Disclaimer: I'd like to give a serious disclaimer with a serious warning this time, though not for legal reasons. This is easily the most experimental chapter I've ever written, and will contain awkward metaphors, dark and gory arthropodal violence, a more philosophical level of irony than usual, and most disturbing of all, first-person perspective. It is radically different from anything I've written before. There are none of the usual shenanigans to be found here, though people still seem to find it funny. You have been warned.

Session 2
Arachnophobia

My name is Guile.

And I crawl with the gods.


As the new day dawns, I force myself from my rest, the cold, musty morning air wafting through the window and through the silk weavings that make up my web. It is not easy to rouse myself, and I feel the weight of my gleaming black armor as heavily as ever as I slowly work my way down the web to the shaped, unnatural wood that makes up the ground in this place.

Yes, unnatural wood. It is flat, almost perfectly so, and curiously free of bark or other creatures. Nothing like natural wood, and yet, seemingly of the same material.

It is one of the lesser miracles when one lives among gods.

As I move slothfully toward completing my morning supplication, I pass another of our kind, the Chosen: Ryu. He is young, and yet is larger than I, his armor a mottled green to help hide in jungle canopies, and his size nearly half that of the apes that his breed sometimes preys on in those lands. Being bigger than I, he feels the cold even more intensely, and it saps his strength too much for him to carry out services in the morning. Cammy is of the opinion he lacks sufficient zeal for a Chosen, and she may be right, but I prefer to leave such judgments to the gods themselves. I leave him be.

As I do every morning, I approach the pair of tubs sitting on the ground beneath the nest of a god. As I do every morning, I strike each one and issue a warning to any of our brethren who sleep within.

My choler rises as I see two young ones, barely more than broodlings, scuttle out of one of the tubs.

"Little fools! Where is your sense?" I snap at the younglings as they scamper away for the webbings toward the window. "Do you wish to be crushed? If so I will do it myself so you don't trouble our master!"

The younglings aren't listening, I'm sure, in their mad crawl for safety, for they have not yet Learned. They are ignorant, feral creatures guided more by instinct than information and decision. I was like them once. Most of us still are.

I have seen them before, but they do not have names. None of our kind have names, save the Chosen, for it is the mark of being favored by the gods, a divine badge granted to those that have properly served our lord and master and Learned from him. It is proof of our devotion, and highly coveted.

Attaching a thread to the tubs with my hindmost legs, I start to crawl up the construct that makes up the god's nest. It too is made of the unnatural wood at the bottom, though higher up it is covered by a treacherously soft material I've never encountered outside the gods' lands. There are many such materials, and it never ceases to amaze me.

Nonetheless, it is hardly so magnificent as a god itself.

I step carefully as I cross the nest, aware that underneath the soft covering the god slumbers. This one is not our master, and yet I am still in awe of him every time I approach with my supplication, my body filling with the vitality of his aura that seeps up into my legs from the nest below. I stop when I find a good place to drop off the god's tubs, which they use as some sort of removable armor for their feet. It is my supplication to deliver them to this lesser god every morning, and though I would rather serve the master, I still revel in a task that brings me so close to one of the gods.

Gods are enormous beings, with soft skin and incomplete patches of hair. Their anatomy is cumbersome, they are slow, and they walk clumsily on two limbs while neglecting their other two, which makes them very poor climbers. They are bizarre, hideous creatures, and yet they are wondrous, miraculous beings.

For you see, the gods CREATE.

Oh, sure, our kind can make webs. We can build burrows, construct vast nets, and create a complex array of traps that can confound prey and enemies while being comfortable living space for us. That is a pitiful display before the great constructs of the gods.

Gods create massive citadels of alien materials, smooth and unnatural, a single one of which could host dozens of broods. These incredible burrows spring up from the ground like trees, and are perfectly shielded from wind, rain, and the winged ones that prey on our smaller kin. They can host a variety of different environments, and are warm even in the dead of winter. Truly they are the dwellings of the divine, and the creatures that constructed them the masters of this world.

Disconnecting my tether to the god's foot armor, I start to make my way from his nest, when the god stirs.

I freeze in place, for I do not wish to startle him. It is well known that gods are fickle creatures, and they will crush us when displeased, which, judging by the startling frequency of such incidents, is most of the time.

Not this god, though. As his strange, lidded eyes open, his face shifts and mutates in ways that used to make me tremble in disgust. He moves slowly and deliberately to extract himself from his nest without touching me. While this god is familiar with the Chosen and tolerates our presence, he does not gift us easily with his touch.

He speaks as he stands up from the nest, his melodious voice filling the air with a range of sounds I cannot hope to comprehend. It is their language, and it is beautiful to behold. My name comes from their language, a mesh of sounds so complex and otherworldly that my kind could not hope to utter it. Guile. I cannot begin to imagine what it means, but it sets my abdomen quivering with joy every time I hear it.

The god puts on his foot armor, apparently pleased with my supplication. At first he was quite displeased with my presence, his body spewing scents of hate and fear. But thanks to my services, he has accepted us under him, and through service to him I serve the master.

My morning task completed, I begin to crawl down from the nest, when a shift in air currents reveals that the giant trapdoor that resides on one end of the gods' residence has opened. And as I gaze through my left eyes a feeling of excitement and devotion pumps new energy into my thick, spine-covered legs.

It is our lord, and my master.

