The Spider Pt. 10

I'd like to take a moment to thank Madam Whitewalker, who has been gracious enough to add some well needed editing to this chapter, and I'm looking forward to working with her on the future ones. Enjoy, and thanks for reading.

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The sky above the city was black, thick with clouds. Thunder rolled across the heavens with a deep voice, threatening, angry.

Blinding lightning split the sky open with a scream. At that moment, the clouds opened up and sheets of cold rain began to fall from the black sky.

Below, Joo-won Ko was speeding through the glistening streets, the rear tires of his car skidding as he drove through the red lights, sliding around dark corners of the City in a desperate bid to escape what he knew was following him closely.

This would be the last moment of his life.

He reached his shaking hand into the pocket of his jacket and felt the reassuring heft and bulk of his pistol there. He wrapped his hand around the cool metal of the handle, as he had done a dozen times or so already. He let it go.

Joo-won knew that it wasn't going to help him in any way. Well, maybe one. If it came to that.

He was a cold man who had overseen the executions of any number of men in his native Korea, and here in the City as well. He knew that when death arrived to claim you, begging wouldn't help, money wouldn't help, if your time had come, nothing in the world would buy you even another minute.

Don't look behind you, he thought to himself. Whatever you do, don't look behind you.

He looked behind.

And he saw exactly what he knew he would see - the inhuman, glowing red eyes of something that could not have come from this world. A pair of crimson eyes, dark like blood, blazing and steaming behind the sheets of rain.

Joo-won turned sharply to the right, hoping desperately that maybe this would lead to escape. He aimed his car into a dark alley and pressed the accelerator down to the firewall.

But the wheels of his car slid out from behind him, fishtailing, and the steering wheel felt like a black snake in his hands. Joo-won couldn't control it, and his car slid into a dumpster, the metal on metal screaming. Steam poured from the engine as coolant burst all over the hot engine block.

This, he knew, was the end.

Joo-won reached into his jacket and pulled out his pistol. He let out a little sob as he did so, this cruel and terrible killer of men finding a last shred of humanity in his own fear at death.

Suddenly, his car shook violently as a large weight fell onto the roof. He could hear the scraping of something hard on the metal surface above him, and he knew he didn't have much time.

He heard the sound of metal being torn apart directly above his head, and a couple of drops of rain fell in and onto his face, cool, refreshing.

Joo-won put his pistol to his head and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out unheard over the thunder and lightning, and he slumped over onto his steering wheel, lifeless.

The roof above him was torn completely open, and a thick rope of a tail curled down into the car, wrapped around Joo-won's limp neck, and pulled him out of the car like a child might pull a doll.

The creature above held Joo-won's face up to its own, the blazing red eyes looking deep into Joo-won's own lifeless eyes. The creature curled its thin, reptilian lips up, revealing long, yellow fangs. The creature shook Joo-won's body back and forth with its tail, took a deep smell of the dead man, and raised its head towards the night sky and let out a shriek that was never meant to be heard in this world, an evil and inhuman roar of rage and hate.

No life force.

No soul to eat.

The creature flexed its tail, snapping Joo-won's lifeless neck in the process, and threw his limp body into the wall of the alley. Joo-won hit with a wet thump and slid down in the cold rain.

Red Eyes screamed again in rage, spreading dark and leathery wings out behind itself, crushing the roof of Joo-won's car absentmindedly with the long claws of its hand.

The sky burst open with blinding white lightning, cold in the black sky.

When the light faded, Red Eyes was gone.

The rain continued to pour down in grey sheets, washing Joo-won's blood into the gutters, into the sewers, and from there into the earth.

At the mouth of the alley, a woman descended from the sky, fast, almost too fast to see. She landed hard and went down to one knee, rising up to both feet after a moment.

The television was calling her the Power.

She was a tall woman, wearing red boots that came up to just above her knee over a skin-tight blue outfit. She had a confident gait in her boots, her red cape flowing behind her, long blonde hair framing a red mask.

