Before she could finish speaking, the slit in the cocoon before her snapped shut again—tight and seamless.
Albert's fingertips twitched.
The white cocoon woven of spider silk rapidly caved inward, as if the air inside were being forcibly siphoned out. In an instant, thicker, denser layers of silk wrapped around it, sealing it into an airtight vacuum sack.
The webbing continued to collapse, stealing what little oxygen remained inside.
Yannie screamed in terror. Soon, she could no longer even scream.
Albert frowned slightly, staring down at the cocoon on the ground. Faint flecks of gold shimmered in the depths of his eyes.
He knew that with just a little more resolve—just one cold, ruthless thought—he could drain the last trace of air from the cocoon and end her life.
Just as a Dreadweaver spider would do to its prey—cruelly depriving an opponent of the final breath within their chest.
It would take no more than a single thought.
