The vast, circular interior of the Araneta Coliseum, typically vibrant with the roar of a crowd or the blinding flash of concert lights, was now swallowed by an unnatural, choking darkness. The air hung thick and humid, heavy with the reek of damp concrete, stagnant water, and a sickeningly sweet, putrid scent that was unmistakably organic. The chittering I had heard outside grew louder, amplified by the cavernous acoustics of the dome, sounding less like small insects and more like the collective grinding of a thousand invisible teeth. I moved slowly, meticulously, the low-lying smoke from the street fires failing to penetrate the structure's main entrance, leaving me reliant on the flickering emergency lights that still stubbornly clung to life along the peripheral walkways, casting long, distorted shadows that mirrored the chaos in my mind.
I kept my back pressed against the cool, mold-dusted concrete of the wall, using the columns that once supported vendor stalls as cover, my senses unnaturally heightened by the Vestige I had absorbed from the massive beetle. That power settled in my core like a heavy, cold weight, granting me a sense of physical unbreakability that was both exhilarating and deeply unsettling. I could hear every scrape of my shoes on the floor, the frantic skittering of the spider-creatures echoing from the upper tiers, and the faint, muffled sounds of human life—a dry cough, a low sob—coming from the center of the arena floor. The silence between those sounds was the most terrifying thing of all, a vast, hungry vacuum that threatened to swallow my resolve whole if I let my concentration slip for even a second.
"Mark," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the constant, rhythmic hum of the hive that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. "Where are you?"
I rounded a corner near the section leading to the upper box seats and immediately dropped into a low crouch, my bent signpost held out in front of me like a primitive spear. The path ahead was covered in the sticky, silver residue of the spider-creatures' silk. It hung everywhere: draped over railings, coating the velvet seats in the lower box sections, and strung across the main corridor like grotesque, luminous Christmas decorations. It was tough, catching the weak light and shimmering with an oily sheen, and I knew instantly that getting tangled in it would be a death sentence, binding me tight for whatever horror was waiting in the dark to come and liquefy my insides.
A small creature, about the size of a cat but with eight spindly legs and too many eyes, dropped silently from the ceiling, landing with a soft plop directly in front of me. It let out a clicking hiss, its mandibles vibrating as it sensed my presence, the sound like dry leaves scraping together. I didn't hesitate. I shifted my weight, bringing the full, anchored stability of the beetle Vestige into play, and swung the signpost in a low, vicious arc that whistled through the dead air. The jagged metal sliced through the creature's carapace with a wet crunch, carrying enough force to shatter stone. It didn't even have time to shriek; it simply dissolved into a puddle of black ichor and detached limbs, twitching spasmodically on the linoleum.
No orb appeared from the mess, and I realized that only the larger, more powerful creatures—the ones at the top of the local food chain—contained the energy I needed to sustain this unnatural strength. The lesser creatures were just drones, disposable tools of the hive, and this observation sharpened the cold, calculating edge of my survival instinct. I was not meant to waste energy on the small fry; I was meant to conserve power for the essential targets, the ones that dropped the fuel I needed to keep going, the ones that would actually challenge the monster living under my skin.
"Stay focused, Kil," I muttered to myself, pushing past the remnants of the drone and wiping a splatter of black fluid from my cheek. "Get Mark and get out. Don't get greedy."
I continued my slow, methodical infiltration, navigating the maze of hallways that encircled the main seating area. The arena floor finally came into view through a wide service door that had been torn off its hinges, and the sight stopped me in my tracks, freezing the breath in my chest. The entire lower bowl, where the basketball court would usually be, had been transformed into a nightmare. The hardwood floor was gone, buried under layers of thick, gray webbing that spiraled outward from the center like a drain. Hundreds of civilians, some injured, most simply terrified, were clustered together in the center of the court, bound in loose cocoons that left only their heads exposed. They were livestock, corralled and preserved, waiting for the slaughter in a larder built of silk and despair.
And standing guard, weaving new strands of silk around the edges of the human flock with terrifying precision, were three massive arachnids—true spiders, roughly the size of jeepneys, their segmented legs clicking loudly on the polished floor. These were the apex predators of this current ecosystem, the queens or guardians of the nest, their bodies covered in thick, bristly hair that looked like iron wire.
My eyes frantically scanned the huddle of people, searching for a familiar face in the sea of misery. It was impossible to distinguish individual features from this distance in the dark, but the need to find him was a physical ache in my chest, a desperate hope that drove me forward. I knew I couldn't simply charge in; those creatures could probably blanket the entire floor with webbing in seconds, and even the beetle's shell wouldn't save me if I was immobilized and crushed under their combined weight. I needed a distraction, a way to thin the herd before I approached the main target, or at least a way to pull them out of position.
I retreated from the service door and found a winding, unused staircase leading to the upper tiers, the concrete steps cracked and covered in dust. The architectural design of the Coliseum was my only advantage now; these creatures might have strength and numbers, but I had a basic understanding of engineering and sightlines that they lacked. I began to climb, moving quickly but silently, using the soft rubber soles of my worn sneakers to dampen the sound on the steps.
