Chapter 4: Butcher's Knife
'The Rotten embraces all, in the sanctuary for all things unwanted or tossed away.' -Inscription found in Black Gulch, King Vendrick's Reign
The Bonfire flared high as a figure formed out of smoke and ash, solidifying into reality between one blink and another. From fine leather boots and blue surcoat to the black fur cape about his shoulders, the man carried authority with him. Were it not for the crested helm concealing his face, the Herald imagined a stony and regal visage would look down upon her.
It hadn't been long, now, since he'd first appeared. The Bearer of the Curse, future Sovereign of Drangleic, according to the Prophecy. It was his duty to gather the Great Souls, those rare souls that shone brighter than any other, hearkening back to the dawn of Humanity. In turn, it was the Emerald Herald's duty to guide him, to subtly steer him down the road planned for him, and to fill his own soul with strength gleaned from those souls of the fallen.
He couldn't know, of course, what lie in wait at the end of that path. Why his own soul needed to be strengthened, what Curse awaited him.
"Bearer of the Curse," she greeted, dipping her head low. The nascent Sovereign did not deign to reply. "How fares your journey?"
Rather than answering, the silent Undead merely took a knee, extending his hand in supplication. The Herald held back a bitter sigh at the gesture. Is this all I am to you? A means of gaining power? The question was pointless, the answer obvious. Still, even debased as she was, a small corner of her inhuman soul felt dark pleasure. I wonder, she thought, what you would say? Would you say anything at all, or merely continue on your pointless journey? Knowing every soul I stuffed beneath your skin was merely to fatten the sacrificial lamb? And so she did as she always had.
Soul manipulation was an exceedingly rare talent. Certain dragons, according to legend, had been born with such magic, while giants were rumored to know the secret of creating artificial souls. Among humans, Firekeepers were known to possess the ability to strengthen souls. The Emerald Herald belonged to none of those races, not truly. Her foster father and creator, Aldia, had studied the secrets of giants for years, and she was the result of his experiments. Still, she was a failure.
The Bearer of the Curse offered up to her the countless souls he'd reaped upon the fields of battle. They writhed beneath her skin, like worms in a seemingly beautiful apple. Familiar tracks dug within her flesh. Do you believe me beautiful? She wondered of the Sovereign. Truly, the flesh she wore appealed to the eyes of men, but beneath... There was nothing human about what lie beneath her thin skin.
The souls offered to her were pale and flimsy, stolen from pathetic wretches, but enabled her to work wonders through the sheer quantity. She could have made her charge wiser than any king before, more knowledgeable than the most elderly scholar. Instead, as the slurry of souls was transformed into fuel for his own, he demanded more strength. It was all he cared for: the great blue blade upon his back, cutting through the flesh of his enemies. Lives ended en masse, pebbles on the road to his greatness. She obeyed, as she was made to do.
If I could only see your face, she lamented. What I wouldn't give to see the light in your eyes... as it dies. As you're consumed by the Flame. As all the strength you've demanded from me is burnt as so much drywood. Would fate be so cruel as to deny me that sight?
She hated him. Hated like nothing else. Hated the things he made her do, these debasing acts of... of necromancy. Hated his casual cruelty, the death left in his wake. A wandering knight who'd so recently passed through these lands, slain without a care. Even now, the Sovereign wore his armor, carried his blade. But more than any other transgression against her, she hated her lack of choice. This is the only way, Aldia had said. To end this transgression against Humanity, to restore what ought have been. The yoke of fate... You will guide the Sovereign in breaking it.
As the Bearer rose to his feet, about to stride off for another killing field... the Herald paused, and considered something impossible. Taylor. My Little Moth. So frail, your wings tattered and burnt... Could it be? Could you be the key to breaking this stagnant Cycle?
The girl, if she could still be called that, was beyond anything Aldia and his brother could ever have predicted. A Shattered soul, born anew from the Flame. The fragments of an ancient soul, fused with her own. She'd glimpsed within the girl's soul, briefly, and what she'd seen was impossible. A world without Flame, where Humanity thrived without the shackles of the gods, without fear of the Undead.
Aldia had never planned for such. A third path. His brother, the king Vendrick, had followed the path of legend, that of the old Sovereigns, the champions of a bygone era before such a title existed: offer one's own soul to the First Flame, and prolong its life. In the end, however, the king realized such would only doom another to repeat his sacrifice endlessly, and succumbed to hopelessness.
Aldia had struggled to forge a new, uncertain path; one he hoped would end the Cycle forever. Harness the Undead Curse, rather than delay it. Seeing giants and dragons as proof that eternal life was possible, he'd performed profane experiments to glean forbidden knowledge. She, herself was the flawed result of his foul studies.
Would you forgive me, Taylor? Pardon this malformed miscreant for a single moment of defiance? The idea forming within her mind seemed more and more appealing with each passing moment... End the Cycle, the Flame, and the Curse. Abandon the gods of Anor Londo, and free Humanity from its stagnation. Never would she have dared to consider it, had she not peered within Taylor, and seen the possibilities. The Emerald Herald had not been granted the right of disobedience... but Shanalotte did it anyways.
"A moment, Sovereign!" The words escaped her lips before she could really consider them. That helm, stolen from a still-warm corpse, twisted in her direction, and she hastily bowed her head. Her misshapen heart pounded horribly, the sludge beneath her skin roaring in her ears. While she was a proficient liar, never had she done so of her own will. "There is... another." The Bearer's head tilted to the side in curiosity. None of this had been planned; there was no carefully crafted script written by Aldia, no Prophecy to guide her words. Still, she knew the Sovereign. Knew what drove him, more than anything else.
"A bright soul, one from outside of these lands. She, too, could be the Sovereign..." His fist tightened at his side. "The Witch is after the Old Ones. Below, she seeks the First. Will you allow this to pass?" It was clumsy, blatant manipulation. Had he the mind to see through it, he would surely attempt to kill her. She held her breath, not daring to look up... until the sound of footsteps retreating reached her ears. The Sovereign strode towards the Pit, ready to descend.
"Forgive me, Taylor," she quietly pleaded. "But the impossible has been asked of you once more. Kill the immortal, as many times as it takes." The wind carried her words out to sea.
The host of spiders and I reached an opening in the tunnels, a wider cavern that extended downward, lined with wooden ramparts and ladders. I sighed, stretching my shoulders for what was already lining up to be an exhausting climb. The many bites and scratches from the rats still pained me, though my friends had bandaged them. I looked down, the bottom of the cavern barely visible in the pale green fungal light of the dim cave.
How long had I been walking? How many twists and turns had I passed through? As I cast my memories back, searching for the answer, they danced beneath my grasp. Expanding and contracting, pushing and pulling as though caught in the breath of some great god. A single step extended into a thousand, minutes became days, before collapsing into a mere blink of an eye. No matter how long it had been, I couldn't deny the weariness in my legs.
