Power of the Lost

by Cebelius

  "Can we avoid the others?" he asked.

  "I ... don't know. We can try. I could get there but ... I mean, you're my size now, Boss. There's no way you could make it without being seen."

  Prada, monitor my mana.

  'Yes, Husband. Ready.'

  He clasped his hands in front of him, more to focus than for any definite reason. He'd been told that forming a circle would help, but that was a distant concern now. He didn't care how much mana it cost, as long as it didn't kill him.

  His rage simmered beneath the surface, and he directed it toward his intention. In his anger, he had found inspiration, and formulating his words into careful English, he spoke.

  "By the power in my veins, I give all of Halla's gift to me to my wife, Prada."

  He felt a sense of nervous tension flood him as Prada's mental curse made him smile, though that smile had a distinct ferocity to it.

  'Ooooh shit.'

  He'd never been so acutely aware of the gain or loss of a bond gift before, but he felt an unnatural rush as his body fell into itself with unexpected speed.

  He shrank so quickly that his feet actually left the ground, but he did not fall far enough to do any damage. As he fell though, he felt Prada extruding from his pores. He shed tears of her, and she poured out of his every orifice, swirling around him until he was engulfed in a dense, heavy drop of blood. For a bare moment, all was still and silent, as though he had been returned to the womb.

  Then the moment passed.

  Prada swiftly morphed, swirling around him, and again he felt himself increasing in size, both inside and out, but when it ended he was nowhere near as large as he had been.

  A glance at the now completely shocked-looking Halla allowed him to estimate he was perhaps seven feet tall, and almost completely encased in glistening red armor.

  His sanguine gauntlets were clawed, and he grinned as he recognized the design. Prada had copied Albrecht Ross' armor out of his memories, sized to fit him. He wore no helmet, but knew he didn't need one. Despite never having worn armor, he knew he would need no training. Prada felt like what she was: a second skin.

  He spoke aloud. There was no point in hiding her presence anymore at this point. "Prada, get my boots."

  Prada sounded more than a little loopy as she audibly replied.

  "Y-you nneed to w ... warn me next time. Ooooh, what a rush."

  "What's my mana look like?" he asked.

  There was a pause, then she answered, "Your spell is stable. We are trapped in a feedback loop, and though your power is dropping, it is exceptionally slow. We can stay like this for days."

  Prada's voice had gotten more and more excited as she spoke, and by the end she was practically giggling. "Oh, Husband. You are a genius."

  No, he thought. I'm just really, REALLY fucking mad.

  He looked up at Halla and said, "Now can you get me to Theseus without being seen?"

  She looked more than a little terrified, and rapidly shook her head as she said, "Um, actually no. I wasn't thinking straight earlier. I look, different now. You know? Two eyes? Blue skin?"

  She winced, giving off the impression of a small child hoping not to get hit as she added, "Horns?"

  "Husband?"

  "Yes?"

  "If I may?"

  Terry shrugged and said, "Go for it."

  He felt Prada shifting within him, and he abruptly grew taller and broader as his armor sank back into flesh that darkened from tanned to bronze. His shape changed in ways he wasn't entirely comfortable with, but in a flash of intuition he knew where this was going and had to concede, it was pretty clever.

  Well shit, if it worked for Bugs Bunny, it'll work for me. At this point I don't care HOW I get there, so long as I get there.

  When his form stabilized again, his vision lacked a certain depth, and as he gazed at Halla, Halla's voice came from his lips as Prada spoke through him.

  "Look familiar?"

  "Ho-lee fuck. What the hell are you?"

  He smiled, and felt a curious dualism in the expression as he realized that Prada was smiling right along with him. They spoke with one voice, their minds united in a way they never had before. It was exhilarating, and he ... they, felt powerful, felt invincible. "We, are Boss. And we are going to walk right up to Theseus with a gift he won't be able to refuse."

  Halla was trembling, but more in awe than fear as she asked, "What gift?"

