The Sheikh sat on his throne atop a dais carved from the cavern's bedrock amidst his harem and top lieutenants. He wore simple robes, white to denote his power and authority, with a scarf bound by a cord covering his head. At his waist rested a steel short sword, a chain-sickle kusarigama, and numerous throwing knives.

Nearby, his Belly Dancers made music to entertain him throughout the day. They each wore transparent veils with diaphanous tops and loincloths that barely hid their sex, all in a dreamy gossamer pink illuminated by flickering torches. Among them were Goblins, Hobs, Cactus girls, and Kobolds all moving in choreographed unison, all pregnant with his spawn at various stages of development. One of the Kobolds knelt between his legs for her throat to serve as his cocksleeve of the hour; his harem ensured his shaft remained sheathed in hot, supple flesh all day, every day using their mouths, cunts, and asses.

One of his elite Sand Hobs approached the dais to report, “Da Oasis Lizardfolk Tribe stan’ idle, Master.”

“Hmph. I knew those reptiles were weak.” Despite claiming and impregnating several of their number, they were too cowardly to engage his forces in retribution. “Continue to periodically raid them until they’re too exhausted to resist our advances.” Then he could claim the Oasis as his seat of power, and every lizard’s sweet, scaly ass would be his.

Maybe he could use them as offerings to tame the Sand Worm?

“Yes, Master.”

The day passed in a haze as with most days. Wake, fuck, eat, fuck, sleep, and repeat while slowly gaining and consolidating his forces. He let his Belly Dancers distract him for a while, then had a pair of his Sand Goblins fight for sport. His servants either brought him mouse meatballs or rabbit stew for lunch depending on how the day’s hunt had gone. Most days his meals were an unremarkable affair that flitted through his awareness for no more than a moment.

But, today, a creeping sense of unwellness stole over him not long after noon.

“Who cooked my last meal?” the Sheikh asked his Hob Lieutenant. “Bring them to me.” When they shoved the wretch on their knees before him, he said, “What did you put in my food?”

“J-j-jus’ the normal ingred’nts Master,” the blubbering Sand Goblin cried. “Ah mean’ no harm, I sweah! You kno' I can’t—”

He unsheathed his short sword, sliced through the air, and shook the blood from the edge with a hard flick before sheathing it—all in a single fluid motion as the Gobbo’s head fell to the ground.

“See that it doesn’t happen again.”

““Yes, Master!”” his Goblin minions replied as they cleaned up the mess.

The Belly Dancers attempted to improve his mood with sex and salacious movements, but the sour feeling in his stomach only grew worse as the hours passed. So tired, but it’s too early to sleep… Finally, he’d had enough, “Leave me.”

“But, Master, let us h-,” a Kobold began, but he backhanded her halfway across the room before she could finish. The little Lizardfolk couldn’t struggle to her feet on her own, but a Cactus girl lent her a hand as the Belly Dancers all scrambled to leave the chamber.

Glancing around, he saw the Hobs had already left too. Smart. He felt like cutting the next monster he saw in twain to help ease this headache.

“Fuck, what’s happening to me?” the Sheikh wondered as he drew his sword and held it aloft. The blade trembled in his grip. “Damn.” He sheathed it in disgust. “Why does it feel heavy?”

“Perhaps Spindle could explain,” a voice said from the darkest corner of the room.

He blinked. When had the torches gone out?

“Who the fuck? Do you know who I am?” He straightened his spine and put a hand on his hilt.

“The Goblin Sheikh, presumably.” A Webling with blue skin covered in arcane purple-glowing tattoos stepped forward. “You needn’t concern yourself with who Spindle is, as she is merely a Maid for her Mistress. The much more salient issue for you is what happened to your powers.”

“My powers? You dare? What have you done, oh arrogant Wicked One? Don’t think yourself above me; I see I hold an entire Tier over your head, not to mention my army of Minions.”

“Hmm, about that…” She snapped her fingers, and torches blossomed to life around the room.

