Chapter Twenty-Five: The Zealous Believer

The Mother of Spiders swung her guillotine-like forelimbs. The Duchess was struck, hurled against a wall with such force that the structure warped around her. The monstrous spider surged forward, raising its limbs in another furious assault—I watched as the metal floor was torn open, deep gashes left behind. If she kept up this relentless attack, even Yune might have been shredded into useless scrap.

Yet the Duchess deftly evaded the storm of blows, emerging unscathed as she leapt toward the Spider Mother. The latter opened her maw and spat a mass of webbing, but in an instant the Duchess sliced it apart. Her golden claws pierced the Spider Mother’s flesh—though the monster’s hide was tough, Vasilisa ripped it as easily as tearing paper.

A terrible wail escaped the Spider Mother. In that brief moment, the Duchess’s arms pulled outward, widening the wound; the Spider Mother’s chest was grievously injured, blood pouring forth like a tide. The Duchess somersaulted, landing atop the Spider Mother’s head, her claws pressing against the scalp.

The Duchess spoke: “This is your last chance. If you refuse, I can dig out your brain at any moment.”

The Spider Mother hissed, “I yield, I surrender, I will remove all barriers so that you may have what you desire.”

Vasilisa nodded, but did not dismount from the Spider Mother’s head. The creature spat out a small piece of metal, inserting it into the last prison door. A long, heavy, low hum sounded.

She had opened the Pandora’s box.

It was a square room, devoid of any furnishings, nearly filled with webs. At the center, a cocoon hung suspended in midair.

Vasilisa asked, “What is this?”

The Spider Mother replied, “My web can lull him to sleep, keep him in endless slumber. But the strands are carefully woven—should any be disturbed, it will lose its effect.”

Vasilisa said, “Professor Longinus was certainly thorough.” Her crimson eyes swept toward us—though it was only for a fleeting instant, a bloody shadow lingered in the air.

Lamia removed her gas mask and shouted, “Release these webs! Let us go!”

The Spider Mother heard our call, beginning to turn, but was stopped by Vasilisa, who said, “This can wait. First, release the prisoner for me.”

The Spider Mother asked, “And then? Will you set me free?”

Vasilisa replied, “I swear upon my mother’s honor, I will.”

The Spider Mother loosened a single strand, and the entire web unraveled. The cocoon peeled away, layer by layer, and a man’s figure was revealed.

He had chestnut skin, a mane of jet-black hair, and a beard that covered his mouth and chin, flowing down to his chest. Even after a century of slumber, his muscles remained firm and powerful. He stood at about six-foot-three, his proportions balanced and perfect, like a sculpture of a demigod from ancient Greece.

There was nothing outwardly strange about him; after the myriad of traps and warnings along the way, he appeared almost ordinary. Yet I could not forget those hazards, nor the countless cautions. As I gazed at this creature emerging from his cocoon, a primal fear seized me—as if humanity’s terror of darkness and death, etched into our blood, had awakened.

Night and death, and the fish and the waterless village.

I felt plunged into an icy abyss, my fear spreading from my mind into every vein. I shouted, spun, and fired into the webbing until my magazine was empty, then reloaded with divine blade rounds. My aim, as if guided by fate, sent six shots through the same spot, piercing the web. Grabbing Milsay’s sword, I finally hacked open a gap.

I signaled frantically for Lamia to run. Suddenly, Milsay awoke and pleaded, “Don’t leave… the Duchess.”

Lamia said, “Load the divine blade rounds—be ready to support Vasilisa.”

I tore off my mask and shouted desperately, “Are you insane? That’s a battle between monsters! To them, we are mere insects. Why risk ourselves in this?”

Lamia replied, “The Sword and Shield Society is our ally. We can’t stand by and do nothing. Sami, Betty, stay here and be ready to retreat at any moment.” She raised her weapon and strode forward.

What could I do? I followed her. She smiled at me, and I thought: If I die, so be it—at least I’ll be with her.

Vasilisa landed on the floor, and the Spider Mother, like a convict who’d escaped execution, vanished without a trace.

The Duchess was unbothered. Her form changed again, growing taller and more athletic, her wolfish face even fiercer. She was a calamity that had stalked the earth for millennia, the most elite of predators, the fearsome banshee of legend, trained in the martial arts and killing wisdom of the Sword and Shield Society. Compared to her, the prisoner codenamed Cain seemed less terrifying.

He was as frail as a newborn.

