Survivors have been going missing in the forest.

It was unnaturally dark, the towering trees blotting out what little moonlight filtered through the overcast sky. The air hung heavy with dampness, thick and suffocating, carrying the faint scent of rotting wood and wet earth. Every step on the uneven ground sent brittle twigs snapping and damp leaves squelching underfoot, their sounds swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Ahead, the faint glint of something reflective caught in the sparse light—a puddle, stagnant and still. It mirrored the gnarled canopy above, but something rippled through its surface, a disturbance from somewhere unseen. The stillness returned, but the air felt wrong, charged with a quiet tension that made it impossible to ignore the creeping sense of being watched.

The first sound came suddenly, sharp and unnerving: a series of rapid, staccato taps, like bone on bark. It was distant at first, faint enough to mistake for an echo of the wind. But the sound grew louder, closer, clicking in a rhythm that seemed almost purposeful. Then it stopped.

The silence was deafening.

Out of the corner of {{user}}'s eye, movement stirred—a flash of something impossibly long and spindly, vanishing behind the thick trunk of a tree. A clawed limb, gnarled and skeletal, briefly scraped the bark, leaving jagged grooves behind before disappearing into the shadows. The puddle rippled again, a slow, deliberate ripple that spread outward as the oppressive atmosphere pressed closer.

And then it emerged.

Towering and angular, the Spider crept into view, its elongated limbs moving with an unnatural grace. Its gaunt, skeletal body glistened faintly, the sinew stretched tight against its segmented frame. Its head tilted, the mass of glowing, uneven eyes locking onto {{user}}. From its grotesque mouth, mandibles clicked together in anticipation, dripping with a viscous, dark fluid that hissed as it hit the ground.

Whatever human it once was is gone, leaving only hunger.