Power of the Lost

by Cebelius

  How do you figure?

  'Use your tremor-sense.'

  He stopped, blinked, then thought, What for?

  Prada's voice in his head held a curious sort of eagerness as she said, 'Just close your eyes. Focus on the world around you. You've done this before. Once the image is clear in your mind ... stomp.'

  Terry did as he was bade. He closed his eyes, focused on the sensation of the world through his contact with it. It was utterly unlike his normal perception of the world, but she was right. He had done this before and it came to him after a few moments, right through his boots. It was subtle, throbbing with the beat of his heart because the beat of his heart was the only movement anywhere nearby.

  Once he had it, he lifted a foot, and brought it down sharply.

  A wave of sensory information flowed into him, showing him every wall in outline. For the briefest of moments, he saw through everything around him in every direction.

  Prada made no secret of her delight as she thought, 'Tremor-sense is wonderful, is it not? Now open your eyes, and trust me. You have seen what I see with every step you take. You need fear no mechanical traps. I will sense them through you. Keep your eyes out for magic, and I will handle the rest. We should take this opportunity to enhance our integration ... let us act as one being.'

  We could actually do that?

  Terry had by now passed several branching halls and come to the Y juncture he'd spotted from the door. Both passages looked the same to him. His only reasonable objective was to head toward the center for now, and since neither corridor offered something the other didn't, he picked the right hand branch for no better reason than the fact he was right-handed.

  Twenty feet down this corridor, he got a tingling sensation behind his eyes along with the sensation of tremor-sense. Superimposed over his normal vision were impressions of hollow spaces in the walls in front of him, along with a network of pressure plates in the stone of the floor.

  He stopped, blinking, and the impressions began to fade from his vision as Prada's thoughts intruded, 'How closely integrated we are depends largely on you, Husband. Our vows ostensibly make us equal partners, but in reality you have the external body, along with many more years experience. The question becomes, how much do you trust me?'

  Glancing around, he thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. I married you, didn't I? We're in this together come hell or high water. Now isn't exactly the time for me to have doubts.

  He grinned, unable to keep from prodding her just a bit.

  Besides, self-interest is best interest, right? I doubt you want to be stuck in HERE for the duration.

  Unfortunately, she had a ready comeback for that one.

  'You never know. I might like Theseus better than you.'

  He blinked, but his sense of Prada gave the game away. She wore the equivalent of a shit-eating grin inside his head, so he rolled with it.

  He's probably better at this killing thing at least. Shame you were so quick to tie the knot.

  'Lessons learned.' Her amusement faded as she added, 'On a more serious note ... unless you are willing to explore the prurient option, everything we encounter here needs to die. It is entirely possible that Ariadne has no bond with Theseus herself. They are both templates. That is probably also why she did nothing to pursue you in order to break her bond with Theseus. The bond she refers to is of a different sort, possibly governed by the crown she wears. So the only bonds Theseus has are likely with creatures who attempted the Labyrinth and were taken by him. Given how long he has been here, we may have to deal not only with his bonded women, but with his progeny.'

  Wincing, he shrugged.

  We'll deal with that when it comes up.

  As it turned out, the issue came up almost immediately.

  After navigating through the pressure plates, Terry was forced to make several sharp turns, and after stepping over a tripwire revealed more by the mechanical devices behind the wall adjacent than by anything he could see with the naked eye, he found himself in a living room.

  There was no other way to describe it. Despite the fact that it was open to the sky, the room had furniture, and that furniture was by no means crude. Rather, it was elegant, and artfully arranged on colorful rugs that covered the stone floor. A canopy bed was centered on the wall to Terry's right, though drapes obscured the bed itself. A one-armed couch was arranged between the bed and the wall opposite, which played host to a bookshelf lined with both books and scrolls. A few of those were magical, but before he could get a good look a figure on the couch stirred and tilted her head back to glance at him, idle curiosity on her face.

