[You have entered a Dungeon!]

  Adam’s gaze swept across his new surroundings, his brow creasing with every passing second. Silken red threads stretched from wall to wall, forming intricate lattices that shimmered like dew after a light morning rain.

  Perfect. The Black Spiders’ nest. Of all places.

  The air was humid but unnervingly clean. Beneath his boots, the uneven ground was matted with torn cobwebs and brittle husks.

  He scanned the delicate strands around him. From Varidan’s libraries, and from the Thieves of the Night, he’d learned more than enough about the Black Spiders.

  The Baccarras’ den should be past the swamps, he thought, but who knows how long it’ll take to reach it.

  A faint echo rippled through the cavern. Stone shifted. Adam’s head snapped toward the sound.

  Hundreds of crimson lanterns flickered in the distance—eyes, he realized—drawing closer by the second.

  He bit his lip. “System, retrieve Cataclysm from inventory and switch to Battle Mode. Now.”

  A surge of light burst between his palms. Two axes materialized, blades humming with restrained energy.

  The red glow swelled as the ground trembled beneath his feet. The webs vibrated, taut like bowstrings ready to snap.

  [Three Hundred Potential Sources of Danger Detected.]

  From the darkness, the swarm emerged, hundreds of glossy black spiders with bristling crimson legs. Each stood nearly five feet tall, their bodies thick and glistening with venom. Some spat silk from their spinnerets; others scuttled along the threads, their movements unnervingly precise. A foul black ichor dripped between their fangs, hissing where it touched the stone.

  “System,” Adam said quietly, “summon the Familiar.”

  Reality twisted. Purple light shimmered into form, and a towering abomination stepped out—its molten skin pulsing with heat, claws flexing in anticipation. It loosed a roar that shook the cavern walls.

  The spiders answered in unison, a chorus of chittering rage.

  Adam’s lips curled into a grin. “Kill every single one of them.”

  He charged. The Familiar followed, its steps quietly shaking the silk-strung ground as their roars collided in a storm of fury.

  The ground quaked under the stampede of skittering legs. Hundreds of red-eyed arachnids poured from every direction, their limbs glinting like serrated blades under the dim red light. The air thickened with the stench of acid and silk as the walls pulsed with living movement.

  Adam’s axes whirled to life in his hands, their edges breathing faint light. The Familiar bellowed beside him—its molten hide rippling like a living furnace. Together, they charged.

  The first spider leapt, fangs spread wide enough to crush bone. Adam’s left axe came down in a diagonal arc, burying itself in the creature’s face. The moment metal kissed flesh, the spider’s body convulsed. Its legs twisted inward, flesh hardening, skin tightening as if every drop of moisture was sucked out of it. Within seconds, it hung suspended in the air—mummified, dry and gray, a grotesque statue in death.

  Before Adam could blink, another lunged. He swung his right axe and cleaved through its thorax. This time, the creature swelled, abdomen ballooning grotesquely until it burst. A red-black spray painted the walls, the stench sharp enough to sting his nose.

  He exhaled sharply. “Two down.”

  The Familiar tore into the mass, claws shredding web and chitin alike. Each blow left a crater in the ground, every roar shaking dust from the ceiling. A dozen spiders latched onto its limbs, binding them with thick cords of silk. For a heartbeat, the beast staggered under the weight—then Adam’s axes spun through the air, cutting the threads like ribbons. The Familiar roared free, erupting in fury. It crushed three spiders beneath its claws, molten blood hissing on stone.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Don’t slow down,” Adam said, voice low but steady.

  The spiders adapted fast. From the shadows, web projectiles hissed forward. Adam ducked, rolled, then vanished, his outline dissolving into shimmer. Dozens of Adams materialized across the cavern, their movements perfectly mirrored. The spiders screeched in confusion. Some turned on each other, fangs snapping, shredding their kin in blind frenzy.

  Adam moved through the chaos like a shadow within his own illusions. He let instinct guide his hands, an axe spinning to decapitate one spider, the other sinking deep into another’s abdomen. Sometimes they mummified instantly; other times, they ballooned grotesquely before detonating in red mist. He no longer tried to predict which would happen. He simply killed.

