Ares drifted between consciousness and oblivion, his body barely registering sensation beyond the dull, throbbing agony that pulsed through his limbs. Each breath sent sharp stabs through his ribs. His arms refused to move. His legs felt like dead weight.

  How long had he been out? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

  Slowly, his senses sharpened. The cold stone beneath him. The faint dampness in the air. The metallic taste of blood on his tongue. The distant sound of dripping water echoing in the vast, unseen space around him.

  Then—another sound.

  A faint, deliberate clicking.

  His heartbeat stuttered.

  The sound was slow, measured, coming from somewhere beyond the edge of his blurred vision. Not random. Not the idle scurrying of an insect.

  Something was moving. Watching. Waiting.

  Ares forced his eyes open, blinking away the haze. Shapes emerged in the dim glow of the cave’s bioluminescent fungi—broken stone pillars, shattered walls, remnants of something ancient. But his gaze barely lingered on them.

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  Because it was there.

  The spider.

  Perched on the uneven rock ahead, its many legs curled inward in a mockery of stillness. Its grotesque, bulbous body was half-shrouded in the shadows, only the faint shimmer of its dark exoskeleton visible beneath the pale light. Waiting.

  Ares’ breath hitched. Why wasn’t it attacking? It had every reason to finish him off. He was weak, injured—easy prey.

  And then, a horrifying realization settled over him.

  It had already won.

  The monster had no reason to rush. It wasn’t just a mindless killer—it was a predator. One that understood patience.

  A shiver crawled up his spine.

  It must have done this before. Countless times.

  Why expend energy when its prey could barely move? Why waste venom when time would do the work for it? A trapped animal was already dead—it just didn’t know it yet.

  Ares wasn’t just being hunted.

  He was being processed.

  His breathing quickened, panic clawing at his chest. I need to move. If he stayed still, if he remained weak, it would eventually decide he was ready—ready to be wrapped, stored, and consumed at its leisure.

  He tried to shift his arm. A spike of pain shot through his shoulder. His fingers trembled. Too slow. Too weak.

  The clicking sound came again. This time, closer.

  Ares gritted his teeth. His mind screamed at him to run, to fight, to do anything but lie there waiting to die. But his body refused. His strength wasn’t there.

  And the spider knew it.

  Still watching. Still waiting.

  Ares wasn’t sure what terrified him more—that it hadn’t killed him yet… or that it knew exactly when it would.