Rather than pushing on, I looked for a portion of wood that wasn't entirely rotted through and sat down, my legs dangling over the edges.
I had so many questions since waking in this world. Why was I here? How did I get here? What did I want? Where was I going? Not the least of which, why do these spiders keep calling me-
My Lady? She-who-plots-cleverly asked, finally breaking the silent mourning of the spiders. I sighed heavily. Are you... feeling well?
"Yeah," I huffed out, too tired to bother with the bizarre soul-speak used by the spiders. The ensuing silence of several hundred dubious eyes turned in my direction forced the truth out of me. "...No." I hung my head in my hands- hand. Dammit, that was still frustrating as hell. As far as I was aware, I was born here with one hand, and couldn't recall how or when I'd lost the other, but still I felt the phantom of a second arm. Was there no magic or great smith capable of making a new one? Whenever I got out of this cave, I'd have to see about that. "You keep calling me 'Lady' and 'Sovereign'. I definitely don't feel particularly regal at the moment," I confessed.
That is who you are, My Lady-
"Taylor," I interrupted, maybe a little more harshly than was necessary. "Please, just call me Taylor."
O-okay... Taylor. The sensation of the small spider stuttering was bizarre, but translated smoothly in my mind nevertheless. Still more questions to be answered. Some part of me realized that the idea of talking spiders was ridiculous, and yet I could talk back, and decipher tone and emotion from the combination of skittering legs, chittering mandibles and waves of meaning from their tiny souls. She-who-plots-cleverly was clearly hesitant, afraid of upsetting me.
"I'm..." I bit out a laugh, bitterness rising in my chest. "I'm not this great leader you think I am. I don't... remember much, about who I used to be. But I don't think I was a very good person. I'm still not, really." Even now, that feeling of utter and absolute control over their lives felt right. Some part of me yearned to take it back, to force them into submission and never let them go. To treat them like the insects that they were.
Spiders are vermin, my Lady. The reply hadn't come from She-who-plots-cleverly... Fuck, I really needed a way to abbreviate these names, even in my own head. The speaker felt older, masculine, hardened. One of the soldiers. Our kind takes, devours the weak, leaves the unfit behind. Are you not the same, and thus worthy of our loyalty? You are stronger than we. It is right that you control us. He hung from a strand of silk in front of my face, fangs dripping a clear venom.
"I...what? I controlled you, stole your minds, and you think that's right?!" I couldn't make sense of that. She-who-reads-the-Webs-somberly had died to stop me! Their young had begged me never to do it again!
We do not object to your leadership, my Lady. A calmer voice, elderly. He-who-cautions-wisely. Control is in your nature. A strand in your Web. The tunnels... That was not control. That is what we ask never happens again. That... made some amount of sense, but didn't really address the main part of my confusion.
"You're okay with being controlled? With being used as tools?"
The two are not the same thing, my La-... Taylor, She-who-plots-cleverly answered. We live and think, as you do. We are not tools. Yet still, we are yours. Can you not guide us without erasing us? Could I? The distinction would be so easy to step over, but... These creatures were truly beautiful. While I ached for control, I couldn't take it at the cost of destroying an entire culture.
"Can I... can I try?" My voice was so quiet, barely rising a whisper and breaking at the end. I felt like a child being offered her mother's make-up. Terrified it would be taken away if I misused it. But I needed it.
I felt the assent from... from my friends, even the young ones, and reached into a barely-remembered part of me.
Before, I'd tried to brute-force the control. I'd done something I barely understood, opened the Abyss. It had been an attack on their very souls, overwhelming them with the weight of my Humanity. While the endless possibilities within the Abyss could allow for something as paltry as puppeting creatures, I had a tool far more suitable for the task. I didn't understand how, or why, but I felt it, in the fragments of the soul that belonged to my previous self. Control over arthropods. It was...broken, limited in a way I knew it hadn't been before. A pale reflection of a once-mighty power. Where once I'd commanded an army to darken the skies, I knew now that such was beyond me. But for spiders that willingly gave themselves to me...
My mind expanded outwards. A constellation around me, hundreds of stars. Each added to me, without being subsumed by the whole. A thousand brightly lit candles, their collective glow outshining the sun. Their eyes were my eyes, as mine were theirs. Souls laid bare to one another; young lovers exposing themselves for the first time, no secrets or lies to be found. It was not I and mine, it was I and we. I was one of the horde, leading them without choking out their individuality. A general with her army, not a master and her slaves. Their bodies remained their own, without the black empty stain of the Abyss.
...This feels...
"Right."
The sound echoed through the halls, and it took me a moment to realize the sound had been spoken. My voice, replicated by the coordinated stamping of feet, chitin brushing against stone, silk being strummed. An instrument, beautiful and refined. An insidious whisper between alleyways, gangsters turning in fear at every sound. I've done this before, I realized.
Are you still there? I had to ask, had to make sure I hadn't accidentally taken more than I meant to-
Yes, my- yes, Taylor! The voice was the tightly wound, barely-contained tone of an ecstatic young girl. I remain myself. Yet I feel your warmth surrounding me... like a homely nest! I smiled widely at her excitement. To me, this was a return to the familiar. To my friends... I could feel their wonder at the sensation of being part of a grander whole.
I felt so much from them. Knowledge, memories, emotions, desires, so much I feared it would overwhelm me. Somehow, it never did- I was in perfect control of both myself and the host, filled without bursting. I experimented, sending individual orders- requests, really- to each and every spider, and never felt lost in the tangled web. It was beautiful, organized, controlled-
Black widows, hidden in the basement. A large nest, unsustainable without the constant influx of flies, ants and roaches as food, gathered from the surrounding quarter-mile. Mrs. Byers would be thankful for their absence from her pantry, though I could never claim credit. Dragonflies perched along the roof, their superior eyes keeping a constant lookout. Each spider weaving a thread, layering and folding back and forth to form fabric. Beetles ferried by hornets, their insides digested by the spiders to free the chitin for use in armored sections. A costume, a second skin, a disguise and defense against the dangers of Brockton Bay, nearly finished. Soon, I'd be ready. I'd go out and make a difference. I'd be a-
"Hero," I breathed. The pain was lesser than the previous disjointed memories, the flashes of scenery coming clearer. "I... remember that. I wanted to be a hero." My control was broken by the shock, the spiders suddenly clumsier without my coordination.
Lady Taylor... I grumbled at the title, but could live with it- What was that?
"You saw that?" Unexpected, but... we'd been connected, on an incredibly deep level. "My... former life, I guess. Before I came here." An especially young spider- one who had yet to earn a name, my memories of his mind told me- looked up at me from my knee, eyes wide in wonder. Spiders, of course, didn't have eyelids, but the pure adoration and awe radiating from him conveyed the same effect.