The Power walked over to Joo-won's car, blocking the alley. She shoved it effortlessly to the side and continued on to Joo-won's body.

She knelt over him, looking closely at the man. Joo-won's lifeless eyes stared at the Power, unblinking, his broken neck lolling on his shoulders. There was the slightest look of relief in his expression.

He hasn't been eviscerated, she thought. He's still bleeding, he still has his blood.

She stood up and looked around. She saw no sign of Red Eyes, and thought that it was probably gone.

She felt a little relieved.

The Power looked down at Joo-won. She saw that he had been shot in the head, self-inflicted, it seemed. What was different about this killing than all the others, then? Why hadn't this one been torn apart?

She shook her head. There wouldn't be any answers here tonight.

The Power looked up into the black sky, torrents of cold rain falling down. She crouched down, Joo-won's blood running around her boots, and leapt up into the night sky.

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The waiter was talking to John, asking him if he wanted more coffee.

John looked up at the man and nodded.

He watched the cup fill again and he put it to his lips, the thick brown liquid flowing tastelessly past them as the other cups had done.

None of it was helping. John was more tired than he'd ever been.

He drank half the cup, looking every now and then at the glossy, laminated menu on the table before him.

When's the last time I ate anything, he wondered.

He couldn't remember.

Looking up, he saw that Heather had gotten to the restaurant. She was at the host's station, and the host was pointing her John's way. Her lips were tight; she looked annoyed.

She sat down across from him and told the waiter that she'd have iced tea. Heather looked over at John.

"You look like shit," she said.

He just nodded.

"I don't know why I'm here," she told him. "I don't want to be here."

He nodded again. The waiter brought the tea and she squeezed lemon into the top of it. John watched her, exhausted, staring blankly at her perform the mundane task as if he'd never seen such a thing in his life before.

"You did what I told you to do?" he asked, finally.

"I did it," she said. "I didn't want to."

"Tell me what you did."

Heather looked around the restaurant, only half filled after the lunch rush. No one seemed to be paying attention.

"Here?"

He nodded.

"I... I went to her place, like you told me to."

"And?"

"And I made her... do things to me."

"You took control of her?"

Heather nodded.

"You made her be your slave?"

She nodded again.

"This is important, Heather. Did you make her say that she was your slave? That she belongs to you? That she'd do whatever you told her to do?"

Heather's mouth formed a yes, but no words came out.

"Heather? Answer the question. I don't have a lot of time."

"Yes," she finally spat out, reluctant and angry. "I made her be a slave. I made her tell me that she was my slave. I made her lick my fucking pussy like a slave, I made her lick my fucking asshole-"

"Fine," John said, holding up his hand. "That's good. You did good."

Her eyes narrowed at John. She didn't know why she was doing the things he told her to do. She didn't know how he had control over what she had done to Anna.

She hated that his compliment made her feel good, aroused, on some level.

"Alright, then," she hissed, pushing her chair back as she stood up. "You got what you wanted, asshole. I guess you can go home and jack off thinking about how-"

John held up his hand, silencing the nurse.

"Sit down, Heather."

She glared at him.

She sat down.

John leaned forward and looked at her closely.

"Listen to me very carefully," he told her in even, measured tones. "Here is what you are going to do."

John looked around the restaurant, and leaned in a little closer.

"You are going to keep her under your control until you hear from me otherwise. You taking control of the Sp - Anna - will be the primary focus of your days. Take her, enslave her, use her sexually and otherwise as much as you see fit-"

"I can't do that."

"Why?"

Heather sighed.

"I have a job, motherfucker. I have things I have to do. I can't just spend my days fucking Anna just because you tell me to."

John reached into his jacket pocket.

"Right, right," he said, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Here is some money. A lot of money, in fact. You got it? You can quit your job and do as I tell you."

He slid the check across the table. She picked up the check and unfolded it.

Like the man said, it was a lot of money. More than she would make in ten years at City Hospital. She wasn't going to have to work.

"But why," she whispered. She put the check in her purse. "Why are you making me do this?"

John shook his head.