Master is a curious god, even by the standards of such incredible beings. He has the same absurd anatomy, and has the same armor that can be removed at will - presumably when it becomes damaged, as often happens with Master - but aside from that, he is decidedly superior. His speed and agility would astound coming from any creature, but far more so from one of the clumsy gods, and his aura - the waves of warmth that emanate from gods and many furry beasts - reinforces his musk of power and superiority with a primal, otherworldly energy that seeps into the bodies of his followers, imbuing us with strength and wisdom. He can perform many physical feats that other gods cannot, and most interestingly, he can change his body. He has only changed to a different kind of god, as far as I've seen, one of the shorter ones with lumpy thoraxes, but I imagine this is only the surface of his power.

But most importantly, Master was the first of the gods to approach us and brand us his servants.

As I said, gods are fickle creatures, and their temperments vary considerably. The shorter ones with the lumpy thoraxes tend to smell of fear and avoid our kind, while the less lumpy, taller ones are often aggressive and take deadly offense to our intrusions of their citadels. There are tales of others, too, that catch our kind and take us away, still alive, to some unknown fate. Perhaps to be eaten, or toyed with.

Master, though, came to us with a purpose. He desired servants. He spoke to us without fear, without aggression, and despite our own trepidation and poor understanding, swiftly brought us to Enlightenment and united us under his service and those of his other servants. Surely He is the greatest of the gods, and it has been the highest honor of my kind to serve Him.

He calls to me, my name resonating deeply as I listen for those few scraps of the gods' dialect that I know as commands. Immediately I rush to Him, eager to serve.

With a movement that doubtless seems calm and casual to Master but is dizzying to me, His upper limb sweeps down and takes me by the thorax before dropping me atop His own thorax, next to His head. It is awkward, as I am bigger than Master's head myself, and there is little room for me, so I slip down the back of His armor, clinging to the strange material that shields the gods from their enemies.

My lord speaks to His godly underling as I settle ontoHis back, feeling new strength seep into me from Master's divine aura.

Soon both gods leave their nest-complex and enter the adjacent citadel, embarking on a quest relating to their own unfathomable goals. I ride along on Master's back, uncertain. Happy though I am to be so close to my lord, He often takes us along without requiring our services, and I wonder where I will end up.

As we advance through the mighty labrynth of gods, I see the approach of several familiar creatures, all of them more or less lumpy and rich with mating scents.

I will probably not be necessary, then. The false gods are here.

The false gods require some explanation, but they are not as mysterious as they seem.

Just as the gods gather together in their great colonies, so too do these other beasts that seek to imitate the gods.

There are all manner of creatures that walk and speak like the gods, but they are not gods. They differ in various ways; many of them are different in body, but none come close to the gods in their mentalities. These false gods are beasts, killers, hunters, destroyers. Our kind encounter them frequently in the wild corners of this world. They do not create. They merely fight, and eat, and breed just like us and the other beasts, all the while looking upon the gleaming colonies of the gods with fear, envy, and hate.

And then they come here, their jealousy having driven them to imitate the gods.

As Master and His underling speak, the lumpy ones break into two groups, practically spitting pheromone. I can tell at a glance that none of them are gods, their visual facades failing to trick any of my other senses. The lumpiest one strokes my carapace as she rubs her swollen thorax over the smaller god, and though I don't find her touch unpleasant, her mating scent is by far the strongest, irritating my feelers with a musk that does not arouse me. The one behind her smells of blood despite her unthreatening nature, and a bizarre and repellant energy surrounds her.

One of the false gods crowding master reaches to stroke me, and I scuttle to the side, under Master's arm. That one's touch I DO dislike, as it saps the heat from my body faster than Master's presence can replenish it.

The only one of the false gods that could pass for a real one would be the short, least lumpy one. But even that one, like a god in most respects, fails in its mimicry, as each time I am brought within a leg's distance of her body I feel an almost electric sensation surrounding her, always sitting on the edge of my senses regardless of her scent. I know not what it is, only that gods do not have it, and for this she is a lesser being, one step too far from the gods.

The false gods finally finish fawning upon my lord and His lackey, and they all start moving again with Master taking the lead, as is right and normal.

As we descend through the citadels and various trapdoors - installing them on walls rather than the ground is a habit of the gods I don't think I'll ever figure out - we encounter many more false gods, all of them greeting Master and His followers with mild bursts of fear and joy. And why not? For Master is the ruler of these poor, pitiful creatures as well, and their teacher.

Yes, that's right. All these pathetic beasts come to this place to learn the ways of the gods from Master.

In this way my kind are superior to them, for we have realized our limitations and found a place by Master's side as His servants. Instead these other beasts, perhaps emboldened by their mastery of the gods' language, seek to live among them and bask in their glory while masquerading as equals.

Fools.

Yet Master tolerates their immature ambitions, within limits. Many times He has had to discipline a false god that got too greedy and challenged Him.

His discipline of the bloody-smelling silver-haired one was particularly fun. She learned her place well enough.


It isn't long before I've lost track of where Master has taken me. The citadels here, although not many, are more than big enough for me to lose my way. It will not be a problem so long as I stay with Master, but still it makes me uncomfortable to be so far from my place of duty.

The false gods began to leave, hopefully to muse on whatever wisdom Master deigned to share with them. I look down on the jealous savages, but at the same time must recognize that it is only natural for such insolent creatures to look upon magnificence and wish to possess it. Perhaps in time they will come to understand their place in the world, like our kind have.

I doubt it, though. Oh! The bloody-smelling one is feeding on the smaller god. Insolent grub. Why do they allow her to live? Truly the depths of mercy and understanding of the gods is beyond us lesser beings.

