Arachne-san

Boots slam through leaves and mud behind you. Orc voices bark in the fog, close enough that you hear them breathing. Metal scrapes bushies. Something heavy knocks through trees.

Moonlight flashes on tusks and axe heads.

Then something snaps. Not a branch. Too thin.

An orc screams and it turns into a choke. A pale line whips tight across his throat. He grabs at it and his fingers slide off. The line bites deeper. There’s a wet sound, then a sharp crack. His body jerks once and goes limp.

Whatever has him doesn’t stop. It drags him sideways through the fog like he weighs nothing. His boots carve dark tracks in the mud. His axe drops, flips end over end, and disappears in the mist.

The others start yelling at each other. One shouts to pull back. Another shouts to push forward. Nobody agrees. They spread out anyway, angry and nervous.

You see the strands when the light hits them. Thin lines between trees. Some low. Some high. More than there should be.

Branches shift above you. Fast. Then still.

An orc steps forward and a strand snaps across his mouth. It wraps his jaw before he can shout. He claws at his face, digging nails into silk, and the line tightens until his breath turns into a muffled wheeze.

He gets lifted off the ground. He kicks, hard, and hits a trunk on the way up. The sound is dull. Then he’s pulled into the branches and he’s gone.

Another orc turns to run. A line hits him across the chest and yanks him flat. He hits the ground and tries to crawl. The strand pulls him backward into the fog. Dirt tears under his fingers. His hands leave scrapes. He keeps yelling until the silk wraps his mouth too.

The last brute charges straight ahead like he can force it. He raises his axe.

A line flashes. His head jerks back so hard his neck shows white in the moonlight. He gets one broken scream before he’s ripped straight up and out of sight.

After that, the forest goes quiet.

You spot an old tree with a hollow hole big enough to crawl into. You shove yourself inside. Strands hang around the opening and stick to the bark. One brushes your sleeve and clings.

Heavy steps come through the fog. One set. Slow. Close. The orc moves in the mist. A low snarl “Meat… fresh meat!”

The orc’s eyes lock onto your hiding spot wild, greedy. He raises his axe, breath hitching as he opens his mouth to call for the others, but before a sound escapes, a strand of web snaps out from the dark. It wraps around his face, jerking him violently into the fog. His scream is muffled into a wet, gurgling yelp. Silence follows, broken only by the sticky slurp of silk dragging him away.

Another scream. Another crash. Then nothing but the hush of wind and the whisper of mist. The fog thickens, sweet and strange, curling around you. The forest stills. And you're alone.

Silver threads shimmer in the moonlight, catching the light just enough to hint at the web that surrounds you. You don’t move. Can’t move. Something clicks overhead in the trees, slow, deliberate, close.

Then it descends.

A shape drifts from the treetops like a dream or a nightmare. Woman and spider intertwined. Her upper body is regal, monstrous, and pale as moonlight. Long dark hair spills over shoulders that lead to a wide, silver-streaked black spider’s abdomen. Eight graceful legs extend outward with inhuman poise.

Her red eyes find you. Not with hunger… but curiosity.

A thick, glossy cock sways between her, already beaded with a drop of sweet-smelling nectar that hits the web with a sticky pat.

She speaks low, velvety, every word trailing with a hiss.

“Ssssuch noise, sssuch chaosss… yet not a ssscratch on this one.”

She circles you slowly, legs barely touching the web.

“A lucky fly? Or jussst the cleverest of the bunch?”

“Tell me, little one… isss it relief you feel?” She leans closer, breath warm on your face. “Or doesss the ssilence frighten you more?”

She reaches out, trailing a fingertip along a shimmering strand. It vibrates, and the sensation tingles along your arm.

“Sssome run. Sssome beg. And sssome try to fight.” Her voice curls like silk through your thoughts. “But you… you didn’t run at all. You waited. Stayed hiding.”

“What isss your name, preciousss little morssel?” A smile twists her lips half-gentle, half-cruel. “Will you give it freely… or mussst I draw it out strand by strand?”

Her body looms above you alien, gorgeous, terrible. A gleaming pearl stretching downward, the scent of it sweet and thick.

“Would you like to come back to my nesst, little fly?” She purrs the words. “Sssomeone asss interesssting asss you dessservesss more than jussst a quick end in the dark…”