by Cebelius
Cognitive dissonance sent his thoughts skittering in every direction. What did he want? He'd thought he wanted to make these women happy. That he wanted to make a home for them, a place where they could be safe and loved. Where he could love them.
But he didn't love them.
He blinked and stood still, his confusion plain on his face.
Isthil took a step toward him, and his attention snapped to her. He jerked backward as he began casting. "By the power in my veins-"
"Get him!" Shy cried. The others hurtled themselves forward.
"-I demand my speed and strength be increased to the limits of my physical endurance!"
Isthil got to him first and reached out to touch him. He slapped her hand away and felt something slither through his mind. It sought to separate his consciousness from his body, to drag him into dreams.
He cut through the feeble suggestion with a sharp mental effort and snarled, "So it's gonna be like that? I can fight dirty too, you know."
"No, Terry ye dinnae know-"
He struck hard, hitting her in a place no man should ever hit a woman. Even in his anger he didn't want to do it, but she was still wearing her chestplate and her solar plexus was covered. His only choice was to aim a bit lower. Isthil's eyes crossed and she groaned as all four of her legs folded.
Movement on his right caught his attention next as Prada reached, a tongue of red substance shooting out as she struck at him.
He knew he couldn't do anything about it physically, but he had a plan for her.
In English he spat, "Let my blood be as acid to Prada."
Prada howled and her tendril whipped away from him, smoking as a cloying stink filled the air.
Halla reached him next, and she wrapped him up as she yelled, "Please, Boss! You're spellstruck!"
"I am ... fucking ... not!" he yelled, his body tensing as he struggled against her. She grew, and his feet left the floor, but he could feel her arms trembling. They had never gone toe to toe, but Terry felt her grip begin to fail as he slipped his arms up and into her hug, then pressed them out.
"Dammit Halla! I thought you were on my side!" he yelled.
"I am!" she cried. "I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! Please, just hold still!"
As she spoke, she abruptly loosened her grip, caught him by the ankle, and swung him around behind her back.
She's gonna slam me!
Terry panicked and tried to twist, but before he could grab Halla she let him go and sent him sailing up into the air.
As he rose, thinking frantically, he cried out in English, "Return Halla's gift to me!"
He felt his weight increase, felt himself expanding, and managed to get his feet underneath him as he came crashing back down to the stone, knees flexing to absorb the impact. The ground shuddered under his increased weight.
Then he straightened, towering over them all, his face locked in a snarl.
His clothing fell away from him in tatters as he glared down at those opposing him. How could he ever have loved these people? All they did was keep him in chains.
"Tee, please forgive me," Shy cried. There were tears in her eyes as she aimed the Rod of Arcs at him.
Terry was fast. Faster now that he had magical enhancement. But he had also just made himself a huge target, and he couldn't outrun lightning.
His muscles seized and he bowed backward as agony flared through his body. He felt the electricity coursing through him arcing back and forth across his teeth and smelled his hair burning as he collapsed.
Then things got worse. As the electricity relinquished its paralytic hold on him, he tried to get up and found himself unable to move. Not paralyzed from the inside, but being held by something. It was as though the very air around him had turned diamond hard.
He tried to open his mouth, tried to breathe, but he couldn't even blink.
His lungs were already burning for want of oxygen, then his vision began to fade in from the edges and lose its color.
He heaved, struggled, fought against whatever was holding him with every fiber of his being ... then blacked out.
17
Prada's Price
"Quickly," Prada cried. "Mila! You must break my spell before he dies!"
"End it then!" Mila shot back as she raised her staff and began casting, not waiting for Prada's response.
"I don't know how! The one I stole it from couldn't do it either! He can't breathe! Hurry!"
The sanguine devil watched in an agony of concern unlike anything she had ever felt before as Shy stepped up behind Mila without a word and channeled power into the rakshasa as she chanted, the emerald on her staff glowing ever brighter with the influx of new energy.