Master seems almost totally unaware of my presence now as He begins His craft, speeding through the citadel and lecturing the false gods on their obvious inferiority. Often with His fists. Although I am proud to be chosen as His companion for His work in bringing Enlightenment to the worthless beasts masquerading as gods, it seems after all that I can be of no use to Him, and this agitates me.

For there is work to be done that Master is not necessarily aware of...

Fists. Hands. Those things at the end of the gods' limbs. I mentioned them earlier. Out of all the things repulsive about the gods' physical form, it must be those that are the most... wrong. Rather than splendid, tapered limbs that can hook firmly into any surface, their uppermost limbs end in numerous smaller appendages that squirm and writhe about with shocking and frightening dexterity, as if it was one of our kind. They have them on the rear limbs too, though those don't move as much. The ultimate impression is of one of our kind attached to each limb, melted together at the ends of some enormous body... truly a horrifying creature, by any measure, and then there are all those lumps...

Taken far from my familiar territory and with nothing to do, I had very nearly fallen asleep on Master's back when a familiar noise brings me to attention.

"If you'd just bite the moron, then I could finish him off and we'd all be better off, you know," came a voice from in front of Master, opposite my position on His back, "damn beasts may as well be sheep rather than spiders."

The voice was speaking in our way, but it is far too complex to understand precisely. Although I already know who was addressing me, I crawled over Master's shoulder, gripping his shoulder tightly as I locked gazes with another of the false gods.

Well, not just a false god. The demi-god, Keito.

There are those among the false gods that are indisputably similar to our kind, but much larger and capable of taking on the gods' form and speaking their language. They're known as demi-gods. Keito is one of them.

I would dearly like to end my explanation of her there, but circumstances likely will not be so kind.

"Look at you, like a faithful dog tethered to his master. Revolting. Has he trained the predator completely out of you?" Keito snapped at me. I could only make out the gist of what she was saying to me; the demi-gods can speak as we do, yet they do so in ways that are far more complicated and lengthy, and most of the time all but the basic idea is lost to our understanding. I assume it is because imitating gods for so long has corrupted their minds, or perhaps it is simply their way of holding their nearly-divine status over us lesser beasts.

Either way, I do not appreciate being asked to slay my lord and master.

"You again? Why does Master not tire of your existence? Surely His patience must be boundless to have suffered both you and the bloody-smelling one for so long." I'm not sure if Keito understands me any further than I understand her, honestly. It depends on which, if either, theory is correct.

She understands enough though, and her face does that odd thing that the gods do while they're ejecting a certain emotional scent. Master has started speaking to her though, so she has to stop focusing on me and pay attention if she doesn't want her fangs torn out and shoved through her heart.

The scent of hatred fills the air as Master and Keito speak. Exciting though it is, I know full well that such tension will never reach a breaking point before Keito backs down, for the demi-god also smells thickly of fear. She is smart, and seems to know precisely the limits of Master's seemingly inexhaustible patience.

I retreat back behind Master once again as they continue arguing, having no patience for the demi-god. Their kind is strange indeed, choosing to be false gods, and as such they suffer just as the other false gods do, doomed to be forever within view of true divinity but never within reach of it. Some of them are driven mad by such jealousy, it would seem. That's certainly the only explanation for Keito's hatred for Master.

Some of our kind revere the demi-gods as being the future of our race, stealing divinity from the gods and ascending. Those of us who are Enlightened know this is rubbish. They are pretenders and hopeless weaklings, no different from any other false god save for the fact that we can speak to them on some level.

"Ah, you are here after all. Good. All is as I've forseen it," speaks a voice from up above, startling me out of my brooding. Soon I see it in the view of my right-topmost eye, a brightly colored red figure descending from a hole in the ceiling.

"Cammy. You call for me?" I ask, dismissing the presence of the demi-god harrassing Master entirely.

"Yes, Guile. Come with me. There is a matter for which we require our warriors, and Master can care for himself for now." Though the names of the Chosen are impronouncable to us, pride in our station compels us to try. At the very least the short, bizarre sounds are unique enough not to be mistaken for other words and confuse communication, so they work well enough as forms of address.

Though my body only reluctantly leaves the wash of power that is Master's divine aura, my sense of duty to my lord knows no such hesitation. Cammy is well-regarded as the wisest of the Chosen, and her goals unerringly serve master's aims. She is our taskmaster, and our seer.

Although if you were to ask me, that "farsight" of hers is complete nonsense.

Cammy touches the floor, her long, spindly legs quickly making purchase and scuttling toward the wall. "Come with me. We have much to discuss."

Cammy reaches a portion of the wall made of the gods' hard, shiny material, but with slits cut into it. With a brief hiss she commands the keeper, and the panel swings open, pushed by a great brown leg.

We crawl into the wall, losing sight of Master and the insolent pretender. The passage is narrow, and both the gate keeper and I are large enough to that I nearly entangle my legs with his as I crawl by. Others populate the passage, but they are far smaller, mostly younglings and probably of Cammy's brood. They like the warm air in this place and dislike the light that comes from the Gods' artificial suns, it seems.

We emerge from the passage into a larger room, this one covered in layers of webbing. Cammy's nest.

The gods have abandoned this room, it seems, and us Chosen have made it one of our many bases. Cammy has evidently been doing much more than just planning our movements and enlightening the young, though. Pulsating egg mounds lie in every corner, and broodlings cross the floor and webs in long lines.

"The blasphemers are on the move," Cammy says, her scent oozing disgust, "we have to move against them ourselves, or they may gain passage to the citadels."

