Chapter 1: The edge of the wild
Alice felt the familiar weight of her backpack as she stood at the barrier, waiting for the elder to give the word. Twenty-one years Alice had waited for this moment. Each gruelling training session, each moment of hardship, every second of her life had led her to this moment: the trial of the braves. Her parents waved and shouted at her, proud of the woman she had become. A grateful smile curved her lips. Without her mother's guidance and her father's brutal training regime, she would never be the girl she is now. She waved at them. Her red hair, braided into a loose dragon braid, bobbed as she did.
The elder moved forward and began to speak the blessings towards the new braves. His words were short and serious: Seven days out there with the giants, come back with a trophy, or don't come back at all. A shiver ran up her spine, but it was doused with determination. She was the most well-trained, the one who would come back with all seven trophies, instead of just one, in less than seven days. She shook her shoulders loose. The leather pauldrons reminded her of their presence.
Her muscles flexed; the start sign was imminent. The familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through her veins. Heading through every corner of her athletic body. Deep breaths caused the leather cuirass she wore to move gently up and down. Her white linen tunic beneath it brushed against her modest breast with each breath. She felt the laced brown leather leggings hug her muscular legs as she tensed up. Her blue eyes beamed with hope. The green flecks inside them flickered with nervous excitement; she was ready for this. A signal of the horn, a shout.
“Let the trial begin!”
Cheers went up from the villagers, her parents loudest of all. Alice took one last glance over her shoulder, nodded at her parents and sister and shot off. Her red braid bobbed behind her as she sprinted into the forest. Knife clutched and bow stringed and ready. The other four contestants took off, too, spreading out into the overgrowth. She didn't look back.
Rushing through the dense undergrowth, she came upon a clearing. The world outside the safe zone hit her all at once. Ruined roads cracked open with huge roots pushing through, old cars rusted and half-buried under ferns taller than houses. Skyscrapers leaned, wrapped in vines thick as her thigh. She stopped running and took it all in. Awestruck and mouth agape, she observed, heart pounding with excitement.
Everything was bigger—flowers overhead with petals the size of doors, scent heavy and sweet. Giant butterflies floated by, wings flapping slowly, each one bigger than she was. In the distance, she watched deer graze, taller than the ancient tales of giraffes and elephants. The deer stretched up to eat leaves from trees that seemed to go up forever, at least a few hundred meters tall. Awestruck, she took it all in. Alice shook her head; focus!
Those deer have the antlers I need. How was she ever going to get up there? Her eyes followed the outlines of the ruined buildings before her. There was a high spot she could climb towards near a tilted skyscraper. She marched towards it. This was what she'd trained for— A roar rolled through the trees, deep enough to rattle her chest. She froze, hand on her knife. The shrubbery moved as a giant beast the size of a bus, rummaged through the canopy. Nothing came after her. Just some big animal moving on. She laughed at herself, shaky. "See? Nothing to worry about." She moved on towards the tilted ruins of a skyscraper.
As she approached the ruins, the scale kept hitting her. Sunlight broke through the collapsed buildings in shafts, lighting vines and drifting pollen. She found a spot where she could climb the vines creeping up the towering structure. Just as she clasped the vine, she saw it: something wrapped up tight inside the vines. A large animal, maybe one of the deer, bound completely—legs pulled together, body compressed in layer after layer of tendrils and covered with sticky sap. It hung there, still. Alice stared. The way the vines held it, no give, no escape. What would that feel like? Tight all over, pressing in, no way to fight... A warm flush started between her legs, unfamiliar and unwanted. She blinked; cheeks hot. "Stop it," she muttered. "You're here for trophies, not... that." She turned away, but the image stuck.
She left the vines and explored further, sure that she would get another opportunity to get a trophy from those deer in a different way. She gathered glowing berries; tasty and juicy they were. She saved some for later and started to gather food for the night and tomorrow.
As the time passed, twilight set in. Thinking of the lessons her mother taught her, she searched for a suitable location. An old gas station, canopy still mostly whole overhead. “That will do nicely!” she grinned. She gathered wood and built a fire the way she'd practised—high flames to keep things back. Darkness set in; she caught a small critter and roasted it over the flames. Meat tasted better out here, rich and wild. Full, warm, she sat watching the fire crackle.
As the fire popped and sent small sparks drifting upward, the first drops of rain began to patter against the old metallic roof of the gas station canopy. At first, it was just a soft drumming, almost pleasant after the long day of walking, but soon it turned into a downpour. The canopy wasn't as solid as it had seemed. Water found its way through rusted holes and sagging seams, dripping steadily onto the concrete around her little blaze. The flames hissed in protest each time a drop hit, shrinking back, the wood starting to steam. Alice watched for a moment, hoping it would pass, but the rain only grew heavier, sheets of it now sweeping across the open front of the station.
She sighed, already feeling the chill creeping in as the fire weakened. No point letting it go out completely—not when she'd been taught that light and heat were the best defence out here at night. Grabbing her backpack and slinging the bow over her shoulder again, she stood and scanned the deeper interior of the old shop area behind the pumps. It looked clear enough, no movement, no strange shadows shifting. She stepped carefully inside, knife drawn just in case, using the small torch from her pack to light the way.
The shop had fared better than the canopy; the roof here was concrete and mostly intact, though vines had claimed much of the space over the years. Thick green strands hung from the ceiling like curtains, some as wide as her wrist, others thinner and more whip-like, crawling over counters, shelves, and the remains of old display racks. They glistened faintly in the torchlight, slick with moisture from the rain that had seeped through cracks. The air smelled damp and green, earthy in a way that reminded her of the village gardens after a storm, but heavier, wilder.
She found a relatively clear corner near the back wall, away from the dangling tendrils, and cleared the debris with her boot. Setting her pack down as a backrest, she gathered what dry scraps she could find—bits of old cardboard, a few brittle leaves that hadn't rotted—and rebuilt the fire smaller this time, just enough to warm her and keep the darkness pushed back. The flames caught quickly, steadier now under the solid roof. Alice sat close, feeding it carefully, feeling the heat soak into her leggings and tunic. Her muscles ached pleasantly from the day's trek, and the warmth made her eyelids heavy.
She kept the knife in her hand for a while, resting across her lap, eyes flicking to the vines overhead every few minutes. They didn't move. Just plants, she told herself. Nothing more. Eventually, the steady crackle of the fire and the muffled drum of rain outside lulled her. She leaned back against the pack, pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and let sleep come. It arrived fast, deep and dreamless.
She didn't notice when one of the thicker vines, hanging directly above her, gave a slow, almost thoughtful twitch.
Chapter 2: The Vines
Alice slept soundly at first, the steady rain drumming on the roof overhead blending into a comforting white noise. The fire had settled into a low, even glow, casting flickering orange light across the shop's cluttered interior. Her body relaxed against the backpack. She dreamed of the world she witnessed, the majestic beasts she spotted and of the vines that had enveloped the deer. She murmured in her sleep, dreaming of being held in its warm, oozing embrace. Slick heat built up between her thighs and radiated outwards. She spread wide and kicked out the smouldering embers in her sleep.
Something cool and slightly damp brushed the outside of her left ankle, just above the laced edge of her leggings. She stirred, half-dreaming, thinking it was the edge of her cloak slipping or the vines in her dream. But the touch lingered, pressing gently, then curling. A vine—thicker than her wrist, green and slick with its own moisture—had slithered over the floor towards her and now wrapped once around her ankle, slow and deliberate.
