Adventure

Trevon looked at the amulet he held in his palm, wondering about its true value if this man was so desperate to have it back. Trevon could not believe the beautiful stone held any magical power, but he was sure it was worth more than he had originally thought. He gazed into Violet's beautiful eyes and was taken aback by the raw emotion there. He had an unexpected and overwhelming urge to comfort her in some way.

Comfort was usually the last thing on his mind around a beautiful woman, but looking at Violet, he couldn't help himself. He wanted to make her smile. He could not stand seeing her so pained. His surprising new feelings made him quite uncomfortable. Trevon closed his large hand around the amulet.

He took the map so he could examine it closely with his well-trained eye. He had seen so many maps over the years and prided himself on being able to spot a fake better than any other man. This map looked authentic, but the only true way of knowing was to follow it. You never could tell what you would find at the end of a treasure map, nor its value, until it was followed. A treasure map was nothing more than a promise of adventure to those brave enough to chase the trail.

Trevon's blood began to race at the thought of a new treasure hunt. And having this beautiful woman around was not an unpleasant thought either. It was an interesting proposition for sure. It had been an impulse decision to ask for her in exchange of the amulet. Something about her riled his passions and he was used to pursuing anything that stirred him even half as much as she did. The thought of having her and the map made his blood boil with excitement.

Cupid's heavy breathing jarred his lungs. He'd been on the run for the last hour. Every time his pursuers caught up, a feint here, a dodge there, enabled his escape.

The smell of the wharf assailed his senses as the evening's drizzling rain muted the normal odors of the natural and unnatural. A foghorn from a distant ship on the bay beckoned to the land bound. Shadows leapt forward, vicious creatures seeking to impede his progress. He tamed them, utilized the surreal gloom to his advantage.

A painful throb to his side caused him to bend over where he placed his hands on soaked knees. He fingered the torn right leg of cloth, pulled it back to reveal a battered kneecap. Shit, this is--was my favorite suit. The cold night air inflamed the injury, caused the open wound to sting. A grimace twitched his lips as he recalled its cause. He slipped on a forgotten dead fish in an alley on his last run from the group.

Far off voices and the echo of heavy footsteps forced Cupid to recede into a cavity created by two shipping containers improperly stacked side by side. The narrowness of his cave forced his breathing to slow.

"How did he disappear so fast? We were right behind him," a nasal whine of a voice emanating from a man pierced the night.

"I don't know," a frustrated cultured British accent from another man responded.

A woman's voice, clear and high-pitched, offered a harsh answer.  "Could it be that you're both idiots?"

Cupid knew Mistress Fate had arrived. The Brit mumbled something but Cupid couldn't understand him.

"You're lucky you're good in the sack, Mr. Remington," she snapped in cruel reply. "Otherwise, your markers in Vegas would be due and owing right now."

The cheeky Mr. Remington was silent.  A few minutes after Fate's last comment, only the sound of soft rain against metal and another blast of a foghorn gave Cupid the impression he was alone.

To play it safe, he waited a few moments more before stepping out of his refuge. He peered around him.  His pursuers were gone. Cupid found his bearings and hobbled toward the point where the night's chase began, exhausted, hurt and hungry. "Care to share?" he inquired to a feral cat that eyeballed him with territorial certainty, protecting its rat buffet.

The animal hissed and grabbed its dinner, slinking backward toward the cover of garbage cans.

"How rude," Cupid stated. A shrill whistle broke the night and caused him to stop. It was the kind of attention grabbing sound construction workers used to heckle pretty girls as they walked by their work zones.

Cupid froze. He rolled his eyes and sighed. This night is never going to end. Turning to gaze at the source, despite the weariness pouring through him, his admired the perfect body of his black leather clad captor in appreciation.  She is something.

The thud of footsteps behind him initiated a glance over his shoulder. Two of Fate's Universal Solicitors were fast approaching. He recognized the handsome Mr. Remington's blond blue-eyed beauty and the creepy bugger of a man, Mr. Leach. Cupid shuddered as his gaze landed on the cowlick bald patch with its gray tufts of hair sprouting from the sides of Leach's egg shaped head.  The wiry mess somehow found a way to take root in his ears. Cupid's lip curled in disgust. By Zeus, Leach, will you do something about that?

Cupid turned once more to meet Fate's cobra stare with a grin and nodded politely to the woman approaching him. "Ursula, a pleasure as always." Her smile was dazzling. Eros imagined all the sharks of the Pacific Ocean bowed their heads in appreciation of its toothy cruelty.

"Eros Bubala, hasn't your mother ever told you it's dangerous to play outside after dark?"

"I'm a big boy, I can handle it."

Ursula strutted toward him. The sway of her hips was hypnotic. If they were not on opposite sides, he could show her a few things about hips--his and hers. She had no problem invading his personal space. Standing very close, her spiked hair poking his cheekbone, she sighed. As tall as he, only because of four-inch stacked black leather stiletto boots, she leaned toward his right ear and whispered seductively.

"Do you really think so?"