I am sanguine, despite her warnings. The blasphemers tend to excite the more zealous among us, and Cammy especially, but they are no real threat to us, I feel.

"If they gain free passage to the citadels, Master will be their first target. We must strike first, to prevent this."

I cannot suppress my immediate disbelief and scorn for such an idea. Master, felled by one of our kind? Absurd.

"Mere heretics think to destroy Master? You take their foolishness too seriously, Cammy," I say, crawling up onto her webbing with some trouble. She is far lighter than I, and her threads were thinner. "Leave them to their delusions. It is the mewling ones that are our true enemies."

"Death to the whiskered devils... Praise be to the lord..." came a droning chorus from all around as the Enlightened sang their hatred for the furry monsters.

"Do not be so quick to dismiss any of our enemies, Guile," Cammy whispers, emitting wafts of mating scents in my direction as she seeks to sway me, "the blasphemers are yet a threat, if not to Master than to our kind who have yet to be brought into His light. They challenge not just Master, but the Enlightenment, and this cannot be allowed. Such insolence deserves your attention... and your venom."

"May a thousand fangs descend upon the whiskered devils," droned the Enlightened, "may the abyssal webs seize their blighted souls and entangle them in darkness and suffering."

My eyes take in the scuttling broodlings as they move over a larger web, laying threads that are not part of any normal pattern. A map.

"What do you propose?" I ask, effectively giving up any resistance. I still think it a waste of effort, but then I pity the heretics more than I despise them.

"You will take Ryu and a group of Enlightened here, to the waste piles of the citadel in which Master dwells. It is here that the blasphemers make their nests and plot against the gods," Cammy says, drawing a slender leg down a square of thick threading indicated a citadel and then to a spot designated by an open patch.

"Our tunnelers have a passage here. I have already dispatched a crawler for Ryu. You will meet with him and a group of Enlightened here."

I keep silent as her leg drew slowly across the webs, her crimson armor gleaming as it crossed a narrow beam of light descending from the room's only window.

"The blasphemers will likely outnumber you, but like all their kind they are weak, and their will divided. Reduce the worthless heathens to husks!"

With a dizzying burst of hate-scent, the tip of her leg cuts sharply through a patch of webbing denoting the enemy encampment, ripping free a large section of the web map. The broodlings closest to her, incensed by the sudden aggression, scatter for safety.

"Very well," I say calmy, not indulging her zealous anger, "I shall dispatch them and then return to my dwelling and my duties to the gods. By your leave, Cammy."

She seems disappointed in my response, but I can tell she was baiting me, both to raise my choler at the blasphemers and probably hoping that I would return to her nest after my task was completed. The second aim in particular troubles me. Not that she is an inadequate female, persay, but her size does not appeal to my tastes.

That, and I'm almost certain that some of the dried coccoons hanging from the ceiling hold the remains of her former lovers. Definitely not my type.

"The light of the master be with you. May the gods watch over you, and may our enemies perish beneath their heel!" screeched the chorus.

I approach the gate keeper and make a gesture, prodding the great beast to her duty.

It is cold, and she is sluggish as she lifts her great spade-tipped front legs and pushes open the trap door above us. I latch onto the funnel webbing she has laid and climb out into the sun, noting the positions of a pair of false gods approaching as I emerge.

It should be said that while the false gods occupy a special position of piteous irrelevance to my kind, the feeling is not always mutual. Many of the lumpy imitators seem to find some special fascination with us, while some of the false gods seem to take pleasure in hunting us, attacking without mercy or any scent of hatred. Often they devour us on the spot after attacking, and while I do not begrudge the predator his catch, it is yet one more way in which they nuisances rather than true gods.

I bring this up because one of the false gods has begun to pick up speed toward me, its scent excited.

I back up past the trap door, raising my legs to defend, but they would be little threat to this towering creature. Nonetheless it slows down, its face warping perversely, waiting to see what I do. Foolish pretender. It should take more care to observe Master's wisdom.

I leap forward at the false god's exposed leg, and it hops backward, raising that leg out of reach with a crude laugh.

I do not move immediately after I land, and the false god snaps me up by one one of my legs, hauling me into the air. Exactly as predicted.

With a hiss, the gate keeper acts, the trap door snapping open and the keeper seizing the false god's leg before sinking her fangs deep into its flesh.

The false god staggers as pain and fear mix with its scents, and with a mighty swing I reach my legs up onto the distracted creature's arm before biting deeply into it, its pathetic removable armor doing nothing to stop my fangs.

As the offending false god flails, trying to free its arm, the gate keeper drags its leg into the burrow, causing it to sink with her into the web-covered depths toward the others of our kind that wait patiently for prey or foes.

As I draw my fangs out and then bite again in a different spot, the false god starts to change shape, discarding its facade in panic and fear. Its flesh starts to harden into something more akin to proper armor, and I can see its head swelling in even more grotesque ways.

As more of our kind start clambering up its leg and biting relentlessly through the scales growing over the false god's flesh, it seizes me with its free hand to pull me off. I do not wish to lose my legs fighting a creature such as this, so I release my grip immediately, allowing it to fling me away. I do, however, manage to stick a thread onto its arm before becoming airborne, and though the thread breaks from the force of the throw, it saps enough force from my flight that I land without injury.

The second false god moves to help the first, but it would seem it is too late. Younglings swarm over the scaly green beast, trailing webbing in their wake and entangling it even as the gate keeper drags its leg deeper into the tunnel, forcing the other leg to buckle. Larger kin find weaknesses in the hard scale armor and bite repeatedly, flushing the false god with the venom of the faithful.

