Kaelen was unconscious in this strange place.
The darkness pressed against him from all sides—thick, suffocating, alive. His body hung suspended in silk, wrapped from neck to tail in layers of sticky white webbing. His axes were gone. His default armour had been breached which were his scales, usually so resilient, felt raw and exposed.
But despite being unconscious, his body was fighting.
The poison injected into his bloodstream—the insect's venom—should have kept him under for hours. Days, maybe. But Kaelen was a reptile. He had lived for centuries in swamps and caves and dungeons. He had built up immunities, antibodies, and resistance to poisons and toxins and gases that would have killed other races.
His liver processed the venom faster than it should have. His heart pumped harder. His scales heated up, burning through the webbing that held him.
He woke up earlier than he should have.
His yellow eyes snapped open.