Her eyes snapped open. Confusion hit first: What...? She tried to pull her leg back, but the vine tightened just enough to hold, not painful yet, but firm. The tendril mirrored its move on her right ankle. Coiling around her ankles, it crept upwards and around her. One loop, then two, the sticky resin seeping through the leather laces and against her skin. It felt warm now, almost body-temperature, like living rope that pulsed faintly with whatever passed for a heartbeat in these things.
Panic rose sharply in her chest. She jerked both legs, trying to kick free, but the vines had already layered a third time around her ankles, fusing them together. The pressure increased—not crushing, but insistent—pulling her feet closer until her boots touched. She sat up fast, heart hammering, and reached down with her free hand to grab at them. The vines were tougher than they looked; her fingers slipped on the slick surface, and when she yanked, they only tightened in response, sending a ripple up her calves.
More vines approached now, faster. One wrapped her knees next, circling several times, the resin soaking into her leggings, making the leather cling wetly to her skin. She twisted at the waist, trying to sit forward, but another tendril snaked around her thighs, higher up, cinching them tight together. The pressure there was more intimate, squeezing her legs closed. The vines pressed against the insides of her thighs, rubbing slightly with every futile shift she made. A flush of heat bloomed low in her belly, unwanted, confusing. No, she thought, focus—get loose.
She still had the knife. Her right hand tightened on the hilt; she brought it down quickly, slashing at the vines around her thighs. The blade bit in, severing one strand with a wet snap. Sap oozed out, sticky and warm on her fingers. The vines reacted and recoiled slightly, then tightened the remaining loops in punishment. She cut again, sawing through another layer. Pain flared in her wrists from the awkward angle, but she kept going, breath coming in short gasps.
A vine tried for her hands, sliding up her arm, attempting to pin her wrist to her side. She jerked away, slashing wildly. It missed, but another came from behind, coiling around her neck—not choking, just looping once loosely and pulling her back. Another looped around her mouth, thick and cable-like. The thick cable pressed her lips apart. She bit into it; resin oozed out and into her mouth—sweet, earthy, coating her tongue. She gagged once, then forced herself to breathe through her nose. She tried to shout for help, but the thick vine muffled into a frustrated "Mmph!" speech was gone.
Waist next. A broader vine—thicker, almost like a belt—wrapped around her midsection, pulling tight enough to make her exhale sharply. It compressed her stomach, forcing her posture straighter, the pressure radiating downward, teasing against her lower belly. She thrashed harder, the motion only making the vines rub more insistently between her thighs and against her chest where they crossed under her arms.
She had to get the knife to the vines around her throat so she could bend again. Carefully sawing at the vine, it tightened, nearly choking her. No, not like this! One last desperate slash, and the vine was cut clean. Ooze dripped over her neck and chest. The vine around her mouth was next. As it snapped, she spit it out; oxygen enriched her lungs and strengthened her efforts to get free. Finally able to bend over, she twisted her body, ignoring the growing ache in her shoulders as vines wrapped over them. She bent forward as far as the waist binding allowed. Her fingers found the lowest loop; she sawed carefully, blade slipping once on the sap, nicking her thumb. Blood welled, but she didn't stop. One ankle came free with a wet tear. Then the other.
The vines loosened slightly, as if surprised. She used the momentum—kicking her legs apart, rolling to the side, slashing at the knee and thigh bindings in quick succession. Resin splattered across her tunic. The waist vine resisted longest, tightening one final time in a squeeze that pressed hard against her most sensitive spots, sending an involuntary shiver through her. Then the blade cut through, and it fell away.
She scrambled back against the wall, spitting out the resin from her mouth, gasping. The remaining vines retreated upward, slithering back into the ceiling shadows like they'd never been there. The shop was quiet again except for the rain and the crackle of the dying fire.
Alice sat there, chest heaving, staring at the sticky residue coating her leggings and hands. Her skin tingled where the vines had been—warm, sensitive, almost alive with after-sensation. Between her legs, she felt dampness, not just from the sap, but her own arousal. She pressed her thighs together, trying to ignore it. "Just adrenaline," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Nothing more."
She rebuilt the fire with shaking hands, adding more fuel until it blazed high again. The vines recoiled further. She sat close to its roaring heat, knife clutched tight, eyes on the vines as they retreated into the night. Spent from the struggle, sleep returned eventually, but shallow. Her sleep was broken by nightmares of being wrapped tighter, held helpless, the pressure building and building until she woke sweating, flushed, and ashamed.
Morning light filtered through the cracks. She packed swiftly, avoiding looking at the returned vines for too long.
Chapter 3: The First Trophy
Morning light filtered through the gaps in the concrete roof, pale and watery after the night’s rain. Alice woke stiff, the residue from the vines still clinging to her leggings in sticky patches that had dried overnight into a thin, glossy film. She rubbed at one spot on her thigh, feeling the faint tackiness under her fingers, and a small shiver ran through her—part memory of the pressure, part something warmer she refused to name. She pushed the thought away quickly. No time for that. She had a trial to complete.
She ate a quick breakfast from her pack: a few pieces of dried fruit and the last of the glowing berry she’d picked the day before. The juice was still sweet, though less intense now that her mouth was parched from sleep. She repacked carefully, checked her bowstring for dampness, counted her arrows, and made sure the knife was clean and sharp. The vines overhead and on the ground had not moved again. They hung motionless, as if the attack had never happened. She gave them a long look before stepping back out into the open air.
The rain had left everything glistening. Ferns dripped, puddles reflected the broken skyline, and the undergrowth smelled rich and wet. She moved north, following what looked like an old roadbed now buried under moss and roots. The path led downward gradually, toward one of the sunken metro entrances she had seen yesterday. A faint blue glow came from the inside. Curious, she approached; the blue glow was caused by the fungi inside. This might be a good place to scout for signs of larger creatures without exposing herself too much in the open.
The entrance was half-collapsed, a jagged mouth of concrete and rebar framed by vines that had grown thick enough to form natural pillars. Sunlight pierced through holes in the collapsed tunnels farther in, creating long shafts of light that cut through the gloom and landed on the tiled floor in bright pools. Glowing mushrooms clustered along the walls and on the rusted remains of ticket machines, their soft blue light pulsing faintly like slow heartbeats. The air inside was cooler, damp, carrying the faint metallic tang of old steel mixed with earth and decay.
Alice stepped carefully, boots quiet on the mud and sand that had flooded into these tunnels for centuries. The tunnel stretched ahead, dark except where the collapsed sections let in daylight. Plants had taken over here, too. Vines trailing along the ceiling, ferns sprouting from cracks, even small trees growing out of abandoned train cars that had derailed centuries ago and never been moved. She paused to listen. No roars, no heavy footsteps. Just the distant drip of water and the occasional flutter of wings from something small in the shadows.
She moved deeper, staying close to the wall. After twenty minutes or so, the tunnel opened into a wider station platform. Sunlight streamed down from a massive hole in the roof several stories above, turning the space into a strange cathedral of light and shadow. And there, spanning the gap between two broken escalators, was the web.
It was enormous. Strands as thick as her forearm stretched across the open area, glistening with a fine dew that caught the light like glass threads. The web wasn’t perfectly symmetrical—parts sagged where sections had been torn or repaired—but it was clearly the work of something large. In the centre, caught high up, hung the remains of a deer-like creature. Its body was wrapped tightly in layer after layer of white silk, legs drawn up close to its chest, head completely encased so only the tips of its antlers protruded. The silk had hardened in places, forming a smooth, glossy cocoon that swayed very gently when a draft moved through the station. It had been dead for a long time.
