The cavern was silent at last.
The eight-meter spider lay sprawled across the stone, its ichor forming black pools that steamed faintly in the violet glow of the mythril veins. Above, the ceiling still shimmered with countless red eyes—but most had receded after the death of their matriarch. From thousands, only a few hundred lingered now, watching, waiting, but unwilling to descend.
Garrika collapsed onto the ground, landing hard on her backside. Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, sweat and blood mingling on her skin. The feral glow had left her eyes; the fury of Berserk drained her until nothing remained. She had returned to her humanoid shape, though her wolf tail still twitched faintly and her pointed ears flicked at every sound. Her claws were gone, replaced by trembling hands caked in dried ichor.
