The cold wasn't just on his skin anymore; it was in his marrow. Elian sat in the mud, the violet light of the egg casting long, shivering shadows against the cavern walls.
His teeth chattered so hard his jaw ached.
[System Alert: Core Temperature Critical. Hypothermia Stage 2 imminent.] [Directive: Consume Biomass. Generate Heat. Construct Shelter.]
Elian looked at the dead Corpse-Moth. Its head was crushed, oozing that glowing green sludge. It looked like a nightmare smashed by a god's hammer.
INNER VOICE: I can't. I literally can't. It's raw. It's an insect. It's... look at the hair on its legs. I'm going to die of starvation, but at least I'll die with dignity.
OUTER VOICE: "Dignity is a luxury of the living. Eat."
His hand moved without his permission. The Outer Voice—that cold, detached instinct—piloted his limb like a machine. He ripped a chunk of white, fibrous meat from the moth's thorax. It was slick with green ichor.
He brought it to his mouth. The smell of ammonia made his eyes water.
Bite.
Flavor exploded. It tasted like battery acid and burnt hair.
Elian gagged, his throat convulsing, trying to reject the alien matter. Tears streamed down his face. But he didn't spit it out. He chewed. Crunch, squelch, swallow.
[Biomass Assimilated.] [Stamina +15.] [Skill Acquired: Abyssal Stomach (Lvl 1) - Resistance to mild toxins.] [Warning: Acid burn detected in esophagus. HP -2.]
It burned going down, a hot coal sliding into his stomach. But moments later, a different heat bloomed—energy. Raw, feral energy. The itching in his wrists intensified, demanding release.
INNER VOICE: I'm a monster. I just ate a bug. I'm never going to be human again.
OUTER VOICE: "Fuel acquired. Commencing architecture."
Elian stood up. He felt stronger. The dizziness was gone, replaced by a hyper-focused clarity. He looked up. The ceiling of the fungal hollow was covered in stalactites, about five meters up. Safe from the ground.
He raised his hands.
Thwip. Thwip.
Silk shot from his wrists, no longer just panic-firing, but guided by [Silk Sovereignty]. He didn't just shoot ropes; he wove structures. He anchored a line to a high rock, then swung himself up, his muscles straining but holding.
Suspended five meters in the air, hanging by one arm, he began to work.
He wove a hammock first, crossing threads in a complex geometric pattern he had never learned but somehow understood perfectly. Triangles. Hexagons. Tension distribution.
INNER VOICE: I was a librarian. I organized scrolls. How do I know tensile physics? This feels... natural. Like breathing.
He spun a cocoon around the hammock, leaving a small opening for air. He lined the inside with "fluff"—silk he purposely frayed by rubbing the spinnerets together, creating a soft, cotton-like insulation.
As he sealed the bottom of the cocoon, he heard them.
Scritch. Scritch. Squeak.
Below, in the darkness, red eyes appeared. Corpse-Rats. Dozens of them. They swarmed the remains of the moth he had left behind, tearing it apart with sounds of wet tearing and snapping bones.
Elian curled up inside his white, hanging fortress. It was warm. The silk trapped his body heat instantly.
He clutched the egg to his chest. The violet pulse was faster now. Stronger.
"You're safe," he whispered. It was the first time his two voices merged. He felt a weird surge of affection for the stone-like object. It was his only friend. His only family.
He closed his eyes, exhaustion finally claiming him.
He woke to a cracking sound.
It wasn't the rats. It was right against his chest.
Elian jerked awake. The interior of the cocoon was bathed in blinding violet light. The egg in his lap was trembling violently. A fissure zigzagged across the black shell.
CRACK.
A piece of shell fell away.
Elian held his breath. What would come out? A spider? A girl? A monster that would eat his face?
A tiny, pale hand reached out from the darkness of the shell. It had five fingers, delicate and human, but the fingernails were black and sharp as obsidian razors.
Then came the head.
It was a girl. Or the upper half of one. She couldn't have been more than an infant in size, with skin like porcelain and wet, silver hair plastered to her skull. But her eyes...
She opened them. Eight of them. Two large, ruby-red human eyes, and six smaller, glowing beads arranged on her forehead like a crown.
She pulled herself free. Her lower body wasn't legs. It was a bulbous, black spider abdomen with eight tiny, spindly legs that tapped against his chest.
She looked at him. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She tilted her head, her mandibles clicking softly.
INNER VOICE: It's... it's hideous. It's a spider-baby.
OUTER VOICE: "Subject identified: Bonded Familiar. Status: Hungry."
The spider-girl crawled up his chest, her sharp legs pricking his skin, until she was face-to-face with him. She opened her mouth, revealing tiny fangs dripping with venom.
"Pa... pa?" she rasped. The sound was like dry leaves skittering on pavement.
She bit his finger.
It didn't hurt. He felt a drain, a siphon on his soul, but also a loop closing. A connection snapped into place, iron-hard and eternal.
[Congratulation. Royal Arachne Hatched.] [Name Required.] [Soul Bond Established: 100%] [Trait Shared: The Weaver's Daughter (Silk production +10%)]
Elian looked at the creature sucking on his finger like a pacifier. He should have been horrified. He was a scholar. A civilized man.
But looking into those eight eyes, he felt a fierce, terrifying protectiveness surge through his veins.
"Arachne," he whispered, wiping a bit of shell from her hair. "No... that's too common."
He looked at the silk walls around them. The white threads that saved his life.
"Silvi," he said.
The creature released his finger, a drop of blood on her lip. She smiled, and it was a jagged, terrifying thing.
"Sil... vi."