Hellacious Hospitality Ch. 05

Benson's head reeled as much from the implications as from the sudden jarring force that had blindsided him. Having been swept away by the goodwill of Caeli and her friends, he'd been operating under the mistaken assumption that all demi were simply misunderstood. In retrospect, his blind spot was obvious. Caeli's haven existed only for those that desired peace and coexistence, as she had told him forthright. That nature did not necessarily extend to those that remained in the wild, where some of that ancient hostility might still be in play. She'd warned him to be careful, now that his eye had become wary of the magic world. Shadows in the dark didn't like to be disturbed.

He righted himself, and squared off against his opponent again, grasping fruitlessly for an effective plan of attack. Fists clenched again, waiting for an opening.

"I should've known all along that this wench didn't have the competency to act as she did. I see now that it was you who conspired with her, used her to ruin me. Ah, yes. It's all clear now. The way she cried your name as I stripped her bare and broke her spirits. I've been observing you, waiting for my moment to strike. I already know you've taken her upon yourself. Subjugated her whore flesh into dependency, seeding her mind with your treacherous thoughts even as you spilled your seed upon that obscene body, fit only for a breeding sow."

Elena squeaked softly at every contemptuous word levied at her. Sneaking a quick glance back to her, without taking an eye off his enemy, she had brought her legs up to her chest in the fetal position, but otherwise lay where she had been, on the ground. She looked utterly pathetic and broken.

If he was incensed before, Benson was absolutely incandescent with rage now. The vile, misogynistic rancor that dripped from Crenshaw's villainous lips burned in his ears. They didn't describe Elena the way he knew her Her strengths, her passions, her warmth. None of that belonged to him. That was all hers, and he'd just been there to help that blossom.

In the blink of eye, all due to the machinations of this hateful, contemptible person, that brightness seemed to have been extinguished from her blazing soul, as she lay catatonic in a pitiable heap on the locker room floor. For that, this man, or whatever he was -- the entity he knew as Thom Crenshaw had to pay.

He lunged forward to throttle his target. The looming, gaunt body again slid deftly to the side, this time raising a knee to connect with Benson's head. He was expecting it this time, and kicked out hard to halt his momentum, Crenshaw's reach stopping just short of a devastating blow. It was a close call. In that exchange, he realized something, though.

Benson swung high with his left fist. His weaker, and slower. He feinted for Crenshaw's head, but purposefully aimed wide, whiffing. A glint of eyes moved in the shadows to regard the failed strike, but otherwise no counter-action was raised. In that split-second, Benson aimed another strike square at the figure's stomach, with his right, and he saw as the shadowed man bristled, in anticipation of catching the blow and throwing him back. Again, he backpedaled just in time to avoid being caught. Clumsily, as his back crashed into another set of lockers.

An inkling of a plan had started to form. Not a great one, and he still had no idea how to finish this. Whatever power Crenshaw held, it seemed to be reactive, purely defensive in scope. It had only seemed to help the man evade, and lashed out at short range to counterattack. That was the purpose of the supervillain-level diatribe. He wanted Benson incensed, and dull. To lash out wildly, so that the power he wielded would crush him in retaliation.

But to be so fiercely protective, meant there had to be something necessary to protect, did it not? That something had to be Crenshaw himself. Under that impregnable defense, there must still be a frail, mortal body playing host to that power.

Benson held his arms out defensively, in case he was wrong, as he moved about his adversary. So far, his instincts seemed correct. Crenshaw allowed him to maneuver the arena freely, and did not close in to strike for himself. He circled around, placing himself between the dark silhouetted man and the door, so that there was no avenue of escape. That could not be allowed.

That action proved another thing: that Crenshaw was not a fighter. Black eyes glared warily, but there was no action that indicated that he understood what Benson was doing. An experienced combatant would always seek to leave himself options, but this antagonist had passively allowed himself to get boxed in, seemingly unawares.

Instead, he gloated. "Oh, is that it? After all this, you simply wish to flee? I don't blame you. To throw away your life to a superior opponent, all for some worthless woman; that is the height of foolhardiness. Go, run if you wish. It will not save you. Your interference, too, has earned my ire, and I will have my vengeance."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere, you piece of shit. It's you that should be on the ground, begging, not her. She's a far greater person than you ever were."

Crenshaw hissed, and his silhouette appeared to bristle beyond the bounds of his towering, lanky frame. "You upstart whelp! What would you know of personal value! You and she bring nothing to the table! Parasites!"

"Is that all you have? Put downs? The way I see it, the only value you have, you've probably stolen from others. That's all this is, isn't it? For once in your life, she made you feel powerless, and weak. And the only thing you had left was to drag her into the mud with you."

"Lies!" Whatever it was that inhabited Crenshaw's body wailed inhumanly, and the black shape seemed to snap and lash out, like the jaws of a rabid beast. But its reach was too short, the threat impotent.

