Monster Breeder
154. To Catch a Sheikh, Part 1 (Spindle)

Spindle wasn’t an idiot. Taking infants onto a battleground was no one’s definition of ‘nurturing.’ However, circumstances put her at a bit of an impasse. How could she ensure the Sweet Bees’ safety without being present to keep her eight eyes on them? On the other hand, how were they to be sheltered from the cruel truths of the world while present for a bloody battle? The Wicked Weaver certainly delighted in the thought of corrupting them, showing them the horrors of war, and the depravity of cruel and unusual sexual impulses before their time. However, while not simple to suppress, Spindle had a grip on that side of herself—no matter that it cost her sweet agony and precious sanity to do so. No, she had ensured her motivations for bringing the Sweet Bees along remained pure. She resolved to shield them from all harm and evil today no matter what. Instead, she would use the opportunity to help them grow.

And she’d laugh all the while as the Wicked Weaver screamed obscenities and clawed at the inside of her skull.

As for their method of crossing Fuzzy Field and navigating the Eastern Desert, Spindle was rather proud of herself and knew she had every right to be so. Yes, a contraption of her own design bore them aloft this day!

It all stemmed from a recent discovery through observation the night before that her conjured Dark Magic webbing was so insubstantial, so near to ethereal, that it was almost lighter than air. With that in mind, she wove a massive envelope and hammock of glowing purple thread to carry herself. The propulsion? Why, her new boon companion, of course~

“Please don’t hurt me, Miss Weaver,” the green-feathered parrot Harpy Boy begged.

“Oh, goodness! Perish the thought. Spindle would never dream of bringing one of her ally’s subordinates to harm. Think of this as merely an involuntary service to Fieldton. Consider it your patriotic duty! And don’t slack off with the wingbeats, the vessel is losing altitude.”

Harpies are practically lighter than air themselves with their weight-reducing magic (a benefit which extends to those they carry) and, when her ‘assistant’ thrust his Air Magic into the woven envelope, the construct inflated to a great size that dragged them aloft. Spindle believed this similar to an ancient human design powered by ‘hot air’ but relying on the forces of magic instead. The Sweet Bees, meanwhile, were contained within the inflated envelope, joyfully buzzing about in the confined space as if it were a playpen.

Why not have the Harpy boy carry her with the children following like a trail of Ducklins? But then, God Beasts forbid, her darlings would be sunburnt! She needed portable shade for their trip, and a wagon would be far too susceptible to ambush (as fun as that might be, her charges’ safety took priority).

Upon reconsideration, this setup may be working solely due to the Sweet Bees themselves. This became more apparent as the Harpy boy tired, and yet they lost minimal height. The very contained sounds of their buzzing seemed to do most of the work keeping the balloon’s skin taught. Something about proto-sonic magic, perhaps? She wondered if Vermillion had would have access to the ability through her esoteric, eldritch tattoos.

Regardless, Spindle and her Harpy partner floated above the Eastern Desert in a purple hammock while she played navigator. “A little to the east, please, children!”

““Okay~!”” the insectoid toddlers giggled as they pushed on the inside of the balloon in the direction Spindle pointed.

She was in an excellent mood today. Her light, her love, her lifeline, Vermillion, had elected to give her some reprieve for good behavior. Today would be a day to remember, a day of gratification, of excess, of bloodshed, a time of indulgence. Yes, as long as she covered the eyes of her wards, any sin would be allowed within the specified confines.

The Wicked Weaver rubbed her many palms in expectation.

Her first opportunity came when they floated over a Cactus Treefolk. This one, appearing to be five conjoined Prickly Pear Cactus sisters, glared up at their dirigible with visceral contempt. A potential enemy!

Spindle had promised Vermillion: firstly, her Mistress’s Opal, secondly, the Kobold prisoners, and thirdly, the Sheikh’s head on a platter. Nowhere had she specified the Cactus prisoners be saved! Nor that she wouldn’t touch any random monsters encountered along the way. However, there was the niggling detail of a previous commandment.

What had Vermillion said? Ah, yes, her affectation of forgetfulness instantly gave way to her demonically perfect recall of a binding contract, “Spindle, I command you not to harm my companions, their families, humans, or any monsters unless they’re obviously trying to kill us.”

Sadly, her rampage could only extend to the most aggressive interpretation of self-defense. And their balloon was a few feet too high in the air for the Prickly Pear sisters to bother lobbing a volley of needles that would surely miss their mark, incidentally labeling them a foe fit for gruesome annihilation. She considered having her Harpy partner lower their craft’s altitude, but by then they were already past the desert Treefolk. Well, darn.