Alice’s breath caught. She stared for a long moment, feeling that same strange warmth from the day before coil low in her stomach. The way the silk held the animal—no give, no struggle left, just perfect, unyielding containment. She swallowed, forcing her eyes away. This was exactly what she had come for: a trophy.
She approached slowly, bow half-drawn in case the spider was nearby. Nothing stirred. The web itself seemed empty. She circled underneath, looking up at the cocoon. One of the smaller antler tines had broken off during the struggle and lay on the platform below, clean and ivory-white. Perfect size. She knelt, picked it up and turned it over in her hands. Smooth, slightly curved, still warm from the sunbeam it had lain in. She slipped it into the side pouch of her pack, fingers lingering on the hard curve for a second longer than necessary.
A small thrill ran through her—triumph, yes, but also something quieter, more private. She had faced the giants’ world and taken something from it. One down, six to go. She felt capable, almost cocky. The memory of the vines last night faded a little in the daylight; maybe she could handle this after all.
She allowed herself a small smile as she stepped back from the web. The silk strands overhead shimmered faintly, as if approving her caution. She turned and continued deeper into the tunnel, the antler a comforting weight against her hip, the faint dampness between her thighs now just a background awareness she could ignore.
For now.
Chapter 4: The hunt and the girl
The next few days blurred into a rhythm of cautious exploration, careful hunts, and growing confidence. Alice moved steadily through the ruined cityscape, following old roads where she could, cutting through overgrown parks and between leaning skyscrapers when the paths vanished under green. The giants’ world revealed itself in pieces, each encounter leaving her a little more awed, a little more wary, and—though she hated admitting it—a little more aware of that persistent warmth that flared whenever she saw something bound or helpless.
On the afternoon of the second full day, she came to an old park pond, the water murky and still under a canopy of giant ferns and mangroves. The water littered with giant lily pads. Something rippled the surface: giant leeches, each one as thick as her leg and twice as long, gliding just below the waterline. Their bodies pulsed with slow, rhythmic contractions as they fed on whatever floated near the edges. Alice stayed back, bow ready, watching until one beached itself briefly on a mossy rock to digest. Her arrow flew; her aim was true. The creature screeched and withered. Black ooze gushed out of the wound. Soon it was dead. She moved towards it swiftly, jumping over the lily pads with practised movement.
She gathered a piece of its translucent skin and rolled it carefully into a pouch. Trophy two. The skin felt cool and slick against her fingers as she tucked it away; she told herself the small shiver was just from the damp air.
The third day brought a different kind of giant. High above a wide boulevard lined with toppled streetlights, a massive bird circled, wings spanning wider than the old billboards it passed. It dove once, talons extended, and rose with a struggling critter clutched tight. Feathers drifted down like pale leaves. Alice waited until the bird banked away toward its nest in a distant tower, then collected one of the larger primaries from the pavement. It was longer than her arm, shaft strong and hollow. Trophy three. She ran her thumb along the vane, feeling the fine barbs catch slightly; the motion sent an odd, fleeting tingle up her arm.
By the fourth day, she had ventured deeper into the forest between skyscrapers. There she saw the gentle giants: sauropod-sized creatures, necks rising forty meters or more, bodies the colour of weathered stone dappled with moss. They moved in a slow procession along what had once been a railway track, now a wide green corridor. Their footsteps were earthquakes in slow motion; she pressed herself against a fallen concrete slab and waited them out. When the last one passed, she found a tuft of coarse mane caught on a rusted rail. Trophy four. The fibres were thick, almost rope-like; she braided a quick loop to tie it to her pack.
The fifth encounter came in a patch of low ground choked with vines and enormous Venus flytraps. The traps were house-sized, jaws open wide, inner surfaces glistening with digestive sap. Smaller vines acted as snares, wrapping anything that brushed too close. Alice skirted the edges, heart pounding, until she spotted a resin-coated leaf still attached to a vine. Another trophy. She cut it free with her knife. Trophy five. As she wrapped it in cloth, she caught sight of something else deeper in the patch: a human shape, cocooned head to toe in thick, translucent plant sap, suspended between two flytraps like a trophy on display.
Horror hit her first—then recognition. Blonde hair visible through the slime, short and petite build. Another recruit. Alice’s stomach twisted. She approached carefully, knife out, scanning for movement. The cocoon pulsed faintly, the girl inside still breathing, shallow but steady. The sap had hardened on the outside into a glossy shell but remained soft and warm closer in.
Alice reached up and sliced a careful line down the front. The sap parted slowly, oozing thick and sticky over her hands. She peeled it back layer by layer, fingers sliding against the slick inner surface. When she reached the girl’s skin—pale, flushed, clothes partially dissolved—she hesitated. The contact felt strangely intimate: warm flesh under cool slime, the faint tremor of the girl’s breathing against her palms. A rush of heat flooded Alice’s core, sharp and unwelcome. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep working.
The girl—Summer, she would learn later—gasped as the last layer fell away. She was almost naked, skin glistening, eyes wide and dazed. “You… you saved me,” she whispered, voice hoarse.
Alice helped her down, supporting her weight. Summer trembled against her, small and slick and vulnerable. “I thought I was done for,” Summer said, then managed a weak, sly smile. “Thanks, red. Name’s Summer.”
They retreated together to an old rusty bus half-buried in vines a short distance away. The interior was dry enough, seats long gone, but the metal frame was solid. They built a fire in the cleared aisle, using broken windows for ventilation. Summer huddled close to the flames, still shaking off the cold sap. Alice shared what little food she had left; Summer ate gratefully, colour returning to her cheeks.
They talked quietly as night fell. Summer’s voice was bubbly despite the trauma—sly jokes about “becoming plant fertiliser” mixed with genuine shudders when she described the slow tightening of the sap. Alice listened, nodding, offering her cloak when Summer shivered. They agreed to take turns on watch so the fire wouldn’t die. Alice took the first shift, sitting with her back to the wall, knife across her knees, eyes on the darkness outside.
Summer curled up near the embers, breathing evening out into sleep. Alice watched the flames dance, feeling the day’s weight settle. Five trophies. Two more days. And now, unexpectedly, company.
As the hours passed, she awakened Summer; it was time for her shift.
Chapter 5: Betrayal
Alice woke to the faint smell of dying embers and the uncomfortable realisation that the bus felt too quiet. She sat up quickly, rubbing her eyes, and looked over to where Summer had been curled under the borrowed cloak.
The spot was empty. The cloak lay folded neatly, almost mockingly. Alice’s pack was open. She lunged for it, heart sinking as her fingers confirmed what her eyes already knew: the pouch with the trophies was gone. The antler tine, the leech skin, the feather, the mane tuft, the resin leaf—all of them taken. Only the empty cloth wraps remained, scattered like shed skin.
Anger flared hot and immediate. “That little thief.” Disgust followed close behind; Summer had played grateful, sly, scared, and then robbed her blind the moment her back was turned. Worry crept in last, small but persistent. The girl had been traumatised, barely clothed, still slick from the sap. Where could she have gone so fast, and why risk the giants’ territory alone with stolen goods?
Alice stood, slinging the now-lighter pack over her shoulder. She checked the ground outside the bus: fresh footprints in the soft mud—small, barefoot, heading toward the nearest metro entrance. Beside them, a wider, sinuous trail; smooth, sliding. The unmistakable mark of a large snake dragging itself through the damp earth. The tracks overlapped in places. Summer had not gone alone.