Story? His speech was barely formed, the typical dancing motions associated with word structure and pronunciation almost entirely absent. I was left to decipher his request by the burst of curiosity from his soul.
"Well..." I hedged, "I'm not sure. The memories I have are still... there's a lot of holes. I don't know how much sense a story would make."
Would you try, Lady Taylor? She-who-plots-cleverly pleaded from my shoulder, her own eyes burning with curiosity. Sharing her mind had taught me that she was something of an apprentice to the historians of the spiders, training to weave their epics into silk. She was likely already planning out a tapestry of whatever story I told.
I remembered so little of who I was. It wasn't a stretch to say I was an entirely different person, now. Half of my soul had been torn apart, replaced by... something else, something I barely understood. What was left of my original soul was still healing its wounds, memories flowing like water out of the cracks. So much of who I once was, lost forever...
That alien part of me- a fragment of the soul of Manus, according to the Rat King- couldn't really replace what had been lost. It, too, was less than what it had been. Still, it whispered to me. Dark secrets of magic, moments in history lost to time, jumbled memories of a place darker than the void between stars... I wondered for a moment if it was conscious, trapped in my body and waiting to take control. Did it have a name? Did it hate me for insisting we- I- was Taylor? It was much more comforting to ignore entirely, I concluded while fighting off shivers down my spine.
I tore my thoughts away from ruminations to reply to the spiders' request. A story, then... Those usually started at the beginning.
"I grew up in a city by the coast," I began. "I remember... reading, and laughing, and the smell of salt. One day the laughing stopped, and the salt came from my eyes instead of the sea." The spiders fell silent, not even the scuffle of a leg on stone. "Somebody died, I think." A cascade of black hair, the smell of tea in the morning, the rustle of pages being turned. Such were my memories of a person I could only assume I loved. "Another girl... my sister. She was there for me... for a time." Red hair, pale skin, lips that would be beautiful were it not for the sneer painted on her face. Disjointed emotions, love and hate that eventually wore down to cold disregard.
"She betrayed me," I continued. "Twisted my love for her into a weapon, and stabbed me in the heart, again and again. I... I wanted to fight back, to hurt her like she had me. I never did. I was... better than her." The concept of moral superiority seemed lost on the spiders. Truthfully, it made little sense to me, either. Maybe the me of back then had been a better person than I today. "But she didn't stop. I didn't make her stop. For... a long time, it stayed that way."
The nightmare from my recent death replayed in my head. Steel walls, filled with refuse. "She did something to change that." My voice hardened, eyes narrowed. I felt the spiders huddle together in anticipation. "Locked me away, left me to die. To rot. I came back stronger. I had.. powers, then. Control over bugs. There were others, with powers much stronger than mine. A man who became a dragon, an immortal woman who could shatter mountains, those who could control minds and time itself." My audience was torn between stunned disbelief and wonder.
"I fought them all, and either won or lived to fight again every time. Heroes and villains... some who were both. Then the monsters came." Four unevenly spread green eyes, glowing through the pouring rain; a gangly, top-heavy form; a long, sinuous tail scything through our ranks as we desperately fought through rain and tide to save our city. "Nobody... nobody could fight those things. We drove one off, but... my home was destroyed, lost beneath the waves. I held on to the wreckage for a time. Others came, murderers and lunatics out to make the world worse. I fought them, too. I was... harder, then. Did things the younger me wouldn't have. In the end, though... I won, and they were dead or broken." That was the kind of person I had been, back then. So much cruelty, in the name of necessity.
"That's all, for now," I finished. "If I remember more, maybe we can continue."
B-but... She-who-plots-carefully was shocked from her stupor. Your sister- what happened to her? And the dragon-man? How did you fight a dragon and- and an immortal woman with insects?!
A thin smile formed on my face at her questions. "My sister... I don't really care. In the end, she was nothing compared to the things I'd fought. As for my enemies?" I lowered my voice into a dramatic whisper. "I cheated." Metaphysical eyebrows were raised, though I didn't have a better explanation. Only faint impressions of breaking any rule that got in my way, taking whatever advantage I could. When the odds were absolutely hopeless, I'd loaded the dice. My friends were far too kind to boo me, though I felt their disappointment towards the unsatisfactory answer.
I was about to rise to me feet, having taken more than enough time to recover, when I noticed something... A breeze, blowing through my robes. Which I just realized had nothing beneath them. The Herald's cloak and the thin silk robe did a surprisingly good job at keeping me warm, but I was still walking around barefoot and with nothing protecting my legs or... other parts. Had I really been so preoccupied as to just now notice this?! I fought to keep the blood out of my face. "Can I... take control, please? There's something I need to do." My friends gave their assent, and I quickly did just that. The transition from single to hive was smoother, this time.
I set to work with urgency. Now that the problem had been noticed, I couldn't allow it to continue. A design popped into my head, familiar for the three months I'd spent making it. I had many more spiders now than I did then, with a seemingly infinite supply of silk.
Within moments, the general form took shape. My scouts detected giant, chitinous insects from deeper in the caves and brought them to my loom, their surprisingly sturdy exoskeletons pried apart with my dagger before being layered into the developing silk bodysuit. I didn't stop the weavers from working their art into the armor, golden threads woven between midnight black to produce intricate scripts and shimmering pictographs. Golden spider legs transcribed over the fingers, a web pattern along the legs. As they did, a faint hum filled the air, the echoes of a thousand souls in harmony affecting reality. It looked much like I remembered, had it originally been created by a team of master artisans and steeped in history.
I could have stopped there, left it as that familiar bodysuit. Except... that costume belonged to somebody else, didn't it? A scared, downtrodden child, putting on a mask to hide from the world. That wasn't me, any more. So I set to making my own mark.
Reinforcement was added anywhere I could justify, more and more chitin layered into and on top of the silk. The scarf around my neck was carefully removed and woven into the fabric, forming a wrap for the lower half of my head. The Herald's cloak, too, was removed, only for it to be taken apart and rewoven thread by thread in the spiders' silk. The sheath for the dagger gifted by Lenigrast was integrated into the bodysuit's belt, its dark lacquered leather supplemented by intricately arranged chitin panels held in place with golden threads. Finally, my robes were removed. I huddled under a blanket of spiders, sharing body heat while the robes- which I realized, upon seeing it unfolded for the first time, was actually a giant tapestry, held together by a belt of silk- were incorporated around the hips, folded over repeatedly to reduce the size and become a knee-length skirt. The flowing fabric was slightly longer on the right, and as I watched, the lovingly detailed artwork shifted around to reorient itself in its new shape. Finally, in the dim green light of the caves, I beheld the finished costume.
