Monster Breeder

Defense Team - Field Town (Opal) 

A powerful presence rolls over us like a wave. I haven't felt anything this menacing from a monster before. Not even the Goblin Witch can fill the air with such a potent miasma of dread. I don't think it's a spell or ability. I just know deep in my bones...

"You're so fucked," I tell the Nyassassin.

Then the thread of magical connection linking me to the Shiekh thrums with energy. What is this? A surge of magic is flooding into me through the bond! My Belly Dancer veil transforms before my eyes, and I look down to see frills and laces adorning my humanoid torso. Wait, am I a maid, now?

…I don't know what else I expected with Spindle involved. 

I struggle to rise, my Nyassassin opponent temporarily retreating to assess the situation, and watch as the Sand Goblin tribe transforms. Gone are the endless wrappings that cover their faces. Instead, each Goblin wears purple silk tunics with white stitching, a tool pouch at the waist, and an odd-looking harness. Their hair is all done up in fine buns secured with elaborate pins. Additionally, the Hobs have scabbards swinging at their sides. Our former Belly Dancers are now dressed in elegantly-styled fine silk robes. 

Every garment and accessory is dripping with Spider-motif imagery... Because of course they are. 

“Ladies and gentle Goblin Genin, Hobgoblin Chunin, Cactus Geisha, Kobold Maikos, and a theme-breaking Melusine Maid because Spindle can’t help herself, please meet your new Daimyo.” The Goblin 'Shiekh', as he was once known, is no longer bound and gagged. However, he's now wearing an ornate silk robe that seems to weigh heavily on him as he sits on a raised platform. His skin is wrinkled and withered as if he's aged fifty years in a day. He stares at Spindle hard, his eyes bulging with hate.

"What have you done to me, you bitch?!?"

"Fu fu fu, you should be thanking her. You're more powerful than ever and on a much easier path to a Tier-up. You won't even have to lift a finger~"

"B-but I can barely budge these creaky old bones! I don't think I can even get an erection at this age..."

“Ah-ahem," the weaving spider ignores his complaints to continue, "And this simple servant will be your humble Webling Wasaishi.” Humble? Hardly. Beside this 'Daimyo' stands Spindle in all her prideful glory. She wears the most elegant, most elaborate silk dress of them all, lilac and white decorated with spider lilies and exquisite arachnids. Her skin is bone-white, her fingernails and eight eyes glowing amethysts. Her stature and appearance are otherwise unchanged, though. Huh. If I hadn't felt the dangerous aura radiating from her, I'd question whether she had actually evolved.

"Strange. How can this be?" The cat-masked figure seems curious about the Goblins' odd transformation. I vaguely recall an ancient saying about curious cats. I wonder if it proves true.

Chuckling with delight at our reactions, the Webling happily explains, "Spindle did some tinkering with the Leadership bond connecting these monsters using her Ritual. She rearranged the power structure so more energy circulates back into the subordinate Promotions instead of pooling at the top. The peculiarities you see in their appearances are simply a few personal touches she added, not unlike the way an artist scrawls their signature on a painting. Then she 'volunteered' her services to the new Daimyo—and may have taken some liberties with her fair portion of the energy allotment. One might uncharitably claim Spindle sucked him dry like a fat fly caught in her web to customize her ideal Evolution while keeping him as 'Leader' in name only... Ahem, it is technically a beneficial arrangement for all involved, though."

"Impawsible..." The cat-masked figure is stunned by this revelation.

All four of Spindle's hands are busy the entire time weaving a roughly fairy-sized spider made entirely of Dark Magic threads. The arachnid’s body has the same textile appearance as her dress. "It seems our guests have made a rather unsightly mess. As hosts, it's our responsibility to clean it up."

As Spindle finishes her creation, the woven spider animates, crawling away as if alive. 

Suddenly, my attention is drawn aside by skittering movement. There are a dozen of those fabric spiders at work across the room. Wherever they find a cut or gash on our allies, they stitch it closed! Their threadwork is better than any I've seen done by hand; the wounds are almost invisible now except for the stitching.

Then I feel the tickle of tiny limbs on my body. In moments, I'm no longer bleeding out, though I'm no less woozy from blood loss. A prick on my neck changes that. Battle-readiness flushes through me, banishing the darkness of oblivion creeping in at the edges of my vision. I'm clear-headed and vertical before the marvel of it registers. Is that adrenaline-boosting venom at work? 

It's not healing, exactly, as the damage remains. No one understands the ‘what’ of all Spindle did. We only know that she accomplished something previously inconceivable. The rest of the defenders and I are all ready to go at it once more. We’re back in the fight!

The cat-masked Nyassassins are as stoic as ever despite the turning tides. They don't wither beneath the Webling's piercing gaze—a look which fills me with dread, and I'm not even Spindle's target! 

"Stop! My baby!" Mrs. Fleece screams, her fur flashing with Electric Magic as she runs in our direction from out of the underground Warren. Tears stream down her cheeks as she scans about for her child. "They took my Scotty!"

"Spindle, the Nyassassins are a distraction; they're abducting Alex's classmates!" I shout while glaring at shadows for the Nyanjas, but it seems they're incredibly hard to spot even with prisoner passengers. 

The Webling frowns with disapproval and pulls on a heretofore concealed string. "Naughty, naughty."

Textile Spiderlings shoot arcs of silk at calculated angles across the pavilion on her signal. I blink, and there are purple-glowing tripwires as far as the eye can see with more appearing by the moment. Arachnids scurry every which way along the threads, hopping from tightrope to tightrope while making connections and anchoring yet more strings. 