Reaching the highest tier, I found myself in the VIP box section, a dark, empty space overlooking the entire arena like a throne room of the damned. I moved to the railing, peering down through the gloom. From this height, the layout of the nest was clearer. The main rift—the source of the entire infestation—was located directly above the center scoreboard, a slow-churning vortex of purple energy that occasionally spat out plumes of black smoke and, worryingly, more skittering drones that rained down onto the webs below. The creatures were coming in waves, birthed from the tear in reality itself. This wasn't a static invasion; it was an ongoing portal, a wound in the sky that refused to clot.
I spotted him. Mark. He was near the outer edge of the human cluster, recognizable by his thin, slumped posture and the distinct flash of light reflecting off his shattered glasses, which were dangling precariously from one ear. He wasn't fully cocooned yet—only his legs were bound—but he looked unconscious or severely injured, lying slumped against a wall of webbing.
He's alive. The relief was so profound it almost made me dizzy, washing over me like cold water, but the sight of his vulnerability instantly galvanized me.
I pulled out my phone again, noticing that the cracked screen still had enough battery life to be useful. No signal, of course—the world outside was likely burning—but the flashlight function still worked. I shielded the screen with my hand and aimed the weak beam at the largest, closest spider-beast on the arena floor.
The beam, tiny as it was, cut through the dark and landed directly on the creature's multi-faceted eyes. It hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pressure valve, and swiveled its enormous body with terrifying speed, its eyes fixed on the new source of light high above. It began to climb the web wall toward the nearest column supporting the upper tiers, clearly sensing a threat and moving to neutralize it.
"Too slow," I whispered, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I held the phone over the railing and dropped it.
It hit the polished floor near the spider with a surprisingly loud smack, the weak flashlight beam pointing directly at the arena floor, illuminating a patch of sticky webbing. The spider paused, confused by the sudden appearance and disappearance of the light source, and began to investigate the object, clicking its mandibles near the glowing screen.
The other two spiders, having been distracted by the first one's movement, also turned their attention to the mysterious sound, their primitive instincts driving them toward the disturbance. This was my opening.
I needed to cover the distance from the top tier to the arena floor—a drop of nearly sixty feet. It was impossible for a normal person; the impact would shatter legs and spine alike. But I wasn't normal anymore. I was calculating the angle, the impact, the required force absorption, and the time it would take for the spiders to realize the light source was a distraction.
I used the bent end of my signpost to hook onto the thick safety cable running along the railing. Taking a deep breath that tasted of copper and fear, I swung over the edge and released my grip on the railing. I didn't fall straight down; I used the cable as a momentary anchor, letting it swing me out over the vast, dark space before I released the hook and went into a controlled, high-speed freefall.
The wind tore at my clothing, whistling in my ears, and the ground rushed up at an alarming rate. I channeled the beetle Vestige, focusing the dense, heavy power into my legs and core, bracing for the inevitable impact.
Show, don't tell. I visualized the energy wrapping around my joints like thick, shock-absorbing armor, hardening my bones into steel rods.
I landed directly on the back of the lower box seats, punching through the plastic and foam with the force of a small meteorite. The impact shuddered through my bones, forcing a grunt of pain from my throat as the breath was knocked out of me, but my legs held. The structure beneath me groaned and collapsed, but the powerful force-dampening ability of the Vestige had saved me from becoming a pile of broken bones on the concrete.
The loud crash of my landing served as the ultimate distraction, far more effective than the phone. The three giant spiders snapped their heads toward the sound, their previous confusion replaced by immediate, focused aggression.
"Intruder!" a high-pitched, mental shriek echoed in my head, a jarring telepathic pulse that made me wince and clutch my temples. It was a raw, primal communication, not language, but an intent to kill broadcast directly into my brain.
I didn't wait for them to move. I needed to cross the last twenty feet of floor between the stands and the corralled humans before they could organize their attack. I ran, leaping over the last few rows of seats and hitting the floor running toward the human huddle.
The closest spider was fast, moving with a blurring speed that belied its size. It raised its massive foreleg, preparing to sweep me off the ground and pin me, but I was already under its guard. As its leg swung wide, I engaged the agility of the first Vestige—the dog-beast—feeling the quick, explosive burst of speed that countered the beetle's heaviness. The world blurred as I dashed into the dense web wall surrounding the people, using my jagged signpost to hack through the sticky strands.
SNIP. Tear. SNAP. The webbing was tough, possessing the tensile strength of steel cable, but the sheer momentum and the unnatural strength behind my swings shredded the outer layers.
"Everyone! Wake up! I'm making a path!" I yelled toward the terrified faces pressed against the web wall, my voice raw.
The three spiders, realizing their food was escaping, moved with chilling coordination. One began spewing thick, white-hot silk from its abdomen, trying to repair the breach and trap me in the process. The second lunged, its massive pincers aiming for my head. The third, the largest, began dragging its bulk across the floor, aiming to simply crush the remaining patch of open space with its sheer mass.