No. Costumes were for... for capes. That was the term. Parahuman. I wasn't entirely certain I counted among them any more. Something had happened... had changed me on the deepest level. My very soul was no longer entirely human. I was a Daughter of the Abyss as much as I was Taylor. This wasn't a costume for a cape. This was armor, for... whatever I was becoming. I stepped into it, and it flowed along my body like liquid as I raised it up my legs to my shoulders, the spiders making last-minute minor adjustments around my form. The cloak settled reassuringly over my shoulders, a kind embrace.
The armor fit like a second skin. I'd expected some level of discomfort, however small. An uncomfortable heat, perhaps, or pressure where it wasn't wanted. There was none of that, the silk feeling light as air and just as breathable, eternally cool to the touch, while the armored plating offered a reassuring heft.
The soles of my feet had been cushioned with excess silk wrapped around layered chitin, offering protection and support while ensuring each step was utterly silent. I'd nearly depopulated the small colony of those colossal ant-like insects deeper in the caves, my scouts having hauled the docile creatures out like trussed-up pigs. Their black exoskeletons formed a pair of greaves clinging to the tops of my feet and extending up past my knees, leading to thicker plates on the outside of my thighs, then made way for a golden silk belt about my hips before resuming in a thicker section along my chest, giving the illusion of a bust. Larger, curved plates padded my shoulders, then continued on the forearms and backs of the hands. Thinner, flexible plates outlined the fingers, coming to sharp points on the very tips. They probably couldn't actually cut anything, but might sink into softer material to help with my grip. I may have gone overboard in layering smaller sections of chitin within the silk, just about anywhere I hadn't externally covered. It resulted in more weight than I'd expected, and I hadn't been able to protect the crooks of my joints without the plates digging painfully into my flesh, though I still felt much safer against any future giant rat attacks.
I realized, belatedly, that I'd made two sleeves. While that did sting, serving as yet another reminder of my crippled status... It also gave me a bit of hope. I had to convince myself this was temporary. From what little I'd seen of Drangleic, it didn't seem like the kindest of places to even the able-bodied. Someone, somewhere, had to have the kind of magic that could fix me. Rather than mourn my loss, I tied off the right sleeve with my teeth across my shoulder.
Originally, this costume came with a mask. I was reluctant to part with any of the gifts given to me, however, and the spiders' scarf was the second such I'd received in this world. There was no need to fully cover my face as there had been at home. True, a helmet would offer better protection, but, well... I supposed it was a matter of vanity. Even raising the attached hood irked some corner of my soul, which insisted my hair flow freely. A faint memory, of one loved and lost. Instead, the scarf sat snugly over my lower face, riding up over my nose and swooping below my eyes. Through the eyes of my spiders, I saw the terrifying mouth staring back at me, fangs tracing my jawline and cheek bones seemingly dripping golden venom. In the dusty corners of my mind, I recognized the mouth as similar to a camel spider.
The Emerald Herald's cloak fell around my shoulders and hung to my hips, not quite as all-concealing as it had been, after I'd raised the hem, but now far less likely to get caught on a rocky outcropping or grasping hand. A whim had struck me while tailoring the once-billowing cloak, and I'd sewn a golden web design into its outer face. Perhaps it was tacky, but my friends had eagerly approved any arachnid-themed additions to the costume, driving me to include it for their sake. With the hood up, my hair tucked nicely in the back, not swaying or getting in the way. The whole thing felt very secure, and I felt infinitely more prepared to face whatever came my way.
In the dim light of the cave, I experimented with moving around. Raising my legs into kicks, swinging my arms around, dropping into a split- I really should've stretched beforehand- the silk didn't hinder me in the slightest. In the process, I noticed with interest how the golden threads disappeared from view and faded into black when not in direct light. I knew, from sharing the weavers' minds, that the silk was somewhat magic in nature. Capable of resisting flame and hindering the spread of poisons, it was an incredible work of art and defensive layer all in one, owing to the spiders' demonic nature.
...Wait. Wait just a goddamn second. I double, triple-checked my memory, looking for the train of thought that had led to that conclusion. But... there it was. A sinking feeling in my stomach at the confirmation. A background piece of information in every last one of my friends' minds. Spiders are of the demon race. The first spiders were born in Izalith, an ancient matriarchal city-state and the birthplace of pyromancy. They were created in a hellish eruption that had birthed all manner of chaos, though the exact details on that event were unclear. But... demons?!
Deep breaths. Deep... breaths. Demons are real.
Breathebreathebreathebreathe!
I accepted the fact that this world didn't have day and night. I shrugged when I learned magic was real. My soul was ripped apart and fused with the remains of an eldritch abomination? Must be lunch-time, if this world had that. But goddamn demons?!
...My Lady? She-who-plots-cleverly- and wasn't that a fitting name for a goddamn demon- cautiously inquired. My connection to the little ones had been broken by the shock, preventing her from reading the exact nature of my distress. Are you quite alright?
I realized I was huddled in a corner, arm around my knees and pretending like my entire body wasn't covered in demons. "Does this make me the devil?" My voice came out listless and monotone. "If I'm your queen... right?" Fucking figures. I'd come back from the dead, created black fire... It all made sense. Maybe that was why I had no human friends.
A general sense of confusion radiated from the spiders. If... if you like?
A small, demure smile on my lips, eyes vacant. "Sure..." Why not? Why not add one last insane thing to this insane world?
Like a glass of cold water in my face, reality snapped back into focus with crystal clarity. "Fuck no! Demons?! That was not on the menu! Not okay, guys!" The armies of Hell shrank back at my screaming, turning panicked eyes on each other. Seeing the tiny, admittedly adorable spiderling that had been swinging like a pendulum in front of my face recoil in terror quickly put out my outrage, however. It was blatantly unfair how cute the little demon was, and I just couldn't stay angry with those big black eyes wide in fear. "Just... communication. Things like 'Hey, we're a race of supernatural demonic spiders' is important!" I heaved a sigh, stretching out my legs and thudding my head against the rock. "Sorry for freaking out. Just... surprised. Really, really surprised."
Demons are not what Humanity imagine them to be, He-who-cautions-wisely stated. We, too, are thrust into an uncaring, unforgiving world. Unlike the children of the Dark, we children of Chaos know the face of our Mother. For our origin, we are hated and reviled, and so dwell deep below.
Seeing it from their perspective... Which I did, seeing as I'd been inside their minds, it really wasn't so bad. Demon was merely a pejorative label given to something humans didn't understand. My freak-out really hadn't been justified, and I'd have to make up for any hurt feelings later.
"...Anyways," I lamely started, in a desperate attempt to change the topic, "That really didn't take very long, at all," I gestured at myself and the armor I now wore. What should have taken weeks, if not months, of carefully regulated crafting, dietary management, and breeding weavers had been finished within what felt like an hour. Sure, apparently magic demon-spiders could just magic up more silk, but still.