  She was beautiful, pale, human-looking. Her face was angular and her eyes glinted with an unmistakable red hue that was not in any way natural. Her body was clad in diaphanous black silks, and her voice was breathy and sweet as she said, "Oooh. Now this is new. Ariadne must be getting truly desperate to feed us a template."

  Do you know what this is? Terry asked inside his head, not taking his eyes from the woman as she slid off the couch and stood, every movement one of studied grace.

  'She has no heartbeat, nor is she breathing other than to speak. I cannot say for sure, but your own memories lead me to suggest this may actually be a vampire. If so she poses no danger to you, Terry. Feel free to get what information you can from her. She cannot harm either of us.'

  Terry very much wanted to ask why Prada thought a vampire could do no harm, but his focus was needed elsewhere. The woman was sashaying toward him, her black hair falling around her shoulders as she tilted her head. Her expression was one of intense curiosity, and the fact she looked human left Terry with questions of his own.

  "Were you a template?" he asked.

  The question brought her up short and she blinked, then smiled. "No, hero. Males of every species dream of female templates ... such hope springs eternal. Thus, my kind take on their aspect, the better to entice our prey."

  She brushed the hair on her left away, revealing a bare shoulder as she gave him a coquettish look. "Would you dally with me a while? It would be entertaining to break my bond with Theseus, only to have him renew it in a rage. It has been so long since I had the opportunity to treat him with enough disrespect to get his attention."

  Terry took a careful step back as the ramifications of what she had just told him settled in. His bid for space failed. For his one step she took three, and before he could adjust she was trailing a hand across his shoulder and gazing hungrily at him as she began to circle. His head twisted to follow her, but her sultry smile vanished behind and her touch traced the breadth of his back as he spoke.

  "You telling me you want to cheat on your man ... just to get his attention?" Terry asked.

  "Naturally. If he senses the broken bond he will come running. Playing games with Theseus is one of the few things we ageless can do to pass the time here. This will be a new game, and I am certain it will be entertaining."

  The unnatural woman appeared on his other side and stepped in close, pressing supple flesh against his chest as she tilted her head up to him. She was a few inches shorter, but it served her well and he shivered as he felt her cool lips brushing across his jawline.

  "I promise you will find I warm quickly under your hands, hero. I trust you know how to play this game?"

  'Kill her or fuck her, Husband. Make your choice. If you choose to kill her, I will make it quick. At this range she will have no hope of escape.'

  Terry hesitated. He did not dispute the wisdom of what Prada had told him. Any woman he met here would be a source of strength for the man he'd been sent to kill. Taking that strength away was only logical. At least if he took the gentle course, there was some possibility of avoiding unnecessary killings. He had too many deaths on his conscience already.

  This woman might be twisted, might be insane, might be evil, but until she presented a credible threat, he knew he couldn't take her life.

  His fingers slid through her silken hair and she sighed. Her rub
y eyes were heavy-lidded as she looked at him, and he could see her unnaturally elongated canines as her lips parted.

  He kissed her anyway. Her mouth was cool, but true to her word it warmed quickly as her tongue played across his. She had no flavor of her own, no warmth of her own, and the thought that this woman in his arms was undead flickered through his mind.

  'There are many kinds of life, Husband. Consider my own as a prime example. Her life, strange as it may be to you, is indisputable. Do not let the details keep you from your goal ... unless you wish me to execute her.'

  He broke the kiss and murmured, "Tell me about Theseus."

  As he said it, he shifted to face her squarely and dropped his hands down her sides. Her diaphanous silks did nothing to mask her figure, and he outlined it, appreciating the swell of her hips as the silk slid past his fingers.

  "What do you want to know?"