"I can't really get into it right now," he told her. "But she needs to be controlled. I opened her up, and opened is how she'll stay. If she doesn't get filled, she'll come find me. I don't know exactly what she will do when she finds me, but it's too dangerous. She can't be anywhere near me, and neither can anyone else."

John took a drink of his ice water. Heather noticed the man's hands and how they shook as he put the glass to his lips.

"People around me are developing the bad habit of turning up dead," John told her. "I can't let that happen to her, and I need you to keep her. Keep her safe."

Heather shook her head.

"No," she told him. "I'm not doing anything you tell me to. You aren't strong. You can barely hold a glass of water - look at you. I can fight you."

John put down his glass of water.

He reached out his hand across the table and gently touched Heather's face. She flinched at the soft touch.

John narrowed his eyes and caressed the nurse's cheek.

"I don't have time for this," he told her softly.

He put a fingertip to her lips.

"Open your mouth, Heather."

She did.

John slid his finger past her lips, over her tongue. Heather looked around the restaurant wildly, looking for help, looking to see if anyone noticed, wanting to spit out the intruding finger.

"No, Heather," John told her. "Look at me, please."

She did.

"You are going to do exactly as I tell you."

Heather let out a muffled gasp as he said those words. She could feel him start to... expand in her mouth, his touch seeming to spread from his fingertips, over her tongue, down her throat and into her belly.

She became warm in her core; it felt good. She closed her eyes. It felt good to sit there, quiet and obedient, his finger heavy in her mouth.

The feeling slid down past her belly, lower, her sex became warm. She could feel herself getting wet, feel herself opening up as if to a lover's gentle touch. Her clitoris hummed and swelled, feeling as if a soft kiss had been planted there.

Heather's mind clouded and went quiet, blank. She felt her thoughts coming more slowly as she felt herself being opened up. New ideas were sliding into her, and they felt good as they did so, John's ideas pushing deeper and deeper into her mind, one after the other.

Her hands hung limply at her side as she sat there, her eyes closed, pussy throbbing, getting wetter as she listened.

"You will obey me, Heather," John said quietly. "You are mine to control."

The woman made the slightest of nods, subconsciously.

"Whenever I want you, you will come, you will obey, you will serve."

She squirmed a little in her seat.

"I am going to tell you what I need you to do, and you will listen, and you will execute my wishes to the very best of your ability. You will seek only to serve me, and will never harm me or disobey me in any way. You will always seek to please me. Let that sink into your mind. When that has become your truth, I want you to cum for me."

Heather's body felt warm as John said those words; she felt waves of pleasure radiating from her belly, from her slavecunt, her lips tingling where she sucked lightly on his finger. Her mind echoed his words, each reverberation feeling better than the last, feelings of obedience and submission making quiet explosions deep insider her.

I must please.

Heather squirmed in her seat as she orgasmed. It felt good for her to cum from John's wishes; she wanted to obey and cum again, to serve and feel this pleasure always.

He slid his finger out of her mouth. She opened her eyes and looked at him, mouth still open slightly, an expression of longing on her face.

"Please," she whispered.

The waiter coughed into his hand slightly.

John turned to face him.

"Yes, we are ready," John told him. "She'll have the roast beef sandwich with french fries, cheddar cheese. Sound good, Heather?"

Heather nodded at the waiter, dumbly.

"And for you, sir?"

"I'll just have more coffee," John said. "I don't have much of an appetite, as it turns out."

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John sped home in his Lexus quietly. The radio had been silenced, hadn't been on for weeks.

He couldn't afford any distractions.

He leaned forward over his steering wheel, looking up into the sky. The sun was still well over head, hadn't quite begun to set yet.

Still, he pressed the pedal to the floor, faster, faster. He needed to get home. He needed to get behind his glass before the sun went down.

Or it would come. Whatever it was, John knew it was out there, and he knew it was looking for him, and he knew it would find him. Sooner or later, it was going to find him.

And when it did, it would rip him apart, just like all the others.