Maybe there’d be another opportunity on the way home…

She found no sign of the desert Sandworm, as expected. It probably stayed underground until it sensed the tread of feet on sand. Yet another reason Spindle deemed flight necessary. Neither did their course approach the oasis near enough for them to spot any Lizardfolk. Such an uneventful trip! Hopefully, the Sheikh would surely satiate her lust for violence.

If only visiting the Kobolds were on today’s itinerary, they might satisfy her other lusts. Or that might be naught but a pleasant dream—her commandment against spreading corruption limited her methods of carnal release without Alex to take her tainted seed. Not that she’d be opposed to some denial-play and delayed gratification~

Regardless, Spindle needed to navigate her rudimentary aircraft to avoid the Cactus Turret (and thusly the Oasis by unfortunate coincidence) based on Suka’s report from the day before. Venture too far in that direction, and her vessel would surely be shot from the sky. Instead, they swung wide and approached the Sheikh’s cave system from the opposite side. She knew they were close when she spotted the skull-shaped entrance.

A direct approach would not be her style this day, though. Not when Suka’s narrative detailed a separate path to the surface the Wolf girl's party discovered while exiting the underground labyrinth beneath the Sheikh’s lair. Her first task would be to find one such trail and stealthily approach her target from a more devious angle.

Their search was slow going. Her Harpy boy captive partner needed several breaks, but the cheerful Sweet Bees never ceased their buzzing, so the balloon stayed aloft by its strange combination of magical mechanics. After an hour of scanning the surrounding rocks from above, Spindle finally identified a small, unmarked cave entrance.

They touched down near the interminable black portal to dismount from the ramshackle aircraft. Her charges celebrated their maiden voyage with gusto, making Spindle sad she had nothing to toast their health, summarily ignoring the Wicked Weaver’s suggestion to use her intoxicating breastmilk and the demonic influence’s subsequent screeching upon refusal.

“Alright, please, Miss Spindle, tell me this is where we part ways?” the green parrot Harpy boy asked when he was clear of the hammock.

She shrugged and nodded. Protecting him all day, monitoring him to prevent his escape to ensure their ride home… keeping him close without torturing him—none of these were things she was much inclined to do. The Wicked Weaver’s idea of compromise was to leave him tied at the cave entrance, but Spindle knew that for a trap. If he were to be found and eaten by passing predators, she’d be responsible for his death through neglect and inaction.

“If you ever find yourself wishing to be bound again in tight knots of thread and desire, come visit Spindle once more,” she teased, and the Harpy boy blushed as he flew away.

“Bye-bye!” a Sweet Bee said as she waved. The girl’s sisters copied the motion and several repeated the farewell.

“Is being tied up fun?” another wondered.

“It’s a lovely pastime to spend with those we care for, but never with those we don’t trust,” Spindle instructed with a boop of her finger to the girl’s nose for emphasis, making the little Bee giggle. “Now, come along, sweet darlings.”

They descended into darkness.

Spindle made quick work of weaving toddler onesies for her wards from her glowing Dark Magic thread to make them easily visible in the dim besides making them look even more adorable! With ten floating lanterns about her illuminating the path, she barely needed her Darkling Sight.

Perhaps, if Spindle had a wolf’s nose, retracing Suka’s steps to Opal’s den would’ve been simple. As-is, she spent another hour treading and retreading the many subterranean paths before coming across anything interesting.

“Webbing?” And not her superior Dark Magic thread, but the mundane variety spun by mediocre Weblings. Still, if one of her sisters were here, she may find an unexpected ally. Spindle, having decided to initiate contact, placed a finger on a strand of webbing and tapped a missive in the ancient language of tips and taps.

In short order, a Webling Jumper crawled forth from a tunnel of cobwebs. “A visitor who speaks the old Code, what say you, I implore? Whoever has come gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door?”

“This Maid is no raven,” Spindle replied. “Nor lost Lenore. Also, this isn’t a door.”

“Oh, you’re no fun!” the Webling complained. Then her eyes found and tracked the glowing Sweet Bees buzzing about and frolicking in the air, licking her lips as she stared.

“Don’t touch them, if you value your life,” Spindle said with a dangerous grin. “Now, have you seen a Lamia, or any Sand Goblins?”

The desert Jumper’s eyes returned to Spindle, finally taking in the swirling full-body tattoos on blue skin, saying, “Wicked? No, couldn’t be… else I’d already be dead or corrupted.”