Cupid's eyes and mouth popped open in startled surprise as the pain of a dagger's blade stabbing through his diaphragm shocked his brain into paralysis. A numbing sensation followed. He looked down at a spreading stain that looked black in the dim glow of streetlights muted by the mist of moisture in the air. He laughed. "You won't succeed," he muttered as the threat of unconsciousness pulled him down to the wet ground. He fought to stay awake as two sets of masculine hands lifted him. One of the hands rifled through his rear pocket and pulled out his wallet. Damn lawyers, always stealing your money.

"Dump him." Fate ordered.

The freezing cold saltwater lay claim to him, the current making a human buoy of his powerless body before a rip tide tucked him under the pier and water filled his lungs. A final thought cavorted through his mind before he blacked out. My tailor's going to kill me.

Getting airborne through the heavy overcast was, as her reluctant pilot promised, a harrowing experience. But once the twin engine Otter broke through the clouds, it settled down and sunlight, now low in the western sky, glistened off the snow-capped peaks that jutted above the cotton-batten blanket below.

Though a break in the clouds Kim saw a tiny lake and thought of her father. He’d said there was great fishing up here. Perhaps she could arrange for them to stay at a place like Baker Lodge. They hadn’t spent any real time together in…she couldn’t remember. But there just wasn’t time. Not yet anyway. The drone of the engine and the long day of traveling caught up with her and she began to feel drowsy.

A knock on the side of her head woke her up. Surrounding the tiny plane was thick shroud and the turbulence was bouncing the aircraft around like a toy. The pilot was sweating as he concentrated on his instruments. Suddenly, Kim had the feeling she was in an elevator with a broken cable.

“Hang on, lady! We’ve hit a downdraft!”

Her first thought was would she survive? Her second was if she did, would anyone find her? With a jolt, the plane leveled out, but before she could congratulate herself for being alive, the pontoons were trimming the tops of huge evergreens. Then there was the flat black surface of the lake rising up far too quickly.

The next thing Kim knew, she was hanging upside down and the cockpit was filling with water. A quick glance to her left and she realized she needn’t worry about the pilot. His face was covered with blood and his head was twisted at an odd angle. The windscreen was shattered where he had made impact.

She unhooked the harness and promptly fell into numbingly cold water that could only be described as glacier fed. Her door had sprung open on impact. Had it not, the rising inky blackness would have made it impossible to budge. Bobbing beside her was the contract- filled attaché case. Kim grabbed it and struggled out of the submerging craft.

Treading water, she turned and watched the tail section of the plane sink out of sight. The shore was a dark silhouette in the dwindling twilight, at least a hundred yards away. If she was going to live, she’d have to swim for it.

She struggled free of the pantsuit jacket that was weighing her down and constricting her arms. A Gucci loafer slip from her foot and she momentarily wondered if she should try to retrieve it.

What am I thinking?

She kicked the other shoe off and pushing the attaché case ahead of her, began to head for shore. With every stroke, she swallowed more water. Water so cold it had already left her extremities without sensation and made her head ache.

After a minute or so, she stopped swimming and looked to see if the shore was getting any closer. It was nowhere in sight. In her confusion, she had turned around and had been swimming toward the middle of the lake. Panicking, she flailed wildly, then stopped exhausted, coughing up mouthfuls of frigid liquid.

I’m not going to make. I’m going to die.

Adrenalin surged through Kim’s body and she swam with renewed energy. But it was no use. She was no longer cold, just numb, and so very tired. I’m sorry I never got back to see you, Dad, she whispered to the black water and relentless wind. Hot tears ran down her freezing cheeks when she thought how devastated he would be.

She’d been too busy. Too busy, she realized, with things that didn’t matter. I want to sleep now, but first, she wondered, will my life flash before my eyes?

It didn’t. Instead, something grabbed her by the collar of her blouse, then clasped her beneath her arms, and pulled up and out of the deadly bath and into a canoe.

Kimberley sat shivering in the bow of the tiny vessel. In the dark, she couldn’t get a good look at her rescuer and her vision kept fading out of focus. He wasn’t a big man, about five foot ten perhaps, and lean—the word sinewy came to mind. He had a mane of long fair hair that was hanging lose around his faced, further concealing his features. There was a no nonsense confidence in his movements and he handled the canoe with skill and agility. She could feel it respond to each strong stroke of his paddle as they slipped through the black water towards the shore.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. His voice sounded rusty, like it wasn’t used much. It was quiet, but distinct.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, her teeth chattering. Her mind felt anesthetized, her limbs sluggish and there was a ringing in her ears that distorted sound. Something wet ran down her face and into her mouth. It tasted salty.

The canoe nudged the shore and he sprang from the stern, pushing it up onto the beach. When Kim got out, her legs were unresponsive and she collapsed. He picked her up without effort and carried her up the beach. She wrapped her arms around his neck and despite herself, began to sob uncontrollably against his chest.

“Frank, the pilot?” she muttered.

“I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”

“I made him fly today,” she moaned. “He didn’t want to, but I was behind schedule and I had all the documents for the signing,” Kim continued, her voice filled with anguish and tinged with hysteria. “The Coliseum Mountain Ski Development will make my career. There’s millions of dollars on the table. I had to be there. But now I won’t and a man is dead and it’s my fault,” she said, convulsing again into choking sobs.