The flow of time is convoluted in Drangleic, He-who-cautions-wisely made a half-hearted effort at explaining. Reality is.. thin, the fabric worn. When the mind wanders, it is easy to lose track of things. It may take moments or a great length of time for a task such as this.
"More magic stuff?" The part of my soul native to Taylor scoffed at the very idea of magic, denying it as the ramblings of lunatics. The fragment of Manus knew exactly what magic was, however, and how it functioned. Moreso than any flimsy sorcerer of the modern day, relying on sticks and bells to create the simplest of effects. Within the Abyss, the laws of reality were scoffed at, and magic dictated common sense. From what little I recalled from that corner of my soul, a sorcerer or cleric relied on some type of catalyst and their own wit or power of belief to enact magic. Pyromancy was something entirely different, of course, closer to the Dark but intrinsically opposed. Two halves of the same whole, Yin and Yang. Manus, however, could enact magic through the sheer weight of his Humanity breaking reality apart. Something I'd inadvertently tapped into, in the tunnels above.
Magic, or the nature of reality. Time is illusory, a concept imposed by Humanity.
I feigned understanding, paper-thin as my acting was, and rose to my feet once again. I looked down at the wooden platforms extending below me, at the stone passageway that led to the next cavern.
Alright then. I was dressed and rested, my most recent mental anguish addressed, and nothing was stopping me from continuing... But still, I hesitated.
"Do any of you know what's down there?"
A deep pit, filled with vermin and refuse. Hollows, cast out from the surface, have made it their home. Further below... the Black Gulch. Home to all manner of creatures shunned by the light. There dwells the Rotten, a gracious host to the lost.
"And we're going in that direction... why, exactly? None of that sounds very appealing." Some of the younger spiders skittered their legs across the stone in an imitation of laughter, while their elders radiated a sense of confusion.
Does... Does it not?
"No, not particularly," I replied. "Still, I've probably seen worse." As I looked down at the barely-visible opening in the cavern, a low, crooning voice echoed through the tunnels. Singing. "Would that be our 'gracious host'?" The spiders gave a collective shrug, and I sighed. "Right. Well, I've got nothing better to do than die horribly in a bottomless pit. Again."
I set off down the wooden ramparts, stepping carefully to avoid the rotten sections. Rather than bothering with clumsily climbing down the ladders, I simply jumped from one platform to another. Short, controlled falls that knocked the breath out of me, but were otherwise mostly harmless. As I did, something caught my eye: A corpse, on the platform just below me. A pale, white light flickered in its chest, like a ghostly flame.
Retrieve it, my Lady!
"Sure, why not?" I could think of a thousand reasons why not to poke mysterious glowing lights hiding within corpses, but my friends felt quite certain it would do me no harm. I dropped onto the platform, biting back a complaint as my ankles finally decided to speak up about the abuse I was subjecting them to, and kneeled over the body. It was a completely desiccated corpse, dressed in only a loincloth, the skin barely attached to the rotted muscle beneath. As I wondered exactly how I was supposed to 'retrieve' an intangible flame... the corpse moaned. "Shit!" I scrambled back, falling onto my ass while fumbling for my dagger. "That thing's still fucking alive?!"
A Hollow without the will to carry forth. The flesh moves without thought. They were infuriatingly calm at the sight. Half of me acknowledged this as entirely normal, which only served to irritate my more sane half.
"Fine. Fine! Let's rob a still-living corpse. Why not!" I realized, looking at myself from the spiders' perspective, that I sounded petulant and childish, but fuck it. I'd fallen to my temporary death, been buried alive and bitten everywhere by magic Gorgon-rats, was still covered in ash from the resulting fire, faced down an existential crisis, and I stank. To high heavens. Like I'd been living in a sewer for a decade. For all I knew, with the convoluted nature of time in this world, maybe I had.
"If I see that damn cat again," I grumbled while reaching for the corpse, "I'm dunking her in a muddy puddle." I swore I heard a faint laugh from far away as I said so, raising the hair on the back of my neck. Ignoring that... As my hand made contact with the corpse, the light within its chest rose up into my palm, solidifying into a pale yellow gem. "And this is...?"
Crush it within thine fist!
"Are you sure? It looks valuable..." I gave the acorn-sized gem an assessing once-over. The interior was a deeper gold, while further from the core, it faded to a near-white pale yellow. Maybe quartz? Something oddly reminiscent of an exasperated sigh echoed from She-who-plots-cleverly, who eyed me impatiently. "Right, crushing the magic corpse-rock." The gem crumbled easily under my grasp, turning into a fine powder that clung to the surface of my armor. A dull glow surrounded me for a brief moment, causing my skin to itch terribly. The sensation of skin pulling together, and the scent of lemons caught my attention. After a few seconds, the itching stopped, and my aches and pains had disappeared. "...huh," I muttered. "A healing effect?" What was something that valuable doing just laying around? I'd have to check later if my wounds had actually healed or merely numbed, but the feeling of blessed relief was amazing in and of itself.
I shrugged off the last of my discomfort, and clambered back to my feet. One last hop to the cavern floor, and I was free to continue deeper into the caves. Towards what, I still didn't really understand.
As I passed through the entrance to the next cavern and onto a wooden outcropping, my eyes took a moment to adjust to the near pitch-black cave. Far, far, far below, the dim light of torches illuminated what I really hoped was the bottom. Between the cave floor and myself was a barely-visible rickety scaffolding structure, looking ready to collapse at any moment. The walls nearest me were dripping in a disgusting sludge, and the moans of Hollows occasionally echoed through the massive chamber.
I looked down, at the wooden platform lit by a single, lonely torch directly below me. About fifteen meters below me.
"...You want me to go down there." It wasn't a question or accusation, merely a statement of sheer disbelief. Nevertheless, the spiders collectively nodded. "As in, drop down onto that platform and presumably fight my way through a horde of Undead, praying the whole damn thing doesn't collapse while I'm on it?" Another nod, more hesitant as they sensed my displeasure with the idea.
"Right, fuck that. Here's what we're going to do instead..."
I held back a scream of both joy and absolute terror. Zipping through the pitch-black air, attached to an all-too thin line of silk by a hastily-woven harness, I ziplined from one platform to another, making my way down. All the while, wooden stakes whizzed by, barely missing me. Some kind of... statue turrets lined the walls, spitting out the projectiles with incredible force. Still, I was a moving target. A very rapidly moving target. It seemed some kind of magic caused them to target living flesh, as they never bothered to shoot the disturbingly tiny rope keeping me from splattering on the floor below.
For a brief instant, I saw the dull face of a Hollow a mere foot away, one of the few carrying a torch. The glare of it cast its diseased red flesh and protruding veins into horrible contrast, rendering its head skeletal with sunken sockets and a toothless mouth. I considered waving, but the only hand available to me was too busy clutching my dagger and the safety line.
