Born To Rule

Chapter Eight

The situation was temporary. I was curious to see where this would lead—nothing beyond that. I knew myself well enough that if I made it to Breckenridge and onto a ship, the ‘what ifs’ would fester and plague me like a cancerous tumor across oceans. So, I stayed.

When I made it downstairs, Sidelle sat perched in the same chair as last night, her feet neatly tucked beneath her, a tea cup wrapped in her delicate hand. With the other, she combed through a rather large book in her lap. There was a distinct pinch in her brow, hinting at her dissatisfaction or frustration with what she had come across, or perhaps what she hadn’t. She must have been deep in thought because when I spoke, she started.

“Morning.” I waved as I started for the door.

“Good morning.” Her smile brightened, showing her enthusiasm. “Where are you off to?”

“Eurok promised we’d start training today. I was gonna go find him.”

She closed the book and set it on the table, seeming pleased by my excitement. As she stood and headed to the kitchen counter, I read the tome’s spine. Vylandrian Legends of the Twelve.

“I believe he said he’d be at the stables. Here.” She tossed me an apple.

I caught it and took a large bite, then spoke around my mouthful. “Thanks.”

I stepped out onto the arched stoop, then wandered down the incline to the gravel path that led into the village. Hoofprints from what I assumed were Eurok’s horse pressed into the dirt. I followed them until small, picturesque buildings bordered the cobblestone road. Wooden signs hung over shop doors, and quaint dinette sets or benches were placed out front for lounging. Homes with second-story balconies overlooked the quiet street. Everything felt simple and peaceful, like an oasis between the cascading falls.

A peek through a window showed the clothing store Sidelle stocked my wardrobe with. The witch had my style pinned. I ran my hand over my stomach, admiring the soft satin of the long-sleeved blouse I wore today. Black, of course.

The round window of the next shop snared my notice. Dingy cobwebs caked with dust hung from the panes. Inside, hundreds of vials lined the shelves from floor to ceiling. Four witches waited to be served at the counter. Two of them seemed to be of a higher status, similar to Sidelle, while the others were meek handmaids, wearing servants’ apron dresses. A rickety, green sign hanging from metal hooks above the door creaked and swung in the gentle breeze.

Agatha’s Mortar and Pestle

‘Charms, Curses, and Potions’

Custom orders inquire within.

Unable to resist the temptation, I slipped inside behind an elderly, tan-skinned witch who smelled of rosemary and wood smoke. I lingered near the outskirts to avoid unwanted attention and browsed. An unimaginable array of potions for various ailments filled the shelves. Some were labeled as simple remedies for things like rashes, pain, and warts. There were sleeping tonics, invigorating brews, and items charmed to increase sexual arousal or luck. Others were designated for specific interests—a tincture to induce inspiration, and an elixir to change eye color.

I fingered the small bottles, not looking for anything in particular, when a familiar vial snagged my notice. The tangerine-scented oil I added to my bath. I pushed my sleeve up and traced my forearm, where a good bit of scarring used to be. A faint reappearance marked the heavier scars, though still lighter than before. I plucked it off the shelf to examine the label.

Topical Diminishing Potion

Scent: Tangerine

I turned the bottle over, trying to find some clue of its contents, what made it work. Did it consist of simple ingredients, things I could gather and make myself, or was there true magic inside? Abandoning my previous plan to remain invisible, I stood in line, making sure I was the last one in the store before I stepped up to the counter.

The shopkeeper was petite and plainly pretty. Her straight brown hair hung down in a sheet to her hips, and her sage eyes were bright beneath long, dark lashes. My errant thoughts had me wondering how old she was. Sidelle’s youthful appearance didn’t look a day over thirty. This girl—witch—could be centuries old.

“Hello.” She cocked her head in silent scrutiny.

I chewed my cheek, unsure how often humans visited Raven Ridge, then shrugged off my unease and held up the oil. “I have a question about this.”

Somehow, without letting her smile drop, her brow furrowed, as if confused. Had I missed some customary greeting? I produced my best attempt at a polite grin that might’ve looked more like a twitch and set the vial on the counter.

She barely glanced at it, then said, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

“Nope, just got here. So, does this have magic in it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Magic, uh, I mean mana. A spell?” Gods, I looked like a damned fool. I had no idea how to phrase my question or what terminology they used for their powers. Had Sidelle been using ‘magic’ interchangeably for my sake, so my simple human brain could follow? I plucked it from the countertop and gave it a little shake. “What’s in this stuff?”

