DISCOVERY PART 5H

Day 448; 1733 (Late Afternoon)
Focus: Battlefield at the Wall of Webs

As the skies looming above the tree canopy darkened, the gloomy atmosphere inside the Forbidden Forest was illuminated by the dancing lights of several large bonfires. 

Whipping and swaying around with the coming wind, the fires wreaked havoc on a seemingly endless wall made out of webs. 

Flames licked and crept up the massive wall as if trying to summit an unreachable mountain top; the flickering lights moved as if having some level of intelligence. 

The ever shifting silhouettes and shadows derived from the flames produced an imposing ambience. 

Harrowing sights and ominous sounds echoed throughout the environment, inflicting a sense of crisis to all those participating in the chaotic battlefield.

The scene seemed almost frozen in time, like a grandiose oil painting depicting a monumental struggle. However, only a few moments had elapsed since the first of 513’s traps had been set off by the spiders. 

Even so, the damage to their ranks had already reached staggering numbers. But despite the outcome, the spiders continued to spill from the top of the wall like an unending waterfall. 

Their efforts were rather meaningless however, as their rapid movements were thoroughly constrained by the large bonfires -- the staggering flames, fueled by their own blood. 

Their only ‘safe’ passage beyond the scorching flames was found through several vertical corridors located at the median distance between every adjacent bonfire. 

Though different in size and scale, each narrow corridor shared similarities that gave the army a way to reach the forest floor. First, the corridors were free of static obstacles, including incorporeal matter such as fire. And second, the walls had not yet melted to the point of becoming a viscous, sticky fluid.

The downsides were that each vertical corridor was filled with intense, rising heat and suffocating smoke. And occasionally, a lick of flame that could easily ignite a spider would traverse through the corridor at random intervals. 

Given their limited options, the vast majority of the army knowingly chose the ‘safe’ route.

However, not every spider was rooted by the limitations presented to them.

A select number of False Arachnes had, once again, quickly adapted to their grave situation. 

They had noticed the funneling effect of the bonfires and quickly leapt from the walls without hesitation. Their choice to abandon the wall and safety in numbers was neither instinctual nor born out of duress. Instead, their plight  had been planned out carefully. Their intent was to land on nearby trees or safe clearings on the ground below before scouting for safer alternate routes.

The collective plan was clever, however, their efforts were easily foiled. Their enemy, 513, had anticipated their craftiness. Before they could reach their destinations, they were sniped by rock bullets whilst travelling mid-air. And those that had escaped the onslaught of projectiles were dispatched by traps that sprung out sharp wooden stakes.

Regrettably, none of the clever spiders managed to survive before 513's defenses reached their limitations. Although each trap was of single use, there were still plenty lying in wait, hidden in inconspicuous locations.

If the spider army had a competent strategist, they would have noticed this fact and worked to find defensive flaws within 513's machinations. Unfortunately, no such position existed in the army of spiders, so they were left to continue their pursuit, using their numbers to inundate their singular enemy; each sacrificial death drawing them closer to their objective.

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Day 448; 1736 (Late Afternoon)
Focus: 513

513’s eyes shuffled between several locations as he worked to suppress the encroaching enemy with a non-stop barrage of rock bullets. 

Visibility in the battlefield was constantly decreasing due to the accumulation of smoke from the fires. Fortunately, 513 was able to alleviate this issue by using True Sense and actively deploying his heightened senses.

As the bullets tore through the smoke at high speeds, the rancid stench of burning blood swirled and pervaded the air. But having grown accustomed to the foulness, 513 paid it no mind.

Looking towards the wall, several mounds, untouched by flames, were stacked with bloodied and disfigured bodies. They had grown so large that spiders from the top of the wall were actively using the mounds as slides to reach the ground in record time. 

513: “Shit!”

513 frowned as he cursed at his predicament.

As more of the spiders found ways to safely reach the ground, the rocks that he had relied on to eliminate stragglers and priority targets, finally ran out. 

Removing his attention from the battlefield, he hastily took inventory of his supplies, not forgetting to pulse True Sense out at short intervals. This exercise was followed by exhausting his heightened senses to their limits. 

With the battle growing more intense, 513 had purposefully split his mental processing into several segments, in an attempt to perform multiple concurrent tasks. The act greatly taxed his acuity, but it was a necessary burden given the situation. 

As a result, his condition had degraded considerably, and this only worsened over time. His emotions and mental state churned between inebriation, inexplicable lucidity, irritation, drowsiness, and more. Sometimes, experiencing several ailments at the same time.

He could barely keep his eyes from shutting due to his growing fatigue, and would not find it surprising if hallucinations took hold of his mind at any given moment. The splitting headache -- as if someone was playing the drums with his brain -- also didn’t help his cause.

[Is this what those weebs call 'Parallel Thinking'?] He wondered, before tossing the thought aside.

Rather than lampoon the hidden merits found within fantasy novels which he had read during his leisurely hours as a bachelor on Earth, he strained his face and counted the remaining supplies displayed in front of him.

Aside from the melee weapons he carried on his person, he had a total of sixty nine javelin darts. Of those, forty seven were ignition tips, thirteen were standard tips, and nine were whistle tips -- all of which had been gathered from several weapon caches he had passed while tactically retreating from one location to the next.

513: “Not enough.”

He grumbled.

