Sisters of Sodom

She'd managed to slip into this room and lock it before Gary could see her, but she couldn't stay in here forever. She could hear him pacing nearby. He always did a poor job of masking his concern for her. Despite all the verbal abuse she regularly dealt to him, he loyally remained at her service, and tonight was no different.

"Eu, what's all this noise? Are you sure you're alright? Why won't you open the door? I just picked your...friend up off the floor and put her to bed. She seemed almost comatose or something, what were you two doing—"

"Nothing. I'm fine, Gary. Just go back to sleep," Eudora said with a seething tone. She dipped her hand into the water, watching her blood slowly swirl outward from her knuckles, pooling around her mountainous ripples of skin.

"But...Eudora...honey, I..." the man on the other side of the door mumbled, then took a deep sigh and paused. "Eudora, if there's anything you need from me, just ask." With that, he turned and reluctantly crept back down the hall. Eudora raised her hand and flashed her middle finger at the door, calling, "I don't need shit from you!"

Finally there was silence. Just keep the money rolling in, you old loser, she said to herself, trying to conjure up her familiar arrogance. She managed the weakest grin, savoring the fact that, despite all her setbacks, she'd already managed to play this man for everything he's worth. Gary was no small catch, she knew. The man was something of a celebrity in the business world, with multiple bestsellers, his own institute, and an almost ironclad reputation. And for his age, not bad looking at all.

In every magazine article she'd read about him, he was always portrayed as an example of modern entrepreneurial success, with very few viable detractors. Although she knew he was at base just another simpleminded, money-hoarding tycoon, he paid just enough lip service to humanitarian pretenses to allay most people's cynicisms.

That was the one thing Eudora both appreciated and despised about him—his ability to convince people of his importance, all the while making off like a bandit. Of course, this was all a ruse. He contributed nothing of actual worth to the world—he would admit as much if he were honest.

And though she'd never quite admit it to herself, she wasn't unlike him in some sense. Rather than using money and charm, she used her staggering beauty and, later, the occasional witch magic. And now, the fact that both of her prime "bargaining chips" were currently compromised frustrated her deeply.

She couldn't yet look that man in the eyes. Now without first regaining her twofold foothold over him.

With a grunt, she struggled to pull her body up from the tub. It felt heavy and dense. When she finally lurched upright, she felt a wave of nausea as she realized that her stomach completely obscured her sex. The sight of the adipose flesh draped over her crotch caused her to gasp aloud.

Further terror shot through her as she caught a glimpse of the rest of her naked, wet body in the bathroom mirror. Her once-sharp chin now sagged low, blending almost seamlessly into her thick neck; her perfect breasts had morphed into burdensome, floppy udders lined with stretch marks; her prized bubble booty now looked like two overstuffed pillows mashed together.

In a panic, she stepped on the bathroom scale and braced herself. The digital tally that appeared between her stubby feet made her heart skip: 493 lbs. Most frighteningly, the number seemed to be inching up with each passing second. 494...495...

"No! What the hell, I'm still growing?! God damn it, I'm turning into a fucking...PIG!" She shrieked, smashing the mirror with her fist. Yet more blood dripped from her knuckles, dotting the sink. She could hear Gary shuffle about upstairs, clearly worried for her, but knowing to keep his distance. She thought hard about what it would take to counteract this development.

The first thing that came to mind was the most dire, an option for the truly worst-case scenario: she could kill Sølvi. In her unconscious state, the girl would offer no resistance. The artifact around the her waist would likely perish with her, as would the insidious curse it had cast upon Eudora.

This most simple solution almost seemed tempting until her logical half triumphed, reminding her that such a rash decision would effectively trivialize her entire existence. It would end the global treasure hunt that compelled countless pythonesses, and leave her forever unable to ascend to the throne of power she believed was rightfully hers. It would mean that her entire journey—all ten grueling years of it—would have been for naught.

And it also would mean that she would be subscribing to the fate of every lowly mortal; a slow and pathetic decline back into the abyss of nonexistence. The thought of old age was worse than death to her, as was the sickening prospect of being forced to live the remainder of her life on this lame planet as merely one of the mortals.