Her face lit up with realization, and she secured the vial between her finger and thumb, letting the faint light from the windows filter through the blue glass. After a soft, delightful laugh, she nodded. “Some of our inventory contains mana. Others are tinctures or potions passed through generations of teachings and contain none at all. This particular one is made using my altar’s mana, though.”

“Your what?”

“My altar, Agatha. This is her shop.” Still smiling, she set the vial aside and placed her palm against her chest. “I’m her apprentice. She’s helping me hone my healing gift, so I might have a shop of my own someday. Would you like a free sample of my very own menstruation brew?” Pride poured off her as she retrieved a small box from beneath the counter. Inside were a dozen neatly folded tea bags packaged and prepped for sale.

I raised my brows and nodded, trying to give her some sort of satisfaction. “Oh, okay. Um, no thanks.”

I backed up a step, making to leave. There was zero chance I’d get any answers without getting sucked into a full-length conversation with this exhaustingly cheerful witch. Before I reached the exit, a boisterous voice boomed from the back room, slowing my retreat.

“Belle!”

A burly witch, whose face resembled the wrinkly morel mushrooms I used to forage from the forest, hobbled out between two flimsy swinging doors. Her long, skinny legs poked out beneath the skirt of her dingy orange dress, which hung off her round body like a drape. She waddled from side to side toward the counter, then shooed Belle off with her cane.

“Quit your blabberin’ and get that deadnettle I asked for.”

A sudden tickle overwhelmed me, and I sneezed, drawing their attention. “Excuse me.”

Belle nodded submissively, that sweet smile never leaving her face, then hurried out the door, still wearing her apron.

The old witch turned her eyes on me, a pipe hanging from her dried lips. “You’re Sidelle’s girl, aren’t ya.”

It wasn’t a question. I sniffed, attempting to ward off another sneeze. Were there chrysanthemums nearby?

She leaned against the counter and gestured to her surroundings. “Welp, she told me if you made your way here to let you have your pick—to put it on her tab.”

“Sidelle said that?” Another sneeze.

The hag smacked her lips as she took a drag from the pipe, her expression marred with boredom. “Mmhmm. So, is this all you’re after?” she asked, pointing at the potion.

“Actually, I was just wondering what was in it.”

She arched a weathered brow. “You want me to give you my recipe?”

I sneezed again. “I was curious if the ingredients were things I could forage—make myself when I leave here.” This was far too much for a simple question. I regretted bothering to ask.

Agatha leaned over the counter, looking at me through narrow, watery eyes, smoke rolling out her nose like a cantankerous dragon. “You ain’t spent much time ‘round witches, have you, girl?”

“Name’s Mira. And no, I haven’t.”

“Well, first rule—don’t just ask for a witch’s recipes. It’s ceremonious for a witch to pass on her spells. But seein’ you’re Sidelle’s apprentice…” she trailed off, hobbling away.

“I’m not her apprentice,” I called, chasing my words with another sneeze. Fuck these allergies.

Agatha waved me off and disappeared behind the swinging doors. I scanned the shop in her absence, shifting my weight from foot to foot, unsure if she’d return.

A moment later, she teetered into view, holding a dark green tome. “Here, girl. Take this to your not-altar.” The mockery in her tone wasn’t lost on me as she dropped the book on the countertop beside the potion.

“What is it?” With a single finger, I lifted the cover. The verdant leather was supple and worn. This must be as ancient as she is.

Agatha slammed it shut, smacking my hand away. My nose wrinkled at the cranky witch.

“Girl, if you ain’t got a lot to learn.” Her dry chuckle morphed into a cough. “Don’t be screwin’ ‘round with that now. You take it to Sidelle. It’s my grimoire—has all my spells in it. Some require mana, but a few don’t. Tell ‘er to start with those, though I can’t imagine why she’d be tryin’ to altar a human anyhow. Seems like a waste of time to me.”

Agreed. “Then why give this to me?”

“Because what Sidelle wants, Sidelle gets, and you best listen to her if you know what’s good for ya. Few witches rival that one’s power. If she thinks you’re worth trainin’, well, let’s see what ya got, kid.”

I sneezed again. “Are there chrysanthemums somewhere in here?” My annoyance laced the question.

Agatha peered down her nose as if giving another thought to her last words, then straightened and smacked the thick oak countertop with a clack of her many rings. “Welp, good luck.” Then she hobbled away, leaving me with her grimoire and the potion.