[These ignition tips can only show their greatness when the enemy is grouped together. Unfortunately, these spiders are intelligent and actively scatter, so at the moment, they are only as effective as the normal javelin darts. In addition, the whistle tips I’ve gathered are useless in the current situation. Instead, I should...I sho...eh?...] 

Due to splitting up his mind to perform various simultaneous tasks, his thought process suffered. As such, his mind went blank.

513: “Fuck this.”

He immediately cancelled True Sense, freeing up some mental power. Afterwards, he continued his pondering.

[...instead of using the darts to directly deal damage, I should inflict damage indirectly by activating traps that have yet been triggered and/or are being avoided.]

Satisfied, he congratulated himself by fist bumping the barricade, then got to work.

After loading the atlatl, 513 revealed himself from behind cover and launched the first javelin dart towards the densest grouping of spiders. 

The dart sailed through the air, narrowly hitting several trip wires that would have released a few traps too early.

*THUD*

With a loud noise similar to a lead weight hitting soft wood, the javelin dart met its mark, punching through the thick exoskeleton of a False Arachne as it was jumping between trees. The powerful impact violently shoved its body backwards towards a large cluster of trip wires. As its body shivered and curled up into a ball, it broke through several layers of wires on its descent towards the ground.

The large group that had been closely following the now dead spider as a guide, were instantly met with a dizzying amount of resistance from a torrent of released traps.

Tensioned branches whipped towards the group with an excessive amount of kinetic force, causing every spider in its path to instantly explode on contact; sharpened sticks that had been hidden in the canopy tops assaulted the group like a rain of arrows, skewering dozens of spiders like kebabs, pinning their squirming bodies to the ground; large boulders that were tied up with composite rope swung towards the group like an uncontrolled wrecking ball, smashing spiders against trees before swinging towards another direction to smash more; giant bolas glided through the air, entangling a few spiders at time and hampering their advance. Meanwhile, weights located on the ends of each bola smashed into the bodies of nearby spiders while constricted around their original targets, sending the smashed spiders into nearby trees at terrifying speeds.

In a blink of an eye, several hundred spiders that had been sneaking past the traps had died, and many more were heading towards their graves.

513 did not stick around to watch the ensuing chaos and searched for more targets to maximize his remaining ammunition.

Like a revolving door, similar scenes played out in various parts of the battlefield until 513 had run out of ammunition.

He then tossed the atlatl towards the supply cart located quite a distance away, vowing to find it when the battle was over, and uncoiled a composite whip -- made from Whipperwood, False Arachne silk, and Lentipede leather -- wrapped around his utility belt. Taking a few deep breaths, he mentally prepared himself to engage in melee combat.

Although he inflicted heavy damages to the army of spiders, there still seemed to be an endless amount that continued to flow towards his location.

[Was it wise of me to save my strength for close quarters combat? Would I have eliminated more of the enemy if I had expended more power with my throws?] He queried, slightly regretting not putting more effort into his long range attacks.

He still had a few contingencies left, but decided to only use them when necessary. Now was not the proper time.

*CRACK* *CRACK*

513 lightly waved the whip around, causing two loud explosions of noise to crack from the tip. A radiating sphere of concussive force spread out from each point of explosion, gradually dissipating into the air as it had not come into contact with any solid object.

Seeing this, 513 was both surprised and a little disappointed.

513: “Haaah...this is embarrassing.”

He muttered, deflated by how reality did not meet his expectations.

[I wanted to be like Sindiana Jonez...instead, I feel more like a dominatrix…]

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Day 448; 1738 (Late Afternoon)
Focus: Family of Seers

In a modestly decorated but opulently large bedroom located within the expansive borders of the Teroseribe estate, slept a young boy with auburn hair and olive skin. 

His features were gentle and innocent, like a life sized doll. However, his current circumstance was dire.

Sweat drenched his high quality clothing as a look of fear and terror firmly contorted on his face. 

Next to him, two figures knelt beside the bed, desperately clasping their hands together as if praying to a higher being. 

One was a handsome, stoic gentleman with a few prominent wrinkles and several aged scars decorating his face which indicated his age and years of activity in the wild. The other, a beautiful, athletic, and graceful woman whose soft and gentle curves exuded power, wisdom, and traces of irresistible seduction.

The two figures were like statues as they helplessly watched the boy suffer; they were the young boy's parents, and they could do nothing for him as he slept.

The couple feared that any intervention would bring about a corruption of the mind, so they subdued their anger and worry. They could only observe.

As time passed, the opulent room was gradually filled with silence, only to be interrupted by the boy's occasional pained screams.

After a prolonged period, the boy's father finally spoke.

Father: "Lionel has entered the vision. He is now navigating the scenes."

No emotion could be heard in his voice as he succinctly expressed the situation. 

In the past, he too had undergone similar trials. It was only until he had become an adult, at the age of twenty, did the visions in his own dreams stop.

The only difference was that, unlike him and many others who shared the same fate, his son had already exceeded the average number of visions any one individual would experience in their lifetime, and by several fold.

Deep inside, the boy's father worried for his son's safety and mental health, but he refused to show such emotions outwardly. Doing so was akin to admitting he was weak.

After speaking briefly, the boy's father quickly fell into solemn contemplation, and silence returned to the large bedroom.

Beside him, the boy's mother tightened the grip on her hands and reluctantly nodded in agreement.

She ignored the blood pooling under her nails and freshly bruised skin -- a result of her forceful grip -- and helplessly whispered to herself.

Mother: "Lionel...Lionel, please be alright."

---Chapter End