“It’s not your fault. He knew the risks. You’re lucky to be alive.” His tone was soothing as he carried her toward a lean-to, beneath a huge evergreen at the edge of the forest. Carefully, he laid her down in the shelter on a bed of soft moss, covered her with a sleeping bag and knelt beside her. “You’ve got a nasty bump on your head,” he said, parting the strands of her wet hair and examining the cut. His hands were warm as they wiped the blood from her face with a bandanna. “I’m going to find something to put on it to take the swelling down.” He began to rise, but she clutched onto his arm.

“Please, don’t go.” Suddenly Kim was terrified of being alone. “I’m…I’m afraid.”

He clasped her hand in both of his and settled down beside her. “Sure,” he said, and his voice calmed her. “I’ll stay right here.” As the adrenaline wore off and the shock set in, Kim found it impossible to keep her eyes open. The last thing she remembered was her rescuer stroking her hand and crooning, “You’re alright. Everything is going to be okay.”

Later that night, she awoke screaming from a nightmare of sinking into infinite darkness. The blackness disoriented her, but again he was there, stroking her hair and telling her everything was all right. She tried to make out his features, but his face was backlit by the flickering campfire. Again, her mind took refuge in a deep sleep brought on by shock and despair.

In that semi-conscious state before becoming fully awake, Kim fleetingly thought the plane crash had been a bad dream. But when she poked her head out of the sleeping bag and surveyed her surroundings in the weak morning light, it all came rushing back.

She wiped her eyes with the edge of the sleeping bag, summoned up her resolve, and sat up. The sudden movement sent spears of pain through her temples and she felt nauseous. Ever so slowly, she lay back down and the queasiness subsided.

She took a physical inventory beginning with the tips of her toes. Except for her right shoulder, which was extremely tender, and some pain when she breathed deeply, all parts seemed operational and, miraculously, undamaged.

Gingerly she touched the crown of her head. There was not much of a lump considering how much it hurt, but what was this green slime on her fingers?

She heard the crunch of footsteps approaching across the rocky beach. It could only be the man who rescued her and she was eager to express her gratitude to this stranger, who not only saved her life, but who was taking such loving care of her? But as the tarp flap was lifted, she was struck dumb by what she saw. Gazing down at her, with a look of compassion was…

“Jonah Baker!” She winced at the pain the noise of her own voice made reverberating in her skull.

It's dark, and I hear the water lapping around me, pressing on my shoulders like liquid hands. It reminds me of a scene in a film, when the heroine is floating in the icy ocean, waiting for rescue.

Except that I'm not in the ocean, and it isn't icy, and I haven't just seen my boyfriend sink under the waves. As far as I know, Jase, who is the nearest thing I have to a boyfriend, is living his usual life of skateboards, I-pods, pizza and patches of poetry. And--well, come to think of it, my situation doesn't remind me of a film after all. It doesn't remind me of anything much, except the fact that I might be five seconds or a million years from home.

Or have I simply slipped through the cracks of reality?

Here I am, treading water in the dark. I can hear the splash of the Jindabek Foss above me. In a moment, I'll dive back through, and then I'll be home again. I hope. I hope.

Well, it's logical, right? Diving back will be like clicking "Undo" on the computer. Or maybe it's more like clicking "Back" on the Internet browser, since "Undo" makes the original action as if it had never happened. All "Back" does is to take you back to the page before.

The things that have happened to me since I dived through the Foss the first time don't mean much in the global scale of things. I mean, what's one gell… I mean, girl … more or less? The world doesn't depend on my courage, and if my theory is right, I won't even rate a mention in the local paper. If my theory is wrong, I'll rate far too many mentions, and everything will be horrible.

It must be right.

It has to be right.

As I just said, the things that have happened are not much in the scale of things, but they are more than much to me…

So, think, Corrie. Think about going home.

And kick-start your brain and get into some serious recall, remembering all the steps that led you here…

“How long does it take to get there?” she shouted.

“You don’t have to yell. I’m not deaf. We’re almost there.”

“I can’t see a thing. I don’t even see any stars. All I see are huge rocks.”

“Those rocks are your stars. Down on Earth, the moonlight lights them up and they become what you call stars.”

“Is Kelhatmor another planet? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Kelhatmor is only known to us and the children who are fortunate enough to visit it.”

“I’m going to look stupid in my nightie. I wish I could have put on some clothes. What will everyone think?”

“All new arrivals first come that way, either in a hospital gown, pajamas, in your case a nightie, and sometimes only underpants. No one will laugh at you. You’ll be welcomed in our midst with joy.”

“Wow. It must be some kind of a magical place. At home, if anyone would see me like this, they’d all make fun of me, just like some kids at school made fun of my bald head.”

“Children on Earth can be cruel sometimes. They don’t understand. But you haven’t gone to school very much. Didn’t your mother teach you at home?”

“I went to school sometimes. I even started high school, but then the tumors in my head grew again and I had to go back to the hospital.” The memory of those days made her sad for a moment, and then the thought of her parents sitting by her bedside. “I guess they’ll be very sad for a while after my funeral,” she told Rhuntana.

“Funeral? Girl, I don’t want to hear you talk of death again. You’re very much alive.”