By the time I finished retracing my steps to deliver the tome, the afternoon sun reached its zenith. I was running way behind. When I made it to the stables, I found Eurok sitting atop his dapple gray, holding the reins of a beautiful buckskin mare.

“What’s this?” I asked, trailing my hand along the animal’s sleek neck.

“Thought we might go on a hunt for your first day of training.”

My stomach knotted at the mischievous glint in his eye, but I climbed in the saddle. “What are we hunting?”

He must have noted my apprehension, because he chuckled, then handed me the reins. “You’ll see.”

The massive wooden gates opened, and the guards atop the wall gave a casual salute to Eurok as we rode through. Instead of following the road, he cut to the left. After breaking through the brambles hedging the treeline, our horses trudged along the mossy forest floor. The horses were familiar with this terrain. They hopped over gnarled roots and snaked around broad trunks.

We rode in silence for a while, listening to the symphony of birds and insects. The forest’s scent was thick with the sweet rot of leaves and wood. Something about it felt so different from any forest I’d been in. I thought back on those books I read as a child, recalling which creatures might prowl these woodlands.

Aside from the baldric of daggers Eurok wore yesterday, and the ax strapped to the saddle, I spied no other weapons. I’ll be pissed if he dragged me out here to track a damn deer.

If that were the case, then why not just say so? I doubted it was something so common. Maybe a paragon wolf? My books described the latter as skilled hunters—they’d be a challenge to take down. Our close-range weapons would put us within reach of their dagger-like fur around their throats. Though, if I remembered correctly, those beasts were considered rare nowadays. Surely a druid wouldn’t be interested in hunting a creature whose presence in the forest was so sparse.

A high-pitched whistle broke the silence. I snapped my head to the right, searching for the source.

“Ignore it,” Eurok called over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“If I tell you, then that wouldn’t be ignoring it,” he said flatly.

My lips sank into a firm line as I canvassed the thick canopy and misty undergrowth, searching for any sign of movement. It was eerie. The deep shadows and distant trees emitted an ominous, overbearing essence.

A twig snapped to my left. The sound echoed off the trunks, ricocheting in all directions. Save for the steady hoofbeats and Eurok’s exasperated sigh, I detected nothing else. This time, tiny child-like giggles rattled off behind me.

I whipped around in the saddle. “What was that?”

I’d never admit it, but that sing-song laughter made my skin crawl. An unsettling chill lifted the fine hairs on the nape of my neck, and my horse’s ears pressed flat against her head. Whether she sensed my anxiety or something else, I wasn’t sure.

“Mira, settle yourself!” Eurok whispered, harsh and irritated.

“But–”

He turned in his saddle. “I said–”

From an overhanging branch, something dropped, landing right behind me. I spun, a shriek sitting on the edge of my tongue. A spindly figure, no larger than a common house cat, stared up at me with black, bulbous eyes. With a strange, mischievous grin, it lifted a tiny green hand and smacked my horse’s rump with a sharp crack. Then it was gone.

Agitated and now scared, the horse reared and bucked my ass out of the saddle. My back hit the forest floor with a muffled thud, all air knocked free from my lungs in a violent huff.

I lay there, staring up at the canopy. A chorus of laughter erupted from all sides—tiny little chiding voices.

Nymphs.

Eurok’s unimpressed face appeared, hovering over my own. “I told you to ignore it.”

“Oh, shut up,” I snarled.

I shoved myself upright, brushing off clumps of moss and debris. A flood of embarrassment and fury coursed through my veins. I should have known it was a nymph. Those tricky little bastards were known for their ruthless sense of humor.

Eurok lowered himself from the saddle and stalked toward me, his footsteps hardly audible on the dense forest floor. He offered his hand to help me to my feet. I accepted, but when I tried to let go, Eurok did not.

His severe gaze narrowed on my face, features pinched with disapproval. “Do you enjoy learning things the hard way?” he asked. “Or do you just naturally do the opposite of what you’re told?”

I tugged, attempting to free myself from his hold. “I don’t know. Maybe no one has ever said anything worth listening to.”

Eurok let go, and I stormed toward my horse.

“Mira, stop.”

I didn’t. Bitter embarrassment roared in my ears, clouding any shred of obedience.

“I said, stop!”