  They reached out for Halla, took her hand, and pulled her up off the furs and into their arms as they said in her stolen voice, "Death ... and you."

  29

  Mortal

  Boss had all of Halla's memories, and used them to great effect. It was easy to follow her route, and everyone they met along the way was amazed at the fact that she had captured so powerful an eldritch.

  As instructed, the real Halla kept quiet, and kept her head down. Boss was only forced to kill one person, and they did so without hesitation. They no longer considered themselves to be either Terry or Prada. Rather, they were a synthesis of both. While Terry considered 'Boss' a convenient handle, the synthetic being that called itself Boss truly had no other name.

  Boss carried Halla's stone club, and had flattened the bird-like woman that sought to challenge their passage without ceremony or any feeling of loss when the shrill creature had demanded to accompany them, doubtless hoping to steal credit for the capture. Halla would have had none of it, and so Boss did what she would have done.

  Her world had been one of brutality and struggle, fighting for everything. Theseus had so many bonds and they were so fractious that losing one here or there meant nothing to him, and so they killed each other with abandon. Fighting over everything from food or lodging to simple pride of place. For Halla it had been a matter of survival, and there was no way Boss was going to break character to save a life. Not now. Terry would have hesitated, would have balked at the brutality required to keep up appearances. Boss did not. The goal was everything. Ending this abomination was worth any price. Terry might have felt regret. Boss felt none.

  The center of the Labyrinth was an area that looked like nothing so much as a shining city of white marble, but every door was a deception, every building a death trap. No one lived here but Theseus and a few of his most highly prized bondswomen. He was at the center, in a faux palace carved out for him by his bonds generations past.

  Boss came to a set of double doors that most of the other women trapped in the Labyrinth would have needed help to open. Halla was strong enough, and Boss shoved their way through with barely time to draw breath. What they wanted was close, and there was no stopping now.

  The area they entered was palatial, but paradoxically also open to the sky and its high racing clouds. Artwork was curiously interspersed with weapons hung from the walls. They were of all types, with differing cultural heritage. Swords ranging from big claymores to elegantly curved single-edged blades were in evidence, and seemed to hang from brackets in no particular order.

  There was greenery snaking over the walls, and much of the interior was given over to a hedge maze that — were they of normal height — would have been potentially difficult to navigate.

  Now though they had no trouble seeing the tops of the hedges, and with every footstep the traps laid in the floor were revealed to them. Their gaze flickered around, spotting magical traps as well, and they effortlessly stepped past them all as they worked their way through the maze toward the back where they knew their target would be.

  Even if they hadn't any other special abilities, Halla had a perfect memory of where the traps were, and her memories were theirs. Their rage still simmered. Its origin was almost entirely Terry's, but Prada desired template blood, and wanted Terry to have whatever he sought. Her freedom from inhibition enabled his rage, and their combined feeling was so strong they had to work to keep the predatory snarl from their features.

  They would have justice, and it would taste like a template's blood. Soon.

  The maze opened into
a circular area strewn with lavish accoutrements. Ornate tables, chairs, pillows, rugs ... and all manner of riches. Wealth in the form of precious metals and gems were strewn in haphazard piles, and even the decorations were obviously high value. The rugs had intricate designs and images woven into them, and again they seemed to derive from a variety of backgrounds and cultures.

  An extravagant throne was set across from the opening of the hedge maze, and upon it sat a man. A human man.

  Boss paused and looked him over. Halla had memories of Theseus, and they matched what sat before them. He was older looking. They estimated he was somewhere between forty and fifty, and he had the look of someone who had once been athletic, but had run largely to fat. His jawline was still square though, and his beard was trimmed. He wore colorful silk robes that seemed garish to Boss, and which served perhaps to cloak the extent of his decline somewhat.

