“Are you sure it’s no trouble?” Vergil asked.


    Four black spiders had joined him on the edge of the bridge spanning from the library to the forest. Sil was down there, somewhere, doing something. Tallah meditated in the library. They’d left him to his own devices for the time being, so he aimed to get some answers.


    He’d borrowed the Ikosmenia under the firm promise that he would take care of it better than he cared for the eyes in his head. Tallah had threatened burning bits off him if she found another dent in the artefact.


    “Really, I just need a torch and some rope. I’ll be fine on my own. Luna’s with me.”


    The Oldest had joined him on the platform, with the other three trailing closely behind. As far as Vergil understood, these were some of the last spiders in Grefe that had none of Erisa’s influence. They had things to attend to as the purge was still on-going.


    “We will help you,” the Oldest said. “It is the least we can do for our saviours.”


    “Technically, it was Tallah and Sil that saved you. I was just there.”


    The Oldest and its siblings merely stared up at him, still as statues. He squirmed under their attention.


    “Well… if you’re sure it’s no bother.” He pointed down into the chasm. “I want to go back down there. I need to check something.”


    It was an uneventful descent. Tied tight to one of the black spiders, it was a much smoother ride than Tallah’s drop had been. Vergil could even call it pleasant.


    He’d borrowed the Ikosmenia to see the patches of lingering black illum and avoid any area that looked too dangerous. He’d tried opening the file transmitted to him, but got nearly nothing from the conversion. There may have been a video file there, or an audio log, or even text, but all he got was garbled nonsense that he couldn’t decipher.


    The only way to get any real information would be, he assumed, to find the source of the transmission. Too much of what Sil had told him of what she’d seen in Erisa’s domain felt odd, and the healer refused going back to that place. In all truth, a trip back wasn’t on his list of priorities either. The less he saw of those chambers of horror, the happier he would sleep. Eventually.


    For now, he’d go and see what he could uncover at the bottom of the chasm. Maybe later he’d check out those monitors and the messages left there, though he doubted they had anything to do with him. But getting some answers would be nice for once.


    Why would a machine spirit like Panacea forsake her own people to their fate here? She’d been about as cryptic as any other magic user he’d met on Edana. Gave no answer, posed questions, treated him as irrelevant. Well, fuck her—he hoped she couldn’t hear his thoughts—and he’d get his own answers here.


    It took a longer time than it had seemed when he’d come down the first time. Excitement grew into worry and then into boredom. Argia attempted several pings but got no response back.


    He didn’t miss the feel of bones underfoot, nor the scent of violent death. It lingered at the bottom, the miasma of Erisa’s slaying seemingly spread out thin in the great chasm. They were quite far away from where Sil had slew the girl, but he could swear he smelled and tasted blood and bile. Part of him could pinpoint exactly the direction where the corpse lay, so he turned and walked in the opposite way.


    “We will join you, friend,” Luna said off his back. The spider had been quiet for a time now, though its movements on Vergil’s back suggested it had been conferring in some way with the Oldest.


    “You’ve already joined me,” he answered. “You could have remained in the library.”


    “No.” Luna squirmed on his back, tapping its legs against the surviving metal part of his chest piece. “We will join you in the above world. May we?”


    He hadn’t thought about that. He’d grown to like the little thing and would appreciate its company above-ground, but hadn’t expected the suggestion.


    In his silence, Luna added, “If… friend allows we?”


    “Oh. Oh, no, I was just thinking.” He shook his head and Luna climbed a bit higher, to his shoulder. “Are you sure you want to come? It’s… Well, I think it’s safer down here for your kind.”


    He drew the Ikosmenia over his face as the other spiders walked phantom-silent behind. He knew they were there by the weight of their curiosity aimed at the back of his neck, even if their steps made no sound on the bones.


    “We wish to see more of the world up there. Bring back new Knowing. Learn. Grow. We wish to join if friend will accept.”


    “I can’t—” He stopped. Why couldn’t he be the one to agree? Sil had gotten the stud off him and Tallah had clapped him on the shoulder. Both of them said he could follow or he could go his own way. Far as they were concerned, Vergil had repaid their early help several times over.


    He’d decided to stay on, see where Tallah’s path took them, and maybe find a place of his own on Edana. Eventually. Why couldn’t he agree on taking on a companion? Especially as it was Luna, who’d been with him through all the terrors of the past few days.


    Before he could answer, however, a sound from behind grabbed his attention. At the very same time, Luna fell off his back, clattering into the bones.


    He swirled in place, torch held out. His sword whispered out of its scabbard as he regarded the four spiders crumpled on the bones, gazes empty.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    “What?” The darkness stole his voice.


    In the Ikosmenia’s sight he saw something odd. Among the piles of the dead there was no more black illum. All the lingering pools had disappeared, leaving behind only the vibrant reds and purples.


    “Luna?” he called out softly, spinning in place to find whatever was attacking. Hairs stood up on the nape of his neck.


