The Next Step

It was twilight, but the sky was far darker than it should have been. Thick rain clouds still hung low, casting a dreary gloom over the land. The ground, soaked from the earlier downpour, gleamed faintly with lingering moisture. Medium winds whispered through the trees, carrying with them the soft patter of residual raindrops falling from trembling leaves. A light drizzle persisted, barely more than a mist, yet enough to make the air damp and heavy.

Amidst the eerie stillness of the fading light, a Shadow Mane wolf, identical to the one Elyn killed three years ago, lay struggling on the drenched earth. Its dark fur, slick with rain and mud streaked with fresh wounds, bristled as it growled weakly. The beast clawed at the ground, its limbs twitching with futile effort, but no matter how much it thrashed, it could not move.

If one looked closely—very closely—one would see the cause of its immobilisation. Thin, almost invisible threads stretched across the wolf's body, glistening faintly with the weight of clinging raindrops. They crisscrossed in a vast, sophisticated web, layered hundreds of thousands of times over, woven into an intricate trap that left no room for escape. The more the wolf struggled, the tighter the silk constricted.

And then, the ground itself began to shift.

At first, it seemed like a trick of the dim light—a ripple in the wet soil, a mere distortion caused by the rain. But the illusion soon took form. From every shadow, every crevice, and every hidden corner, they emerged.

Thousands of them.

Small, thumb-sized spiders, crawl in the thousands. Their bodies, identical in colour to the forest floor, had been hidden in plain sight. At a glance, they had been indistinguishable from the earth itself, a shifting mirage of stone and soil. But now, as they surged forward, their forms became unmistakable.

These were the same creatures Elyn had once burned to death.

The clattering of countless legs filled the air, a chorus of chitin striking wet earth. The vibrations sent faint tremors through the ground as the swarm descended upon its prey.

The Shadow Mane let out a final, desperate snarl.

And then—nothing.

Within minutes, the spiders dispersed, scuttling away in every direction, vanishing into the forest like ghosts. The vast web that had once ensnared the beast was gone as well, its threads dissolving as though they had never existed.

The wolf, too, was gone.

Not a single drop of blood. Not a shred of fur. It was as if there had never been anything there, to begin with.

...

The forest was thick with the scent of damp earth and moss, the remnants of the earlier rain lingering in the cool night air. Hidden deep within the dense woodland, nestled between towering trees whose massive canopies swallowed the last traces of twilight, stood a wooden shack.

Time had not been kind to the structure. Its walls were weathered and cracked, draped in creeping vines and a thick layer of algae, as if nature itself was trying to reclaim it. Shadows clung to every crevice, making it seem more like an extension of the forest than a dwelling.

Around it, the undergrowth grew wild, a sea of knee-high plants swaying gently in the breeze. Amidst the tangled greenery, small clearings had been carved out, though they were far from empty. Weapons of various shapes and sizes lay scattered about, their edges dulled by time and exposure. Training equipment, some makeshift, some well-worn from years of use, stood in the open patches of land.

And then, from within the shack, movement.

A pair of scarred eyelids twitched. Slowly, they parted.

Crimson irises, gleaming with an unnatural intensity, flickered open.

Elyn sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor, his bare skin illuminated by the faint glow of an old lamp. The dim, flickering light traced the contours of his body, revealing a network of scars that ran across his arms, chest, and back—marks of battles fought, of lessons learned through pain.

He was only ten years old, but his body bore the weight of experience far beyond his years.

A slow breath. Then, the corners of his lips curled into a small, maddening smile.

"Finally…" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with undeniable satisfaction.

His fingers curled, pressing against the aged wooden floor as he exhaled again, his crimson gaze burning with a quiet intensity.

His experiment had borne fruit.

He let out a low chuckle, his smile widening just slightly.

"It worked."

Rising from the creaking wooden floor, Elyn made his way to his cluttered desk, a chaotic array of small to large vials filled with unknown substances. Several other vials were also present, each containing mysterious liquids—some clear poisons, others potions with faint, swirling hues. Stacks of runic paper, each inscribed with intricate symbols and experimental sigils, were piled one atop the other in an unorganized but deliberate manner, reflecting the restless mind of their creator.

Rough, makeshift shelves lined the walls, holding several thick books with uneven, worn pages, some edges singed by past experiments. Dried herbs, gathered from the depths of the forest, were scattered across the room, adding a faint, earthy aroma.

In the large clearing of the room, a large map hung from the walls, marked with runes and shifting lines, the markings moved as though the terrain itself was alive.

To the side, several small bottles, some broken and crudely patched with leaves, torn cloth, or animal leather bound with natural rope, contained various remnants of small fist-sized spiders and Shadow Mane wolves—blood, fur, eyes, and even cores. Each piece held immense significance for Elyn's ongoing research.

After several moments of intense writing and contemplation, the faint clattering of countless spiders echoed through the wooden shack. The vibrations, subtle at first, grew stronger until the very floor beneath Elyn trembled. From every conceivable gap—the cracks in the walls, the spaces beneath the door, and even between the wooden floorboards—the spiders crawled in.

They swarmed together with eerie precision, each spider weaving itself into place until they formed a towering six-foot humanoid figure. It wasn't perfect—far from it. Its shape was crude, a patchwork of countless tiny bodies that barely mimicked the human form. Yet, it stood firm, its multiple glinting eyes fixated on Elyn, awaiting his command.

Elyn's scarred lips curled into a faint smile, one touched with a hint of madness as his crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light. With an air of curiosity, he asked, "Did the components get damaged?"

The figure remained still for a moment, its many eyes flickering in what seemed like thought. Then, almost imperceptibly, it nodded.

Elyn's smile widened, the glint in his eyes intensifying. "Is that so?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Good… then go."

His tone sharpened as he continued, "Find some meat. A wild stag will do. And don't ruin them this time."

As the swarm of spiders dispersed, the room settled into an uneasy stillness. In their wake, they left behind something remarkable—neatly ordered parts of the previously hunted Shadow Mane wolf, each piece meticulously arranged with almost surgical precision.

Elyn's crimson eyes flicked over the array, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Huh... not bad this time," he muttered, stepping forward barefoot across the creaky wooden floor.

The thick, dark fur, known for its resilience and stealth properties, was folded into a tight bundle. Small glass vials held the wolf's dark, viscous blood, each container sealed with wax. "Good... no contamination this time". 

His gaze settled on the core—a gem-like organ faintly pulsing with residual energy. "Still beating, huh? You were another tough bastard," he said softly, running a finger along the smooth surface. "But you're mine now."