All around me, the little ones descended on tiny draglines of silk, ready to deploy their parachutes like brave little sky-divers. Some chittered in joy, others gave off waves of cold terror. The youngest, those unable to weave their own silk, rode in my hair, on my skirts, or within my cloak. They took comfort in my proximity, a warmth radiating from them that filled my heart.
Too fast, the next platform approached. My scouts whispered the locations of three Hollows and one of their larger monstrous dogs, all bunched up. The timing would be tight, but...
With a flash of my dagger, the line of silk was cut, sending me hurtling directly onto the dog's wide back. A brief moment of familiarity, that itch I associated with memories of my past life, before I plunged my blade below the base of its skull, the tip poking out between its jaws. My momentum carried us downward, the dog absorbing the impact as I withdrew my dagger with a wet squelch and jumped off. With a whirl, I kicked the Hollow chasing after me with a club in the chest, sending it stumbling back and hurtling off the platform. It bounced off one of the many ziplines I'd prepared on its way down, folding in half before disappearing into the dark. Two left, I hurled my dagger at the nearest, its tip landing just below the spider perched on its head, the attached line of silk to the hilt wrapped around my wrist ensuring I wouldn't lose it. I charged at the second, ripping my blade out of the first's skull on my way past and tackled the Undead creature off the platform. As we fell, I kicked off the flailing body, wind whistling through my ears until my body came to an abrupt stop, jerking upwards as my friends secured my safety line to the next zipline.
Again, I picked up speed, racing towards the bottom. I'd fallen further than I'd intended in that tackle, and I was too low to reach my next destination. Instead of allowing me to crash face-first into a wooden pole fast enough to seriously hurt, my friends hastily wove a secondary loop around the safety line, leaving enough slack to droop down to my hand and connecting it just behind the first on the zipline. It was made of a slightly rougher silk, able to produce more friction. Effectively, a brake line. I bit down on my dagger to free my hand and grabbed hold, pulling down sharply to bleed off speed.
Rather than crashing, I gathered my feet under me just before impact and kicked off, my knees barking in protest but saving my face a world of pain. At this height... Yes, the drop down to the next platform would seriously hurt. The little ones weren't quite strong enough, even with all several hundred of them, to haul me back upwards, either. Another line of silk was spun, hanging from the wooden platform above. The weaver swung its weight back and forth to build momentum as it worked, until it swung far enough out to connect to an adjacent platform. The silk was doubled, tripled, reinforced until it could hold my weight, and my safety lines were detached in phases from one line and reattached to the other. Swinging my feet up, I caught my ankles around the line and shimmied along upside-down until I could reach the platform, and struggled to pull myself up.
I hadn't planned on using this platform; it was far too open, exposed to the turrets, and too few of my spiders had landed on it. I didn't have the numbers necessary to get a good view of my surroundings.
My only warning was the thudding of paws in the dark before a giant dog came flying at my face. Immediately, I dropped to the floor, and the dog sailed past me into the open air. It was, tellingly, hollowed, and I'd come to the conclusion that the creatures were incredibly dumb. Like, 'scratch their heads with a lit torch' dumb. It was a miracle this entire ramshackle pile of tinder hadn't gone down in flames. Unfortunately, the things just didn't stay dead. I knew, if I waited around here long enough, every Hollow I'd killed would come back to life, and struggle to climb up the ramshackle towers to resume their eternal vigils.
...Did that make me a Hollow? I didn't stay dead, either, but... Well, I wasn't rotting.
Doubly unfortunately, that wasn't the only enemy on the platform. A wooden stake sailed just past my face, nearly clipping my nose as it went. The second shot was far more accurate, sinking into my right shoulder, having slipped through the silk in a gap between armored plates. I bit back a hiss of pain as it hit bone and rolled out of the way of further shots, right into the path of another club-wielding Hollow. The creature didn't hesitate to club me across the back, sending me crashing back into the floor. As it rose up for a second hit, I scythed my foot through its legs, narrowly avoiding it collapsing directly on top of me. I flopped out of the way, the shaft in my shoulder breaking off in the motion and simultaneously digging the bolt in deeper, and came to my knees above the Hollow to drive my blade through its neck. The flesh was soft, partially rotted already, and it took frighteningly little effort to wrench the dagger through bone and tear the head off.
"Come back from this," I growled, tossing the head into the path of the statue-turret's fire. I'd gotten a fair sense of the frequency of the things' firing, and was proven correct as a bolt meant for me sank into the Undead head, which sailed off into the black.
Those statues were getting incredibly annoying. I'd tasked a few dozen weavers with gumming up as many as they could, but the things were everywhere. I wasn't entirely certain whether the webbing prevented the mechanisms from firing, either. It reminded me of something... A machine, pretending to be a man. We'd fought, desperately. Smashed him apart with a brick and filled his insides with corrosive venom and sticky silk. It hadn't stopped him.
I was nearly at the bottom, now. I huddled behind a wooden barrier, the sound of those sharpened stakes sinking into the flimsy protection disturbingly close to my ear, as I gathered the few spiders in my immediate vicinity.
Perhaps another eighty feet to the bottom, where well over two dozen Hollows waited. Already, my advance guard was tangling them up, binding their legs and preparing to... Well, something I really didn't want to think about. I asked the little ones to feel out this platform, while more wove a thick, rougher cord, which I tied around my waist. The scouts confirmed my initial impression, that I was on top of a wide rectangle supported by a single pillar. No ladder leading below, though I could leap onto another platform below me... Although that particular platform looked so heavily rotted that I was amazed a single spider hadn't collapsed it.
I rolled over the edge of the platform, back onto the line I'd first connected to it. My safety line was still securely attached, and from this angle, the statue couldn't hit me. I swayed back and forth to build momentum until I could reach the central pillar, then whipped the cord tied to my waist around the pillar. Catching it on the rebound, it formed a loop around myself and the pillar I could use to shimmy down. To do so, I reluctantly detached the safety line and steadfastly refused to look down. Slowly, slowly, I descended the pillar in short hops, shuffling my knees and keeping a death-grip on the rope.
As I neared the bottom, I caught sight of what the little ones had already reported. Hollows, a small horde of them, wielding pick-axes, shovels, all sorts of mundane implements as weapons. The otherwise non-threatening tools had been wreathed in clouds of darkness, staining my eyes even in the near pitch-black caves.
I felt my soul call in familiarity at the sight. The Dark was enchanting, a siren to my deepest self. The Abyss yawned wide within me, ready to... to...
To do anything. Anything at all. Enslave their feeble minds, the start of a grand army. Cast open their flickering souls, make real their Darkest dreams. Consume them from within, their Humanity gnawing away at sickly flesh. Let it out.