  The woman's voice was breathy as she pressed close. Her flesh was at first cool, but warmed rapidly as she stole his heat. He could feel her nipples press against him through the sheer silk. He felt her lips at his throat, felt her tongue as she tasted the flesh there, and the memory of those elongated canines gave him a visceral thrill he neither expected nor entirely welcomed. She was dangerous. He could tell she was confident in her exploration of him. Her hands were tracing his lats, drifting down toward the small of his back. Yet he trusted Prada, trusted that she would protect him if he needed it.

  "Tell me what he wants," he said, one hand lifting to sift through her hair before catching a fistful. He tightened his grip and gave her a tight smile as she gasped at the sensation. Using his hold on her he exposed her own throat and tasted her flesh in vain. She had no flavor. Her skin warmed under his lips, but that was all.

  "Theseus is ... trapped," she gasped. "He wants his freedom, as all men do. This is his hell. We, are his hell."

  "How many women does he have?" Terry asked before sinking his teeth into her, biting her in a parody of what he might expect himself in the not-too-distant future. He was no fool. This woman had not even asked his name, just as he didn't know hers, and had promised him no safety. He fully expected that when the deed was done, she would attempt to kill him.

  The bite surprised her, but also seemed to please her. She let out a soft moan and shivered. He felt nails digging in over his ass, nails that were unnaturally sharp.

  Aw crap, she's going to shred my clothes. What the hell is it that people here have against good clothes?

  'Relax, Husband. Your clothes are safe, she's faking it.'

  Prada's words in his mind were accompanied by a flood of memory. The problem was the memories weren't his. They belonged to the vampire in his arms. They didn't flash before his eyes. He was simply made aware of them, and they told him just what sort of creature he was dealing with.

  As he cupped her ass and lifted her, felt her ankles hook behind him, he saw that she wasn't even truly bound to Theseus. She was a vampire ... one Theseus had scorned. She knew that she was being used as something of a litmus test for those who entered the Labyrinth, and took great delight in denying Theseus and his true bonds fresh blood, as she thought of it.

  Her name was Verone, and she planned to kill him much sooner than he'd anticipated. As soon as he penetrated her, she would pin him and feed.

  Suggestions? he thought as he laid her down on the bed, gaining separation as he straightened and made a show of taking off his shirt. He realized that he should probably be afraid, but as soon as that thought occurred he knew that Prada was muting his fear, just as she had on occasion suppressed his pain.

  'Honestly? Fuck her if it pleases you. You'll get her bond, and rest assured you are completely safe from vampires while I am inside you.' Prada flooded him with a sense of possessiveness as she added, 'Your blood is MY blood.'

  He smiled down at Verone, though the feeling behind it was directed at Prada. I suppose I can't argue that. She's not at all into it?

  'Not a bit. She can't feel anything at all. No heat or cold, no pleasure or pain. Drinking blood floods her with euphoria, and all her desires center around that. The only reason she's waiting like this is because she can taste endorphins, and wants you aroused before she feeds.'

  Terry searched the memories he now had access to, and as seconds passed Verone sensed something was wrong. Her expression turned into a sultry pout as she asked, "What's wrong?"

  He put his shirt back on as he said quietly, "There isn't a single good thing about you. It'd be like sticking my dick in a cesspool. No thanks."

  She didn't hesitate, and moved with so much speed that in the literal blink of an eye she was sinking fangs into his throat, her arms and legs wrapped around his body. There was no way in hell he could fight someone that could move so fast.

  Fortunately, he didn't have to.

  Prada flooded him with the same sense of exaltation one got when a well-laid trap is sprung, and Verone stiffened against him as she tried to pull away.

  Terry couldn't feel anything but a tugging sensation. Even that first instant, when her teeth had punched through his flesh, he had only felt it as a sense of pressure. Now he sensed Prada's will, saw what she intended ... and made the conscious decision to let her.

  He held still as Verone shuddered. He was stone-faced as she tried to scream. He waited as Prada drained the vampire of her mana.

  As she did it, he felt a sense of growth within him. It was almost like getting hard, except the sensation went deeper, and made him want to stretch.

