And that’s when it fucking happened. The familiarity was like a floodgate had been flung open in my mind, and I felt it hard. Primal Rage. The taste of it was like molten copper on my tongue, the scent of it, pure adrenaline. A bestial roar clawed its way out of my chest, echoing out through the chaos like the fanfare of the damned.

I felt my very essence surge. Every fiber in my being screamed with a raw, savage delight that was both terrifying and intoxicating. I could feel the adrenaline coiling in my gut, ready to explode into action, a wildfire raging beneath my skin.

I was going to kill everything. Everything. It would die. I would destroy. Destroy. Destroy. Fucking murder it all and drag them into hell on my back.

In my haze, the screams around me faded into the background, drowned out by the throbbing pulse of my own heartbeat—war drums. My muscles vibrated, twitched, alive with an intensity that made the rest of my life seem like a muted, watercolor dream.

I could hear the hissing of the spiders, could taste the stench of their venom on the back of my tongue, could see the intricate patterns on their burning carapaces. Everything was magnified, distilled to its purest, rawest form. I was no longer just Loon. I was a force of nature, a hurricane made flesh.

I was fucking alive.

My body moved without my command, cleaving a bloody path through the swarm of fiery spiders. Each slash, each thrust of my blade was met with a gush of arachnid innards, their chitinous bodies parting before my scorn. Blood—mine, theirs, who the fuck cared—spattered across my skin, a macabre masterpiece in crimson. But each wound, each prick of pain only spurred me on, fueling the inferno inside me. I was a goddamned phoenix, born anew in blood and fire.

The pain? Oh, it was there, a myriad of tiny mouths gnawing at my flesh. But it was distant, muffled beneath the uncaged animal that roared in my veins. Each bite, each scratch was simply proof of my existence, a beautiful ode to my indomitable will. Pain was nothing and everything.

Fuck, it felt good.

With each spider that fell before me, I moved closer and closer to the big one, the twisted beast that commanded this horde of spawn. It was a mountain, a god amongst these insects, but to me, it was just another target. What good is a candle flame against the infernos of hell? The war drums were pounding. Pounding. Pounding. A wild, visceral beat that matched the rhythm of my onslaught. Pounding.

I was coming for it, the symphony of my wrath growing ever louder, the world painted in shades of red and fire. And I was grinning like a madman, lusting for the taste of victory, for the heady rush of the kill.

I was on the war path, and I was loving every goddamn second of it.

I didn’t know how long I lived in the din. Dwelled in the mire of the mayhem—beautiful fucking mayhem. It was only a moment. It was infinity. I devoured the space keeping me from the big one, dashing the flock of its believers. I stabbed. I struck. A spider leaped into my path, intent on a feast of my flesh but I caught its flaming body in my hands—hands built for murder. I yanked the monster forward and crashed my skull against its head.

SLAM.

SLAM.

SLAM.

SLAM.

Again and again I cudgeled it against my crown and left it a demolished husk when I was done, hurling its body into the tide rising against me and continuing forward. I stabbed a beast through the abdomen, wrenching upward, ripping its bowels out. Then I stuffed my hand inside and seizing the guts and tangling them around my fist as I broke another pyronid with pure pummeling anger. The creatures continued, but so did I. I saw the edge, my quarry in my sights, not far. Battling. Warming up to its death by my hands.

With a final, savage bellow, I hurled myself toward the big fucker, my blade gleaming like a comet's tail in the fiery glow. The world tilted on its axis as I left the ground, the raging force in me detonating like a supernova.

I hit it like a goddamn cannonball. There was a screech of surprise as I plowed into its massive body, and for a brief, glorious moment, I was the eye of the storm. I was a whirlwind of violence, a maelstrom of destruction. My blade cut into the spider’s body, black ichor erupting from its wounds and splattering across my arms.

I was a tempest, a typhoon of raw, unfiltered power. My fists, hardened by the feeling coursing through me, slammed into the spider's face. Each strike was a promise of pain, each kick a declaration of dominance. I was the embodiment of fury, the avatar of wrath.

I laughed. A savage, throaty chuckle that teetered at the brink of a mindless abyss. The joy of it, the thrill was like a drug, and I was fucking high.

I howled.