He pulled into his driveway and killed the engine. He got out of his car and ran towards his front door, pushing it open as he sprinted inside his house, running right past the keyed security entry there.

John hadn't bothered locking his front door in some time. He knew it wouldn't stop Red Eyes, it would only slow himself down.

He ran past his living room. He looked up as he did so and saw just a few filaments of webbing still hanging there. No security guards came to his house anymore, he knew they would just be ripped apart as well and he didn't want any more blood on his hands.

John paused by the glass door of his bedroom; he looked carefully at the claw marks, looked to see how deep they were, tried to guess for the thousandth time how long even his glass walls could hold. He peered intently at the gouges, trying to see if there were new ones, if they had gotten deeper, if the spider-webs in the glass had gotten bigger.

When the whole thing would come tumbling down.

He opened his door and stepped in, the soft whoosh of his door closing behind him making him feel relatively safe again.

John sat down at the leather office chair in front of his computer and poured himself a tall glass of scotch, neat. He slumped over and rested his head on his knees, closing his eyes.

What am I going to do, he thought. I can't hide behind these walls forever. Sooner or later, I have to come out, and sooner or later, that thing is going to rip me apart.

John put his glass to his lips and drank down the burning liquid.

I can't have anyone around me, he knew. Being anywhere near me is a death sentence.

He pulled out his phone and looked at it. Dozens of messages. Same as each day. Calls for help, calls of desperation, people looking to John for leadership, but he had none.

The calls went on all night long, crime boss after crime boss wanting to know what John was going to do about Red Eyes, telling him of one person after another hunted down and slaughtered, pulled into the night air and ripped apart.

It got my brother, they would tell him. It got my bodyguards. I saw the eyes burning in the night.

It's going to kill me next. What can you do?

John drank more scotch.

He laughed.

Tell me about it!

He put his phone down and leaned back in his chair. He felt something on his face and touched himself there. Wet.

When had that happened? How long have I been crying?

He realized that his crying days weren't going to last a lot longer, that it didn't matter. There was no way he could protect his underlings from something that walked right out of the night, ripped a man apart, disappearing without a trace.

No way he could protect them, and no way he could protect himself.

Everybody else, he thought, would just have to be sent away. Red Eyes could continue to kill the crime bosses and thugs in this city and maybe it would even be for the best. Not dissimilar to what John had planned himself.

He started to laugh, alone, his laughter high pitched and maniacal, coming from deep within himself. Coming from a part of himself he didn't want to know about.

Why not just get it over with, his laughter told him, reverberating off the glass walls that now formed his prison.

Why not just open the door up tonight, or the next night?

Who cares, am I right? Just get it over with!

He spilled his scotch as his body wracked with laughter. He doubled over, dropping his glass entirely, the smell of alcohol bursting through the air as it shattered.

John reached for the bottle of scotch itself and put it to his lips, pulling deeply. His laughter slowly turned into a mixture of laughter and tears, and as he drank, it morphed from tears to screams.

Ending finally in quiet, heaving sobs.

He drank more from the bottle.

That's it, he thought. Just drink enough until you won't feel the pain, open the door, lie down.

Get it over with. It'll all be over soon enough. The best thing you can do.

The only thing you can do.

He heard a quiet buzzing and looked over at his phone vibrating on the dark mahogany of his desk.

It was her, he thought. She's not supposed to be calling. She's supposed to be free, and safe.

Don't answer it, he thought. He drank more scotch from the bottle. His eyes burned as he took an even bigger gulp.

He picked it up.

"Hello?" he said, trying to calm his breath and sound normal.

"Oh, John," she said. "You are hurt. I can feel it. I can feel your pain all the way over here."

"I'm fine. You shouldn't call me."

"I care about you."

"I'm sorry I ever got you mixed up in this. But you are free. I made it so that you wouldn't end up involved in this any further. You have to keep away. You'll get killed."

"I can help you, John. I can protect you."

"You can't!" he yelled into his phone. "There's nothing you can do! You have no idea what is out there."

She was quiet for a moment or two on her end.

"You don't know what I can do," she said finally.