"Not today!"
I leaped backward, avoiding the pincer attack by a hair's breadth, and pivoted, using the creature's momentum against it. I slammed the base of my signpost into the ground, angling it like a ramp, and used the burst of speed from the dog-beast Vestige to vault onto the spider's back. The creature shrieked, bucking violently, trying to throw me off, but I held on, my legs locked onto its coarse, hairy carapace like a vice.
"Where is the core?" I demanded through gritted teeth, scanning its thick, segmented back as the world spun around me.
I saw it—a pulsating, orange-red glow beneath the thick armor plates of its upper thorax. A Vestige, a high-quality one, humming with power. This was a true alpha, a commander of this wretched hive.
I raised the signpost-spear above my head, channeling all the Vestige power I had—the speed of the dog, the anchor of the beetle—into one concentrated strike. The energy crackled along my arms, burning like fire inside my veins.
"This is for Mark!"
I drove the spear down with blinding force, targeting the glowing spot. The metal screamed as it met chitin, forcing its way through the armor, sinking deep into the creature's core with a resistance that felt like punching through layers of wet sandbags.
The effect was instantaneous and spectacular. The massive spider froze, every leg going rigid in mid-air. A blinding flash of orange light erupted from the wound, followed by a shockwave of raw, electrical energy that sent ripples across the arena floor, blowing back the encroaching webbing. The creature let out a final, agonizing shriek that sounded like cracking stone before its immense body went slack and collapsed with a deafening thud.
The energy that erupted from it was a literal fountain of power—a swirling cloud of red-orange motes that coalesced into a Vestige the size of a human head. It didn't hover; it plunged straight into my chest, merging with a violence that made me cry out.
The third Vestige hit me like a revelation. It wasn't just strength or speed; it was perception. I felt my inner world—my spiritual center—expand violently. I could suddenly see the energy flowing in the air, the mana that fueled the rift, and the faint, dull glows of the Vestiges already inside me. It felt like my mind had just upgraded from black-and-white to full, terrifying color.
But with this overwhelming infusion of power came the cost.
Rage. Cunning. Consumption. The three voices of the Vestiges screamed in my mind, fighting for dominance, demanding action, demanding more. The hunger that had been a dull ache flared into a roaring inferno. I tasted blood in my mouth, and for a horrible second, I thought only of turning on the nearest, easiest prey: the trapped, terrified humans huddled just feet away.
They are weak. They are fuel. Take them.
I stumbled back, clutching my chest, fighting the psychological tsunami threatening to drown my sense of self. I am Kil Salvatierra. I am human. This power is a tool. I control it. I do not eat people.
"Get out!" I roared, pointing my bent signpost at the breach I had made in the webbing, turning my back on the civilians to face the remaining threats. "Now! Run! Go back the way I came! Use the service exit!"
The sudden death of the giant spider, combined with my violent display of power, broke the humans' paralysis. They scrambled, shouting and pushing, pouring out of the gap I had created like water from a burst dam.
I ignored them, my eyes locking onto the bundle of webs where Mark was. He was awake now, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes behind his broken glasses. He was struggling, kicking at the silk binding his legs.
"Kil?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Is that… you?"
I rushed over to him, slashing the webbing that bound his legs with a precise, controlled swing of the signpost. "Yeah. It's me. Sorry I'm late."
I hauled him to his feet. He stumbled, his legs numb, and I caught him, throwing his arm over my shoulder. He felt light, too light, and he was trembling uncontrollably.
"You're glowing," Mark mumbled, staring at my hands which were still radiating faint traces of the absorbed energy. "You're… what happened to you?"
"Long story. I'll tell you when we're not about to be eaten," I said, dragging him toward the exit.
The two remaining spiders roared in response, furious at the disruption of their feast and the death of their kin. One turned its attention back to the escaping humans, spewing a net of silk toward the bottleneck at the service door.
I threw the signpost—my only weapon—driving it into the webbing high above the door, pinning the net against the wall before it could entrap the last few stragglers.
"Your fight is with me!" I roared, stepping away from Mark and placing myself between him and the monsters.
I looked at the nearest spider, its eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. I was bruised, bleeding from a fresh cut on my arm, weaponless, and struggling to maintain control of the three warring instincts inside my head. But as I stood there, amidst the chaos of a falling world, I felt the chilling, calculating certainty of a predator who has found his purpose.
I raised my bare fists. The Beetle's armor hardened my skin. The Dog's reflexes tensed my muscles. The new Vestige—the Spider's Perception—showed me exactly where to strike.
"Go, Mark," I said without looking back. "Run."
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You're slowing me down!" I lied, my voice harsh. "Go!"
He hesitated for one second, then turned and limped as fast as he could toward the service door.
I smiled grimly. The hunt had just begun, and the greatest struggle would be keeping the hunter from consuming the man.