“Sorry. Then it’s a dream. Never mind, I’m enjoying all this even if it isn’t real.”

Rhuntana didn’t answer her this time so Polly assumed she was right, she was dreaming. The vast space around her suddenly got brighter and she thought she saw a light in the distance.

“We are approaching Kelhatmor. You’ll see it soon,” Rhuntana said.

Polly strained to see through the dim light and yes, soon she saw something. At first it was just a dot, then as they flew closer, it resembled an island. Long vines dangled from the bottom. It didn’t seem to be attached to anything, just floating free in space. The area around them brightened even more until it became a vivid mauve. Above the island Polly saw a brilliant sun surrounded by a mauve halo sending mauve beams in all shades down to the island. Peeking out from behind the sun was what looked like a very purple planet.

“What’s the name of that planet?”

“That’s Zultfor. We go there on field trips sometimes to study its exotic animals and vegetation.”

“Wow. I’m going to love it here.”

“Pollyanna, no one stays on Kelhatmor permanently, but yes, you will enjoy your visit with us. Get ready to land now.”

Atar crept out of the camp. He could feel the night wind. It still had a chill of winter. The moon was waxing high in the clear sky and it shone on the landscape like an eerie noontime sun. Atar felt his breath quicken. Tonight was a time of celebration, especially since he had been miraculously granted his boon.

He was dancing, he realized with a distant part of himself. He was moving his graceful, muscular body in the moonlight to the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It was the sound of a young girl, sighing as she discovered the passion of love for the first time, yet this voice was deep, ancient, and eternal. He laughed richly, throwing his head back, delighted with life. He was alone, he knew, and this knowledge allowed him to dance in honor of that odd, achingly beautiful voice without any inhibitions.

Out of the dark emerged a tall form, resplendently silver in the moonlight. Atar stood suddenly dazed as he recognized the werewolf.

His silvery hair shone in the dark. His eyes, so cunning in the face of a wolf, still held a deep mystery. In one large hand he held a bouquet of exquisite flowers. These he handed to Atar, who was too stunned to speak.

“Is this how it is done, my dear Atar? I saw you give such a thing to the girl. I was hoping…”

Atar was used to speaking with Bulliwuf mentally. This was perhaps why he never spoke to the others. Only Bulliwuf understood. He struggled to speak. He opened his mouth, but only a sigh emerged as Bulliwuf pulled him closer, so that their bodies met. Atar felt the hardness of the werewolf, and his heat. The flowers fell from his hand as his arms instinctively embraced Bulliwuf’s strong back. The werewolf buried his nose in Atar’s hair, snuffing as he usually did. His hot tongue, so familiar, lapped around his ear. Hot desire emanated from the silvery form. Atar went stiff with the sensation. He held on as if his life depended on it, and the heat from the naked werewolf seemed to seep into every part of his willing body.

He’d always found acceptance with Bulliwuf. To be loved fully, to be an object of desire, rather than of scorn made him feel confused and weak. Bulliwuf took his face in his large hands and held him as he kissed Atar deeply. He took of him hungrily, until Atar was breathless. Their hot bodies intertwined, and Atar felt his soul rise to places he’d never imagined existed.


“I have suffered through so much, my friend,” Bulliwuf said in a voice so smooth and luscious that Atar gasped. “I have seen you succeed and I have wanted to take you so many times. Do you know how hard it is for me?”

He took Atar into his strong arms and pushed him against the trunk of a dark, ancient oak. “I want you now. I can’t wait.” Bulliwuf’s silvery-blue eyes had the eerie shine of an animal. He stared into Atar’s eyes and cupping his chin, he kissed him. First lightly—so lightly that it was as if a feather passed over his lips. Atar pushed against him now. He hadn’t realized how much his own passion had been pent up. His hands moved over Bulliwuf’s powerful body. He could feel the nakedness of the werewolf rubbing against him, and it was more than he could take. He ran eager hands through the silver hair that was soft—almost like a rich fur, but so long. His ears were hot. His whole body seemed too hot.

Atar had never taken the lead in their love making, but now he moved with aggression. Bulliwuf chuckled in his deep baritone, and this excited Atar. How sweet he tasted. Atar kissed him all over, panting as his hands moved over the muscles. He knew Bulliwuf’s body so well. It was as if it had just dawned upon him. He wanted nothing more, and he knew that for all of his bragging about women, that Bulliwuf only wanted him. Atar wanted to own Bulliwuf. He wanted to take him in and adore him forever.

The stars shone brightly in the night sky and the air hummed with life as it had done on a night, many, many years ago. As their bodies came together and they cried out in passion, the world seemed to join with them. The cacophony of night animal sounds, the babbling of the water in the creek, even the sounds no human could hear enveloped them as Bulliwuf shared his awesome power with Atar. For that moment, Atar saw and heard things through his werewolf. The night cried out with them and pulsated with eternal life.



 

At first glance, it seemed that Brough was right. Hartwell’s crew was outnumbered, Brough’s cannons had blown yet more gaping holes in the upper decks of the galleon, and Nani and his followers appeared to be trying to bribe the enemy rather than fight them.