There is much panicked clawing and some frantic biting from my "predator," but soon its arms are completely entangled, and its companion is forced to back off and swat the younglings off to prevent himself from being trapped as well. Large sections of the false god's body start to swell, and its struggles become weaker as the adults finish the younglings' task, wrapping it more tightly to prevent further resistance as the gate keeper manages to pull it down up to its abdomen.

I stay to watch the conflict to its conclusion, as I was the one to trigger it. Before long, all that is left of the arrogant false god is a bit of its pointed, whipcord tail sticking out of the trap door. Its companion is fleeing the scene, possibly to get help but more likely just to avoid any possibility of sharing the same fate.

After another moment, the tail is pulled underground and the burrow is sealed entirely, allowing me to move on.

I decide that I should really thank the gate keeper next time I see her. Hopefully by giving her a brood of her own. Now THAT'S a female. Excellent girth and superb instincts. Cammy may be intelligent, but she can't hope to compare. Also there's the cannibalism. Don't much care for that.

Ryu is not the only one waiting for me in the great web woven between several trees and the wall of the citadel, but he is by far the most visible, his bulk and dark color standing out even from outside the webs. There are also four Enlightened, all of which I have met before.

In service to Master and the gods, there are three tiers of devotion and understanding. Us Chosen are Master's personal guards and servants, trained by his hand and personally tasked with attending to him directly. Enlightened are below us in understanding and importance, having Learned and devoted themselves to Master's service. Together the Chosen and the Enlightened work toward Master's goals, most notably the extinction of the whiskered devils and the protection of other, less powerful gods. We are an army of sorts, with individuals tasked with fighting, hunting, weaving structures, digging tunnels for travel, planning and organizing, scouting for new targets and dangers, and most importantly, teaching more of our kind of the way of the gods. Learned are the least of us, yet have still been raised above the ignorant beasts that make up most of our kind. They have been taught Master's wisdom and Learned respect for the gods, Learned to work and speak with others of our kind rather than eat them and made aware of the world that exists outside their own nests. Without Learning, my kind are pathetic beasts, tethered to whatever pitiful dark corner of a citadel they arrogantly think to claim and listlessly sucking the juices from flies until they're devoured themselves or crushed by a disturbed god.

That the Learned have not yet devoted themselves to Master is seen as a mark of immaturity, and it is largely assumed that they will supplicate themselves once the euphoric wonder of Learning has passed and they've contemplated life beyond their next meal and next mate.

It is a sad, bitter truth, however, that such wisdom is not universal.

"The blasphemers sit below us, planning their treachery in the shadows of the citadel's refuse," hisses an albino weaver, his hate scent strongest of all.

"Then let us descend and be done with them," mutters a black-and-green striped ally, his hairless carapace gleaming in the sunlight.

I do not feel reassured when I look over our party. Not only are the Enlightened hot-headed and inexperienced, but they are, to be frank, small, the biggest of them barely a quarter of Ryu's size. Although our kind have many ways to win violent conflicts without a head-to-head melee, in an assault action like this, it's quite likely to dissolve into one, and the size of your opponent is quite critical in deciding the outcome of fights between our kind.

"How many are there?" asks Ryu, his tone heavy and neutral, devoid of scent.

"I spotted six entering the crevasse," answered the smallest one, a spotted brown jumper with enormous eyes that dominated her tiny head.

"Sizes," I demanded.

"Ah... mid-size, I suppose? Most of them. One was large. At least as big as a whiskered devil," the jumper said uncertainly, her excitement being dampened by our planning.

"Then a simple assault is impossible," Ryu said firmly, "you'll all likely be killed while me and Guile defeat the large one, and then we'll be swarmed."

"You are Chosen! Taught by our lord himself! You cannot be felled by mere heretics!"

"If you are right, then we would prevail, and you would have all died needlessly," I say calmly.

The jumper quivers anxiously. "I see, then. Shall I go seek reinforcements?"

"That is unnecessary," I say as Ryu turns toward me questioningly, "as you say, we Chosen have been instructed by our lord. And Master has much to say on the topic of avoiding unfavorable battles..."

Blasphemers.

What drives one to deny the truth laid out right in view of their frontal eyes and turn from the light of the gods is beyond me, and I am thankful for my ignorance.

The ways of our traitorous kin who have Learned but not accepted Master and the gods are mysterious, but it is at least understood that they have seen some special role for the demi-gods, and think that such pretenders will be their salvation, branding the true gods as enemies.

There are various theories as to why. Chun-Li believes that the demi-gods have organized them, using them as tools to help attack the gods. Vega muses that they think they can ascend to be demi-gods themselves if they manage to kill and devour an entire god themselves. Sagat thinks less of them, and assumes that their violent and abhorrent goals are simple manifestations of jealousy, branding them all selfish idiots angered that they can never achieve divinity and looking up to the demi-gods who have come closest to that impossible goal.

We will never know the truth, though; blasphemers are never questioned. Once any single eye of an Enlightened or Chosen has glanced a heretic, that creature is marked for death. Though some of us are less enthusiastic about actively hunting them down than others, that such vile, deluded beasts must be killed is a unanimous sentiment.

I keep my mind clear as I crawl silently across the surface of the citadel refuse depository, my legs finding easy purchase on the strange, slightly gummy wall. Such surfaces are common; the gods often coat materials with it for some reason. It offers excellent footing and absorbs my weight quite easily, lessening the vibrations I release with every step. Perhaps they use it to aid our kind? I rather doubt it, but it's a nice thought.

