[The Twining] 20. The Spire’s End (Patreon)

[ ty for the love morcant & lilith :3 double chap for you! ]

Isen shuddered and curled in on himself. He felt so cold. The depths weren’t warm, but his tempered body could withstand the ambient temperatures well enough. It must be his mind rebelling against him again. But as he lay on the ground, momentarily despondent, he wondered if maybe… it actually was chillier than usual.

A brisk draft licked goosebumps across his skin. It was followed by the sounds of skittering. Hair standing on end, he drank another few mouthfuls of blood, then closed his eyes and followed his instincts down the tunnel. Dagger grasped tightly in his right hand, he stalked forward. He pulled the mist around his form, obscuring the edges of his body to mask his movements. He held his left hand in a loose fist, ready to create an energy ball with minimal notice.

Then, he saw it—his first live monster in days. It skittered over the rocks, all legs, over twenty of them moving in wave-like synchrony. Its motion was mesmerizing.

Isen kept his distance. Where had it come from, where was it going, and how did it subsist in this environment? There was much he could learn by observing. He wasn’t particularly interested in eating the monster, but it might give him insight into the nature of the beast that had spun the large cocoon.

His hunt ended only a few minutes later when the monster dashed toward a small aperture in the large tunnel, disappearing out of reach like a cockroach. The monster was fairly large, at least the size of a human, but its body was segmented and flat, and it could draw its legs tightly into itself. It could maneuver through much smaller spaces than Isen could.

He turned around and headed back to the large chamber. Just a few steps down the tunnel, he heard a terrified squeal and a sharp crack from behind. He whipped his head around—it was coming from the crack the centipede-like monster had ventured into.

The sound of feeding echoed quietly in the dark.

Shuddering, Isen returned to the chamber with the dead beast. He tested the walls and found that, while they were treacherous, he could climb them. The ground wasn’t too distant, so if he fell, he probably wouldn’t be too injured.

His muscles rolled as he forced his body up the rocks until he was close enough to touch the cocoon. It was huge, encompassing a body twice as big as a plow horse. He grabbed onto it with one hand for balance, then used the other to saw at the webbing with the dagger. The silken threads clung to his hands but held no purchase on the blade.

It was a slow, deliberate business, but Isen had time.

Before making the final incision, he cut his left hand free. Then, he pushed off the wall and sliced the final webbed supports. The cocoon tumbled under its own significant weight, landing with a harsh crack on the cavern floor. Isen’s leap took him to the other wall forming the corner. He bounded between the two walls until he was close enough to jump down and landed lightly beside the cocoon.

He ran the dagger over the silk and carefully pulled it apart. Divine monsters never really rotted, according to Ros, but all others would break down eventually. There were no signs of degradation on this one, so it must have died recently.

It was a large cat-like beast. Based on the taste and healing properties of its blood, a tier three. Its coloration was a mystery in the dark, but Isen imagined it having a tawny golden coat, like a puma, even though every monster he’d seen was a pale white or gray. It was less than half the size of Ros, a bit unusual for a monster of the third tier given what Isen knew. At that level, most monsters were like kings, lording over large stretches of territory. Ros was a bit of an oddity for wandering. Maybe this feline monster had only recently ascended and was consolidating its power, only to be killed and wrapped for a later meal.

He figured the corpse would attract other monsters hiding in the small cracks and tunnels, so he needed to be quick. He made precise cuts on the beast’s side, excising squares of hide. He couldn’t cure the hide without tools, but he could use it as is—if he could stomach it.

Webbing stuck to the fur and he hacked it off, but it gave him an idea. He lay two small squares of hide on the floor, fur side down, and very carefully spread out a section of webbing on one. He pressed the hide squares together. He tried pulling them apart, but it was impossible with his strength unless he sliced them apart with the dagger.

Unfortunately, the double-hide section was too thick, nearly half a foot wide. Unsuitable for what he planned to use it for, but his inspiration hadn’t faded.

He slid strips of hide under the sinew threads that crossed his skin, fur side down. He made shallow divots in the hide strips so the sinew wouldn’t move around. Then, he draped webbing along the strips, closing them around the sinews.

Soon, he’d fashioned a small sack from the hide. To hide the disgusting, uncured fleshy side, he covered it in the sticky silk, then coated that in fur. He’d also crafted a belt and a rough sheath so he wouldn’t have to hold the dagger in his mouth. He considered making gloves, but ultimately decided against it. It was much harder to control external energy when his skin was covered.

Finally, he stretched out a section of silk, covered it in fur, flipped it over, and coated it again. He stuck the two ends together, then made small straps on top. He slipped it over his head. It was a poor shirt, but better than nothing.

Satisfied with his new wardrobe, he filled his sack with two squares of the beast’s hide and a bolt of wrapped silk that he’d also covered in fur so it wouldn’t stick to everything.

He spent as long as he dared cycling and sipping the puma’s creamy blood, waiting for the call of danger to assert itself.