For the first time in this encounter, Benson smirked. He'd found an in, but he still wasn't quite sure how to use it just yet.

From this position though, looking into the entirety of the room from the entryway, Benson spotted something. The metal of the shower fixtures gleaming in the flickering lights, from the adjoining room. But no, not the same flickering. Not directly under the light, that glint was fainter. No, a seeming independent glow, timed nearly opposite to what was going on in this room. Brighter, stronger.

That notice didn't seem immediately useful, but something triggered in the back of Benson's mind. Something about water. Running water? Caeli had joked about Vampires, how innately silly it was that they couldn't cross it. He'd shared a laugh with her about that absurdity. But as he had conducted his research on demi, that odd quirk was touted as a viable defense against all matter of evil spirits and ghouls. That information, of questionable veracity, was not enough to risk his safety for. But that wasn't all that was there.

There was something else the enlightening demoness had said, that water was a conduit for mana. In that context, it brought the fuel that sustained Iara. But the use of the word "conduit" implied that the mechanism worked both ways. It could give, but it could also take away. The flow of energy was a balance, always traveling from area of most abundance to least. And unlike the waters in the demi haven, he saw no reason why what flowed through the pipes here should be magically induced...

"Alright you ghastly sonuvabitch, you want your revenge, come at me!"

This was the moment of truth. Everything was hanging on Crenshaw's reaction. Everything he had witnessed so far told him that the bastard could dish it, but couldn't take it, a coward hiding behind a potent but limited power.

The dark figure lurched forward, seeming to take the bait, but it seemed a struggle. It placed its weight ahead of itself on one shaky leg, but the mass, the roiling shadow that enveloped him seemed to hold back hesitantly, becoming more visible in doing so. That was all the sign Benson needed to fly into action.

He charged forward with all the speed he could muster, aiming his fist square at Crenshaw's center of mass. As expected, the figure moved sideways to dodge and counterattack. He responded by ducking low, and immediately stuck out his leg in an attempt to sweep Crenshaw off his feet. Equally predictably, the shadowy man reared back, and attempted to drive a foot downwards into his outstretched leg. Again, anticipating such an action, Benson pushed off the ground with his hands to roll his body out of the way at last second. All that force striking hard ground instead of the expected bone caused the figure to shudder, and stumble backwards slightly.

A similar pattern of attacking and pulling his punches at the last second was what carried the fight onward. Benson wasn't an experienced fighter himself, but he was younger and more nimble than the body that whatever creature he was fighting against occupied. He used the thing's instincts against it, causing it to do more damage to its host body than it did to him in its frenzy.

At the pace he was going, though, he wasn't sure if his opponent's body would give way sooner than his own. Maintaining the repeated bursts of pressure and the halting changes in momentum it took to avoid getting pummeled was extremely taxing. It was slowing rapidly, but so was he. But if his gamble fully paid off, then he didn't need hold out forever. Just long enough...

With one more combination attack, Crenshaw's body clanged off the standpipe in the center of the shower room, having been corralled there by its own flailings. Benson lunged past him, and cranked the cold water on at full blast from all sides.

"What the bloody hell are you doing? Do you really think a bit of water will save you? It'll just make it easier for me to kick your battered body across the ground as I finish beating you into submission!"

"Oh yeah? With what strength?" Already, the shadow's countenance seemed to shrink away. Crenshaw's face, that had been mysteriously shrouded in darkness the entire fight crept back into view, the black mass receding from his sickly features. In a seeming last burst of defiance, the creature stretched its form wide, forming great, black wings with which to intimidate. But merely a ploy, it let out a horrible shriek as those constructs too melted away.

"Wha-what have you done? No matter, I can still murder you with my own two hands!" Thom's eyes, wavering and full of dread, locked on his own, as he lunged forward with arms suddenly outstretched, in an attempt to throttle him. But as the shadow withdrew, the reality of his battered, broken body set in, and the pain seized him, causing him to crash into the ground with a sickening, bone-snapping thud.

Several minutes passed, and the body didn't move, no sign of breath. He was dead.

Benson shut the water, and didn't give the man's lifeless form a second thought. His own wearied body limping, he shuffled back out into the locker room, over to where Elena lay.

He stooped over her, gently brushing stringy hairs out of her face. He wanted to cradle her, hold her tightly, but his clothes were soaked, and cold.

"He's gone now. He can't hurt you anymore. Elena, please speak to me." Her lip quivered, a weak attempt at a smile, but no sound came. Glassy eyes stared out purposelessly. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, still racked with the occasional sob.

"Goddamn it! If only... if only I'd stayed behind earlier. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to hurt you."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she gurgled, spitting up blood. That's when he noticed the dark bruises around her neck, and his eyes widened in horror.