The Divine Ones, who or whatever they truly were, had no intention of letting her retain her witch powers indefinitely, she knew. They were a loan, and even celestial patience eventually runs out. The thought of losing it all was unbearable.

Knowing this, she filed the murderous thought away with countless others, considering it a nuclear "last resort" in the case of a completely hopeless situation. After all, if it came down to it, she would rather rob everyone else of the office of High Pythoness if she could not have it for herself. She recalled the Screamers lyric, "If I can't have what I want, I don't want anything," and then moved onto the next thought.

Keeping Sølvi alive, then, presented other problems. As long as she remained unresponsive, she would be an even bigger liability. Leaving her alone was out of the question; surely some pythoness or another was already on her scent, and it was only a matter of time before it led her straight to this lavish penthouse.

A more foolish pythoness would likely do the very thing Eudora talked herself out of—kill the sleeping girl, ignorantly believing that this would grant her access to the sacred Viking belt. A craftier one would instead spirit her away and then, once she awoke, labor to devise ways of charming the treasure away. Either scenario would be disastrous for Eudora. Her mind flew to the next possibility.

The clock was ticking; with each moment, she felt the subtle, gradual inflation of her body, her heart becoming increasingly taxed and her limbs heavier. At this rate she figured she'd be twice this size by sunrise if she didn't act. So she considered trying to actively fight the curse with her own powers.

She knew of no spells to permanently shed fat, other than destructive ones that would leave her disfigured. But there was another way, albeit an unconventional one which likely would drain her powers dramatically.

She'd already wasted so much time recovering from her island misadventure and all the rest—could she afford to waste even more? This wasn't a perfect solution by any means, but unfortunately for her it was the only that made sense now.

She strained to remember the words for the spell she had in mind. It was typically used for short-range combat teleportation, and it wasn't something she found use for often; she considered it an amateur move, and an unwieldy one at that, given how long its incantation was on the tongue. But in this context, she figured it could be of some utility.

"Œu'naet Tande Ïlw'ghå Ýavena-hal Ēquoi!" she chanted, hoping she got the words and hand motions right.

Luckily, her memory hadn't failed her. The dark cosmos resonated with her words, and she felt a warm sensation build around her. Usually, a pythoness would then quickly focus the energy outward, locating a teleportation destination by sight. But she knew that if she instead closed her eyes and focused her attentions inwards, something else would happen.

This was a not a true teleportation spell, she knew, but rather a stealthy spacetime manipulation; in the absence of a clear external target, the spell instead fired inwardly, momentarily accelerating the user's biochemical functions. If her hunch was correct, this would include her metabolism.

The burning sensation increased, causing her to sweat. A familiar grin began to rise on her puffed-up face. It was working. She could feel the fatty deposits anchoring her bones begin to dissolve. She stepped back on the scale, finally opening her eyes to meet the digital counter below: 494 lbs, 493 lbs, 492...

More sweat dripped down, stinging her eyes and dripping down her massive nude fame. Within a few seconds, she was down to 471 lbs. "Christ on a stick," she mumbled, realizing that at this rate, she'd have to cast this tedious spell at least another dozen times.

It needed to be done, however, and she shut her eyes again, chanting the spell with an even greater inward focus: "Œu'naet Tande Ïlw'ghå Ýavena-hal Ēquoi!"

- - - - - - - - - - -

PAIN AND GAIN

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"Did something happen, Gary?" the secretary asked as she looked up from the mess of papers on her desk to look at the man. "You look exhausted, sweetie."

She was right. Handsome as ever, sure, but his far-away look and slightly rumpled appearance gave it away. He nodded subtly, his chapped lips parting slowly as if struggling to find the smoothest explanation. When he finally spoke, his voice had a weary intonation to it.

"You always know, Kristen," he said, taking a step closer to the woman's desk. His presence clearly enlivened her, and she smiled up at him with visible adoration in her eyes. With her dowdy, plain looks, she was no beauty, but he secretly enjoyed knowing how easily he could have her if he wanted.

In fact he could mostly likely have most any woman in the office, but that was no matter. Despite recent troubles, he believed he had the greatest one of all back home at 8292 4th St. The beautiful, ageless Eudora Cosgrove.