Fortunately, Hartwell’s closer inspection revealed that Madrigal had knocked his opponent unconscious and now had free use of his hands, while behind them, the door to the rear cabins had opened and Madrigal’s brother, Anatole, had stepped through. On his own, Anatole was large enough to give any invading crew pause for thought. Behind Anatole came the second reason for any invading crew to turn and flee. Mechatronic had emerged onto the deck.

The invading crew gasped in horror as the silver woman stalked haughtily through the lines of brawling men. Cries of “It’s a mermaid!” and “It’s a demon!” echoed out over the ship.

“We will take your surrender now,” shouted Hartwell over the mêlée. He would prefer to end the confrontation without bloodshed, especially when the blood in question was that of his own crew. He looked over at Captain Brough, whose bravado had deserted him somewhat.

“Kill them!” screamed Brough eventually. “Kill them all before they curse us!”

Hartwell rolled his eyes in disbelief—why couldn’t anyone just run away or surrender on seeing the silver figure of Mechatronic? Why the innate urge to kill her and all her associates? It was something to ponder over but later, when he didn’t have someone trying to slice his head from his shoulders. “Madrigal, their sails,” he yelled.

Madrigal lifted his hands and pulses of bright green energy slid out from his fingers, burning the flesh and making him yelp. He forced his hands to stay on target as the pulses flowed outward to Brough’s ship, striking the side and blowing chunks out of the deck and rail. The rigging and masts exploded under the onslaught, the sails catching fire as sparks flew left and right.

Brough and his pirates screamed in terror, some running back to their ship, others trying to kill whichever crewmembers they happened to be facing.

One lunged at Mechatronic, who parried the blow and punched the man on the nose, dropping him, while another headed for Anatole, madly waving a small axe over his head. He never made it. Susanna ran out onto the deck and flung her arm out toward the man. A whip of fine metallic strands erupted from her skin, slicing through the pale flesh as it shot forward and entwined the pirate round the legs, tripping and concussing him on the hard, wooden deck. The whip retracted and the skin healed in Susanna’s wrist, leaving nothing but a faint white line.

“I do worry that whip is not entirely ladylike,” murmured Susanna to herself as she rubbed her wrist, feeling the pain quickly ebb away to nothing.

Soon, only Brough was left standing. He watched as his last two men, who had been fruitlessly attacking Hartwell for fifteen minutes, grew ever more despondent and tired until one made an error and Hartwell neatly disarmed him. The second man, seeing that Hartwell was still fresh, dropped to his knees and threw his sword away in supplication.

“What manner of cursed demons are you?” gasped Brough in fear.

“We are not demons,” replied Hartwell.

“Though we may be cursed,” muttered Fitch, darkly.

Back in England after the Great War, Archie Douglas meets a young lady whose beauty takes his breath away. But Cicily Broadbent, student of Egyptology, has sworn never to marry. She believes that Nekhbet the White Vulture, virgin mother goddess of ancient Egypt, can grant women children without man’s touch. Determined to win her hand, Archie awaits the day when she grows out of this experiment with paganism. But when Cicily succeeds in re-awakening the goddess, Archie has more to worry about than just losing Cicily.

 

The six dismounted.  In unison they separated until they stood four feet apart, became a straight line and took several steps forward.

Blake watched as Mask sized up the six.  She whispered.  “We’re in for a fight, Lawman.”

He whispered back, “Six to one aren’t good odds.  You don’t have a spare gun under your hat do you?”

“No, just the two .44s you see on my hips.  Besides, the odds are just great.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Just you watch, lawman.”

“Don’t you dare make a mockery of this army! You are a woman and a murderer.”

Korin gave him a condescending smile. “Am I? Well I didn’t notice much difference between you and me but as far as being a murderer, how could I deny that? I’ve bathed entire villages in blood.” She grinned at him and stared. “But maybe that mage would care to come back here and question me? If this was all so important that he convinced you to come out here, then why did he run away unless he was lying and knew I could prove it? Where are the people who say I’m a demon? The magi are forever cooking up stories to make themselves look important.”

Korin could feel the men bending under her persuasion. Their faces cleared of fear and all that was left was something Korin had never seen directed at her. It was the look Mogpaste used to give Master Sheed. Korin watched the men’s eyes shift from her to their leader. His brow creased uneasily.

“Curses! You lowborn son of a dog-eating pig-raper! I’ll have you punished for insulting me at the very least! Fifty lashes, and I’ll give them to you myself! We’ll see what’s under that breastplate of yours.”

Korin shrugged like it was of no concern to her, but she felt sweat break out on her upper lip and forehead. “You wouldn’t be the first man to want to disrobe me. I didn’t think that you were that kind of man.” Her smile was infectious and the guard behind the leader sniggered. “Then again I suppose it’s not surprising, considering that you’re under the control of the magi…I mean to say that you have a great respect for the magi.”

“You!” he screamed and launched himself at her.

Korin saw his body tense and danced aside as he came at her. He wheeled his arms to try to regain his balance. Korin couldn’t resist. Her leg snapped out and connected with his rear end. He bellowed like a herd-beast and landed in a graceless heap. Korin darted forward and kicked his ribs with her new stout boots, marveling at the added strength the tough soles gave her.

The man let out a squawk of rage and surprise.

“He attacked General Kayle!”

