then went still, trembling.

  “I’ve got you,” Maku muttered, more to himself than the bird.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He turned and ran.

  The raft was already drifting away from the dock, its rope cut, water lapping against the wood. As Maku sprinted, a handful of spiders peeled away from Barrett’s position and skittered toward them.

  Rei planted her feet and unleashed spell after spell, bolts of fire screaming through the misty air. Some spiders burned and shriveled, others kept coming, blackened but unrelenting.

  “Now,” Rei snapped. “We go now.”

  Maku leapt, landing hard on the raft as it scraped free of the dock. The impact rattled through his bones. He spun immediately, clutching Grimm to his chest, eyes locked on the clearing they were leaving behind.

  Barrett was still there.

  Or what was left of him.

  “Barrett…” Pippy said softly.

  The word barely carried over the water, but it cut all the same.

  Maku glanced at her, surprised she wasn’t screaming, wasn’t running back. She stood rigid, eyes shining, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. It had been a brutal week for her—too much loss, too much blood. Maybe she understood now. Maybe she knew that charging back in would only cheapen what Barrett had done.

  The raft drifted farther out.

  Granny stood with one arm wrapped around Pippy’s shoulders, holding her upright. Even Rei, always sharp and guarded, stared back at the forest with something raw in her expression. No one spoke. No one moved.

  Then the forest shifted.

  A deep, grinding rustle rolled through the trees with branches snapping and the earth trembling. The smaller spiders scattered, skittering away in frantic bursts.

  Maku’s breath caught.

  From between the trees emerged something vast.

  It was a spider only in the loosest sense of the word—its body the size of a small house, obsidian black with jagged streaks of crimson etched along its carapace like ritual scars. Its legs sank into the ground with each step, mandibles flexing slowly, deliberately.

  Everyone screamed.

  Rei reacted instantly, hands flaring as she began shaping a fire spell. It was hotter, denser than anything she’d thrown before.

  Maku grabbed her wrist.

  “Don’t,” he said, voice tight. “You’ll just piss it off.”

  She froze, teeth clenched, fury burning behind her eyes, but she let the spell die.

  The great spider lowered itself, looming over the clearing. The smaller ones parted instinctively, forming a living corridor.

  Maku watched, helpless, as one massive limb reached down and closed around Barrett’s broken form.

  There was no resistance. No movement.

  And then—just as suddenly as it had appeared—the creature turned and vanished back into the forest, dragging Barrett with it. The darkness swallowed them whole, leaving only torn earth and silence behind.

  The raft drifted on.

  No one spoke.

  No one could.

  —

  The raft ground softly against the shore, wood scraping stone as it came to rest on the far bank. Maku straightened, blinking against the mist, and realized they weren’t alone.

  Figures stood waiting along the waterline, silent silhouettes at first, then resolving into people as the raft drifted closer. Men and women wrapped in worn cloth and leather, faces lined by hardship and sleepless nights. Not warriors, but villagers.

  “Let me do the talking,” Rei said quietly, her voice low but firm.

  No one argued. Pippy sat rigid near the bow, eyes unfocused, hands clenched in her lap. Granny kept an arm around her shoulders, offering what comfort she could. Maku, for his part, was content to stay back. He’d always preferred the edges of a room, the places where no one looked unless something went wrong—or spectacularly right.

  The raft nudged the shore.

  An older man stepped forward, raising a hand in greeting. He had a long, graying beard and deeply creased dark skin, his posture stooped but steady. His eyes were sharp, assessing.

  “Hello there,” he called, voice calm, almost cautious.

  Maku scanned the rest of the group while Rei stood. No weapons worth mentioning. No hostile stances. If anything, they looked tired, hungry, scared, and very human. A few of the younger women caught his eye, and his thoughts flickered briefly, absurdly, to Barrett. He’d already be talking, Maku thought. Probably saying something stupid.

  Rei hopped off the raft, boots crunching against the pebbled shore. She moved with purpose, shoulders squared, slipping seamlessly into command.

  “Hello,” she said. “My name is Rei. With me are Maku, Pippy, and Ida.” She extended a hand without hesitation.

  The old man glanced down at it, brow furrowing. After a moment, he placed his own hand in hers, awkward and unsure. The shake was brief, stiff. When Rei released him, he cleared his throat.