  Several women lounged around him. One of them was a great naga, though as dissimilar from Volai as it was possible to be and still remain the same race. She was an albino, with pink eyes and an almost waifish frame. She wore nothing, and her breasts were small and pert, but she had a vaguely sickly look to her that went beyond her albinism. Her ears, nose, eyebrows, and even the line of her jaw were studded with piercings, and chains depended from them in dizzying array. Halla remembered her as a powerful sorcerer, and so Boss noted the presence of her staff, leaning against a chair some few feet from her. It was out of reach of her many hands, but not her tail.

  Another of the women was an avian, though unlike the others they had run into so far, this one had no arms at all. Instead, her wings were her arms, and she had hooked thumbs at the crook of each wing. Her legs were also bird-like, and had thick black raptor's talons on them. Halla knew her for a harpy, and that her first move would be to screech, an attack that would incapacitate any who bore the brunt of the sound. Her scream would make an audiofreak's cry sound weak by comparison.

  The third woman was clear and fluid, and her upper body was draped over the jar in which she resided. A water nymph. Her attack would be to engulf and drown. She was Theseus' executioner, and he had often gathered his subordinates to watch her work. She was exceptionally talented at making the experience a long one, during which the condemned would be made to beg long and loudly for death before it was finally granted.

  Halla knew all this, and so Boss did as well.

  This may be even easier than I thought it would be, they thought grimly as they plastered a simpering smile on their face. Halla had always been afraid of Theseus, and so Boss presented the same impression as they said with Halla's voice, "I have brought the intruder to you, father. A gift."

  They reached back, took hold of Halla's arm, and thrust her forward. Halla stumbled to her knees and hung her head, her glimmering golden eyes downcast.

  "I was given to understand it was a template, like myself, who had invaded my domain," Theseus rumbled, his voice booming and self-important. "This is an oni, a yokai. Explain."

  "Magic," Boss said with a simple shrug. "I hit her, and her illusion fell away when she collapsed."

  "Mm, this would explain the ease with which Verone was dispatched," Theseus mused, rubbing at his bearded chin. "A mere vampire would not be able to pierce an oni's flesh. Where are Chen and the others?"

  Boss made his eye water, and looked down, but said nothing. Halla had liked Chen. The chimera had been one of her few friends ... and it said terrible things about the world she had grown up in that when her friend had been killed, she had so easily accepted it. She hadn't blamed Terry, so much as Theseus. Everything in the cyclopian woman's world centered around this man. Everything that happened, did so because of him. Theseus had sent them to face the template, and so it was Theseus that had killed Chen.

  The other two were of no consequence. Halla hadn't ever asked their names. It hadn't occurred to her that she should even care.

  All of this knowledge flickered through Boss' mind and informed their reaction, and it was correct. They were a Doppelgänger; their disguise would be perfect until it was time to abandon it.

  Soon. Soon ... bid me come forward. Call me a good girl, kiss my forehead, and die.

  Boss' eye widened slightly with unfeigned eagerness as Theseus said, "Well done, child. Come kneel at my feet."

  The albino began clapping with her lower set of hands. It was a slow clap, entirely sarcastic, and Halla's memories told Boss that she hated this woman, but feared her too much to ever do anything about it. She was a true sadist, and delighted in tortures that were as depraved as they were debilitating.

  You'll die next. Great naga blood is flavorful, and I was never allowed to drink my fill.

  The harpy twitched, her avian features twisted in hatred as she stared in jealousy at the 'prize' that had been brought to her master. She was jealous of everything, and everyone. It was in her nature. She did not deign to speak, but her beak parted, and Halla's memories told Boss the bitch desperately wanted to launch herself at them, tear their eye out of their head, and take the prize for herself to offer to Theseus.

  Boss stepped forward, shoved the real Halla aside, and eagerly knelt in front of Theseus.

  Soon. Soon!

  Agony coursed through them then, as Theseus moved with a speed that belied his dissipated appearance. He drew a sword from behind his throne, straightened, and jammed it down through Boss' neck, just below the base of their skull.