Three hours later, he felt it. Imminent disaster, coming in from the other direction. Having gained what he could, he raced the other way. He darted out of the tunnel and climbed adeptly into the rocks surrounding the spire.

Moments later, an enormous version of the twenty-legged monster Isen had stalked earlier emerged from the tunnel. It was still too small to be a tier three monster, but it had to be at least twenty feet long and as wide as a man was tall. It was probably at the peak of tier two. It gave chase, its thin body just able to squeeze between the sharp black rocks and the smooth spire.

Isen raced up the rocks, but the large beast was faster, its spindly legs and flat body made for traversing tight spaces. With a shout, he blasted the creature with an energy ball, the wind pushing it back. It shrieked, its body cracking against the rock, its segments leaking viscous ichor.

It was an inconsequential slow down, but it bought Isen time to position himself between a thin passage where the insectoid monster wouldn’t have much leeway to maneuver. As a pair of legs reached through, he sliced them apart with the dagger.

More legs made the attempt, though they evaded Isen’s swipes. The monster eyed Isen with twelve beady, hateful eyes, then retreated.

He must not have been worth the effort. Isen was honestly surprised it had raced after him at all with the corpse of the tier three monster readily available.

Isen paused, then sniffed. He smelled slightly sweet… like the feline beast’s blood.

He hoped the cloying scent would fade in the coming hours.

After an indeterminate period of climbing, Isen thought he saw something in the distance with his mundane sight. He became surer as the minutes flew by. It was a bright, jagged slash of pure white.

The rocks started receding from the spire, forcing Isen to shift back to his earlier strategy of walking up the wall while pulling on the sinew. Low chittering began to echo. The mist became sparse, and it soon felt like he was ascending in near darkness, only the violet glow lighting the way.

He heard wing flaps and distant screeching.

He really hoped he didn’t still smell like third-tier monster blood. He hoped nothing noticed him at all. Given the danger of the violet light, the monsters here should know to avoid the spire, shouldn’t they?

His spine tingled with unease, his every step a klaxon, calling to the monsters lurking beyond his perception.

The first monster dove at Isen in a graceful swoop, its leathery wings nearly knocking him off the tower. He twisted and let himself slide down a few feet, narrowly avoiding its gnashing fangs. Its long, bony tail lashed behind it, scoring a hit against Isen’s bag, but failing to cut the hide open. A second-tier monster, then.

Isen gripped the two ends of sinew with a single hand, his skin immediately protesting. He grabbed a square of hide from his bag and wrapped it around his left palm and fingers. Now, he felt confident in holding both sinews single-handed without cutting his hand to the bone.

He grabbed the dagger with his right hand and formed a weak ball of energy in his mouth. He waited… and when the same beast swooped around again, he stunned it with a blast of wind, then slashed his blade against its chest. The beast emitted a dreadful screech, its tail swinging toward his neck. He knocked the tail away, nearly losing his footing.

Two passes later, he dispatched the beast with a blow to the eye. He stared at the dagger, thinking of the bear Erasmus, Ros, and how lucky he was to have such a powerful weapon. The dagger could cut through seemingly anything.

As he ascended toward the jagged light, three more flying beasts assaulted him, two of them acting together. He killed all of them, though doing so left him exhausted. With the ambient energy so sparse, he could barely muster even the smallest of energy balls. His right hand was sticky with the bats’ blood and rubbing it on the hide pack wasn’t enough to remove the residue.

But the growing slash of light kept him going, symbolizing the end of his miserable climb.

At last, he reached the white scar in the ceiling… and realized it wasn’t pure white. It just seemed that way because of the dark surroundings.

Beyond was a pale blue canvas covered in whispy white.

Isen nearly lost his grip. The sky. He mouthed the words. It had been over a year since he’d seen it.

He felt as though disembodied as he scaled the last stretch of the tower. As the light shone on his body, he stopped and just hung in place, leaning back. The sun.

He stepped backward onto verdant grass, the soft blades tickling his soles. He absently removed the dagger and unstrung the sinew.

The climb was officially over.

The spire jutted up seven or eight feet before all its many sections merged together in a single sharp point. A tree had grown around it, its bark tinged a sickly gray and its leaves sparse. Someone had tied a discolored red rag around one of the sections. Isen saw a white patch sewn into it—the icon of a skull. Danger.

He didn’t know where he was. All around him were trees, green and with the kind of leaves that would change colors with the seasons. It had been spring when he’d fallen into the Twining. From the growth and the pleasantly cool temperature, he thought it might be early summer.

Isen had never seen so many trees in his life, and he’d scarcely seen so blue a sky. Perhaps he’d just never noticed how blue it really was.

His sixth sense was quiet; he was just relieved that the sensation of danger had dissipated. He stood and stared at the spire, taking in the brilliant, violet-tinged sheen of its ebony curves, ignoring the grime and dust.

It was only just starting to sink in that he’d really done it. He’d escaped the dark depths.

Ros... I hope you got out, too.