She cursed under her breath, low and vicious. Part of her wanted to turn back, let the thief take her chances. But the moral weight pressed harder than the anger. She had cut Summer free from the plant once. Leaving her to whatever had followed those tracks felt wrong, even after the betrayal. She adjusted her knife belt, nocked an arrow loosely, and followed.
The trail led down into the same metro system she had explored before. It was darker here, deeper, the collapsed sections letting in less light. Muddy water pooled in the tracks, reflecting the faint glow of mushrooms on the walls. The snake’s path cut straight through, unhesitating, disappearing into a side tunnel that sloped downward. Alice moved carefully, bow half-raised, every step measured. The air grew cooler, heavier, carrying a faint musky scent that made her nose wrinkle.
After twenty minutes, the tunnel widened into a larger chamber—once a transfer station, now overgrown with vines and littered with rusted train cars. Sunlight pierced through a few high breaks in the ceiling, casting long, slanted beams across the floor. In the centre of one beam, coiled in a loose spiral that filled a descent part of the platform, lay the snake.
It was massive—thicker around than Alice’s torso, scales the colour of dark undergrowth, length stretching the distance of one of the train cars. In the middle of its coils rested a single large lump, distended and faintly moving. The snake’s head rested atop the bulge, eyes half-lidded, tongue flicking lazily as if savouring the aftermath of its meal. A few meters away from it, a knapsack with her stolen trophies.
Alice’s stomach turned. The lump shifted again—small, desperate twitches against the thick muscle. Summer. Still alive inside. She drew the bow fully, arrow aimed at the flat wedge of the snake’s head. Her hands were steady, breath even. She released.
The arrow struck true, sinking deep behind the eye. The snake convulsed once, a massive ripple running the length of its body, then went still. Alice waited, counting heartbeats, before approaching. The head lolled to the side; she stepped close enough to pry one fang free with her knife. She gathered the curved ivory hook longer than her forearm. Trophy six. She wrapped it quickly in cloth and tucked it away.
The lump was still moving, weaker now but insistent. Alice knelt beside the dead snake’s midsection, knife out. The scales parted easily under the blade; she cut a long slit along the side of the bulge. Thick, translucent mucus oozed out first, warm and slick, followed by the unmistakable shape of a tight, wet silk-like sack—pulsing faintly, encasing Summer completely from head to toe. The material looked almost like spider silk, but heavier, oozier, glistening with the snake’s inner fluids.
Alice sliced carefully along what seemed to be a seam. The knife bit in, but only shallowly—the silk resisted, elastic and tough, tearing just a little before snapping back. She tried again, sawing harder; small fibres parted with wet snaps, but the layers underneath held firm. No matter how she angled the blade, she couldn’t cut deep enough to free the girl. Summer’s muffled movements grew more frantic inside, the sack shifting and bulging where her knees or elbows pressed outward.
Alice’s hands were coated in the warm slime now, fingers sliding over the slick surface. Each time the sack moved under her touch—tight, unyielding, alive with Summer’s struggles—a sharp pulse of heat shot through her. She could feel the warmth radiating from the silk, the way it clung and pulsed faintly, almost in rhythm with the girl trapped inside. Her breath came shorter; she hated how her body responded, the dampness building between her own thighs. She forced herself to stop lingering and wiped her hands roughly on her leggings.
“I can’t cut you out,” she said aloud, voice tight. “Not here. Not with this.”
Summer’s struggles slowed, as if hearing her. The sack had small natural vents—tiny openings near what must be the head area—enough for air, enough for faint, muffled sounds to escape. Alice could just make out a weak, pleading whimper.
She stared at the bound form for a long moment, anger and guilt twisting together. Then practicality won. She couldn’t leave her here to rot or attract something worse. With a grunt, she wrapped her arms around the slick, heavy sack, heaved it up and over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Summer’s weight settled against her back—warm, shifting slightly, the silk pressing intimately wherever their bodies met. Alice’s hand instinctively steadied the load, palm resting on the curve where Summer’s hip would be under the layers. The contact sent another unwanted shiver through her; she gritted her teeth and started walking.
The trek back through the muddy tunnel was slow and gruelling. Every step made the sack slide a little against her neck and shoulder, the silk warm and clinging, Summer’s muffled breaths hot against her ear through the small hole that allowed her to breathe. Alice’s muscles burned, but she kept going, one foot in front of the other, refusing to set her down until they reached the surface.
By the time they emerged near the rusty bus, the sun was low. Alice lowered the sack carefully beside the rekindled fire, propping it against the bus wall so Summer could sit semi-upright. The silk glistened in the firelight, still tight, still unyielding. Summer’s form shifted weakly inside, but no more cutting was possible without better tools or heat.
Alice crouched in front of the bound shape, voice low and hard. “Stay alive. I’m finishing my trial. Alone.”
She didn’t wait for a response—there wasn’t much Summer could give anyway. She added more wood to the fire, making sure it would burn steadily for hours, then shouldered her pack and walked into the gathering dusk without looking back.
One trophy left. And a thief who would have to wait for whatever came next.
Chapter 6: Summer’s Awakening
Summer came back to herself slowly, in layers of sensation that refused to make immediate sense.
First: wet. Everywhere. The kind of wet that clings, heavy and warm, soaking into skin that felt strangely bare. No leggings, no tunic, no cloak. Just slickness coating her from scalp to toes, pooling beneath her where she lay propped against something hard and metal. The bus wall, maybe. The fire crackled nearby, low but steady, heat licking at one side of her body while the other stayed cool and damp.
Second: tight. Not painful, but constant. Something wrapped her completely—head to foot—like a second skin made of silk that had been dipped in oil. It pulsed faintly, almost in time with her own heartbeat, pressing everywhere at once. She tried to move her arms; they shifted only a fraction before the material resisted, elastic and unyielding. Legs fused together from ankle to hip. Torso compressed just enough to make each breath a conscious effort. Her head was encased too, face covered except for small openings near her nose and mouth—enough to breathe, enough to whimper, not enough to speak. The silk around her eyes had become semi-transparent from the heat. The world outside was a blurry mess, lit only by the faint orange glow that filtered through the silk near her eyes.
Panic flared, sharp and bright. She remembered being chased by a snake, then caught in something sticky. A pain in her neck. Then nothing. Awaking inside something tight and cold. Frozen, she had lain there until a wet darkness closed over her feet, then knees, then hips. The rhythmic squeeze of throat muscles massaging her downward. The way it had lingered at certain places—teasing, almost deliberate—until heat had built inside her despite the terror. And then… nothing. Blackout.
But she was alive. Breathing. Still wrapped, but not digested. How?
A memory surfaced, hazy: strong hands lifting her, the sensation of being carried, shoulder digging into her hip, palm steadying her through the silk. A voice—low, angry, familiar. Red! The one who had cut her out of the plant cocoon days earlier. The one she had betrayed.
Guilt hit harder than the confinement. She had stolen the trophies. Panicked in the night, convinced that if she got back first with proof, the elders might overlook her earlier failure. Stupid. Selfish. And now here she was: naked, slick, bound in something unbreakable, left beside a fire by the person she had robbed.
She tested the silk again, pushing outward with elbows and knees. It gave a tiny amount—enough to feel the stretch—then snapped back tighter, the pressure rubbing against her breasts, her inner thighs, the sensitive spot between her legs. A flush of unwanted heat answered the friction. She froze, breath hitching. No. Not now. Not like this.