Certainly a handful, that one. But those looks, that confident attitude...he couldn't resist her if he tried. And it was this special woman that came to mind when the question was first asked. Did something happen? He repeated to himself. Something obviously did, but damned if I know what exactly it was.

"Just some trouble sleeping last night," he said, which was as candid as he was willing to get.

"Oh, I bet I know what it is," the secretary said. "You're worried about that big merger coming up, aren't you? Well don't worry, we all are. But you always steer us in the right direction. You made the right choice, that is clear. And we're rooting for you, Gary," she concluded, batting her dull gray eyes.

"That's very kind of you to say, dear," Gary said, affecting the relaxed tone he'd cultivated his whole life. Internally, he was supremely stressed, though not about financial issues. True to his nature, he never let on. "You're right, I hadn't thought of that, but maybe it's been on my mind more than I realize. It'll work out, yes. The preliminary negotiations have been going smoothly up to now..."

His voice trailed off as he momentarily replayed the sounds of last night in his head. The shouting, the smashing, the repeated incantations. The latter, he'd gotten used to; he knew that Eudora had some strange interest in the occult, but in his willful ignorance he dismissed it as a simple eccentricity, like having an interest in Tarot, UFOs or Wicca.

He'd never witnessed such raw rage coming from her like that before, however. She was always one to throw barbs, or use some foul language, or say audacious things to his peers, but it was always done with a sense of control and balance. The tantrum he'd heard last night, however, sounded truly psychotic, and he was going to great lengths to ignore it in favor of what he wished to see in her.

"...Well, don't overexert yourself, sweetie. We're all behind you," the secretary said, snapping him back to the present.

"Oh! Yes, certainly," Gary said, then awkwardly excused himself, quickly brushing past the fawning woman and finding his office door. He stepped inside the large, soundproof office, then quickly closed the door behind him.

The silence comforted him. His eyes trained around the expansive room, taking in the fruits of his labor: the $28.6 million dollar "Artemis and the Stag" sculpture; the 29 million dollar Eileen Gray armchair; the 5.8 million dollar Harrington commode; the 69 million dollar Modigliani painting.

What did it all add up to? He couldn't say. None of it touched him emotionally; to him, art collecting was just another status marker, and the work itself left him cold. In moments like these, these relics even looked ugly to him. Still, it was ugliness that he proudly owned.

He poured himself a shot glass of vintage Bowmore scotch, downing it quickly. Although he had a full day of work ahead of him, he couldn't clear his mind. The image of Eudora's strange Scandanavian friend laying face-down in the hallway haunted him for some reason. She didn't look like someone who'd had too much to drink; there was something more anguished about her, as if she were trapped in some kind of bad dream.

Then he thought of his beloved, troubling Eudora. When he left, she was still locked up in the bathroom, chanting to herself repeatedly like a madwoman. She would not show herself, not even to kiss him goodbye as she usually did.

Gary truly treasured those little enchanting morning pecks on the lip, and in fact had become addicted to them. The way Eudora doled them out so conservatively made them feel even more valuable to him, like the rarest of art pieces—after all, the punk pythoness had yet to grant him access to the rest of her body beyond an occasional quick grope.

Something must really be bothering her, he concluded, and to ease his mind he decided to call and check up on his dearest.

"Hello, Eu?"

There was a long silence on the other side, then a groggy voice: "What."

"This is Gary, is everything okay with you?"

"Yeah. I'm busy."

"Are you still hiding in the bathroom? How's your friend doing? What was her name...Sophie?"

"Sølvi. She's...fine. We're fine. The chef just arrived. He's making...breakfast."

"Do you need me to send anything else to you?"

"No."

"Alright..." Gary mumbled. "Well, make sure you get out for a walk today, the weather is beautiful. I might have to work late tonight, but—"

Suddenly there was a loud distorted noise on the line. It sounded like a crash of some kind, and Gary flinched. "Eudora? Is everything okay there?"

Smash! Crash!

He heard a few more loud chaotic sounds, followed by a scream, then the line disconnected. Startled, he tried calling Eudora's number again, but got no answer.

