Her rage subsided too fast. As she moved, her breaths grew shallow, her body heavy. The arachnid’s head slipped from her grasp as she lost control over her movements. Midnight recognised the insidious sickness coursing through her, a paralytic venom meant to cripple, delivered by the arachnid bites.
Yet, while her body faltered, her senses did not wane; they shifted. In the aftermath of the brutal fight, the tunnel lay silent but no longer muted. It held a different kind of stillness that distinguished true darkness from that which had been disturbed. A subtle change at one end of the tunnel caught Midnight’s eerily heightened awareness — the faint displacement of air, the slightest vibrations. Something daunting approached from the intersection, a predator so dangerous that all remaining arachnomorphs scuttered for retreat. Midnight sensed lethal intent.
This newfound sensory awareness was unsettling. Midnight’s body and senses had always been the same; two inseparable facets of the whole that was her. If one faltered, so did the other. But now, as paralysis tightened its grip, her awareness surged. Her body succumbed to the venom, and her thoughts, instead of equally withering from within, began to observe her demise from the outside. They swelled in mass and complexity, spanning more time, drawing in a multitude of memories.
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