But the silk pulsed again, warm and rhythmic, almost soothing in its insistence. The residue coating her skin tingled faintly, sweet and numbing. Her body remembered the snake’s throat: the slow, rolling squeezes, the way it had edged her without mercy until everything had shattered. The memory brought another wave of arousal, sharp and humiliating. She was wet in more ways than one now, the silk clinging even closer where her arousal had slickened it.
Disgust rolled through her: disgust at herself, at the betrayal, at how her body could respond to this helplessness. She had failed the trial twice over. First by getting caught, then by stealing from the only person who had helped her. She would crawl back to the village like this if she had to—naked, bound, sticky, empty-handed—and face whatever disgrace waited.
The silk didn’t loosen. It never would, she realised dimly. Not without something more—heat, maybe, or time she didn’t have. But she could still move, inch by inch. She rolled onto her side, the motion making the silk rub everywhere at once. A small, muffled moan escaped through the breathing holes. She bit her lip, forcing herself to keep going.
It took agonising minutes to drag herself upright against the bus wall. The fire had burned lower; she could feel its warmth on her front now, drying the outer layer of slime into a thin crust. She waited until the flames fizzled out. Then began the slow, humiliating crawl toward the open door of the bus.
Outside, the night was full of sounds—distant roars, rustling ferns, the occasional heavy footfall of something enormous passing far off. She stayed low, silk dragging in the mud, every movement sending fresh friction through her. By the time she reached the edge of the clearing, her arms and legs burned, her breath came in ragged gasps, and the heat between her thighs had become a constant, throbbing ache she couldn’t ignore.
She didn’t look back at the bus. Didn’t wonder if Alice would return. She just kept moving—toward the safe zone, toward the village, toward the shame she had earned.
The trek took hours. She crawled when she had to, rested when the silk’s pulsing grew too distracting, whimpered into the gag covering her mouth when the arousal built to a peak she couldn’t reach. Dawn was breaking, grey and damp, by the time she stumbled out of the overgrowth and into view of the barrier wards. The ancient hum of the technology recognised her—barely—letting her through.
Villagers spotted her almost immediately. Gasps. Shouts. Hands reaching to help her to her feet. Still bound inside the cocoon, she collapsed into their arms, silk still clinging, still tight, still warm. Questions came fast—How? What happened? Where are your trophies? The gag didn’t allow her to answer. Not that she wanted to.
Once released, Summer shook her head weakly, eyes down. She said nothing about the snake, nothing about the theft, nothing about the girl with red hair who had carried her to safety despite everything. She let them help her to the elder’s hut, let them wrap her in blankets, let the disgrace settle over her like a second skin.
She had failed. Completely. And somewhere deep inside, beneath the shame, a small, treacherous part of her wondered what it would feel like if the silk never came off at all.
Chapter 7: The Spider
Alice spent the rest of that night alone inside the tunnels. The flames of her torch pushed away the shadows. When she finally reached a spot, she deemed safe enough, she set up a roaring fire. Tired of the gruelling track, she was lulled to sleep by her aching muscles and the heat of the fire. She didn’t sleep much. Every rustle in the ferns made her reach for the knife; every distant roar reminded her that six trophies weren’t enough. She had to prove that she was the best. Only seven would do—just one more. Just one spider fang, and the trial would be over.
When she woke after a very short night’s sleep, she packed what little was left: a half-full water skin, a few berries, a last piece of dried meat, and set out. Each step, her muscles reminded her of how sore she was from hauling Summer up the gruelling path. But she had to return; she had seen webs there before, and she just had to find its maker—preferably no longer alive. She moved carefully, bow ready, torch lit.
The deeper she went, the gloomier it became. Collapsed sections allowed in slim beams of light, but most of the tunnel was only illuminated by the slow pulse of glowing mushrooms. Vines hung from the ceiling like veins; rusted train carriages sat half-buried in rubble, with small plants sprouting from broken windows, vying for the little light that remained down here. She stayed alert, ears straining for the faint skitter of legs or the soft pluck of silk being spun.
She found what she was searching for near the end of a long platform. A web stretched across the tracks—massive, strands thick as her wrist, anchored between two leaning concrete pillars. It sagged slightly in the middle, heavy with dew that caught the faint light like glass beads. No cocoon was hanging in it yet, nor any obvious occupant. Just the web itself, waiting.
Alice approached slowly, eyes scanning up, down, and sideways. A giant spider carcass lay curled in the corner of a tunnel. YES! Excited, she ran towards it. Glad she finally found the last piece. As she crossed the platform, the floor gave way beneath her—a trap built into a weakened section over a vast drop. She fell backwards, arms windmilling, feeling like seconds. Scratched against the sides of the small tunnel, she became battered and bruised. When strands of silk finally slowed her fall, she was jerked upwards. She had landed in the centre of the web below.
The impact was softer than she expected. The strands caught her like a net, elastic and strong, cushioning the fall but immediately clinging. She tried to roll free; the silk only stretched and snapped back, pulling her limbs outward. Her left arm was yanked low, pinned far away from her hip. Her right arm stretched high above her head; wrist caught in a loop that tightened when she pulled. Legs flailed, boots tangling in lower strands until they too were spread wide, knees bent, thighs forced apart. Suspended at an uncomfortable angle—slightly prone, body arched, about forty-five degrees from horizontal. Every movement made the web vibrate, sending ripples that tugged her tighter.
Panic surged quickly. She twisted, attempting to grasp her knife with her free fingers. The blade remained in its sheath at her belt, but the angle was wrong—her right arm too high, her left too low. She strained, her shoulder burning, fingertips brushing the hilt but not quite closing around it. The silk favoured her struggles; each jerk only made her more stuck. Strands adhered to strands, and soon her position became impossible.
Minutes passed—ten, maybe fifteen. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cool air. Her muscles ached from the unnatural stretch; the position thrust her chest forward, compressed her breathing, pressed the leather cuirass against her ribs. She screamed once, raw and desperate, the sound echoing off the tunnel walls. No answer came. Skittering, in the distance. Her eyes widened. Why had she screamed?
She saw them: eight black, glimmering eyes emerging from the shadows above. The spider descended slowly—body the size of a small car, legs long and jointed, abdomen swollen and marked with faint silver patterns. It had clearly just moulted; it hadn’t been a carcass at all! The shiny black monster moved with deliberate calm, mandibles clicking softly in what might have been assessment.
Alice froze. This was it. The end of the trial, the end of everything. The spider reached her, hovering close enough that she could smell the faint, sweet resin on its breath. It leaned in, fangs gleaming, and struck. Quick, precise; right at the side of her neck.
Pain flared, hot and bright, then faded almost instantly into numbness. Venom. Her limbs went heavy, muscles refusing to obey. She could still feel everything; every strand of silk, every ache, every heartbeat—but she couldn’t fight. Couldn’t even twitch. Only breathe, shallow and gasping.
It seemed to her the spider wasn’t hungry. A shiver arrowed down her spine, the last muscle contraction she could muster. It began to wrap her, to savour for later.
First, the feet. Silk spun from its spinnerets in steady, rhythmic streams—warm, slightly tacky, pulsing faintly as it touched her skin through the leggings. The world around her spun as it wound around her ankles once, twice, three times, each layer tightening the previous one until her boots were fused together. The pressure was even, methodical, squeezing her calves next, then knees. She felt the silk mould to the shape of her legs, compressing muscle and bone without mercy.
Thighs followed. The strands intertwined between them, pulling tightly against her aching slit, brushing her inner surfaces with each new loop. Friction built—slow and persistent—rubbing against the seam of her leggings where she was already damp from tension and fear. Heat coiled low in her belly despite the horror; she hated it, hated how her body responded when she could not stop it.