His Sand Goblins, Hobs, and Belly Dancers all stood there staring at him, weapons drawn. Even the red-scaled Lamia that had hunted his patrols was there among them. A rebellion? “Impossible; they cannot defy me! I am the Sheikh, their leader, their master!”

The Webling smirked. “Perhaps if you were their master in truth, Spindle couldn’t have succeeded. However, you used your magic to control every one of them. Through careful study, hours of experimentation, and her incredible mental acuity, Spindle learned to sense your influence and envision it as a thread.” Narrowing his eyes, he finally noticed the thin, luminescent purple strings attached to his Minions at the hands, back, legs, and head. Those ethereal filaments appeared to fade into nothingness after a few feet, but they were nonetheless taught as if bearing weight. “Even then, she doubts most Arcane monsters would’ve been able to do anything with those threads, but you happen to be looking at the Region’s foremost expert in manipulation, domination, and threadwork. Needless to say, Spindle rose to the occasion.”

“And what is it you think you’ve accomplished?” he asked while idly drawing his short sword and rising to his feet.

Another snap of her fingers, and the assembly raised their bone weapons to point at him. “Why, she has defeated you, of course.”

“Hmph! Hardly. Trash is still trash no matter how prolific. I have my Third-Tier body, abilities, and no hesitation to slaughter my troops. All I need do is raid the Oasis, and I’ll have replaced my losses.”

“Then come, fool.”

The Sheikh wouldn’t tolerate such an insolent tongue for even a moment longer. He’d cut it from her face before torturing her to death! His hand flashed and a throwing knife sailed through the air. The speed, though, felt… slower than normal? No matter, what could she do without armor or shields? Block with the bodies of his pathetic kin? It’s not like he’d run out of ammo when he could summon more knives with a thought.

The Webling, this ‘Spindle,’ didn’t budge. Not even one of her fingers twitched, and yet three Sand Goblins leaped to interpose themselves. Two threw their bone daggers, missing his projectile by a hair, but the third deflected his steel with the flat of the weapon. This clash ruined the low-grade bone blade, but the Sand Goblin simply summoned another to rearm themselves.

“This can’t be… my knife should’ve shattered their bone blade and carved through that Goblin’s body!”

“Fu-fu-fu, if Spindle isn’t mistaken, you’ve dropped at least one, if not multiple effective Ranks. During her investigation of the bond between you, your victims, and the cursed garments, she discovered how that thread of your will siphons power from your Minions. Eventually, she learned how to choke that flow. You’ve no doubt been feeling the effects of her labor as the sources of your strength slowly dwindled throughout the day. If you’d investigated then, there would’ve been little she could do to defend herself, but alas~ She doubts you’re any stronger than a Below Average ranked Third Tier at this point. Perhaps even… Inferior.”

“Rrrraaahhh!” That couldn’t be! Enraged, the Sheikh drew his kusarigama, spun the weighted chain above his head, and threw it at that infuriating Wicked Webling.

The red-scaled Lamia’s arm blocked his throw, letting the chain wrap around her wrist. Hah! At last, he had the elusive snake in his grasp! She’d trouble his patrols no more after today. Sickle in hand, he tugged on the chain… dragging her forward no more than a foot. Wha-what? He should be pulling her in hand over hand in a blink before slashing her to pieces! Was his strength truly so diminished?!?

He tugged harder and the Lamia lurched forward; he’d have her yet! Then his Kobold Belly Dancers leaped on the Lamia, followed by the pregnant Goblin girls, and his progress slowed to a halt.

“Now, while he’s distracted!” Spindle instructed.

A dozen Sand Goblins threw their bone knives, not at him, but at each other??? Except, the hilts of these knives had glowing purple threads tied to them. When the Goblin on the opposite side of the circle caught their partner’s knife, they each pulled the string taught to create a tripwire. Then the Sand Goblin pairs ran around him along the circle’s circumference to catch him with the threads! A clever trick, but no matter.

The Sheikh dropped the sickle side of his Kusarigama and summoned a second short sword to dual wield. Then he spun in place while severing the wires that came near him. Was this her game? Trying to tangle and bind him like a mindless beast? Pathetic! Even weakened as he was, a Third Tier was a Third Tier. He dashed for this infuriating Spindle with his blades bared to make short work of her.