A Nyanja trips and falls on a sticky thread during their dash between shadows, their ankle yanked out from under them as they're hoisted into the air upside-down. The human woman in their arms, I don't remember her name, slips free of their grasp and lands in a safety net. One of the Spiderlings starts spinning the trapped Nyanja into a straitjacket as they mewl in protest. 

All three Nyassassins become whirlwinds of blades upon seeing this; they abandon all pretense at fighting us and focus everything on cutting through the spider webbing. The sharp edges of their Nyanjatos bite through Dark Magic threads as easily as flesh. This will be a race to the finish.

"Don't let any of them get away!" I yell while chasing after the feminine cat mask. She thinks she can ignore me?!? But I admit I'm nowhere near the speed of the Nyassassins, and spitting venom into this chaotic crowd is begging for friendly fire. I refuse to give up, though! We can't let Alex down!

Having forgone defense and evasion to ensure the success of their skulking fellows, the Nyassassins are vulnerable—We can't catch the Nyanjas, but we can do this much. With how frequently the cat-masked figures dart about, it’s almost easier to stay put and wait for them to draw near before taking a shot at them. My sizzling tail leaves another burn mark on one, three Doggins score hits with their batons, and a Lizardman's spear draws blood as the enemy ignores us to cut loose the Nyanja. They're damn tough, though, not making a sound when they should be in immense pain from the damage we've inflicted. At least the human woman is bodily shielded by more Lizardmen. 

Spindle is intent on creating and directing her Spiderlings, who in turn hunt the Nyanjas through the dark corners of the pavilion. She can't spare any attention for the cat masks at the moment. However, she's already shifted things in our favor. 

The former Sand Goblins and Hobs activate their harnesses with seemingly instinctual knowledge. Puffs of purple smoke propel grappling hooks that latch onto the pavilion's framework and haul them into the air on Dark Magic threads. They swing through the air toward their adversaries with nimble adroitness. They slice with sharp, steel blades or throw spider-shaped shuriken with improved aerodynamics and precision.

Our ‘Cactus Geisha,’ as Spindle calls them, appear to have received a boost to their magic. Their Water Magic jets have upgraded to cannons that knock enemies back on impact or spin them around at a glancing blow. The Kobold Maikos shoot small balls of purple fire from their mouths as they patrol the corners of the room.

Just then, a mouse wearing a cactus-leather jerkin and holding a tiny bow scampers into the melee. “Cats… Why did it have to be cats…?” The Needle Mouse’s sharp eyes find vulnerable targets among the felines that he nails with his pointy projectiles. His arrows strike Nyanjas slipping between shadows and distracted Nyassassins. He’s a crack shot with a knack for timing his attack to when the enemy is boxed in without the option to dodge. The small needles don’t do much damage, but he makes each shot count.

At his side, following him out of the New Warren burrow, are Diane and Tricia, the lop-eared Mochi Rabbit and her Komanezumi partner. Diane grabs fistfuls of her confectionery ears and throws them under the enemy’s paws. Anyone who steps on a ball of mochi finds their limb glued to the floor, limiting their movement. Tricia is on rescue duty, leading the humans who were dragged out here by Nyanjas to safety while dodging stray shuriken with her erratic gait.

Mrs. Fleece, in her sparking rage and grief, grabs a Nyassassin from behind to deliver an impressive shock. Blue arcs of light ground through the cat masked figure by the score before he tugs his arm out of the Electric Ewe's grasp. Steam rises from his black silks as he fights on. 

Janine the Hobgoblin Secretary shouts orders, directing the chaos as things get more and more hectic.

Simona and Rallos dog the heels of the Nyassassins at every turn with their chain-baton nunchaku. My burning claws rake the back of the feminine cat mask as she tries to slip by me to reach one of the humans we rescued. Venom darts from the Bee Girls turn the enemy into pincushions.

Lizardmen and Guard Doggins have every inch of floor covered with the reach of their spears and batons, giving the cat masks nowhere to run. Each spider silk string the Nyassassins cut comes at a steep cost. They pay it in blood and pain without complaint. They pay it until their limbs fall limp, or they grow entangled with the increasingly complex and dense webbing spun by Spindle’s Spiderlings. 

Two Nyassassins fold in on themselves, leaving behind empty bodysuits as they expire. Eight Nyanjas hang suspended by purple-glowing ropes, their arms and legs bound tight with silk strings, their paws trying in vain to kick off the mochi stuck to their toe beans.

Spindle gazes at the lot, her expression dissatisfied and severely cross with them, and then to the remains of her pavilion. Everything is either soaked, sticky, impaled with pointy projectiles, or smoldering with purple fire.

"M-Mission... Nyaccomplished," the Nyassassin woman croaks from where she dangles above the floor. Her body is covered with burns, cuts, and stab wounds. Her robes would be blood-red if they weren't black to begin with. Even her cat mask is cracked. "All units... r-report to the High Priestess."

““We are few, but our lives are many...”” the restrained Nyanjas say before making a weird, choking sound. Then, in unison, they all spit blood!

Simona realizes what's going on before anyone else. "They're biting their tongues!"

One by one, the Nyanjas' bodysuits collapse as their corpses disappear. 

All except for the last Nyassassin; though not for lack of trying. "Oh, no, you don't." Spindle herself has closed in on the final, feminine cat mask by now and pulled it aside. She jams a gag into the prisoner's mouth before this one can meet the same fate as her allies. "Spindle will personally ensure you survive until the healers return. Then you'll be made to regret making this mess."

"Scotty... my Scotty," Mrs. Fleece moans in despair as she falls on her knees. 

I look about with concern at the faces of the humans we managed to recover from the captured Nyanjas. "Has anyone seen Jenny and Julia?"

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