Giving in would have been... satisfying. It was tempting beyond imagining, to dive into that deep, beautiful pool within me and never surface. To let the infinite Dark loose, to experience what it is to be Human.
I couldn't. I couldn't, and I hated myself for it. I hated that I wanted it so much, hated that I couldn't have it, hated the little ones, the skittering demons from keeping it from me. A beautiful, black apple, dangling just in front of my lips. One bite would give me anything I wanted, at the cost of everything I had. I would have done it, if it weren't for a single thing.
If I did... I'd be alone. Abandoned by the only creatures I could call my friends. I feared that, more than anything.
Don't... Don't leave me alone in here. Please. I don't want to die. I'll... I'll give you anything. Everything that I am. P...please...
I stepped back from the edge, slamming the Abyss shut. A howl of rage within my soul, directed at myself, at the Undead, at everything. "That is not who I am!" I roared my defiance, tearing apart the silent underground air.
Grace and Terror! Flame and Splendor! A war-cry from the army at my call, as they attacked in a frenzy. Silk wires tripping the clumsy Undead, sending them falling into razor-thin garrotes that bit deep into Cursed flesh. Biting away at eyes, crawling into open sores, binding the fallen as food for the young.
I charged into the horde, gleaming blade at the ready. A stomp to one's extended knee snapped the flimsy, partially rotten joint, the creature stumbling as I rammed my dagger into its temple, kicking the corpse to free my weapon and prepare for the next victim. A Dark-infused hoe swung at my back, clearly telegraphed and made all the easier to avoid by the senses of hundreds of spiders wired directly into my mind. The offending wrist was severed, the creature staring dumbly at its newfound stump before it found twelve inches of steel in its eye socket and saw no more.
I wrenched the blade free, pulling on the silk string and flinging black bile off the blade in the process. Three more shadowy blades swung for my skull, easily side-stepped. The Hollows left wide open, I sliced open the first's stomach, ignoring the resulting mess and stench. I dropped the blade, letting it swing emptily from my wrist as the second approached a razor-wire strung at eye level left for this purpose. Seizing its head, I jerked the Hollow forward, burying the wire in its soft neck and leaving the pitiful creature gurgling. The third dumbly walked itself into the same wire, not requiring any effort on my part to dispatch.
Six remain, pitiful prey.
With a yank on the silk line, my blade returned to my grip, at the ready in a guard position. My eight thousand eyes watched the remaining Hollows, ready to defend myself.
A Hollow in the back reached for its belt, a round object finding itself freed and in the Undead creature's grasp. As it reared up to throw the thing, I hastily directed the little ones on the creature's body to tie the object to its hand. It went to toss the sphere, only to dumbly stare at its hand when the projectile failed to detach.
A cacophonous bang, a wave of heat and noise. The creature went up in flames, panicking and rushing around, only serving to light its allies aflame as well. The little ones, owing to their demonic nature were unharmed, though the same couldn't be said for... well, absolutely anything else.
I scrambled back, the heat washing over enchanted silk though still burning at exposed eyes. The Hollows moaned and screamed, stumbling about like headless chickens, unable to escape the source of their pain. I watched in stupefied horror as one flaming Hollow crashed into the wooden foundation of a tower, and collapsed in a heap at its base.
Within moments, the dry, rotting wood had caught flame. The conflagration raced up the flammable structure, and an ominous groan filled the air. I stared up, mouth agape at the dangerously leaning structure. The spiders, Hollows, and myself all froze in horrified fascination.
"Fucking run!" I sprinted for the exit, stomping over the remains of weird, fungal-like growths that had been blown apart by the initial detonation of the Hollow's grenade. I barely noticed the five other Hollows that ran after me; whether in fear or to continue the fight, I couldn't tell. The tripwire by the exit stopped them one and all as I hurtled over the edge, falling before coming to a sudden, painful stop on a rocky outcropping below.
Behind us, a deafening crash and the screams of the dying. Dust and bits of wood exploded out of the hole above me, chasing after the spiders still crawling away. Hollowed corpses, humanoid and canine repeated my own fall, only they didn't move after hitting the ground. "I don't think we're going back that way," I faintly mumbled, the words muffled in my ears.
As the ringing in my ears slowly receded, I watched with interest as blue light flooded out of the cavern, gathering in orbs as they rushed for my chest. Several times, I'd seen this happen, but never had time to pay attention to it. The burning rats had released small motes of light upon their death, though I hadn't been in a state of mind to care. Now, as the last embers of the dying filled my being, I marveled at the sensation.
Souls.
I felt them, the tiny, fragile motes of essence as they settled on my own, much larger soul. Though my own was significantly smaller than I would have imagined, it was a bonfire compared to these fireflies. They were drawn to the cracks in my being, slowly bridging the gaps between myself. Not truly restoring it, but... acting as a band-aid. A sense of familiarity, nostalgia and longing filled my being. Old memories, mine and-
A pale face, crowned in gold. A slender neck, her body clothed in radiant white. It offended me, a being so pure in my black Abyss.
"Thou art foul beyond measure," she cursed me, dark hatred staining her perfect features. Pleasing beyond compare. "Father of the Abyss! The noble Knights of Gwyn will come to mine aid, and cast thee low!"
Laughable. Gwyn had his chance to shackle me, as he had the rest of Humanity. His knights would not succeed where their Lord failed. The Abyss could not be contained. I smashed the ground near the white waif's head, chuckling lowly as she recoiled in fear, eyes stark and lips curled back.
"Let them come," I hissed.
The little ones skittered back, eyes low to the ground. "What...?" None spoke. Piercing pain radiated from behind my eyes, driving a wedge in my skull.
Manus. The whisper was echoed among my friends, muttered in low, fearful tones. A corner of my mind preened, basking in the recognition while the rest of me stared in revulsion.
I'd been willfully ignorant. Deliberately denied the implications of half my soul not being my own. Or... well, it was, because it was my soul, but... Shit, this was complicated. I should have known, though. I wasn't just Taylor any more. I identified with Taylor, called myself Taylor, but that was a lie. I was less than half the person she'd been, quite literally. So... what was I? Who was I?
"I'm... not ready to deal with this," I softly admitted. The little ones looked lost, no words of reassurance or acts of kindness they could think of that could help. "Later. I'll sort this mess out later." It was a hollow promise, one I knew I'd put off as long as possible. But what else could I do? I marched deeper, to the place they'd called Black Gulch. Low, crooning singing called me deeper still.
Notes: Feel free to skip this, just some background information on small details, mechanics and such.
