The mist coils around me, thick as breath, muffling sound and swallowing light. My grip tightens on my spear as I step forward, muscles coiled, senses sharp. Something moves in the fog. Not the skitter of a rodent or the tread of a man. No, this is heavier, deliberate. A shadow shifting at the edges of perception.

  Then I see it.

  The Spidrae emerges from the fog like a nightmare taking form, eight legs piercing the earth as it rises to its full height, nearly twice that of a man. Its body is covered in coarse black hair, glistening with something viscous in the half-light.

  The carapace covering its thorax is thick, ridged with bony plates that overlap like ancient armor.

  But it's the head that marks it as something beyond mere beast.

  Its face splits open, not a mouth, but four separate parts that peel back to reveal rows of needle-like teeth dripping with venom. Its many eyes, clustered like black orbs, fix on me. They reflect the faint blue glow of my spear's runes, eight points of cold predation that see me for what I am.

  A threat.

  I roll my shoulders, settling into a familiar stance. The spear balances perfectly in my grip, an extension of my arm, of my will. This creature is massive, dangerous, a predator that has hunted these lands unseen and unchallenged.

  Until now.

  The Spidrae clicks its mandibles together, a sound like knives scraping. It raises two of its front legs, displaying hooked barbs meant for skewering prey. I don't wait for it to strike first.

  I move.

  The creature lunges at the same moment, one massive leg crashing down where I stood a heartbeat before. The impact splinters the wooden porch, sending shards flying in all directions. I'm already ten feet away, having rolled beneath another sweeping limb.

  "Too slow," I murmur, rising to one knee.

  The Spidrae screeches, a sound that would freeze the blood of most men. I am not most men.

  It charges, eight legs hammering the earth with enough force to shake the farmhouse foundations. I sprint toward it, not away, calculating the distance, the timing. At the last second, I drop into a slide, the mud slick beneath me, and thrust upward with my spear.

  The spear cuts along the creature's underbelly, not deep enough to wound severely, but enough to draw ichor. It hisses, spraying the ground with droplets that sizzle and bubble on contact.

  I vault backward, narrowly avoiding a leg that spears the ground beside me.

  "Ignite," I command.

  The runes along my spear pulse once, then blaze to life. Fire erupts from the shaft, racing up to the blade, bathing everything around orange light. The Spidrae rears back, its eyes reflecting the flames in crimson pinpoints.

  "Come on," I challenge, twirling the burning spear in a circle. "I've killed worse than you."

  The Spidrae's mandibles click faster, a rattling sound of agitation or hunger, perhaps both. It circles sideways, legs tapping against the earth like it's testing for weakness. I mirror its movement, keeping the distance between us constant, my boots sliding smoothly through the mud.

  It springs without warning, not forward, but up and over, landing on the farmhouse roof with a crash of splintering wood. Shingles falls down as it scrabbles for purchase, then stares down at me from this new vantage.

  "Clever," I admit.

  I dash toward the farmhouse wall, leaping up to catch the edge of a windowsill with my free hand. In one fluid motion, I pull myself up, boots finding purchase against the weathered boards. The Spidrae hisses, backing up as I climb higher, the burning spear held out to ward it off.

  The rooftop creaks beneath my weight as I haul myself over the edge. The Spidrae has retreated to the far corner, legs splayed wide, body low. A predator waiting to strike.

  "What are you waiting for?" I ask, spinning the spear once more.

  The flames leave trails.

  It answers by charging.

  I drop flat as it leaps over me, its underbelly passing mere inches from my face. The moment it lands behind me, I roll to my feet and thrust backward without looking. The spear meets resistance—chitin, then softer flesh. The Spidrae shrieks.

  I rip the weapon free and spin to face it. One of its legs hangs limp, ichor dripping from a smoking wound where the fire-enhanced blade pierced its joint. Seven legs now, not eight. The odds worsen for it.

  The roof beneath us groans, timbers strained by our combined weight. The Spidrae seems to sense the weakness, it slams two legs down hard, breaking through the planks. I leap back as a section of roof collapses, revealing the room below.

