Chapter Text
Bloodied.
Exhausted.
Angered.
Hornet wiped at her face with the edge of her cloak, grimacing as the cloth came away darker. She groaned, rubbing her horns, and feeling herself dizzied already. The door behind her was slammed shut, the mindless zombies of the Haunted Citadel pounding away, shouting incoherently.
A bench was only so good, when it came to rest.
She needed more when it came to replenishing her energy and her silk stores. Kratt's bath, as shady and creepy as it were, would have been a good thing for the time being - but there were bugs out the door. And, the Fleas were too far away to reach, anyhow. Hornet would be wounded badly, forced to leave a cocoon and retreat to a past resting place. Or worse - she might be killed, her path as a hunter ending swift and bloody.
Worse yet... she might succumb to the Haunting herself.
The thought put Hornet at edge, and she flinched, brandishing her needle when she heard a rhythmic rattle from all around her. However, no mites burst out of the piping, no beasts skittering from dark corners, delighted at the prospect of a meal so seemingly easy to catch.
In a moment the rattling receded, before being replaced by another bout of violent shaking. Hornet breathed in, and sighed out an exhale. It was damp in these pipes. Steamy, even. The spider grimaced at the thought of what might lay in the rooms ahead. Probably another steam trap. She sighed, hearing the pound and snarl of bugs behind her lessen, their attack on the door finally ease enough that if she left it be - those bugs wouldn't come any closer. Nor, try to find her. The clawmaidens were especially nasty, scrabbling at doors and cracks when they descended.
Something like that, in the shape of a spider. Some sick caricature of Weavers, of her own kind. It made Hornet sick to her gut.
No. Stop thinking of that.
I must press onwards.
Leaving the wall, Hornet took a deep breath, scenting what could possibly lay ahead.
It smelled damp, this whole room. There was a bench just ahead, and after inspecting it for traps, Hornet flopped herself upon it and sat with a loud, rushed sigh. She was exhausted. No, beyond exhausted. The fights with the Citadel's ruined inhabitants were brutal.
"Aaargh."
The sound was hardly loud, nor as forcefully angry or frustrated as her other sounds. She sat up. Perhaps there was something nearby, a source of water she was able to drink from. Her cylinder had long run empty, and while she did not quite require it to live, it was a relief in these places. Better, for wound healing.
Moving to her feet, Hornet made her way to the edge of the wall, gripping it with her newfound claws, and easily hoisting herself up the surface. She made it up in quick hops, scrambling for the edge of the ledge behind her, and then lifting herself up. Water puddled under her feet, and she looked ahead, grimacing lightly. On the top of the low-hanging metal ceiling were some kind of dispensing.. showerheads, she imagined, dripping lightly. The corpse of a bug lay ahead, entirely unclothed. Soft and vulnerable, it was no wonder the bug had died, though in such a humiliating place. Hornet felt little more than pity for their plight.
The spider reached up, touching the showerhead, and noticing a switch nearby it. She gave it a whack! with her palm's broad surface, gears turning, yelping in surprise when the water that hit her was not cold as expected, but warm.
She shook off a shower of droplets, shivering in the moisture, smacking the switch shut and then stepping out to give herself a proper shake. Hornet surmised she'd need to wring out her soaked cloak, later.
Now, for- "Hm?"
Hornet peered at the wall in front of her, closely. It was marred with cracks. More cracks than usual, even.
Tentatively, she slid out her needle, and in one smooth motion, plunged the blade into the wall with a shout. As she had thought, it crumbled easily, falling away and revealing in front of her an.. empty room?
Now, why is this here?
She took a step, two, three out onto the ground, and felt it rumble beneath her feet, suddenly crumble beneath her. Hornet let out a shout as she plunged down, bracing herself, landing in a shower of crumbled earth and rock, and dust.
Coughing, Hornet looked up at the path above. Impossible to traverse now. She wasn't agile enough to jump that high, not yet.
The only path was forward, into what seemed to be a metal pipe path, misty and hot with steam.
A steam trap.
Precisely what she had expected of this place. As if the Underworks weren't bad enough.
Hornet leapt forward, feeling a burst of hot air, scrambling as the gust whooshed behind her, forcing her cloak to billow out and flap. She coughed, feeling the mist settle in her throat, thick and choking, and looked ahead. Same thing. Just another steam room.
Up, or down? Is the path-
As Hornet leapt out and clung to the wall, she slid down low in search for the path. Nothing. There, the warning burst of air, and she began to climb in bounding leaps, up the metal surface. Her claws slipped against the moist surface and she bit down the urge to swear, to even growl-
And could only let out a cry of pain as the hot steam surged up from the grille, scalding against her back, and hit her directly. The trajectory of the hot air meant Hornet's grip was dislodged and her body jettisoned upwards, scraping against the metal of the vent pipe's wall. Steam filled her mouth and snout, and Hornet gasped and coughed, clawing for dear life, hoping her outstretched arms would catch against something. There it was, at last, an uneven place where metal overlaid metal, and Hornet felt the steam suddenly surge down, and herself: clinging, choking, pulling herself up to the top of the ledge and collapsing.
She needed a moment to collect herself.
No creature is without its flaws, Hornet reminded herself. Simply, she would not succumb where others had.
Looking about, it was hard to see at first through the pain in her optics. Hornet lifted a hand to rub her eyes, and groaned, passing her hand over her horns. She blinked them open again, tears dripping down the mask as her body's own defence mechanism to irritation.
Light.
Coming, from straight above.
From here, the path was directly upwards. Up ahead, there was a path once explorable, now covered with crushed debris. Hornet was brave, but not stupid. She would have to climb up, up, to get to the top of this segment. Wounded, and now to add insult to injury, Hornet could hear the sounds of Drapemites, scratching and skittering. The spider bared her fangs in a snarl. No. She was too weak. Cornered like this - it spelled certain doom if she did not escape.
And escape, she did.
The vertical segment of the pipe above her head was quickly gripped, and Hornet's shell singed and burning with every movement she made. She let out a cry of pain as her flesh, surely now exposed, protested all her movements. Her clawtips burned and her wrists began to soon ache as she climbed up the vertical segment, groaning raggedly. Even her throat must have been surely burned.
Grip poor, she stopped to just try and cling, sliding down a little bit, before she was forced to climb higher for purchase.
At last, Hornet gripped a bit of a ledge more, and leaned against the cool metal. A relief on her shell, from the burning hot steam, the muggy, thick air. Spending too long in these sorts of environments made a hunter dizzy and weak.
And, of course, made her easy prey.
Something was already skittering below, perceiving Hornet as prey. The spider knew she was hardly at the bottom of the food chain, but it was distressing nonetheless. She was not their food. She was not their food.
Below her, the hisses and squeals of starved Drapemites sounded and echoed on the metal, making noises of frustration that their food escaping. Hornet was no food to a mere beast, she thought again, and comforted herself in the fact that the creatures would surely have to find their meal elsewhere. And as much as her arms would burn and protest, and her chest ached with the strain of the climb, she would have to survive. She had to.
It was with that thought that Hornet finally made the last part of the climb and burst up from the damp pipe, coughing, sooty and burned, stained with her own blood and that of others.
Damp from steam and ill-explored water,
it was all she could do to look up at the light before everything went dark.