Dante's face tensed as he tried to dart his eyes back and forth, staring either at the cave entrance or the hole above. He couldn't block the hole above, and he didn't dare leave the sleeping pod to find another hiding place.
After a while of staring upward, a chill ran down his spine—he realized something had just passed through the shadows in the distance. More than that, the sound of legs scraping against the ground was growing clearer, signaling that something was coming.
Dante tucked his dagger into his belt and picked up a stone, ready to hurl it at anything that emerged from the darkness.
And then, it came.
The shadowy form of a spider appeared from above—then a second, and a third. Three. Dante still felt like he had a chance.
He readied his throwing stance, arm stretched behind him, and launched the stone forward. It sliced through the air and struck the head of the nearest spider, making a sound like a coconut being tapped—but the spider didn't fall. Dante had missed its eye.
The other two spiders crawled over their companion and advanced.
Dante quickly prepared another stone and threw it at one of the moving targets. But before it could land, the spider dropped on its own—perhaps it was dodging or simply slipped.
Either way, the spider landed on its back, couldn't get up immediately, eight of it limb point upward. Look pretty funny if it's not trying to devour him.
Dante seized the opportunity and slammed his stick down hard on its head. Slime splattered from the blow. Glancing up, he saw one spider still clinging to the wall, while the other seemed stunned, possibly dazed from the earlier hit.
Wasting no time, Dante struck again. Once. Twice. He destroyed the spider's head completely. Then, pulling out another stone, he aimed for the stunned one—before suddenly switching targets to the spider now only three meters away. This time, his aim was true. The stone smashed into one of its eyes, dealing significant damage. The spider screeched in pain.
Dante grinned grimly and advanced, trying to finish it off.
But in that moment, he forgot something.
While finishing off the second spider, a dark shape dropped from the ceiling—right above him.
Dante spun around, just barely able to hear its surface thoughts as it ambushed him—but it was too late. He raised his stick to block the attack as the spider's jaws snapped toward his head. He shouted, struggling to stay balanced, but eventually fell with the spider on top of him. Thankfully, it hadn't bitten him yet—who knew if its fangs were venomous?
As they hit the ground, his stick was flung out of reach. Desperate, Dante tried to push the spider off with his hands.
It resisted and quickly regained its footing, swinging its sharp forelegs. Dante, sensing its intent through its mind, lifted his arm to block. One strike slashed across his left hand, nearly severing it.
With a roar of pain, he kicked the spider away with all his strength, then lunged to retrieve his stick using his good hand.
Now, the fight was truly dangerous.
The spider charged. Dante anticipated its move, raising the stick to deliver a powerful counterattack. He poured all his focus into the strike. The spider sensed it and abruptly stopped, trying to retreat.
But Dante had expected that, through what it is thinking.
He stepped forward and brought the stick down on its head with a sickening crack. Green ichor splattered everywhere.
He struck it again, finishing it off for good.
Dante looked around. Only two spider corpses.
"Wait... I could've sworn there were three. Where's the other one?"
He look around the area, but the last spider was nowhere to be found. Relieved, he collapsed to the ground.
"Maybe it ran off," he muttered.
Looking at his bloodied left hand, Dante felt a wave of sorrow and frustration. He had never been this badly hurt before. The searing pain twisted his face into a grimace. If anyone had been there, he would've screamed just to be heard. But in solitude, he stayed silent—that was just his way.
Now, all he could do was wait. Hope that someone would come rescue him.
One hour. Two. Twenty.
No one came.
He stared at the sleeping pod. Maybe he hadn't pressed the emergency button?
He pressed it again, and again—checking the dim screen beside it. The distress signal had already been sent. Nothing had changed.
But something still felt wrong.
His left hand was now wrapped in makeshift bandages, but it throbbed with pain. Physical agony, coupled with the mental torture of waiting in hopelessness.
"I can't believe this. No. No!"
Dante screamed.
"Why?! I didn't do anything wrong! I tried so hard! Why?!"
He couldn't accept it. Why was life so unfair?
Looking around, Dante faced a grim truth: if this went on, he would die here. His hand was ruined—he could barely care for himself. Sooner or later, more spiders would come. He could try to move on, to search for an exit... but what if he got even more lost?
After an eternity of stillness, something finally happened.
He heard footsteps. Just two legs.
What could it be?
Dante looked up. A shadowy figure was approaching. Slowly, the figure came into view.
"Is someone here?" the man called.
"I'm here!" Dante shouted back.
"Did you send the distress signal?" the man asked calmly.
"Yes, sir... Who are you?"
"Do not be afraid, young man," the stranger said, stepping into the light. "I am here by the guidance of the Lord, sent to deliver you."
The man introduced himself as Father Marius, a cleric of the Ordo Caelestis—an ancient faith whose followers believed in divine guidance and the sanctity of all souls.
With firm hands and a calming voice, Marius tended to Dante's wounds, gave him water, and helped him to his feet.
"You were fortunate," the man said. "Most are not so lucky in these depths."
Dante didn't respond immediately. Relief, pain, and exhaustion swirled inside him. He looked once more at the shattered spiders, then at his wounded hand—and finally, at the man who had saved him.
He was alive.
For now.