A burst of air hurled into me, rocking the trees and tossing my face in the dirt. Impulse took over, and I snagged my dagger from its sheath, flipping onto my back. My fingers flexed around the hilt, prepared to defend. If he decided I was too much trouble to deal with, if he was tired of my attitude and wanted me dead, I didn’t care how strong he was—I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Indignation coated his expression, and for a moment, I thought he might climb onto his horse and leave me here. He stomped past me instead, kneeling a few paces from my head, inspecting something.

I shook off the fact I’d been knocked to the ground, not once, but twice in a matter of minutes, and pushed myself up with a groan.

“What is it?” I asked.

Eurok rose from his crouch and turned on me. “When we train, you are in my charge. That means you check that fucking ego at the door.”

His words cut at my pride like daggers raining over my skin. That rumble of power I felt on the balcony yesterday trembled along the dirt beneath my feet.

“If you are unwilling to listen, then you’re unwilling to learn,” he said. “You will die in these woods. Do you understand?”

Few things have caused me to take pause like I did as the forest surged in response to his energy, as if every living thing swelled, reaching toward the power that poured from this druid. I’d seen nothing like it, felt nothing like it.

Those easy, molten eyes from last night, that glowed when he spoke of Sidelle, were no more. They were hardened into solid topaz. My back straightened with the force of his glare. This was not the same Eurok who I shared a casual conversation with, nor the cocky jokester who enjoyed antagonizing me when we met. This was the captain of the druid army, and to him, I was an unrestrained subordinate in need of his training. I swallowed my pride and gave a tight nod.

Eurok nodded too, and his shoulders relaxed as he settled back into his crouch. “This is what we’re here for.”

I knelt beside him, examining the mossy bit of ground he inspected. Even this close, I couldn’t see anything but a single string of a spider’s web stretched across two fronds.

“This?” I reached for the thin webbing.

“Stop.”

This time, I listened.

“Don’t touch it.” He pointed toward the canopy. “Look.”

Directly overhead, nestled between the trees, was an immense webbed net. It was difficult to see, but I tracked the string it hung by. It curved upwards around a thick branch, then down the trunk until it jutted across the space ahead. The thin strands seemed so precarious, so fragile.

“If that dropped on you, you’d be constricted to death.”

“Constricted?” My mouth fell open.

Eurok straightened, then grabbed our horses’ reins, guiding them over. I stood, still gawking at the web above. What sort of creature could create something so horrifying?

“It’s triggered by the flow of your blood—your pulse. It constricts with every beat of your heart until there isn’t one. Then all the adraknid needs to do is come slurp up what’s left.”

“We’re here to hunt something capable of both spinning a web that size,” I pointed up with raised brows, “and setting a complex trap?”

“Isn’t that what all spiders do? Set traps and slurp guts?”

He chuckled to himself while all I managed was a choked gag.

“It made its nest too close to the village,” he said. “It needs to be taken care of.”

We mounted our horses, and I followed closely behind, giving the trap a wide berth. Silence hung in the air for a short time while I scanned the treetops for more webs, and even more so for the thing that spun them. I did my best not to sulk, but that bitter taste of embarrassment settled in my chest, boiling like acid.

But Eurok was right. Just because the idea of me being some street rat remake of their princess was a load of shit didn’t mean everything here was a joke. Had he let me storm away like a petulant child, that thing would have fallen on me, and I’d be dead. Every moment of the last eight years was spent trusting my instincts, honing skills, and doing what I thought was best to keep myself alive—none of it mattered here.

What did matter was that one of the most powerful druids in the kingdom wanted to train me to remove real monsters from the world. If I meant to see that for the opportunity it was, I needed to accept that I knew nothing. This place was full of dangers I never conceived. To survive here meant letting go of my pride and learning to listen. If not, it was likely I’d end up in the belly of one of these foreign beasts.

“What did you call it? The thing we’re hunting?” I asked, still scanning the treeline ahead.

“An adraknid.”

I revisited the encyclopedia in my mind, recalling every creature I read about as a child, but came up empty. Though, having ‘drak’ in its name made me take pause. “Drak? As in drak demons?”

He pulled on the reins and waited for me to reach his side before moving on. “What do you know about the drak?”

“Only that they somehow got into our world and couldn’t be reasoned with, so humans and druids of Westryelle worked together to defeat them.” I recited the condensed version of the history I’d been taught.

“And for humans, that’s all there was to it.”

I ducked under a thin branch. “That’s not what happened?”

Eurok pulled out his waterskin and took a sip. “That’s not how it ended.”

“So, how did it end?”