He paced around his office, then looked at his phone again. If this were an emergency, it would take too long for him to get back home in time. So he dialed the next number that made sense: 911.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

PENTHOUSE OF HORRORS

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Despite the fact that he'd prepared her every proper meal for the past two years, Eudora had never bothered to commit the man's name to memory. She simply knew him as the personal chef, and he'd always remained as inconspicuous as a gnat.

This dutiful man had been hired by Gary to appease Eudora's every culinary whim. Like so many other expendable drones in her life, he'd meant nothing to her—until now. To her shock, he was staggering towards her with wide-open, hysterical eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" Eudora shouted at the man, first in annoyance, then shock when his beefy figure suddenly distorted. A sizzling pan of truffled eggs lay on the floor in front of him, and as he moved, he stepped on top of it blindly, gumming his sole to it.

He appeared to try and take a second step, but instead his torso twisted at a strange angle, and a screeching sound could be heard emanating from his stomach, followed by a sickening squelch.

Eudora's eyes widened as a large crimson spot spread under the man's vest. Then a mass began to emerge from behind it. It was some kind of large, grotesque creature.

Its many legs frantically hacked a larger pathway trough the man's torn-open stomach, sending a spurt of blood that spattered Eudora's legs. The chef was already dead, she knew, but the beast emerging from him was very much alive.

It resembled some kind of spider. Its hide was transparent and brittle, with thick red veins visibly pulsing underneath it. The spider scuttled to the floor, fanning its legs out to cover a span nearly three feet. It began crawling toward her, leaving a small trail of blood and a creamy pus-like fluid behind.

"That thing was hiding all this time?!" she said to herself, quickly thinking back to the fact that the chef wasn't whistling to himself the way he usually did. She always tuned it out, so it hadn't registered as an important detail in her mind, but now it started to make sense; this poor bastard's body had been turned into an unwitting vessel for pure witchcraft before he even came in.

In her underwear, still somewhat bloated, and with her magic almost completely depleted from last night's ordeal, she had never felt so incapable before. All those spells in her mind, yet there was no way to properly use them.

The spider issued another chilling cry, and suddenly leapt high in the air, attaching itself to the wall right next Eudora's face. The mere sight of it was making the pythoness want to vomit—its form, the texture of its carapace and even its smell were simply hideous.

Before she could pull away, the spider then leapt again, lassoing her neck with its flexible legs and attaching itself to her collar, where it began strangulating her. She whipped about, then fell to the floor.

She was now matted in sweat, her muscles working overtime to contend with the excessive weight clinging to them. The beast's shrieks were deafening up close, and she felt her windpipe begin to collapse. She tried to claw at it, but this was of little use; the creature's strength was inhuman. Without thinking, the witch screamed "SØLVI!" with what little breath she had.

"You lose again, Eudora," were the only words that returned the punk pythoness's call for help. Words that came from a familiar voice. It was, without a doubt, Ayaka's.

The moment she realized that, she felt a surge of pure hatred all through her body - the mere thought of their last encounter was enough to set her blood boiling. "Again?!" Eudora sputtered.

The pressure on her throat then relented, and with a flash, the spider leapt out of sight, leaving Eudora to cough and hack on the floor. There was simply too much going on for Eudora to keep track, and she desperately needed the Viking healer to her side, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"How amusing. Calling for help? That's unlike you, Eudora. So you have a little friend, hmm? Yes, I can feel the presence of another pythoness here..."

"Leave her the fuck alone!" Eudora yelled to the open air, her voice raspy and weak.

"Hmm. I must say, I never thought you'd make any friends with that foul mouth of yours...she must not be very bright," Ayaka continued in her usual icy intonation. The voice felt like it was all around Eudora, yet she could not yet see her rival.

She could see movement on the ceiling, but her eyes couldn't follow it quickly enough. It must be that hideous spider, just waiting for the next command, she knew.

"Show yourself, you old shrine slut, and I'll shove that stupid club up your ass a second time!" Eudora roared, regaining some of her voice.

"That threat really is getting tired, Eudora. You didn't follow through on it last time, and you never will."