“Second wave, go!”

His traitorous Sand Goblins seemed to have no end of those tripwire bone knife pairs, forming another half-dozen threads crisscrossing the room to slow him. Cactus Belly Dancers shot streams of water onto the stone floor of the cavern, his footing on the wet rocks now as treacherous as his subordinates. The red-scaled Lamia spat venom at his face. Then the Sand Hobgoblins approached him with their bone-bladed short swords drawn.

They thought this enough? Hah! He’d show them the difference in Tiers!

The Sheikh dodged the venom spray, ducked under a purple clothesline while taking a puddle into account with a one-footed pivot, and delivered a blow that shattered the first Hob’s sword with contemptuous ease. But, when he committed to a coup de grace on the disarmed Hob, his target was yanked out of reach! How? No time, a second Hob menaced him from behind, and he slashed a gash in that opponent’s arm. Then that one too was dragged away.

Spindle smirked as her hands finally went to work, weaving glowing lines of power. Ah, the purple threads… she was pulling the strings.

Before he could pursue her, dozens of Sand Goblins threw their daggers at him, Cactus girls shot spines in his direction, and even the Belly Dancers tossed their knives his way. Between them, the ever-present moving tripwires, and the slick stones underfoot, he could hardly make progress in the Webling’s direction. All his energy went into dodging and deflecting. Damn, he’d be practically teleporting behind the enemy with his normal speed!

“This is inconceivable! How are you controlling so many Minions at once?!?” he asked the Webling as he bobbed and weaved through waves of projectiles. There’s no way a Second-Tier monster had the mental capacity to issue hundreds of commands a second.

Spindle seemed utterly unconcerned with him as she answered, “She isn’t, and it wouldn’t be possible for a Second Tier to do so anyway. Well, she felt the option for a Wicked Webling Puppeteer evolution propose itself, and that may have been sufficient for the task, but Spindle decided against such a course."

"To refuse an Evolution?!? It's unthinkable! Madness!"

"Fu-fu-fu, Spindle's development is irrelevant to your affairs. No, you should be more concerned with what Spindle has been up to..." The Wicked One giggled demonically. "While she manipulated the threads of your magical control to stymie the source of your power, she realized she could either wrap the strings around her fingers to seize dominance—or leave the threads loose. Spindle chose the latter.”

His slaves… this was rebellion! Mutiny, even!

From the corner of his eye, he saw the spider girl literally knit the wounded Hob’s cut closed with her Dark Magic threads and wrap the gash tight with a silken purple cloth. Then his former Lieutenant summoned a new bone short sword and reentered the fight despite the debilitating injury he'd dished out moments ago. Outrageous! How was it that everything was suddenly against him? It felt like his world was falling apart.

“It didn’t take much to sway them to her side; no more than a little pleasure and a few promises. Yes, Spindle did suck a lot of cock and eat a ton of pussy to make this happen, but you’ve been a cruel master to them." A few Goblins sported hot blushes at her words, while others nodded in agreement. "This is how they wanted to repay you~”

"Impossible! Strength is king in this world. They'd obey me out of fear for my power if nothing else. You're just a Second Tier monster, who would abandon a Third Tier to follow you?!?"

"Fu-fu-fu, perhaps you are correct that strength is queen, but there are many kinds of strength. You proved your weakness by allowing Spindle to subvert your magical control over them to begin with. The supposed Sheikh of the desert lost this battle before it began."

“Gaaahhh!!!” the Sheikh shrieked as he charged heedlessly into melee range. It was worth taking a few Cactus needles in the back to wet his sword with her blood, fuck that stung… except the damn Webling kept yanking everyone he slashed at out of range! She pulled the ethereal threads trailing from his Minions’ limbs with expert timing. Then there was the sheer number of opponents.