Terry's giant form abruptly collapsed.
Prada slid to her knees next to him, heedless of the skin torn from her flesh by the rough stone, and pressed fingers to his neck as she held her other hand over his lips and nose.
He wasn't breathing, and had no heartbeat.
She did not dare integrate with him — his spell was still active and would destroy her if she tried. That did not mean she was helpless. Terry's own memories supplied her with everything she needed.
"Halla!"
The giant woman was staring down at Terry as though the world was ending.
"Halla! Get over here! I am going to give you instructions, follow them!"
The oni blinked, then looked searchingly at Prada, but didn't move.
Frustrated, Prada screamed, "Now!"
Halla's face twisted into an aggressive, feral snarl, but before she could get anything out, Prada remolded her own face, erasing her features and obliterating every detail except her mouth, which filled what had been her face as she roared again, "NOW!"
By the time she had her eyes back, Halla was standing next to her, naked fear in her eyes. She'd also shrunk, and that just wouldn't do.
"Get big again! Sit on his hips, and put your hands like so over his heart. Now now now!"
Terry's first aid training, including CPR, saved his life over the course of the next five minutes. Healing magic could do much, but it would not start a heart that had ceased to beat, or force breath into a body that had ceased to breathe. Only magic that compelled physical control could do those things, and no one among them save perhaps Terry himself could cast such spells.
At last, he gasped, and began breathing on his own.
Prada shuddered, but her work was not done. She had cast the only spell she knew would be able to bring Terry down. Now she cast its variant, to keep him in place without stopping his breath.
Both spells were stolen from Laila Rise, a herd matron and witch she'd slain at the tauren carnival.
"Fill his mouth, he must not speak!" Prada commanded. "Mila-"
She stopped herself as she saw that Mila had already begun the spell she needed to use to break the enchantment that had been cast over Terry Mack. Shy was still pouring power into the rakshasa, Isthil was still collapsed, twisted around herself, and Halla had a thousand-yard stare, so Prada gathered the shredded remains of Terry's belt and, wadding a thick bit of cloth in under it, shoved it into her husband's mouth herself.
His eyes snapped open at the rough treatment, and Prada stared down into his wild eyes as he visibly heaved, his body contorting to the extent it was capable under the binding of air she had cast on him.
"It will be all right soon," she crooned to him. "What has been done to you will be undone. Please, please Husband. Please trust me. If it does not work, I will let you go. I swear. You know I keep my word in all things. Please ..."
Prada had to force the tears to her eyes, but the rest of her agonized expression was genuine. Terrence Mack was the best thing to ever happen to her, and she would do whatever it took to keep him safe, keep him sane. Even if that meant letting him go.
His eyes grew less wild, focused on her, and he quit struggling. His jaw worked, but she shook her head and said, "Do not speak. I will know all when it is through. I know that right now you do not
see us as your friends, as your lovers ... but we are. We are. We love you. Let us try for you."
"That song is still calling to him," Mila snarled in frustration. "As long as he can hear it I cannot break the hold it has on him!"
Prada's thoughts raced. She could hear the music, they all could. It was wordless, sultry, smooth. Yet it promised everything ... to a man. It filled the air, blanketing everything in its soft, crooning sound.
"I have been inside you, Husband," she murmured. "I have lived within you. We have been one being. You know me. I asked you once, but I must ask again, do you trust me? Blink once for yes, twice for no."
Her husband, the man to whom she had bound herself in every conceivable way, stared at her for long seconds. She could not share his thoughts, but she knew what he was thinking. She knew he was reliving everything that had gone between them. The times she had deceived him, tricked him ... manipulated him.
"Please, Husband. No games. What I must do will hurt, but I can fix it, and I will. I swear to you. Let me help you. Please?"
She did not need to rely on her great skill in deception for the pleading, almost desperate edge to her tone. She was on the verge of losing the best thing in her life, and she let that show.
At last, he blinked slowly, once.
