NTR: Stealing wives in Another World

The pulse didn't fade. It rolled through the Hollow again, slower this time, heavier—like the whole place was acknowledging him. The silk beneath Allen's boots flexed with the rhythm, a living carpet that seemed to bend in greeting. The brood above kept still, their many eyes glimmering faintly in the darkness, but he could feel them watching—not just the ones here, but something further, deeper.

The others felt it too. Fina's hand shifted toward her sword hilt, but she didn't draw it. Rinni's knuckles whitened around her spear, though her smirk hadn't faded. Nyxilith's spider legs twitched in sync with the pulse, while Xilthera stood perfectly still, gaze fixed on the dark tunnel ahead.

Then, like threads loosening after a knot, the silk around them began to part on its own. Strands unwound in silence, curling back into the walls to reveal a long corridor. The air was different here—warmer, charged, as if they were walking straight into the heart of something vast and aware.

Allen took the lead without hesitation, the hum in his hands guiding him forward. Every step pressed deeper into the web's current, until the vibrations weren't just under his boots but in his bones.

They walked for minutes that felt like hours. The corridor sloped downward, the walls narrowing until the silk almost brushed their shoulders. Patterns began to appear in the strands—woven sigils, spirals, knots so intricate they made his eyes ache to look at them. They weren't random. They were records.

Nyxilith noticed too. "These are Old Pattern marks. Some of these… aren't supposed to exist anymore."

Xilthera's voice was low, wary. "The Hollow keeps its own history. Those who understand it… rule."

Allen kept moving. "Then I'll understand all of it."

The corridor opened without warning into a massive chamber, so wide that the edges faded into darkness. The ceiling was lost in shadow, but high above, faint clusters of brood clung to inverted towers of silk, their bodies glimmering faintly like constellations.

In the center of the chamber was a structure—a throne, if it could be called that. It wasn't built of stone or wood, but woven silk so densely layered it had the weight of bone. Strands radiated from it like the center of a web, disappearing into the darkness in every direction.

The hum in Allen's hands surged, almost dizzying now. The web wanted him there.

As he approached, the brood above began to shift, their claws clicking softly against the silk. None descended, but their bodies swayed in unison, as though bowing to something only they could see.

Fina's eyes narrowed. "You're not actually thinking about sitting in that thing, are you?"

Allen glanced back at her. "If the Hollow's offering me a seat, I'm taking it."

He stepped onto the web-bridge that led to the throne. The silk was taut, almost humming with restraint. Each footfall sent ripples outward through the threads, as though announcing him to the entire Hollow. When he reached the throne itself, he rested his hand on its armrest. The moment his skin touched it, the hum became a roar in his head—images flashing across his mind, threads connecting and snapping, patterns reforming faster than thought.

The Hollow wasn't just alive. It was listening.

Allen sat.

The reaction was immediate. The silk in the chamber convulsed, not in chaos but in perfect synchronization, the sound like a thousand strings being plucked at once. The brood above lowered themselves slightly, as though drawn toward him. Strands of silk uncoiled from the throne itself, wrapping loosely around his arms and legs—not binding, but anchoring.

And then came the voice.

It wasn't sound, not really. It was the vibration of every thread around him, resonating in a pattern his mind could understand. Weavebearer. Unraveler. Not of brood, yet of pattern.

Allen smirked faintly. "You know who I am."

We know what you will be.

Images again—Threadseekers burning in pale light, brood bowing, silk spiraling outward until it covered lands far beyond the Hollow. His hands pulling at strands that weren't physical—threads of people, places, whole realms.

The voice deepened. You pull against the Deep Thread. This we approve. The Hollow will hold you, if you hold us.

Allen leaned back in the throne, the silk shifting to fit him. "So this is an oath."

A knot between us. Strong until cut.

Fina stepped onto the bridge cautiously, Rinni right behind her, both watching warily. "Allen," Fina said, "what's happening?"

He didn't take his eyes from the web around him. "The Hollow just swore itself to me."

Rinni let out a low whistle. "Guess we're all living in your web now."

Nyxilith approached last, her gaze fixed on him with something sharp and unreadable. "Careful, Weaver. The Hollow doesn't give without taking."

Allen smiled at her, slow and deliberate. "Good. I like trades I can win."

The threads tightened faintly around him, sealing the knot of the oath. The hum in his body didn't fade—it rooted. The Hollow was his, and he was part of it now.

Far away in the dark, something massive stirred. Not hostile. Not yet. But aware.

The Deep Thread knew his name.