“It didn’t. Not entirely, at least.”

“Are you saying drak are still here? In Westryelle?” I restrained the flood of apprehension from bleeding into my voice.

“In a sense.” He replaced the top on his water skin and stowed it away. “When drak first arrived, their presence went unnoticed for a time. It was before the four clans had been established. There weren’t as many of us back then, so Vylandria wasn’t patrolled as heavily as it is now.”

I tried again to wrap my head around how vast and ancient this country really was. “Were you there when the clans split?” I asked.

“Fuck no. That was way before my time.” He smirked. “I’m about four hundred, give or take.”

“You don’t know how old you are?” I raised a brow.

“It stops mattering after the first couple hundred years.”

He closed his eyes and listened for what I assumed my ears would never hear.

He looked no older than his late twenties, hardly a wrinkle on his ruddy, handsome face. But he carried himself like a force, one that felt ancient and unconstrained. It was hard to imagine him young and untrained, a mere subordinate to his superior.

“How were they discovered?” I asked.

“After the first few made it through the fissure, they wreaked havoc on our ecosystem. They mated with our native species, and the resulting creatures were horrendous abominations. Nightmares.”

The warrior rolled his shoulders. His leather spaulder flexed over his sculpted muscles, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many abominations he executed over the centuries.

“And adraknids are one of them?”

He nodded. “Most of the hybrid species have been wiped out completely, but adraknids and a few others have unfortunately flourished. The one we’re after has taken up residence in an old mausoleum.” He peered my way. “And you’re going to clear it out.”

My lips clamped shut, fearing my voice would give me away, but he read my trepidation all over my face.

“You’ll be fine,” he assured me, “as long as you’re willing to listen.” Then he kicked his horse to move ahead, avoiding my searing scowl.

Traps were scattered throughout the forest, growing denser as we neared the creature’s hideout. We dismounted and hitched our horses to a branch, then skirted between trees that were safe to walk beneath, our footsteps hardly a whisper over the damp undergrowth.

Soon, the mausoleum came into view. Made from crumbling moss-covered stone, the deteriorating old structure barely stood out from its surroundings. There were no signs of life here. No birds, no insects, no scurrying creatures. The silence was pregnant with warning, and my spine chilled in response as we knelt down beside a tree at the edge of the clearing.

“It’ll be easier to fight it in the open instead of going in after it. They’re nocturnal, so it’s best to wait here for it to come out.” He didn’t so much as whisper, appearing as casual as if we were hunting rabbits.

Was I overestimating this creature? Or was he just so powerful that a demon hybrid spider was a trivial concern?

The sun touched the horizon, casting the forest in bruised shadows, when a guttural scream ripped me from my thoughts. Our heads snapped the direction we’d come as a terrified whinnying echoed out. My heart skidded to a halt.

The horses.

Eurok stood and, without hesitation, grabbed me around the wrist and flung me onto his back. I gripped his neck and was forced to bury my head in his shoulder as he ran. He dodged trees with the ease of a whip-poor-will, and in seconds, we were at the horses. Gut-wrenching screams pierced out from overhead. I lowered myself from him, staring into the canopy, worried this commotion might stir the vile creature before we regained our advantage.

The last amber light of day illuminated the horrific scene. My horse hung by a net of webs. Vast disbelief slackened my jaw as its screams were strangled from its body.

Eurok threw himself at the tree, scrambling up with ease. Balanced near the branch the poor creature dangled from, I thought he might cut it free somehow. Instead, he placed a hand against the enormous trunk, and the bark beneath his palm took on a warm golden glow. His expression was pleading, as if urging the forest to respond.

The branches, to my astonishment, lowered, bolstering my horse’s weight to the lichen-covered earth. Entangled and suffering in a mess of webs, I moved to free the whimpering animal. Before I reached it, a shuddering snap reverberated through the air as the horse bones, the size of carriage axles, folded in half. My stomach heaved as I struggled to retain my composure—then it stopped.

I froze, gaping and dumbfounded, unable to move. Eurok dropped with a muffled thud, and for a moment, we stood in silence, our faces pressed in dejected remorse. He stepped up to the animal’s mutilated form, muttering some sort of prayer. I might’ve appreciated the rhythmic, deep sound had I not been too busy trying not to hurl, faint, or scream.

“I’m going to usher the animal’s soul to the veil now.” Eurok dipped his chin. “While I do this spell, I won’t be able to fight. Do you understand?”