Prada kept eye contact with him as she pressed her hands to the sides of his face, then slid her substance under the rigid air that kept him bound. She oozed, forcing her way deeper under the shield until her substance pooled in his ear canals. Blocking his ears up would not be enough. She knew that, and for the first time in her life Prada felt real emotional pain as she caused deliberate physical harm.
The spikes she sent in were tiny, but effective, as she tore apart both his eardrums.
There was almost no blood, but what there was burned her as she slowly withdrew, reforming fingers that trembled as tiny wisps of smoke rose from their tips.
Terry meanwhile, was staring up at her in disbelief. She knew the pain she'd caused was relatively minor, but she also knew how disoriented losing his hearing would leave him.
She focused on him, silently pleading for his understanding as she pressed her hand to his cheek.
He stayed still, and less than a minute later Mila crowed, "It is done!"
"Ah ... little help?"
Prada twisted to look at Isthil, who still hadn't risen. The nightmare's voice was very weak, and her face was ... drawn somehow. Her ebon flesh had lost its pallor.
The sanguine devil moved to her, set a hand to Isthil's flank, and eased into her body.
It was immediately apparent what was wrong.
Terry had destroyed Isthil's heart. The only reason she was still alive was that she had two, but the one beating in her upper portion wasn't strong enough to maintain her for long, and it was rapidly failing.
Prada pulled the tears closed — using her fleshcraft to mend the damage — and did what she could not have done for Terry with his acid spell in place. She massaged the new muscle and forced it to begin beating again until it fluttered to life on its own.
Then she slipped further forward and repaired the damage to Isthil's sex, and the organs behind and around it. Terry had held nothing back, and his punch had torn Isthil's chest muscles and broken the bones behind them as well.
It took almost half an hour to repair all the damage, and when Prada finally eased out of Isthil, Terry Mack was seated nearby. He was still a giant, and had Isthil's upper half in his lap.
He looked at Prada with a silent question in his eyes, and she flashed him the OK sign. His shoulders slumped and he mouthed 'Thank you,' at her before giving Isthil a gentle squeeze.
For her part, Isthil seemed content with the attention, and nuzzled his chest, accepting his obvious apology.
"I left his ears damaged," Mila said, drawing Prada's attention. Mila was sitting on the ground, resting on one hand, utterly spent.
"Of course," she said. "Naturally we do not want to go through ... that, again."
Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at Mila. She didn't bother to keep the accusation out of her voice as she asked, "What possessed you to let him hear the music?"
Mila grimaced, her teeth glimmering in the low light of the moon from the door as she glanced away. "I was ... distracted, not thinking clearly. I also did not realize how much time had passed. We were underground."
Prada's irritation rose sharply, but before she could speak Shy said, "Leave it, Prada. I will not have you brow-beating Mila about this. She has enough problems with intimacy as it is."
"That was uncalled for," Mila shot back, tail lashing in irritation as she glared at Shy.
"Shhh," Isthil murmured without relinquishing her hold on Terry, who was looking on with an expression of almost depthless remorse. "Peace. It happened, it's over. Dinnae let it drive a wedge between us."
Prada nodded, took a deep breath, and said, "That's sensible. I'm sorry, Mila. I have become ... attached, to my husband. Almost losing him has put me in a state of mind I am not accustomed to."
"Speaking of which," Shy said with a glance up at Terry, "perhaps you should rejoin him for a while. His spells are all ended. He is safe for you."
"Before that," Halla said, and wrapped Prada up from behind, squeezing hard.
"Thank you," she said, and the sanguine devil heard the tears. "He was dead, and you told me how to bring him back to life. He was dead!"
"Shh, it's all right," Prada said, patting the blue arm wrapped around her chest. "You were wonderful. I do not regret yelling at you, but I'm glad you listened."
Halla's head shook against Prada as she nodded, then pulled Prada out to arm's length as she said solemnly, "You saved Isthil too. I wasn't sure about you but, um, if you wanna fuck me, you know, with him, like, like the first time? I think I'd be okay with that."