Sand Goblins comprised the vast majority, summoning a constant hail of bone daggers. They were competent enough that, of any ten of them attempting to deflect his throwing knives with a counter-throw of their own, one would succeed. They pushed or pulled each other aside when Spindle didn’t react in time to one of his cheeky over-the-shoulder throws. When he closed in and slashed to decapitate a Goblin, three intercepted his strike with their bone weapons—which all shattered, but spoiled his aim—reducing a killing blow to a bloody facial wound that the Webling stitched closed no more than a few breaths later.

They didn’t slack or let up as the minutes passed. Two Goblins threw a purple net at him that he slashed to ribbons with twin swords. The Hobs flanked him, made him block their bone blades despite his metal edges chipping their inferior material, and forced him onto awkward footing in a puddle of slippery cactus water. He couldn’t easily dodge the next Goblin dagger, which nicked him in the leg.

He took an angry thrust at the left Hob, his Lieutenant, damned fucking Jeff, but he missed stabbing the idiot in the heart when Spindle jerked his foe away with her near-invisible threads. He severed another dozen tripwires in passing as he whirled across the floor. This wasn’t working. He started rapid-fire-throwing cold steel from his belt of knives, tossing three at a time from each hand with pinpoint accuracy, and his jaw fell open as nearly all failed to connect.

Spindle had his number by then, and the Sand Goblins were on point. She could pull on a Goblin’s limb with each finger of her four hands with precision, allowing her to easily tug aside most of his targets while the Gobbos drowned him with numbers. No matter his superior skills, physical attributes, and weapon materials, the saying proved true that ‘quantity has a quality of its own.’ They were many and he was one. Only a few of his strikes drew blood—but this bitch of a spider woman instantly pulled the wounded aside to provide quick stitches before sending them back into the fray.

He kept waiting for them to make a mistake that would tilt the odds in his favor, but the opposite finally happened instead.

A wave of black darts fell on him that he batted aside except for one that pricked his arm. Looking up, he saw a swarm of… infantile Bee monsters?!?

“Bad guy gets ouchie!”

The mere moment he paused to gawk at the sight, especially the largest Bee girl bearing a look of triumph on her face, clearly the one who had spoken, cost him dearly.

The Kobold dancers swung overhead from a purple rope anchored to the ceiling and tossed another glowing net that landed on his shoulders. The strings were sticky like webbing, hindering his movements. A Sand Goblin dove for his leg and grabbed hold. Those damn clothesline threads began wrapping around him, Gobbos circling to tie him in knots even as he stabbed for the cur at his feet with a reverse grip on his sword.

A Hob parried his left-hand strike with a chipped bone blade, grabbing his wrist with a free hand while their blades locked. The Sheikh twisted his grip so the sword’s tip bit into the Hob’s thigh, eliciting a scream of pain, but then fucking Jeff had both biceps locked around his right forearm. He pulled Jeff in and bashed the Hob’s nose with his forehead, sending a geyser of blood spurting into the air, but the asshole wouldn’t let go. No matter, another few seconds, and he’d overpower these bastards…

Then the red-scaled Lamia was upon him with those overgrown snake coils. She bit his shoulder and fire coursed through his veins. A second later, the Spider bitch latched onto his other shoulder, plunging him into an icy pit as the Wicked One stole his blood and strength with sharp fangs. More Sand Goblin add-ins Doggin-piled him. He fell. He struggled but couldn’t overcome the weight of bodies. This couldn’t be!

The Webling Weaver stood, circling around to his front where she magically spun ropes into existence to bind him while he glared death at her.

“I’ll fucking kill you when I get out of this, you cunt!”

“Spindle doubts that very much,” is all she said as she finished her work.

“What’s the point of this?” the Sheikh wondered as they restrained his limbs, unable to keep his silence in the depths of his rage. “I’ll slip these ropes in the night and slaughter the lot of you.”

This time, Spindle didn’t bother answering as a Mothra with glowing green eyes approached him. “Relax.” The enchantingly beautiful insect-folk exhaled, blowing flavorful herbal vapors in his face, and suddenly things didn’t seem all that bad.

A soft voice in his ear whispered as he faded away, "Got you~"