Chapter 66: The Eight-Legged King

The platform of cold, dead silk is a stage, and the curtain of shadow has just risen.

We are, all of us, frozen. Kizawa, a statue of pale, cold fury, his hand on his sword. Hachiro, his good hand clenched, his Miasma-chi a guttering, terrified green light. Yogawa, a trembling, fetal ball of academic terror, his eyes squeezed shut, as if not seeing the monster will make it cease to exist.

And me. I am Erima, the Arrow. My obsidian bow is drawn, the heavy, alien arrow aimed at the thing in the center of the web. My arms are screaming. My logic is screaming. My every instinct is screaming.

The Spinner King is not a man. It is not a beast. It is a concept.

It is a shape that should not be. It has risen from the darkness beneath the web, a mountain of glistening, oily, black-and-silver chitin. It has eight legs, long and thin as fallen trees, ending in points so fine they seem to pierce the fabric of reality. Its body is a bulbous, silver-white sac, the size of a house, pulsating with a faint, cold, internal light.

But the horror is its face.

Where a head should be, there is a cluster of eight, massive, milky-white eyes. And below that, a humanoid torso. A pale, perfect, male torso, sculpted from the same silver-white chitin, with two long, elegant arms. It is a grotesque, inverted, parody of a centaur. A spider, with a man growing from its face.

It is the Weaver. It is the King. It is the cosmic parasite that is eating a God.

And it is staring at me.

The... Arrow...

The voice is not a voice. It is the same, cold, dry thought that Mizuki described. A librarian's curiosity. It slides into my mind, dissecting me.

You... are... not... the... Flame. You... are... her... echo.

"Where... is... she?" Kizawa's voice is a low, gravelly rasp. It is not a question. It is a demand. A condemnation.

The King's milky eyes swivel, all eight of them, to focus on the Blade.

The... broken... one. The... Anchor.

The King tilts its humanoid head. It smiles. The humanoid torso has a mouth.

"She... is... safe," the King hisses. The voice is real this time, a silken, seductive, androgynous sound that is worse than the mind-voice. It echoes from the humanoid mouth. "She... is... resting. She... is my guest."

"You... liar," Kizawa snarls. He takes one step forward.

STOP.

The mind-voice is no longer curious. It is a command. An absolute.

Kizawa freezes. His body locks. He strains, his muscles bulging, his face a mask of rage. He... cannot move.

"Kizawa!" Hachiro screams.

"He... cannot help you, Fist," the King hisses, its smile widening. "He is a creature of Will. And I... am a creature of Control. His Will is a candle... in my hurricane. He is strong. I am infinite."

The King's gaze slides to Hachiro. The... anomaly. The... Miasma-eater. The... life... that... thrives... on... poison.

Hachiro flinches, his green chi flickering in terror.

The King's gaze slides to Yogawa, who is still a shivering ball. The... broken... scholar. Useless.

And... then... the gaze returns to me.

"But... you," the King hisses, its voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "You... are the Arrow. The Planner. The one who sees the patterns. Look at this pattern, Erima."

One... of the King's long, humanoid arms gestures gracefully.

Behind it, in the web, a shape... is revealed.

It... is a cocoon. A massive, silken cocoon, pulsating with a faint, golden light.

"MIZUKI!" Kizawa roars. He fights the mental command, his body shaking violently.

"She... is sleeping," the King says, its voice like a lullaby. "She... was so tired. So empty. I... am letting her rest. I... am protecting her... from all the pain. From you."

The lie... is so toxic, so perfect, it makes me want to be sick.

"You... are killing her," I state, my voice shaking. My arms are burning. I cannot hold this bow.

"I... am appreciating her," the King counters. "She... is a true light. The Hollow-God... is a dying star. She... is a nova. I... will not make the mistake of draining her like a common beast. I... will savor her. After... I have dealt with her pests."

The humanoid torso smiles.

And the eight-legged King lunges.