On player classes and stats: Taylor isn't the Chosen, or the Bearer, or a player character in general. This story converts game mechanics to actual principles of reality, although some functions of the game are clearly just game mechanics. For instance, Taylor doesn't have a hammerspace of infinite storage, and neither does the Bearer. But if you, as a reader, feel the need to quantify Taylor's abilities in terms of Dark Souls levels and stats, she's effectively a Dex/Int build. Her faith is rock-bottom, as is her Attunement, although her nature as a Daughter of the Abyss negates that hard (more on that below). Since Taylor has a stupidly high pain tolerance, that would be reflected in a beefy Vit/Resistance stat. Her strength is average, reflecting a pretty fit and healthy teenage girl, though there's a one-handed restriction. Her endurance is above average, thanks to her daily running from consequences to her actions. Her Humanity stat is absolutely monstrous though, going beyond anything the game could ever possibly account for (more on that below).
On Taylor's armor: It's effectively the Gold-Hemmed Black set with really beefy physical resistance and higher weight, although I'm using more realistic interpretations of armor. In reality, a sword strike would deal zero damage against quality plate armor, and that's the kind of logic I'm using here. The weight is in the medium range, around that of chain mail, and it carries a bonus to stealth. Miracles really don't like Taylor, though, so without a shield, she has negative defenses against lightning (more on that below). Additionally, it has very low poise. The chitin plating adds some, but it's flush with her skin, so it adds less than it would if it were domed. She's a creative weaver with a healthy streak of paranoia, not a master smith, and the spiders have no experience in making human armor. Her head is also wide open, which is bad.
On the dagger, Gold Morning: It's really a pretty ordinary dagger, aside from its larger size. It's on the heavier side, and has a decent Bleed modifier. This dagger was designed by Lenigrast to facilitate more defensive maneuvers to keep Taylor alive, so its blade is exceptionally thick and sturdy with a wide cross-guard. With Taylor's power-assisted reflexes, battle awareness and combat experience, she's an absolute parry unit. The hilt is made of Archtree heartwood, which doesn't really have any special characteristics other than being very durable, although there is some symbolism there if you squint hard enough. There's more to this blade than is apparent just yet, though. After all, not every blade demands its own name...
On the Abyss and Humanity: Taylor's connection to the Abyss through her soul grants her significant strengths and weaknesses. The Abyss is a cheat-sheet for Dark magic, effectively granting her infinite spell-casts regardless of if she has the stats to cast that spell. However, this comes with some massive costs. Firstly, the Abyss is a powerful corrupting force. The Abyss within Taylor's soul is greatly diminished compared to Manus', however, so it's not quite what Artorias faced. Should she ever learn to tap into the Abyss while remaining in control of herself, Taylor would find she's utterly incapable of casting regular magic. Every spell she tries to cast is perverted by the Abyss, whether it's Sorcery, Pyromancy or Miracles. Speaking of Miracles, they really don't like Taylor. Not only is she incapable of using them, they're actually toxic to her Shattered soul. Even beneficial Miracles would cause her harm (Think 'Revive Kills Zombies'). Regarding Taylor's Humanity, not only does she have an infinite well of overflowing, condensed Humanity on speed-dial, she's just a very human person in the more important sense. She's flawed, and full of raw edges, and emotional. Not to mention, she hasn't been shackled by the gods of Anor Londo. Her Humanity is in its purest form, absolutely limitless and empowered by the Dark Soul. What this really means for the world at large hasn't been made clear yet.
On death and Undeath: Taylor is not a Hollow, and can never become one. Her soul isn't linked to the First Flame in any way, so the Curse has no hold on her. While the Dark Soul is present within her and every human, this is not the source of the Undead Curse. The Darksign, the brand placed upon Humanity by the gods of Anor Londo, is. The Darksign is inextricably linked to the Fire, such that when it starts to go out, the Darksign activates. This is a measure designed to drive a Champion to relight the Flame and keep Humanity shackled, preventing the Age of Dark from ever occurring. For Taylor, this has several interesting effects. The first being, she doesn't return to a Bonfire upon death or go Hollow. Reading the description of the Darksign provides a clue as to why this is: The Undead Curse (ie the Darksign) isn't responsible for Humanity's immortality. Rather, it's a restriction on immortality. The exact wording states that the Darksign causes those afflicted to return to a Bonfire upon death at the cost of all souls held, eventually draining their will to live and resulting in full Hollowing. Without this restriction in place, Taylor merely revives on the spot with an undamaged soul. This is exactly what Aldia sought after.
On the Spiders: Several things to note here. Firstly, the personalities of the spiders are quite intentionally all over the place, as are their speech patterns. They're an entire race of unique individuals, after all; there's no one personality for the spiders. Also, individual spiders come to realize Taylor's a person, not just some prophesied queen, and that affects how they interact with her. Secondly, I dare VaatiVidya to double-check me on spiders being demons. I mean, have you ever seen a spider? Demons. We as players see spiders most closely associated with Izalith, home of demons. Quelaag and (most of) her sisters are fused with spiders, referred to as 'half-woman, half-spider demon[s]'. The only places we encounter spiders in DS1 are Blighttown and Izalith. The only exception to this, I think, are the Ducal Spiders in Tseldora, which I personally suspect to be more of Aldia's experiments gone wrong (or right).
On Clothes: I'm of the opinion that clothes say a lot about a person. Taylor's spent quite a lot of this story so far changing clothes. Every chapter so far, she's changed clothes at least once. This is her last major wardrobe change, however, although it will be updated rather than thrown out. Taylor's clothes are symbolic of how people see her. Shanalotte saw a sleeping child, and gave her a blanket. Maughlin saw a poor, homeless wanderer, and gave her some cheap rags so she'd at least have some decency. The spiders saw a dead queen, and gave her a burial shroud. Taylor isn't really sure what she sees in herself, yet. So she cobbles together something familiar, but it doesn't feel right; it's not really her any more. She throws together the gifts everybody else gave her, hoping that outside perspectives will paint a more complete picture. This is the first real choice she's made for herself, and paints some insight on what's really going on with her sense of self. Without the strange nature of time in Drangleic, however, even with magic spiders, that should have taken her several days to weave.
On Taylor's power: It's made quite clear in Worm that the Shards are restricted to operating on Earth. Taylor's in an entirely different plane, now, so her Shard certainly isn't working. It's still there, attached to her brain and occupying Nth-dimensional space, but it's totally shut down. However... Taylor's distinction between Shard and Self was totally absent by the end. It left an indelible mark on her soul, just as she marked it with her own personality. Souls are everything in Drangleic, and her unique bond with her alien brain parasite instilled a fraction of a fraction of its abilities within her. She's now restricted to controlling willing spiders, and only willing spiders. A strong shock to her psyche or soul can break this control. Her radius for tapping senses and sending coordinated orders is fairly small, about the size of her starting range of two blocks. She can, however, send broader messages to the spiders as a whole as though she were speaking, so long as they can hear her. Moreover, the spiders of Drangleic are loyal to her regardless of her control, and are very intelligent.