“Oh the gods! He actually bested the general.”

Korin froze. She had no idea the man was a general. She knew she was in serious trouble now. She turned and sprinted toward the tent city. Korin looked back and saw that her boot print was stark against the black cloth that covered his rear as he turned, screaming at his men.

She entered the tent city, but immediately had to slow her pace or attract notice. She heard the distant scream.

“Seize him!” General Kayle yelled in a shrill voice that barely reached Korin’s ears. She slowed to a walk, wondering what to do.

Ahead, Korin caught sight of Antiochus and a lithe man with powerful shoulders. Her spirit leapt toward them like a drowning man seeing land.

Even in her state of agitation, she noticed the surprising grace in the way the man next to Antiochus stood. One hand confidently rested on the hilt of the long rapier at his side. His pale, almost white-blonde hair brushed against his shoulders, and his head was held at an odd angle that made him look dangerous. Korin saw the reason for the tilt of his head as she neared. A black eye patch arched down to cover his mangled face, making him even more handsome.

The man smiled at her. “So this is the young man who is in the center of all this?”

Antiochus looked at her fondly. “General Daimos, please meet…”

Suddenly, something hard struck Korin right in the head. She tottered, but under her helmet, her hair and the turban she’d wrapped around it cushioned the blow.

“You treacherous, dung eating, public fornicator! I’ll never let you live after what you said! How dare you?”

He swung wildly, but he was too winded and too furious. She dove for him and his fist flew wide, narrowly grazing her shoulder but missing her face entirely. Her fist, however, landed smack against his long nose. His own momentum made the blow even more painful. Korin felt the distinct crack even through her bull-hide glove.

Blood poured out from General Kayle’s nose as he reeled backwards. He fell to his knees, cursing, but above the horrible cries, General Daimos’ laughter filled the air. The people that had peered out of their tents at the sounds of the struggle continued to gather surreptitiously.

“It serves you right, you flea infested weasel,” Daimos said, walking over to Kayle. He threw a glance over his shoulder and pinned Korin with his one blue eye. His grin was bright with rich amusement. “That was some fine work there, soldier. I can see why Antiochus values you.”

“You’ll regret this! Mark me!” Kayle screamed as he rose on his unsteady legs. He pointed a bloody finger at Daimos. “And you too. How dare you interfere? You and that wretched little mid-general!”

The group of seven wizards had locked hands, making them too powerful for the magi to defeat. They glowed with a greenish iridescent light as they enveloped themselves in a mist that made them invisible to human eyes. They walked forward toward the woman who could feel their approach. She began to scream.

The wizards on both ends of the hand-holding line held sacrificial daggers. This must have been part of their plan—the plan B, if the head sorcerer somehow lost his head. If they succeeded, Eblis would be restored to his power completely. Korin ordered her mount to descend, but she was quite far from them. Now Korin saw with a jolt of horror that in the confusion of the battle, Eblis himself had escaped. He shimmered briefly through his cloak of invisibility. Korin shuddered involuntarily when she saw his true form.

He was shucking himself out of the boy body, and as he did, his head elongated into an angular mask of rage. His skin was old—as ancient as parchment, but it glistened with putrefaction that would have left a corpse that long dead. His ears were mostly cartilage, and they were very long. Pointed at the top, the devil’s ears were pendulant on the bottom. He wore earrings made of human bones. The ear holes writhed with what looked like maggots, but as she looked closer, Korin realized that they were festering, squirming naked humans covered with the slimy effusion of death.

His eyes were black hellholes from which fires spiraled. Occasionally the burning arms or legs of some damned person could be seen thrashing about in hopeless pain. Bags of flesh hung from his eyes, making him look even more ancient and evil. His long, pointed nose was warted heavily and appeared like a pendulous, rotting gourd. The mouth of the beast was the most horrific. Thin, cracking lips surrounded sharp but decayed teeth swarming with creatures ranging from naked humans to insectoid creatures who fed on the humans, while the humans fed on the cheesy decay between the teeth.

Eblis walked awkwardly in a cross between the knuckle walk of an ape, and the dragging of a disemboweled monster. Indeed, his gut bobbed over the ground and his obscene genitals trailed a slimy track as he walked. His distended **** stuck out of the flat buttocks that hung loosely. Worms and maggots dropped from it as he made his way to the woman who struggled and screamed anew, although mercifully, she could not see Eblis’s real form.

Vorak thundered from his position in the army. “No! Korin, stop! Don’t approach that devil!”

Andre fell to his knees and drank deeply of the crystalline waters. The sound of the waterfall filled his ears with its thundering and a spray of water misted his overheated body. He thought he had never tasted anything so good before. After a while, his body ceased to tremble and he looked up. Directly under the torrent of water, stood a man with his back toward him. He seemed unaware of Andre’s presence, so loud was the waterfall.

Andre immediately looked away from the naked form, but that was only his first reaction. He stared now and saw that the man appeared to be well muscled and young. His tight buttocks led to strong legs, only half of which he could see, as the man was standing in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. Sparkling water cascaded off of his head making him look like a Buddha with his effulgence. The man stood under the water as if in deep meditation in the performance of the traditional Japanese misogi ritual of purification. Andre was riveted.