"Oh god... Help! Somebody! I need help!" He tried to shout, but his own ravaged body wheezed. He fumbled around in his pocket to find his phone. The glass had been cracked in the struggle, but it still worked. He tried to dial 9-1-1, but his hands shook and trembled, shivering from the cold, and unsteady in his mental state. The wet device slipped from his fingers. "Fuck!"

Lost in despair, Benson didn't know what to do, or who he could turn to. He didn't want anybody else to see Elena in such a sorry state, but his hesitation was costing him precious time.

He felt something tug at his sleeve, and he thought for a moment that Elena had regained full consciousness. But the thing at his elbow glowed with a soft white light, and it kept butting at his arm, trying to force it away. He tentatively moved it aside, and saw a faerie there. Not Rosie. A different one, almost entirely pale and white in color. The obstruction gone, she dived to his side and attempted to fish his wallet from his pocket.

"Hey, what are you doing? Out of there!" He swatted at her. He was still trying to deal with Elena. He didn't need to contend with a pint-sized thief at the same time. The little figure huffed silently, and hovered up to his eye level. She sternly placed her hands on her hips, and then pointed emphatically at Elena, and then back to his pocket. She drew a rectangular shape in the air.

"Wait, what's that? Are you trying to help?" She nodded firmly. Suddenly, her twinkling white glow seemed familiar. He remembered the flashing signal that had led him to bring the fight into the showers. "Have you been here this entire time?" Again, she nodded. "Okay then, what is it you're trying to tell me?"

He fished his wallet out of his pocket, and she quickly mimed thumbing through it. He followed her instruction, and immediately, her goal became clear. In the darkness, the "keycard" that Caeli had given him shone brightly. A warm, inviting glow.

"What, you want me to go there? That's too far, and I can't take Elena with her looking like this." He thought about her car, and realized he could probably make the trip if he found her keys, but getting her out of the building would still be difficult.

The faerie shook her head, and grabbed at the card, and explicitly pointed towards a row of lockers on the wall, specifically, a set that hadn't been dented or damaged in the struggle.

"You want me to use the card... there?" She nodded. Still unsure of her intent, he nonetheless complied. He gingerly approached it, and held the card up, expecting something to just magically happen. When nothing did, he looked at her again. She drifted over to another locker at her side, and slapped her palm against it, the sound registering only as a light tap to his ear, although quite clear. Following her lead, with card in palm, he slapped his own hand against the locked door.

Light seemed to trace along its edges, and the door fell inward impossibly, revealing a gaping void, with cosmic light swirling about it.

Immediately, she flew towards it, sticking her thumb and forefinger in her mouth to perform an inaudible whistle, so strongly that she leaned into it and her body partially passed through the gap. Popping free of the whirling darkness, she zoomed away, and hovered curiously over Thom Crenshaw's lifeless body. Long, leafy, snakelike tendrils emerged from the darkness, and traced her path, constricting around the fallen corpse. They retracted, and soon the morbid bundle passed into the gap itself with ease, despite being much larger than the small doorway created in the frame of the locker. The faerie was in close pursuit, and she beckoned forth, before passing through the gate herself.

Benson gulped, unsure of what to expect. The faerie poked her head back out impatiently, and tapped at her wrist as if she were wearing a tiny watch. She pointed at Elena, then him, and then over her shoulder, before vanishing again. With no better ideas, it was apparent that his only option was to follow her lead. He scooped Elena up in his arms, and stepped through the portal.

His stomach lurched, as dazzling lights and streamers of color raced past his eyes. The only thing that saved him from feeling motion sickness from the disorienting display was that there was no feeling of acceleration to interfere with his equilibrium. In any other context, he may have allowed himself to become enraptured by the spectacular display, but right now, he just wanted it over. There was a fluttering pinpoint of white light ahead of him, the faerie. He focused on that, hoping with all hope that she was leading him somewhere useful.

Pure whiteness enveloped him, and suddenly, the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet. Hard tiles.

He heard the chime of an elevator in the distance, and a familiar, hurried voice.

"What, he's here!? So soon? I wasn't expecting..." Soft footsteps lightly padded on the ground, racing towards him. "Ben!? It really is you, isn't it? That was fast. I thought you'd need at least another -- why are kneeling on the floor? You look awful."

Benson looked up at the purple-clad beauty before him. He relaxed his arms, letting droop the cooling, pallid body he cradled in them. Confused tears streamed down his face, happy in his reunion, but sad for what he was convinced he was about to lose.

"Caeli, please, I need your help. I'm begging you. Help her. Save Elena!"

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P.S.

Another chapter of a Monster Girl story short on Monster Girl action, huh? What's up with that? Well, as they say, you can't rush greatness. Well, not to get too ahead of myself on that count, but we're getting there. Call it the eye of the storm, if you will. I really wanted to foster that false sense of security, and a certain sense of mundanity (as far as erotica goes, at any rate), before the proverbial shit hit the fan. Did the hook work?

And don't worry, I'm done blue balling y'all :p.