Fangs in the Dark

Chapter 6: The Spider's Web

The wilderness stretched endlessly before them, cold and unrelenting. Lysander moved with purpose, his steps silent and controlled, while Sira staggered behind him, her mind unraveling with each passing moment. The once-proud scout had been reduced to a hollow shell of herself, her sanity eroded by the slow, insidious effects of Mindrot. She barely spoke anymore—only fragments of words and murmurs, her eyes dull and distant, staring at nothing.

It had been days since they left the remains of the Holy Nation scouts behind, their bodies now decaying in the mountain cold. Lysander had led Sira away from the massacre, carefully managing her deteriorating mind as they journeyed further into the wilderness. She was his now, entirely dependent on him. The poison had done its job well, breaking her spirit and reducing her to a puppet, her strings held firmly in his hands.

Lysander glanced back at her, watching as she stumbled over a rock, her body trembling with weakness. He had been careful with the dosage of poison, ensuring that she remained weak but functional—enough to keep her dependent but not enough to kill her. She wasn't just a pawn; she was an experiment. Every day, Lysander tested her limits, observing how the Mindrot twisted her thoughts and eroded her will. It was a fascinating process, one that gave him insight into the power he could wield over others.

"We're close now," Lysander said, his voice calm, almost soothing. "You're safe with me."

Sira's response was a faint nod, her body swaying as she tried to keep up. She didn't know where they were going—she didn't care. Her mind was too far gone, her thoughts fragmented and confused. The only thing she understood now was that Lysander was her anchor, the only person she could trust in the chaos of her crumbling mind.

Lysander had been planting those thoughts carefully, using the poison to strip away her doubts and manipulate her emotions. He had become her savior in her eyes, the one who would protect her from the dangers lurking in her delusions. It had taken time, but now she was entirely his—her mind, her body, her very sense of self.

As they descended further into the valley, Lysander's thoughts turned to his next steps. His experiments with Sira had been a success, but they were only the beginning. The Holy Nation was his true enemy, the force that had destroyed his family and hunted his people to the brink of extinction. He had spent his life hiding from them, but now, with the power of the Nirvathri poisoncraft in his hands, he would no longer be the hunted.

He needed to think bigger. The Holy Nation wasn't just a threat to him; it was a force that controlled vast swathes of land and people, enforcing its will with an iron fist. But like all empires, it had weaknesses. Lysander had seen it firsthand—their scouts, their soldiers, even their leaders could be broken, manipulated, turned against one another. The key was in their minds. And with the right poison, the right manipulation, he could topple them from within.

But for now, he needed to perfect his craft, to test the limits of his control. And that meant finding new victims, new pawns to bend to his will.

They had been traveling for days, heading toward a small village that lay on the outskirts of the Holy Nation's control. It was a quiet place, isolated and unimportant in the grander scheme of things, but that made it perfect for Lysander's purposes. The people there would be unsuspecting, unprepared for the danger he would bring. It would be a perfect place to refine his skills.

Lysander glanced back at Sira again, watching as she stumbled, nearly collapsing. She was reaching her limit. He slowed his pace, letting her catch up to him.

"Here," he said, his voice soft as he offered her a flask of water. "Drink."

Sira took the flask with shaking hands, her eyes flickering with confusion as she drank. Lysander had been careful with the water, lacing it with just enough of a calming herb to dull her senses further. She needed to be in a more suggestible state for what was to come.