Even now, the Spider's distant gaze had never faltered. But because Zora could withstand the pressure that emanated from this strange creature, who she still doubted was human, she saw the intricate depths of what emotions it harbored in its heart.
The puppet bled an aura of pain, and though its appearance hadn't changed for the most part, new patches and new stitches replaced the old and fading scars of its patchwork body. Yes, it was the same puppet, though it had gained layers of cloth much like a tree gained rings as it lived and grew older.
"Hey, boss."
"Ah, Zora. I was waiting for you."
Spider's back wasn't turned this time, as its pen scratched away at a pile of papers mounted upon its desk.
"Hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long, then."
"Only a little. Have a seat, all of you."
Scattered in the far corner were chairs that looked like they were made of bone, with cushions of red leather on the seat and backrest. None of them faced the same direction, all scattered and haphazard, yet a strange congruity emerged from the awkward placements.
Litost and Talin both sat, while Zora remained standing.
"We need a new place. The hut had 'roaches'."
"That's a simple matter. Would you rather an apartment, this time? It has constant surveillance by agents I have chosen personally."
"Hmm, that's fine. But this is the second time now that we've had these roach problems," she scratched her head.
A roach was a fake spider, so to speak, who would infiltrate the organization to leak details and carry out assassinations. If the Spider chose the agents personally, they would no longer have the risk of bugging up the place with tags and surveillance rings during menial things like delivery or visitation.
It was good that they wouldn't be roaches; however, Zora didn't know exactly how she felt about the Spider's people being the ones overseeing her and her family's safety. It was like a double-edged sword that she had to wield, because otherwise she'd be overtaken by the night.
It seemed her employer understood this internal conflict. The Spider, in the midst of writing, flicked its wrist and threw a bead at her, which Zora caught with mild difficulty.
"What's in it?"
"A key to a housing unit that I have procured. It's closer to the Nest, despite your previous requests."
"I'll take it," she sighed, tossing the bead to Li.
"The address is written on the key itself."
"So what's the price?"
The puppet that was writing suddenly stopped its hand, freezing in place. It was already smiling, though Zora felt a sudden shiver go down her spine.
"Consider this a…"
It chuckled, as if amused by the falsehoods it was about to spit out.
"No, you're right. I'll give you this key as down payment for your next hunt," it said nonchalantly, as if already expecting her to accept.
"It's a mission that takes place in the high society within the Farlands."
"!!!"
The Farlands were a series of domes that sat altogether near the gaping maw of the Ashin Pit. They were considered "Far" because the domes were bordered by not only the Pit, but also the Darkwilds, which were both unexplored depths where an unknown number of Ashin roamed and bred like an infestation.
It was more fair to say that the Darkwilds were the "original" underworld—the expansive crimson nether from which the Glass King carved the four boroughs, later becoming five through the interference of Eden.
Thus the Darkwilds fought back, seeking to integrate the newly formed Fe Sin into the folds of its crimson overgrowth.
In fact, the main purpose of the Nest organization, at least on the surface, was to adventure into and curb the expansion of the Darkwilds as the officially recognized hunters that attempted to protect the daytime city.
But come nightfall, when the day-lights died, the protection ended there. Come nightfall, the face of the Nest changed entirely, providing other services to those who chose to brave the dark.
Zora mostly stayed away from that sector, though. Instead, she used her strength to go after stronger and stronger targets, venturing deep into the crimson jungle to secure her marks.
And though this new target wasn't quite in the scope of her desired hunting area, finding shelter was of the utmost priority, even if it was through the Spider.
"...The Farlands. Fine, I'll do it."
She had some bad memories in the Farlands. Between the infinite abyss of the Pit, the scarlet overgrowth, and the thick crystalline walls of the Rime, so much of her own blood had been shed across these zones.
"Very good. My associate will provide further details within the night."
"Is that all?"
"Have you anything else you want to request?"
"No…"
"Then that is all, Zora. And please, try not to make a mess while you're still within the Webs, next time?"
Zora inadvertently shivered, a chill running down her spine.
Its eyes were everywhere, hidden from even her, spread throughout the Webs like an infestation.
She wrapped her arms around her siblings as they left, not just to keep them safe, but because she felt uncomfortably cold. Her palms were sweating, because even strength would not save her from the grasp of a monster beyond beasts. Instinctively, she knew this.