  Verone's smooth skin dried, cracked, and then began flaking away. He couldn't see her face, since it was buried against his throat, and was grateful for small favors. His nightmares were bad enough without that image in his head. Even so, memories of the Nazi dying at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade flashed through his mind.

  It took less than thirty seconds. When it was done, what was left of Verone collapsed under its own weight into a pile of bone fragments and dust held together by a black silk dress.

  Terry reached up and plucked a pair of canines from his neck, cupping them in one hand absently as he looked around. Given what Prada had shown him, he wouldn't be losing any sleep over this particular death.

  'It wasn't even anything you did, Husband. She killed herself when she attacked you. I do admit to a certain amount of schadenfreude personally. The idea of sucking a vampire's life out through her teeth is just so richly ironic.'

  Having a Doppelgänger for a wife is kinda awesome.

  'I love you too, Husband. Now I hope you'll excuse me if I take some time to ... digest. You make me drunk for reasons beyond my comprehension, but this bitch just made me feel full and a little queasy. She was quite powerful though, and my size will increase as a consequence of this.'

  He grinned, and headed for the shelves. Prada wasn't the only one who would get something new out of this mess. Verone had been around a while, and more than a few adventurers had been food for her. She had a modest hoard, and he knew exactly how to get to it.

  26

  Carnage

  Stheno lumbered through the portal and glanced around, then behind her in time to see the gate shut with a muffled boom. She settled onto her haunches and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she lifted her forelegs and turned over what had once been hands.

  No more.

  Echidna had turned her into a mockery of a hydra.

  Her face was set between shoulders heavy with muscle, and her snakes had been enlarged until each was several feet thick and fifteen feet long. Her lithe body had been broken and twisted until it was a hulking thing, built almost entirely to carry the weight of her myriad serpentine heads. Her flesh had been hardened, reinforced with emerald scales that could turn swords, spears, and arrows with ease.

  Her forelimbs were capped by vicious white claws that kept a razor's edge, long enough to spear a mortal and strong enough to cut through all but the strongest armor.

  As she sat on the edge of the plain, looking ou
t over the wind-swept grasses, her heads reached a height of almost thirty feet, and she was half that in width. Her weight had been increased a hundred fold, and she knew that even were she no more than the hydra she appeared to be she would present a formidable challenge.

  Yet she was more. She was Stheno, and if she removed the new mask she had been given, the mere sight of her would turn any living being to stone. She was a true immortal, and no weapon could harm her. She was unstoppable, and she had been dispatched to these endless grasslands for one, singular purpose.

  Her many heads swiveled until she had her direction firmly in mind, and she put her forelimbs down and stood. Her true face was practically forced to stare at the ground, but she did not need it to see.

  Echidna probably did that on purpose, the bitch.

  She had thought that she would be given another shot at her sister, but her master had another target in mind for her.

  His spies had identified Terry Mack's companions, and his oracles had shortly thereafter identified their mission. After the debacle, the Dust Lord decided to bring the template to him rather than continue the chase. Accomplishing this would be as simple as giving him a compelling reason. A reason no hero could refuse.

  If she did her job well, she had been promised her body would be restored. Her master had never broken a promise, and Stheno desperately wanted her body back. There were no carnal pleasures to be had as a flesh-crafted mutant beast, after all.

  Stheno had been instructed to ensure that when Terry arrived, he knew where to go, but that didn't mean the gorgon couldn't have some fun first. The mask in combination with her new form gave her a rare opportunity to indulge in one of her favorite pastimes.

  Carnage.

  The sword in Terry's hand felt light, and the balance wasn't what he was used to, but it wasn't bad. The blade itself was about three feet long, straight, and double-edged. It also had some kind of magic associated with it, because it had a faint aura that he could only describe as gray. Since it was a color he hadn't encountered and Mila wasn't here to ask, he had no idea what that meant. Prada didn't know either, having told him that she had no experience with magic sight.