  The creature doesn't fall. It clings to the remaining structure, already adjusting its balance to compensate for the missing limb. I take advantage of its momentary distraction, darting forward to slash at another leg.

  My spear connects, the blade shearing through the limb at its midpoint. The severed piece falls away, clattering through the hole in the roof. The Spidrae screeches again, higher now, filled with rage or pain or both.

  Six legs. Even better for me.

  It retreats, skittering backward and leaping from the roof to the ground below. I follow without hesitation, vaulting off the edge. The air rushes past as I fall, tucking into a roll as I hit the dirt. The impact jars through my shoulders, but I'm up again in an instant, spear at the ready.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The Spidrae is moving toward the barn, faster than something its size should be able to move. I sprint after it, boots pounding against the earth. It slips between the half-open barn doors, disappearing into the darkness within.

  I slow my approach, wary of an ambush. The flaming spear lights the way I ease one of the doors wider, peering into the gloom.

  "Running away?" I call out. "That's not like your kind."

  Silence answers. I step inside, the fire of my weapon illuminating stalls and farm implements, piles of moldering hay, dust thick in the air. The barn is larger than it appeared from outside, the ceiling lost in shadow despite my light.

  A faint scratching sound comes from above.

  I look up just as the Spidrae drops from the rafters.

  I sidestep, but not quite fast enough. One of its legs catches my shoulder, tearing through cloak and tunic, grazing skin. Only a cut, and nothing more. I am made of stronger stuff than its usual prey.

  The flash of pain is quickly dismissed. I spin, bringing my spear around in a wide arc that forces the creature back.

  We face each other in the center of the barn, circling slowly. The fire from my spear reflects in its clustered eyes, giving it a demonic appearance. It clicks its mandibles, that same knife-on-knife sound that echoes in the enclosed space.

  "No more games," I say, adjusting my grip.

  The Spidrae charges, not directly at me, but at a support beam to my left. It smashes through the wood, causing a section of the loft above to collapse. I dive clear of the falling debris, rolling between two stalls as dust and splinters rain down.

  The creature is already moving again, scaling the remaining wall with unnatural speed, disappearing into the rafters. I rise to my feet, listening. The creak of old wood, the skitter of claws against beams.

  I leap onto an overturned cart, then up to grab a roof support. With a grunt, I pull myself into the loft area, finding footing on a narrow beam. Below, the barn floor is littered with debris. Above, the Spidrae waits, clinging to the underside of the roof like a true spider.

  It drops another severed leg—a distraction. I'm not fooled. I thrust upward as it descends, catching it mid-pounce. My spear punches through its carapace, the blade emerging from the other side trailing smoke and ichor.

  But the creature's momentum carries us both off the beam. We fall, locked together, the world spinning around us. Impact comes hard, driving the air from my lungs. The Spidrae's weight crushes down on me, mandibles snapping inches from my face.

  I let go of the spear—still embedded in the creature's thorax—and grab two of its fangs, holding its face away from mine. The venom drips onto my cloak, burning through the fabric. The creature's remaining legs scrabble for purchase, trying to pin me down.

  "Enough," I growl.

  With a surge of strength, I twist hard, snapping one of the fangs clean off. The Spidrae shrieks, rearing back. I roll free, grabbing the shaft of my spear still protruding from its body. With a vicious pull, I rip the weapon sideways, the blade carving through chitin and whatever passes for organs in this nightmare.

  The fire from the spear ignites something inside the creature. Flames erupt from the wound, spreading rapidly along its body. The Spidrae thrashes wildly, legs flailing in a desperate dance, its screams reaching a fever pitch that forces me to grit my teeth.

  I back away, watching as the creature's movements grow more erratic, then slower. The fire consumes it from within, burning through to emerge from joints and the seams between plates. Its eyes, those black jewels, seem to fix on me one last time—not with hatred, but with something like recognition.

  Then it collapses, legs curling inward, body folding in on itself as the magical fire reduces it to ash and char.

