Measures

Before I could gain any kind of idea out of this mess, the Matriarch blinked closer, limbs twitching with venomous purpose, she shot a thick strand of webbing that hit my shield with a wet slap, then yanked back in one smooth motion.

The shield tore from my arm and sailed through the air, vanishing under her enormous body, now stuck awkwardly beneath her abdomen like some sick trophy.

No shield. No allies in reach.

Just me.

She raised her front legs in preparation to lunge. I knew that posture—she was readying herself for the kill.

Just at that moment I remembered.

The owlbear.

I dropped my focus into my palm, hastily removed a glove, and reached out with my bare hand, pressing it to the nearest part of her glossy exoskeleton—hot, firm, and twitching with tension.

Curse of the Trembling Skin

The spell discharged instantly, a ripple of glowing pink arcanum spreading across her leg, illuminating in stark contrast against her black and blue chitin. The curse glyph shimmered like it was blushing.

The Matriarch froze.

A strange sound escaped her—something between a wet click and a croak. A non-moan. Her massive body shuddered, and she took a hesitant step back.

Was she… embarrassed?

She blinked away again—this time not with bloodlust, but almost a kind of evasive shame. Her long legs tapped nervously against the stone platform.

Then she made another loud screaming hiss.

The egg sacs around her burst open like boils, spraying silk and twitching limbs. The second wave of spiderlings scuttled from their nests—small, but fast and numerous.

“Shadowheart!” I shouted. “Now!”

She didn’t hesitate.

Raising both arms, she channeled the last of her major magic and launched a second fireball toward the heart of the cluster—right where the Matriarch stood surrounded by her young.

The fireball exploded, engulfing the entire section in flame. The web bridges went up in streaks of white heat. Spiderlings popped like grapes, their tiny bodies curling to ash. When the smoke cleared, she stood almost completely unharmed.

She had evaded it. Her armor—already thick—now partially helped by the magic of the stolen shield, had blunted the worst of it, and even if the curse had heightened her sensitivity, her armor shell protected her from most of its effects. The spell had worked, but not enough.

And now she was angry.

The surrounding egg sacs caught flame and began to erupt in small chain reactions—saving us from another wave of hatchlings—but that was small comfort.

Karlach and Lae’zel, both bloodied from their own fights, finally stumbled into view. Their movements were slower, poisoned wounds streaking their skin. But they weren’t stopping.

Karlach’s chest still glowed strong. Her mouth twisted in pain with every step, but she lifted her axe again and snarled. “Big bitch doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.”

Lae’zel’s lips curled as she raised her sword. “I will take her head, even if it costs me my own.”

They weren’t going to let me stand alone.

Shadowheart stared, frozen, a small flame dancing in her fingertips. “That was all I had,” she whispered. “I can’t… I only have small firebolts. And healing. That’s it.”

I met her eyes with fear.

The Matriarch turned slowly, her legs clattering against the cracked stone as she rotated. Her body gleamed with residual flame, and her many eyes blinked in eerie rhythm. She didn’t charge. Not yet.

She took her time.

Her gaze swept across Shadowheart, paused on Karlach, then lingered briefly on Lae’zel before circling back.

She was… choosing.

Her feet tapped a rhythm into the stone—eager, expectant. Not the hunting pattern from before.

She was enjoying this.

There was intelligence in her movements now. Not mindless predation. Not instinct.

She was toying with us.