Andre stood and took a step, then thought better of it. The man was oblivious to his presence. It seemed unwise to disturb him, but this wasn’t the only reason for Andre’s paralysis. He wondered what the man’s face looked like. His skin shone with health. His hair was very long—so long, that Andre at first had taken him to be a woman, but even from behind, the man’s muscles removed Andre’s doubts.

As if suddenly aware that someone was staring, the man whirled and faced him. Although he was standing at some distance, Andre could see the man’s face first register surprise, then it became clouded with anger. The face was still lovely beyond anything he had ever seen before. The man’s eyes were large and expressive. His eyebrows were sharply defined bows. Although his features were almost chiseled, his full lips and delicate lines gave him a look that could only be described as beautiful. Beautiful in the elegant and exotic ways the features of some of the ancient Japanese aristocratic women were portrayed in court art. Andre stood with his mouth slightly ajar and his body frozen into inaction by the spectacle of such an attractive person. The man turned slowly and Andre lost sight of him as he made his way behind a copse of trees.

Snapping out of his reverie, Andre began to walk toward the spot where the man had retreated, silently practicing what he would say. The man was obviously angry, but perhaps he could explain.

In an instant, Andre felt it and turned suddenly. Although it had just been a moment, the man stood behind him, fully dressed in archaic traditional garb. He wore a long white kimono over which he had draped a dark blue tunic emblazoned with the crest of the ancient Abe clan. Andre had seen such a piece in a Kyoto museum not long ago. He wore the tall cap of the practitioners of Onmyodo yin yang magic. The man’s beautiful eyes narrowed by rage and his face looked like that of Fudo Myo-o, the Wrathful Buddha. Andre stared, unable to speak, but he was deeply embarrassed that instead of staying silent, his mouth worked as he tried to speak coherently while only cackling and squawking like a frightened chicken.

“Go away,” the man boomed. “Go away and never come back. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”
 

The Hero saw the short, slender girl as she stood for a moment and moved her backpack to her other shoulder. Her black hair was straight and her face as pale as a silvery full moon as she looked around herself timidly. The Hero smiled and thought that the girl was beautiful and innocent. He prayed that she’d be safe as she returned home.

He was still gazing at her when he saw a movement behind the girl. The red-faced man peered in her direction and licked his lips. After a moment, he looked behind him and signaled to another hulking figure, which slowly emerged. He was merely a misshapen shadow until he smiled and his long, white teeth shone from his angular black face. His eyes were yellow and feral and although this was frightening enough, when the red-faced man again faced him, his eyes shone too, but with the greenish incandescence of a wild animal.

The Hero saw them gesture obscenely, as if to announce their intentions. The men-monsters moved incredibly lithely, considering their sizes, and after hiding behind a dumpster of rotting waste for a moment, they came out into the open, and began furtively creeping toward the girl, who seemed totally unaware of the danger.

He could see their tongues lolling with lust and their fingers moving suggestively, but the girl saw nothing as she stared at the ground in thought. The monsters moved rapidly now, and he knew it was the time of reckoning. His blood was icy with fear for her, but he allowed the heat of his rage against evil to warm his blood rapidly.

They were almost upon the girl when he leapt and confronted them, his cape dashing before him dramatically as he stood, arms akimbo. He grimaced as he landed gracefully in front of them, and stood his ground bravely, but when he opened his eyes, there was nothing before him. A tight laugh escaped his lips as he realized what had happened. Somehow, they were so overcome with fear for him that they disappeared into thin air. Yes, they must have power, power that was growing by the hour, otherwise how could they disappear? This had never happened before. They had the power. Evil, wicked power!

The Hero looked around, peering into the dark of the alley, looking for the flash of their eerie eyes, but they were gone – gone as if they had never existed at all. The girl must have seen them too, because she dropped her bag and was making little whining noises of fear, and she held one hand to her mouth as she clutched something small in the other. He moved his head close to her so that he could see what she held, but she mewled softly and pulled back. It was a little toy, a monkey, or something equally silly, but he hated to see the girl whimpering like that.

Wordlessly the Hero tried to put a comforting arm around her. He saw her delicate beauty and felt the warmth of her breath on his bare chest. He pulled aside his cape and his nipples were hard as he felt himself becoming aroused. He put one hand under her buttocks and pressed her to the growing hardness between his legs. He suddenly recognized her cries as those of intense desire, and realized that she must be older than she looked. It was all right, he thought. He’d never before allowed any woman into his life as a superhero, but this one wanted him badly.

Maybe he would make her dreams come true.

He decided that if she loved him for saving her life, he could also allow himself to love her. They were now linked forever by this altruistic act of his. She was shuddering all over and the whining noises were increasing in volume. The Hero hugged her gruffly to his bare chest and she began to cry like a child. He’d heard that women cried like this when overcome with love. She tore her face away for an instant and sobbed in a breath, but he pushed her face into his chest again, to soothe the tears. Without explanation, suddenly she began to struggle fiercely.