The silk beneath Allen's hands pulsed again, slower this time, almost like it was syncing with his heartbeat. It wasn't just a throne anymore—it was a conduit, threads stretching far into unseen places, tying him to things he couldn't yet name. Every faint vibration was a whisper of some distant movement, the twitch of a brood leg miles away, the shifting of a silk bridge in a chamber he had never walked. He wasn't just sitting in the Hollow—he was inside its body now.

Fina's boots made no sound on the bridge as she came closer, but he still felt her presence through the threads before he heard her voice. "You look like you're about to disappear into that thing."

He smirked without opening his eyes. "Maybe I already have."

Rinni leaned past her, eyes bright. "Yeah, but if he is disappearing, I'm calling dibs on his coat."

Allen cracked an eye at her. "You wouldn't survive a day in my coat."

"Please," she snorted. "I'd survive and look better doing it."

A faint movement from above drew their attention. Dozens—no, hundreds—of small broodlings had begun lowering themselves down from the unseen ceiling, descending on threads as fine as hair. They didn't come close enough to touch, but they circled the air above Allen in slow spirals, bodies swaying in the same rhythm as the throne's pulse. The larger brood still clung to the walls and towers above, unmoving but watching.

Nyxilith stepped forward now, her many legs clicking softly on the bridge. "They're… acknowledging you."

"Feels more like they're measuring me," Allen said.

"They are," she replied flatly. "And if you fail whatever measure the Hollow has set, you won't leave here."

He met her eyes for a moment, then leaned back in the throne. "Guess I won't fail, then."

The silk around his wrists tightened fractionally—not enough to restrain, just enough to remind him that the Hollow was holding on. The hum shifted pitch, and new vibrations traveled up through him, sharper, deliberate. His head tilted slightly as fragments of sound and sensation pressed against his thoughts—battlefields soaked in silk, shadowed figures torn apart by invisible strands, the weight of centuries of web-building across mountains, forests, and cities long turned to dust.

It wasn't just a history lesson. It was a promise.

"You're showing me what you've done," Allen murmured under his breath, "and what you can do again."

The vibration deepened. With your hand upon the Thread, it will be done again.

The throne's anchor threads began to shift, some coiling up his forearms, others curling loosely around his waist and chest. The air in the chamber changed—warmer, thicker, faintly metallic. It smelled like rain before lightning.

The massive presence in the deep stirred again. This time Allen felt it not as a distant echo, but like a great hand brushing along the very edge of his mind. A voice without words pressed against him, vast and old, not truly inside him but threading around his thoughts, weighing him.

He didn't flinch. "If you're testing me, you'll need to do better."

The pulse answered—not faster, but heavier. The silk above trembled, and one of the colossal shapes clinging to the upper dark began to descend. Its body was unlike the others—its legs longer, sharper, its abdomen marked with deep, symmetrical scars like carved runes. Each movement was silent despite its size, the silk bridges bending under its weight but never breaking.

It stopped just short of the throne platform, lowering its head until its many black eyes reflected Allen's face back at him. The threads from the throne extended, joining with the silk hanging from the creature's body, until for a moment Allen and the beast were connected by a living lattice.

We knot this in shadow, the vibration said. You will pull, and we will tighten.

He didn't need to ask what they meant. The Hollow's oath wasn't symbolic—it was a pact of mutual violence. They would give him the reach of their web, and in return, he would weave them into whatever he tore apart.

"I accept," he said, his voice steady.

The moment the words left his mouth, the silk constricted—not painfully, but completely. Threads wrapped around his arms, chest, and legs, holding him upright as the massive brood leaned closer. The runes carved into its abdomen glowed faintly, the light pulsing in sync with the throne's hum. The chamber's air felt charged, every breath thick with static.

Fina took a step forward, hand twitching toward her sword again. "Allen—"

"Stay where you are," he told her without looking.

The creature's head tilted, mandibles clicking softly as more of its silk wove into the throne's threads, locking the knot between them. The pulse climbed higher and higher until it thrummed in his teeth, then—

—everything went still.

The threads loosened, sliding away from his body, but the hum didn't fade. It had moved inside him now, a constant presence beneath his skin. The massive brood withdrew without a sound, climbing back into the upper dark. The smaller broodlings scattered upward like drifting ash.

The chamber was silent again.

Allen stood from the throne. The silk shifted underfoot, carrying him forward without him needing to walk. When he stepped off the bridge onto the main platform, the others were staring—not just at him, but at the faint shimmer of web-light that still clung to his hands.

"What did it give you?" Nyxilith asked quietly.

He flexed his fingers. The light shifted like liquid, thin strands stretching and snapping in the air. "A thread I can pull anywhere their web reaches."

Fina's brow furrowed. "And that's… everywhere?"

Allen smiled. "Soon enough."