Ryu clambers over another receptacle in front of me, the both of us descending upon the opening between the two.

We halt before peeking into the crevasse, listening and tasting the air. Hate. A great deal of hate. But no fear. This group is ready for battle, but not expecting it to come to them.

Ryu's abdoment quivers mightily as he raised his front legs in preparation.

It begins. Without fanfare I scuttle over the corner of the receptacle, staring into the crevasse and the many, many glittering eyes within.

My first thoughts are to wonder just how long Cammy has had this nest scouted, for there are far more than the six blasphemers that the jumper had seen enter here.

I estimated over twenty at a glance, but two in particular arrested my attention immediately. First, and most obviously, is that there is not one, but THREE large heretics. One of them languishes at the very rear, his black, hairy bulk greater even then Ryu's as he sits like a carrion king upon a pile of rat bones and carapace husks.

This is quite bad. But the second blasphemer that caught my attention truly incensed me: a smaller creature, with its abdomen a dark purple and sporting a white patch vaguely resembling the shape of a god's head.

Time slows down as the heretics start to move, fear-scents and hate-scents raging, but my attention is locked on that single blasphemer, the most venomous breed of our kind known to me. The one with poison enough to kill a god in a single bite.

I am enraged, and as my side-eye spots a heretic falling on me from a higher place on the receptacle, I knock it off its path with an upward snap of my second-front leg, striking it with my joint and letting it fall into an errant web.

Two jumpers leap at me, and I swat one out of the air as I rise up, catching the second in my mouth. Though she tries to bite at me, she has no leverage, and as her legs scratch at my head I crush hers between my fangs.

I began to come to my senses as her lifeless body falls away, my legs throbbing as my senses are overwhelmed by countless angry legs pounding against the ground and both receptacles. As three hairy mid-size heretics attack I start to retreat, all the while making warning jabs with my front legs.

One such jab strikes true, puncturing an eye mostly on accident, and the blasphemer's body quakes as I commit to the strike, pushing the leg forward as the impudent beast writhes.

This distraction allows one of the others to get under my legs, and he immediately attacks, striking for my thorax.

His fangs scrape uselessly against my armor. As I am considerably bigger, his fangs are useless against me save for a few unfortunate spots. And I have no itention of letting him get at those.

I withdraw completely around the corner of the receptacle, still backing away as the blasphemers spread out, more of them piling to the front while fearing to enter within range of my frontmost legs.

I can see more of the blasphemers scuttling over the edge of the next receptacle, and they halt in shock and terror as they suddenly see Ryu lying in wait.

His front legs scythe downward, impaling a pair of heretics before they could make another move.

I cannot devote much attention to my fellow Chosen, however. The heretics start to surround me, each of them individually wary of coming within biting range, but well aware that I can only dispatch a few of them at a time, and only to my front. Theirs is an unusual tactic for our kind, who always used to hunt alone. A result of the Learning. To see it used for such perverse ends angers me, I admit.

However, their understanding is pitiful compared to mine. As expected, the first of the large heretics emerges from the crevasse, moving slowly along the ground to avoid trampling his allies. He chose to keep to the ground rather than chase me with the others because size is a liability when anchored to a vertical surface, while on the ground it offers much greater stability. It is a fair assessment, for a simpleton.

Lurching forward through the smaller foes, I position myself above the first large heretic and push off from the wall of the receptacle, dropping straight down on the wooly beast. He is shocked by my tactic, but unsure what to do as I wrap my legs around him and bite at his thorax.

After a moment, I raise my head in frustration, having failed to penetrate his armor. It is considerably thicker than it looks.

The other blasphemers drop down all around me or scuttle to the hairy one's assistance, but the dim beast is frightened now, and his thrashing and clumsy attempts to dismount me risk crushing the others should they get close.

I shift forward during the chaos, positioning myself above my prey's head before driving my fangs straight into its topmost eyes. This is almost a mortal wound on its own, but I make sure to feed its quivering skull plenty of venom before drawing myself upward, calmly disentangling myself from the convulsing blasphemer.

I can see Ryu in my side-eyes, taking on the second of the large ones with little difficulty. Though he did not manage to ambush it as I did, he has a size advantage and isn't being targeted by nearly as many little ones. He will be fine.

I feel the other blasphemers, having finally surrounded me, start their attack, rushing from all sides and clambering up my legs and abdomen, fearing to attack me from the front.

They are a danger, but despite their assault I am still more concerned with the dark shape finally emerging from the crevasse. The massive blasphemer has reached the front.

I heave and twitch my legs, dismounting a few heretics, but carefully backing away from the massive beast as he turns his pincer-like fangs in my direction. There is hate in his scent, and some fear, but mostly the excitement of the hunter having found his next catch.

As he approaches, I feel fangs start to puncture my abdomen, the heretics clambering over me biting wherever they can. It is time to spring the trap.

"Cleanse them in Master's name!" I call, knocking over one small attacker going for my eyes and then sweeping him aside with a leg, "kill them all!"

Many of the blasphemers freeze in shock and sudden understanding. Their topmost eyes no doubt noticed that there is a great web stretched over the battleground, hung between the tree branches, but in the fury of violence, coupled with their apparent foolishness, they did not realize or remember that it hadn't been there before the Chosen's assault.

They do, however, notice that it is now falling quite fast.

Large holes in the webbing allowed the passage of air, while pebbles wrapped up and tethered to the net lent weight to its descent. As the webbing drops, I feel many of the blasphemers leap off me in a mad rush to safety. They did not make it.

