We Ate Spiders

The silence on the sixty-ninth floor was the loudest they had ever heard.

Every step Azrael and Olivia took cracked against the frost-laced stone, echoing through the desolate chamber like a death knell. The temperature had dropped further still—so cold that even their exhales crystallized in the air before fading into mist. Their ragged breaths were shallow. Each drawn inhale scraped like knives against their throats.

They had lost track of time—how long they'd been descending, fighting, bleeding. The spiders no longer surprised them. They had grown monstrous in both form and ferocity—pale, bloated creatures with fangs like icicles and too many twitching legs. Their eyes shimmered an eerie blue that never blinked.

And yet, Azrael and Olivia endured.

He fought with wild precision, his body moving on instinct now, muscle memory guiding each thrust and sweep of his spear. His skin was numb, his bare feet cracked and bleeding, but still he pushed forward. Olivia matched him—her sword flashing with each strike, each parry, her face streaked with sweat and dirt, her arms trembling but unyielding.

When they finally reached the far end of the floor and found a partially-collapsed alcove shielded by stone, they collapsed into it like corpses. A heavy silence settled between them, interrupted only by the sound of their shivering.

Olivia sank to her knees and leaned against the wall, clutching her sides. "We need to rest," she said, voice brittle.

Azrael didn't argue. He slumped down beside her, his back against the frozen rock, eyes half-lidded. "We need warmth."

"And food."

A beat passed before Azrael grunted. "Think the spiders are edible?"

Olivia made a face, though she was too exhausted to summon true disgust. "Not raw."

"We can try to cook them."

"How?" She gestured around at the dead, frozen air. "We've been trying to make fire for hours. This place is cursed. The cold eats sparks before they live."

Azrael rubbed his hands together, his fingers too numb to feel. "There has to be a way."

There was a pause.

Then, Olivia said softly, "I might have something."

Azrael turned to her.

"I've been experimenting. My with my affinities. Ever since I started drinking beast blood." Her eyes flickered to his. "I don't understand it completely. But I think I can produce heat—just a little even though fire is my weakest affinity and I haven't used it before."

Azrael straightened, alert. "What kind of heat?"

She pulled her hands together in front of her, palms open, and closed her eyes. For a moment, nothing happened. Then her brows furrowed, and a low hum filled the space between them—barely audible. The air near her fingertips shimmered. Her breathing deepened.

And then—

A spark.

Tiny and fragile, but there. A glimmer of red light bloomed in her cupped hands. It flickered once, then again, growing from ember to flame no bigger than a coin.

Azrael's eyes widened. "You did it."

Olivia opened her eyes and stared at the flame. Her expression was unreadable—tired, grim, calm. "It's not much. But it's real."

She bent forward and cradled the flame between her palms as Azrael scrambled to gather materials. They used shredded rags, dry bits of webbing, and pieces of broken wood torn from a support beam. Olivia knelt over the pile, her hands trembling as she placed the flickering flame into the heart of the kindling.

It caught.

Slowly, then quickly, the fire grew. Warmth spread out like a miracle, licking against their frozen skin, casting long shadows across the icy wall. For the first time in hours, Azrael felt his fingers again.

"You did it," he said, awe in his voice.

Olivia didn't reply. She simply stared into the fire, letting the heat soak into her bones. Her expression was distant.

Azrael moved toward one of the larger spider corpses they had left behind. Its body steamed faintly in the firelight. He knelt beside it and began hacking off its legs with the point of his spear. The meat beneath the exoskeleton was pale and veined, looking more like raw crab than anything else.

Olivia watched him with a neutral gaze. Not disgusted. Just… quiet.

He brought the legs over to the fire and began roasting them. Smoke curled upward, thick and bitter. The scent was a mix of scorched shell and rot—but his stomach growled.

"You're really going to eat that?" Olivia asked, monotone.

Azrael shrugged. "Better than dying."

He cracked open one leg after it charred and peeled away the outer layer. The flesh beneath steamed. He took a bite, chewed, and grimaced.

"Chewy. Tastes like old leather soaked in saltwater."

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound delicious."

Azrael snorted and offered her a leg. She shook her head. Instead, she moved to one of the smaller spiders. She knelt beside it, then lowered her face to its wound.

Azrael turned to her in confusion. "What are you—?"

"I'm not eating that," she said. "But I need something. The blood helps."

She pressed her lips to the gash and drank. Slowly, deliberately. There was no hunger in the act—no ecstasy or revulsion. Just necessity.

The taste was metallic and faintly bitter, but bearable. Warm, at least.

When she pulled away, her lips were stained dark. She wiped them with the back of her hand.

Azrael studied her. "You don't hate it."

"No," she said. "It's not pleasant. But it keeps me going. That's enough."

He nodded, respecting her honesty.

"I guess we both eat what we can," he said, tearing another piece of spider meat free.

Olivia sat beside him again, pulling her knees to her chest, hands stretched toward the fire. "I never thought I'd be thankful for spider corpses."

Azrael smirked. "Don't get used to it."

They sat in silence, the fire crackling between them. Their makeshift meal—one gnawing roasted legs, the other drinking blood—was the strangest, saddest feast either had known. But it kept them alive.

In that frozen tomb of stone and death, the fire they had kindled became more than just warmth. It was proof they still had fight left in them. That even here, in the belly of the world, they could hold on to something human.