The spider paused, almost curious. A thin strand slipped between her thighs, pressing firmly against her lips. It tugged, rhythmic, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her muscles twitched, the venom seemingly only restricting her limbs from movement. Another tug, she moaned; hated that she did and swallowed. The spider turned her, so she faced it. It almost looked amused. If her face could wrinkle, she would look back in disgust. But the venom prevented that. For a moment, she stared right at it, and it stared back at her. Fangs chittering before it continued.
Hips next. A broad band circled her waist, cinching tight enough to make her gasp. The silk pressed her tunic flat against her stomach, outlining every curve. Then upward: belly, ribs, the underside of her breasts. The cuirass offered no protection; the silk slipped under the edges, compressing her chest until her nipples hardened painfully against the leather and linen beneath.
Arms were pulled into a classic reverse prayer behind her back. Elbows drawn together; wrists crossed high between her shoulder blades. Shoulders strained in the arch, breasts thrust forward as the silk wound over and under, layer after layer. Each new pass rubbed against her nipples through the fabric, teasing without mercy.
The wrappings reached her neck, and she worried she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She took in a deep breath, the spider halted, shifted its head and continued wrapping. Alice whimpered as the first gag-layer wrapped over her mouth: a thick wad of silk stuffed inside, tasting faintly sweet and resinous, followed by multiple tight bands sealing her lips and wrapping around the base of her neck and head. The wet substance seemed unbreathable, and as it passed her nose, she panicked. No more oxygen came in. Her head quickly turned blue as the spider continued wrapping her head. The spider skipped her eyes for now, seemingly teasing her in its malice.
As stars appeared from the lack of oxygen, Alice thought she was done for. The spider seemed amused as it watched her struggle. When she thought she would finally pass out, the spider gently kissed her with one fang, piercing the silk wad inside her mouth. Air rushed in and hissed in and out as she panted. Not death yet, it seemed. The small hole was barely enough to sustain her.
For a moment, it watched her and examined its work. Seemingly unsatisfied, it began to wrap her up a second time. Tighter, with silk thicker than before. Alice could feel the air being squeezed from her, making it even harder to breathe than before. Her eyes bulged, and her face turned red. She was barely able to stay conscious from the little oxygen she could gather. She gasped heavily. Each breath was a conscious effort and only reminded her of the insistent strand between her thighs—traitorous, edging her closer still.
The spider appeared pleased with her reaction and turned her to face its horror one last time. A sheet of silk approached, sealing her in darkness. She whined through the gag. Her final view of this beautiful world would be the terrifying face of the spider, filled with malice.
This final layer completed her cocoon. The spider circled once, inspecting its work. Then it attached anchor lines and hoisted her higher into the web, out of reach and out of sight. Encased in a smooth, glossy shell, she hung there motionless, whimpering and whining in her gag. Gasping for air through the straw-like hole the spider had provided.
Inside the warm darkness, the silk pulsed with each breath. This causes constant friction on every sensitive spot—nipples, clit, the insides of her thighs. The venom amplified everything: every tiny shift, every heartbeat, every breath sent waves of heat through her. She was a heated mess, body trembling on the edge of something she couldn’t name, couldn’t reach.
Alice faded slowly, exhaustion and overstimulation pulling her under. The last thing she felt was the relentless, teasing pulse of the silk against her skin.
Chapter 8: The Search
Summer sat huddled in the elder’s hut, wrapped in rough wool blankets that did little to hide the lingering sheen of slime on her skin. Most of the silk had finally released from her skin, softened by the village fire’s heat and her own body warmth. It had peeled away in sticky strips. She had helped the healers remove it piece by piece, wincing at every tug, every fresh exposure of pale, marked flesh. Now she wore only a simple shirt, but the memory of the tight, pulsing confinement clung tighter than any cloth.
The other trial participants had returned over the past day—some triumphant with their trophies, others limping and empty-handed. But Alice had not come back. The village buzzed with quiet speculation; whispers followed Summer wherever she went. She felt their eyes on her, judging, wondering why she had returned alone, naked, bound and without proof of anything but her failure.
Guilt gnawed at her like a living thing. She had stolen from the girl who had saved her twice: once from the plant, once from the snake. Now Alice was out there, alone, because Summer had left her vulnerable. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Alice. The shame burned hotter than any venom’s sting; it slowly devastated her.
By midday, she could bear it no longer. She found the elders gathered near the central fire pit; their faces lined with worry. Summer approached on unsteady legs; head bowed.
“It’s my fault,” she said, voice small but clear. “Alice saved me. Twice. I took her trophies while she slept. I ran. A snake got me… she killed it, carried me back to the bus, left me by the fire so she could finish. She’s still out there. In the metro tunnels, looking for the last trophy to complete her streak of seven. A spider fang.”
The elders exchanged looks. One elder with a jagged scar across his bare chest leaned forward. “You speak of bravery from the one you wronged.”
Summer nodded, eyes stinging. “She didn’t have to. But she did. Please. Send a search party. I’ll guide them as far as I can remember.” Tears of desperation and guilt rolled down her cheeks. “Please,” she begged, sobbing.
A murmur rippled through the group. The head elder studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “We deem Alice worthy of rescue. Striving to gather all seven is a noble cause. Her actions of saving you speak louder than her absence.” His face turned stern; voice powerful as he stood. “Gather the hunters. We leave at noon.”
The party assembled quickly. Six strong men and women, armed with ancient nano wire blades that could cut through giant silk and resin, torches treated to burn bright and long, ropes, and packs of supplies. Summer walked at the front, still weak but determined, pointing out the paths she had crawled, the landmarks she remembered through the haze of humiliation and arousal.
Rain started again as they left the barrier—cold, steady sheets that turned the ground to mud. Tracks washed away almost immediately; Summer’s own crawl marks were gone within minutes. She relied on memory: the rusty bus, the metro entrance, the way the tunnels sloped downward. She had to guide them everywhere. The group moved fast, silent except for the squelch of boots and the hiss of rain on torch flames.
They searched methodically. First, the vine patch where Alice had found her in the flytrap—nothing but empty jaws and dripping sap. Then the murky pond—leeches still gliding below the surface, no sign of recent passage. Slow creeping worry marked Summer’s face with each location they passed. When the gloom of twilight approached, the search party reached the old bus. It stood abandoned, the fire pit cold and the charcoal scattered. Summer’s stomach twisted; she had hoped, foolishly, that Alice might have returned here. She glanced at the almost-washed-away track of the snake. The old tunnels!
A few days ago, she herself had been eaten by the snake. She had been wrapped in silk, and a sudden realisation struck her. SILK! She must’ve been wrapped by a spider first. Where else would the silk come from? Alice was once again smarter than she was and probably figured that out right away. How could she be so stupid! They should’ve gone there right away. Summer hit herself on the head. Of course, Alice went in there to find the spider and slay it. Where else would she claim such a prize? She spun toward the hunters, voice urgent. “The tunnels—the spider webs! That's where she went.” She gathered the group and plunged into the gloomy tunnels.
Deeper into the metro. Torches lit the gloom, casting long shadows on mushrooms and vines. They called her name, echoes bouncing off concrete. No answer. Rain dripped through ceiling cracks, pooling on the tracks. Their boots marched through the puddles like they weren’t even there. Determined to find the missing brave.
Hours passed. Despair settled heavily on Summer’s shoulders. She had led them true as far as she could, but the tunnels branched, collapsed, twisted. Alice could be anywhere—wrapped, stored, lost.