  A web thicker than a man’s arm shot toward him. Adam crossed his axes in defense. The silk struck—only to melt against the edges with a sharp hiss. Even acid from the spiders’ glands couldn’t etch their blackened steel. When a spider tried to bite one, its fangs shattered instead, snapping like brittle glass. The axes didn’t even carry a scratch.

  “Not even close,” he muttered, slashing the creature in half.

  From above, a cluster of arachnids descended, bound together by a shared web line. Adam hurled one axe upward; the weapon spun end over end, slicing through their connection before embedding in the wall. He willed it back with a thought. The weapon tore free, dragging along entrails as it returned to his grip.

  The Familiar charged into the densest cluster, its molten hide glowing brighter with every wound. When it exhaled, smoke hissed from its nostrils. It crushed one spider underfoot, grabbed another by its cephalothorax, and slammed it against the ground until it cracked open. Acid splashed across its arm, burning through the magma-like skin. The beast howled, shaking its limb violently.

  “Hold still!” Adam’s axe flashed, cutting off the attacking spider’s head. He swung the second axe in a full spin, severing the sticky web still clinging to his Familiar’s arm.

  The Familiar bared its fangs in what might’ve been gratitude—or bloodlust. Either way, it returned to tearing through the swarm.

  The cavern became a killing field. The sound of slashing metal, the squelch of bursting flesh, and the crackle of molten footsteps drowned all else. Illusory doubles danced among the webs, baiting, distracting, and misleading. The spiders lunged at false images, impaling one another, drowning in their own confusion.

  Adam’s lungs burned. His sleeve was torn, and dark lines of venom traced his forearm where a fang had grazed him. Pain flared, hot and sharp, but he ignored it. His breathing remained calm, deliberate. Every swing counted. Every strike was measured. A dance of death, precise and inevitable.

  A massive shadow fell across him.

  He turned. A spider larger than the rest reared back—eight scarlet eyes gleaming, spinnerets twitching. The matriarch. Thick cords of web shot from its abdomen, weaving together midair to form a spear of hardened silk. It hurled it straight at him.

  Adam raised both axes in an X. The impact shook the ground, the spear shattering into a rain of crimson strands. He lunged forward, axes spinning in his hands. The matriarch struck again, but his illusions split in five directions. It hesitated—then tore into the wrong one. That single moment of confusion was fatal.

  Adam appeared beneath it, low and coiled like a predator. Both axes rose together.

  One blow struck first; the creature froze, its body desiccating in seconds, a husk collapsing in on itself. The second blow followed, landing an instant later, and the husk exploded into fragments, showering the cavern in black gore.

  A rain of chitin followed. The spiders screeched, their frenzy breaking. The Familiar seized the moment—charging through the horde, sweeping limbs aside like grass. Fire rippled down its arms, each strike leaving molten streaks across the cobbled floor.

  Adam spun once, twice, carving his way through the stragglers. Every movement flowed like liquid violence, his body and weapons one continuous rhythm of destruction. When the last spider leapt, he caught it midair by the fang, pulled it close, and buried both axes into its head. It spasmed, then went still.

  Silence descended—thick and heavy. The webs still trembled with the memory of violence, the air humming faintly with heat. Steam rose from the Familiar’s back. Its claws dripped molten ichor as it turned toward him.

  Adam exhaled, chest heaving. “You did good.”

  The Familiar rumbled low, more soot than voice, before crouching beside him. The light from its molten veins dimmed gradually, settling into a faint orange glow.

  Adam surveyed the carnage. The floor was a graveyard of shattered shells and bubbling remains. The scent of scorched silk and venom burned his nostrils. Yet beneath it all, something glimmered faintly—a faint pulse deep in the webbed tunnels ahead.

  He turned toward it, eyes narrowing. “That must be the next chamber.”

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of ash across his cheek. The axes hovered beside him, edges still pristine, untouched by acid, blood, or flame.

  [You have received Eight Omen Points!]

  [Omen Points: 18 – Insufficient for rank upgrade.]

  All that for only eight Omen Points?

  Adam smiled wry behind his mask, staring at the surrounding corpses. He exhaled deeply, shaking his head.

  I wonder how many Omen Points will be sufficient for an upgrade, he pondered.

  “Let’s move,” he said.

  Together, man and monster advanced into the red-lit maze, their footsteps echoing through the silence of the slain.