    Another turn and… and…


    And now he couldn’t move. Every muscle on him locked rigid as something coalesced out of thin air in front of him. Like tendrils of smoke he could see black illum flowing up from beneath the mounds of the dead, coming together and forming a presence.


    He meant to speak.


    He meant to swing his sword towards the thing approaching.


    He meant to do much…


    Instead, he relaxed. His shoulders dropped and his back straightened out of the semi-crouch he’d been in before.


    A woman approached on silent feet, her shape as black as night. He saw her clearly even through the Ikosmenia as she came to stand in front of him. A white face coalesced out of the tar-like dark.


    She was maybe half-a-head shorter than he. Her hair was ink-black and seemed to flow like liquid down her shoulders.


    Coal-black eyes swimming in a pool of milk-white. They pinned his.


    “Report,” she said. And he couldn’t recognise the voice. It was something like the spiders, a sound that bypassed his ears and lodged itself in his brain. It was the echoes of words, their essence coming to him as if from somewhere infinitely distant.


    Report what?


    His throat did not make a sound. He struggled to ask what this was. Nothing happened.


    <ul style="text-align: justify">


    <li>Warning: Containment breach! Quarantine has been bypassed.</li>


    <li>Please consult—</li>


    </ul>


    “I am here.”


    Vergil’s heart thumped in his chest. He had answered. The words came from him, though he’d not meant them at all.


    What’s happening? He could look as the woman smiled widely, black lips parting to show equally black, wet teeth. A sinuous red tongue licked across her lips.


    “How fares your mission, dreg?”


    His ears burned as the words forced themselves into his mind. If the woman requested him to kneel, he would. He had no idea how he knew that. Something in him could not disobey.


    “Poorly,” his mouth answered. “Initial implant was unsuccessful. The boy’s will is strong. There are elements in play that disrupt my activity. I have found… alternatives.”


    “Were you detected?”


    “The machine spirit Panacea has sensed your influence, Lady Onda, but not my essence. I remain unobstructed.” Vergil’s shoulders shrugged in a mechanical fashion. “The sorceress knows of my existence, but does not suspect my origin or function. I remain unobstructed.”


    The woman—Onda?—nodded and tapped a finger against her lips. Something about her demeanour told Vergil she wasn’t human, or anything even close to it. Like looking at Erisa’s terrible clones. “What do his companions suspect?”


    Vergil’s head shook from side to side slowly. “Nothing of you or Lord Ryder. I have been seen but not understood. I have taken a guise. Full control remains beyond my means.”


    “You have tarried long. I was beginning to worry you might not survive events. It would’ve been a shame to reveal my presence while the child Panacea prowled this place.”


    “I’ve had to exercise some influence to survive. Had I done more, I may have been understood by the weavers.”


    Onda seemed to shift from side to side like smoke blown by an invisible gust of wind.


    “Time grows short and Ort grows powerful. Lord Ryder expects results. Soon. The sorceress must face the host before the next solar cycle, or our window of opportunity will close.” Onda’s hand pressed on Vergil’s chest and went straight through. He felt an alien fear gripping him. “I expect better of you, dreg. Fail me, and you will not find sanctuary among the Thousand Realms. Am I clear?”


    She squeezed something inside and pain lanced through Vergil’s every fibber. It was like the first time Tallah had checked his soul with the goblet, but indescribably worse.


    Whatever presence held him recoiled and shivered, “Yes, Lady Onda. I serve the Prison. I serve our Lord. I will not fail.”


    Her fingers slid out of him and left behind a bone-deep chill. “Good. I don’t like how close I came to having to help you. See that it doesn''t happen again.”


    “Yes, Lady Onda. I serve.”


    Vergil stumbled forward and couldn’t remember why he’d drawn his sword. Or, for that matter, when Luna had climbed off his back.


    “Luna?” he asked as he felt the now familiar pressure of the spider climbing up the side of his leg. “What happened?”


    “We… do not know?”


    The other four walked forward on the bones, looking as perplexed as he felt, spreading out in a fan, legs raised in warning.


    “Did something happen?” Vergil asked as the Oldest came to a stop by his foot. Like him, it looked around as if not recognising the place.


    “We… do not know,” it answered. “Something happened, though we know not what.”


    Scrolling through Argia’s messages revealed nothing. Pinging attempts. Failed results. Quarantine process trying to oust Horvath. The dwarf making lurid suggestions of what Vergil could do with either of his companions. Nothing had happened, as far as Argia was concerned, and nothing felt wrong.


    He’d lost a moment.


    “Maybe I’m just tired. It’s catching up to me,” he said, re-sheathing his sword. “I’ve barely slept.”


    Argia pinged something and it answered back. On the edge of his vision a marker appeared to float in mid-air, showing the route Argia suggested to the alien signal.


    “Well, something’s over there.” He pointed the way with his torch. “Let’s go and see what these ancients built there.”


    And what killed them, a traitorous part of him suggested. But, at least, he’d get some answers.


    All around, the red and purple illum settled as if resting from a sudden storm. Bones crunched underfoot. The torch sputtered but burned on.


    “What could we find that’s worse?” he asked the silence. None of the spiders answered.