  Their spinal column was severed instantly, and they collapsed bonelessly to the floor. Theseus jerked his blade free in a spray of blood as the harpy squealed with joy and the albino laughed, her voice filled with cruelty as she said, "I always wondered why you put up with her."

  "I do not tolerate mockery. I let her live because she was the last of my cyclopians, but her purpose has been served. An oni will be much better in service as a giant. She was weak, and dared resent me openly, thinking I would not hear."

  They do not realize who I am, Boss thought dully as they continued to pump blood slowly out of the wound while internally working to reconnect their spine. The pain had existed as a flash of sensation that they blocked out as unnecessary. They genuinely think Theseus just killed his own daughter ... and they're laughing.

  "NO!" Halla screamed, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Boss! NO! You killed him! FUCK YOU!"

  "Him?"

  Theseus didn't get anything else out as Halla launched herself at him. She was thirteen feet tall, had to weigh close to eight hundred pounds, and she plowed into him with all the subtlety of a freight train.

  The throne was blasted to kindling as she took Theseus through it, screaming in primal rage as she pinned him to the stone floor and began a primitive ground and pound, fists rising and falling methodically as she cut loose with an ululating wail of raw agony, utterly lost in berserk fury.

  Boss' eye shifted. They had fallen such that they could see the albino, and she was just now passing her staff from her tail to her hands as she began to speak.

  I guess you die first. Lucky you.

  They whipped an arm toward her and it stretched far beyond the reach of its bones to slam into the albino's throat and cut off her wind before they jerked her close. Boss lifted their mostly reattached head, and paused just long enough to smile into her disbelieving face as they hissed quietly, still with Halla's voice, "Surprise!"

  They pressed their lips to hers and forced their tongue into her throat, then thrust it up into her brain. The method they had chosen was practical — filling her mouth and throat kept her from casting — but that practicality did not lessen the sense of dark joy they felt, killing the depraved sadist with a kiss.

  She shuddered and jerked, her body spasming as they tasted her blood and the fat of her brain. Their razor-sharp tongue lashed up and around, turning the albino's mind into a soup of uselessness before drawing it back into their mouth as they stood, finishing the work they were doing on their neck. They tilted their head just a bit and the fresh bone popped as they stepped fo
rward.

  The other two of Theseus' women were just realizing something was going on behind them, and the harpy turned and opened her jaw wide, but had no time to get any sound out.

  Boss had Halla's stone club in hand, and the harpy's head simply vanished in a spray of bone and gore that made it look like they'd just hit a small watermelon with a homerun-worthy swing.

  That left the water elemental, and Boss had a plan for that too.

  She shot toward Boss, no doubt thinking to engulf them.

  They let her, and strode forward, ignoring her for the moment as she invaded their nostrils, popped their eyes, and struggled into their body, doing damage that would have dropped any mortal instantly.

  Boss was not mortal. Unlike the albino, their mind no longer resided in any one place. They didn't need a brain, or eyes, or a face. They felt pain only as a warning that something was happening. They could work through it, and did so now.

  They reached Halla and shoved her aside, noting as they did so that she now had wounds. Several wounds. Theseus had retained his sword and used it even while being pummeled by a literal giant, and as the cyclops' weight left him he surged to his feet in time to catch the full force of Boss' club.

  He blocked it with his sword in an admirable display of agility, but physics is a bitch, and Theseus was neither particularly heavy, nor attached to the floor.

  Blood spattered as the hero of old's double-edged sword slammed back into his own face before the raw force of the blow lifted him off his feet and sent him flying backward to slam into a stone wall almost ten feet away.

  By this time, the water nymph was doing serious damage, and Boss executed their plan.

  Prada took the nymph, and Terry disengaged, splitting away from the struggling flesh in front of him. As it dissolved into a mess of red and blue goop, he pulled the sword he'd taken from Verone out from inside their body, murmuring in English as he strode forward, "By the power in my veins, I demand my speed and strength be increased to the limits of my physical endurance."