One of the hunters—a woman with a scarred cheek—put a hand on Summer’s arm. “We keep looking until dark. Then we camp and start again at first light.”
Summer nodded; throat tight. Worry clawed at her chest, sharper than guilt. She had caused this. And if they didn’t find Alice…
She didn’t let herself finish the thought.
They pressed on into the deepening dark, torches flickering, voices calling a name that didn’t answer.
Chapter 9: Swallowed Whole
Alice drifted in and out of awareness inside the cocoon, time losing all meaning in the warm, pulsing darkness. A full day had passed—she could tell by the stiffness in her limbs, the dryness of her lips beneath the thick silk gag, the way her bladder ached dully from being held so long. The venom had worn off slowly; first her fingers twitched, then her toes, until full sensation returned. She could move again, though every shift only made the silk tighten in response, punishing the attempt with fresh friction against her most sensitive places.
She struggled. Hard. Elbows dug backwards into the reverse prayer, shoulders burning as she tried to twist free. Knees pushed outward against the fused legs, hips bucking in short, desperate jerks. Each movement sent ripples through the cocoon: the silk pulsed in counter-rhythm, squeezing her breasts, rubbing insistently between her thighs, teasing her clit with every futile wiggle. Heat built again—slow, maddening—edging her toward a peak she couldn’t quite reach. She whimpered into the gag, the sound muffled to nothing, tears soaking the blindfold.
Exhaustion pulled her under again. Blackout. Awakening. Struggle. Blackout. The cycle repeated until she lost count.
Then something changed.
A wet, slobbering sound—soft at first, then closer. Cool moisture touched the bottom of her cocoon, right at her bound feet. The silk there grew slicker, warmer, as if something large and muscular was pressing against it from below. Alice froze, heart slamming against her ribs. A low, wet slurp echoed through the tunnel. The cocoon shifted downward slightly; the lower end engulfed in slow, rippling pressure.
The snake had found her.
It didn’t coil around the cocoon; it simply opened wide and began to swallow her whole—still wrapped, still helpless. The process was methodical, almost gentle. First, her feet slid into the throat, the muscular walls closing around the silk with a slick, sucking grip. The material stretched but held, the snake’s saliva soaking through in warm waves that tingled against her skin. Knees next—the throat muscles rippled upward in peristaltic waves, massaging the cocoon higher, squeezing her calves, then thighs.
At her centre, the pressure lingered. The snake’s tongue—long, forked, impossibly dexterous—slipped along the outer silk, probing until it found the thin pad sealing her sex. It pressed, rubbed in slow circles through the layers. Friction built instantly; the venom’s lingering sensitivity amplified every touch. Alice’s hips jerked involuntarily, a muffled cry escaping the gag. The tongue teased mercilessly—edging her, drawing her right to the brink, then retreating just enough to deny release. Heat coiled tighter, feral and desperate.
Hips followed. The throat muscles flexed again, pulling her deeper in rhythmic pulses that squeezed her waist, her belly. The cocoon compressed further under the pressure, moulding even tighter to her curves. Her breasts were next. The silk rubbed her nipples with every undulation, suckling-like squeezes from the throat walls drawing sharp gasps through her breathing hole. The edging continued; the tongue returned briefly, lapping at the silk over her clit, pushing her higher, higher…
Neck. The snake paused here, throat muscles holding her steady, massaging in slow, rolling waves. Alice trembled on the edge—body arched inside the cocoon, every nerve screaming for release. Then the head engulfed her face—mouth sliding over the silk-covered gag. The forked tongue licked at her nose, dissolving parts of the webbing. For the first time in over a day, she was able to breathe through her nose. Grateful and desperate, she inhaled fresh air.
The tongue entered her breathing hole next. Widening it and stroking the back of her throat. She gagged on the thick muscular object as it invaded her. Her body spasmed inside the cocoon as her throat tried desperately to expel the invader. The snake waited, pulsing gently around her entire form, edging her further still. The invasion of the tongue caused her core to melt further. The invasion turned into yet another engine for her arousal. Her clit rumbled, cunt throbbing with need.
Nearly there... just... a... little... more...
The final squeeze came all at once. Muscles contracted in a powerful ripple from base to tip, massaging her from toes to head in one long, unrelenting wave. The pressure on her clit, her nipples, her whole body—overwhelming. She shattered.
The orgasm hit like a storm—earth-shattering, feral, ripping through her in wave after wave. She bucked inside the cocoon, muffled screams lost in the double gag, body convulsing against the silk and the throat’s grip.
“MMMMMMMMPPPPPPHHHHHHHHAAAaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhh!”
The snake held her through it, throat pulsing in time with her spasms, prolonging the climax until black spots danced behind her blindfold.
The swallow completed. One final, smooth pull, and she slid fully down the throat—cocooned, slick, spent—into the wider space of some kind of pouch—perhaps the stomach. Darkness deepened. Warmth enveloped her completely. The muscles around her continued their gentle, rhythmic kneading, soothing now rather than teasing.
Exhausted, a trembling mess, she blacked out for what she thought was the last time.
Chapter 10: Symbiosis Inside
Alice awoke to warmth—deep, enveloping, living warmth. The cocoon still held her in its glossy embrace, but the space around it had changed. No longer suspended in open air; now she floated in a wider, softer chamber. The walls pulsed gently, slick and muscular, pressing against the silk in slow, rhythmic waves. She could breathe; something was stuck deep inside her throat that allowed air to pass into her. The tube was laced with a faint, sweet resin that kept her calm, sustained, alive. The snake’s body had made room for her; a symbiotic pocket separate from the digestive tract. No acids burned; only a warm, tingling bath that soothed rather than harmed.
She shifted slightly, testing. The cocoon responded instantly—tightening where she pushed, relaxing just enough to tease. The silk, still warm from her own body and the snake’s innards, rubbed against her nipples with every breath, pressed firmly between her thighs and cradled her clit in constant, subtle friction. The venom’s aftereffects lingered too—every nerve heightened; every touch electric.
Then the stimulation began again.
The thick and smooth thing inside her mouth began to pulse. Not aggressive—curious, almost gentle. Warm, oozing liquid pulsed out, tasting faintly of the same sweet resin she had tasted when she had bitten into the vines. She froze at first, defiant instinct flaring. She tried to push it out with her tongue, but the object only flexed in response, teasing the roof of her mouth, the underside, curling slightly to stroke.
The rhythm was patient. It slid in and out slowly, encouraging rather than forcing. Alice resisted longer than she wanted to admit—jaw clenching, head turning as much as the cocoon allowed—but the pressure built. The silk around her body squeezed in counterpoint, massaging her breasts, rolling waves down her torso, pressing harder against her centre. Heat coiled low again, feral and needy.
She gave in.
Her tongue moved—tentative at first, then more eagerly—sucking gently on the intruder. It responded immediately, pulsing thicker, rewarding her with a slow drip of warm, sweet fluid down her throat. Nourishment. Comfort. The taste was addictive, calming her mind even as her body heated further.
The snake didn’t stop there. Lower, two more intrusions—slick, flexible tendrils—found the silk over her rear and between her legs. They pressed through the thin pads, sealing those areas, parting the material just enough without tearing it. One slid into her rear with slow, careful pressure—warm ooze easing the way, filling her in gentle pulses. The other entered her cunt, stretching her slowly, curling to press against sensitive inner walls.
All three moved in unison now—mouth, rear, cunt—rhythmic, coordinated. The silk amplified everything: every thrust sent friction rippling across her clit, nipples, the full length of her body. The walls of the snake’s pocket squeezed in time, massaging her cocooned form in peristaltic motion.