The Duchess lunged at the prisoner. In the blink of an eye, she was upon him—her speed rivaling that of a sniper’s bullet. She snapped at his neck, but the prisoner caught her throat with one hand and lifted her single-handedly. The Duchess whimpered like a beaten dog, slashing with her claws; the prisoner arched his head back, a shallow gash appearing on his face. The Duchess pried his hand open, dropped to the ground, and sprang away like a coiled spring.

She was evading him—the ancient banshee avoiding the newborn child.

The prisoner spoke, his words in some archaic tongue, halting, syllable by syllable. Then he began repeating a word, a name, his expression twisted with agony.

“Caine! Caine!”

Lamia said, “Cain.”

Vasilisa suddenly screamed—a shriek like a thousand jet planes tearing the sky, making the very air tremble, as though the heavens themselves shuddered. Every strand of her hair bristled, her red eyes glowed like lonely stars in the dark, her golden claws gleamed like molten steel.

She cried, “I can destroy an army! I can shatter an armored division! I can tear down skyscrapers with my bare hands! I can send legions of demons back to hell! I am the scourge of the world, the greatest predator! How can you hope to match me?”

She became a bolt of black lightning and vanished with the prisoner. The entire cubic chamber shook, metal plates buckling and distorting—here bulging, there collapsing—ruined by their battle. After a minute, the metal plates split, then shattered.

The Duchess and the prisoner reappeared, both landing, crushing the floor into a vast crater. The Duchess slashed at her foe with her claws, but the prisoner met her attacks barehanded—they seemed largely futile. At one point, the Duchess bit his wrist, gripped his other hand with her left claw, and stabbed at his heart with her right. The claw pierced only a fraction, unable to go deeper.

The prisoner seized her hand in return. The Duchess howled again like a wounded pet. Then he snapped both her arms as if breaking twigs.

Those hands, which could repel divine blade rounds, were broken as easily as toothpicks.

The Duchess trembled, kneeling before her adversary. He let go and asked her several questions.

The Duchess shook her head and said, “I… don’t understand.”

I said, “He’s asking: ‘Are you one of Cain’s kind?’”

Lamia asked, “You can understand him?”

I replied, “Yes. It’s ancient Sumerian.”

I remembered where I’d learned it, though the details escaped me.

Vasilisa answered, “I don’t know Cain! I thought he was just a myth.”

The prisoner spoke again, asking, “It is no myth—it is truth. Why have you awakened me?”

Vasilisa asked, “You’re not Cain? Who are you? What are you?”

The prisoner replied, “My name is Abel, servant of God, son of Adam, brother of Cain, the one murdered by him.”

I thought this must be the greatest misunderstanding imaginable. This prisoner must be some deranged strongman, driven mad and obsessed by reading the Bible, imagining himself a biblical figure—Abel. Somehow, he’d learned ancient Sumerian, enough to fool the Sword and Shield Society or the Charon Corporation into believing he was genuine, and so they’d locked him away here.

This is the textbook case of courting disaster.

Except, this strongman was far too strong.

Vasilisa bowed her head. In a flash, her arms healed. She lunged at “Abel’s” throat as if biting into a succulent duck neck.

Abel ducked low and punched through her heart, his fist bursting from her back. Vasilisa’s blood splattered over him. Abel opened his mouth, letting the blood flow in. His expression changed violently, turning as greedy and feral as Vasilisa’s, transforming from man to beast.

Although, to say man is a beast seems somehow off.

Abel bared his fangs and bit into Vasilisa’s artery. She gave a faint cry, trembling as Abel fed.

Lamia shouted, “Save her!”

We all opened fire. Divine blade rounds struck Abel’s forehead. He roared in fury, and Vasilisa, regaining some awareness, broke free and fled toward us—her speed much reduced, but still as fast as she could manage. Lamia grabbed her hand, and we ran toward the second contact zone.

Suddenly, Abel caught up to us. Lamia, without looking back, fired behind her as if she had eyes in the back of her head. Abel, with a slight tilt, dodged the bullets and seized the Duchess’s other hand.

Vasilisa screamed, reverting to her maiden form to escape his iron grip. Salvatore and Betty provided covering fire, but Abel stopped and caught every divine blade round with his bare hands.

Salvatore cried out, “What?!”

There was no time for amazement—we were still hundreds of meters from the second contact zone. Abel could catch us in the blink of an eye, crush us with a flick of his finger, unless he wanted to drain us one by one.

We were at his mercy, helpless as fish on the chopping block.

At that moment, an idea flashed through my mind. I had no time to consider its feasibility—I simply acted.

I thrust the fish-bone spine behind me, striking Abel in the heart. He howled in pain, staggering, his limbs suddenly stiff. The fish-bone returned to my hand. I had no idea why it worked, but we ran for our lives, racing all the way to the second contact zone.