“Spindle is beholden to a binding contract under her Mistress’s will. The Lamia? Sand Goblins?”

But the foreign Webling had already resumed watching the Sweet Bees cavorting in the cobwebbed tunnel. “Hmm, Sand Goblins make a tasty snack, but I do recall seeing a Draconic-kin down that way,” she absently pointed at another tunnel, her focus on the insectoid toddlers getting stuck in her webs.

They clumsily bobbed along through the air playing some form of tag until plopping directly into the gossamer threads. This didn’t cause the infants distress, however. On the contrary, they seemed to consider bouncing on the sticky webbing a fine game. Then one of the girls rolled into reach of the spider.

The Webling Jumper’s eyes dilated, one of four hands reaching out, and her fangs clicked together hungrily. A clear gesture of intent, and a mistake she wouldn’t live to learn from. With a glimmer of purple thread, the Webling’s head fell from her shoulders.

Then Spindle let the filament of garrote wire she'd subtly woven around the enemy’s neck during their conversation evaporate into thin air. She caught the decapitated head and quickly tied it back in place atop the limp Webling's shoulders before the incident was noticed. Her conjured purple gossamer soaked blood and staunched some of the bleeding.

The Wicked Weaver chittered irascibly and rolled its eyes with intense frustration at the denial. That had been a close one! Spindle narrowly managed a clean kill before the demon perpetrated some heinous horror upon the poor creature. Were it at the helm, the torture may have lasted for hours. A violent exchange filled with screams of such torment would’ve definitely traumatized her lovelies. The downside being Spindle still had yet to satisfy her demonic cravings.

“Funny spider taking nap!” a Sweet Bee laughed at the lolling Webling, none of them noting the significance of the blood. How young and pure they were!

“That’s right, dears, she’s taking a nap.” Little sympathy for the crassly carnivorous spider girl could touch Spindle. Despite sharing a common evolutionary root, the former Jumper knew she had never been such an obtuse individual to ignore blatant warnings, nor ever so vulgar to contemplate eating infant monsters. “Let Spindle tuck this one into bed and we’ll be on our way.” Spindle gathered up the deceased Webling’s crumpled body before dragging the remains deeper into the nest. The Sweet Bees would be occupied with the bouncy webbing for at least a few short minutes.

Even a spilled goblet has a few dregs of wine remaining, or so Spindle discovered as she checked the corpse for any lingering life essence. The blood itself did nothing for her. No, Spindle’s fangs plucked at a being’s ephemeral vitality, draining such to sustain herself. She could go quite a while between feedings but, in the end, they were necessary for this evolutionary stage of her body’s development.

She hadn’t said as much, since Vermillion needn’t bother taking it into consideration until they finally ran out of enemies to kill in the far-flung future. That would be a long time coming indeed.

Next on the agenda was checking the larder. Weblings preferred their meals hot, thus tending to keep a stocked pantry. And what Spindle most needed this day were appropriate test subjects.

Unfortunately, the first five cocoons Spindle unraveled contained Sand Goblin mummies—the desiccated corpse variety, not anything embalmed and wrapped in linen or other such excitement. The sixth, however, yielded a pleasant surprise.

A half-conscious young woman reclined in the web-bedding of the opened cocoon. She had four arms, two crossed over her soft tummy while the second pair caressed her collar and rested a chitinous fingertip at the corner of a soft-lipped mouth. Feathery antennae sprouted from fluffy dark-purple hair with fur of a paler hue in a ruff around her neck. Exoskeletal armor stretched from hands to elbows like evening gloves, from clawed toes to knees, along love handles and ribs (presumably wrapping around her spine) despite leaving her sex, belly, and nubile breasts as vulnerable uncovered flesh. Even more striking were the three jewel-like circular panes situated above her mound of venus, below her ribcage, and on her sternum displaying ever-bubbling droplets of dark viridian on a glowing green background as if they were windows on an ancient human ‘lava lamp’ (a rare example of the few fascinating inventions to have survived the post-apocalypse, powered by monsters with heat or electrical abilities for the occasional demonstration). Two huge purple wings covered in Rorschach splotches and eyespots unfurled as Spindle freed her.

Opening the cocoon released a wave of dank, flavorful smells that reminded the Webling of Gabby’s medicinal supplies along with something a little more potent. The Mothra’s sleepy eyes fluttered open one after the other to regard Spindle with bemused mystification. A trail of vapor leaked constantly from the moth girl’s nose and a faint cloud billowed from her mouth when she spoke, “Oh, good morning~”

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