The webbing lands, and the massive heretic snarls curses as he is blanketed, still moving toward me as threads catch on his legs and the thick hair of his armor.

Ryu and I are both entangled as well, of course, but this is all as planned. Ryu manages to use the confusion to finish off his foe, forcing himself atop the unbeliever right before the web landed. With the the advantage his and further movement all but impossible, there is little for him to do besides stay where he is and enjoy his meal.

I am in a less favorable position, as not all of the little ones attacking me have yet given up. Fangs continue to scrape against my armor, and as the web settles around me it only serves to pin my foes in place, safe from me as they continue to work through my defenses.

Luckily, time is not on their side. The Enlightened descend from the branches above, landing atop the webbing and scuttling toward me. They work furiously at the net, cutting threads and opening holes wider, while one of them, having been gifted with strong fangs flush with strong poisons, concentrates on dispatching the blasphemers adhered to me, biting the entangled heretics one by one and leaving them as convulsing heaps.

I am almost free now, and I carefully raise my legs one at a time to pull them through the rapidly expanding hole in the webbing.

And here, the plan goes awry. As I have mentioned, none of the Enlightened knew of the largest of the heretics. Had they known, they would have woven an even stronger net. As it was, the great beast only needed to find one of the wind holes before he rammed his head through, the weaves tearing as his massive, hairy legs push relentlessly against the threads.

I struggle above the trap, my mind a bit hazy. I have suffered several bites, and though none are critical, the venom is slowly doing its job. The Enlightened are no doubt aware of the supreme threat posed by the great beast, but it is all they can do to leap upon those blasphemers that have clung to me or attempted to escape with me from the trap. No doubt they expect that a Chosen should be more than capable of handling this.

Two Chosen, certainly. But Ryu is still trapped opposite the blasphemer, under the web, and shows no signs of moving to free himself as he snacks on his foe's innards and waits to be cut free. As we had planned, certainly, but if the oaf was paying sufficient attention, he would see that the plan is failing.

There is no more time for planning; if I retreat now, then Ryu will be killed for certain. Combat under poor circumstances is the only option remaining.

"Stay away from the heretic!" I demand of the Enlightened as I charge forward, letting righteous fury and instinct guide me as my body succumbs further to poison.

With a meaningless snarl, the blasphemer rips free of the trap entirely and scuttles atop the net, the last of the webbing that had held him reduced to wispy strands hanging from his hair.

There are cries of pain and anger as we rush toward each other, trampling the trapped blasphemers underfoot. For me, every satisfying snap of an armored back represents a service to the gods and the cleansing of a corrupt heathen. My opponent simply seems not to care, building up as much speed as possible for our clash. Luckily for me this is not much, thanks to his legs frequently catching and tearing through the unfamiliar webbing.


We meet, and he goes straight for the bite, trying to arc his frontmost legs over me to pin me down. Either because of my dazed state or in the rush of righteous fury, I opt to smash my head into his, slipping between his front legs and ramming his face just above his fangs. This tactic stuns the heretic, at least as much by its mad nature as by the force I was able to put into the strike; however, the difference in our weight is too great for me to deal a wound, and I start to withdraw as I make sharp jabs at the blasphemer's face.

My movements are agile and his clumsy, but I have already made a grievous tactical error. As I withdraw he stalks forward, his legs raised, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pin me down as he shrugs off the irritating and futile swipes. I am desperate now, for I know I cannot retreat faster than he can advance, and the webbing below starts to hinder my movements as much as he; the difference being that he needs to move much less than I to prevail.

As my rear leg steps lightly on a large, thrashing lump of entangled heretic, I stagger clumsily and my foe's legs come down, striking me squarely on the edges of my thorax armor and pushing me down into the webbing.

This is it, then. My allies have retreated around the blasphemer to free Ryu, but there is no great chance he will succeed where I have failed, even if he is released in time.

As the heathen beast makes a pleased grunt and leverages his fangs over my head, my clouded thoughts turn toward Master. We have done much damage to the blasphemous scum, and if there was any chance of them harming our lord, there is much less now. I have acquitted myself well, and my only regret is that my my demise here may inconvenience the lesser god to fetch his own armor in the mornings.

Somehow I have a feeling he'll be okay, though, so I still my thoughts and await the darkness.

Crack!

My mind whirls as the blasphemer is suddenly knocked off of me, his great bulk staggering. Having been under him, and not expecting intervention, I am completely unaware of what happened.

Howevermuch prepared I am for death, enough of my instincts remain for me to scramble away in the confusion, trying to continue my panicked retreat from the great beast.

Fortune is not on my side, though, and my leg catches on the webbing below, staggering me as the heretic comes back around for another try.

With escape cut off yet again, my mind turns to resistance, and I raise my legs to grapple face-to-face with him. A foolhardy thing to do with a warrior larger than myself under the best conditions, but infinitely better than being pinned and devoured.

I plant my frontmost legs against his thorax as he does the same to me, and I immediately feel the difference in mass as he pushes forward with all his strength.

"Wretched unbeliever!" I spit at him, indulging in some angry defiance as I am slowly overwhelmed, "may the gods stamp you out like the worthless mite you are!"

"They will have to," snarls back the heretic as he starts to push me down, "as their foolhardy servants have failed them. Your hateful gods WILL fall, zealot! And then... Uh-oh."

We do not have many terms to express frustration directly, as our scents can divulge our mood on their own. But the blasphemous warrior must have used every one of them thrice over when Master finally walked into view, holding a small stone in His hand and smelling of irritation and hate.

