The forest was pitch-black, so dark that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.
The crescent moon, the only thing that could pass for a "lamp," was blocked by the leaves and couldn't shine into the woods to give them even a sliver of light.
The people who had made it here stared into the darkness ahead, gripped by fear.
One man involuntarily took a step back and bumped into the person behind him.
He turned and saw his companion's puzzled expression. Swallowing nervously, he stepped forward again.
"W-we're going in?"
He couldn't shake the feeling that some unknown beast or creature lurked inside.
Unbidden, his mind replayed the gossip and legends he'd heard around town that day.
They said a man-eating beast hid in the woods outside town.
It looked half-human, half-ghost, with a mouth full of fangs and blank white eyes.
Its arms were thin and long, reaching down to its knees.
Its claws were sharp enough to pierce a meter of stone.
It loved the taste of blood, especially that of young men.
He'd just celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday. Wasn't that monster's favorite food practically describing a poor guy like him?
Besides, the creature supposedly loved darkness and hated light.
Looking at the forest's sinister depths, he really didn't want to go in.
He didn't want to become a monster's dinner!
"Hey, why'd you stop? What are you thinking about?"
The man behind him gave him a shove and asked, puzzled.
"You're a grown man and you're afraid of the dark? Seriously? How'd you even become a mafia member?"
...Even if he was a mafia member, wasn't he allowed to be afraid of the dark?
What kind of occupational discrimination was that?
"Y-you... don't you remember what those people said about the monster earlier?"
The man's voice trembled. His pupils shrank as his whole body shook.
He didn't dare move forward.
"?"
The man behind him looked confused for a moment, then scoffed. "You actually believe that? How could a creature like that live on the outskirts of a big city?"
As he spoke, the man strode ahead without the slightest fear. He didn't even look away from his companion, much less watch where he was going.
"See? Nothing's going to happen. Don't forget, this might be a remote spot, but it's still part of the outskirts of the big city where Heavens Arena is."
There couldn't be any creatures like that here.
Even if there were, the city authorities would've sent people to drive them out long ago.
Seeing his companion walk straight in without so much as a scratch, the man believed him.
Trembling, he followed into the woods.
Believing it didn't mean he wasn't still afraid.
His eyes darted around, terrified that one careless moment might cost him his life.
Honestly, he'd always known the mafia was dangerous.
But why would he end up dying somewhere dark and deserted, where he didn't even know if monsters roamed, instead of in a gang fight?
And there was no telling if his body would even be left intact, or if a monster would swallow him whole.
After walking for about fifteen minutes, the man slowly relaxed.
Thank goodness. There wasn't any damn monster here.
It was just quiet and dark.
Flap.
Suddenly, a strange sound came from the dark woods.
The man spun around like a startled bird, eyes wide.
It was only a crow flapping its wings.
A false alarm. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Seeing how cowardly the man looked, the one ahead mocked him. "See? Not a damn thing happened. Now hurry up and find the kid!"
Otherwise, the higher-ups would blame them, and they'd all be in trouble!
The speaker had no idea that thin lines were gradually multiplying around them.
He kept talking to himself and walking along.
Until...
Snip.
A faint sound rippled through the air.
None of the people walking heard it.
It was far too quiet.
"Why'd you stop moving?"
At last, someone with a curious streak asked.
The person walking ahead was right in front of him, standing perfectly still.
Even his expression was frozen as it had been minutes ago.
He looked like a wooden puppet.
Getting no response, the man couldn't resist reaching out to touch him.
Thud.
A head hit the ground.
Whoosh.
A strange sound rang out nearby.
The headless body shot into the air, then split apart.
Its limbs hung scattered in midair, half a meter above them. Blood flowed down invisible threads.
A fine "red rain" pattered onto the faces of the people below.
They were stunned, unable to react.
It was as if time had stopped.
They stood frozen, unable to move.
Their pupils contracted. They couldn't believe what they were seeing.
Their legs trembled uncontrollably.
They opened their mouths, but no sound came out.
They tried to move, but their bodies refused to obey.
They stood rooted in place like statues.
They should run. They should get away!
The thought circled through their minds, but not one of their bodies obeyed the perfectly sensible command.
Their brains had gone into emergency mode, overwhelmed by the bloodshed and terror before them.
Their muscles were too tense for them to move.
Maybe a second passed. Maybe a century.
No one could tell.
But at last, a piercing scream burst from the forest.
A flock of birds took flight.
As if only just waking from a stupor, the people fled in panic.
Too late.
The meticulous artist had already prepared his canvas, waiting patiently for his raw materials to arrive.
How could he let these little darlings get away?
Thin threads coiled around them like spider silk.
Nearly every step someone took ended with a thread slicing through a leg.
The cut was clean, followed by a scream.
Then the person who fell, writhing in pain, was caught in other threads spread across the ground and hoisted into the air.
A faint snap, and they were torn apart.
Blood flowed, slowly staining the ground.
The lush green grass gradually turned into a pool of crimson paint.
The death toll kept rising.
A few lucky ones managed to avoid the threads that meant certain death.
Their limbs weren't violently torn apart, but they were still left hanging above the ground.
They whimpered and cried.
They wailed from on high.
Their faces were full of terror and disbelief.
Why? Why was this happening?!
What was this thing?
Unable to move, they hung in bizarre positions.
Some had lost an arm or a leg; none had all their limbs intact.
Their expressions shifted from fear and shock to agony and despair.
They were three meters off the ground. If they fell in their mangled state, they might well die from the impact.
And if they kept hanging there, they'd bleed to death.
Helpless, they could do nothing but scream.
Over and over, they asked themselves why they'd been so stubborn about chasing that kid.
Why had they followed the demoted captain's orders instead of simply patrolling their territory as the gang's rules required?
Was sucking up really that important?!
Regret and remorse filled their hearts.
Again and again, they tormented themselves as if being slowly sliced apart.
But soon, the excruciating pain blanked their minds.
In horror, they realized that the thin threads, which had been still until then, were suddenly tightening.
It was as if they meant to squeeze him to pieces.
But they moved slowly.
With every passing second, a thread sank into his flesh, but it didn't kill him.
It only cut through his skin and muscle.
Bit by bit, it invaded his body.
All he could do was watch as his once-whole arm slowly turned red and purple from the lack of circulation.
Then it went numb and began to ache.
A second later, the arm was severed cleanly.
The freshly severed limb was then dragged somewhere else.
It hung high above, as though left out to dry.
Only a few minutes had passed, but the man felt as if centuries had gone by.
The same pain was now unfolding across his body, one place at a time.
He would rather have been one of the "lucky ones," cut apart cleanly and quickly!
Suddenly, the man, whose thoughts were wandering all over the place, felt a pain in his neck.
A thought surfaced in his mind.
Had the threads reached his neck?
Was he about to die?
Wonderful!
For the first time, he wanted death so desperately.
He longed to go to hell, to stop living in this earthly inferno!
This slow, blunt cutting, severing his limbs bit by bit, was even more unbearable than a clean beheading!
Especially when it was all happening while he was still conscious!
Hurry up. Please, just let me die!
Every second he stayed alive was torture.
Gradually, his breathing grew labored, and his vision blurred.
His consciousness began to fade.
Was he dying?
Wonderful...
In a daze, the man heard an unbelievably young voice.
"In a Spider's lair, death is a mercy."