The first orgasm built quickly—edged from the swallow, now unleashed. She arched inside the tight space, muffled cries vibrating against the object in her mouth. Muscles clenched around the intrusions; the snake responded by pulsing harder, deeper, prolonging the wave until she shuddered through release after release. Sweet fluid squirted from the mouth tendril, flooding her throat with nourishment and calm. The lower ones throbbed, filling her with warm ooze—enema-like, soothing, sustaining.
Then it began again.
The cycle repeated—build, edge, thunderous climax, brief rest, repeat. Hours blurred into days. She lost count. Each orgasm rolled into the next; sometimes slow and rolling, sometimes sharp and shattering. The snake kept her fed, hydrated and alive through the resin, air and fluids. The cocoon never loosened—only pulsed, rubbed, teased in perfect sync with the intrusions.
Terror had faded long ago. Horror had turned to reluctant acceptance somewhere on the first day. By the second—or third—she craved it. The relentless pleasure drowned out everything else: the trial, the village, the betrayal, the shame. There was only heat, need and surrender. Feral lust combined with earth-shattering release after release.
Bliss swallowed her whole.
Blackout. Awakening to more stimulation. Climax. Blackout again. Repeat.
Somewhere in the endless cycle, she stopped fighting. Stopped thinking. She simply existed—wrapped, filled, pleasured—exactly where the giants had decided she belonged.
Epilogue: Rescue and Return
Exactly seven days after the trial had ended, the snake stirred.
Alice felt it first as a subtle shift in the rhythmic pulsing around her cocoon. The walls of the symbiotic pocket contracted once—longer, slower—then relaxed in a way that felt final. The intrusions withdrew gently: the thick tendril from her mouth slipped free with a soft pop, leaving a lingering sweetness on her tongue; the ones below eased out slowly, trailing warm ooze that soothed rather than stung. The silk cocoon, saturated with days of resin and her own fluids, had softened noticeably—still tight, still clinging, but no longer unyielding.
The snake’s throat muscles rippled in reverse. A slow, deliberate regurgitation began. Alice slid upward in smooth, undulating waves—cocooned body gliding through slick tunnels, pressure massaging her one last time from toes to head. She came again in the final squeeze—shorter this time, exhausted but inevitable—shuddering as the snake’s mouth opened wide and deposited her onto cool mud and concrete.
She landed with a wet thud in the metro tunnel, cocoon glistening under the faint mushroom glow. The snake retreated into the shadows without aggression, as if its part was done.
Alice lay there, dazed, cocoon still encasing her from scalp to toes. The silk had loosened just enough from the internal heat and sweat of days spent inside; she could flex her fingers, bend her knees a fraction. But she was too spent to struggle. Her body hummed with aftershocks—muscles sore, skin hypersensitive, mind foggy from endless cycles of pleasure.
Voices reached her first—distant, then closer. Torches flickered down the tunnel. Footsteps. Calls of her name.
“Alice!”
Summer’s voice—hoarse, urgent—cut through the haze.
The search party arrived in a rush of light and motion. Blessed blades flashed; the elders had prepared well. They cut carefully, layer by layer, the silk parting under the ancient technology. Summer knelt beside her, hands trembling as she helped peel away the final strips from Alice’s face. The blindfold came off last. Alice blinked against the sudden torchlight; eyes sticky with residue.
Summer’s face hovered above her—guilty, relieved, tear-streaked.
“You’re alive,” Summer whispered as she held her close.
Alice managed a weak nod. Her voice was rough from disuse. “Took you long enough.”
The hunters lifted her gently, cocoon remnants clinging in sticky tatters to her skin. They wrapped her in cloaks, carried her out of the tunnels, through the rain-soaked ruins, back toward the barrier. The journey blurred—Alice drifting in and out, body aching but strangely whole. No wounds. No lasting harm. The giants had preserved her perfectly.
At the village, the elders waited by the central fire pit. They took one look at the remaining silk fragments—still faintly pulsing—and understood.
“Into the heat,” the head elder said simply.
They laid her near the roaring flames, close enough for warmth without burning. Sweat beaded on her skin; the last bits of silk softened further, melting away in slow, sticky strands that peeled off like dried glue. Healers wiped her clean with warm cloths scented with herbs. By morning, the last pieces of silk and goo were gone. Her skin was smooth and perfect, every scar she had earned healed, every bruise and cut from her fall smooth as silk. The snake seemingly rebirthed her.
Alice sat up slowly, wrapped in fresh linens, hair combed neatly by the soothing care of her mother. The village gathered, silent. She told them everything—the web, the bite, the snake, the endless days inside. The symbiosis. The way the giants had not killed her, but kept her, pleasured her and sustained her.
They listened. Then they shook their heads.
“Madness,” one muttered. “The giants do not preserve. They consume.”
Others nodded. Disbelief spread like wildfire. But her six trophies were proof of her bravery. Her pack was found at her makeshift camp inside the ruined tunnels. Summer had carried it for her. Even gathered the final trophy from a crushed spider carcass.
Discussions rose; a brave, capable person was surely worth keeping around, yet the girl had returned changed, speaking of things that could not be. Maybe she was mad? The elders decided that a conclave was necessary. For hours, the murmuring of the huddling elders could be heard from their tent. Voices spoke words undecipherable, yet audible to all in tone; confusion, repulsion, anger, grief and admiration.
Then, finally, the prime elder exited the tent. “The conclave has concluded. We declare you a prime brave—” Alice, her eyes lit up, but the man's tone spoke of more to come. She perked up her ears, eager to hear what’s next. “—But we also declare you mad, some in the council would even say insane.” Gravity suddenly seemed twice as strong as Alice felt her entire posture slump. The crowd gasped. The elder continued, “The mad and insane are outcasts from our village.”
The words droned into her, and the rest of what the elder said turned into a blur. She felt herself become tiny, and her world became incredibly small. All that she had trained for, worked for, suffered for. It was all for nought. Then a traitorous pulse arrowed from her clit upwards and rattled her brain like it was a bell. The world chimed out of existence, and for a moment, she was back inside the snake.
She didn’t need these elders, these people who shunned her. The only things she needed were the giants.
She steeled herself. Her parents looked at her with a mix of pride and unease. She glanced back. Determined now to prove the elders wrong. Her mother warned her with a single glance, but she ignored it. The elder was still speaking, but she cut him off.
“Fine!” The crowd looked at her with disbelief; she didn’t care anymore. “I’ll leave at first light tomorrow and never return.” She saw her mother's eyes fill with grief. Nodded and continued, “Not until I have proof of my claims.”
The elder laughed at her with a surprised look on his face. “And how do you plan to prove such a claim?” Alice froze; she hadn’t thought of that yet. But she would. No, she will! “I will find the snake and show its gentle nature by taming it.” The crowd laughed and muttered claims of insanity.
Alice walked away from the central fire. Walking like she had rested for weeks on end, renewed by her time inside the snake. The elder’s surprise flickered across his face; perhaps there was truth to her words—Only time would tell.
The next morning, Alice gathered her gear, said her goodbyes to friends and family and left. Determined to return. As she reached the edge of the safe zone, the ancient machine wards hummed with a finality.
But she felt no despair as she left them behind. A small, devious smile tugged at her lips; her body still hummed with echoes of pleasure.
She was exactly where she was supposed to be.
The giants had marked her. Filled her. Wrapped her. Pleasured her.
And she knew, deep in the secret heat that still lingered between her thighs, that she would return to them.
Begging for more.