—

Rua's mind grappled with the enormity of the arachnid onslaught. It was a seething, frenzied sea of fiery bodies that surged toward them in endless waves. The sheer volume of these horrors was mind-boggling—they were an inexhaustible tide of destruction that battered against them, crashing in ceaseless, relentless waves. While she posited they must not be high level, they were so numerous that it hardly mattered. She’d already seen several of the members of the settlement fall to their combined strength, their desperate cries for help swallowed by the roaring tumult of battle, and that was not even considering what would happen if they didn’t kill the gargantuan spider soon. The monster towered above the rest, a monument to their impending doom. Its rugged, flaming armor seemed impervious to the combined attacks of Saban, Edwig, and herself. Despite their unyielding assault, the creature persisted, seemingly undeterred, the flames in its eyes undiminished.

Edwig had been calling upon his Copy Spell, which was currently mimicking attacks from Dalton—Alpha’s second-in-command. The elf was nearby, though he was using his abilities to fend off the encroaching horde. Rua didn't fully understand the mechanics, but she knew Edwig's actions reinforced her own attacks as he cast the mirrored effects on the Behemoth Blade. She thought it might be some kind of non-elemental Spell, as it lacked the distinct characteristics of fire, water, lightning—common elements she had come to associate with much of the world’s Arcana. Her knowledge of Regaia’s arcane intricacies remained limited, a lamentable fact that bothered her more than she cared to admit. She hoped that would change eventually—the prospect of delving into the logistics of Regaia was pretty enticing. But she’d have to survive first. Which meant putting down this current threat.

Amid the chaos, she moved with coryphée grace, wielding the Behemoth Blade with surprising ease. Its curious lightness belied its enormous size, and its perfect balance gave her the illusion of fighting with a much smaller weapon. In her grip, the ancient steel felt like an extension of herself—a lethal dance partner that moved with her in a butcher’s ballet.

She reveled in the surge of adrenaline that made her senses sharp, her movements quick. But beneath the exhilaration, a persistent question gnawed at her mind: How were they to overcome such overwhelming odds? The thought was like an insistent whisper in the back of her mind, a quiet voice drowned by the battle but not entirely silenced.

Even as she attacked, her mind raced. Strategies, tactics, desperate plans, all whirled in a frenzied vortex of thought. She knew they needed a breakthrough, a decisive strike to turn the tide. But what? And how?

As she cleaved through another wave of arachnids, Rua felt a grimness settle within her. One way or another, they would find a way.

Rua's gaze was pulled from the monstrous spider she was battling when a bloodcurdling roar cut through the frenzy of the fight. It was like the baying of a wolf, a savage call to arms that made her blood chill and her heart pound.

Her eyes fell on Loon, wading through the last of the fiery arachnids, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was covered in blood and soot, his eyes ablaze with an unholy light. She had seen him fight before, but never with such animalistic intensity.

There was an odd thrill that tugged at her, a morbid fascination as she watched him. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, her breath hitching in her chest. She was struck with a sudden realization; this was a man who not only embraced the chaos but thrived in it.

And then, with the finality of a guillotine, Loon howled and launched himself at the monstrous beast.

He crashed into the titanic spider, a guttural screech escaping the monster as it bucked beneath his impact. For a single, suspended heartbeat, there was quiet. But then Loon had transformed into pure rage. His blade bit into the spider, spewing its lifeblood.

He continued. His fists pummeled the spider's hideous face. And he laughed. A sound as wild and unhinged as the scene unfolding around them, teetering dangerously on the edge of madness. The sheer ecstasy of battle, the intoxicating thrill of the kill danced in his eyes, fuel mainlined in his blood-soaked euphoria.

But all of that dissolved in an instant just as the Primal Rage seemed to leave his body. His eyes softened, his body relaxed, and despite the severity of the situation, he seemed to return to a more confused state. Of course, that was also when the spider connected with a powerful blow that caught Loon off guard and sent him soaring over the battlefield, landing right in the thick of the writhing mass of spiders.

“Oh, Loon…” she groaned.

—

“WUHHHHHHHH?!” I choke-screamed confusedly as I was fucking punted straight outta the fight and into…another, more annoying fight. I landed in the swarm of spiders with a crunch, and I screamed again reflexively—prepared to find out I’d broken my neck. But, I realized from the cries beneath me, that I’d actually broken something else: a spider.