  Silence falls, broken only by the soft crackle of flames and my own steady breathing.

  I lower my spear, the fire dimming, receding back into the runes until they glow with just their usual faint light. The battle is done.

  But something isn't right.

  I step outside, scanning the misty fields. The farmhouse stands silent, the barn damaged but still standing. No other creatures stir in the gathering dusk. No glowing lights that might be the Solmae. No otherworldly presence that might explain the third, unreadable entry in my bestiary.

  Just... nothing.

  I frown, turning in a slow circle. This was too easy. The Spidrae was formidable, yes, but solitary. It doesn't explain the pattern of disappearances, the feeling of wrongness that pervades this place. A single predator, even one as deadly as the Spidrae, wouldn't cause farmers to abandon their homes, wouldn't instill such deep fear in seasoned frontier guards.

  There should be more. There should be signs, trails, evidence of whatever else lurks out here.

  But there's nothing.

  I return to the smoldering corpse of the Spidrae, studying what remains. Despite the fire, parts are intact enough to be valuable—segments of legs, plates of chitin, perhaps even a venom gland if I'm careful with extraction. Waste not.

  As I kneel beside the carcass, pulling a long hunting knife from my belt, a faint itch crawls across my forearm again. I push back my sleeve, watching as those same thin lines appear on my skin, darker now, more defined. They pulse once, then fade again, sinking beneath the surface like a stone dropped in still water.

  I glance around. The mist has thickened, but nothing stirs.

  No eyes watch from the shadows. No breath of another creature disturbs the air.

  This is wrong. There should be more than just one beast here. If the Spidrae was part of what plagued this place, it wasn't the whole of it. The boy, the livestock, a single spider-demon doesn't account for all of it. And it certainly doesn't explain the mark on my arm, the unreadable page in my book.

  I turn my attention back to harvesting what I can from the Spidrae. Its legs are long and sturdy, the chitin thick enough to be reforged into armor plating or weapon components. The venom gland, if intact, could fetch a good price from an alchemist. Even in death, monsters have their uses.

  The fog hangs low, curling around the corpse like hungry fingers. The wind has died down, leaving behind an unsettling stillness, the kind that doesn't sit right. I listen closely, but hear nothing, no birds, no insects, no rustle of leaves in trees. Just absolute silence, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

  I stand, wiping my blade clean on a scrap of cloth. With the Spidrae's valuable parts tucked away in my pack, I make one final survey of the farmstead. The house stands empty, doors open to the elements, chairs askew, dishes still on the table. The barn's damaged structure creaks softly, but holds.

  No signs of struggle beyond what I've just caused. No blood. No bodies. Just absence.

  Nothing is worse than something. The lack of evidence, the silence, the emptiness—it all points to something I can't yet see, can't yet understand. Whatever took the boy, whatever drove the farmers away, it might not have been the Spidrae at all. Or if it was, it wasn't alone.

  As I prepare to leave, a sharp sting flares across my arm where the mark appeared. I hiss, jerking back my sleeve to see the lines shifting again, darker now, almost like they're reacting to something. They pulse, faintly, then fade once more.

  "Not now," I mutter, rolling my sleeve down again.

  I sling my pack over my shoulder and start back down the road toward Greyhaven. I need to offload these monster remnants, to learn more about what's happening here. And, more importantly, I need answers about this cursed mark before it decides to show itself again.

  Whatever haunts these farmlands, the Spidrae was only the beginning.

  I turn and head back to town.

  「Progress Update - System Tracker」

  「STATUS UPDATE」

  Hawks Taylor | Fallen Kingspear Lvl 28

  Equipment: Gungnir (Active), Prince's Flask, The Bestiary, Spidrae Parts

  Combat: First Threat Eliminated

  Condition: Mark Activating, Mild Injury (Shoulder)

  「QUEST LOG」

  Missing Livestock and Child (Updated)

  Defeated: Spidrae (Threat Level A)

  Investigation: Primary threat still unidentified

  Next Objective: Return to Greyhaven with monster parts

  Unsolved: Missing boy Keagan's whereabouts