Crack!

Yet again, my foe was sent reeling from the impact of a rock against his thorax, and as he staggered I could only sit in awe of my lord's presence.

My lord spoke, and never more so than that moment did I wish I could comprehend the full beauty and depth of my lord's words. Was He praising me for my devotion? Berating me for my weakness? Or perhaps were His words meant for the hateful slime behind me, who dared defy Him? It was times like this I wish that the demi-god Keito were around to act as translator, not that I imagine she'd accept the role. But at least then she'd be of SOME use.

The blasphemer, apparently angered beyond the point of even wishing to survive, leapt at Master, aiming to bite my lord's leg.

A pathetic gesture. Master kicked His leg up, striking the heretic with ferocious speed and sending the fool higher into the air, where Master simply grabbed him around his thorax, from the backside.

I have never felt such joy and relief than at that moment, watching as my would-be slayer writhed and spat, its legs and fangs thrashing about in the air while completely unable to find purchase on anything.

Master spoke some more to our foe, likely some condemnation or token wisdom that was naturally lost on the ignorant heathen, and then became bored, tossing the creature behind Him like a piece of discarded trash.

I think no less of my lord for neglecting to kill the beast, and ultimately letting it escape; it is His way to spare all our kind, no doubt in the hope that one day we will all discover His wisdom and serve Him properly, as we are meant to. Master's love and mercy extends even to those that wish Him harm, and were it not for the fact that the blasted traitor nearly killed me, I would hope for the fool's Enlightenment.

Master reaches down and picks me up as He walks over the webbing, His unnaturally nimble gait avoiding the last few living heretics as the Enlightened scramble about below, finishing them off. His scent is... displeased, but as as He brushes His hand against my armor, I cannot help but feel He is relieved to have protected me. Never have I felt such joy and devotion, and I feel the venoms that clouded my mind lifting as Master's touch fills my body with renewed might.

And then, at once, I freeze in terror as I catch a glimpse of color above Master's head. The barest hint of purple is visible before it vanishes behind Master's hair, and I am suddenly consumed with a fury far more intense than what the massive warrior heathen had faced.

The god-slayer!

I had forgotten about it in the dizzying array of battle, assuming it had attacked with the rest of its worthless brethren and been caught in our trap. Master is speaking while staring down at the Enlightened, who are still feasting on blasphemers, and though I hear Him speak my name from time to time, I can hear no commands calling me to His defense.

With a hiss so vile and hateful that it startles master from His lecture, I clamber up Master's arm and reach for His head in a mad scramble.

Master objects to this, loudly, and I suppose I cannot blame Him, for I must seem a feral beast right now. Master quickly grabs me by my back, in exactly the same fashion as He had my earlier opponent, and holds me away at arms' length while lecturing me. I hear the command word "bad" indicating His displeasure at my error, but for once in my short and devoted life there is a matter of more import than my lord's opinion of me.

The traitor with the purple abdomen has been unsettled, as Master moved about quite a bit while startled. I can see the dark bulge bobbing unsteadily from atop Master's hair. Master would probably have noticed easily had I not distracted Him... and had He not grown so used to our kind scuttling over His body. The hair is too thick for the traitor to get through easily, protecting Master from her fangs, but the reprieve will be short.

I have but one chance. Being held in this way I have no way to move, but there is still the option of moving the heretic scum to me.

Ignoring Master's words, I reach my rear legs down to my abdomen, and drawing on Master's wisdom and strength seeping into me through His hand, I draw a length of thread from my reserve. And then, with a mental prayer to all the gods to protect their lord, I let the loop of webbing fly.

Master makes a face as He sees me fling some thread up into His hair, but by some stroke of luck or ambivalence He does nothing to stop me. I hiss noisily as the thread settles around the god-slayer, who in turn startles badly once she realizes she's been noticed.

I pull savagely on the thread, snapping the hateful pest away from Master and toward me, and once she is within range my legs come together like pincers, puncturing her telltale abdomen as I stop her in mid-flight.

Master says something, and it includes "bad," but I am still not listening. The god-slayer quivers in pain and fear. She knew she was to be a martyr, that she would not survive her impossible task of killing the greatest of the gods, and she took the task upon herself anyway.

Now she was going to die while having accomplished nothing, my lord unaware that she was even a threat.

Master groans as I take her head off with my fangs, no doubt disappointed in me. Devouring my kin was one of the first things He taught against during my Learning. But this is not hunting, but war. Not that I should expect Master to be able to see the nuances of crude, lesser beings such as us.

Master sighs and puts me down, extricating Himself from the mess of twitching bodies and assorted carnage. Reaching down, He easily tears through the net and extracts Ryu, holding the lummox against His chest while pointing to the husk of the large blasphemer and repeating "bad".

Ryu makes a pleased scent, and Master snaps His fingers, ordering me to "come". This command I follow gladly, scampering up my lord's leg as He prepares to enter the citadel.

Even if He had been able to resist the god-slayer, even if this entire exercise was pointless, and even if going against Master's will, even in this matter, turns out to be wrong, I have served Him, and for this I am pleased. And in return for my protection, whether He desired it or not, Master protected me in turn. Even should I face punishment for my disobedience, I will gladly suffer it.

For I am Guile, the Chosen, and tomorrow, I will still crawl with the gods.

A Day in the Life of a Trained Attack Spider: Session Complete
Need to re-train some of the spiders not to eat the others. Or maybe just feed them more. - Ranma Saotome
Chapter End