***
Throughout the body of the Webs, the Spider had ten elite subordinates that it leveraged as overseers of the rest of the realm. Below itself were its two Fangs, and below them were eight numbered Legs. Anything below that was a "lower leg", and mostly menial in their contributions.
Two Fangs and eight Legs for a Spider–Zora had to admit, it just made sense. Though, even these ten elite subordinates are rumored to still not have seen the Spider's face. Like a true shadow, like its namesake scurrying through the dark, the Spider could never be pinned down.
She expected an upper Leg to visit soon, given that she and her siblings already settled with what little they had to bring. This new place was nestled in the heart of the Webs, a second-layer building that had few neighbors.
Stalactites and stalagmites alike held up each layer, a supermassive sandstone slab held aloft by the remnants of the Glass King's magics. It was said he had made it in the image of the many canopies that provided homes to different types of creatures, deep in the
The lack of furniture and decorations made the place look as dreary as the world outside, but even that was familiar. Perhaps a craftsman's market would be open in the morning, and they'd spend some gent to grab a couch or table.
At least it was warm, down here. She sighed. It felt like it had been night for so long already, that Litost and Talin had fallen asleep, and there was a missing space for someone that they had left behind.
This building was inconspicuous, entirely metal, held together by hopes and dreams more so than magic, and one of many amongst the layer it stood tall upon.
Geometric shapes stuck out like a child's attempt at architecture, mashed together with divine force and creating misshapen and non-prismatic junk towers that populated an entire city.
How many millions of people lived here? The question ran through her mind a multitude of times, considering just how death-like the quietness was whenever the day-lights turned off.
Even murmurs belonged to the beasts and shadows, and hardly a human could be seen. Those that scurried like they had nothing to lose had surely lost at least some of their humanity.
Just when she too was starting to nod off, she felt a presence in her vicinity. It was familiar, though not comforting. There was always a level of distance she felt she had to keep with this man. A familiar man appeared in the doorframe.
"Welcome, Kinney. We couldn't throw together a housewarming party," she smiled wearily.
Though he was a gruff man, he looked at her with kindness. It seemed the underworld made only gruff men, as softness was more fittingly a trait rather than a demeanor. In the day, everywhere she went she would see a head with thinning hair from the stress of living in a dangerous place. While some took that stress and broke under its weight, others forged it into a quiet strength.
John Kinney was one such example: his strength was of an uplifting kind, though he loathed to be seen as such.
"It matters not, girl," he huffed. He was only a head shorter than Tesson, though his outfit was a lot more conspicuous when placed on his frame. A black soft-brimmed hat pinched a nest of gray hairs, and a black overcoat revealed nothing of his body except thick black boots.
"Here," he said, as he placed the letter he had brought into her palm gently. By now, in terms of pure physicality she was surely stronger than him—yet the way he treated her as if she was fragile reminded her of Tesson.
"Thanks, Kinney. Tell the old miss that I said hello."
"Right," he coughed. "But Zora…"
As he turned to leave, likely to tend to other duties, he looked at her with a piteous look that in all honesty hurt her feelings. They had not been as close in recent years, but this was a pity meant for beasts and dregs—not for her.
"Think carefully on what you would give to leave this place."
"What?"
"Losing your way is more painful than losing your life, girl."
"What the hell are you talking about? Have you gone senile?"
"Listen and listen well, Zora. You don't always need to listen to the Spider. Don't get caught in its web."
Having given his sage advice, he left. It was quick, just like the way he entered, and his presence had faded in nearly an instant. She could catch up, most likely, but she had read his intent and felt an emotion, on her behalf, that she had seen in Klead just the day before.
So she didn't chase him. She let him go where he needed to be, and sat with the words he gave her.
But now she didn't feel like opening the letter he gave her. What was in it, that a man like John Kinney was so afraid for her?
That he feared for her life?
The letter itself was unassuming, almost making her question its authenticity.
With a heavy heart, she opened the letter:
On the very top of it was a picture of a face she'd never seen, with a name and description to match it.
He had black hair and a sharp face, and he was smiling in the picture. He was young, likely her age, with such innocent eyes. Though his gaze was somewhat menacing, his pupils held so much sanctity for life, a brightness that could only be dulled by death itself. Was that what the Spider wanted?
Words scribbled in black pen read:
"Priority target."
"Rey L. L. Caido (Joushin)."
"Heir to Prince Rhu, the Far Duke of the Rhine."