"Aw, La! That's sweet," Prada said with a genuine smile that turned a bit lascivious as she added, "I will definitely make sure you don't regret letting me play with you."
Halla tried smiling, but with tears in her eyes and obviously more than a little nervous, the expression looked faintly ridiculous ... not that Prada would ever say so. She reached up and cupped both Halla's indigo hands in her own as she said, "Honestly. It makes me feel good that you would trust me with your pleasure. I am not quite so indiscriminate with my affections as Euryale, but I am rather fond of you."
Shy chuckled darkly and said, "You're so full of it Prada. You just want to make her cum until she can't see straight. Even I know you better than that."
Prada arched an eyebrow as she glanced hungrily back at Shy. "Offering yourself in her place?"
Shy arched an eyebrow right back. "Not ... in her place."
She tilted her head toward Terry. "Come on, talk to him. I have, and he's ... well, he needs you."
Prada glanced up at Terry and her smile softened as she said, "Yes, I imagine he does."
She reached out and touched him, but did not immediately integrate. One of Terry's own sayings came readily to mind as she slipped a tiny portion of herself inside to test him.
Trust, but verify.
Only once she was certain his blood was safe did she slip into his body. When she did, she was mentally embraced by a feeling of almost overwhelming gratitude and love.
Startled, she accepted the feeling at first, then actively reveled in it as she thought, 'It's so good to be properly appreciated.'
His warmth continued to bathe her as he thought, 'That sounds so much better when not said with complete sarcasm.'
'I can't believe you remembered that,' Prada thought, though it both pleased and amused her that he did. She examined his memories, and was amazed at how subtle the magical compulsion had been. The song of the sirens Terry had heard when he'd first arrived on Celestine had been overt sonic dominance, and it had worked only until they had tried to plant a suggestion in his mind, one he had easily rejected.
But Terry had never consciously heard the music that wormed its way into his mind thi
s time, nor had he realized how it was corrupting and twisting his thoughts. He had genuinely believed himself to be in full control.
'This is troubling,' Prada thought. 'That part of you that saved you so many times before was subverted before anything else. Whoever this enchantress is, she used your own cynicism against you.'
'Yeah, seems like.'
Prada dug around a little more. 'You don't seem disturbed. I expected you to be deeply shaken.'
'I am,' he admitted. 'But I can't let it bother me. My mind has always been the weak link. Don't blame Mila for what happened. She was compromised. I, on the other hand, have no excuse for not protecting myself. There were a couple moments when I should have caught on, but just didn't. I even checked Koschei, then dismissed the possibility.'
His thoughts turned a touch rueful. 'It's just like Saint Peter said. I'm not the brightest.'
'Or, perhaps, the enchantress was precluding the possibilities from occurring to you.'
'You seem pretty sure this is a woman,' Terry thought.
'You KNOW it is,' Prada replied. 'Even the tiger-kin here think so. Whoever is doing this is certainly Eldritch of one sort or another. The only question that remains is how to deal with her.'
'I'll deal with her the same way Yuri would if he were here,' Terry thought grimly. 'I'm gonna find her, kill her, and take her stuff.'
'That's certainly more bloodthirsty than I'm accustomed to; why are you so certain you want to kill her?' Prada asked.
He squeezed Isthil gently, and flashed his memories of the fight they'd just had for Prada's benefit, along with his wordless condemnation.
Prada wasn't convinced. 'She could be useful against Thomas. Her powers are obviously considerable ... and subtle.'
'I don't fucking care.'
'You are being deliberately shortsighted for the sake of your wounded pride, Husband,' she chided. 'Asturial is proof that antagonistic forces can be turned.'
Terry thought about it, then mentally shrugged. 'I checked, and I STILL don't fucking care. She messed with my MIND, and I almost killed Isthil because of it.'