  “I am Vin,” he said. “Third elder of this small tribe.” He hesitated, then studied her more closely. “Tell me, Rei…are you here to rescue us?”

  Rei blinked once. Then her expression settled into something professional.

  “That is correct,” she said evenly. “Are you prepared to cooperate fully?”

  Vin startled, then barked out a short laugh. “Yes—yes, absolutely.”

  A ripple passed through the gathered villagers. Quiet murmurs. A few hopeful smiles. Someone laughed softly, and two women embraced as if the word rescue alone had given them permission to breathe again.

  Maku watched, curious. He wasn’t sure what Rei’s endgame was, but whatever she was doing, it was working.

  A younger man, no older than Pippy, stepped forward next. His face was pale, eyes ringed with exhaustion.

  “Have you…have you taken care of the Spider Queen?” he asked, voice tight.

  Rei’s gaze sharpened. “Not yet.”

  The reaction was immediate. Shoulders slumped. A low groan rolled through the group, hope deflating like a punctured sail.

  “But we’re working on it,” Rei added.

  It didn’t help much.

  Maku could see the disappointment etched across their faces, the practiced resignation of people who’d learned not to expect miracles.

  Vin lifted a hand. “Forgive them,” he said quietly. “Hope is a dangerous thing here. Few believe anyone can truly defeat her.”

  “Why is that?” Rei asked.

  Vin exhaled. “She is ancient. Cunning. Immensely powerful. Even among first-world warpers…” He shook his head. “I have never heard of one who bested her.”

  Rei’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  The mood shifted, sliding toward despair, and Maku felt it—thick and suffocating. On impulse, he stepped forward.

  “Well,” he said lightly, hands in his pockets, “you haven’t seen us in action yet.”

  Every eye turned to him. A few of the younger women stared, surprised; one even blushed. Maku flashed an easy grin.

  “We’ll eradicate the beast,” he added, as if discussing a minor inconvenience.

  Vin’s smile was genuine and kind, as if he were observing a child’s art project.

  “I hope you do,” the elder said softly. “Because if you don’t…” His smile faded. “I have grim news.”

  Maku’s grin slipped.

  “Come with me,” Vin said, turning toward the village.

  —

  They followed Vin in silence, leaving the shoreline behind as the path narrowed and curved through dense forest. What they’d taken for a stretch of mainland quickly revealed itself to be something else entirely—a small island, wrapped in trees and undergrowth, its edges swallowed by the dark water of the lake. The air felt heavier here, the kind that pressed against the lungs and carried every sound too far.

  Branches scraped at their clothes as they pushed through the brush. Roots knotted beneath their feet, slick with moss. Somewhere overhead, something fluttered and vanished. No one spoke.

  At the far side of the island, the trees thinned.

  Vin slowed and raised a hand.

  “Here,” he said quietly.

  Two younger men were stationed near the water’s edge, sitting on overturned crates with spears resting across their knees. At the sight of the elder, they stood at once and dipped their heads in a brief bow before their gazes shifted warily toward Rei and the others.

  Vin stepped forward and pointed across the lake.

  “Look.”

  Maku followed the line of his finger. At first, he saw nothing—just rippling water, moonlight broken into dull fragments. He squinted, leaning forward, eyes adjusting.

  Then it clicked.

  The far shore was moving.

  Not waves. Not shadows.

  Hundreds of small, dark shapes crawled along the waterline in a steady, coordinated mass. They moved with purpose, spilling forward like a living tide. And beneath them—between shore and lake—stones were appearing. One by one. Carefully placed. Lifted, carried, set down.

  They were building.

  A bridge.

  Maku’s breath caught in his throat as the realization settled. The spiders worked without pause, bodies flowing over one another, hauling rocks with tireless precision. There was no panic, no hesitation, just endless motion, patient and inevitable.

  Fear lodged in his gut, heavy and cold. It was rare for Maku to feel it like this, but now it sat there like a stone, pulling everything else down with it. He shivered and hoped no one noticed.

  Rei glanced at him, her eyes narrowing with concern.

  “Maku?” she murmured.

  He didn’t answer.

  His attention was locked on the distant swarm, on the relentless certainty of their progress. On the quiet truth that the illusion of safety here was just that. An illusion.

  He swallowed hard. Others turned to look at him as he fought to keep his composure.

  Damn it, Barrett, he thought. Now would be a really good time for one of your stupid lines.