I rolled off quickly and inspected my kill. I’d been wrong: it was four spiders.

“Ha! Take that, ya varmints!” I cheered.

But man, these motherfuckers were not at all interested in letting up. Like British soldiers in a Revolutionary War movie, they simply filled in the gaps where their comrades had fallen and swarmed me. That was when several loud thwacks thundered from somewhere beyond the scope of my immediate fight. Spiders fell dead around me, crossbow bolts in their bodies. I glanced up from the direction they looked like they’d come and saw the human who’d arrived with Alpha, posted atop the train wreck, one eye closed, the other staring down the sight of the crossbow like a sniper. I gave him a wave of thanks and he nodded, then sent a few more bolts over the course of as many seconds, and I realized he was clearing a path for me.

Well, far be it from me to look a gift horse in the—

“Ah! Bitch!” I screamed. I’d fucking stepped on one of the dead spider’s fangs in it’s stupid open mouth, and that was when my Health bar went full booger green and I suddenly got hit with a chubby case of the woozy-wobblies.

You are Confused!

Hey, hey, you've got a...Is it a bee? A leetle baby beeee. Beebee. No! It's a case of venom in your veins! …Or was it gravy in your socks? Eh, who's counting? Six. No! Sheleven! I’m confused, you’re confused, we’re ALL confused—but I’m confused too!

Minus: a lot of stuff, man.

Intelligence: woof.

Wisdom: Double woof.

How did you get that hand towel? Give it back water! Give it back—water! WATER!

How long's this party going for? Oh, let's say 60…somethings. Could be minutes. Could be days. Could be really, really short years. Wait, are you going to die? Heheheheh! Ha! Oh…what’re we laughing four times eight? SIXTEEN!

Confusion! Confusion! Confusion! Saying it makes it go to jail. You’re under arrest.

I’m going to break this down for you. At the time, immediately following this oh-so-delightful prompt, this was roughly the way I was perceiving the world around me:

Land spinning. Woah. Woaaaah. I don’t feel so good in my head parts. Bad-style. I wanna make puking happen, but I dunno which way is up, down, or up. Swaying. Uh-oh. Oh, I’m fine—no I’m not! Am I…drunk? Am I super-drunk? Do I want a sandwich? I should get a sandwich. Meat. Balllll.

Other stuff is biting me. Swat. Swat. Swat their silly-billy heads—why are they still biting? Little buggers. Ignore! There we go. Going to the…place. The big spider place. This bitey stuff keeps dying because the long wood things are biting them back. My helpful friend is being helpful. What a good guy. He’s gettin’ a Christmas card! Why does everything smell like pain? Oh, right. It’s Saturday. LIVE FROM NEW YORK, IT’S—Ow. I fell.

Where is that sandwich I asked for? Nevermind, I’ll just get it myself. Dammit, getting more bites. Why? Because I asked for a sandwich?

MORE CONFUSION

You.

Blug. This ain’t good.

Muscles: Ham's shake. Thinkity-Winkity: Sharp as a pair of curtains. Dex…dextorily: Flamingo playin’ maracas! Ham’s shake 2: Midi-chlorians are the powder hutch of the smell.

I’m going to tell you right now—I don’t really know what happened for most of the rest of that, but at some point I came to, mid-step into a particularly nasty little patch of flaming grass. I paused, the entire world suddenly roaring to life with pain.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I screamed.

Christ fuck! Everything hurt so fucking bad! Fuck!

I zeroed in on my Health bar and almost screamed again.

3 / 550 Health remaining!

I was gonna die! Thankfully, as I looked around, covered in burns, punctures—and something purple on the crotch of my breeches that I was absolutely not going to ask questions about—I could see a trail of dead spider bodies marking my passage. Worse was, I’d meandered off course and was now near the outskirts of the skirmish. The number of spiders had dwindled considerably, but not enough to make them give up and go home, apparently. There was still easily a hundred of the fuckers moving around attacking people. I was now well out of sprinting distance of the big spider. At least I could get my bearings and—ah, shit.

The spiders are still coming for me.