I snapped out of my trance and met his eye, gauging how serious he was. Me—protect him—from the creature that just did that? I worked my ass off for years to become a confident killer of men, but this was way outside my realm of experience. Still, the confidence in his words steeled me. I swallowed my apprehension and nodded. I angled myself toward the mausoleum, only now realizing I never asked Eurok what the hell an adraknid looked like.

“What am I–”

On glancing over my shoulder, a bright swirling mist engulfed Eurok and the horse. He sat as still as stone, his eyes closed, with his hands on the horse’s side. It was painfully beautiful, yet eerie. I forced my mouth shut and tore my gaze from the spectacle to keep watch. But it was dark.

So dark.

Only the faint glow of Eurok’s spell emitted any light. Once again, I couldn’t quite believe the mess I’d gotten myself into.How was I, a completely normal human, supposed to be helpful in a fucking place like this?

I thought back to how Eurok closed his eyes to listen to the forest. My sight would be of no help, so I gave it a try. I took a deep breath and willed my body to stop trembling, my heart to slow. A low rustling moved in the trees above, swift and easy like the breeze itself. My eyes flew open to complete, hollow darkness, the spell’s light gone.

Sound was truly my only defense now, so I forced my heaving breaths to soften. The profound stillness was blood-curdling.Another rustle of leaves, though different somehow, more predictable than a moment ago. There. Closer this time. My gods, what is taking him so long?

I fixed my grip on my dagger. My throwing knives would be no help if I couldn’t see.

“Mira,” Eurok whispered in the lightest breath. “We have to get out of here. We can’t fight it in the trees. Give me your hand.”

I reached toward his voice, swiping the air where I thought his arm should be, but came up empty.

“Where are–”

A force, as if struck by a bucking horse, sent me flying.

I slammed into a tree, pain lacing through my left side. The sharp ache radiated through my torso as I braced myself to hit the ground, but I didn’t. I was pinned to the rough bark, a stringy wet substance fanned over my body. Panic flared in my chest. The beast’s web. I held my breath, expecting the sticky strands to press in, waiting for my life to be wrung from me like water from a dishrag.

Nothing moved.

I hung there in the dark. No sign of Eurok or the monster that slung this vile contraption.

I wriggled my arm, trying to slide it between the web and my torso, grasping for my dagger. The stuff was strong. It pressed into my skin like fine strands of hair, as if it might slice me open if pulled any tighter. Despite my efforts, it was no use. I couldn’t move. I was trapped under the web’s sticky grip, no less significant than a housefly waiting to be devoured.

Desperate for a glimpse, a sign, a whisper of the captain, my wide eyes scanned the darkness.

A blast of overwhelming heat and light struck the forest floor, paces away. I squinted against the stinging pain and forced myself to find the source.

Crouched, fist still pressed to the fractured ground, Eurok looked every bit the powerful warrior I expected. That thunderous blast, that blinding light and searing heat—it was him. It poured from fissures that spiderwebbed beneath his fist. Power pulsated around us like an echo in a cave.

“Eurok!”

He didn’t seem to hear me.

Again, I struggled for my dagger, only to skim the hilt with my fingertips. When I thrashed against the web, my features scrunched into a wince. A tormenting ache seized my ribcage, but I shoved harder. Pain sliced through my forearm and my lips pulled back, teeth bared. Fight through the pain. My fingers wrapped in place around the blade.

Then I saw it.

Hurling itself toward the light emitted from the fractured earth where Eurok stood was a creature whose grotesque existence didn’t seem possible. The thing was massive. Flesh-colored skin spread tight over its eight long, bony legs. The sickening, wet sound it made as it propelled forward would be branded in my mind and my nightmares forever.

Eurok rose, facing the nightmare head-on as I frantically sawed at the web wrapped around my middle. The creature reared, its front legs swiping in chaotic thrashes, as if to block out the blazing light.

I kept sawing, even as my feeble attempts seemed useless. I had to help. When the first band snapped free, my ribs throbbed like a galloping horse.

Eurok swung his ax. The hiss of metal squelched into flesh, slicing through a front leg. Using the force of his backswing, he rolled over the beast’s back, landing on its other side. Another leg hit the dirt, twitching in horrid spasms. I might’ve gasped if my lungs had the capacity. With a final blow, he severed the monster’s oblong, gnashing head clean off.

It fell with a sickening thud and rolled to a stop in front of me, its pinchers still clicking in its grotesque mouth.