A shrill, desperate sound tore from her throat and the Hero suddenly realized the trick. This cunning little vixen had been in league with the lurking men who’d been pretending to stalk her. She was in league with his mortal enemies. They’d put together an elaborate plan—a hoax, meant to embarrass and disgrace him, or maybe worse. Maybe they knew, finally! They knew that using a woman was the surest way to increase the toxin of their taunts. Now she was mocking him, making like she was really a woman in distress. He could feel her lips against his bare chest. They were writhing with amusement and merry laughter, even as her body thrashed against him.

He felt the hardness between his legs become suddenly flaccid and his body began to shrink imperceptibly. Their trick would cause him to become a helpless little boy again if he didn’t act soon. He had to stop her from laughing. He just had to! Panic made his eyes tear and sweat dripped from his brow and trickled into his eyes to sting him. He had to act before the weakness set in.

He shook her like a rag for a moment and the toy fell from her hand. Pulling her close by the hair, he used one hand to push her head into his naked chest and put the other in a bear hug over her back. He squeezed her with all his might and her struggles grew frantic until he heard a sharp cracking sound, and then they suddenly subsided and she was limp, but the Hero felt his retractable nails pushing out again. Although the strength was draining from him rapidly, he felt their blade-like substance as they eagerly sought the skin on the girl’s back, but before the nails could avenge themselves, he heard someone yell. It must have been one of the men she was consorting with. He dropped the girl and ran. He would get them later. They would be forced to pay for mocking the Hero.

“Madrigal, turn us about,” continued Hartwell. “Set a course for Pirate Cove.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” grinned Madrigal as he hauled the wheel and moved them away from the pirate vessel. The old galleon rolled from left to right as it ploughed the sea, though since Mechatronic’s upgrades, the rolling gait was much smoother as some form of dampening field helped to protect the ship against the movement of the ocean, making Madrigal’s control of the vessel almost absolute. Everyone was therefore astonished when the galleon lurched madly, making them fear that they were sinking.

Hartwell looked out and saw the ocean was rising and falling in a highly localised area, moving from left to right across his vision, as though something huge was moving at high speed under the surface. The crew turned their attention to the pirate vessel, which seemed to be directly in the path of whatever was disturbing the sea.

They watched in astonishment as a whirlpool formed around the pirate vessel, causing it to spin around, unable to counter whatever was creating the furious currents. Then, with a gigantic roar, something broke the surface of the water, something huge, something that shrieked and bellowed in anger, something that had never been seen or heard before.

Gigantic tentacles reached up and grabbed the pirate vessel, wrapping around the ship, crushing and splintering the hull. The central body of the thing rising from the ocean was a colossal stalk of green, scaly skin, topped with a bulbous head containing a repellent slit for a mouth and a single eye, larger than a sailing ship, which blinked in the sudden daylight as it broke the surface of the water.

“By all the Gods, it’s the kraken!” gasped Fitch, looking in astonishment at the creature. All sailors knew of the legends of the kraken, but none had ever seen it before.

“Look!” shouted Susanna, her hand pointing to something that twinkled in the bright Caribbean sun. “Look at the body! It has metallic tentacles!”

The crew squinted at the creature, unable to make out the details under the blazing sun and the tons of water cascading down from the creature as it crushed the pirate vessel.

“Are you sure?” shouted Bardon, one hand raised to shade his eyes from the glare. “It could just be ze sun reflecting off ze scales of zat beast!”

“Susanna is correct,” said Mechatronic, her superior eyes adapting to the glare. “That creature has biomechanical implants.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” asked Hartwell, who could see very little as the creature thrashed in the water and the sun continued to dazzle his vision.

The monster turned its baleful eye down to the doomed pirate ship held firmly in its tentacles and a red glow illuminated the immense black pupil. A laser beam erupted from the eye and smashed into the vessel, so hot it melted flesh, so powerful it smashed through the hull as though it were thin ice. With a final roar, the leviathan sunk back down into the sea, dragging the burning, disintegrating vessel with it.

“Fairly certain, yes,” said Mechatronic in the silence that followed.

“Well, Shawn Michael MacTavish, saw you blast off from the Academy and followed you here,” said Gatano, as he jerked Shawn Michael’s blaster from its holster. “And now we have you in our gun sights.”

“Who are you, mister? What do you want?”

“Names aren’t important. As to what we want, why your life, what else? Now march into the dunes. You, Shawn Michael are going to walk into the desert a short distance, take your blaster pistol from its holster and commit suicide.”

The situation was desperate. He had to keep the assassin talking. “Who hired you to kill me?”

“Nobody is going to kill you. I said you were committing suicide. Besides, what makes you think somebody hired me? Maybe I thought of this myself.”

Shawn Michael saw an opportunity to make a break for it, or at least go down fighting. If he could just get the thug to gun prod his back maybe he could whirl around, jerk the blaster from his hand, and fight his way out of the trap. It was a big if. What about the prodder’s four silent partners? Would his sudden move catch them off guard? Well, here goes nothing, time for an insulting comment.

“You had a thought? Don’t make me laugh. By your appearance you’re nothing but a brainless Neanderthal. Hell, a filthy space rat like you wouldn’t have brains enough to dodge oncoming asteroids unless you were told to do so by somebody who had more than an odd lump on his shoulders.”

Gatano yelled and jabbed him in the back. Shawn Michael twisted around, grabbed for Gatano’s blaster…